Chapter Text
You had been inconsolable after the loss of your father.
Ser Laenor had died just a few days after Lady Laena's funeral proceedings, a fight between him and his squire, Qarl. The squire had opened his stomach with a blade, publicly in Spicetown, many having witnessed the travesty. The man had escaped narrowly, not wanting to face the wrath of Lord Corlys, fleeing to Pentos.
House Velaryon had suffered two great losses, and a rift had been forged between Rhaenyra Targaryen and her oldest child as a result.
You had been beside yourself with grief the day of your mother's second wedding. The traditional Valyrian ceremony had bile rising in your throat as blood was drawn with dragonglass. Your father's body had hardly touched the ground of the sea before your mother had taken another husband.
No tact, no respect, and certainly no comfort.
Your anger directed towards your mother had taken months to pass, but she remained as the only parent you had left, so forgiveness had occurred shortly after your brother Aegon was born. Despite forgiving them, you had flown to Driftmark to spend time with your grandparents. Grandfather Corlys had left on a journey, so your time was spent mostly with Rhaenys and Baela once she came to ward. Grey Ghost was swift, so constant traveling from Dragonstone to Driftmark was no problem for you.
He didn't like being restrained in a pit, so your mount hardly spent any time in them, his size growing at an alarming rate the older the two of you grew.
Now, ten and six, your marriage to Aegon was being readily prepared, much to your mother's dismay. The wedding would be held after you turned seventeen, your uncle is already twenty now. The council was getting fussy with waiting, but Rhaenyra Targaryen was nothing if not stubborn.
Your nameday celebrations were underway, and while it would usually be a joyous occasion, all could feel the tension emitting from the Targaryen heiress. Rhaenyra had taken years away from King's Landing after the death of Ser Harwin Strong, and she hadn't been eager to return. As heir to the throne, her place was on Dragonstone.
She had been summoned by the king, however.
A large celebration would be held for your nameday, and while they were usually held on Driftmark, King Viserys had no strength to travel such a long way, not with his mount long dead.
You had flown to Kings Landing upon the back of your dragon, arriving before the rest of your family - Rhaenyra and Daemon had taken to the sea due to your youngest brother. Aegon, or as you liked to call him, Little Aeg, did not enjoy flying for long periods of time, and Viserys was just too young to be parted from your mother.
Grey Ghost had delivered you safely near the dragon pit located in King's Landing, his pale white scales glimmering in the sun as he hissed at the dragon keepers. As you dismounted, a kingsguard greeted you from a safe distance. You acknowledged him gracefully, remembering him as Ser Harrold Westerling. He had been the one to come to your aid when the fight broke out between your brothers and Aemond.
"Princess (Name)," Ser Harrold bows deeply. "I have come to escort you to the Red Keep."
You bid your mount farewell before taking Ser Harrold's arm, allowing him to lead you into the carriage awaiting you.
You hear one last high-pitched mewl from Grey Ghost before you're on your way to your old home.
꣑ৎ
You were dressed in a powdery-blue gown made of velvet, the sleeves long enough to cover past your wrist. The scar had turned pink and jagged over the years, irritation flaring from time to time, and you just didn't like for it to be revealed when around others.
"Much has changed," Ser Harrold says as he escorts you through the Keep. Your fingers twirl the pearl ring on your left hand - a gift from grandfather Corlys - as you take in the drastically different surroundings. They were nothing like how you remembered them, seven-pointed stars and paintings of the Seven replaced the Targaryen sigil. You had always found comfort in your faith, so the sight was not completely unwelcome, but the sheer amount of change was shocking.
"The King and Queen have requested your presence at a tourney, once Princess Rhaenyra arrives..."
"Ah... of course," you would have preferred to spend your first day back in Kings Landing relaxing, but your grandsire had always been into the festivities of royal life. Tourneys and banquets alike, King Viserys knew how to please the people. "Will my betrothed be joining us, Ser?" The older man pauses, taking a breath before nodding.
"Her Grace the Queen would not allow his absence."
Your mother arrives soon after your exchange with Ser Harrold, and you meet her outside of the Keep, the cold air nipping at your fingertips.
"Sister!" Little Joff tugs at your skirts, and you pick him up, balancing the boy off your hip.
You had the feeling that your mother and stepfather would not be fond of the recent changes, but your care regarding that matter was waning by the second.
Little flakes of snow start to fall from the sky, and you sigh deeply as you follow your mother into the castle.
This would be an eventful couple of weeks.
꣑ৎ
Whilst you hold a quiet conversation with your stepfather - something about his dragon, Caraxes - you had not noticed the stare coming from your betrothed. He didn't make a habit out of breaking his fast with such a large group of people, usually only with his mother. When Aegon learned that you would be attending the family meals, he decided to make his presence known. So while you sipped at the cider in your porcelain cup, Aegon watched you steadily, the taste of wine already heavy on his lips.
You were pretty, in an innocent way that set his senses aflame. Those dark eyes that had haunted Aegon for years since you had departed Kings Landing, they were as sweet as he'd remembered.
You sat quietly, your hands folded in your lap as your mother yaps to you about something Aegon couldn't be bothered to care about.
Your sleeves draped in a long wave down your arms, and under them more fabric was visible, clinging to your lower arms. The soft blue fabric complimented you well, Aegon thought. You were similar to Aegon in the way that you wore accents that symbolized your dragon. Whilst Aegon wore gold, you wore silver and gray.
Gods, you were pretty.
And you were all his.
"Would that not put a strain on the treasury? Why don't we just..." your voice breaks Aegon from his fantasies, his fingers curling around the goblet in front of him. Your voice was just as pretty as you, Aegon realizes. It was leveled and lovely. "We should save the large celebrations for the wedding, shouldn't we?"
How smart you were.
"A great queen you will be," the old king says, smiling as his wife as she grips his hand tightly. Alicent nods her head, seemingly in agreement. "A good queen counts the cost to her people... but the treasury is in good standing as of now, and Viserys never slights an expense."
You smile nervously at them, folding your hands in your lap as Daemon stares you down.
"She simply does not wish for a large nameday celebration," Daemon says.
You were a princess, one used to being spoiled, but having all of the attention in the room had never been a comfortable plight for you.
"We can forego the nameday celebration, I'd rather not..."
Aegon eyed you as you shifted next to your stepfather, your gaze falling to your mother in an attempt to comfort yourself.
You felt out of place, uncomfortable among the stares and conversation.
Oh, Aegon was going to enjoy the next few weeks.
꣑ৎ
Your nameday arrives quickly, and despite your protests, the night had gone into full swing. The dining hall was filled with your favorite desserts, savory meals, and drinks, accompanied by the large table situated in the middle, where you sat next to your brother, Jacaerys. The anxiousness ripping through your body had you stuck in your seat, a small plate with an apple cake left untouched. It was loud, admittedly gaudy, and all so terrifying.
You glance to your right, catching sight of your betrothed, the dark green of his doublet catching your eye.
It was an interesting sight for everyone in the dining hall, you surmised. Two Targaryen's that hardly ever wore the traditional house colors. While Aegon dressed himself in green to honor his mother, you could not let go of the blue that represented your father. Dressed in pearls and silks, your dark hair braided gracefully, you didn't look like a Targaryen, and it wasn't unlikely for you to feel more in touch with House Velaryon. Your house was your only remaining tether to your beloved father, and you would rather die than abandon them.
You wondered if it was similar for your betrothed.
"Dear Niece, would you mind some company?" Aegon's voice breaks you from your thoughts, and you jump a bit, utterly confused on how he had appeared next to you. Your eyes dart away, your fingers playing nervously with the pearl necklace around your neck in tandem with your beating heart. You had clear orders from your stepfather to stray clear from Aegon until after you were married. Daemon had warned you of any scandals and how they could reflect upon both you and your mother.
Aegon had never cared for politics, and his boot nudging you under the table told you as much.
Your mother was down at the opposite side of the table, far away enough that you couldn't eye her for help while she laughed and gingerly spoke with her own father.
You knew you'd be in trouble if this went any further.
...
You were also just unused to social interactions with men.
Specifically, this was the man that you were soon to marry, the man you would have to bed, and the future father of your children that had yet to come into existence.
You pray for the strength to keep the conversation decent without gaining the attention of the two guard dogs you called your mother and stepfather.
"I was just about to head to bed, actually... the party isn't much to my liking, My Prince," you say gently, adjusting yourself slightly in your chair.
Insecurities rise in your chest as you glance at Aegon, and you take in his features like a flower towards the sun.
His eyes were a light lavender color, his hair a pale white, and he was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, at least in your opinion. Your mother's beauty has always dazzled you, and you suppose you had always envied the traditional Valyrian features that had avoided you your entire life. You remember Ser Harwin calling you pretty and cute, you remember both of your fathers doting on you, and your thick dark hair. You were never made to feel inferior, not by those who mattered the most to you.
But it stung whenever you saw little Aegon and Viserys being doted on by your mother, knowing that she finally had the Valyrian children that would never be questioned by those at court.
Aegon's eyes, however, did not share the same judgmental stare as those of the lords and ladies at Court. Instead, there was a hint of something you'd never quite seen before.
Yearning and obsession.
꣑ৎ
Retiring to bed after your nameday celebration, you find that the quiet of your bed chamber is comforting. Meraxes, your hound, is curled up on the edge of your bed, snores leaving her mouth as she slept soundly on the large pillow you reserve just for her. Your mother disapproved of keeping the dog in your room, but after receiving Meraxes as a gift when she was just a pup (courtesy of Daemon), she always slept by your side. She dulled your loneliness.
Your dark hair is loose down your back as you turn to blow out the candle by your bedside.
Finally in bed, the same bed you'd slept on throughout your childhood before your father died, you let out a deep sigh of relief.
The bed shifts, and Meraxes flops beside you, her droopy eyes staring at you, her pillow long forgotten. Almost as though she had sensed your anxiousness, Meraxes rests her head against your arm in an attempt to comfort you. It works, for the most part, and you let your fingers rub at her long ears in gratitude.
Just as you start to drift off, your body jerks violently at the sound of a knock at your door. Meraxes stands at attention, a growl rising in her throat as she treads towards the large door. Her dark burgundy tail stands tall as she sniffs under the door, another growl leaving her throat as another knock reverberates against the wood.
You slid out from under your covers, wrapping yourself in a robe before making your way towards the door, shushing your hound behind you. Meraxes stands behind you stiffly, her red fur bristling in anxiety. You hesitantly open the door, nearly jumping out of your skin when you come face-to-face with Aegon.
Aegon stands before you in a simple pair of trousers and a night shirt, the pale white fabric nearly see-through. His hair, that had been combed back during the celebrations, was now just tousled, messy against his forehead.
He was trying to get both of you killed, surely.
"Come with me," Aegon takes your hand, leading you outside of your safe room, and he starts to walk down the hallway with you in tow. You feel a sliver of panic rise in your chest, because your mother and stepfather's room was just a hall away, and you weren't sure if they were asleep or still roaming about the Keep.
Your mother would be so disappointed if she saw you walking around at such a late hour.
With a man, no less.
"Aegon-" you try to tug him enough to get him to stop walking, but he doesn't so much as glance towards you. The only other sound was two pairs of feet padding along the stone floor of the Keep, and you realize that Aegon has hidden you both within the lesser-traveled halls of the Keep, ones you were all too familiar with.
"Hush," Aegon says, finally pushing open a door that leads into the kitchens.
The sight of apple cakes and small bowls of custard makes your breath catch in your throat, a memory of your childhood flooding your mind.
When you were all children, Aegon would sneak you and Helaena (sometimes Aemond would tag along) into the kitchen area, where you all would snack until a servant or guard inevitably found you. It was usually Ser Cole, and you would always return to bed with a full tummy of sweets.
You glance at your betrothed as he hands you a small plate with a still-warm piece of apple cake, the hints of cinnamon speckled across the dessert.
A small smile rises on your face as you laugh a bit, shaking your head in disbelief.
"I thought you had come to kill me," you murmur.
Aegon, who had already gotten into the wine supply, bellows out a laugh, covering his mouth.
"Why would I kill my soon-to-be wife?" Aegon questions, his pale cheeks turning pink from both the laughter rocking his body and the wine that was slowly seeping into his consciousness. You stay silent, moving closer to him as you look down at the ground, feeling embarrassed for what you had said.
You knew it sounded ridiculous.
"I was barely awake, and you scared me, Aegon."
He turns to you then, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, that expression once again returning to his eyes. The yearning for something he wanted deeply, something you weren't sure of yet. You smile gently, handing him a lemon custard, the same one he often devoured when the two of you were children.
You rarely called him by his name, even back then. Not for any reason in particular, but Aegon liked hearing your voice. The way you said his name set his senses aflame, and he liked it.
"Thank you for this, I mean..."
You supposed that he wasn't so bad.