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After all the tensions that had accumulated between the blacks and greens up until now, the ,family’ dinner they all found themselves attending for King Viserys’ sake felt positively ridiculous. A mock of a masquerade, simply upheld for the sake of one frail and sickly old man.
But alas, your father king had wished for it, desperately so, and everyone else had to oblige.
And who would his daughter, wife, children and grandchildren be if they’d denied him this one wish? Every attendant seated along the dinner table knew it was going to be one of his last.
King Viserys had never been a regal man. Especially for Targaryen standards. In his youth he had been handsome and kind, but never a dragon warrior of the stories of old. Nothing like the murals and paintings that hung around the keep, depicting many a Targaryen ancestor riding a fierce dragon into battle.
But he had been full of life and love, once. The sickness had taken all of that away: the life in his eyes, the vitality of his body and as of recent ,the strength to rule.
For years the throne had rejected him. So much so that the signs began to show physically. It had begun very small, a little wound here and there. The sting of a sword. And as time went by, slow as a snail, the sickness had crept upon him.
You’d never known of a time where your father hadn’t smelled of strong medicinal herbs and old pus.
His own body had fought against him. And your father had lost.
Compared to Rhaenyra, his first and only daughter with Aemma Arryn, you didn’t have an all that close relationship.
You were the first daughter of his second marriage, yes, but one born out of the union between him and Alicent Hightower.
Even if Rhaenyra had been born out of necessity just like you, she had grown up loved and cherished by those that surrounded her. Not just for her womb and ability to bear the new generation of Targaryen rulers, but because of her wit, charm and fiery personality.
You had solely been born out of sheer necessity, to secure the bloodline. Just like your siblings, Aemond, Aegon, Helaena and Daeron.
Your father’s love towards you was spread thin over the years. He never mistreated you, in any way. But a lack of abuse or apathy did not make up for the lack of fatherly love you had wished to receive. Even to a little girl it had been obvious how much more important his first daughter was to him.
As a child you hadn’t understood. Weren’t you the same, really? Both daughters, similar in appearance and love for dragons. What had made Rhaenyra more special to be worthy of his attention and love? What had you done wrong? You hadn’t managed to wrap your head around it. So you behaved the best you could, paid extra attention in your lessons to become a proper lady and princess to house Targaryen. You learned old Valyrian, your house’s mother tongue and read history books about your ancestors.
One day you’d even stolen yourself away to one of the royal carpenters. You knew your father loved his figurines. Whenever he had locked himself into his quarters, he’d chipped away at his wooden buildings.
You’d planned to make one such figurine, a fine gift. Upon asking one of the workers to teach you, you were quickly declined. No one wanted to be responsible for an accident involving the princess. Even if King Viserys was kind, no one wanted to challenge their luck.
So, later in the evening, you’d snuck yourself into the keep’s carpentry workshop. All day you’d watched the apprentices learn how to handle wood. Clumsily you’d started on your own design. In your head you had seen a mighty dragon statue. Intricately designed to resemble Balerion, your father’s late dragon, whom you’d sadly only ever seen through paintings and murals.
The evening ended horribly: you’d miscalculated and had cut into your own flesh. The wound had hurt terribly. What had hurt even more was the realization you came to. Why were you even doing this, hurting yourself all these years just to be liked by someone that felt nothing but apathy for you? Deep down in your heart you knew that no blood-smeared dragon statue (that more resembled a dog with wings) would ever make your father love or pay attention to you.
Fine, then you wouldn’t care in return, you’d angrily thought.
As a child of seven you didn’t have an answer as to why he poured all his love into Rhaenyra’s future.
As a woman of ten and seven, you knew better.
It was clear as day he’d still cared for his late wife. And after hearing of how she’d died, you understood. Felt sympathy for her. To have died just because the lord husband had wanted another male heir, regardless of how frail her health was. In some strange way, perhaps because of your own expectations of birthing heirs for the rest of your life, you had felt revolted on her behalf.
Once, you’d almost thought that he deserved it. The pain of having caused the death of the person he loved most. But you quickly threw that thought away. Queen Aemma hadn’t deserved it in the slightest. And if she’d survived the birth and had that perfect male heir, neither you or your siblings would be alive today. Nor would your own mother have been forced to marry a man twice her age. She could’ve been happy in King’s Landing. With a husband more befitting of her. And maybe the friendship between her and Rhaenyra could have survived. Maybe it would’ve been for the better. They’d all have been happy.
The house of the dragon would be united, strong and fierce once again. As it always should’ve been. But King Viserys, the personification of your house’s backbone, was sick. A metaphor all too obvious to everyone around.
The dream of a happy life without you was sweet and bitter alike.
Sneaking secret looks across the finely decked table, you watched Rhaenyra. As a young woman she’d been fierce, you’d heard. A talented dragon rider. With her witty personality and charming looks she’d been rightfully called the realm’s delight. On Aegon’s second nameday she’d even slain a wild boar, all by herself.
She’d much changed since then. She was older now, obviously. Time had been kind, though. She was still very much beautiful, in the typical outerworldy Targaryen way. Fine, elven like features. Only her demeanor had changed with the rising tensions between the factions. Gone was her younger self, so full of life and wish for adventure.
You found yourself mourning that young woman. For her sake and your own.
How you’d wished for Rhaenyra to notice you. Even if your own father didn’t love you, couldn’t she? You were sisters, half or not. The heir had never once shown interest in you, though.
Slowly, you averted your gaze and mindlessly stirred your soup.
Combined with the unfair treatment of your father, you’d begun to dislike her similarly. Your mother had accepted this change of heart with open arms. She’d long watched you try and fit in with the rest of the Targaryen family. As a young girl you had often imitated Rhaenyra’s style of dress and hair. Alicent never wanted to be cruel to her children, but she feared that Rhaenyra would take the last thing she had. So she was thankful for the rejection you faced. As she’d held you in her arms with tears running down your rosy cheeks, she’d been content.
And with time and your mother’s influence, you’d followed her exact example.
You’d disliked Rhaenyra, hated her even. The color green became more than your color of dress. It encompassed your being. Opposite to your outwards appearance, your heart was held hostage by an ugly, jealous thing.
As you started your first bleed and the idea of marriage came to existence, Jacaerys’ name was thrown in the mix. The biggest contender, in fact. Rhaenyra had wanted it very much, as did your father.
Which is why you had wanted it even less. In private your mother had sworn that she would never let you marry a bastard. You could still hear her hissing the word as if it were a vile sickness. Though her stance seemed to be more for her sake and a punishment for Rhaenyra, you’d agreed. Because it would hurt your father and half-sister. You’d turned your nose up and away from them.
At the time, you neither cared nor wished for that union. Any kind of union, in fact. You’d wanted nothing more than to ride your own dragon, Vhaella, and feel the cold winds above the clouds on your cheeks. Leave everything behind and just exist.
In hindsight, you regretted your naiveté. Dreams were called that for a reason.
Had you only spoken up, maybe you could’ve convinced your mother to let Jacaerys and you marry.
To heal the broken family! Your father would’ve loved the sentiment and turned soft.
If only.
But fate had played you like a fiddle and you’d realized your mistake too late.
So you ended up married to your own brother, Aegon. Fated to one day become queen of Westeros.
A fate many would’ve killed for.
You hated it.
No matter Targaryen customs, he had been your brother first.
Maybe it was the Hightower part of you. Proper and right. Always according to the law of the seven.
Your unity certainly wasn’t.
You stole a glance to the side and watched your husband. As always, he was deep in his cups. Aegon was nothing like the men maidens dreamed of in their youth. Far off from the perfect prince.
He lusted after everything that had two legs and was female. He took and took and took.
Willingly or unwillingly.
You knew it was fruitless.
To wish for another life now was more torture than comfort.
Still, some days when life felt all too real and painful, you imagined how life would have turned out if you’d married Aemond instead.
He’d certainly been a sweeter child than Aegon. Much more thoughtful, intelligent and kind. Especially to your younger sister, Helaena, whom Aegon ridiculed every chance he got.
Though Aemond was no longer that sweet boy you remembered, you still fondly looked back to those times.
First, the bullying by Aegon and Rhaenyra’s children had changed him, then his bonding with Vhagar had made him a new man. From the ashes he had risen, wounded, but with a dragon. The one thing he’d wanted for years.
From then on out he was a man changed. And even when others started treating him differently, whispered behind his back, you still cared for him all the same. One missing eye wouldn’t change your opinion of him. You mourned for the boy that was, but were happy for the man he worked towards becoming.
For hours on end you’d contemplated.
Why, you asked yourself.
Why did it have to be Aegon when Aemond was right there. If your life had to be dictated by queer Targaryen customs, why did it always have to take the most painful route?
Aemond always treated you right. Never raised his voice, hit you or abused you. He wasn’t an overly kind man, but he would’ve at least done you the honor of being a good husband. He wouldn’t have whored around, subjected you to illness in return or raised his voice. With him at your side, you wouldn’t have felt so alone, at least. An unconventional companion, but a companion none the less.
It would have been something. Maybe you could’ve felt something, any semblance of happiness, joy, life.
Aegon made you numb. From the once young and boisterous man there wasn’t much left. No will or drive. Just as he was an empty shell of a man, poisoned by his many liquors and your mother’s traitorous whispers, he’d infected you the same. Tore you down and made you small in his presence.
As the second oldest, your union had been a sacrifice.
You at least hoped Aemond and Helaenea had more choice in theirs once the time arose.
You’d just finished your soup as Viserys commanded all attention on him.
His body shook as he stood, but he stayed rooted in his spot. Admittedly, he held a nice speech. About family, prosperity, the house. And most important, reconciliation.
Unexpectedly, the air felt a little lighter afterwards. With bated breath you watched each inhabitant of the table. Just as things seemed to be going well, Aegon leaned over to Jacaerys, who was seated on Aegon’s other side, and began to mock him.
“You know anything about satisfying woman, Jace?“ he whispered loud enough for you and Bhaela to overhear. How embarrassing, you thought and your teeth automatically clenched. Your body always seemed to be on high alert whenever Aegon was near you. There was a time and place for such things. A run down establishment somewhere down in flea bottom, sure, but not here and tonight.
The smell of ale is caught in your nose and you scrunched it up in distaste. Enough of that awful beverage. It stank and made Aegon even more unbearable than already.
Another slight on Aegon’s half, this time also aimed at Bhaela. You couldn’t bear to look over at Jacaerys. You didn’t know all that much about him anymore ever since he’d left King’s Landing with his family all those years ago.
It didn’t matter.
But your brother’s comments did. When he tired of mocking the easy traget that was Helaena, he’d often set his sights on you. He’d spit out all the venom in his heart until it was momuntarily gone, right into your face. Then, he’d collapse into himself and revert into a self-pitying state of manic depression. Like a baby he’d sleep, face uncharacteristically peaceful and gentle.
You’d often watched him in that state, late at night or early in the morning. Wondering how one man could still look so innocent, when he was everything but. Though you resented him more often than you did not - your whole familial affair was so incredibly complicated, some days your musings would tear your head apart - one little part of yourself mourned a little for him as well. Though he had been an unkind boy in his youth, he had been undeniably talented in Valyrian and dragon riding. The circumstances of your upbringing had done well to drain him of any real, higher sense of passion or character.
In his drunken ramblings he’d revealed that he, much like everyone else around him, thought himself unfit as king.
“I cannot do it, I am unfit!” He’d often sobbed, clutching at your lap. He’d wanted to disappear in your embrace and you’d allowed it, even as the newly-formed bruise on your face had pulsed sharply. Most of the times, physical altercations against you were accidents done in drunken stupor or manic ramblings. Seldomly, it happened on purpose, but it had happened.
As you’d consoled him, hand running through his unruly silver hair, you’d found yourself wanting to rip it out of his head. To push him away.
Your fingernails dug deep into your palms. He wasn’t the only one suffering. He wasn’t the only one being forced to live this life.
This time you couldn’t stand by and watch as Aegon embarrassed himself and by extent, you as well. Another hissed slight, snakeish smirk and with a loud protest from your chair you had launched yourself into standing.
Suddenly, the music quietened down and all eyes were on you.
Raising your glass, you took a drink.
“I’m sure Jacaerys knows more than you do, brother.”
Aegon’s surprised, wide-eyed look supported you in your venture. No going back now. Your father had started the evening with raw honesty, you would honor him in doing the same.
“The only pleasure women seem to be subjected to in your presence is when you finally leave theirs.“
Daemon’s chuckling was the only thing to break the awkward silence. His and many more eyes were still on you. You breathed out. The Rogue Prince certainly was an indescribable man. His timing was impeccable, as he’d proven just this mornig. The image of him slashing off Vaemond Velaryon’s head wouldn’t leave your head for quite some time.
“To Bhaela and Rhaena, who shall soon be married as well. I wish you the best.”
The Velaryon girls’ previous frowned faces lit up a little, Bhaela sent you a hint of a smile. You looked away. Raising your cup once again, you turned and stared at their father, Dameon. You took your time to look at him. Not because he was handsome, which he was in a special rhogueish way, but because he was a predator. Even amongst dragons he was a presence to behold. Wherever he went, chaos followed.
Holding his gaze wasn’t easy. But you held out long enough.
Something akin to humor flashed in his eyes. You finally sat down again and chucked another of your fruity drinks.
No wonder Aemond looked up to Daemon.
Said brother connected his eye with yours across the table, lips curled in delight. Well done, he seemed to be saying.
Nowadays he had no problem going against Aegon, encouraging you to do the same. His second look was one of reassurance. I am with you. Some tension left your face and you sent a careful smile in return. Luckily, nowadays Aegon barely ever hurt you, physicall at least. Aemond had made sure of it. And Aegon had not been able to deny him. Your younger brother had long passed your husband in physical prowess and tact.
Seemingly content with your answer Aemond continued to fork around in his meal. He never was one for family dinner, extended or not.
Neither were you. With a suppressed grimace you were just about to reach for desert, when a new pair of eyes demanded your attention. Brown and warm.
The look was indecipherable, perhaps questioning as to why you’d intervened and even stood up for him. Viserys, who longed for peace, signaled the musicians. Once again happy tunes of instruments filled the room. You broke the moment and stared to the side. One conflict for tonight would be enough.
The next few seconds had gone by quicker than usual. The sound of scraping on the floor and a warm presence entered your space.
“Princess,” With widened eyes you stared up at Jacaerys Velaryon.
“Care for a dance?” A second passed and you felt bare under the whole room’s scrutiny once again. If it weren’t for the trademark silver hair around the room you could’ve mistaken the houses sigil animal to be that of a hawk instead of a dragon.
With an outreached hand he beckoned you, a kind glimmer in his eyes.
“I would love to, my prince.”
You all but breathed out. Besides you, Aegon’s body stiffened. You didn’t need to take a look to see the flabbergasted look on his face. You knew your actions, and now this dance, were going to have consequences later, but in the moment you cared less.
With a small nod you spared another glance into his eyes before putting your hand in his. As he lead you across the room to an opened space, you could only think of his warm hand clutched comfortably around yours.
Expectantly you looked at him. The smile stayed on his face but an abashed curl was added to his lips.
“I must admit, princess, I have two left feet.“
A brave grin fought itself onto your lips and your chest lightened.
“No worries, I have all twenty-five traditional Targaryen dances memorized.”
His face almost paled and you held down a chortle. In the background you heard Prince Lucerys chuckling, whispering to Rhaena. But you were only focused on Jacaerys.
With a new sway in your body you approached him in flowing steps. Still stiff in his bones he let you twirl around him.
Though it was he that had asked for the dance, it was you who had come alive.
“My prince, Jacaerys, let us give our families a dinner to remember.”
A grin mirroring yours broke out on his face and with the repeat of your first name the barrier between yourselves had been broken.
Almost as if forgetting the eyes on your figures, you danced like children again. Twirling, jumping, side-stepping. There was no rhyme or reason, only rhythm.
And suddenly the world was easy, covered in the magical soft glow of candle light and the smell of good food. There was a twinkle in Jacaerys’ eyes that endeared you to him. Call it starved of kindness, being in his presence felt nice. With him there was just being. no need for calculating whether he would fall into mania any second and spew venom at you. Even if you didn’t know him well, Jacaerys felt easy and safe. Compared to Aegon’s all-encompassing dread, Jacaerys’ warmth nipped at your heart, asking to enter.
You felt alive. Like a dragon that had been rumbled out of its century long sleep.
Jacaerys grabbed your hand and without warning you were twirled around your axis more times than you could count in such a short time.
“Gods, Jacaerys!” You held you stomach, tears glazed over your eyes.
In mock-fashion he approached you, hands raised in dangerous motion.
“No more, no more-“ You exhaled with raised hands, backing away. A nearly hysteric laugh was stuck in your throat. “I’m afraid I might hurl up all this food again.”
Jacaerys only laughed and bowed before you, signaling the start of a new dance.
“Even in hurling state my lady would look lovely.”
A very much unladylike chortle left you. In surprise, you covered your own mouth, shocked at your own loose behavior. The brown-eyed man’s lips pressed into a tight line, cheaply holding back his amusement. With a raised brow you recovered, meeting his gaze again.
“I shall have a word with your septa, it isn’t becoming of a prince to be such a bold liar.” The corners of his eyes crinkled.
With a step forward you grabbed his hand and thus began the next dance. Out of all the fancy banquets and balls you have danced at, this impromptu one was by far the best. A few more quips here and there are exchanged until slowly the song came to an end.
With a last encouraging laugh Jacaerys twirled you once more before coming to a stop.
Though your cheeks were red and hot, your hair a mess, you were happy.
With bright smiles you bowed before returning to your respective seats.
While both the prince and princess had enjoyed themselves dancing, the other dinner attendees had watched.
Aegon, having downed another two cups of liquor, was of hazy mind.
But clear-minded enough to watch on with a dark grimace.
Aemond, although in dislike of the other side of the family, watched with less strong feelings. His one eye remained always on you, taking in the joyful expressions on your face. Aemond didn’t like many things, but you being happy was one of them.
The grown-ups were a different story.
The most sorrow out of all of them was Alicent. Beneath the dinner table she had tightly gripped her hands into her thighs.
In the ten minutes you had spent dancing with Jacaerys, you’d looked happier than the past half year of being married to Aegon.
Alicent watched you closely. She saw the exact moment you came down from your burst of happiness. And with that back into reality. Your laughing lines disappeared. Sitting down beside Aegon, your body slouched once again, making yourself small in his presence.
Your fingers gripped into the abandoned fork, twirling it once before looking up.
The last careful look you sent into Jacaerys’ direction nearly tore Alicent apart.
Your eyes, slighly glassy, returned to the used plate before you.
The bare emotion across your face was quickly burried deep within yourself again, but your mother had spotted it all the same. Longing. Desperation.
Though you both looked nothing alike, - you with the trademark silver locks and lilac eyes and her with the brown of her late mother - she saw herself in your stead all the same.
A woman beaten.
Alicent couldn’t stop her fingers from pulling at her red and bloodied skin.
Finally it had crept upon her, a deep feling of regret. Regret for having neglected you. For having denied Rahenyra’s offer.
What could’ve been, she mused in trance, gazing at the happy couple next to Aegon. Jacaerys and Bhaela were locked in ample conversation, happy to be by themselves.
It could’ve been you, instead. Clearly you would’ve been much happier that way.
Alicent pressed her lips into a tight line.
And suddenly, her eyes met Rhaenyra's. Alicent felt bare beneath her stare, caught in her own reverie. So unlike this morning, where the tables had still been turned.
Just like your onw mother, Rhaenyra turned to your solemn figure, mindlessly stabbing a piece of meat.
Without a word both of them mourned the union that could have been.
The one who could’ve united the house of the dragon once more.
Alicent felt helpless, torn between duty and heart, her father’s own poisonous words. Blue and brown eyes reconnected and the second of vulnerability felt like an eternity.
I am sorry.
Alicent swallowed.
Let us do better, together, she silently begged.
Rhaenyra's lips raised, slightly.
A half smile and gentle eyes.
A look they’d often shared when they were younger.
Together, the heir promised.