Chapter Text
Chapter One.
111 AC.
Elyzha came into this world screaming.
The streets of Dorne were unusually silent that night, everyone from noble’s to small folk all waited with bated breath as the Princess Rhaeanna gave birth to the second child of Lord Laerys Vasyx.
Rhaeanna Targaryen was no stranger to the harsh labours that plagued her family. It had been some years since she had seen her dear sister in law Aemma succumb to her labours, bearing a short lived son for her brother Viserys. She thought she might see Aemma soon, the thought a small kindness to her as her child tore its way out of her womb.
She thought back to many moments of her life, as the milk of the poppy made its way through her system, filling her mind with a daze. Perhaps she might regret some moments now, how she had bit her tongue her whole life, preferring to sit in the shadow of her two brothers as they squabbled, how she had stood with Viserys as her cousin Rhaenys' throne was forfeited from her.
Her mind took her back to when she had first met Laerys, oh how handsome he had been then.
Hidden in the depths of the foliage at the Red Keep, she’d watched him ardently for days as he took his morning strolls through the gardens during a diplomatic visit. Her heart had practically burst from her chest the day her father had announced their betrothal, the two Valyrian households joined together as kin once more.
She wonders if it had been worth it now.
Her first son - Azhar - had come with little fuss, the bright eyed babe greeting the world with a smile, but this one? No, this child tears through her as a divine punishment, punishment for what, Rhaeanna does not know the answer. But a punishment all the same.
How proud she had been, taking her seat as the Lady of House Vasyx, the great House seated in Dorne so powerful and mighty in comparison to her status as the third child, a daughter to the Targaryen reign. The Vasyx’s were almost as proud as that of the Valaryons of their heritage, their customs mixing slightly with that of the freer Dornish people but standing tall with the blood of Old Valyria all the same.
The descendants of the great house had not claimed dragons of their own for generations, yet they had not allowed it to be their weakness. Instead, boasting an army of over 60,000 men - all trained to brutal perfection. Whilst unbloodied in this era of peace, war would be sport for their men.
None of that mattered now. Rhaeanna would be dead soon.
------
The Stranger came and went.
The Princess Rhaeanna Targaryen was no more, but the young Lady Elyzha lived - her cries echoing through the walls of her new home.
Dorne wept for its fallen Lady but lit the streets all the same at the birth of the newest member of House Vasyx.
The small folk uttered prayers in hushed voices, calling upon Gods old and new for the health of the young babe. If only they had known who they were praying for, if only they knew that the God’s had greater plans than good health and prosperity for the child.
If only they knew their prayers would return to them in the form of ‘Elyzha the Bloody’.