Chapter Text
In another time and place, Rhaenys Targaryen would have been Queen.
Her father had been heir, and custom should have dictated that Rhaenys would have followed him. Prince Aemon had been killed on Tarth, murdered by a Myrish assassin sent to kill the Lord of Tarth. And for a very long time, Aemon had been heir. With Aemon's death, that should have left Rhaenys as the heir apparent. She would have been Rhaenys I. Her heir would have been one of her children. She would have sat on the Iron Throne as the first ruling Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Her only flaw, as viewed by the lords of the realm, was that she had been born a woman.
She was furious. She burned with a fury that threatened to roast her from the inside out, a fury that made dragon fire seem merely toasty. She sat at the head of a long table, her nails dug into the arms of her chair, half moon gouges in the dark wood. Her jaw ached from biting back words that stung in the back of her throat like acid. Bitter, angry tear sat behind her eyes. Down in the Dragon Pit her dragon, Meleys the Red Queen, keened and roared, as if feeling her anger.
Sat at the table were some of the Lords who had voted to seat Rhaenys on the Throne, as well as her most loyal advisors.
At her left side sat her mother, the Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, widow of Prince Aemon Targaryen. Lady Jocelyn had the Baratheon raven's black hair, blue eyes, and strong features that Rhaenys had inherited as well. Unlike Rhaenys, whose hair was beginning to have silvers strands, Jocelyn's hair was still as black as it had been as a maiden. Her expression was resolute, her jaw set in anger. "It's an abomination. Had he not passed, my husband would be the next king, and Rhaenys queen after. This goes against all traditions of the kingdom. A granddaughter comes before an uncle!"
Lord Boremund Baratheon, brother of Jocelyn and uncle of Rhaenys, raged as well. The Baratheon words "Ours Is The Fury" had never been more apt than this day. "Agreed. King Jaehaerys should have at the very least named Lord Laenor as his heir. That would have been the fair thing to do. But to choose instead Viserys, of all people. That lad is as strong as wet parchment."
"Uncle, you still speak of my cousin. The appointed heir to the current king. I would ask that you refrain from insulting him." Rhaenys bit out, finally drawing out words. Her tone was cold as steel, though her eyes burned like violet flames.
Boremund shut his mouth, but his cheeks were still ruddy with anger.
Lord Cameron of Tarth huffed. He had been close friends with the deceased Prince Aemon, and had sworn to uphold Rhaenys and her claim. "Lord Boremund is not entirely wrong, Princess. Viserys is a man of learning, but he is not known for much else. He also has but one child, and no spare. Lady Aemma-" Cameron's eyes darted to Rhaenys's face, as he chose his words. Rhaenys was known for her fondness for her younger Arryn cousin. "- has lost more than one child to the cradle and to the childbed. They only have the Princess Rhaenyra. Going by the ruling of your grandsire, the king, the Princess Rhaenyra is unlikely to take the throne hence. Should something happen, the Throne is likely to fall to Daemon and whatever children Lady Royce and him may have."
Boremund scoffed. "The Seven themselves would need to intercede to force Daemon to lay with his own wife. Even then, the fool would rather be eaten by his dragon. And who would follow Daemon? Vaegon is the last of Jaehaerys and Alysanne's sons, and he refuses to relinquish his chains. Who then? Saera or one of her Essosi bastards? Poor Daella only had Aemma, and the girl is married to Viserys, may the Seven bless her."
"I believe three of Saera's illegitimate children petitioned for the Throne. As did one claiming to be a bastard of Maegor's loins." Corlys stated, taking his wife's hand in his.
His fingers were rough and callused from hoisting ropes and steering the wheel of many a ship. Rhaenys's own hands were tough, the skin of her fingers hardened from holding the reins of her dragon. Something in the ocean that ran through Corlys's blood cooled the fire in hers. Her anger waned, turning into steam in her belly.
She looked over at her own children.
Laena had been born within a moon of Prince Aemon's death. She was a charming and clever girl, who had her father's silver curls and violet eyes. Even though she was but a child, Rhaenys knew that Laena was strong of character, and was a clever child. Maybe, Rhaenys thought, Laena would have been a good Queen, in a world where women were treated as the equals to men. In this world, however, Rhaenys knew that Laena would easily carve her own path, crown or not. Laena giggled with her companions, daughters of lords from houses loyal to Rhaenys who had gathered in Harrenhal for the Council. Laena seemed to find it easy to befriend other children, a trait that Rhaenys knew would serve her well. She was playing ladies and knights with Merydyth Bar Emmon, Lucilla Celtigar, and a grandaughter of Garon Baratheon that Rhaenys could not recall the name of.
Laenor was close in age to Laena, and also had the same tan brown skin and silver hair as his sister. He was proving to be a headstrong, but kind boy. Even at such a young age, he was showing a strong character, and was a handsome child. Someday he would make a great knight. "He would have also made a good King," Rhaenys seethed. Laenor played with a wooden sword, with Lord Cameron's son, Bryndemere, playing alongside him.
Laenyx was the youngest of Rhaenys's children, being born four years before. He was the only one of Rhaenys and Corlys's children to have the raven black Baratheon hair. His eyes were more indigo than the violet shade of Laena and Laenor. He shared the same brown skin of his siblings, and his dark hair was the same tightly curled texture as theirs. He was a uniquely calm child. Queen Alysanne had once said of Laenyx that he was similar in temperament as Aemon had been as a child. That was not to say that Laenyx was quiet. The boy knew how to speak well, and was clever when learning his letters. Queen Alysanne had also suggested having Laenyx become a Maester at the Citadel, which both Rhaenys and Corlys vehemently shut down. Of their children, Laenyx was quickest to tolerate water, and Corlys often spoke of the boy having a "mariner's soul" like him. Someday, Laenyx would be a captain of a great fleet, and would succeed his father in bringing gifts to the Seven Kingdoms from far off lands.
He was currently drawing what Rhaenys guessed was his interpretation of a Meleys. It looked like a red spiky winged blob. Aelinor Tarth sat next to him peacefully, uncommonly quiet and polite for a girl of four. She was very patiently watching him draw, not a word leaving her mouth. She was a pretty yet delicate looking child, with her blonde curls and bright blue eyes. Her mother had been a Celtigar, Rhaenys recalled, so the girl had the blood of old Valyria. Not simple, Rhaenys knew. Just quiet.
Rhaenys looked at her three children with an ache in her heart. Never would they know their grandfather, nor would they know their great-aunts. Viserra, Gael, Alyssa, Maegelle. Only Saera remained of all of her sisters, and her name was all but taboo in Westeros. Last Rhaenys heard from whispers that passed through Driftmark, Saera was doing well as a courtesan in Braavos. In a small way, thought Rhaenys, Saera was the luckiest of all of Jaehaerys's daughters.
"Prince Viserys! Prince Daemon!" called the announcer, as the heavy wooden doors to the room were opened by two lance-wielding guards.
All at the table stood, as was custom. The gesture was one that was meant to be of respect or deference to whoever entered the room, but neither traits were present in this gathering.
Prince Viserys, the nominal heir to the Iron Throne, came into the room with a genuine beaming smile, as if all was right and that absolutely everyone was happy to see him. Trailing him, walking in a swagger, hand resting on the pommel of Dark Sister, was Daemon Targaryen. Daemon had a smirk on his face (as he was oft to do), and a look in his eyes that seemed to dare anyone to speak against Viserys.
"Crown Prince Viserys." Rhaenys said simply, glaring her cousin. She paid no heed to Daemon, knowing that he usually reveled in discord and was just there to cause havoc.
Viserys's grin slid off of his face, his expression turning to one of unease and almost shame. The heir's crown on his head looked slightly too big for him. He blustered, as if trying to plan out what precise words he would be using.
"Cousin," he finally said, in an even yet unsure tone, "I am sorry. I wish that things had not been so-"
"Bullshit." Daemon cut across. The young man, the Rogue Prince, sauntered past his brother into the room as if he owned the very stones he walked upon. He made an exaggerated bow to Rhaenys before turning to Viserys. "You aren't sorry. I saw your face. You looked thrilled. No man is ever elected king like you are and is sorry for it."
Rhaenys somehow gritted her teeth and bit back a smirk at the same time. "Daemon. It is good to see you. So far from Runestone. You voted for Viserys, did you not?"
Daemon gave her a delighted grin. At least one thing him and Rhaenys shared was a loved of exchanging sharp japes. He slung himself into a seat next to Corlys, giving the man a elbow into the ribs. "I did. For the same reason your Baratheon kin voted for you. Loyalty. Although, I can't for the life of me understand why so many Northerners voted in your favour. Specially Lord Stark. Can't imagine why they would be so keen on Targaryen matters after that whole thing with our grandfather and Walton Stark beyond the wall."
"Because, Prince Daemon, House Stark are famed for their honour and loyalty. If House Stark came this south and voted for Princess Rhaenys, I dare say that is a good measure of her ability as ruler." Corlys added, looking at Daemon with a canny expression. Corlys, of all people at the table, had the most interaction with Northerners, regularly trading with Houses Manderly and Forrester.
Daemon raised a white-blonde eyebrow. "If wanted the honourable choice I would indeed ask a Stark their opinion. But those wolf-fuckers are a joyless lot, without a hint of fun or cleverness to them. And here, which of your sons would have been our next king, hmm? Laenor or Laenyx? Both good choices, from what I've heard. Although, I'm sure the other Velaryons would have hated Driftmark falling under the Targaryen name."
This was answered by Lord Cameron of Tarth. "Laenor would have been heir to the Iron Throne. He would have taken the name Targaryen. Laenyx would be heir to Driftmark, keeping the name Velaryon."
"Lord Tarth, if it wasn't for you and those Myrish pirates that you can't seem to get rid of, Prince Aemon would be still alive and this mummer's dance wouldn't be happening in the first place. So I would suggest you shut up or fuck off." Daemon said in a tone half angry half amused.
Cameron's face went red, but he kept his mouth shut.
"Daemon." Rhaenys sighed. "Of course you would have an opinion. I take it you disagree with our grandsire's ruling?"
Daemon let out a loud chortle, looking at his cousin in disbelief. He pushed a strand of his blond hair away from his ethereally handsome face. "Oh Rhaenys, you know I disagree with everything that old cunt says on principle-"
"Daemon!" Viserys admonished, sitting down next to his brother.
Daemon looked the furthest thing from guilty, throwing up his hands. "My apologies. Anyway, yes, cousin, I disagree with our grandsire. Last fight him and our grandmother had was about the crown going to you and yours. No offense, Viserys, but Rhaenys would be a better ruler. Her blood is as hot as dragon fire, and she has the balls to do what needs to be done. Pun intended."
Viserys looked slightly nauseous, taking a sip of the Arbor wine in front of him. "Yes, that may be. But grandfather- King Jaehaerys- and the realm have ruled that I am to be king. While I am sure that our father would have preferred differently, such is how things should go."
"Yes, a man bested by a burst belly." Daemon snarked to no one in particular.
Rhaenys tried her best to craft her words correctly. "It is the ruling of our grandsire and the lords of this land, then it shall be. I will be as loyal a servant to you, Viserys, as if you were mine own brother. But remember this, I have been wronged. I ask that you keep that in your mind for the years to come."
"You cannot be bending to Viserys as easily as that!" Jocelyn said through clenched teeth, grabbing her daughter's arm. "Your father would never bow down without so much as a fight. The crown should be yours. Or if not yours, your son's."
Rhaenys looked at her mother's face, her heart splitting. "I know. But Father would never have wanted me to fight with the sons of Baelon and Alyssa. Hear me now-" she turned to the rest of the lords at the table. Celtigar. Tarth. Bar Emmon. Massey. "The time for warring between blood and kin may come, that is true. But it is not now and it is not ever going to be in the names of me or my children. Am I clear?"
Voices mumbled in reluctant assent. The Baratheons looked like they were moments from causing a war on their own, the Tarth's looked mollified, and the Celtigars looked mostly unimpressed.
Jocelyn swallowed back her words, sitting straight. Her face was wane and her posture stiff. But she still nodded, firstly to Rhaenys, and then to Viserys. "If that is your will, my daughter. My princess. I will kneel to Viserys, if it is your choice."
"It is not. There is no choice, truly." Rhaenys thought to herself. But she still held her head high and looked to the Lords loyal to her. As if her glance had swayed them entirely, eh of the Lords turned to Viserys, rose, and bowed.
Daemon clapped, a noise that jolted one or two people out of the tense moment. "Then that's it! Long may he reign, Viserys, First of his name, King of the Andals and- fucking hell you know how it goes."
Viserys ignored his brother, looking at Rhaenys with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, cousin. I will remember the loyalty and gallantry of House Velaryon - and those loyal to them -" he looked to the Lords, "for as long as I am king."
"And may that be for a long time." Daemon said, stretching and hopping out of his chair. "If we have to deal with another succession crisis anytime soon, I'd rather Caraxes eat me here and now."
"If only." mumbled someone, possibly one of Corlys's brothers.
Before Daemon could react to that, Viserys grabbed his brother by the arm. He smiled, a smile that did not truly meet his eyes.
"I must get back to Aemma. She is abed with the child. This one is strong and hardy. May the Gods bless us with another child as hale as Rhaenyra." He said, a wistful tone to his voice.
A murmur of "By the Seven" by those who followed the New Gods, and "By the Gods" by those who stubbornly worshiped the Old.
Rhaenys watched as Viserys left, almost dragging Daemon behind him. He looked both too young and older than his years would allow. As if the sky was pressing down on him.
She hoped that the child that Aemma carried would be strong and healthy, and that Aemma would heal in time. The part of her that always longed for a little sister had found it's home with the Arryn girl.
"Please may she be safe. Please may she win her battle. Please may they have a son, so that all of this turmoil can be avoided for another few generations." She prayed. She was not entirely sure to which Gods she was praying by she hoped they heard.
They did not, as life would play out. The Gods would not interfere. They would not help. They would only stand by and watch.
But one person in the room would help by watching, although he was too young to understand what was happening. Laenyx looked to his mother, his eyes wide and fathomless. The dragon he was drawing was no longer red.
It was green.