Work Text:
“I hope you do not mean to use her as an example.”
Rhaenyra was staring at the yellowing pages of a tome without any true understanding of what was on it or where she was for a few moments before the voice snapped her out of it.
The world comes back to her in but a mere fraction of a moment, too fast to truly register anything other than the words on the page that she was staring at, an expert on Queen Visenya.
“Why shouldn't I?” She snaps, enraged, before thinking it through.
Despite how the answer was less thought out than she preferred, Rhaenyra stood by it. What was so wrong with using Queen Visenya as an example? She was a conqueror, a warrior and a dragonrider.
Her righteous indignation is cut short when she realises that the voice belonged to a stranger who was standing entirely too close to be proper.
Rhaenyra would have called for guards or continued being indignant when he started laughing at her response as if what she said was some great jest if she wasn't so utterly confused.
At his presence, yes, but also at the babe held so lovingly in his arms.
He looked at her, fondly, she thinks surprised. He was wearing fine black clothes with a red cloak pinned to one shoulder and his face was unnervingly familiar, as if she had met him in a dream before but has no recollection of it now.
The boy, for he was just that, was mayhaps her age. He cannot be older than six and ten at the most.
He had dark hair like that of Princess Rhaenys and had the same proud bearing even with a babe in his arms. Rhaenyra might have thought him to be her cousin's son if she didn't know that Princess Rhaenys had no son that took after her in colouring.
Rhaenyra didn't know any other Targaryens who had dark hair. She didn't know any other Targaryens aside from her father, uncle and cousins at all.
It took her a while to notice that she was not in the Red Keep. No, she was in Dragonstone. But she went to sleep in… she stopped short.
“Is this a dream?”
Rhaenyra has had those sorts of dreams before where she realised she was dreaming. That makes more sense than an unknown man being in her private chambers.
“Something like that.” He answers her with a smile so fond and familiar it brings tears to her eyes. She knows that smile. It was her mother's smile.
He had moved in front of her rather than stay at her side and he kept bouncing the babe while cooing to the bundle. She noticed that he looked at the babe with the same loving eyes as he looked at Rhaenyra.
It surprised Rhaenyra. She rarely saw men enamored with babes. She wasn't interested in babes herself if they weren't her mother's.
Dark hair, she thinks. Like Princess Rhaenys. Like her mother.
If it is a dream… could it be?
“Are you Jahaerys?” She asks, suddenly desperate to be right.
He would be the same age as her brother should he have lived. Rhaenyra was a babe herself when her brother left this world, she didn't remember him. She didn't remember, didn't know, to be truthful whether he had the dark hair of their mother's family.
Is the babe Baelon, then? Is he looking after their little brother in Balerion’s realm?
“So close.” He smiles at her, mischievously. It confuses her but she could not be angry at him when he smiles at her with her mother's smile. With Rhaenyra’s face, she realised in wonder. Would her brothers have looked just like her if they lived?
“And before you ask, this is not Baelon. Neither am I Jahaerys.”
Before she could question him he comes closer to her and shows him the bundle held ever so carefully in his arms. It makes her feel inadequate. She does not think being so parental would come to her as easily as it comes to this boy.
“This is Visenya.” He says before she can ask. Rhaenyra looks at the girl, with a face adorned by scars reminiscent of dragon scales, fine silver hair and the smallest face she has ever seen cradled lovingly in her father's arms. The boy must be her father to love her so.
“Is she not the most beautiful girl you have ever seen?” The question only solidified her assumption. It is the same kind of remark that her father makes of Rhaenyra.
For some reason she cannot yet understand, she agrees with him. She is the most beautiful girl Rhaenyra has ever seen. She tells him as much to his absolute joy.
Rhaenyra does not remember reading Queen Visenya having marks upon her face. None of the tapestries or paintings show her with them. But then again, she had imagined Aerion Targaryen as silver haired as the conqueror.
She supposes it is her own fault, for assuming, for not caring who Lord Aerion’s mother was, or Lord Daemion’s mother for that matter .All those poor women, forgotten in favour of lords. One of them might have been dark haired even if they had dragonblood by virtue of either their sire or dam possessing the same. Lord Aerion did sire Orys Baratheon, did he not? Mayhaps their black hair comes from him.
Rhaenyra should scour the library in Dragonstone for more information.
She supposes it is as possible for the three conquerors to have none of their mother, the lady Valaena Velaryon's colouring as it is for Lord Aerion to lack his father's colouring. He might only favour his mother, or mayhaps it was Lord Daemion's mother who gave her son and grandson their dark locks.
Though, given that none of Alyssa Velaryon's children or grandchildren seemed to inherit her colouring, as few of them as Rhaenyra knew, mayhaps Velaryon blood does not run as thick as Targaryen blood.
Or, she could just ask him.
Before she could question him properly, he starts talking. It is a little unfair, she thinks, that she is in the presence of the conqueror's father and a little Queen Visenya and not be allowed to sate her curiosity.
“You will be the first Queen Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms.” He states.
He says it as a fact. Unquestionable. It soothes something she didn't know needed soothing.
If her own father does not see fit to reassure her position, then she might as well get it from the conqueror's father.
She does not hide her pleased smile when she nods at him.
“You must understand” he starts pacing and soothing the babe when she fusses. “that any children your father has will be a threat to your claim.”
Rhaenyra does not like that. Even if true, to call her father's children, her own brothers and sisters a threat is making her feel uncomfortable.
Lord Aerion once again does not allow her to so much as make an excuse. That her father would never allow it, that her blood would never turn against her. She feels she must defend her brothers and sisters who are yet to exist from these accusations.
‘The men would sooner put the realm to the torch before they allow a woman to sit on the throne.’ She remembers Princess Rhaenys telling her, warning her.
“You must ensure that no such claims could ever be entertained. It is not only your reign that is at risk, but our entire House, our family and all future Queens as well.” He looks at her with blazing eyes. If she didn't feel so inexplicably safe in his presence, Rhaenyra feels she would have hardly been able to listen to his words from fear of being incinerated by the fire in his eyes.
For a single moment, she feels nothing but resentment. Of course, it isn't enough to have the weight of the realm on her shoulders. She must also bear the weight of their legacy.
He walks closer to her then. All through this, he never once holds little Visenya any firmer or tighter than he has at the beginning. She sleeps through his fervent demands of Rhaenyra. She wonders if this is what shaped the conquerors. These demands, to safeguard their legacy. To ensure that no threat remains to their power.
If she is to be shaped by anyone, then she would consider herself nothing short of blessed for being the one to receive Lord Aerion’s ardent influence.
“Alicent Hightower and her father will raise her sons to steal your throne. They will be the end of our house.”
For a long moment, when even he does not say anything, only stares at her clearly searching for something in her face, Rhaenyra does not understand her ancestor’s meaning. What does Alicent or her sons have to do with their family? Their legacy? Her throne?
Hightowers have no claim to the throne, despite what the Lord Hand seems to think. Then all at once she takes his meaning. Alicent’s sons won't be Hightowers, not unless she married her cousin. Her sons would have their father's name. And there is only one world where they would be the end of their house, where they would have any right to even attempt the theft of her throne.
She violently rejects the idea.
“No.” She hisses at him.
Rhaenyra steps back from his intense eyes. They turn, to her chagrin, disappointed.
He stays where he is, giving her the sorely needed distance. It makes no sense. Alicent is the daughter of a second son. She has already given her father the permission to marry Laena. It is his duty, as hurtful as it is to her.
It is his duty to bring the Velaryons back into the fold.
Unless Otto has somehow convinced her father that marrying his daughter is the only right choice. She has seen it so many times in the Small Council meetings. Her father, dancing to his hand’s tune. She wants to think Rhaenyra herself putting her friend forth as an option might bring the same conclusion, but she knows better. He won't listen to her. Certainly not about whom to take as his bride.
When she looks back at Aerion again, he is already looking at her. The disappointment in his face has been carefully hidden but she knows it is there. His face is far too familiar to her to not catch it in his gaze.
“Alicent would not betray me.” She tells him. He must be wrong. This need not even be true. She is not being visited by the conqueror's father. She is dreaming of something that makes no sense at all. Mayhaps she was reading about Queen Visenya when she fell asleep.
His smile cannot be called one. It is so bitter Rhaenyra feels it in her own mouth. She ignores the urge to swallow.
He shakes his head, as if physically shaking off the upset.
“It does not matter.” She wants to protest, was it not him that claimed that it mattered enough to end their house? “Any children your father sires upon any wife is a threat to your claim. Their families will want them on the throne and the insipid lords of the realm will support them as long as it gets them that much closer to the throne especially if they are boys.”
This, she can admit, is simply the truth. But they have sworn oaths to her, haven't they? They did not do so for Princess Rhaenys. That was a completely different situation. As long as her father does not disinherit her, none of their opinions matter.
Aerion speaks as if he heard the thought aloud.
“They will forget their oaths when your father is dead. You must understand this. If you want your throne, if you want to keep your children alive, you must ascend the throne with no opposition.”
There is a lot she must contend with in that statement but all she could ask was the first thing that came to her mind.
“Am I supposed to become a kinslayer to keep the throne?” It had horrified her, to come to this conclusion. But what else did he mean, when he said that her father's children will take her throne and kill her children?
Rhaenyra cannot imagine having children but if she did, she would not want them to be killed for her throne. Aerion paints a very bleak picture. One she can hardly imagine but she does not feel the same need to be defensive as she was to Princess Rhaenys.
Might be that it is just a dream. Rhaenyra finds it difficult to convince herself of this while looking at Aerion's face. There is so much sorrow on his face that she looks away for fear of it spreading to her. She was grieving her mother but Aerion's sorrow felt immeasurable, something she could not possibly imagine.
“Or you could make it so that none will be born to your father but yourself.” He answers.
She blinks. How could she possibly make that happen?
Again, he answers as though he heard the question. Mayhaps he did. Is that how dreams are?
“Your father's wives are not your kin. I would advise you to be discreet, to make it so that they passed from a disease or the other. You needn't be disinherited for killing leeches.”
Aerion says this with so little care that it sends a shiver down her spine. So callous and yet, one might not have suspected him of saying such a horrendous thing if they could not hear his words, for he was once again looking at his daughter so lovingly.
This is the man who raised Visenya Targaryen, she reminds herself.
“I will not spend my life killing my father's wives.” She says.
“You will.” He states, his eyes hard enough that not even disappointment slips through. “if you want the throne. If you want your children to live.”
Again, her children are being the victims of his imaginations.
“My children–”
“Your children will be killed. One by one. Your enemies will not hesitate.” Here, he finally holds his daughter closer to his chest. As if he is imagining someone trying to take her from him.
Rhaenyra finds herself tongue tied. She wants to argue. She will not allow it.
But is that not what he is asking her to do? To not allow her enemies to kill her children? As nerve wracking as it is to imagine herself having even one child, she finds it far worse to imagine that child torn from her arms and dead at the hands of those who might want her power.
Aerion’s stare softens. He steps forward, closer to her. Close enough to touch but Rhaenyra does not move. Not once during this conversation has she felt uncomfortable in his presence. He raises one hand to her face, as if to hold her face but does not touch her. Still, his hand is so close to her face it burns.
His eyes are so soft now. Loving, she thinks. She cannot imagine why, cannot understand why she might look so much like an ancestor so many times her senior. But something compels her to stay just where she is, to let him look upon her as long as he likes, even if it is confusing to have that intensity of love turned towards her by a stranger.
Anyone else and she might have run, she thinks.
“Your claim will always be in question.” He starts, once again, at a horrifying truth. “You must be wary of everyone. Do not trust the lords to keep their oaths. You must ensure that it will be you who sit the throne after your father, you must pave the path to your power if they refuse to, as is your right.”
She listens, because there is naught else to do but listen.
“Join your claim with your uncle's and your cousins’. Whether by your marriage or your children's. You will need every single advantage.”
She nods. She carefully does not mention Daemon or marriage. Does not want to think about childish fancies that she knows won't come true despite whatever fondness they may have for one another.
“You will be Queen.” He says with so much confidence, devotion, that she cannot help but believe him. “But you should know that it will be harder for you than anyone else and you cannot afford to simply wait for them to keep their word. Assume they will all betray you, but don't let them know it.”
She decides that it is sound advice but she has also been at court for so long, she already knew that. No one is to be trusted. They all want the power that comes with being associated with her, even when she was only a princess. Her only true friend was Alicent. She tries not to think about what Aerion told her.
He steps back, finally letting her breathe. His presence affected her as though the force that kept her on the ground had suddenly decided to move into him. How could a stranger be what kept her, what grounded her?
“Oh,” he says, suddenly looking young, looking his age, with a mischievous smile that tugged at her heart. “kill Otto Hightower and Larys Strong for me, would you?”
She blinked at that sudden change, only to open her eyes to the canopy of her bed in the Red Keep.
She thinks about the dream, thinks of Aerion all throughout the day. It was ridiculous. She did not have Lord Aerion Targaryen visit her in her dreams. She was simply too tired and scared of the prospect of her father remarrying and Princess Rhaenys’ warning. That is all.
She only needs a good night's rest.
She thinks of him, of little Visenya while pouring the wine in the small council chambers. She thinks of his intense gaze, of his loving hands around his daughter, of her mother's smile on him. That, more than anything, proves that it was only a dream. How could he have her mother's smile?
She is so preoccupied in her reimagining of his features , some of which has already started escaping her mind, a common occurrence for dreams, that she missed Alicent entering with her father and the rest of the small council.
Even when she registers her friend, all she can think of is how tiny Visenya was, she thinks even Baelon was bigger than her. But she lived, she had fussed even though it was unnatural for a babe to be so silent considering how she nor Aerion had not taken care to speak in low voices. Should she not have woken up at the racket they made?
She spends far too much time thinking of Aerion and Visenya that she almost misses her father's proclamation.
Almost.
“I have decided to take a new wife… I intend to marry the Lady Alicent Hightower.”
Rhaenyra stands through Corlys Velaryon's anger. She feels her blood boiling, her rage pooling at the back of her throat that she refuses to open her mouth for fear of burning everything down.
There are too many thoughts in her mind to make heads or tails of it, but all she can think of looking at Alicent's guilty face and Otto’s smug one is a single correction of a statement she made in a dream that may or may not have been real.
I will spend my life killing my father's wives.