symeon baratheon, mockingly called “the piebald doe”, for the white spots marking his skin and the girlish features so unusual for the men of his house. although one of the best archers of his generation, symeon oft preferred the solitude of nature and companionship of old poetry books. he is mostly remembered as an afterthought, as his older brother was the famous laughing storm, lyonel baratheon. there are tales of symeon’s close friendship with ser duncan the tall, some even mention the infamous prince daeron, but most are disregarded as silly rumours (akotsk oc)
prints + merch + c0mm1ssion info pinned to profile :D
Aerion hates kids, except his own. He would commit unspeakable acts for their sake. Rye seems to have a talent for giving him healthy boys.
She's happy and adores their boys, but she never wore anything except black since Baelor died.
Maegor is a sweet, gentle, little thing, despite his namesake. Maelor is named after Maekar and Baelor. Maekar II was born in Westeros after Maekar lifted Aerion's exile.
i have 1 billion.
any era of the targs i have a bunch but they r only thoughts in my head,, , or just ideas i have for one specific scenario that i play out in my head before i go to sleep
i havent drawn many of them but been thinking about my d&e era targ lately for obvious reasons.... he is the son of rhaegel targaryen and alys arryn..... he started off as a joke bc of rhaegel's kids names being super similar that i slapped in maelor to fit in the absurdity, but then,, , he grew on me
third kid born around 196 AC after the twins, quiet kid, everyone thinks hes weird like his papa despite just being shy and bookish :( he gets sent to the citadel to become a maester along with his cousin aemon, the citadel suited their temperament well and grandpa said so!!!
aemon and maelor are tight 🤞 forging their chains together, a little less alone and far from home in the halls of the citadel together i imagine he was pretty close with his cousins in general during his childhood before leaving for the citadel, but didn't get to know a lot of them in adulthood because of most of them died :-I
then all his family starts dying and its rough, being away from everyone and suddenly ur uncle is dead, ur cousin is dead, ur other cousin is dead, ur grandpa is dead, ur dad is dead, ur brother is dead, ur sister is dead, and then ur other uncle dies... he is just still committed to the citadel path, while he watches his family disintegrate from a distance.
he is passed when it comes to succession due to him on the maesters path; the line moves on to uncle maekar....but some time after this, during maekar's reign, maelor having forged several links but not yet taken his final vows makes the decision his cousin aemon ultimately would not: he leaves the citadel before completing his studies and not fully forging his chain and rejoins the world as a prince of the realm
lowk is like maekars labubu when he rejoins court, maekar at this point has lost his brothers, and all of nephews bar maelor that he is the last link to his brother rhaegel who maekar was fond of. maekar is not indulgent or soft with him but similarly fond, in a way that is unmistakable. maelor barely knew his father in the way a son might. what maelor understood of his father came partly from other's accounts and partly from a child's memory of a man who was kind, if not present in any functional sense. maekar becomes something close to a second father for him more present, more comprehensible than rhaegel ever was.
Summary: Aerion and his wife are expecting, in his madness the prince tries to prepare you for the birth of what he believes to be a dragon babe.
word count: 1700
Masterlist
Somewhere along the way Aerion Targaryen had fallen into madness. One touch and it spread like wildfire, consuming him completely. You, as his beloved, fuelled this flame and in turn his insanity. He wasn’t all bad, sometimes if you look deep enough you can still find the silver haired boy you were betrothed to all those years ago. So you kept loving him. Accepting his tormented mind with open arms and swollen belly, growing fast with what he believed was an actual dragon. Clawing to be freed.
When he had first come across the beast hiding within his wife's stomach, Aerion was rightfully concerned, what else would it be but a dragon babe? Only you were not of Targaryen blood, a fault of yours he had also accepted, seeing that you were the only one he trusted would not lie to him.
All his life people, even now, people pretend. They cannot see the dragon that is Aerion Targeryen, but he was sure he could show them, especially now. He just had to make sure you were strong enough to survive the birth of a new age. Starting with bringing you red meats, slabs of prey barely touched by fire, still dripping in blood.
He would watch proudly by your bedside as you feasted on his catch, having hunted the buck freshly for you just past the witching hour, believing fate would show him a suitable offering for his beloved wife and their dragon babe.
You were concerned of course but understood this is what he believed he needed to do, regardless of how deluded it may seem, it was a way for him to positively express devotion to you. It shouldn’t be too harmful if it made him happy, having learnt long ago it was better to allow Aerion to be Aerion. Otherwise the flames would build up and result in some unfortunate servant losing an eye...or worse.
The prince also began to stalk you closely in the halls, not that you could walk much anymore, it took a week of encouragement to convince him to simply march beside you rather than behind. Though this meant you had to frame the request as a plea for help, being more cautious of attacks to your front in fear of the baby’s safety. From then on Aerion walked next to you, offering his arm as a perch for when your ankles begin to ache.
Late at night he would speak to your belly, head laying on your breasts lightly as he curled around you, facing his heir. Feeling for strong kicks and movement. He would mutter to himself in high valerian, then enunciate when addressing the babe directly, or so you assumed.
Having only picked up a couple of words from his alternative vocabulary.
“What are you telling our baby?” Your fingers run through his hair slowly, scratching nicely down to the nape of his neck, making him melt ever deeper into your flesh. He responds with a low hum, captivated by the movement within your womb.
“You sound like you are conspiring against me down there” His head turns, hand still resting on your bump as if to guard it, pale purple eyes staring deeply into your own. “I am saying that they will be strong, that they have the blood of dragons.” He repeats it to himself quietly, as if to convince himself and force it into truth.
“They are strong, Aerion. I can feel it, they will be mighty.”
Those words fix themselves to the walls of his mind, he liked that, a crooked grin slowly spreading across his lips. “Mighty. Yes, they will be mighty. Grow bigger than Balerion, breathe fire that will melt stone.” His hands explore the outline of his hatchling, running his callused hands over bare skin until he reaches something strange, a scar. It was thick and long, carved down by your side, his finger traced it curiously.
“What is this?”
“A stretch, the babe will leave its mark before the birthing has begun.” He stills for a moment, head still cushioned between your swollen breasts “Will you have more?” Breathing a small sigh of relief, he would not be disgusted at the sight of it. Though you knew Aerion would never.
He’d happily insult any trollish smallfolk or the hideous wretches within the castle walls, but any imperfection that graced his wife was seen as an addition to her magnificence. After all, the bride of a dragon would surely be a treasure, his prized jewel. “I wouldn’t be surprised, not if we were to have more than one dragon of our own.” Aerion sat up, looming over you for a good minute before deciding to lean down and trap you in a consuming kiss, on that spread bright coals to your cheeks, making it hard to breath under the heat. “We will make more, until you grow tired of carrying them”
The next day the Maesters did their usual poking and prodding, confirming that you were fit to travel for lord Ashford’s torney, one meant to celebrate his daughter's nameday. Aerion refused to ride in the carriage with you and Aegon, choosing to ride closely beside in case of an attack.
The man was not paranoid in his mind, nor was he worried, Aerion preferred to see it as him protecting the future, his duty as a prince of the realm and as a husband. Egg was a sweet boy, happy to tell you all about his lessons that morning and his horse riding with Daeron. Though he seemed nervous to squire, eager, but still scared. He left soon after to travel with the oldest brother.
It was late in the afternoon that your arrival was announced, Aerion dismounting and aided your walk to the hovel of a castle his family were forced to reside in for the next week or so. Maekar grumbling behind you both to Baelor.
Your arrival meant a welcoming party. To your left was Aerion and to your right was ser Androw Ashford, the son of your gracious host. He was loud, drunk before the ale had been poured. “Here, a glass for the princess. Might I say you are glowing my lady.” The boy slides a heavy glass in front of you, one that Aerion is quick to hand over to Daeron on his other side.
The older prince accepts gratefully, sensing the rise in tension. “The princess will not drink.” Foolishly, the boy persists. Beginning to raise the goblet to your lips, practically shoving it in your face. “Nonesense, the wine will dampen the pains, here I insist.” His hand reaches down to steal the rumoured luck one can receive from rubbing the stomach of a pregnant woman. As if to add another count to a laundry list of charges, his unsteady hand spills a drop of the red liquid onto the crown of your belly.
Aerion had been to every one of the maesters sessions, not only because he didn’t trust them, but because he saw how much you dreaded them. You loathed people touching you, especially your stomach, it seems everyone believed they had the right to do so.
Aerion knew that you were simply too yourself to say anything, he believed that by accompanying you it was his duty and would set a good example for his heir. 'How to tell old maesters to fuck off when needed'. During such sessions the maesters had provided a number of things known to have negative effects during pregnancy, especially alcohol.
This lowborn shit was trying to kill his wife and unborn child, Aerion believed that deserved an appropriate form of punishment, a lesson for the lord's young son.
This all happens so slowly in Aerion’s eyes, he felt so calm before it happened. Taking out his blade, then using his other hand. The prince bats the drink from the ser’s hands, staining the stone floors. Then using the sharpened point of his blade, Aerion skewers the offending hand, pinning it down against the table so heavily it shows through the other end. Locked the limb into place.
The other man squeals, writhing in pain, kneeling before the Valaryen, unable to voice his plea for forgiveness. Aerion does not move, fist turned white from the amount of force used to clutch his weapon. Daeron acts next, pulling your chair back by the arm rests and out of any immediate danger. Freckles of blood had been painted across your face in the havoc, you watched as Aerion twisted his blade, leaning down to repeat his message. “The princess will not drink.”
“Fucks sake, Aerion.” Your husband is then pulled off the lordling by Maekar himself, dragged out by his collar while Daeron escorted you back to your chambers, attempting to catch some of the droplets with his sleeve before they dried fully.
Your husband returned to you later that night, quieter than usual with a grazed cheek. He kneeled over you, eyes lingering on your face, over the bow of your lips. Then he began counting each one of your lashes for both eyes. Opening them, you’re greeted with such a sight.
“I am a dragon.” He stated, as if he were telling you the sky was blue or rocks would sink in water. So you responded how you always had. “Yes, you are.” Aerion lays down, facing you with a hand gravitating towards your belly. “You believe me.” He smiled softly, it was strange seeing him like this, in a limbo state, bridging towards normality. “Yes. You just need to escape, Aerion, you've told me this.”
“I will drink wildfire and we will fly together.” He wasn’t talking about your child for once, he wanted to take you with him, it was almost sweet. “What if the dragon babe fears heights?" you matched his smile, encouraging this pleasant string of dreams. “Then I will teach them to not be afraid.” It was all so simple to him, no one makes sense to him as much as himself.
