What if Daemon Targaryen married Cregan Stark’s sister instead of Rhea Royce? What if instead of murdering her, she died in childbirth…giving birth to you.
Y/n Targaryen, a dragon raised by wolves. You grew up knowing only the North as your home, Cregan acting as your mentor and elder brother throughout your life.
Now you have been summoned to join the court of Viserys Targaryen a few years after the grueling incidents on Driftmark with no knowledge of why. A Stark rides South at the behest of a King.
Small Note: I am switching from third person to second person because I have recently become more comfortable in that format, I hope this does not hinder your reading experience but enhances it! Thank you for your understanding, and enjoy this chapter!
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
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The next morning you broke your fast alone, enjoying lounging in your bedchamber a moment longer than usual. Tohrren was curled beside you in the bed, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with the beat of your heart. Comforts cannot last forever, and as you finished your meal there was a knock at your door.
“Come,” You permissed, wiping your mouth with a delicate touch. Lysana entered, her face slightly paler than usual, and more gaunt.
“Lysana, are you well?” You questioned, Tohrren’s head rising at the sudden intrusion.
“Yes, my lady.” She answered curtly, hurrying to your bedside.
“A raven has come for you, from the Prince Daemon.” Ah, so that was why she looked as if the Stranger himself had visited.
“I see, thank you.” You took the letter from her, unceremoniously breaking the wax seal which held the Targaryen sigil on it.
“Also, the Queen has requested your presence, so that the tailor may fit you for your dress.” A second reason why Lysana might have come down with a sudden affliction of the disposition.
“My dress?” You hummed, beginning to read the first words which were written messily in black ink.
“Yes, my lady, your wedding dress.” That gave you pause, your eyes not making it past the ‘Dearest Daughter,’ which was scrawled at the top of the correspondence.
“Oh, right, of course. Send someone to tell her I will be down shortly, I would like for you to assist me this morning.” You ordered, Lysana curtsying quickly.
“At once,” She nodded, leaving your room to carry out your wishes. When she left you continued reading, vision becoming red the further you delved into the letter.
‘Dearest Daughter,
It has come to my attention that you are to be wed, to none other than the one-eyed prince. Congratulations are in order, daughter, not only for that but for your taming of the wild beast of the south. I am eager to see what will come of this, and although I regret my inability to be there for her taming, I am pleased to give you away in a month's time. Though I would have wished to be privy to your betrothal, I support the King’s decision in this matter, as does your good-mother Rhaenyra. See you soon, sweetling.
Best regards,
Prince Daemon Targaryen’
How dare he? How dare he write you such a letter? Has he such little care for you that he would not even object to this betrothal happening beneath his nose? Does he think so little of you that he only writes when you finally possess the power of a dragon? You grind your teeth together before crumpling up the letter and slamming it on your bedside table, regaining your composure in time for Lysana to return, closing the door gently behind her. You got up from bed, Tohrren following suit with a long yawn. You chose your dress based on its ability to be removed and leave you in your shift, something you knew would be required later if your dress was to fit correctly. It was a simple gown, coloured the same grey as the stone pillars which held up Winterfell. The only details on it were lighter grey dragons which danced upon the ends of your sleeves and skirts, chasing each other round and round for eternity.
“My lady.” Was all Lysana said to indicate she was finished with your hair, eyes locking with yours through the vanity. It had been a quiet morning, both of you barely speaking as she helped you into your day cloth. She had put your hair into a simple braided updo, something which a tailor could easily maneuver around.
“Lysana, I’ve wondered,” You began, “Your name, it is northern. Are you from the North?”
“My mother was northern,” Lysana chuckled, cheeks full of red blood once again.
“She moved to Kingslanding after my father had courted her whilst on his travels, and I was born a half year later.” She admitted, brushing a stray piece of her dark waved hair from her face.
“Your father must have been quite the man to entice a northern woman to come south.” You laughed, rising from your seat.
“Aye, that he was.” Looking upon Lysana you wondered what her parents must have looked like, her father must have given Lysana her tanned skin, browned from nature and years of the southern sun. Her freckles were certainly inherited from her mother, small spots dotting the expanse of her face and no doubt entire body. Lysana’s hair was anyone’s guess, but now that you surveyed her closer you realized that her eyes gave her away. They often did with people, you concluded. Hers were an icy grey, like that which only a northerner could pass to their child.
“They were certainly beautiful.” You smiled, brushing the other stray piece of hair which Lysana had not touched. The older woman looked to the floor, shaking her head.
“You flatter me, my lady.”
“I speak the truth, now come, we mustn’t keep the Queen waiting.” You sighed, whistling so that Tohrren came to heal at your side. The walk to the chamber which held the Queen and her court of ladies was short, shorter than you would have liked. You enjoyed the peace in walking through the keep, watching the everyday routines of servants and nobles alike as they scurried through the hallowed halls. Tohrren was taken by one of your men to be fed and exercised, the hound eagerly following him at the insinuation of food, and of course your command.
“Y/n.” Alicent was the first to acknowledge you as the doors opened, the Queen standing up and the rest of the ladies following swiftly.
“Your grace,” You curtsied deeply as she approached, Lysana blending with the wall as she joined the rest of the handmaidens who waited by the edge of the chamber.
“Come, I must introduce you to my ladies.” Alicent smiled, linking her arm with yours. She brought you before a tall lady with striking red hair, her face slender like her body. She wore a light green dress, as the other ladies did, which did not help you and your curiosity as to their respective houses.
“Lady Talya,” Alicent commented, Talya curtsying. You nodded in response, moving to the next lady alongside the Queen.
“Lady Edeline,” The next woman was younger and plumper, most of her weight being held in her face and her breasts, which if not for her loose corset would have been spilling from her low cut neckline. She had a pale complexion similar to Talya, only her hair was a bright blonde which in the light of the streaming sun appeared to glow.
“Lady Sarisa,” This woman was the oldest of the group, but the only way you knew that was by the grey streaks which shot through her black hair like lightning. Her skin was barely wrinkled and held the same brown of a healthy tree’s bark, kind eyes regarding you with genuine interest.
“And Lady Melinda.” The final lady held herself with an elegance which commanded respect, her sea green eyes complimented by the mirrored colour of her dress. Her hair was a shade which reminded you of the brown fur of a field mouse, caramelled skin complimented with the occasional beauty mark.
“It is a pleasure to meet all of you.” You remarked as Alicent sat back down, the ladies following suit while you were led to stand on a small platform in front of them. You looked down at them as your fitting began, and just as you had predicted you were made to strip to your thin shift.
“My, what a wonderful shape you have, Lady Y/n.” Edeline gasped, taking a bite out of the biscuit she had grabbed from the servant beside her.
“Yes, your son will be pleased for the rest of his days.” Sarisa teased, the ladies giggling at her comment.
“Oh hush, Sarisa, you will send the girl fleeing back to Winterfell.” Alicent waved, although she did let out a small chuckle.
“I do not mind, your grace. I am glad that you all think I have such beauty, the gods have gifted me many things, including my ‘shape’.” You grinned, raising your arms so that the tailor could get around them.
“So, we hear that you got yourself a dragon whilst in the Maidenswood?” Melinda probed, taking a long sip from her goblet.
“It is true, the dragon Crownstealer is now my mount.” You confirmed, pride bubbling up in your chest.
“Crownstealer, what a fearsome name! I could never even think to approach a beast with such a title.” Edeline shook her head, resting her hand upon her chest.
“Yes, the name does strike a certain chord within one's mind.” Talya agreed, and you nodded slowly.
“It does, doesn’t it? You know, I was thinking of giving her a new name but perhaps Crownstealer deserves to keep her fearsome reputation.” You wondered aloud, the other ladies all saying something in agreement.
“Just as well, it would cost a small fortune to rewrite her name in the history books.” Alicent joked. The afternoon came and went, slowly bleeding into the early evening as the ladies were dismissed, leaving you and the Queen as the last two in the room — aside from the tailor and servants, of course.
“I was informed that a raven came for you today, from your uncle I would assume?” The Queen searched your gaze as you were assisted back into your dress.
“No, your grace — ” You began, but Alicent was quick to interrupt.
“Please, when we are away from the eyes of court you may call me aunt.” She smiled softly.
“Of course, as I was saying t’was not a raven from my uncle, t’was a raven from my father.” You admitted, and if the Queen had any thoughts on the matter her face did not show it.
“He congratulated me on my taming of Crownstealer and my betrothal. He plans to give me away on the day of our wedding.”
“Ah, so that means the Princess will also be in attendance then.” Alicent said quietly, as if she were saying the statement to herself.
“Yes, I believe so, along with my half-sisters and cousins.” The Queen’s smile was tense at that, taking your arm as she had a habit of doing since you arrived. You two walked from the room, trailed loosely by Ser Criston and Lysana.
“It will be a wonderful wedding, perhaps rivaling even that of mine and your uncle’s.” Alicent effused, trailing off into how she pictured the wedding.
“The King has arranged for only the best, it is to be held under the light of the seven in the Dragonpit after seven days of revelry,” Eventually the Queen’s words drifted into fuzzy ramblings, your mind elsewhere when your eyes locked with one from across the hall. Aemond leaned against the wall, his one eye trained on your approaching form. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, which itself was constricted lightly by his black tunic.
“Aemond.” Alicent said when she saw him, pulling his head down so she could place a chaste kiss upon his forehead.
“My prince.” You curtsied, Aemond taking your hand and kissing it firmly.
“Betrothed.” You smirked. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how he mostly referred to you as ‘Betrothed’ since it was announced.
“May I speak to Lady Y/n?” Aemond phrased it as a question, but his gaze let it be known that he was telling his mother that he was going to speak with you.
“Of course, my love. Till we next meet, Y/n.” Alicent nodded, Criston following at her heels like an obedient puppy. Lysana stayed a respectable distance, close enough she could chaperone but far enough she could not hear the hushed words which were exchanged.
“Do you want for anything, my lady?” Aemond asked, offering you his arm. You took it without quarrel, taking a moment before answering him
“I want for a great many things. I want for the realm to stay at peace, I want for my riding gear, I want for the other ladies at court to fling themselves from their balconies when they realize their weddings will never compare to mine.” Aemond could not hold back the giggle which erupted from his body, the prince clearing his throat to hide his outburst.
“I do not jest, Y/n.” Aemond countered, leading you confidently from corridor to corridor.
“Neither do I, Aemond.” You smirked, although in the following silence you truly considered his question.
“I suppose I want for my…my father, as much as it pains me to admit.” You hesitated, gaging Aemond’s reaction to your honesty.
“How so?” He looked down at you, sharp gaze analyzing every movement of your face.
“My mother died in the childbed, and my uncle was there for me as no one has been, along with your half-sister, but a girl can only live so long without the attention of her father who she knows is but a sea away.” You remembered your girlhood well, how you wrote to your father and he would write back months later, how you would give your innocent heart to him and he would bleed it out upon the inked paper.
“It is hard to have a father who cares not if you live or die.” You sighed, looking up at the prince. His eye was wide, brows furrowed and mouth in a thin line.
“I apologize, my prince, I do not expect you to understand — ”
“Do not apologize, your father is a fool.” Aemond hissed, leading you to the gardens of the keep.
“To ignore a lady such as yourself is an action which only a fool would make, and it is obvious to everyone at court that Daemon Targaryen is more than a fool. He is a craven, cunt of a — ”
“Careful how you speak, Aemond. The man is still my father.” You warned. You were allowed to speak of Daemon as you wished. He, however, was not.
“I apologize, my lady, forgive my insolence.” Aemond was quick to cave, running a hand through his long silver locks which fell loose and straight to his shoulders.
“It is only that I understand what it is like, that is, to want for a father.” The words held weight to them, a weight which Aemond had yet to lift off his chest and give to you thus far. You did not respond, allowing for Aemond to take his time as he formulated the next words in his head.
“Kepi issi qopsa.” Father’s are difficult. Aemond said it with a finality that left no room for additional comments, instead continuing back to his original question as the two of you sat on an ornately carved bench.
“I have heard that you have an interest in the histories, and that you have read every tome in the North.” Aemond confessed, toying with the bush of silver seavipers which loomed behind you.
“You have heard correctly about the former, my Prince. I cannot say for certain I have read every tome in the North, but over the years I have tried.” You quipped, watching the way Aemond delicately plucked a shining flower from its stem.
“I would make you a gift of the citadel, if you wished it.” Aemond confessed. You searched Aemond’s eye for humour but found none, only a sincerity within it’s swirling lavender.
“I think I will settle for a visit, one day, perhaps — ” You took the seaviper from his loose hold, twirling it with your fingers, “ — with our children.”
Aemond’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of children, taking in a sharp breath.
“Then it shall be as you say.” He murmured, stealing back the viper only to place it in the crook where your ear met your skull. Your demure smile set not only his heart but his loins aflame, Aemond shifting subtly in his seat.
“In the meantime, I have a gift for you, come.” Aemond stood, holding out his waiting palm. You took it, following him as he led you through a part of the gardens you had yet to visit. Soon enough the two of you, plus Lysana a few leagues away, arrived at the entrance to a small greenhouse — at least, what in appearance was a greenhouse. When Aemond opened the door for you, you gasped, unable to contain your shock at the beauty before you. Blue winter roses climbed up the walls, which themselves were lined with shelves upon shelves of books, their bindings ranging from the histories of Westeros to the secrets of Asshai. In the middle of the room was a seating area, accompanied by a fireplace which did not burn due to the day’s warm sun. The architecture was identical to a typical northern greenhouse, complete with heavy elk hides lining the floors and white bear furs draped across the chairs.
“To my knowledge many of the books in this house have never seen light outside of the citadel,” Aemond began, walking into the bright space, “I thought it high time that their words were put to good use.”
You were at a loss, unable to form sentences as you ran your hand through one of the furs, blinking back at Aemond.
“You have done too much, Aemond!” Your statement was scolding but you laughed with delight, cheeks pushed as high as your smile would allow.
“I can never — t-this is —” You sputtered, the prince approaching you with assured steps.
“You needn’t do anything in return, that is why it is called a gift.” Aemond maintained, and in return you took his hands in yours, holding them against your chest.
“Kirimvose, ñuha jorrāelagon.” Thank you, my love. You beamed, restraining yourself from kissing him and sullying your lips before your vows.
In that moment, Aemond hoped that you would always look at him just as you were now.
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I hope I did not disappoint this chapter! Till next time my loves <33
What if Daemon Targaryen married Cregan Stark’s sister instead of Rhea Royce? What if instead of murdering her, she died in childbirth…giving birth to you.
Y/n Targaryen, a dragon raised by wolves. You grew up knowing only the North as your home, Cregan acting as your mentor and elder brother throughout your life.
Now you have been summoned to join the court of Viserys Targaryen a few years after the grueling incidents on Driftmark with no knowledge of why. A Stark rides South at the behest of a King.
What a familiar story.
Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist
The reader has set physical features such as eye and hair colour. The reader's skin colour is left ambiguous/when described uses the phrase “s/c” aka “skin colour”.
This story contains canon-typical behaviors and scenes! Viewer discretion is advised!
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Morgana Stark was said to be the finest beauty of the North, born years before Cregan Stark was even a whisper on her parents lips.
She was brown of hair, with soft features and steel-blue eyes which ensnared all who looked upon them. Morgana was a young girl of ten and two when she was betrothed by Queen Alysanne to Daemon Targaryen, the man being six years her senior when they were wed. They would not be made to consummate the marriage until summers later, but by then Daemon had already grown bored with his Northern bride.
Yes, she was beautiful, a fierce warrior, and well read enough that she took the time to learn the ancient language of his House; yet, that was not enough for the rogue prince. He needed more than the barren wastelands of the North, and so he abandoned her to return to the Crownlands.
Years passed and when he finally remembered his sweet Morgana he forced her to leave the North and join him, moving her Northern charm to the South.
It would not be long before Morgana was with child. After all, the seed of the dragon is strong. Morgana begged and pleaded with her husband to be allowed back to the North for her pregnancy, to be allowed back with her family and her people. Daemon pitied his poor Lady-wife and sent her North, but that would be the last time he would see her alive.
When Morgana arrived in Winterfell she became weak, her first pregnancy taking a toll on her body. Eventually Daemon received the raven that explained she could not be moved back down to Kingslanding due to her weakness, but he tossed it away all the same. Daemon had gotten his fun, he would not need her again for some time.
Morgana would die in her childbed nine months later, leaving behind one wish; that her child be taught the ways of both their people. So, her brown hair and steel-blue eyes were laid to rest, soft features covered in the stones of the Stark crypt.
But she brought Morgana back to life. Y/n Targaryen. She brought back her mother’s soft features and night-brown hair, her sweet smile and beauty-marked skin. The only thing she was unable to recreate was her mothers steel-blue eyes. Y/n had taken to her fathers instead, changing his smoky Indigo to a burning lilac.
Cregan Stark, the young boy he was, thought it was perfectly fine that his little niece was not collected by her father. He did not realize the disrespect of Daemon remarrying so quickly and not bothering to even write a letter acknowledging his only child. In fact, Cregan was thankful that Y/n was going to be staying with them permanently, he was excited to train her and teach her the ways of their house.
“My sweet little Y/n,” Cregan would sing, bouncing her around her nursery, “My sweetest little dragon.”
*
Y/n Targaryen grew into more of a Stark than anyone could have imagined. Her grandfather, Lord Rickon, did his best to fulfill his late daughter's wishes. He had brought in Maesters from the south to teach Y/n High Valyrian, and they had attempted to teach her the ways of her fathers family but try as they might the slippery Y/n always made her way back to her uncle. Cregan would sneak her into the forests around Winterfell and teach her how to strike prey with a bow, he would steal her from her lessons and read to her instead the stories of their ancestors.
“Tohrren Stark, he was the King who knelt. He did it to protect our people from Aegon the Conqueror.” Cregan whispered as the two crouched by candle-light, both technically meant to be in bed.
“Aegon…” Y/n breathed, caressing the page which depicted the moment Tohrren knelt for the future King. Cregan looked at Y/n, furrowing his brow at the young girl of eight years.
“Yes, he’s your blood as well; your father’s blood.” Cregan was honest with her, wiser in his years of ten and five. He knew she was beginning to pay attention a bit more to her maesters teachings, a child’s innocent curiosity getting the better of her.
“Does my father look like Aegon?” Y/n asked, lilac eyes staring at similar ones etched in ink.
“No, he is leaner than King Aegon was, and with longer hair…” Y/n nodded in understanding, flipping the page to see two detailed portraits of both Tohrren and Aegon.
“I can have his portrait brought up, if you’d like. We can put it next to your mothers in your chambers.” Cregan smiled although he despised the idea of Daemon Targaryen sitting next to his sweet sister on his niece's wall. Y/n’s eyes widened, a large grin spreading across her face.
“Truly?” Y/n gasped, sitting up straight.
“Yes, truly. Us Stark’s keep our promises.” Cregan puffed out his chest, ruffling Y/n’s dark hair. Y/n pushed him away with a giggle, crouching back down to read the book.
“Thank you, uncle.” Y/n hummed, and instead of looking towards the pages of the book Cregan looked at the way the light bounced off of her face; how in the dancing shadows he saw a glimpse of his sister beneath them.
*
“Tohrren, heel!” Y/n scolded her pup, the giant hound tripping over its large feet as it came to a halt.
“You have him well trained.” Cregan spoke, Y/n clutching her furs closer to her body.
“We have a sacred bond, him and I. Like that of Visenya and Vhagar!” Y/n scratched behind Tohrren’s ear, his tail beating the ground rapidly. In her elder years Y/n took a great interest in the warrior queen, reading binded Valyrian texts that Visenya had written in her youth.
“Come, a letter has arrived for you.” Cregan beckoned, Y/n following behind him at a steady pace, all while Tohrren watched her intently by her side. She had named him for Tohrren the Tall because of the great stature of his breed. When Cregan had inquired why not give him a Valyrian name Y/n had responded, ‘I am saving my favorite name for when I claim my own dragon’.
It was no surprise to anyone that Daemon had not placed an egg in Y/n’s cradle nor concerned himself with anything dragon-related thereafter. She was a Targaryen without a dragon, and in that family, it was a fate worse than death. Cregan had often wondered what it would be like in Winterfell with a dragon around, but dragons need fire to survive. The cold would have killed them, which is why Cregan refused the notion that Y/n was any less Stark than he was. No petty dragon could brave the forces of winter, and luckily for Y/n, she was raised by wolves.
“It is from the King?” Y/n blinked, opening King Viserys’ royal seal. Cregan looked over his niece's shoulder, reading the words as she did.
“He…he just wants a correspondence with me? To talk?” Y/n sputtered, rereading the letter. In all of her sixteen years her Targaryen family rarely visited her, never mind writing to her. She only got the occasional trip on dragon-back from Rhaenyra Targaryen, not even her own father.
“If the King wishes to speak with his niece, who are we to deny him?” Cregan shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging on Y/n’s lips as she knocked shoulders with him.
“The King wants to speak with me. Not about betrothals or silly court gossip, but about my life. He wants to understand me.” Y/n re-folded the letter, looking up at her uncle.
“I will be in my chambers writing back to him if you require me,” Y/n stood on her tip-toes and kissed Cregan’s cheek, his growing beard scratching against her lips, “I love you!” With that she called for Tohrren and scurried off to her rooms, leaving Cregan to do all the worrying.
It troubled him that Viserys was taking an interest in their shared niece. The King had never been interested before, so why now? Cregan hoped for Y/n’s sake that it was the incident at Driftmark which made the King contact her. Perhaps after the disaster of his immediate family Viserys was reaching out to what little he had left, no ill will behind it. No Queen behind it.
All Cregan could do was hope for the best and pray that the Old Gods protected his Y/n.
When Y/n arrived back in the King’s quarters she was confused, seeing a small dining table set up near the fireplace. Apparently her first supper was to be exclusively with the King and Queen, slowly easing her into the Targeryen family.
“The King and I have been pondering this subject since you left on your journey from Winterfell,” The Queen began after the second course was served, pleasantries and idle chatter out of the way, “but we have finally settled on it. In the coming days we shall throw a weeks-long festival in honour of your arrival.”
“Are you certain?” Y/n smiled, a bit taken aback by such a gesture.
“A great celebration for a great Lady.” The King said, taking a sip from his goblet. Y/n never knew anyone to be as frivolous as southerners, especially as frivolous as Targaryen’s. Such a large event should be saved for truly important occasions, such as a nameday or wedding, not the arrival of an estranged family member.
“I thank you, uncle, aunt,” Y/n tested the new title on Alicent, the woman doing nothing but offering a humble nod, “your kindness is unexpected given my fathers past actions.” Viserys sighed at that, Alicent’s pleasant expression dropping for a moment at the mention of Y/n’s father.
“My brother has made hideous oversights the past few years, and I hope that we may show that not all of your family is quite the same.” Viserys shook his head, a disappointed frown wrinkling his face.
“Yes, we shall appreciate the greatest gift the north has given us.” Alicent beamed, calling a servant forward. He handed her something he had been holding all dinner while dessert was being served, Alicent giving an ornately decorated box to Y/n.
“For you, my dear.” The Queen said as Y/n opened the box with a snap. She gasped, the case opening to reveal a shimmering necklace, adorned with black and green jewels the colour of which Y/n had never seen before. Her usual jewelry contained white diamonds and deep blue sapphires, perhaps the occasional blood-red ruby to honour her fathers house, but a green such as this was rare to find in the north. She felt the cool stones in her hand, watching the way the firelight reflected off of them in quick bursts.
“A welcoming present, we know that you shall wear it well.” Viserys held his hand to his chest, easing his breath as Y/n placed the necklace back within its case.
“This is the most beautiful shade of green I have ever laid eyes on, your grace.” She almost couldn't contain her girlish giggle.
“I believe that you will come to find that green is the most attractive of colours.” Alicent laughed, and Y/n laughed with her. The rest of supper was spent discussing the celebration which was to be held at a nearby forest, only the royal party joining while the small folk enjoyed an excuse to be drunk in the streets without reprimand from the Citywatch.
That night while she tried to fall asleep Y/n tossed and turned, body too excited to force sleep now. Y/n wrapped a shawl around herself, taking a lantern and going for a short walk. Her guards once again tried to accompany her but Y/n declined, taking Tohrren with her instead. The halls of the Red Keep were surprisingly quiet during the night, its darkness illuminated by the occasional torch. She would have thought the Red Keep was far more busy during the night than Winterfell, but it seemed just the same, with no one up but the guards who stood watch for their Lady’s and Lord’s.
She often found herself on these walks, strolling alone with her thoughts and without duties to attend to for the day. It was a moment of calm; a moment of peace. This time, her peace was interrupted. He was like a shadow against the wall, Y/n didn’t realize he was there at first, looming like a scorned specter. She caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye, the current area of the hall darker thanks to its unusually spaced torches. She was left with only her flickering lantern to illuminate the frightening figure, something blue glinting briefly in the light, like a fire of warning.
Y/n gasped, Tohrren standing on guard, and whipped herself to face him. He was leaning against the wall, sharp features aggressively outlined in the dim lighting of her small fire. The shadows moved against his well defined face, and although there was not much light the darkness filled out the rest of him for Y/n to see.
The Queen was right, green was the most attractive of colours, especially on the one-eyed prince, for he wore green like he had never worn another colour in his life. They were nightclothes, light and airy, his white linen shirt halfway tucked into deep green trousers. His hair was pulled back into a loose braid, rouge strands framing his face and the smirk that held firm on his lips.
“My Lady Y/n.” His voice was a smooth timbre, soft in tone as not to echo through the empty halls. He stood from the wall and approached her with confident strides, taking her available hand and putting it to his rosy lips.
“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” He leaned down into a bow, gently kissing the skin on the top of her hand. Y/n was at a loss for words, entirely caught up in the sudden meeting and sudden attraction to her estranged cousin. He looked up at her with one eye, the other covered by a soft eye-patch with subtle hand-stitching on it; no doubt his mothers work.
“Prince Aemond,” Y/n curtsied, finding her manners, “I did not expect to run into you so suddenly, I was merely clearing my head before I slept.”
Aemond stood to his full height, a head taller than the girl in front of him, and chuckled, “I find I have the same problem during late hours, perhaps it is a trait we Targaryens share, hm?”
“Perhaps, I have not known my uncle to wander about Winterfell as I have.” She looked away from him, nervous at their proximity to each other with no one else around.
“Then I should hope we can accompany one another on our sleepless nights, would you care to walk with me?” He offered out his arm, cool lavender eye unwavering in its gaze. Y/n looked down at his arm, taking it with hesitance but smiling nonetheless.
“Of course, your highness.” She said as they began walking, silent at first. Tohrren was close by her side, still on edge although trained enough that he did not attack unless instructed.
“So, I hear that you arrived yesterday, correct? I apologize I was not there to greet you, my mother has taken it upon herself to make sure you are settled before you join court.” Aemond commented, taking her down another stretching hallway.
“I am glad that the Queen has such a fondness for me, I would not want to be one in her bad graces.” Y/n breathed out a nervous sigh, holding tighter onto her lantern.
“You’re smart, being one that the Queen likes is always favourable. I have heard that my sister Rhaenyra also holds a certain appreciation for you.” He uttered his sister's name with less love than she expected.
“The Princess did visit me as a young girl, that is true. She will make a fine Queen one day, and I hope that I shall be in her good graces as well.” Aemond tensed up at the mention of Rhaenyra ascending the throne, mouth twitching subtly.
“I’m sure you will be.” There was silence for a moment before he spoke again, “You are more northern than I expected given your parentage.” He hummed, looking down at her.
“So I have been told. I respect my Valyrian blood but I do not respect who gave it to me. I was born into the ways of the north and I shall not forget them simply because I am here.” Y/n said resolutely, furrowing her brows as if to challenge anyone who would suggest otherwise.
“Loyalty; a trait of the Starks.” Aemond grinned in a sort of childish way before speaking again, “It is getting late, my Lady. I do not wish to keep you for long, I can walk you back to your chambers.”
“Of course, my prince.” Y/n agreed switfly, leading him back to her room. Her guards were on edge as soon as they saw her arrive with the prince, stiff and unmoving save for their eyes which trained on him.
“Good night, my Lady.” Aemond bowed, kissing her hand again.
The room stunk of incense and sickness, a detailed miniature carving of what Y/n assumed to be Old Valyria standing between her and the King. Alicent had already glided past the structure, smooth steps taking her to the shadowy bedside of her husband. Y/n followed slowly, watching Alicent whisper to the figure which was sitting up in bed.
“Come closer, child, so that I may see you.” The King’s voice was frail, weaker than Y/n had imagined. He sounded like no king at all, barely a whisper of a man. As Y/n got closer the details of the King’s state became more noticeable. He was skinny, with none of the fat on his bones that Y/n had been told would be there. His hair was in thin strings, barely holding onto his blemished scalp, while his face was creased into a look of pain. Age and whatever illness he held did not do him well, the cracks on his lips apparent as he licked them with a tongue white as milk. Alicent beckoned her forward, her hands looking like a child’s compared to the King’s knobbly digits.
“May I present Lady Y/n Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Morgana Stark.” Alicent formally introduced Y/n to the King, still keeping hold of her hand while the other was gently stroking her husband's shoulder. Viserys smiled, reaching out a shaky hand to take Y/n’s. His skin was scaly and wrinkled, blackened nails tightening around Y/n’s fingers.
“You have your fathers eyes.” He smiled, the wetness sitting within his chest making his breaths labored and small.
“So I have been told, your grace.” Y/n curtsied as best she could, eyes moving between the King and Queen.
“You are just as I hoped you would be from our writings,” Viserys swallowed, letting go of her hand gently, “I have awaited your arrival eagerly, my dear.”
“I too have been anxious to meet, your gra—” Viserys shook his head, pursing his lips.
“We are family, Y/n. In private you may refer to me as ‘uncle’. Such formalities are only needed at court.” He waved, Y/n nodding along to his words.
“Of course, Uncle. You seem to be doing better than when we last spoke, I see that the wound on your cheek has healed.” Y/n commented, although his right eye was still clouded by a greying spot. What made Y/n happiest about looking at the King was seeing the youthfulness in his good eye, the awareness it presented despite his body betraying him.
“Yes, let us hope it stays that way.” Viserys laughed, Alicent letting out a polite chuckle.
“You have come a very long way Y/n, I’m sure you desire to bathe and such. I am glad to be the first of your family you have met here in the Red Keep. We shall talk again, perhaps over dinner tonight.” The King hummed, squeezing the hand Alicent placed on his shoulder.
“I will show you to your chambers.” The Queen said, kissing her husband's forehead before escorting Y/n out of the room. They walked in silence to Y/n’s chambers, bidding each other good-day as Y/n closed her door. Her maids were still organizing her things, all quietly working to make Y/n’s stay a comfortable one.
“May I have a bath drawn, if possible?” Y/n asked the woman nearest to her, the young servant bowing before enlisting others to help. Before long Y/n had undressed and was guided into her tub, a few maids staying to help wash her. Y/n breathed in the sweet scented oils and goats milk swirling within the hot water, leaning back as an older southern maid unbraided her hair. Half of the women in the room were her maids from Winterfell, and the other half were attendants the Queen had so generously offered her.
“What is your name?” Y/n turned her head slightly to address the maid combing her hands through her hair, the tan-skinned woman raising her brows before she responded.
“Lysana, my lady.” She bowed her head briefly, continuing to search for knots within Y/n’s dark hair.
“Lysana, how long have you worked within the Red Keep?” Y/n questioned, the maids beginning to scrub gently along her body.
“Since the late Prince Baelon was born, my lady.” Lysana answered curtly, taking oils from beside her and patting them into Y/n’s hair.
“Then you must know of the Queen’s children, yes?” Y/n stared forward at the tapestry that hung in front of her, two dragons encircling each other in what she interpreted as a mating dance.
“Yes, I was the wet nurse to Prince Aegon when he was a babe, then his younger sister Princess Helaena.” Lysana sounded proud when she revealed what she’d done, a confident smile gracing her freckled cheeks.
“Would you tell me about them? My cousins?” Lysana hummed for a moment at the request, beginning to re-braid Y/n’s hair, only it didn't feel like she was repeating the same pattern.
“Your cousins are much like their mother, the only thing that sets them apart is the colour of their hair.” Lysana rolled her eyes, platting faster.
“I have only heard rumors about the way they act, would you tell me in truth who they are? I will not punish you for being honest.” Y/n needed to hear what she was going into from someone who wasn't the Queen or King or her biased uncle.
“I…I suppose, if it’s what my lady wishes. Your youngest cousin, Prince Daeron, is off in Old Town with the Queen’s family. The other three reside here within the Red Keep. All of them are…unique in their own ways. I would suggest spending your time around the Princess Helaena. She is a sweet girl, and she has not yet been burdened with the gift of motherhood.” Lysana chuckled at the thought.
“The Queen told me that she often resides by the Weirwood tree in the gardens, is this true?” Y/n asked, Lysana shrugging her shoulders.
“From what I know, it is the truth. Perhaps my Lady would like to be escorted to the gardens after her bath?” Lysana tucked the last piece of Y/n’s hair in, passing a mirror to her.
“You know the northern styles?” Y/n laughed, her hair in a familiar updo which she had not done in quite some time.
“I learned for your arrival, my Lady. Many servants of the crown come from all over Westeros, we teach each other the ways of each land.” Lysana helped Y/n get out of the bath, the maids toweling her dry.
“Lysana, I believe that visiting the gardens is a wonderful idea. Would you escort me once I am dressed?” Y/n allowed the ladies around her to begin the process of dressing her, soft linen undergarments being pulled on first.
“Whatever my Lady wishes.” Lysana bowed, cleaning up around the bath.
Y/n checked herself over in the mirror one last time, playing with the soft sleeves of her dress. It was lighter than the one she arrived with, more suited to the warm southern weather than her heaps of furs. She had made many like it, all of northern style but with southern fabrics like the ones she had seen the Queen wearing. A maid opened the door for her, Y/n’s guards standing at attention and following close behind with Tohrren as Lysana led her towards the gardens.
When Y/n stepped outside into the gardens it was like she was stepping onto a whole new continent. The trees were livelier, with multi-coloured flowers and flourishing bushes lining every pathway. Although she would die for the north, Y/n had to admit, northern greenery could not hold a candle to what the south possessed.
“Would you like me to show you to the Weirwood tree, my Lady?” Lysana asked. Y/n shook her head, unleashing Tohrren and beckoning him to go forth.
“No need, Tohrren and I will enjoy exploring on our own. Thank you, Lysana.” The woman curtsied, departing back into the Red Keep. Y/n turned to face her guards, dismissing them as well although they attempted to protest at first. What Y/n needed was to be alone with her thoughts; alone aside from Tohrren, of course.
Y/n strolled lazily through the tall hedges and blossoming trees, Tohrren running wildly up and down the pathways they traversed, chasing butterflies as if he had never seen one in his life. The scents of the garden were strong, floral and pine surrounding her like smoke. Tohrren stopped running abruptly, ears and tail piqued as he looked down a pathway. He let out a small bark, inquisitively tilting his head.
“What is it, Tohrren?” Y/n questioned, coming to his side. She looked down the pathway as well and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on what, or rather who, was before her. It was a young girl, a bit older than Y/n, with familiar waves of silver hair and a book nestled neatly in her lap. Behind her stood the Weirwood tree, its carved face bleeding the soothing red sap Y/n had grown used to. She approached slowly, Tohrren following suit, the young girl lifting her head at the approaching footsteps. The girl had periwinkle eyes, almost misty with the way they regarded Y/n.
“Hello.” Y/n curtsied, arriving in front of the girl. She nodded her head with a restrained smile, marking the page she was on in her book and closing it.
“Hello.” The girl repeated, eyes wandering but never looking into Y/n’s.
“My name is Y/n Targaryen, or Y/n, if it pleases her highness.” Y/n pet Tohrren to calm her nerves, the girl looking intensely at the hound.
“Please, call me Helaena.” Helaena gripped onto her book, still looking at Tohrren.
“Would you like to pet him?” That made Helaena look up, the princess nodding without uttering a word. Y/n released him, coaxing him forward to Helaena’s side. Y/n sat down on the bench beside her, Helaena laughing when Tohrren licked her palm.
“He seems quite taken with you.” Y/n noted, Helaena nodding with a grin.
“I’ve never seen a northern hound before, only spiders.” The Princess hummed, turning her head as Tohrren did.
“You keep northern spiders?” Y/n asked, beginning to understand why Helaena held the reputation that she did.
“Yes, northern, southern, western, and one from Asshai.” Helaena turned to face Y/n, tapping her book. Y/n looked at it, the title reading ‘Arachnid History’ by one of the many maesters of the Citadel.
“How does one become the keeper of an Asshai spider?” Y/n tried to ignore the crawling feeling she got at the mention of the small insects, instead playing with the hems of her sleeves.
“My mother got it for me, for my birthday last year. Merchants in Pentos collect them to sell for their poison, but not many sell them alive, not like mine.” Helaena frowned, the lilt in her voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh, well then it is a good thing that your mother was able to find one. Similarly, my uncle gave me Tohrren for my birthday when I was very young.” Y/n scratched behind his ear, his tail wagging behind him.
“He is a good gift.” Helaena praised, her hands now neatly within her lap.
“You are Prince Daemon’s daughter, correct? The one who came from the north?” Y/n nodded at that, copying Helaena and placing her hands in her lap.
“I believe that the south has a gift for you as well, yes, a marvelous gift made of lightning.” Helaena stood up, Y/n following her actions once more.
“Lightning? I’m not sure I follow,” Y/n shook her head, confused at her cousin's words.
“No need to follow, you will know. I am glad to have another girl in the Red Keep, I’ve always wanted a sister.” Helaena giggled, patting Tohrren’s head. She gave Y/n a tight hug before curtsying.
“I must go now, but I hope that we may talk in the future, good sister.” Y/n wanted to say something at the insinuation that she was Helaenas sister by marriage, but the girl turned and skipped down another path back into the garden, leaving Y/n standing beneath the Weirwood tree. Y/n chuckled, now realizing why the realms second princess was regarded as such a unique character.
Y/n returned back to the Red Keep, hoping that she would meet her other two cousins over supper later that evening. Perhaps their reputations also held some truth, maybe the eldest prince was a whore-drunk swine and the middle son was a heartless warrior. Although, Y/n did wonder what rumours surrounded her; the unwanted first child of the Rogue Prince.
Y/n rolled her shoulders, relaxing back into her chaise as she waited for her invitation to dinner. Whatever reputation she held the King seemed to have no qualms, his only opinion being that Y/n had loose-handed penmanship. Y/n closed her eyes, Tohrren resting like a heavy blanket within her lap. Whatever she was meant to be doing here, she was sure it would all be fine. She was certain.
“Stay safe, make sure Tohrren is with you at all times; no matter what.” Cregan held Y/n’s forehead to his, the girl hugging tightly to his body.
She was ten and seven now, a young Lady of elegant stature who had become the North itself. Her dark hair was thick and long, cascading down past her waist even with half tied up in intricate braids. The girl had grown beautifully into her soft features and delicate disposition — well, as delicate as a Lady of the North could be. Y/n was kind to her people and caring of her community, she was well trained in the sword and bow thanks to Cregan and well versed in the written word thanks to her maesters. Perhaps that charm, the same charm that brought her mother South, was what beckoned her there now.
The King’s final letter to Y/n after a year of correspondence was a summoning to Kingslanding. She was to join his court as a Lady of the Queen and ‘take her rightful place as a Targaryen’ according to the King’s writings.
“I will miss you, uncle.” Y/n barely held back the tears glazing her bright eyes, stepping away from Cregan.
“You are a Stark, your mothers daughter, nobody can change that.” Cregan’s smile was bittersweet as he held Y/n’s face, drinking in the last he would see of her for months — maybe even years.
“I love you, uncle.” Y/n kissed his cheek, his beard fully grown and braided like her hair.
“I love you too , Y/n.”
*
Y/n tried her best to get sleep while in the carriage, yet so far all she could do was stare out of the window as the North slowly but surely turned into the South. Her hand languidly stroked Tohrren, the hound finding better sleep than her on this journey.
One thing would not leave her mind, and that was the realization that she could possibly claim a dragon. A story she was told a few years ago came to her mind, one recounted by her cousin, Rhaenyra.
It was a cool evening, as most in the North were, and Y/n alongside Rhaenyra sat within the library of Winterfell. The Princess had gathered a handful of books and chronicles she desired Y/n to read, both sitting in comfortable silence as the fireplace crackled between them.
“Rhaenyra, why do I not have a dragon?” Y/n looked up from her pages, and Rhaenyra did as well. The woman saw the book the younger girl was reading; Dragons of Westeros: A History.
“All of these dragons were bonded to their riders in the crib, as small hatchlings. Why was an egg not placed within mine?” Y/n furrowed her brow, frustrated with this revelation. Rhaenyra’s lips twitched up, her violet gaze wandering towards the soft flames of the fireplace.
“Your father…he is a complicated man, but I believe I know the reason why. Would you like to hear a story?” Rhaenyra asked and Y/n nodded rapidly, closing her book.
“Back in the time of Aenys Targaryen, when the wise King Jaehaerys was still a babe, the wild dragon of the south was born.” Rhaenyra began, looking towards Y/n.
“She was said to be the product of Balerion and Vhagar, hatched from a dark purple egg with swirls of blue decorating its shell. She was born a beautiful dragon, the most radiant of her time, with wings that blended into the night sky and large icy eyes which froze the strongest of men in their tracks.
She was meant to be the mount of little Jaehaerys, but the beast had other plans. She took off one fateful evening and disappeared for years,” Rhaenyra enjoyed the way Y/n leaned in further to hear her, the girl enamored by the tale.
“Then, on a cool night quite like this, the wildling returned. She was full grown, with sharp talons and wide wings that casted shadows over Kingslanding just as her fathers had. She was smaller than her mother, but not by much. Viserys Targaryen, in an attempt to escape his captor and uncle, Maegor the Cruel, tried to tame the wild beast. He would, however, be unsuccessful.” Y/n gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.
“The wild dragon killed him as soon as she took to the air, throwing him back down to his tragic death. This would earn her the name Crownstealer.” Rhaenyra took the book from Y/n’s lap, flipping through a few pages before she found the one depicting the wild dragon.
“I think that your father has faith that you will be the first to tame her, this is why you have no dragon.” Rhaenyra knew what she said were lies, and eventually Y/n would realize that too, but in the moment Y/n chatted on and on about how she would change the dragon's name and be the first rider of the great Crownstealer.
Now, of course, Y/n knew that her cousin was making up excuses for her fathers ignorance. Yet, she couldn't help the idea of taming the untamable being quite appealing. It was a thought for a later time, a time when she would see Crownstealer’s shadow in person, not a time when she desperately needed to sleep.
Y/n forced her eyes shut, mind fading into dreams of Crownstealer’s painting.
*
Winter had arrived.
Y/n stepped out of her carriage after Tohrren, a footman lending his hand to her. She took it with a smile, although it did not last long once the gates to the palace opened. There, followed by a procession of her ladies and knights, was Queen Alicent Hightower. Her regality was not exaggerated, with auburn hair braided back in a southern style and ringlets of jewels resting on her forehead acting as her crown. Her dress was a forest green, deep and alluring with its golden accents. The style was long and flowing, off-shoulder sleeves framing the dainty seven-starred necklace she wore. Upon further inspection of the gold details Y/n realized that they were streams of winding smoke coming from a tower at the base of her dress. The Hightower.
“Lady Y/n,” The Queen smiled, stopping in front of the girl, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my husband is quite fond of you.”
Y/n curtsied politely before handing her furs to her footman, the sun far more overbearing in the southern sky.
“I should say the same, your grace. Thank you for receiving me.” Y/n kept her tone even, wary of the watchful eyes of the Queen’s people. An imposing male figure stood to her right, sharp eyes looking Y/n up and down. The man’s white and gold armor was a dead giveaway that he was a man of the Kingsguard, well-kept brown hair brushed out of his face.
“Ser Criston, please show Lady Y/n’s guard where they will be staying.” The man to her right nodded stiffly, leaving to go speak with the procession of Northern men that had followed Y/n down from Winterfell. It was at the insistence of her uncle; over two dozen knights assigned to protect her whilst she was away.
“Please, my child, follow me.” Alicent beckoned, Y/n falling in line beside her. Alicent linked arms with Y/n, patting the girl's forearm with care.
“Tohrren, heel.” Y/n commanded, the hound following close beside. Alicent raised a brow but held her tongue, ignoring the action.
“The King has eagerly awaited your arrival, I think he will be shocked to see how Northern you are.” The Queen chuckled, attempting to make conversation as they made their way to the King’s chambers.
“I have been told I favor my mother in looks, but I have my fathers eyes. Targaryen eyes, perhaps the King will find solace in that.” Y/n hummed as they entered the Red Keep.
“Yes, perhaps…Y/n, it is a Northern name, correct?” Alicent questioned.
“It is, my mother declared it her favourite before I was born. If I was to be a boy, however, my namesake would have been my grandfathers; Rickon.” Y/n confirmed, mouth slightly agape from her surroundings. The Red Keep was an imposing piece of architecture, with single halls as big as Winterfell and twice the amount of nobles floating about. Y/n also noticed an alarming amount of seven spiked stars, the religious symbol anywhere they could squeeze it.
“Do you…do you have a Godswood I can pray at here, your grace?” Y/n asked, abruptly aware that the Old Gods did not serve here.
“We are subscribed to the Faith of the Seven in the South, but we do have a weirwood tree in our gardens, my daughter often reads there.” Alicent sighed, eyes weary as she recounted the tree that held so many memories.
“The King’s Chambers,” Alicent stopped at the end of a long hall, ornate double doors waiting to be opened, “Your hound must wait out here, the King is ill and should not be exposed to any…disturbances.”
Alicent sounded innocent enough, and Y/n wasn't about to disobey the Queen, so she handed Tohrren’s leash to one of the knights as the doors were opened. Tohrren would still be right outside if she needed him, which considering who she was about to meet, Y/n hoped not. Alicent led the way, confident strides making her quick. Y/n took a few deep breaths, twiddling with the fur of her sleeves. This was it.
“My future?” Y/n sputtered, looking down at their intertwined hands.
“Yes, my dear. Come, sit.” Alicent guided the girl towards a small lounging area in the corner, sitting her down on the duck-feather couch.
“You are such a lovely girl, I wish your mother was here to see it. She and I were close friends before I wed the King.” Alicent’s lips were pulled into a thin smile, patting Y/n’s hand without rhythm.
“That is good to hear, my Queen. My uncle oft said that my mother had little in the way of southern friends, but it brings joy to my heart to know you were there for her all those years ago.” Y/n’s brows creased, confused as to the sudden meaning behind the Queen's actions.
“Yes…you are a loyal girl, Y/n, as befits your northern ancestry. I need to know that if anything should happen in the future you would be loyal to Aemond.” Alicent suddenly got serious, a dark shadow crossing her brow.
“Without question, your grace. He is to be my husband and I his wife, without loyalty we are nothing — less than nothing.” Y/n spat out with disgust, “The mere insinuation that I would be so craven as to betray anyone who I am sworn to disheartens me.”
“I meant no offense, my dear. I wanted to make clear your intentions and mine, and now I can see there was no use in doubting you. You are everything your mother was and more, Y/n.” The Queen lifted her hand to Y/n’s cheek, brushing a stray hair behind her ear.
“I shall leave you to your sleep, I have kept you long enough. Thank you, Lady Y/n. I shall eagerly await the next time we shall see each other.” And with that Alicent got up and left the tent, Y/n blinking as she did so. She was…confused more than anything. Southerners must have no honour if the Queen was that worried of Y/n’s betrayal, although she could not guess as to what the worry behind it was. Poor southerners, Y/n thought, always sleeping with one hand on a dagger.
Sleep would come quickly to her that night and she would awaken just as fast, going through the motions of celebration with a cautious air. Her evening with the Queen had disturbed her, made her skittish of the other nobles. If anyone noticed they didn’t say anything or elected to ignore her behaviour, blaming it on her ‘northern disposition’. The celebrations would eventually come to an end, the court returning to the Red Keep with full bellies and red cheeks — the sign of a successful party.
Y/n dismounted her stallion with the help of one of her knights, having chosen to ride alone so she could see where Crownstealer flew above. The wild dragon would never be able to fit in the dragon pit, similar to Vhagar, and so she soared tauntingly above Kingslanding, occasionally disappearing within the small cloud cover before her dark scales reappeared somewhere else.
“Lysana!” Y/n smiled, welcoming the familiar face of her handmaiden as the woman approached.
“I require something of you,” Y/n began as the older woman walked with her, Y/n biting off her riding gloves and slinging them within her belt, skirts adjusting for the new mass.
“Anything, my lady.”
“I would like for you to arrange the commissioning of riding gear.” Y/n nodded to the knights who opened the Keep’s doors for her and Lysana, Torrhen not far behind as he held his own catch in his mouth; a fox which had wandered unfortunately too close to camp. The doors opened into one of the many courtyards which themselves lead to the many halls of the Red Keep.
“Of course my lady, may I ask which horse it is for?” Y/n laughed at that, Lysana’s brows furrowing.
“‘Tis not for a horse, Lysana.” Y/n raised her eyes upwards and as if she had called, Crownstealer dipped down from the clouds, letting out a hearty screech to punctuate the Lady’s point.
“Gods be good,” Lysana gasped, her hands coming together.
“The gods have been good, Lysana, they have given me a dragon! A dragon who is in need of riding gear.” Y/n grinned, continuing to walk. Lysana picked up her skirts and followed quicker than before, explaining to Y/n how the smiths and dragon keepers would need to measure Crownstealer for anything to be made.
“Then it shall be done, schedule a place and time within the fortnight and we shall be there.” The insinuation of ‘we’ being Y/n and Crownstealer sent giddy shivers down the lady’s spine.
“As you will, my lady.” Lysana curtsied, taking her leave to make the arrangements. Y/n took her time getting ready for supper that evening, carefully washing the dirt from her body and hair, making sure her maids applied extra oils to her locks and skin. The dress she wore fit perfectly with the necklace Alicent had given her, deep blue complimenting the vibrant green of the stones. A light grey three headed dragon embossed her chest, the colours of her mothers house bearing the designs of her fathers.
“Do my hair in the southern way, Lysana.” Y/n commanded gently, curious as to what the woman would come up with.
“As you wish.” Lysana nodded her head, beginning to rapidly braid and twist her hair. Y/n watched through the vanity as the style came together, dark tresses tamed into many braids and buns as they were lifted from her shoulders.
“The Queen prefers this style on hot days, and I should imagine today’s evening to be quite warm.” Lysana hummed, finishing up her work. Y/n craned her head back and forth, admiring the way her hair looked. Her hair was braided into a low ‘U’ shape, many plats overlapping so that the tension kept them up and out of the way of her neck.
“The finishing touch, my lady.” Lysana went across the room to search for something and came back with a bejeweled hair net, Y/n readjusting herself so the maid could attach it. When she was done the net encompassed the back of Y/n’s head, silver hatching adorned with green gems which all culminated at a small crown atop the girls head. It was simple, with the green gems being occasionally broken up by blue ones upon the silver band. The low cluster of braids, however, remained bare, allowing for a good balance between the two.
“This is beautiful, Lysana. Thank you.” Y/n’s gratitude was sincere, the older woman curtsying humbly.
“I must be off now, my family should be expecting me.” Y/n got up and headed towards the door to her chambers, about to leave before Lysana spoke up.
“Good luck, my lady.” Y/n looked back at Lysana with an arched brow, giggle bubbling behind her fake offended facade.
“Thank you.” And with that she left, getting escorted to the chamber which dinner that evening was being held in. When Y/n arrived everyone was already there, all eyes turning to her as she stood unwavering at the threshold. She surveyed the room, watching the different ways her family reacted to her. Her Uncle was proud as ever, eyes crinkled in a happiness Y/n hoped to achieve one day. The Queen beamed, and Y/n could assume it was because of the way she was dressed, like a true lady of the south and perhaps a true lady of the Queen. Aegon — oh gods, she didn’t even want to acknowledge the pathetic look which Aegon was giving her. Helaena practically lit up like a fire when she saw Y/n, patting the seat next to her and…
“Betrothed.” Aemond breathed, getting up from his seat and approaching Y/n. He looked at her with his good eye wide, violet sparkling in the soft torchlight of the chamber. When he reached her he offered his hand and leant down to whisper in her ear; “You look ravishing, my lady.”
Y/n felt heat bloom in her cheeks, gentle smile gracing her features as Aemond lead her to her seat. He pulled out her chair and made sure she was comfortable before sitting back down himself.
“You are a vision of beauty tonight, my dear.” Viserys’ eyes were glassy, the King blinking a few times before summoning the staff to begin to serve dinner. It was a bountiful meal, made up partially by what the men hunted during Y/n’s arrival celebration.
“Thank you, uncle.” Y/n set a cloth upon her lap so that her dress would not be stained, picking up her goblet and taking a tentative sip of the wine.
“So, how are you finding the south so far?” Alicent began, delicately tearing off a piece of her bread-bun.
“Kingslanding is far more forgiving than Winterfell, and far more exciting.” Y/n smirked, ignoring the way Aegon quietly scoffed.
“Indeed, I did not think that I would see anyone tame Crownstealer in my lifetime, ‘tis a blessing the gods have given you.” Viserys chimed in. The dinner went on like that, questions and answers, mostly from Viserys and Alicent but occasionally the other three present would give their input — warranted or not.
“Now, my dear, it seems I must bring up the topic of your…wedding.” Alicent broached the topic carefully, both Y/n and Aemond looking up from the ends of their meals to look at the Queen.
“Next month is that of the seventh, the month blessed by the gods, and the King and I thought it would be the perfect time for the two of you to be wed.” The Queen looked to her husband for support, grabbing his hand.
“The Queen speaks the truth, t’would be a most auspicious time for a wedding,” Viserys cleared his throat.
“I see, and this would mean that the preparations would need to begin at once.” Y/n commented, Aemond turning to look at her.
“Indeed.” Was all her betrothed added.
“I too believe that this would be the most agreeable month to be married in, you are wise for thinking so, your graces.” Y/n saw the relief which washed over both the King and Queen’s faces, the two of them sharing a brief glance.
“It pleases me that you think so.” Alicent sighed, patting her mouth with her handkerchief. Supper came to a quick conclusion, everyone dispersing to their chambers aside from Y/n and Aemond. He had offered so graciously to escort her back to her chambers, claiming he did not wish for her to get lost within the winding halls of the Keep.
“You…are not angry? That we are to be wed so soon after your arrival?” Aemond asked, continuing to look forward down the wide hall they strolled through.
“I am not angry, ‘tis better to have a wedding sooner rather than later lest something unfortunate befall my betrothed.” Y/n looked up at him, his expression one of beguiled amusement.
“Have you something planned?” He bantered back just as they arrived at the chambers to Y/n’s room.
“Everyone at court has something planned.” Y/n brushed the question off, looking down at where their arms were still intertwined.
“My plans, however, involve seeing this betrothal through. ‘Tis better than whatever my father could have planned for me.” Y/n admitted, pushing open the doors to her chamber and returning her hand to her side.
“I…” Aemond was at a loss at the sudden vulnerability.
“Keli emagon aōha ēngos, issa jorrāelagon?” Cat have your tongue, my love? Y/n smirked, the High Valyrian smooth on her tongue.
Aemond’s jaw clenched before he responded, “Ao gīmigon valyrio eglie?” You know High Valyrian?
“Hen rhinka nyke gaomagon, nyke nykeēdrosa Daemon Targārien’s tala.” Of course I do, I am still Daemon Targaryen’s daughter. Y/n enjoyed teasing Aemond, perhaps this marriage could be a fruitful one if only for her to find entertainment in her husband's mind.
“Sȳz bantis, my prince.” Goodnight, my prince. Y/n curtsied, adding the last bit in the common tongue. She couldn't place the way Aemond was regarding her, but she assumed it was a mix of offense and admiration.
“Sȳz bantis, Y/n.”
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A/N: She’s baaackkk!! And under a new name! I found that my old username (sugar soirée) just wasnt fitting me anymore and it kind of blocked my writing flow for a while. Also, writers block goes CRAZYYY sometimes <3 anywho, I’m back now and ready to write up a storm! Expect more soon, and send in ur requests for any fic ideas or just anything really!
Names cycled through Y/n’s head as she was dressed for the day, freshly washed of dragon's breath and prepped for the impending games. She switched between Valyrian and Westerosi names for Crownstealer, undecided as her handmaids fixed on her corset. She could keep Crownstealer, but what fun would that be? The she-dragon had received her name by reputation alone, it was time a rider gave her a more fitting name.
“My Lady,” A guard announced, opening the curtains to her room, “the Prince Aemond Targaryen.”
Y/n didn’t bother to greet the man as he stepped in. She looked towards her handmaids with knowing eyes, the women curtsying swiftly before exiting the tent, leaving Y/n to do up her dress alone.
“I believe congratulations are in order.” Aemond took a step closer, watching Y/n attempt to fasten the ribbons on her back.
“Is that so? For our betrothal?” She hummed, ignoring his attempts at eye contact.
“No, for your taming of Crownstealer. You are the first in our history to do such a thing, I’m sure the two of you shall be formidable together.” Aemond nodded, hands clasped behind his back. Y/n huffed a sigh out of her nose, failing once more to tie the back of her dress properly. She paused, looking through her mirror to where Aemond stood with frustration.
“Thank you, you are very kind. Would you do me another kindness and do up my dress?” She mused with fake sincerity, Aemond pausing before approaching her. He took the ties in his hands gently, Y/n watching as he focused on setting the knots in place. When he came closer she noted that he smelled vaguely of sweet oils and steel.
“I hope that in time you will forgive my mother and father, they told me only days before you about our betrothal. It is a fine match, one that will benefit the realm.” Aemond mumbled, fastening the last bow of her dress.
“A fine match indeed,” Y/n chuckled sourly, turning to face him. His eyebrows furrowed, hands left to idle themselves as his work was done.
“So, if all the congratulations have been given I do believe we have a tourney to attend, my Prince.” Y/n scoffed, brushing past him.
“I was also here to escort you, my lady.” Y/n stopped, cursing the Old Gods for being cruel as they were. She said nothing, Aemond eventually coming up beside her.
“Shall we?” She hummed, offering her arm to him yet not sparing him a glance. He took her hand, leading them out of her tent and into the buzzing encampment. All eyes were on them as they passed, girlish whispers and boyish mockeries spreading like wildfire. Wildfire, now that was a name for a dragon. Aemond left her with the King and his court when they arrived, kissing her hand and then swiftly departing. Y/n greeted the King first, kissing his cheek before curtsying to the Queen. She nodded towards Aegon as she took her seat and squeezed Helaena’s hand.
“Aemond will be jousting today,” Helaena said, eyes aglow, “he is bound to ask for your favour.”
“I expect my betrothed is not one for pageantries such as favours.” Y/n giggled, toying with the garland that sat on her side table. It was made of a mixture of flowers, to represent both of her lineages. The winter roses were a bright, almost unnatural blue. The red and black roses were nestled beside, creating a contrast that quite suited Y/n.
“I know my brother.” Helaena hummed, and they left it at that. The horns sounded and names were announced, the joust beginning with knights from the Reach and the Vale. It went on like that for an hour, a charming knight from the Riverlands asking for Helaena’s favour. She gave it to him with a grin Y/n hadn’t seen her bless Aegon with, throwing the garland down onto his lance. Then, after the dust settled and the knight from the Riverlands enjoyed his victory, a hush fell over the crowd.
“Prince Aemond Targaryen will now choose an opponent!” Y/n almost covered her ears with how loud the audience screamed, Aemond entering on a horse as black as the Black Dread himself. Aemond’s armor was dark, ridges carved out to resemble that of a dragon's scale. His helmet was in the shape of a dragon’s maw, encircling his head with its sharpened fangs. Y/n noticed that the crest on top of his head was made of both red and green hairs, something the Queen no doubt had influence on.
Aemond paced in front of the knights who were lined up, at least one representative from each region stood proud upon their horses. He paused in front of the knight from the Westerlands, pointing his lance towards the man.
“Ser Rhys Lannister!” The announcer shouted above the crowd, both knights moving towards their respective ends of the arena. Aemond stopped, head raising to look directly into the King’s box. His eyes locked with Y/n’s, sharp gaze searching her own.
“My Lady Y/n,” He called, “I would be honoured to fight with your favour to give me luck.” He lifted his lance towards her. Y/n smirked, picking up her garland and going to the railings that separated them.
“To your victory, my love.” Y/n teased, tossing her favour onto the weapon. Aemond took off without a second glance, readying himself before the starting horns echoed throughout the woods. The men were off in seconds, the beating of their horses' hooves matching the thundering of Y/n’s heart. She leaned forward in her seat as they connected, a wide grin stretching her lips as the Lannister boy was knocked from his horse, his golden mare being wrangled in by squires. Aemond rounded back to the King’s box, bowing his head. Viserys laughed, clapping loudly and ordering another round of wine which Y/n was glad to indulge in. The wine here was oddly sweet, not like the harsh mull she had grown to know in the North. It was like biting into a cake each time she took a sip, enjoying the show Aemond put before her as knight after knight fell to his lance.
The sun was setting by the time the tourney had drawn to a close, Aemond disappearing after his rounds were finished. Y/n stood as the King did, watching him exit with the Queen before the rest of the nobles in the box began to file out.
“My brother is quite fond of you.” Y/n grimaced as Aegon came to her side, walking with her to the feast.
“That is good to hear, my prince.” She answered politely, keeping her hands clasped at her front so she would not touch him.
“Mm, yes. Though, I don’t believe he’s fond enough to satisfy you. A Northern woman like yourself? You need a man, and my brother is still a boy.” Aegon chuckled quietly, swishing around the contents of the goblet which he had taken.
“I do not appreciate these foul insinuations, your highness.” Y/n’s tone was sharp, her accent getting thicker with her anger.
“Oh, no insinuations here, my lady. Simple truth.” Aegon sighed, though it was not sad, it was frustrated.
“I, on the other hand, have had many nights with northern ladies. If you wish to feel satisfied during your marriage I am always—” Aegon’s words choked in his throat as a loud growl echoed through the forest, everyone pausing and looking around them. Y/n sucked in a quick breath, watching as a familiar winged figure circled above them, outlined by the pink and orange hues of the dusky sky.
“It seems that I am not the only one who grows tired of your voice, Aegon. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my betrothed.” Y/n curtsied, leaving Aegon to stand by himself. She was trailed by two guards, people parting as she practically flew by them to her tent. What she did not expect when she entered was for the Queen to be sitting at her vanity, toying with the necklace she had gifted to her. Alicent stood when she saw Y/n, a small smile plumping her cheeks.
“My Queen,” Y/n curtsied deeply, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“It is time we spoke, Y/n.” The Queen approached the girl, grasping her hands tightly.
“About your future.”
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First of all I wanna say that I am so grateful for ur guys’ comments! I don't usually reply because I have no idea what I would say other than “Thank you”, but just know that ur support means the world! XOXO
