Pairing: Giantess!Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader
Tags/Warnings: Giantess, Size Difference, brewing romance, fluff(?), idk, first time writing fic
Length: 1.3k
Summary: King Viserys wants a suitor for his daughter Rhaenyra soon. The princess is not so keen on the idea and would rather spend time alone with you. (Part 1? of ???)
Storm’s End was about what you’d imagined it would be. A huge bleak castle that eternally resists the rage of the waters beneath it. You knew King Viserys was adamant about finding his daughter Rhaenyra a suitor soon. But for the life of you, you could not understand why he would look here. The men all looked the same, tall and dark-haired and well-built. They spoke with flowery language as if each of them were singers as well as soldiers. All of them except for two. The Dondarrion lord was the oldest of the group, a man well past his prime with his greying beard and balding head. The other was a young man from the Riverlands, a Blackwood, short and looking like he could barely hold the sword he wore on his hip.
You couldn’t stand the thought of any of them being with the princess. The very thought made you strangely angry. Your rampant imagination was quickly put to rest each time a new man stepped forward. The princess casually glanced in your direction with a sly smile that only you knew. Her eyes would just as quickly return to the next man in line and hear their story, their pitch for marriage.
The princess in her flowing red dress made the Baratheon dais look comically small. The stone chair was clearly not made for someone of her stature. Even sitting she towered over Ser Criston who stood tall beside the dais. The sight of her squeezed into that chair recalled your first memory of meeting the princess.
Just shy of two years ago you were brought in along with a handful of other young women as potential handmaids to the royal house. The princess sat at a table breaking her fast with her father the first time you saw her. You’d heard rumors of the princess’s stature before, tales and stories. But none of them did the reality any semblance of justice. It’s been said that Targaryens are closer to gods than men. You never really understood what that meant until you met the princess. She stood from her seat as you entered, her long flowing silken white gown spreading out on the floor. Two of the girls gasped, another began mumbling a prayer to the Mother, and all you could do was stare. The Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood nine feet tall, towering over everything and everyone in the room.
“Ladies, a pleasure for you to join us this morning,” King Viserys stepped forward, opening his arms in a welcome gesture. “This is my daughter Rhaenyra, heir to the Iron Throne. We are eager to meet you this morning. The Red Keep, our home, is so large and busy that it takes nothing short of an army to staff it. I am told that each of you brings some valuable skills to that might assist us in more efficiently running our home. More specifically, you would be in the service of my daughter here.”
The Lord Protector of the Realm, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, first of his name, son of House Targaryen that survived the doom and rode dragons of legend stood right in front of all of you. And yet, no one looked at him. All eyes were on the princess behind him, towering over all with a beauty so radiant no song would ever do her justice.
She looked down at you and smirked. Or at least, you thought she did because in an instant it was gone and her face turned neutral, uninterested, once again.
Your trials as a potential handmaid were rather rough. You were no stranger to mishaps and mistakes, often forgetting tasks or mishandling running baths for the princess. You thought certainly you would not earn the position and have to return to your meager farmhouse in the Riverlands where your father worked you to exhaustion tending to the animals.
You were met with immense surprise upon hearing that you’d been asked for specifically by the princess. You met her in her bedchambers after your selection. She was standing by the open window overlooking the Blackwater when you arrived. She somehow seemed even larger than before, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for her acknowledgment. “I’m so pleased you accepted the offer.” She finally turned to face you, and began walking toward you. “Would you mind fetching me some fruit from the kitchen?”
You’d almost forgotten yourself. “As it pleases you, my lady.”
Over weeks you began with simple tasks of running bath water, helping clothe the princess, fetching food, and tending to visitors. The princess offered you little in terms of conversation as you found her to be rather quiet, not shy by any means, but definitely a woman of very few words. She often spoke with her eyes, giving the most subtle signs of approval and disapproval that you began to pick up on.
Even after months in her service, you never became accustomed to her stature. Each time you saw her was like seeing her for the first time again. When she walked with the tallest and most gallant knights, she made them look the size of children. Some seats in the keep were specifically designed to accommodate her size, though very few of the doorways were high enough for her to pass through without ducking.
You being barely waist high to her frequently required a stepstool to fix her hair or properly fit her dresses. It was during these times that she spoke to you the most. As you stood behind her fitting a jeweled tiara onto her head she asked your opinion on her father, her uncle Daemon, political matters, and what lord you thought might make a good husband.
Even to you, the bond you were forming during these times was not obvious, but it did help alleviate some of the tension whenever you were in a room with her.
Your thoughts of past times with the princess are shattered as the sound of a sword being drawn echoes throughout the Round Hall. The Blackwood boy had drawn his sword and was facing the Bracken lord. The princess stood soon after and strided around the crowd followed closely by Ser Criston. “Come, Y/N,” she said as she walked past you.
There was the sound of swords clashing and then a pained cry. Rhaenyra did not pause to see the result of the fight.
You overheard the princess arguing with her father some days later after your return to King’s Landing. You did your best to not intentionally listen, but their voices carried down the corridor just outside the princess’s bedchambers. “Marriage is necessary, Rhaenyra. The future of our house rests on you and you alone.”
“I understand that, father. Don’t you want me to find a man that is not only suitable but one that I take a liking to? Those storm lords are little more than well-dressed soldiers. Not lovers, not husbands, not fathers. All they know is how to fight and die.”
Their argument carried on for another hour as they fought back and forth over the topic, the king constantly bringing up other highborn men as possibilities. Rhaenyra eventually had heard enough and stormed out of his solar and into her chambers. She shut the door behind her and slid to the floor in tears. This was the first time you’d seen her cry in earnest. You approached her cautiously. “My lady, are you alright?”
“Fine, Y/N. I’m fine.” She wiped the tears away. It was strange seeing something so large appear so vulnerable. You placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked at you. Her lilac eyes piercing you. She leaned her head against your shoulder and began crying even harder. Her larger hands found your lower back and pulled you in closer as she wept.
