What Shall I Render?

READER GUIDE + AU Summary:

[Setting] 

Takes place in a canon-divergent Westeros. Magic flourishes throughout the realm.

Dragons still exist and are central to power. Since no Aegon/Rhaenyra/Alicent I made it so the Blackfyre rebellion happened earlier and served as the Dance but a few adult dragons survived and were able to replenish a bit of the population.

The ruling class are immortal, magical beings that were the result of generations of gods and demigods breeding with humans called Valyrians. (Was originally a vampire AU!! but i needed the divinity element to be huge and didn't want to incorrectly execute fae or vampire rules so hence odd immortal species is born. I couldnt come up with a good original name even though I tried)

The realm operates under both political and unseen divine systems.

Dragonstone remains the seat of power instead of Kings Landing. I fucking hate the Red Keep for some reason I need them to be able to get to their dragons the same way I can get to my car in the driveway. They also have magical infrastructure so terraforming. The Red Keep still exists, but Kings Landing crawls with humans and they use it for dealings with mortals. They're still blood magickers and tyrants who stole lands and enslaved people. The immortal/mortal divide plays a big role in unrest.

[Core Power Structure]:

The Crown → External authority, rule of the realm.

The Hand → Strategy, governance, internal control.

The Council → Specialized power (coins, ships, whispers, etc.)

Aeleanora's Role → Intermediary authority (petitions, envoys, internal disputes)

**This becomes important very quickly in the story.

[Religion & the Divine]:

The Seven are real, but not as mortals understand them. They operate in the realm of gods, separated from the realm of men by a veil.

Most religious knowledge in this AU are simply incomplete and distorted versions of ancient history.

Some divine forces still influence the mortal world directly.

The boundary between gods and mortals is…unstable.

Different gods used to rule the creatures of different lands, but what if The Seven Who Are One themselves were directly responsible for a gods war in Old Valyria that resulted in the Doom? What if it wasn't just their followers that brought the Faith to Westeros? What if the Seven Heavens and Hells were created for them to rule the cosmos, to be in control of the divine, the living, and the dead?

[The Order of the Veiled Hand]: A hidden order within the Faith. Lead by the Lady Mysaria, Master of Whispers. (aka AU in which I give the Targs an intelligence agency like B613 from Scandal and Mysaria is Command).

Publicly: Silent sisters, Septas, Scullery maids, Ladies maids, Whores, handmaids, Ladies, governesses. You would never, ever know.

Privately: assassins, spies, thieves; huntresses and keepers of dangerous knowledge.

They serve as a covert extension of both religion and state power. Think like female version of the Faceless Men and Sorrowful Men but ran in Westeros by The Crown. Immortality of the ruling houses lessen the gap between Gods, Targaryens, and Men. Ruling the realm through secrets and dragons are the decoy.

[Tone & Themes]:

Political control vs. personal autonomy.

Power as structure, not spectacle.

Grief, restraint, and inherited responsibility.

Divine systems operating beneath mortal ones.

The Gods are coded like Greek Mythology, they're cruel, fickle, petty, extreme.

Women as controlled power, and what happens when that control shifts.

OC/AU CHARACTER GUIDE

❥Princess Aeleanora Targaryen "The Dragonheart" (OFC)

*Daughter of: Queen Aemma Targaryen [deceased]; King Viserys I Targaryen [deceased].

*Sister of: King Jacaerys Targaryen.

Role: Princess of Dragonstone, Heir to the iron throne, Emerging political intermediary, Cosmic anomaly.

Rider Of: Dreamfyre. She also has a cradle egg that has not hatched.

Weilder Of: Aeleanora's abilities are unknown to the public. Many presume her abilities are intangible, nothing of consequence.

Notable Traits: Aeleanora is a winter-bright blade left in sunlight, but when she goes cold, she does so completely, leaving nothing behind that resembles warmth.

Physical Description: Aeleanora’s beauty is too deliberate—too precise to be entirely natural, even here. All sharp lines and soft contradictions, with feline eyes and a mouth made to unmake restraint. Pale hair falls in long, silken waves, her silver-blue gaze heavy-lidded and quietly knowing. Her skin catches light too easily, holding it a fraction too long, as though it does not pass through her the way it should. She moves with a predator’s grace, all control and intent, as if nothing around her happens without her allowing it. 

❥Prince Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen (AKA: The Hammer)

Son Of: King Daeron II Targaryen [Deceased]; and Queen Myriah Martell [Deceased].

Brother Of: King Viserys Targaryen [Deceased]; Prince Aerys Targaryen; Prince Rhaegal Targaryen; Prince Maekar Targaryen.

Husband of: Lady Jena Dondarrion.

Father of: Prince Valarr Targaryen; Prince Matarys Targaryen.

Role: Hand of the King.

Rider of: Vermithor "The Bronze Fury"

Weilder Of: Storm.

Notable Traits: Disciplined; Politically intelligent; Dryly affectionate; Deeply dutiful; Emotionally self-denying; Stabilizing presence; Capable of immense tenderness buried under control; Frightening when he finally chooses selfishness. He does not break easily, but when he does, it is not quietly.

Biography:

King Daeron II Targaryen and Queen Myriah Martell always wished that their second son, Baelor, had been born first. Their firstborn, Viserys, would be more content traveling the realm and poring over his Old Valyrian and Westerosi histories. Baelor understood duty, responsibility, discipline, and restraint far more than Viserys ever could.

It was because of this that he never even thought of pushing his brother to abdicate; instead, he pushed his brother to be a better King. Why? Because someone believed that if the two worked together, Westeros would reach new heights that Old Valryia ever could, even when the gods lived among them.

That someone was right. As his brother's Hand and Heir, Baelor had singlehandedly brought Westeros to its height as a civilization, with 300 years passing since the last hint of conflict (i.e, an uprising that resulted in the loss of King Daeron and the ascencion of Viserys as king). However, as the years passed, his shoulders became heavier and heavier with the weight of expectation. He soon realized that while he excelled at ruling, he hated the external pressure that came along with it. The hand pin he wore on his shoulder weighed nothing compared to the weight of the crown looming over his head, should anything happen to his brother. When the opportunity came to abdicate under the guise of love and honor, he made a selfish decision for the first time in his immortal life.

Physical Description: Canon - Bertie Carvel as Baelor Targaryen in AKOTSK.

❥King Jacaerys Targaryen "The Young King" (OC) 

Son Of: Queen Aemma Targaryen [deceased]; King Viserys I Targaryen [deceased]

*Brother Of: Princess Aeleanora Targaryen.

Husband Of: Queen Laena Velaryon.

Role: King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

Rider Of: Silverwing "The Lady of the Sky"

Weilder Of: Ice

Notable Traits:  He is a whimsical king in the Old Valyrian sense: artistic, thoughtful, dreamy, prone to beauty, ideas, and symbols. But beneath that softness lies the potential for genuine strength. He was crowned too young and burdened too early, and much of his early reign is defined not by a lack of ability but by the simple fact that he has not yet lived long enough to become fully what he will be.

Biography: 

His uncle, Prince Baelor, passed his claim to the Iron Throne to Jacaerys after the birth of Princess Aeleanora. Jacaerys was crowned the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms shortly after his parents were killed after his 16th nameday. The youngest king to ever sit the throne.

Jacaerys swore an oath to both his parents that he would love and protect his younger sister in the wake of the loss of their parents. He named her the heir apparent to the Iron Throne right before her 9th nameday.

With the help of the remainder of his parents' inner circle (especially his uncle), The Young King quickly rose to the occasion in filling his father's shoes.

For reasons even Baelor does not fully understand, his Uncle finds shaping Jacaerys into a king far more rewarding than propping up his elder brother ever was. Viserys had to be carried; Jacaerys can be taught. He listens. He absorbs. He wants to be worthy. That makes him easier to love and far more painful to watch struggle.

Physical Description: I’ve always had such a thing for Harry Lloyd as Viserys Targaryen in GOT like hes SUCH a cutie so this is what I imagine Jacaerys looking like. Also he has violet eyes.

❥Princess Rhaenys Targaryen 

Daughter Of: Lady Jocelyn Baratheon [Deceased]; Prince Aemon Targaryen [Deceased].

Wife Of: Lord Corlys Velaryon.

Mother Of: Leanor Velaryon; Queen Laena Velaryon.

Role: Matriarch of House Targaryen.

Rider Of: Meleys "The Red Queen"

Weilder Of: A form of spatial manipulation often mistaken for movement. Rhaenys does not simply cross distance, she folds it. To those who witness it, she appears to vanish and reappear in a single breath, as though space has yieled to her will. It is not illusion, nor speed, but control over the space between.

Notable Traits: Composed, calculating, and immovable. Rhaenys does not raise her voice to command or attemtion. She simply possesses It. Where others rule through presence, she rules through inevitability.

Biography: Rhaenys has outlived kings, wars, and expectations. She understands power not as something to seize, but something to endure. In a court that bends toward spectacle and volatility, she remains constant—watching, measuring, and ensuring the survival of her bloodline at any cost.

Physical Description: Canon (book/tv mashup) - Eve Best as Rhaenys Targaryen in HOTD but with the ASOIAF dark hair and violet eyes.

❥Queen Laena Velaryon

Daughter of: Lord Corlys Velaryon; Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.

Wife of: King Jacaerys Targaryen.

Role: Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; emotional and social counterbalance to the Crown.

Rider of: Vhagar

Wielder of: Water.

Notable Traits: Effortless, perceptive, and dangerously intuitive. Laena understands people in ways that cannot be taught. What they want, what they hide, and what they refuse to name. She moves through the world as though it belongs to her, and more often than not, it does.

Function in Story: Laena acts as both mirror and catalyst to Aeleanora—where Aeleanora is controlled, Laena is instinctual. Where Aeleanora resists desire, Laena recognizes it immediately.

Physical Description: Canon - Nanna Blondell as Laena Velaryon in HOTD (with the violet eyes bc lets match with mama). 

❥Lady Mysaria "The White Worm"

Daughter Of: Bastard born to a Valyrian lord and sold in a land she didn't get a chance to learn the name of before she was sold off to the slave trade.

Role: Master of Whispers; Leader of the Order of the Veiled Hand.

Weilder Of: Cerebromancy. Mysaria can see into anyone's mind, and can rearrange it accordingly, to her will.

Notable Traits: Omniscient in practice, if not in truth. Mysaria does not need to be seen to exert control—she exists in information, in secrets, in the unseen currents of power. Nothing moves in the realm without her knowing why. 

Function: The bridge between divine knowledge and mortal manipulation.

Biography:

At 20 years old, Mysaria was bought in Essos by a Westerosi lord who wanted her company on his sail home. She ventured into his mind one night and found that him and his house were planning an attack in protest of a new tax allowed by the crown for houses that hold important crossings.

When she arrived in Westeros, she knew of nothing, and did not even speak the common tongue, but she remembered venturing into the mind of her madame one night when she was a teen and learned the truth of the Silent Sisters. She was instantly enamored by them. When the lord who bought her brought her back to Westeros was asleep one night, she slipped out of the keep and escaped with the help of a stable boy and scullery maid that she had befriended when they helped her learn some words in the common tongue.

After weeks and weeks of travel by foot and slipping into the minds of others to compel them to do her bidding, she made it to the citadel and sought out the Silent Sisters and presented herself as a widow. After years of working as handmaiden of death, she wondered if what she saw in the mind of her madame was only a fever dream or a story the woman had made up.

Throughout this time, she tried to slip into the minds of her fellow sisters and her elders, but for the first time in her life she couldn't breach their mental barriers. Out of frustrating, she tried slamming into the mind of one of her elders after she was punished for something Mysaria couldn't bring herself to care about. Mysaria thought the elder was going to dispose of her, but instead, she was offered the blood oath and initiated into the secret order of Silent Sisters, where she met Princess Seraphyra.

They quickly became eachothers dearest friends, and upon their initiation and completion of their training, Sera brought Mysaria back to court with her and told her lord father, King Daeron, about Mysarias telepathic nature. King Daeron agreed that she was too powerful to pass over when she showed him what she could do. Mysaria was taken under the wing of King Daeron's Master of Whispers and trained to serve him and the king.

After the death of the Master of Whispers, who served King Daeron's grandfather, his father, and then King Daeron, Mysaria was initiated as King Daeron's new Master of Whispers towards the end of his reign. At this point, Mysaria was running a world wide network of whores, spies, assassins, urchins, merchants, servants, etc.; a major information market that some of the histories argue was where the true power of the Targaryen dynasty lay.

Lady Mysaria feels personally that she now owes her life both to the Silent Sisters and to Seraphyra, and to the family that took her in and treated her like she was a part of it. She pays this debt through her service to King Jacaerys and her love for her dear friend Sera by proxy of her daughter.

Physical Description: Canon - Sonoya Mizuno as Mysaria in HOTD

❥King Viserys I Targaryen [deceased] - (OOC-ish)

Son of: King Daeron II Targaryen [deceased]; Queen Myriah Martell [deceased].

Brother Of: Prince Baelor Targaryen; Prince Aerys I Targaryen; Prince Rhaegal Targaryen; Maekar I Targaryen.

Husband Of: Queen Aemma Targaryen [deceased].

*Father Of: King Jacaerys Targaryen; *Princess Aeleanora Targaryen.

Rider Of: Meraxes [Deceased].

Weilder Of: Wind.

Biography: 

Viserys never wanted to be king. He would, however, go down as one of the greatest Kings in history due to the help of his beloved Hand and younger brother, Prince Baelor "Breakspear" Targaryen.

He and his lady wife Aemma died dragon riders' deaths in a battle in Essos, where divine influence put their daughter's identity and life at risk.

❥Queen Aemma Targaryen [deceased] - (OOC-ish)

Daughter of: Daella Targaryen [deceased]; Rodrick Arryn [deceased]. I'm making it so royal children are named for the royal house instead of taking the fathers name.

Sister Of: Princess Seraphyra Targaryen [presumed deceased].

Wife Of: King Jacaerys Targaryen [deceased]

Mother Of: King Jacaerys Targaryen; *Princess Aeleanora Targaryen.

Rider Of: Dreamfyre

Weilder Of: Dreamwalker. She did not have Dragon Dreams, but she could manipulate the dream realm and was a huge part of the Targaryens' coming out on top in the rebellion. Despite losing many dragons, the information she plucked from the heads of lord commanders while she slept was what ultimately won them the war, sending the realm into an era of peace.

Biography: 

At the time of her birth, there was a human uprising that led to her parents sequestering themselves in the Vale. Shortly after the birth of her and her twin sister, the Vale was stormed by rebels, which resulted in the death of their parents. The pair of Targaryen princesses, twin sisters, were brought safely back to Dragonstone, where King Daeron and Myriah Martell raised them like they were their very own daughters.

Died a dragon rider's death with her Lord Husband, Viserys, and Meraxes, in a battle that occured 9 years before the beginning of the story. The realm thanks The Seven. for blessing her with an immortal heir and an immortal spare before her death.

She and her husband raised her neice, Aeleanora Targaryen, as their beloved daughter and second child; however, no one outside of their inner circle knows this.

By the time the babe was born, the story had already prepared itself for the realm: Queen Aemma had suffered a difficult confinement, but both mother and child survived. No one looked twice. A royal pregnancy hidden behind closed doors was ordinary, but a god-born child hidden in the cradle of a queen was not, which is precisely why the deception worked.

It helped that Aeleanora was born with eyes that could easily be read as kin to Aemma's Arryn coloring, especially by those who saw only what they expected to see. It also helped that, in childhood, she appeared to possess no remarkable power beyond a princess's rank, a dragon's favor, and the ordinary strangeness of the blood of Old Valryia. Hidden in plain sight, she became invisible in an impenetrable fortress

Queen Aemma discovered that divine influence put her daughter at risk when she was manipulating the dream realm, causing her death shortly after her and her husband neutralized the threat. 

❥Princess Seraphyra Targaryen [presumed deceased] - (OC)

Daughter Of: Daella Targaryen [deceased]; Rodrick Arryn [deceased]. 

Sister Of: Queen Aemma Targaryen [deceased].

Wife Of: Seraphyra has never been married, according to public knowledge…

Mother Of: Princess Aeleanora Targaryen.

Rider Of: Balerion, The Black Dread [presumed deceased]

Weilder Of: Healing magic. One of the most powerful the world has ever seen.

Role: Haunting the narrative.

Biography: Seraphyra is assumed to be deceased by the realm. During the reign of King Daeron II, the legends say she dismounted The Black Dread during an old uprising to heal her favorite cousin, Prince Baelor, who was crushed under his own mount when the dragon was struck out of the air by a scorpion. Baelor and his dragon both should've died that day, but Seraphyra was able to bring them both back at the cost of her own life. So filled with rage and grief, Balerion brought Seraphyra's body back to his homeland, Valyria, to grieve. No one has heard his song in the wind or seen his giant shadow across the horizon since.

The tavern just outside Summerhall was thick with woodsmoke and the low rumble of conversation. Tallow candles flickered unevenly, casting rolling shadows across the scarred tables. You sat in your usual corner bench, a cup of sour red warming between your palms, when you first noticed him. As the third-born daughter of House Mertyns, a modest banner, you came here often enough when the weight of family expectations and endless talk of advantageous marriages grew too heavy. It was a small rebellion, slipping away to a place where no one expected anything of you.

Across the room, half-hidden by the press of bodies, sat Daeron Targaryen. Silver hair catching the light beneath a plain hood, violet eyes steady on you. You had seen him here before on a handful of nights, always in the shadows, always drinking quietly. Each time your eyes had met by chance, you had looked away at once, cheeks burning with embarrassment at having locked eyes with a prince.

Tonight the first glance was accidental. You looked away quickly, as always, but when you glanced back, he was still watching you, quiet and intent, as if the noisy room had faded around him. This time, you held his gaze, your heart stumbling hard against your ribs. You offered him a small, polite smile. Surprise and interest flickered across his face in response.

You dropped your eyes to your cup, heat flooding your neck and cheeks. Your pulse thrummed in your ears. What are you doing? a voice in your head hissed. For a breathless moment you wavered, nerves twisting in your stomach. Then that old, familiar determination of yours rose in you. You drew in a slow breath, lifted your chin, and met his eyes again even as your skin burned. Then he rose slowly, weaving through the tables with unhurried steps, giving you every chance to turn away. When you stayed steady, his shoulders eased, and he returned your smile. He stopped beside your bench, voice low and rough with wine. 

“Forgive me,” he said, almost hesitant. “You held my eyes a moment longer than most do. I took it as permission to hope you wouldn’t mind company.” A faint, crooked smile touched his lips. “Might I sit? I’ve been watching you across the room like a fool, and pretending otherwise feels pointless now.”

You studied him for a moment, the faint flush on his sharp cheekbones that surely matched the heat sitting beneath your own skin. Your eyes dropped briefly to his left hand, flexing once at his side before returning to his face. “A prince admitting he’s been staring? That is either very brave or very drunk.”

“Both,” he admitted softly, sliding onto the bench across from you. His knee brushed yours beneath the table and stayed, a subtle warmth. “Daeron. Just Daeron tonight, if you’ll allow it.” He poured from his wineskin and offered you the cup first, fingers brushing yours in the exchange. “I’ve seen you here before, you know. Always in this corner. I’ve wanted to speak to you on those other nights, but never found the courage until you looked back.”

You accepted the cup, letting the brush of skin linger. “You noticed me before tonight? My prince—I mean,” you swallowed hard, correcting yourself, “ Daeron. I… gods, I must sound ridiculous. I’ve spent half my visits here trying not to stare at you like some moon-eyed fool.”

Daeron’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face before it melted into something warmer, almost boyish. The corner of his mouth twitched upward as a quiet laugh escaped him. He looked down for a brief moment, clearly caught off guard by your honesty. “I thought the same about you,” he admitted, voice low and a little rough. “Every time our eyes met I told myself to stop staring… and never quite managed it.”

A fresh wave of heat rose in your cheeks. You bit your lip, fighting a smile. “Then I suppose we’re both terrible at following our own advice.”

“A reprieve, perhaps,” he said, voice low and a touch rougher now. “The nights grow heavy. But hearing that… it makes them feel a little less so.” His hand rested near yours on the table, and you looked down at it to hide the flush creeping back into your face. His gaze followed yours, and he lifted his wrist a hair, forefinger reaching out to lightly trace the back of your hand. It was a light and questioning touch, and when you didn’t withdraw, he traced a slow circle there, callused and gentle. “It feels like the first easy thing in a long while.”

The tavern keeper shouted an order for more ale somewhere near the bar, and a burst of laughter rose from a nearby table of merchants and local men-at-arms, but it all felt distant now. You turned your hand, lacing your fingers loosely with his. “I know I shouldn’t say this… but you’re nothing like what the stories made me think.” Your voice softened. “You seem troubled tonight. What ails you, Daeron?”

His breath hitched visibly. For a heartbeat his eyes searched yours, raw surprise flickering across his face like a crack in a carefully held mask. He was quiet for a long moment, thumb gently stroking the back of your hand now. “Few people ask,” he murmured at last. “They usually just see the cup in my hand and look away.”

You gave his fingers a small, encouraging squeeze. “Then they’re fools,” you said softly. “You don’t look like a man who drinks for no reason.”

Daeron let out a tired, rueful breath. “Some nights it feels like the only thing that quiets everything else. The expectations. The weight of the name.” He paused, searching your face as if deciding whether he could trust this moment.

“It must be hard,” you said, voice just above a whisper. “My eldest brother carries the weight of our house on his shoulders, and even that seems crushing some days. I can’t imagine what it must be like to carry that in the royal house.” You adjusted your hand gave him a returning brush of your thumb over his knuckles. “It sounds incredibly lonely.”

Daeron watched your thumb make another slow pass over his hand before looking up again, and his expression had gentled. “It is,” he admitted, so softly you almost missed it beneath the tavern noise. “My father expects a warrior, a perfect heir… and I see too much when I close my eyes. The dreams don’t help. Most days it feels easier to dull the edges with wine than to pretend I’m what they want.” He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. “Sorry. This is foolish,” he shook his head and gave a dry laugh, “burdening a kind stranger with my troubles.”

“No,” you said quickly, squeezing his hand. “It’s not foolish at all. Not to me.” You felt your chest tighten at the quiet ache in his voice. “Sometimes the people closest to us are the ones who stop seeing us clearly. They see the title, or the duty, or the disappointment. But I see a man sitting in a smoky tavern, trying to breathe for a while.”

A faint, genuine smile curved his lips. He looked at you as though you were something rare and unexpected. The silence between you deepened, warm and humming, broken only by the distant clatter of tankards. For a long moment Daeron simply watched you, his expression soft with quiet wonder, as if he were memorizing you. He turned your hand, facing your palm up to lace your fingers together again.

“Thank you,” he said softly, voice rough with feeling. “That was kind of you. More kind than you know.” He exhaled a shaky breath, shoulders shifting slightly. “Forgive me for saying this—” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Talking to you feels like fresh air in a room that has been closed for far too long.”

You let out a small, surprised laugh, ducking your head as heat flooded your cheeks. “Fresh air?” you said, amusement in your voice. “Gods, that’s not usually how people describe me. I think ‘stubborn third daughter who hides in taverns’ is more common.”

Daeron’s eyes crinkled as his smile reached them. “Well, right now I see a woman who’s clever, kind, and brave enough to hold a prince’s gaze across a crowded tavern,” he murmured, thumb brushing slowly over your knuckles. “I think I rather like stubborn.”

The warmth in his voice made your stomach flutter. He held your gaze for another heartbeat, the tension between you like a held breath. His thumb stroked your wrist, slow and reverent. Then, voice low and a little hesitant, he added, “If I were bolder, I might ask if you’d like to leave this bench. Find a room upstairs where the rain sounds softer and we could talk… or not talk. Where the rest of the world feels a little farther away.”

Your pulse quickened at the gentle suggestion. “And if I said I’m not in the habit of following princes upstairs after a few long glances?”

“Then I’d call myself lucky for the glances alone,” he murmured, a faint flush deepening on his cheeks. “But I’d still hope you might say yes.” He gave your fingers a soft squeeze, searching your face with quiet intensity. “I won’t push. Stay here with me a while longer, or tell me to go. Whichever you want.”

Liquid warmth bloomed slowly through your chest as you met his eyes again. “I think,” a small nervous laugh escaped you, “I think that’s a fine idea, Daeron,” you whispered, voice sweet and a little breathless.