Princess Rhaenys Targaryen

A baby Rhaenys on her way to flirt with her man 💅

Velaryon Chambers, 26th day of the 4th moon, 131AC, Winter

As dusk spilled lavender shadows across the floors of the Velaryon chambers at The Red Keep, Princess Rhaenys knelt on a pillow beside the bathtub, guiding fleet of toy ships through water. Her young daughter, Nyssie, giggled, her cheeks flushed with delight as her tiny fingers sent ripples across the water’s surface, making the little vessels dance.

“See Mua. Sea Snakey!”

“Yes, tala. That one does look like Kepa’s Sea Snake,” Rhaenys said with a gentle smile. Nyssie was ten-and-six moons now and Rhaenys was pleased that she babbled in both High Valyrian and Common Tongue.

“Sea Snakey go wooo!” Nyssie said with a wide grin towards Rhaenys, which make Rhaenys laugh softly.

“Yes, The Sea Snake is Kepa’s fastest ship.”

As the water cooled, Rhaenys scooped Nyssie up into her arms and wrapped her up in thick cloths to dry her. As Nyssie protested Rhaenys reminded her that Joffrey was coming by to spend time with them.

“Goff-goff?” Nyssie said and tilted her hair.

“Yes, your Goff-goff is coming. I’m sure he’ll want lots of kisses and help you build towers with your blocks, before bedtime,” Rhaenys said tenderly as she dressed her daughter.

Rhaenys knew she had been breaking standards for a royal mother’s duties, but she couldn’t care less. She didn’t want to miss a single thing when it came to Nyssie. She had breastfed her for ten moons and unlike royals of the past she did not make use of the shared nursery. Instead, she had had one of the chambers they occupied transformed into a nursery for Nyssie.  

Once Nyssie had been dressed Rhaenys put her down and straightened her own clothes before she joined her husband in their sitting room. “Has he arrived?”

“Kep-Corr!” Nyssie growled as she ran towards him.

At first, he had been quite puzzled as to why MNyssie would growl at him, but when he learned that it was how heard Rhaenys call for him as “Corlys!” it only made him laugh.

“Hello my Princess,” he said happily and crouched down to her, winching slightly as his knee crackled. “All done with your bath?”

“All done! Sea Snakey go wooo!”

“Oh you played with the ships?”

“Issa!”

Corlys grinned and shifted to sit on the couch and lifted Nyssie up beside him.

“So, are you going to bed now, my Princess?”  

“Daor Kep-Corr! Goff-goff come play.” Nyssie said, with such a serious expression that Corlys had to bit down hard to stop himself from laughing. The girl was without a shadow of doubt her mother’s daughter.

Corlys watched as Rhaenys’ ladies’ maid lit more candles before she left. “Now, where’s you muña? Did you splash lots of water on her?” Corlys asked, just as Rhaenys entered.

As always, her entrance to any room he was in, almost took his breath away. She was beautiful. Age had not changed her as it had many others. She was as tall and imposing as ever and Corlys was glad he and everyone around them knew she had a kind heart.

“Goff-goff come?”

Corlys nodded to Nyssie, before turning to Rhaenys. “Not yet, however I am certain he will be here soon. Perhaps he got held up at dinner with his parents or got lost in a fairytale like his muñazma,” he said teasingly.

Everything had been done, his schedule had been all checked off and his room was in perfect condition. Joffrey had just left Harrold, who was now spending time with his twin brother, gave him a kiss goodbye and began to make his way to the Velaryon chambers. It was finally time to see his grandparents, and Nyssie, of course.

The Prince was dressed nicely, as he always was. In Velaryon blues and black boots that clicked as he walked. After arriving, Joffrey entered, slowly, as to not interrupt anything they may be currently doing. "Hello..."

"Grandmother, Grandfather, Princess Alysanne!" He greeted them. But he was unable to keep to his formalities for very long, and then engulfed his grandmother into a hug. "I'm very happy to be here..." He spoke into the hug, almost a whisper.

He hugged his grandfather, then went over to kiss Nyssie on the forehead, bending to speak with her. "How do you fare, dearest Nyssie? I missed you!"

“Goff-goff!”  

Rhaenys readily wrapped her arms around Joffrey returning the warm hug. “We’ve missed you so much,” she replied in a whisper against his dark locks. That much was true. Rhaenys adored the time Joffrey spend at Driftmark, loved watching Corlys teach him about the ways of the island and the sea. And she had missed spending time with him in the dragon pit, tending to their dragons and talking about everything big or small.

She settled down as Joffrey went to Nyssie.

“Goff-goff!” Nyssie grinned and launched herself against him. “Goff-goff play!” She agreed readily and placed a sloppy kiss to his nose.

Rhaenys nodded and gestured towards a small crate of toys beside the chair. “Her blocks are in there, but beware, she enjoys knocking over the towers once they get three blocks high.”

She smiled at Corlys’ kiss and leaned against him, aware that Joffrey like his siblings were used to seeing both his grandparents and parents show affection to each other in the privacy of their chambers.

Vaella’s family was excited. Vaella herself was excited too.

Lord Corlys Velaryon and his wife Princess Rhaenys Targaryen-Velaryon arrived to King’s Landing safely after moons of anticipation from their families. Vaella had been worried about the rough weather in the seas and the cold but Gunthor calmed her worries by stating that Uncle Corlys knew how to navigate the seas with perfect precision.

On the day that Lord Corlys arrived, Vaella, Valaena and Gunthor were among the first to greet them, with Valaena throwing herself in Princess Rhaenys' arms while Gunthor and Vaella hugged Lord Corlys in greeting.

Vaella had wanted to tell them the news about her courting but she decided not to as she wanted them to rest up and relax from their long journey.

So two days later when her family (her mother and brother) invited the couple over to their family solar for some tea, Vaella excitedly told them the news.

"I am currently being courted by Lord Doran Yronwood," she gushed.

Once settled in the Red Keep, Corlys and Rhaenys readily accepted the invitation to join the Darklyn’s for tea and family time. Corlys took a seat and exchanged a few words with Gunthor, while pouring a little something stronger into his tea with a mischievous wink in Vaella’s direction.

Soon Valaena was settled with Nyssie near the fire and Corlys had joined Rhaenys and Vaella by the windows overlooking the snow-covered courtyard.

At Vaella’s confession, Corlys raised his brows and looked to Rhaenys, quite unsure whether this was a good match or not. Though he did not believe his cousin would agree to an imperfect match for her daughter. “Well that’s…” He began but fell silent and took a long sip of his tea, allowing Rhaenys to take the lead in this, as she had always been more diplomatic and levelheaded than him. The great council had truly errored when they hadn’t made her queen.

Rhaenys leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the top of Vaella’s head before she took a seat and refilled her cup with the warm tea. She tilted her head curiously as she listened to Vaella, only to shoot Corlys a quick glare, which she was pleased worked and he fell silent again.

“Is that so?” She asked curiously. “I’m not very familiar with Lord Doran Yronwood,” she admitted with an apologetic smile. “Tell me about him? And do tell me all about this courtship.” She added, scooting closer to Vaella. “Is he staying within the Red Keep at this time as well?” Rhaenys was curious, she adored weddings and wanted her nieces and nephews to be happy and loved. She knew happiness and love wasn’t dependent on parents’ approval – her own mother had disapproved of her choosing of Corlys – but it made things easier when the family was accepting of the union.

Rhaenys chuckled softly as Nyssie once again manged to untie the string holding her white braid. Nyssie had developed quite the habit of setting Rhaenys’ hair free.

“Now now, little Princess, that won’t do,” she said softly and took the strong from Nyssie’s grip. “It’s muña’s,” she added and leaned in placing a tender kiss to Nyssie’s dark curls. Rhaenys handed Nyssie one of her toys and straightened up again.

They were seated on the bed, Nyssie was due for a nap soon, but Rhaenys was awaiting the arrival of one of her oldest and dearest friends, her cousin and lay in waiting Alyssa. Due to shear bad luck it had been moons since the two of them had had a chance to talk and since Alyssa had seen Nyssie.

Seeing the Baratheon branch of the family tree felt different after the death of her mother. Rhaenys daily debated whether or not she was still mourning, but she had left most of her black mourning clothes behind on Driftmark, only bringing a few, should the winter be as harsh as predicted.

Rhaenys looked around at the crates and chests that still stood side by side along every wall of the main bedchamber of the Velaryon apartments within The Red Keep. Rhaenys had not only insisted on bringing Velaryon and Targaryen heirlooms and sentimental items, but she had also brought along the crates she had inherited from her mother, which she had not gone through since they arrived from Storm’s End. She hoped Alyssa would help her and ease the difficulty they might find within.

Despite the difficult relationship between Rhaenys and her mother when Rhaenys was young, the two had mended their bond in recent years, however, Rhaenys did not know what her mother had left her, other than the Targaryen jewels her dear kepa had gifted her mother over the years.

Rhaenys gave up and let the braid unravel as she watched her young daughter play with the toy hippocamp Corlys had commissioned for her.

In truth, she was simply panic-drunk and not trying to drop her second glass of wine, which she had taken along for courage (and hydration).

Which was to say, she had finished three goblets, tripped on her own skirts somewhere near a tapestry of some Targaryen looking particularly judgemental, and shouted at a guard who dared to suggest she slow down.

The Dowager Lady of Parchments — a title which sounded far more respectable than the woman actually was — was making haste. Or something that resembled haste, if one squinted and ignored the sound of her boots thudding like hooves on stone.

“Seven bloody hells, Jocelyn,” Alyssa muttered, ducking past a pair of Lannister girls who were gossiping far too loudly about someone’s bastard child (probably true, judging by the tone). “Die and leave crates for your daughter instead of proper instructions like a decent woman, why don’t you-?”

She almost collided with a squire carrying a tray of pomegranates, cursed him to the Stranger under her breath, and nearly tripped on her own laces again.

It was fine. She was fine. Only a bit flushed, only a bit winded. (It was fine.)

In truth, Alyssa Baratheon — Penrose now, but really, who gave a pig’s arse? — had not seen her cousin since the funeral, and even then, it had been a blur of black lace and wine cups stained with grief.

She pushed open the doors with the flair of someone who had been raised in a house of storms and made entirely of drama, and called out:

“Rhae, if you’re decent, prepare to be disappointed. I’ve come bearing foul wine breath and questionable intentions!”

And then, quite suddenly, she stopped.

Because on the bed, in a small sunlit pool of peace, sat her cousin Rhaenys Targaryen — crownless, regal, barefoot — with a tiny, curly-haired child in her lap, chewing on a wooden hippocamp like it was made of dreams.

Alyssa blinked.

“Oh gods, you’ve replicated, haven’t you?”

Nyssie looked up and glared at her. A perfect Rhaenys glare for someone still learning how to walk.

Alyssa blinked again. “Well, oh dear.”

And then she grinned, marched in like she owned the place (she never had, but liked pretending), plopped down on a velvet stool that did not seem made for plopping, and said:

“Well? Are you going to make me cry like a little fool or shall we open your mother’s damned crates before she haunts me with more passive-aggressive letters?”

Pause. A glance to the child.

“—And you, little Princess of Hippocamps, don’t look at me in that tone of voice. I brought you a present. It’s in my boot. Don’t ask questions.”

“It would seem that Alyssa has arrived, before Elinda,” she said tenderly. When Alyssa entered Rhaenys simply looked at her, taking in her cousins remarks with practiced neutrality from years of study under her muñazma The Good Queen.

Only when Alyssa sat down, did Rhaenys grin softly as Nyssie glared. “I’ve not replicated further since last we met, dear cousin. But you must remember babes and children tend to grow, something that especially obvious when you don’t see them for months,” she said fondly. “Alas I see much more of Corlys in her than I see myself.”

After Elinda came to take Nyssie down to the nursery for a nap, Rhaenys stood and looked at the crates, before she settled her eyes on her cousin again. “I don’t think my Mother will haunt you, any more than me,” she reasoned and turned to the chests and crates once more, uncertain of where to start.

“Heaven knows, they might all be filled with parchment or Baratheon dresses she wanted to dress me and now Nyssie in. No disrespect to the Baratheons but neither me nor Nyssie are Baratheons.” Rhaenys finally decided on the chest to the far right. She knelt down on the floor and unlocked it before she flipped the lid open.

“Seven Hells,” she cursed under her breath as the chest was perfectly packed with robes and dresses. Hues of Tarageryen red and Veralyon blues shone through the delicately placed and incredibly thin parchment papers. Rhaenys leaned in closer, looking through the collection. “This is all new. What in the Gods was she thinking?”

Rhaenys looked up at her cousin. “Do you know anything about this? Let’s open the rest and see if there’s a letter anywhere. Or if it’s all new dresses.”  

Alyssa leaned forward, squinting into the chest as though the dresses themselves had personally insulted her.

“Ok, I was aware there were dresses, but if Aunt Jocelyn had left a letter, surely she could’ve left instructions for everything else. ‘Here, daughter mine, please bury these gowns in Driftmark’s deepest cellar. Or better yet, burn them in a respectable blaze that might scare the Faith into thinking you’ve gone mad. But no, she leaves you gowns, like some bloody… sartorial ambush.”

A pause. Alyssa reached for the top layer of parchment and held it up to the light, frowning.

“You know, I could swear I saw her working with her seamstresses near the end. I thought it was just vanity, making certain she had gowns that cinched in the right places so she could gloat at court. But no — turns out she was stocking you like a larder. Gods preserve us, Rhaenys, it’s as though she thought she could bribe you into remembering her with silk.”

Alyssa sat back on the stool, folding her arms. Her blue eyes were bright with amusement but softened just a little at the edges.

“Some sort of…apology, I suppose? Beyond the Stranger's veil? No instructions, just gowns. Just like her."

She tipped back what remained of her wine with a practiced hand, set the goblet down on the crate, and gave Rhaenys a wry smile.

“Well. If nothing else, I suppose you won’t need a seamstress for a decade. Unless you’d like me to take a few gowns home for myself, of course. I’d look devastating in Targaryen red. And before you protest — don’t bother. I already know I’m right.”

“An apology?” Rhaenys’ head shut up, looking at Alyssa. “That doesn’t sound like my Mother, and you know that very well. The furrow between her brow faded as she began to chuckle at the pure absurdity. The gowns were nothing like she’d ever wear. But perhaps her mother had done her best.

Rhaenys shook her head fondly and knocked Alyssa’s cup down as she opened the next crate. A wave of relief washed over her as this seemed to be filled with books and scrolls. Rhaenys looked over the titles. “These belong with the Maesters. These are books Kepa ‘freed’ from the royal library. I had no idea Mother brought them with her to Storm’s End.” Rhaenys moved to the next crate, jewels and gifts, ordinary heirlooms.

When she reached the last crate, Rhaenys sat back on her haunches. “I don’t remember this,” she said as she picked up the painting. It was of her and her parents, but she couldn’t have been more than two years of age. “I doubt it’s ever been hung,” she added quietly, looking from her father’s violet eyes to her mother’s black hair. She had inherited her looks from both of them, though these days her hair resembled her Targaryen heritage fully.

Rhaenys turned it over. “It’s from your father!” She said and lowered the small painting looking up at Alyssa. “Have you seen it before?”

in my head, they’re still snuggled up in each other’s arms and no one is dead

Rhaenys chuckled softly as Nyssie once again manged to untie the string holding her white braid. Nyssie had developed quite the habit of setting Rhaenys’ hair free.

“Now now, little Princess, that won’t do,” she said softly and took the strong from Nyssie’s grip. “It’s muña’s,” she added and leaned in placing a tender kiss to Nyssie’s dark curls. Rhaenys handed Nyssie one of her toys and straightened up again.

They were seated on the bed, Nyssie was due for a nap soon, but Rhaenys was awaiting the arrival of one of her oldest and dearest friends, her cousin and lay in waiting Alyssa. Due to shear bad luck it had been moons since the two of them had had a chance to talk and since Alyssa had seen Nyssie.

Seeing the Baratheon branch of the family tree felt different after the death of her mother. Rhaenys daily debated whether or not she was still mourning, but she had left most of her black mourning clothes behind on Driftmark, only bringing a few, should the winter be as harsh as predicted.

Rhaenys looked around at the crates and chests that still stood side by side along every wall of the main bedchamber of the Velaryon apartments within The Red Keep. Rhaenys had not only insisted on bringing Velaryon and Targaryen heirlooms and sentimental items, but she had also brought along the crates she had inherited from her mother, which she had not gone through since they arrived from Storm’s End. She hoped Alyssa would help her and ease the difficulty they might find within.

Despite the difficult relationship between Rhaenys and her mother when Rhaenys was young, the two had mended their bond in recent years, however, Rhaenys did not know what her mother had left her, other than the Targaryen jewels her dear kepa had gifted her mother over the years.

Rhaenys gave up and let the braid unravel as she watched her young daughter play with the toy hippocamp Corlys had commissioned for her.

In truth, she was simply panic-drunk and not trying to drop her second glass of wine, which she had taken along for courage (and hydration).

Which was to say, she had finished three goblets, tripped on her own skirts somewhere near a tapestry of some Targaryen looking particularly judgemental, and shouted at a guard who dared to suggest she slow down.

The Dowager Lady of Parchments — a title which sounded far more respectable than the woman actually was — was making haste. Or something that resembled haste, if one squinted and ignored the sound of her boots thudding like hooves on stone.

“Seven bloody hells, Jocelyn,” Alyssa muttered, ducking past a pair of Lannister girls who were gossiping far too loudly about someone’s bastard child (probably true, judging by the tone). “Die and leave crates for your daughter instead of proper instructions like a decent woman, why don’t you-?”

She almost collided with a squire carrying a tray of pomegranates, cursed him to the Stranger under her breath, and nearly tripped on her own laces again.

It was fine. She was fine. Only a bit flushed, only a bit winded. (It was fine.)

In truth, Alyssa Baratheon — Penrose now, but really, who gave a pig’s arse? — had not seen her cousin since the funeral, and even then, it had been a blur of black lace and wine cups stained with grief.

She pushed open the doors with the flair of someone who had been raised in a house of storms and made entirely of drama, and called out:

“Rhae, if you’re decent, prepare to be disappointed. I’ve come bearing foul wine breath and questionable intentions!”

And then, quite suddenly, she stopped.

Because on the bed, in a small sunlit pool of peace, sat her cousin Rhaenys Targaryen — crownless, regal, barefoot — with a tiny, curly-haired child in her lap, chewing on a wooden hippocamp like it was made of dreams.

Alyssa blinked.

“Oh gods, you’ve replicated, haven’t you?”

Nyssie looked up and glared at her. A perfect Rhaenys glare for someone still learning how to walk.

Alyssa blinked again. “Well, oh dear.”

And then she grinned, marched in like she owned the place (she never had, but liked pretending), plopped down on a velvet stool that did not seem made for plopping, and said:

“Well? Are you going to make me cry like a little fool or shall we open your mother’s damned crates before she haunts me with more passive-aggressive letters?”

Pause. A glance to the child.

“—And you, little Princess of Hippocamps, don’t look at me in that tone of voice. I brought you a present. It’s in my boot. Don’t ask questions.”

“It would seem that Alyssa has arrived, before Elinda,” she said tenderly. When Alyssa entered Rhaenys simply looked at her, taking in her cousins remarks with practiced neutrality from years of study under her muñazma The Good Queen.

Only when Alyssa sat down, did Rhaenys grin softly as Nyssie glared. “I’ve not replicated further since last we met, dear cousin. But you must remember babes and children tend to grow, something that especially obvious when you don’t see them for months,” she said fondly. “Alas I see much more of Corlys in her than I see myself.”

After Elinda came to take Nyssie down to the nursery for a nap, Rhaenys stood and looked at the crates, before she settled her eyes on her cousin again. “I don’t think my Mother will haunt you, any more than me,” she reasoned and turned to the chests and crates once more, uncertain of where to start.

“Heaven knows, they might all be filled with parchment or Baratheon dresses she wanted to dress me and now Nyssie in. No disrespect to the Baratheons but neither me nor Nyssie are Baratheons.” Rhaenys finally decided on the chest to the far right. She knelt down on the floor and unlocked it before she flipped the lid open.

“Seven Hells,” she cursed under her breath as the chest was perfectly packed with robes and dresses. Hues of Tarageryen red and Veralyon blues shone through the delicately placed and incredibly thin parchment papers. Rhaenys leaned in closer, looking through the collection. “This is all new. What in the Gods was she thinking?”

Rhaenys looked up at her cousin. “Do you know anything about this? Let’s open the rest and see if there’s a letter anywhere. Or if it’s all new dresses.”