#but something is wrong

A Not So Conventional Family..

It’s not often spoken about outside of those who experience regressing health due to disability, but grieving physical health hits HARD.

WHAT IS THAT

⚠️ Tumblr Warnings

coming of age / court life

political lessons & duty

light romance (soft, early)

protective dynamics (sworn shield)

prophetic dreams / foreshadowing

canon-typical tension

✨ Summary

A month into life at court, Maegelle begins to find her place.

She gains a sworn shield, learns how rulers must think, and watches the world of knights and politics unfold around her.

But as she grows more certain in the waking world—

Her dreams begin to change.

And this time, they do not bring dragons. Only darkness.

The second month in the Red Keep felt different.

The castle had begun to settle around Maegelle like a cloak she was slowly learning how to wear.

Servants no longer watched her with open curiosity. She knew which staircases were quietest in the mornings. She knew which guards nodded politely and which ones pretended not to stare at the silver-haired girl with dragon dreams.

And most importantly—

She was no longer afraid to walk the halls alone.

It was Prince Baelor who brought the matter forward.

One morning after breakfast, when the royal family still lingered around the long table, Baelor set down his cup and spoke in his calm, steady voice.

“There is another matter we should attend to.”

King Daeron glanced up.

“Oh?”

Baelor’s gaze shifted toward Maegelle.

“My niece has been in the Red Keep for more than a month now.”

Maegelle straightened slightly.

“Yes, Uncle.”

Baelor nodded.

“And it occurs to me she walks the halls with no sworn shield of her own.”

King Daeron raised an eyebrow.

“That is an oversight.”

Queen Myriah looked thoughtful.

“It is.”

Matarys leaned across the table.

“Can I volunteer?”

“No,” Baelor said immediately.

Matarys leaned back with a sigh.

“I try to be helpful.”

Baelor ignored him.

“There is a knight in our service I believe would suit the role.”

The doors of the hall opened then, and a tall knight entered with measured steps.

He removed his helm and knelt.

“Ser Donnel of Duskendale, Your Grace.”

Maegelle studied him quietly.

He was younger than many knights she had seen in the yard—perhaps her age—with dark hair and a calm, watchful face. His white king's guard armor shone in the morning sun.

King Daeron nodded.

“Rise, Ser Donnel.”

The knight stood.

Baelor gestured toward Maegelle.

“My niece, Princess Maegelle Targaryen, is to remain in the Red Keep as ward of the crown and future consort to my son.”

Ser Donnel inclined his head respectfully toward her.

“It would be my honor to serve.”

Baelor looked at Maegelle.

“The choice should be yours.”

Maegelle blinked slightly.

“Mine?”

“Yes.”

Baelor’s voice remained even.

“A sworn shield should be someone you trust.”

Maegelle looked back at the knight.

Ser Donnel met her gaze steadily, neither proud nor overly humble.

Simply waiting.

“Have you served here long?” she asked.

“Five years, Princess,” he replied.

“And before that?”

“In the Stormlands. I fought in the final battles against the Blackfyre rebels.”

Maegelle considered that.

“And why accept this duty?”

Ser Donnel answered simply.

“Because protecting the blood of the dragon is an honorable charge.”

Maegelle looked toward King Daeron briefly.

The king gave a small approving nod.

Finally she turned back to the knight.

“Then I would be glad to have you as my sworn shield, Ser Donnel.”

Ser Donnel dropped to one knee once more.

“I swear before gods and men to guard your life with my own, Princess.”

“I will not require that,” Maegelle said softly.

Ser Donnel allowed himself the faintest smile.

“Most people do not.”

Valarr, sitting across the table, looked quietly pleased.

Matarys leaned toward Aegon’s empty chair and whispered to himself,

“I wanted the job.”

Later that same morning, Baelor stopped Maegelle as she was leaving the hall.

“My niece,” he said calmly. “Would you walk with me a moment?”

Maegelle inclined her head.

“Of course, Uncle.”

They walked together through one of the long galleries overlooking the inner courtyard where knights already trained below.

After a moment Baelor spoke.

“If two lords arrive at court with the same grievance, each claiming the other stole cattle from his lands… how would you judge the matter?”

Maegelle blinked.

“I… would ask for proof.”

“Both men insist they have proof.”

She hesitated.

“Then I would ask who benefits from lying.”

Baelor glanced at her.

“Go on.”

“If one lord gains nothing from the lie… but the other gains land or gold, then I would look closer at him.”

Baelor nodded slightly.

“A reasonable answer.”

They continued walking.

“If a lord refuses a royal tax because his people are starving… should the crown punish him?”

Maegelle thought longer this time.

“No.”

Baelor raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

“Punishing him will not make the people less hungry,” she said quietly. “It will only make them angry.”

“And what would you do instead?”

“Send grain if we have it.”

Baelor stopped walking.

“And if we do not?”

Maegelle looked out across the courtyard.

“Then we make sure the lord knows the crown is trying to help.”

Baelor studied her carefully.

“You listen before answering,” he said.

“I try to.”

“That will serve you well.”

Late in the month King Daeron announced a small tourney for visiting knights.

Colorful tents filled the fields outside the city walls.

Maegelle sat beside Queen Myriah and Princess Jena beneath a shaded pavilion.

Ser Donnel now stood quietly behind her chair.

Matarys leaned over the railing watching the lists.

“This one will fall,” he declared.

“He has not even started riding yet,” Jena said dryly.

“That is why he will fall.”

Then the trumpets sounded.

Prince Valarr rode into the lists.

Maegelle felt her hands tighten slightly in her lap.

“You are worried,” Jena observed.

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

The horses thundered forward.

The crack of splintering wood echoed across the field.

Valarr’s opponent hit the ground hard.

The crowd erupted.

Matarys cheered wildly.

Maegelle exhaled slowly.

Behind her, Ser Donnel murmured approvingly,

“A clean strike.”

Valarr won two more passes that afternoon.

When he returned, dusty but smiling, his eyes found Maegelle’s first.

She smiled shyly.

He smiled back.

The dream came that night.

There were no dragons.

No fire.

Only a dark corridor lit by flickering torches.

At the end of the hall stood Princess Jena beside a tall window.

“Come see,” Jena called gently.

Maegelle tried to move toward her—

But the torches began to dim.

One by one.

The sound of waves grew louder against the castle walls.

Too loud.

The wind rushed through the corridor.

The final torch went out.

And Jena stood alone in the dark.

Maegelle woke suddenly.

Her heart was racing.

She sat upright in the silent chamber.

For a long moment she simply listened to the wind outside the window.

Then she whispered softly to herself,

“I do not understand that one.”

Outside, the sea moved quietly against the shore.

And somewhere in the castle—