#velaryon!reader

Perhaps that was why the tension felt so jarring when she returned to the castle.

Something had changed. She could feel it even before she had reached inside. 

Servants hurried through corridors with their heads lowered. Conversations ceased when she approached. Twice she caught members of the household looking at her with an expression she could not quite place before quickly glancing away. By the time a servant informed her that her father wished to see her at once, curiosity had begun to give way to unease.

—

Her father’s solar was unusually crowded. Several of her father's advisers stood near the windows overlooking the harbour, speaking in low voices. They fell silent as soon as she entered. Lord Aethan Velaryon sat behind his desk with a letter open before him, the royal seal broken and discarded beside it.

Y/N looked from one face to another.

"What has happened?"

No one answered immediately. Either because they feared her reaction, or they could not find the words. 

Her father seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. "Come sit."

"I would rather know why everyone looks as though a dragon is circling the castle."

A few of the men shifted uncomfortably. Her father sighed and rubbed a hand across his brow before gesturing towards the letter.

"A proposal has arrived from King's Landing."

Y/N frowned. "For whom?"

The room grew noticeably quieter.

Then her father said, "For you."

She stared at him.

"A proposal?"

"From His Grace."

The words settled slowly.

King Maegor. 

Not a lord. Not a nobleman seeking an advantageous alliance. The king himself. The king whom they call “The Cruel”. 

For a moment the sheer absurdity of it overpowered everything else. She had known Maegor Targaryen once, years ago, when they had been children together at court. That felt like another lifetime now. The man who sat the Iron Throne was no longer the boy she remembered but a figure from stories, from rumours carried across the Narrow Sea by merchants and sailors. A warrior king. A tyrant. A dragonrider. A man whose name inspired fear in every corner of the realm.

And apparently he wished to marry her.

The thought was so ridiculous she nearly laughed.

Though, the expression on her father's face stopped her.

No one else in the room seemed remotely amused.

Y/N's gaze travelled around the room. The tension she had sensed throughout the castle was present here too, hanging over the gathering like a storm cloud. Not one person appeared surprised by the proposal itself. They appeared terrified of what might happen next.

Understanding dawned.

"You are afraid of refusing him."

No one denied it.

One of the advisers shifted awkwardly. Another stared fixedly at the floor. Her father looked tired.

"Y/N—"

"No." She folded her arms, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"You have all spent the day imagining what happens if we decline."

"We must be realistic."

"We must not behave as though my answer has already been given."

Her father rose from his chair. "This is not some ordinary match. Whatever people say of Maegor, he remains the King."

"And because he is king, I should simply agree?"

The question hung in the air. No one seemed eager to answer it.

The discussion continued well into the evening and accomplished very little. Every argument eventually returned to the same point: Maegor was powerful. Maegor was dangerous. He was not a man who heard the word no very often.

Y/N found herself growing increasingly irritated.

Not because anyone spoke kindly of the king. Most did not.

Rather, she disliked the assumption underlying every conversation. Her wishes seemed secondary to the fear that gripped everyone around her. The proposal itself mattered less than avoiding the consequences of rejecting it.

By the time she retired for the night, she wanted nothing more than to forget the entire matter.

The next morning destroyed any hope of that.

—

Dowager Queen Visenya Targaryen arrived shortly after dawn.

News of her approach reached the castle well before she did. By the time her party, and her dragon passed through the gates, the household had descended into a barely controlled panic. Servants rushed to prepare chambers worthy of a queen. Guards lined the courtyards. Noblemen who had spent the previous day worrying over Maegor's proposal now looked as though judgement itself had come to Driftmark.

Y/N, however, watched the arrival from an upper gallery.

She had heard countless stories about Visenya throughout her life. Warrior. Conqueror. Dragonrider. Sister-wife to Aegon the Conqueror and mother of the king.

The woman who dismounted in the courtyard somehow exceeded them all.

Age had silvered strands of her hair but had done little else to diminish her. She moved with complete certainty, as though the world naturally arranged itself around her presence. Men stepped aside without being asked. Conversations faltered when she passed. Even from a distance, she possessed the sort of authority that could not be learned.

—

The queen remained at Driftmark for less than a day before requesting a private audience.

Y/N suspected the request had never truly been a request.

The meeting took place in one of the smaller solar chambers overlooking the sea. Afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting silver reflections across the floor. Visenya stood near the glass when Y/N entered, her hands clasped behind her back as she gazed out towards the water.

For several moments neither woman spoke.

The silence was not uncomfortable, but it felt measured. Deliberate.

When Visenya finally turned, her purple eyes settled on Y/N with an intensity that immediately explained why so many men found her intimidating.

"So," the queen said. "You are the girl causing such concern."

Y/N almost smiled. "I was unaware I had done anything."

"No?" There was the faintest trace of amusement in Visenya's voice. "Half the castle fears you are about to refuse my son."

"Then half the castle ought to concern itself with its own affairs."

To her surprise, Visenya laughed softly.

The sound transformed her face for only a moment before it vanished again.

"You do not seem frightened."

"Should I be?"

"Most people are."

Y/N considered that.

Perhaps she should have been afraid. Every story she had ever heard about Maegor suggested she had reason enough. Yet fear was difficult to summon when the entire situation felt so infuriating.

"I dislike being treated as though I have no choice," she said at last.

Visenya studied her carefully.

"And if you do have a choice?"

The question lingered between them.

Y/N met the queen's gaze without hesitation.

"If I have a choice, then I will not be one wife amongst many."

The words left the room utterly silent. For the first time since the meeting began, something shifted in Visenya's expression.

Interest—genuine interest.

The queen regarded her for several long moments before a slow smile touched her lips.

"Is that so?"

Y/N did not look away.

"No self-respecting woman should be expected to accept such a position."

The smile remained.

Not mocking, not offended.

If anything, Visenya appeared thoughtful. As though she had finally encountered something unexpected to her.

Outside, the sea crashed softly against the cliffs below Driftmark. The sound filled the silence while the Queen Dowager continued to study her.

When she finally spoke again, her voice carried a note of curiosity that had not been there before.

"You are not at all what I expected."

princess!reader who feels lonely after her mother passed away with her only full sister, leaving her behind with her father, who quickly remarried and started a new family.

alys arryn is not a bad woman, not truly, she is almost like a mother, even and her newborn siblings are very cute, but she still misses her first family.

princess!reader who went to the ashford tourney because her maternal grandsire kept bothering her about marriage, and even driftmark, once her safe place, became just another too-big castle that made her feel small and alone.

so the opportunity to go on an adventure with her favorite uncles, her best cousin, and his very kind wife seemed too perfect to be true.

and too perfect it was, until aerion had to fuck things up, as always.

now princess!reader had to listen to how her paternal family was bad luck and full of horrible people, while her dumb cousin talked about family and honor with such a punchable face, and she could do nothing, because someone had already beaten her to it and given him a proper hit.

when she finally sees the one responsible for making her deepest wishes come true, she is completely enamored.

a giant of a man stands before them, trying to earn a chance to save his life from imminent death, and all she can think about is putting that big back of his to work, having his hands repair and maintain some of her personal fleet ships...

and don’t even get her started on his voice. she could hear it as clearly as the wind, growing louder and deeper as he shouted orders to a crew.

dunk was just as delusional as she was. he was there trying to escape visit of the strange. so he had to stay focused, but every time his eyes found hers, heat climbed up his neck to the tips of his ears.

in his mind, panic mixed with thoughts of a beautiful life with a goddess-level pretty princess... and a bunch of fat babies.

Prince Daeron Targaryen, after his marriage to the Lady of the Tides, liked to share with anyone who was in his vicinity that in theory he was “Prince Daeron of House Velaryon” as he married into her house. The marriage had been arranged so that the young Velaryon claimant might rule in her own right, while binding once again the ancient blood of Old Valyria. In such a union the prince was the means the crown had to tie a promising force to their ranks. 

The first moon turn of their marriage produced what is remembered as the earliest of the three great paintings associated with Prince Daeron’s life.

This work can still be seen in the main hall of High Tide, the ancient seat of Driftmark, where it hangs between the portraits of the late Lord Jorgen Velaryon and his wife, Mya Rivers turned Velaryon, and that of Lord Jacaerys Velaryon with his lady wife, Baela Celtigar.

In the painting, the Lady of the Tides sits upon the Driftwood Throne, clad in her wedding dress of sea-green and silver. The garments are rendered with such richness that the colors seem almost to swallow the gaze of those who stand before the portrait. A slender circlet of silver rests upon her brow, from which pearls fall like drops of foam upon the tide, nearly blending with her silver-white curls. In her left hand she holds a dagger identified in Velaryon inventories as Pearl of Driftmark, a blade of Valyrian steel said to have passed from lord to lord since the days of Lord Alyn Velaryon, such dagger also can be seen in others artworks where the lords and ladies of Driftmark are the central event. 

At her right stands Prince Daeron.

His hand rests upon his lady wife’s, a gesture often interpreted by later commentators as a symbol of their strong bond and his place as her right hand off the seas. The prince himself is dressed not in the colors of his birth house, the royal family, but in more sea-green and silver, the hues of his wife’s house. A simple silver circlet crowns his head, set with a single pearl that matches the one worn by the Lady of the Tides. Though the prince’s head is turned toward the painter, the artist seems unable to conceal a certain truth: Daeron’s gaze, and indeed the posture of his whole body, remains fixed upon his wife.

The piece is known in the Velaryon records as The Lady and Her Prince, and is frequently referenced in accounts of first years of the lady’s reign.

The second painting associated with the prince lies not in the great halls but within one of the inner chambers of Driftmark Castle. Known simply as “The Heir", it was painted after the day when the couple’s firstborn son, Jacaerys Velaryon, was presented to the smallfolk of Driftmark.

The boy was the grandson of King Maekar, and heir to the Lady of the Tides. He is portrayed standing upon the upper landing of the castle’s main stair, dressed all in silver, waving a chubby hand toward the gathered crowd below. Behind him stand his parents. Prince Daeron is depicted in garments that match those of his son, his attention wholly fixed upon the child. One hand remains steady upon his lady wife’s lower back, while she herself steadies the young prince with careful hands.

Notably, the Lady of the Tides is shown with a faint crease of worry upon her brow, a detail many maesters have remarked upon when discussing the painting.

This work is often cited in descriptions of the old Velaryon custom of presenting an heir to the people only after the child has lived long enough to be considered blessed by their Merling King. Some later writers claim the rite to have originated in the belief that the ancient kings of the Narrow Sea approved such heirs if after some years they still had the gift of breathing. 

The painting is also frequently mentioned in connection with the peculiar distinction held by the boy himself. Jacaerys Velaryon was the second man of that name to bear the title of prince of the blood while carrying a surname other than Targaryen, and by certain counts he is remembered as the fourth Velaryon prince in the long history of the royal house.

The last of the great paintings depicting Prince Daeron was commissioned many years later by Jacaerys, after he rose to become Master of Driftmark.

At its center stands Prince Daeron in the midst of battle, captured in the moment of victory. His sword is raised high as he cries victory, the blade shining bright in his right hand. His armor is rendered in silver steel, while a sea-green cloak, very torn and darkened with foreign blood, whips behind him in the wind.

Beside him stands the Lady of the Tides, in armor bearing the seahorse of her house proudly on her chest. She is shown tall and unbowed, gazing forward like a conqueror while the bodies of fallen rebels lie beneath her feet. The prince’s free hand clasps her own, binding them together even amid the carnage of battle.

The painting was titled Victory of the Seahorses.

Though the work itself is now believed lost, it is mentioned more than once in writings concerning the events surrounding the Third Blackfyre Rebellion, where the deeds of both Daeron and his lady wife are said to have played no small part.