𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉

“Stolen?” Rhaenyra was genuinely shocked, she truly didnt know thats wat she done. It was out on a stand, and naturally she assumed it was free for the taking like the ones back home. She reached for the apple, fully intended on taking it back, only to fall short when Criston brought it to his mouth and took a bite first.

“We brought coins. We can go back and pay for it,” she stumbled out, already glancing in the direction of the stand as though someone might come searching for them at any moment.

Her worry began to ease up when she noticed that he didn’t seem nearly as concerned as she was. The smile he was trying to hide finally showed itself, and Rhaenyra’s expression relaxed with it. She rolled her eyes, pressing her hand against his chest in a playfu shove.

So far it was nice, running away with him. Better than she thought it would be when she would stay up at night imagining it before she finally decided she had enough of feeling trapped beneath the weight of the crown.

Still, doubts followed her even here. Most mornings, she wondered whether she had made the right choice. Whether choosing her own happiness over the throne had been selfish, or whether one day she would wake and regret everything she left behind.

But moments like this quieted those thoughts.

“Turn me in and I’ll tell them you kidnapped me,” she warned, but the smile on her face ruined any attempt at seriousness.

Rhaenyra took the apple from his hand and bit into it herself, watching him as she chewed. The thought of going inland, of finding some city where no one knew her name or expected anything from her, was exciting.

A home built from love rather than duty.

A life that belonged to them instead of the realm.

Her gaze remained on his as she held the apple between them for him to get another bite. "Might as well finish it since I stole it." Rhae laughed a bit, still feeling a tad bad for the action. "I'll follow you anywhere, Ser Criston."

Bring Aegon the usurper to me!

Rhaenyra knew what her son longed for, the same as so many Targaryen men seemed to long for. Glory. Victory. A chance to be remembered. But she was his mother before she was his queen, and her truest duty was to make certain her sons lived long enough to inherit everything she fought to reclaim.

What use was any of this war if Jacaerys never sat the Iron Throne himself? What would any of it matter if his light was snuffed out too soon by needless bloodshed? Surely nothing.

“When the month is over and I am seated on that throne,” she began, acknowledging both his counsel and the work he had already done for her cause, “then you may join Daemon in keeping the realm secure and helping restore order.”

Rhaenyra paused, studying him, because she knew her son well enough to understand that he would not remain idle forever. If she tried to keep him hidden away out of fear, he would only grow more restless, and restless Targaryens were known for making senseless choices.

“When it comes time to fly for King’s Landing...” She laced her fingers together in front of her skirts, a soft smile touching her face even though the words she was about to say frightened her more than she wished to show. “You may fly beside Daemon and I.”

The thought of Jace in the sky, surrounded by arrows, dragons and men desperate to kill her heirs made her stomach churn. But still, he was right about one thing...

@valyrianvows asked: i want to weep. i want to be comforted. i’m so tired of being strong. ❞ from rhae

Daemon   looked   at   her   for   a   long   moment   without   speaking.   The   words   struck   harder   than   any   accusation   could   have.   Not   because   they   surprised   him,   but   because   they   were   spoken   aloud   at   last.   Rhaenyra   had   carried   grief   like   armor   for   so   long   that   even   now   she   seemed   ashamed   of   the   weight   of   it.   He   crossed   the   space   between   them   and   took   her   hands   in   his.   They   were   cold.   "Then   weep,"   he   said   quietly.   "No   one   who   has   lost   a   son   should   be   asked   to   do   otherwise."   His   grip   tightened   slightly.   "You   have   been   strong   because   you   had   no   choice.   Not   because   you   were   meant   to   bear   this   alone."

At   the   mention   of   Jace,   something   dark   passed   across   his   face.   The   wound   was   his   as   well,   though   he   carried   it   differently.   "I   miss   him   too."   The   admission   came   rougher   than   he   intended.   "The   realm   saw   an   heir.   I   saw   a   good   man.   A   brave   one."   His   thumb   brushed   across   her   knuckles.   "You   do   not   need   to   be   queen   tonight.   Let   the   lords   and   councils   wait.   Let   them   all   wait."   It   has   been   a   loss   after   loss,   and   he   had   enough   of   it.   His   grief   turns   to   dust   and   rises   again   as   anger,   but   he   soothes   it   down,   for   his   wife   seems   lost   in   her   grief.

All she wanted was to lay down and never wake up again. Two sons now gone in such a short time, taken by a war that never should have started in the first place. If she could call it off now, she would. What use was any of it now when Jace and Luke were both gone?

Deep down she knew there were still reasons to fight. She still had her younger sons with Daemon who deserved their birthright one day. Daemon would remind her of that if she voiced that thought out loud, and she knew he would be right, but it was so hard to see any of it through the grief.

Rhaenyra buried her face into Daemon's chest, her hands gripping tightly at the fabric as she let herself be held as if she was a child again. She didn't care how weak she looked or if anyone heard her. In this moment, she was nothing more than a mother who lost her children.

There was nothing queenly left in her tonight.

"I want to lay down and think no more of anything," she muttered into his chest after some time, her voice broken and tired against him. Her mind felt empty and crowded all at once, too worn down to hold anymore thoughts. "I do not want to hear of war. I do not want to hear of councils or crowns."

She pulled in a shaking breath, but it didn;t do anything to steady her.

"What is the point?" The question slipped free before she could bury it down again. It was dark and bitter, but honest. "Alicent has all her sons." Her fingers clung tighter into his clothes as another sob caught in her throat. "I am down two."

several bottles of dried marigold , essence of yarrow , & milky vials of poppy sat stacked along his workspace behind him , but it wasn't nearly enough. he was stretched thin , being the royal physician & constant on - call healer , as well as a new dragon rider & potential tool for battle. the bags under his eyes reflected as much as he glanced at her , rolling his lips together to pin between his teeth.          ❛             or , just .. well , all of it. it is so far beyond my studied knowledge , i ..            ❜          he didn't want to disappoint her , or any of them.

Rhaenyra watched him as he worked, she was always fond of and rather interested in the physicians and their craft, but she still didn't fully trust the man who switched sides. He could be a spy, waiting for the right moment to strike from within when given the sign. He could poison them, poison her sons, and leave her with no one to inherit the crown. Then... all of this would be for nothing.

“Children ride dragons as young as their fourth year.” Rhaenyra made a light joke, a small smile on her lips before she gave him a more serious answer. “As the bond between you and Silverwing grows, it will become easier. She will learn your voice, and in time, she will listen to your commands and yours alone.”

She was no fool, exhaustion beneath his eyes was plain to see, but none of them were sleeping well now. Not with the constant planning, the waiting, and the threat of war hanging over Dragonstone.

“Rȳbagon, se zirȳ rōndaghon,” she told him carefully. “Speak, and she will obey.”

Her stare moved briefly toward the mortar beneath his hands before returning to his face. “You need only learn how to speak so she understands you. I can teach you High Valyrian myself, should you wish it. A few lessons may ease your worries.”

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Independent, multi-verse/fandom and Selective - Daenerys and Rhaenyra Targaryen (book and show influences)

✧˖°.⚔️.°˖✧ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 ... @valyrianvows.

He has never been one for prophecies. Had certainly heard enough of the dreams of Daenys the Dreamer and Aegon the Conqueror. His own brother had bought into the stories, the belief that the Conqueror had foreseen the end of man. It had been that belief that had gotten them into this mess, that had urged Viserys' cunt of a wife to push for her eldest son to be crowned, never mind his brother's adamancy that Rhaenyra remain heir to the Iron Throne.

His wife speaks of dreams. Of fire and ash. And Daemon knows naught how to respond. He had seen visions that had confused him, back in Harrenhal; grotesque creatures marching in the North, three hatchlings surrounding a silver haired girl as ash rains down around them ... It had changed the prince's view of prophecy greatly.

Rhaenyra let him pull her close, caught in the slight disbelief that they had seen the same vision. Her lips parted to speak, but she could only nod as her fingers tightened around his hand, all the possibilities of what it could mean whirling through her mind at once.

“Yes,” she finally managed, her eyes lighting up and the corners of her lips lifted into a small smile. “A daughter with dragons...”

The words left her softly, filled with a hope she hasn't allowed herself to feel before. A daughter born amongst all this ruin, with three dragons at her side. Perhaps she would be the hope left for their family when everything else has burned away.

Rhaenyra’s smile faded slightly as another thought crept in. “Do you think that's what it means? That she will be the one to carry our house forward?” Her eyes searched his face before falling to their joined hands. “But then... what of our sons?”