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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

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Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER ONE

What if Daemon Targaryen married Cregan Stark’s sister instead of Rhea Royce? What if instead of murdering her, she died in childbirth…giving birth to you.

Y/n Targaryen, a dragon raised by wolves. You grew up knowing only the North as your home, Cregan acting as your mentor and elder brother throughout your life.

Now you have been summoned to join the court of Viserys Targaryen a few years after the grueling incidents on Driftmark with no knowledge of why. A Stark rides South at the behest of a King.

What a familiar story.

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The reader has set physical features such as eye and hair colour. The reader's skin colour is left ambiguous/when described uses the phrase “s/c” aka “skin colour”.

This story contains canon-typical behaviors and scenes! Viewer discretion is advised!

Morgana Stark was said to be the finest beauty of the North, born years before Cregan Stark was even a whisper on her parents lips.

She was brown of hair, with soft features and steel-blue eyes which ensnared all who looked upon them. Morgana was a young girl of ten and two when she was betrothed by Queen Alysanne to Daemon Targaryen, the man being six years her senior when they were wed. They would not be made to consummate the marriage until summers later, but by then Daemon had already grown bored with his Northern bride.

Yes, she was beautiful, a fierce warrior, and well read enough that she took the time to learn the ancient language of his House; yet, that was not enough for the rogue prince. He needed more than the barren wastelands of the North, and so he abandoned her to return to the Crownlands.

Years passed and when he finally remembered his sweet Morgana he forced her to leave the North and join him, moving her Northern charm to the South.

It would not be long before Morgana was with child. After all, the seed of the dragon is strong. Morgana begged and pleaded with her husband to be allowed back to the North for her pregnancy, to be allowed back with her family and her people. Daemon pitied his poor Lady-wife and sent her North, but that would be the last time he would see her alive.

When Morgana arrived in Winterfell she became weak, her first pregnancy taking a toll on her body. Eventually Daemon received the raven that explained she could not be moved back down to Kingslanding due to her weakness, but he tossed it away all the same. Daemon had gotten his fun, he would not need her again for some time.

Morgana would die in her childbed nine months later, leaving behind one wish; that her child be taught the ways of both their people. So, her brown hair and steel-blue eyes were laid to rest, soft features covered in the stones of the Stark crypt.

But she brought Morgana back to life. Y/n Targaryen. She brought back her mother’s soft features and night-brown hair, her sweet smile and beauty-marked skin. The only thing she was unable to recreate was her mothers steel-blue eyes. Y/n had taken to her fathers instead, changing his smoky Indigo to a burning lilac.

Cregan Stark, the young boy he was, thought it was perfectly fine that his little niece was not collected by her father. He did not realize the disrespect of Daemon remarrying so quickly and not bothering to even write a letter acknowledging his only child. In fact, Cregan was thankful that Y/n was going to be staying with them permanently, he was excited to train her and teach her the ways of their house.

“My sweet little Y/n,” Cregan would sing, bouncing her around her nursery, “My sweetest little dragon.”

Y/n Targaryen grew into more of a Stark than anyone could have imagined. Her grandfather, Lord Rickon, did his best to fulfill his late daughter's wishes. He had brought in Maesters from the south to teach Y/n High Valyrian, and they had attempted to teach her the ways of her fathers family but try as they might the slippery Y/n always made her way back to her uncle. Cregan would sneak her into the forests around Winterfell and teach her how to strike prey with a bow, he would steal her from her lessons and read to her instead the stories of their ancestors.

“Tohrren Stark, he was the King who knelt. He did it to protect our people from Aegon the Conqueror.” Cregan whispered as the two crouched by candle-light, both technically meant to be in bed.

“Aegon…” Y/n breathed, caressing the page which depicted the moment Tohrren knelt for the future King. Cregan looked at Y/n, furrowing his brow at the young girl of eight years.

“Yes, he’s your blood as well; your father’s blood.” Cregan was honest with her, wiser in his years of ten and five. He knew she was beginning to pay attention a bit more to her maesters teachings, a child’s innocent curiosity getting the better of her.

“Does my father look like Aegon?” Y/n asked, lilac eyes staring at similar ones etched in ink.

“No, he is leaner than King Aegon was, and with longer hair…” Y/n nodded in understanding, flipping the page to see two detailed portraits of both Tohrren and Aegon.

“I can have his portrait brought up, if you’d like. We can put it next to your mothers in your chambers.” Cregan smiled although he despised the idea of Daemon Targaryen sitting next to his sweet sister on his niece's wall. Y/n’s eyes widened, a large grin spreading across her face.

“Truly?” Y/n gasped, sitting up straight.

“Yes, truly. Us Stark’s keep our promises.” Cregan puffed out his chest, ruffling Y/n’s dark hair. Y/n pushed him away with a giggle, crouching back down to read the book.

“Thank you, uncle.” Y/n hummed, and instead of looking towards the pages of the book Cregan looked at the way the light bounced off of her face; how in the dancing shadows he saw a glimpse of his sister beneath them.

“Tohrren, heel!” Y/n scolded her pup, the giant hound tripping over its large feet as it came to a halt.

“You have him well trained.” Cregan spoke, Y/n clutching her furs closer to her body.

“We have a sacred bond, him and I. Like that of Visenya and Vhagar!” Y/n scratched behind Tohrren’s ear, his tail beating the ground rapidly. In her elder years Y/n took a great interest in the warrior queen, reading binded Valyrian texts that Visenya had written in her youth.

“Come, a letter has arrived for you.” Cregan beckoned, Y/n following behind him at a steady pace, all while Tohrren watched her intently by her side. She had named him for Tohrren the Tall because of the great stature of his breed. When Cregan had inquired why not give him a Valyrian name Y/n had responded, ‘I am saving my favorite name for when I claim my own dragon’.

It was no surprise to anyone that Daemon had not placed an egg in Y/n’s cradle nor concerned himself with anything dragon-related thereafter. She was a Targaryen without a dragon, and in that family, it was a fate worse than death. Cregan had often wondered what it would be like in Winterfell with a dragon around, but dragons need fire to survive. The cold would have killed them, which is why Cregan refused the notion that Y/n was any less Stark than he was. No petty dragon could brave the forces of winter, and luckily for Y/n, she was raised by wolves.

“It is from the King?” Y/n blinked, opening King Viserys’ royal seal. Cregan looked over his niece's shoulder, reading the words as she did.

“He…he just wants a correspondence with me? To talk?” Y/n sputtered, rereading the letter. In all of her sixteen years her Targaryen family rarely visited her, never mind writing to her. She only got the occasional trip on dragon-back from Rhaenyra Targaryen, not even her own father.

“If the King wishes to speak with his niece, who are we to deny him?” Cregan shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging on Y/n’s lips as she knocked shoulders with him.

“The King wants to speak with me. Not about betrothals or silly court gossip, but about my life. He wants to understand me.” Y/n re-folded the letter, looking up at her uncle.

“I will be in my chambers writing back to him if you require me,” Y/n stood on her tip-toes and kissed Cregan’s cheek, his growing beard scratching against her lips, “I love you!” With that she called for Tohrren and scurried off to her rooms, leaving Cregan to do all the worrying.

It troubled him that Viserys was taking an interest in their shared niece. The King had never been interested before, so why now? Cregan hoped for Y/n’s sake that it was the incident at Driftmark which made the King contact her. Perhaps after the disaster of his immediate family Viserys was reaching out to what little he had left, no ill will behind it. No Queen behind it.

All Cregan could do was hope for the best and pray that the Old Gods protected his Y/n.

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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

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Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER FOUR

When Y/n arrived back in the King’s quarters she was confused, seeing a small dining table set up near the fireplace. Apparently her first supper was to be exclusively with the King and Queen, slowly easing her into the Targeryen family.

“The King and I have been pondering this subject since you left on your journey from Winterfell,” The Queen began after the second course was served, pleasantries and idle chatter out of the way, “but we have finally settled on it. In the coming days we shall throw a weeks-long festival in honour of your arrival.”

“Are you certain?” Y/n smiled, a bit taken aback by such a gesture.

“A great celebration for a great Lady.” The King said, taking a sip from his goblet. Y/n never knew anyone to be as frivolous as southerners, especially as frivolous as Targaryen’s. Such a large event should be saved for truly important occasions, such as a nameday or wedding, not the arrival of an estranged family member.

“I thank you, uncle, aunt,” Y/n tested the new title on Alicent, the woman doing nothing but offering a humble nod, “your kindness is unexpected given my fathers past actions.” Viserys sighed at that, Alicent’s pleasant expression dropping for a moment at the mention of Y/n’s father.

“My brother has made hideous oversights the past few years, and I hope that we may show that not all of your family is quite the same.” Viserys shook his head, a disappointed frown wrinkling his face.

“Yes, we shall appreciate the greatest gift the north has given us.” Alicent beamed, calling a servant forward. He handed her something he had been holding all dinner while dessert was being served, Alicent giving an ornately decorated box to Y/n.

“For you, my dear.” The Queen said as Y/n opened the box with a snap. She gasped, the case opening to reveal a shimmering necklace, adorned with black and green jewels the colour of which Y/n had never seen before. Her usual jewelry contained white diamonds and deep blue sapphires, perhaps the occasional blood-red ruby to honour her fathers house, but a green such as this was rare to find in the north. She felt the cool stones in her hand, watching the way the firelight reflected off of them in quick bursts.

“A welcoming present, we know that you shall wear it well.” Viserys held his hand to his chest, easing his breath as Y/n placed the necklace back within its case.

“This is the most beautiful shade of green I have ever laid eyes on, your grace.” She almost couldn't contain her girlish giggle.

“I believe that you will come to find that green is the most attractive of colours.” Alicent laughed, and Y/n laughed with her. The rest of supper was spent discussing the celebration which was to be held at a nearby forest, only the royal party joining while the small folk enjoyed an excuse to be drunk in the streets without reprimand from the Citywatch.

That night while she tried to fall asleep Y/n tossed and turned, body too excited to force sleep now. Y/n wrapped a shawl around herself, taking a lantern and going for a short walk. Her guards once again tried to accompany her but Y/n declined, taking Tohrren with her instead. The halls of the Red Keep were surprisingly quiet during the night, its darkness illuminated by the occasional torch. She would have thought the Red Keep was far more busy during the night than Winterfell, but it seemed just the same, with no one up but the guards who stood watch for their Lady’s and Lord’s.

She often found herself on these walks, strolling alone with her thoughts and without duties to attend to for the day. It was a moment of calm; a moment of peace. This time, her peace was interrupted. He was like a shadow against the wall, Y/n didn’t realize he was there at first, looming like a scorned specter. She caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye, the current area of the hall darker thanks to its unusually spaced torches. She was left with only her flickering lantern to illuminate the frightening figure, something blue glinting briefly in the light, like a fire of warning.

Y/n gasped, Tohrren standing on guard, and whipped herself to face him. He was leaning against the wall, sharp features aggressively outlined in the dim lighting of her small fire. The shadows moved against his well defined face, and although there was not much light the darkness filled out the rest of him for Y/n to see.

The Queen was right, green was the most attractive of colours, especially on the one-eyed prince, for he wore green like he had never worn another colour in his life. They were nightclothes, light and airy, his white linen shirt halfway tucked into deep green trousers. His hair was pulled back into a loose braid, rouge strands framing his face and the smirk that held firm on his lips.

“My Lady Y/n.” His voice was a smooth timbre, soft in tone as not to echo through the empty halls. He stood from the wall and approached her with confident strides, taking her available hand and putting it to his rosy lips.

“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” He leaned down into a bow, gently kissing the skin on the top of her hand. Y/n was at a loss for words, entirely caught up in the sudden meeting and sudden attraction to her estranged cousin. He looked up at her with one eye, the other covered by a soft eye-patch with subtle hand-stitching on it; no doubt his mothers work.

“Prince Aemond,” Y/n curtsied, finding her manners, “I did not expect to run into you so suddenly, I was merely clearing my head before I slept.”

Aemond stood to his full height, a head taller than the girl in front of him, and chuckled, “I find I have the same problem during late hours, perhaps it is a trait we Targaryens share, hm?”

“Perhaps, I have not known my uncle to wander about Winterfell as I have.” She looked away from him, nervous at their proximity to each other with no one else around.

“Then I should hope we can accompany one another on our sleepless nights, would you care to walk with me?” He offered out his arm, cool lavender eye unwavering in its gaze. Y/n looked down at his arm, taking it with hesitance but smiling nonetheless.

“Of course, your highness.” She said as they began walking, silent at first. Tohrren was close by her side, still on edge although trained enough that he did not attack unless instructed.

“So, I hear that you arrived yesterday, correct? I apologize I was not there to greet you, my mother has taken it upon herself to make sure you are settled before you join court.” Aemond commented, taking her down another stretching hallway.

“I am glad that the Queen has such a fondness for me, I would not want to be one in her bad graces.” Y/n breathed out a nervous sigh, holding tighter onto her lantern.

“You’re smart, being one that the Queen likes is always favourable. I have heard that my sister Rhaenyra also holds a certain appreciation for you.” He uttered his sister's name with less love than she expected.

“The Princess did visit me as a young girl, that is true. She will make a fine Queen one day, and I hope that I shall be in her good graces as well.” Aemond tensed up at the mention of Rhaenyra ascending the throne, mouth twitching subtly.

“I’m sure you will be.” There was silence for a moment before he spoke again, “You are more northern than I expected given your parentage.” He hummed, looking down at her.

“So I have been told. I respect my Valyrian blood but I do not respect who gave it to me. I was born into the ways of the north and I shall not forget them simply because I am here.” Y/n said resolutely, furrowing her brows as if to challenge anyone who would suggest otherwise.

“Loyalty; a trait of the Starks.” Aemond grinned in a sort of childish way before speaking again, “It is getting late, my Lady. I do not wish to keep you for long, I can walk you back to your chambers.”

“Of course, my prince.” Y/n agreed switfly, leading him back to her room. Her guards were on edge as soon as they saw her arrive with the prince, stiff and unmoving save for their eyes which trained on him.

“Good night, my Lady.” Aemond bowed, kissing her hand again.

“Good night, my Prince.”

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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

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Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER TWO

“Stay safe, make sure Tohrren is with you at all times; no matter what.” Cregan held Y/n’s forehead to his, the girl hugging tightly to his body.

She was ten and seven now, a young Lady of elegant stature who had become the North itself. Her dark hair was thick and long, cascading down past her waist even with half tied up in intricate braids. The girl had grown beautifully into her soft features and delicate disposition — well, as delicate as a Lady of the North could be. Y/n was kind to her people and caring of her community, she was well trained in the sword and bow thanks to Cregan and well versed in the written word thanks to her maesters. Perhaps that charm, the same charm that brought her mother South, was what beckoned her there now.

The King’s final letter to Y/n after a year of correspondence was a summoning to Kingslanding. She was to join his court as a Lady of the Queen and ‘take her rightful place as a Targaryen’ according to the King’s writings.

“I will miss you, uncle.” Y/n barely held back the tears glazing her bright eyes, stepping away from Cregan.

“You are a Stark, your mothers daughter, nobody can change that.” Cregan’s smile was bittersweet as he held Y/n’s face, drinking in the last he would see of her for months — maybe even years.

“I love you, uncle.” Y/n kissed his cheek, his beard fully grown and braided like her hair.

“I love you too , Y/n.”

Y/n tried her best to get sleep while in the carriage, yet so far all she could do was stare out of the window as the North slowly but surely turned into the South. Her hand languidly stroked Tohrren, the hound finding better sleep than her on this journey.

One thing would not leave her mind, and that was the realization that she could possibly claim a dragon. A story she was told a few years ago came to her mind, one recounted by her cousin, Rhaenyra.

It was a cool evening, as most in the North were, and Y/n alongside Rhaenyra sat within the library of Winterfell. The Princess had gathered a handful of books and chronicles she desired Y/n to read, both sitting in comfortable silence as the fireplace crackled between them.

“Rhaenyra, why do I not have a dragon?” Y/n looked up from her pages, and Rhaenyra did as well. The woman saw the book the younger girl was reading; Dragons of Westeros: A History.

“All of these dragons were bonded to their riders in the crib, as small hatchlings. Why was an egg not placed within mine?” Y/n furrowed her brow, frustrated with this revelation. Rhaenyra’s lips twitched up, her violet gaze wandering towards the soft flames of the fireplace.

“Your father…he is a complicated man, but I believe I know the reason why. Would you like to hear a story?” Rhaenyra asked and Y/n nodded rapidly, closing her book.

“Back in the time of Aenys Targaryen, when the wise King Jaehaerys was still a babe, the wild dragon of the south was born.” Rhaenyra began, looking towards Y/n.

“She was said to be the product of Balerion and Vhagar, hatched from a dark purple egg with swirls of blue decorating its shell. She was born a beautiful dragon, the most radiant of her time, with wings that blended into the night sky and large icy eyes which froze the strongest of men in their tracks.

She was meant to be the mount of little Jaehaerys, but the beast had other plans. She took off one fateful evening and disappeared for years,” Rhaenyra enjoyed the way Y/n leaned in further to hear her, the girl enamored by the tale.

“Then, on a cool night quite like this, the wildling returned. She was full grown, with sharp talons and wide wings that casted shadows over Kingslanding just as her fathers had. She was smaller than her mother, but not by much. Viserys Targaryen, in an attempt to escape his captor and uncle, Maegor the Cruel, tried to tame the wild beast. He would, however, be unsuccessful.” Y/n gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.

“The wild dragon killed him as soon as she took to the air, throwing him back down to his tragic death. This would earn her the name Crownstealer.” Rhaenyra took the book from Y/n’s lap, flipping through a few pages before she found the one depicting the wild dragon.

“I think that your father has faith that you will be the first to tame her, this is why you have no dragon.” Rhaenyra knew what she said were lies, and eventually Y/n would realize that too, but in the moment Y/n chatted on and on about how she would change the dragon's name and be the first rider of the great Crownstealer.

Now, of course, Y/n knew that her cousin was making up excuses for her fathers ignorance. Yet, she couldn't help the idea of taming the untamable being quite appealing. It was a thought for a later time, a time when she would see Crownstealer’s shadow in person, not a time when she desperately needed to sleep.

Y/n forced her eyes shut, mind fading into dreams of Crownstealer’s painting.

Winter had arrived.

Y/n stepped out of her carriage after Tohrren, a footman lending his hand to her. She took it with a smile, although it did not last long once the gates to the palace opened. There, followed by a procession of her ladies and knights, was Queen Alicent Hightower. Her regality was not exaggerated, with auburn hair braided back in a southern style and ringlets of jewels resting on her forehead acting as her crown. Her dress was a forest green, deep and alluring with its golden accents. The style was long and flowing, off-shoulder sleeves framing the dainty seven-starred necklace she wore. Upon further inspection of the gold details Y/n realized that they were streams of winding smoke coming from a tower at the base of her dress. The Hightower.

“Lady Y/n,” The Queen smiled, stopping in front of the girl, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my husband is quite fond of you.”

Y/n curtsied politely before handing her furs to her footman, the sun far more overbearing in the southern sky.

“I should say the same, your grace. Thank you for receiving me.” Y/n kept her tone even, wary of the watchful eyes of the Queen’s people. An imposing male figure stood to her right, sharp eyes looking Y/n up and down. The man’s white and gold armor was a dead giveaway that he was a man of the Kingsguard, well-kept brown hair brushed out of his face.

“Ser Criston, please show Lady Y/n’s guard where they will be staying.” The man to her right nodded stiffly, leaving to go speak with the procession of Northern men that had followed Y/n down from Winterfell. It was at the insistence of her uncle; over two dozen knights assigned to protect her whilst she was away.

“Please, my child, follow me.” Alicent beckoned, Y/n falling in line beside her. Alicent linked arms with Y/n, patting the girl's forearm with care.

“Tohrren, heel.” Y/n commanded, the hound following close beside. Alicent raised a brow but held her tongue, ignoring the action.

“The King has eagerly awaited your arrival, I think he will be shocked to see how Northern you are.” The Queen chuckled, attempting to make conversation as they made their way to the King’s chambers.

“I have been told I favor my mother in looks, but I have my fathers eyes. Targaryen eyes, perhaps the King will find solace in that.” Y/n hummed as they entered the Red Keep.

“Yes, perhaps…Y/n, it is a Northern name, correct?” Alicent questioned.

“It is, my mother declared it her favourite before I was born. If I was to be a boy, however, my namesake would have been my grandfathers; Rickon.” Y/n confirmed, mouth slightly agape from her surroundings. The Red Keep was an imposing piece of architecture, with single halls as big as Winterfell and twice the amount of nobles floating about. Y/n also noticed an alarming amount of seven spiked stars, the religious symbol anywhere they could squeeze it.

“Do you…do you have a Godswood I can pray at here, your grace?” Y/n asked, abruptly aware that the Old Gods did not serve here.

“We are subscribed to the Faith of the Seven in the South, but we do have a weirwood tree in our gardens, my daughter often reads there.” Alicent sighed, eyes weary as she recounted the tree that held so many memories.

“The King’s Chambers,” Alicent stopped at the end of a long hall, ornate double doors waiting to be opened, “Your hound must wait out here, the King is ill and should not be exposed to any…disturbances.”

Alicent sounded innocent enough, and Y/n wasn't about to disobey the Queen, so she handed Tohrren’s leash to one of the knights as the doors were opened. Tohrren would still be right outside if she needed him, which considering who she was about to meet, Y/n hoped not. Alicent led the way, confident strides making her quick. Y/n took a few deep breaths, twiddling with the fur of her sleeves. This was it.

She was about to meet the King.

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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

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Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER THREE

The room stunk of incense and sickness, a detailed miniature carving of what Y/n assumed to be Old Valyria standing between her and the King. Alicent had already glided past the structure, smooth steps taking her to the shadowy bedside of her husband. Y/n followed slowly, watching Alicent whisper to the figure which was sitting up in bed.

“Come closer, child, so that I may see you.” The King’s voice was frail, weaker than Y/n had imagined. He sounded like no king at all, barely a whisper of a man. As Y/n got closer the details of the King’s state became more noticeable. He was skinny, with none of the fat on his bones that Y/n had been told would be there. His hair was in thin strings, barely holding onto his blemished scalp, while his face was creased into a look of pain. Age and whatever illness he held did not do him well, the cracks on his lips apparent as he licked them with a tongue white as milk. Alicent beckoned her forward, her hands looking like a child’s compared to the King’s knobbly digits.

“May I present Lady Y/n Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Morgana Stark.” Alicent formally introduced Y/n to the King, still keeping hold of her hand while the other was gently stroking her husband's shoulder. Viserys smiled, reaching out a shaky hand to take Y/n’s. His skin was scaly and wrinkled, blackened nails tightening around Y/n’s fingers.

“You have your fathers eyes.” He smiled, the wetness sitting within his chest making his breaths labored and small.

“So I have been told, your grace.” Y/n curtsied as best she could, eyes moving between the King and Queen.

“You are just as I hoped you would be from our writings,” Viserys swallowed, letting go of her hand gently, “I have awaited your arrival eagerly, my dear.”

“I too have been anxious to meet, your gra—” Viserys shook his head, pursing his lips.

“We are family, Y/n. In private you may refer to me as ‘uncle’. Such formalities are only needed at court.” He waved, Y/n nodding along to his words.

“Of course, Uncle. You seem to be doing better than when we last spoke, I see that the wound on your cheek has healed.” Y/n commented, although his right eye was still clouded by a greying spot. What made Y/n happiest about looking at the King was seeing the youthfulness in his good eye, the awareness it presented despite his body betraying him.

“Yes, let us hope it stays that way.” Viserys laughed, Alicent letting out a polite chuckle.

“You have come a very long way Y/n, I’m sure you desire to bathe and such. I am glad to be the first of your family you have met here in the Red Keep. We shall talk again, perhaps over dinner tonight.” The King hummed, squeezing the hand Alicent placed on his shoulder.

“I will show you to your chambers.” The Queen said, kissing her husband's forehead before escorting Y/n out of the room. They walked in silence to Y/n’s chambers, bidding each other good-day as Y/n closed her door. Her maids were still organizing her things, all quietly working to make Y/n’s stay a comfortable one.

“May I have a bath drawn, if possible?” Y/n asked the woman nearest to her, the young servant bowing before enlisting others to help. Before long Y/n had undressed and was guided into her tub, a few maids staying to help wash her. Y/n breathed in the sweet scented oils and goats milk swirling within the hot water, leaning back as an older southern maid unbraided her hair. Half of the women in the room were her maids from Winterfell, and the other half were attendants the Queen had so generously offered her.

“What is your name?” Y/n turned her head slightly to address the maid combing her hands through her hair, the tan-skinned woman raising her brows before she responded.

“Lysana, my lady.” She bowed her head briefly, continuing to search for knots within Y/n’s dark hair.

“Lysana, how long have you worked within the Red Keep?” Y/n questioned, the maids beginning to scrub gently along her body.

“Since the late Prince Baelon was born, my lady.” Lysana answered curtly, taking oils from beside her and patting them into Y/n’s hair.

“Then you must know of the Queen’s children, yes?” Y/n stared forward at the tapestry that hung in front of her, two dragons encircling each other in what she interpreted as a mating dance.

“Yes, I was the wet nurse to Prince Aegon when he was a babe, then his younger sister Princess Helaena.” Lysana sounded proud when she revealed what she’d done, a confident smile gracing her freckled cheeks.

“Would you tell me about them? My cousins?” Lysana hummed for a moment at the request, beginning to re-braid Y/n’s hair, only it didn't feel like she was repeating the same pattern.

“Your cousins are much like their mother, the only thing that sets them apart is the colour of their hair.” Lysana rolled her eyes, platting faster.

“I have only heard rumors about the way they act, would you tell me in truth who they are? I will not punish you for being honest.” Y/n needed to hear what she was going into from someone who wasn't the Queen or King or her biased uncle.

“I…I suppose, if it’s what my lady wishes. Your youngest cousin, Prince Daeron, is off in Old Town with the Queen’s family. The other three reside here within the Red Keep. All of them are…unique in their own ways. I would suggest spending your time around the Princess Helaena. She is a sweet girl, and she has not yet been burdened with the gift of motherhood.” Lysana chuckled at the thought.

“The Queen told me that she often resides by the Weirwood tree in the gardens, is this true?” Y/n asked, Lysana shrugging her shoulders.

“From what I know, it is the truth. Perhaps my Lady would like to be escorted to the gardens after her bath?” Lysana tucked the last piece of Y/n’s hair in, passing a mirror to her.

“You know the northern styles?” Y/n laughed, her hair in a familiar updo which she had not done in quite some time.

“I learned for your arrival, my Lady. Many servants of the crown come from all over Westeros, we teach each other the ways of each land.” Lysana helped Y/n get out of the bath, the maids toweling her dry.

“Lysana, I believe that visiting the gardens is a wonderful idea. Would you escort me once I am dressed?” Y/n allowed the ladies around her to begin the process of dressing her, soft linen undergarments being pulled on first.

“Whatever my Lady wishes.” Lysana bowed, cleaning up around the bath.

Y/n checked herself over in the mirror one last time, playing with the soft sleeves of her dress. It was lighter than the one she arrived with, more suited to the warm southern weather than her heaps of furs. She had made many like it, all of northern style but with southern fabrics like the ones she had seen the Queen wearing. A maid opened the door for her, Y/n’s guards standing at attention and following close behind with Tohrren as Lysana led her towards the gardens.

When Y/n stepped outside into the gardens it was like she was stepping onto a whole new continent. The trees were livelier, with multi-coloured flowers and flourishing bushes lining every pathway. Although she would die for the north, Y/n had to admit, northern greenery could not hold a candle to what the south possessed.

“Would you like me to show you to the Weirwood tree, my Lady?” Lysana asked. Y/n shook her head, unleashing Tohrren and beckoning him to go forth.

“No need, Tohrren and I will enjoy exploring on our own. Thank you, Lysana.” The woman curtsied, departing back into the Red Keep. Y/n turned to face her guards, dismissing them as well although they attempted to protest at first. What Y/n needed was to be alone with her thoughts; alone aside from Tohrren, of course.

Y/n strolled lazily through the tall hedges and blossoming trees, Tohrren running wildly up and down the pathways they traversed, chasing butterflies as if he had never seen one in his life. The scents of the garden were strong, floral and pine surrounding her like smoke. Tohrren stopped running abruptly, ears and tail piqued as he looked down a pathway. He let out a small bark, inquisitively tilting his head.

“What is it, Tohrren?” Y/n questioned, coming to his side. She looked down the pathway as well and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on what, or rather who, was before her. It was a young girl, a bit older than Y/n, with familiar waves of silver hair and a book nestled neatly in her lap. Behind her stood the Weirwood tree, its carved face bleeding the soothing red sap Y/n had grown used to. She approached slowly, Tohrren following suit, the young girl lifting her head at the approaching footsteps. The girl had periwinkle eyes, almost misty with the way they regarded Y/n.

“Hello.” Y/n curtsied, arriving in front of the girl. She nodded her head with a restrained smile, marking the page she was on in her book and closing it.

“Hello.” The girl repeated, eyes wandering but never looking into Y/n’s.

“My name is Y/n Targaryen, or Y/n, if it pleases her highness.” Y/n pet Tohrren to calm her nerves, the girl looking intensely at the hound.

“Please, call me Helaena.” Helaena gripped onto her book, still looking at Tohrren.

“Would you like to pet him?” That made Helaena look up, the princess nodding without uttering a word. Y/n released him, coaxing him forward to Helaena’s side. Y/n sat down on the bench beside her, Helaena laughing when Tohrren licked her palm.

“He seems quite taken with you.” Y/n noted, Helaena nodding with a grin.

“I’ve never seen a northern hound before, only spiders.” The Princess hummed, turning her head as Tohrren did.

“You keep northern spiders?” Y/n asked, beginning to understand why Helaena held the reputation that she did.

“Yes, northern, southern, western, and one from Asshai.” Helaena turned to face Y/n, tapping her book. Y/n looked at it, the title reading ‘Arachnid History’ by one of the many maesters of the Citadel.

“How does one become the keeper of an Asshai spider?” Y/n tried to ignore the crawling feeling she got at the mention of the small insects, instead playing with the hems of her sleeves.

“My mother got it for me, for my birthday last year. Merchants in Pentos collect them to sell for their poison, but not many sell them alive, not like mine.” Helaena frowned, the lilt in her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, well then it is a good thing that your mother was able to find one. Similarly, my uncle gave me Tohrren for my birthday when I was very young.” Y/n scratched behind his ear, his tail wagging behind him.

“He is a good gift.” Helaena praised, her hands now neatly within her lap.

“You are Prince Daemon’s daughter, correct? The one who came from the north?” Y/n nodded at that, copying Helaena and placing her hands in her lap.

“I believe that the south has a gift for you as well, yes, a marvelous gift made of lightning.” Helaena stood up, Y/n following her actions once more.

“Lightning? I’m not sure I follow,” Y/n shook her head, confused at her cousin's words.

“No need to follow, you will know. I am glad to have another girl in the Red Keep, I’ve always wanted a sister.” Helaena giggled, patting Tohrren’s head. She gave Y/n a tight hug before curtsying.

“I must go now, but I hope that we may talk in the future, good sister.” Y/n wanted to say something at the insinuation that she was Helaenas sister by marriage, but the girl turned and skipped down another path back into the garden, leaving Y/n standing beneath the Weirwood tree. Y/n chuckled, now realizing why the realms second princess was regarded as such a unique character.

Y/n returned back to the Red Keep, hoping that she would meet her other two cousins over supper later that evening. Perhaps their reputations also held some truth, maybe the eldest prince was a whore-drunk swine and the middle son was a heartless warrior. Although, Y/n did wonder what rumours surrounded her; the unwanted first child of the Rogue Prince.

Y/n rolled her shoulders, relaxing back into her chaise as she waited for her invitation to dinner. Whatever reputation she held the King seemed to have no qualms, his only opinion being that Y/n had loose-handed penmanship. Y/n closed her eyes, Tohrren resting like a heavy blanket within her lap. Whatever she was meant to be doing here, she was sure it would all be fine. She was certain.

She had to be.

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thesugarsoiree · 5 months

Text

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER SEVEN

Vhaelor…Nightwing…Maelyx…Moonfyre…

Names cycled through Y/n’s head as she was dressed for the day, freshly washed of dragon's breath and prepped for the impending games. She switched between Valyrian and Westerosi names for Crownstealer, undecided as her handmaids fixed on her corset. She could keep Crownstealer, but what fun would that be? The she-dragon had received her name by reputation alone, it was time a rider gave her a more fitting name.

“My Lady,” A guard announced, opening the curtains to her room, “the Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

Y/n didn’t bother to greet the man as he stepped in. She looked towards her handmaids with knowing eyes, the women curtsying swiftly before exiting the tent, leaving Y/n to do up her dress alone.

“I believe congratulations are in order.” Aemond took a step closer, watching Y/n attempt to fasten the ribbons on her back.

“Is that so? For our betrothal?” She hummed, ignoring his attempts at eye contact.

“No, for your taming of Crownstealer. You are the first in our history to do such a thing, I’m sure the two of you shall be formidable together.” Aemond nodded, hands clasped behind his back. Y/n huffed a sigh out of her nose, failing once more to tie the back of her dress properly. She paused, looking through her mirror to where Aemond stood with frustration.

“Thank you, you are very kind. Would you do me another kindness and do up my dress?” She mused with fake sincerity, Aemond pausing before approaching her. He took the ties in his hands gently, Y/n watching as he focused on setting the knots in place. When he came closer she noted that he smelled vaguely of sweet oils and steel.

“I hope that in time you will forgive my mother and father, they told me only days before you about our betrothal. It is a fine match, one that will benefit the realm.” Aemond mumbled, fastening the last bow of her dress.

“A fine match indeed,” Y/n chuckled sourly, turning to face him. His eyebrows furrowed, hands left to idle themselves as his work was done.

“So, if all the congratulations have been given I do believe we have a tourney to attend, my Prince.” Y/n scoffed, brushing past him.

“I was also here to escort you, my lady.” Y/n stopped, cursing the Old Gods for being cruel as they were. She said nothing, Aemond eventually coming up beside her.

“Shall we?” She hummed, offering her arm to him yet not sparing him a glance. He took her hand, leading them out of her tent and into the buzzing encampment. All eyes were on them as they passed, girlish whispers and boyish mockeries spreading like wildfire. Wildfire, now that was a name for a dragon. Aemond left her with the King and his court when they arrived, kissing her hand and then swiftly departing. Y/n greeted the King first, kissing his cheek before curtsying to the Queen. She nodded towards Aegon as she took her seat and squeezed Helaena’s hand.

“Aemond will be jousting today,” Helaena said, eyes aglow, “he is bound to ask for your favour.”

“I expect my betrothed is not one for pageantries such as favours.” Y/n giggled, toying with the garland that sat on her side table. It was made of a mixture of flowers, to represent both of her lineages. The winter roses were a bright, almost unnatural blue. The red and black roses were nestled beside, creating a contrast that quite suited Y/n.

“I know my brother.” Helaena hummed, and they left it at that. The horns sounded and names were announced, the joust beginning with knights from the Reach and the Vale. It went on like that for an hour, a charming knight from the Riverlands asking for Helaena’s favour. She gave it to him with a grin Y/n hadn’t seen her bless Aegon with, throwing the garland down onto his lance. Then, after the dust settled and the knight from the Riverlands enjoyed his victory, a hush fell over the crowd.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen will now choose an opponent!” Y/n almost covered her ears with how loud the audience screamed, Aemond entering on a horse as black as the Black Dread himself. Aemond’s armor was dark, ridges carved out to resemble that of a dragon's scale. His helmet was in the shape of a dragon’s maw, encircling his head with its sharpened fangs. Y/n noticed that the crest on top of his head was made of both red and green hairs, something the Queen no doubt had influence on.

Aemond paced in front of the knights who were lined up, at least one representative from each region stood proud upon their horses. He paused in front of the knight from the Westerlands, pointing his lance towards the man.

“Ser Rhys Lannister!” The announcer shouted above the crowd, both knights moving towards their respective ends of the arena. Aemond stopped, head raising to look directly into the King’s box. His eyes locked with Y/n’s, sharp gaze searching her own.

“My Lady Y/n,” He called, “I would be honoured to fight with your favour to give me luck.” He lifted his lance towards her. Y/n smirked, picking up her garland and going to the railings that separated them.

“To your victory, my love.” Y/n teased, tossing her favour onto the weapon. Aemond took off without a second glance, readying himself before the starting horns echoed throughout the woods. The men were off in seconds, the beating of their horses' hooves matching the thundering of Y/n’s heart. She leaned forward in her seat as they connected, a wide grin stretching her lips as the Lannister boy was knocked from his horse, his golden mare being wrangled in by squires. Aemond rounded back to the King’s box, bowing his head. Viserys laughed, clapping loudly and ordering another round of wine which Y/n was glad to indulge in. The wine here was oddly sweet, not like the harsh mull she had grown to know in the North. It was like biting into a cake each time she took a sip, enjoying the show Aemond put before her as knight after knight fell to his lance.

The sun was setting by the time the tourney had drawn to a close, Aemond disappearing after his rounds were finished. Y/n stood as the King did, watching him exit with the Queen before the rest of the nobles in the box began to file out.

“My brother is quite fond of you.” Y/n grimaced as Aegon came to her side, walking with her to the feast.

“That is good to hear, my prince.” She answered politely, keeping her hands clasped at her front so she would not touch him.

“Mm, yes. Though, I don’t believe he’s fond enough to satisfy you. A Northern woman like yourself? You need a man, and my brother is still a boy.” Aegon chuckled quietly, swishing around the contents of the goblet which he had taken.

“I do not appreciate these foul insinuations, your highness.” Y/n’s tone was sharp, her accent getting thicker with her anger.

“Oh, no insinuations here, my lady. Simple truth.” Aegon sighed, though it was not sad, it was frustrated.

“I, on the other hand, have had many nights with northern ladies. If you wish to feel satisfied during your marriage I am always—” Aegon’s words choked in his throat as a loud growl echoed through the forest, everyone pausing and looking around them. Y/n sucked in a quick breath, watching as a familiar winged figure circled above them, outlined by the pink and orange hues of the dusky sky.

“It seems that I am not the only one who grows tired of your voice, Aegon. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my betrothed.” Y/n curtsied, leaving Aegon to stand by himself. She was trailed by two guards, people parting as she practically flew by them to her tent. What she did not expect when she entered was for the Queen to be sitting at her vanity, toying with the necklace she had gifted to her. Alicent stood when she saw Y/n, a small smile plumping her cheeks.

“My Queen,” Y/n curtsied deeply, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“It is time we spoke, Y/n.” The Queen approached the girl, grasping her hands tightly.

“About your future.”

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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

Text

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER SIX

It was the Hour of the Wolf when Y/n finally decided to stop torturing herself and get dressed. The lands were quiet, most asleep, but not her. The feast finished hours ago, Y/n leaving as fast as she could without sparing a glance towards her future husband. She did not know how it was possible for her to be married off without the consultation of her uncle or father, but somehow they had done it. She wrote to Cregan that evening, sending the letter out with such urgency she was sure the wax did not have time to cool before it was in the raven’s claws.

The moon was high when she shimmied through a gap in her tent, closing the cloak around her tighter as she wandered into the woods. She could not sleep, could barely think as she tossed and turned in her bed. Her only solution was to walk, perhaps she could walk all the way back North and forget any of this ever happened.

Y/n knew she was being childish, yet she could not stop herself. Aemond was handsome, he was intelligent, he treated her with respect, and he was a skilled warrior. He was everything Y/n could ask for in a husband, yet this betrothal frustrated her. It was not the fact that she was to be married, she had reckoned with the fact that her duty to the realm lay within the marriage bed long ago, but for it to be thrust upon her in such a way? That was what infuriated her. No one had bothered to inform her upon her arrival nor in the days that proceeded. She most likely would have said yes if they had suggested it, after all, the prince was alike to her in more than name.

Y/n stomped her way into a clearing, the forest unexpectedly turning into a grassy plain. It was as if something had carved it to be so, the stumps of trees charred and torn away. Y/n felt the breath of her chest leave abruptly once she saw the giant shadow which lay ahead in the field, the unnatural way the grass was formed suddenly making sense. It’s chest moved up and down soundly, gentle rumbles shaking the earth beneath her.

Crownstealer.

Her scales were a vibrant indigo in the light of the moon, her ice-blue eyes relaxingly shut. Y/n observed the way her lighter coloured frills pulsated, as if they were glowing from within the old dragon. Dear gods, what was she doing staring at it? Y/n swiftly turned on her heels, beginning to walk the back the way she came before she was stopped dead in her tracks by a hauntingly low growl. She stood frozen in place, not daring to look back as a warm gust of what she knew couldn't be wind hit her back, throwing her cloak away from her.

Was this the way she died? Eaten alive by a dragon? How ironic, Y/n mused as she finally turned to face the monstrous beast. If she were to die here she may as well die with dignity and without fear, like the Northern Kings of old. Crownstealer’s eyes were open now, gazing into Y/n’s barely a few feet away. Her snout was but a hairs length from the girl, sharpened teeth ten times the size of Y/n peeking from the dragon's maw. Crownstealer blew out smoky air from her nose, as if sighing—waiting—for Y/n to make the next move.

Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, those words repeated in Y/n’s mind as she reached out her hand towards Crownstealer, gently caressing the rough skin above the she-dragons mouth. When the beast made no moves to bite her Y/n slowly inched her way past Crownstealer’s face, whispering sweet words of nothing in High Valyrian. Crownstealer groaned, craning her neck to watch the girl's actions. She grabbed a hold of a spike sticking out of one of Crownstealer’s scales, holding it tight as she watched the dragon for any signs of resistance. When she saw none she continued to climb, the dirt and muck on top of the dragon's scales rubbing off on her pristine white nightgown. She had others, Y/n huffed, reaching Crownstealer’s back after the dragon nudged her the final ways.

From this high in the air the world looked small, like when she was in the highest tower of Winterfell or in her bedroom at the Red Keep. Crownstealer laid motionless, patiently awaiting Y/n’s next words.

“Sōvegon!” Fly! Y/n screamed, the dragon lifting herself up and taking to the skies with two powerful flaps of her wings. Y/n laughed as she was flown into the air, noticing how the large cracked lines upon Crownstealer’s wings looked like lightning in the night sky. Crownstealer let out a yelp of what Y/n interpreted as Joy, or more accurately, what she felt as joy. It was as if their emotions were intertwined, their minds speaking to one another yet no words were uttered between the two.

It would be hours until Y/n touched land again, and by the time they both stopped to rest the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, bathing them in a soft glow as they fell asleep in harmony.

Aemond was shaken awake violently that morning, blinking his one eye open to reveal a disheveled Alicent whispering his name.

“Aemond! Aemond! Wake up, Lady Y/n has gone missing.” The Queen said, Aemond shooting up in his bed.

“She has what?” He asked in disbelief.

“In the night, she must have disappeared. No one can find her—they’ve been searching for a half hour.” Alicent bit her nails, Aemond swiftly getting out of bed and throwing on his day clothes.

“Do not worry, mother. We will find her, she could not have wandered far—” Aemond’s reassurances were interrupted by his mothers rambling.

“But what if she did not wander? What if she was stolen, or worse, she wandered into the jaws of a hungry beast? This forest was not made for young maids to be frolicking about in.” Interesting, Aemond thought, given its name of Maidenswood.

“I will find her, mother. On my honour as your son and as her betrothed.” He cupped her cheek, smiling down at the copper haired woman whose eyes could resemble his own if not for their opposite colour.

“Get dressed quickly, the search will not begin itself.” Alicent squeezed his hand in hers, exiting the tent. Aemond cursed quietly, shrugging on his tunic and picking up his sword. He knew that marriage would cause some contention between them but he had assumed that she would warm to him, perhaps even come to love him as he had so desperately done for her.

Aemond gritted his teeth, leaving his quarters and beginning to bark orders to the nearest knight as his search began.

Y/n furrowed her brow, looking down into the forest in an attempt to find the camp she had left. It was harder than one might think, the trees covering most of the tents and game areas. Thankfully, shouts and commotion call attention to a little patch of trees near the edge of the forest. Y/n steered Crownstealer—a name she will need to amend soon—towards the noise, the commotion becoming quieter as the weight of Crownstealer’s wings battered the air. The she-dragon screeched to announce their arrival, disturbing the still earth as they landed. The trees were knocked down by Crownstealer’s massive claws, her feet and wings throwing the roots from the dirt. Y/n breathed in deeply, enjoying the stench of dragon which truly enveloped her for the first time in her life.

When she opened her eyes she was met with the shocked faces of nobles and servants alike, the knights all on guard with their swords drawn against Crownstealer. Y/n surveyed the growing crowd until her even gaze landed on a familiar figure. Prince Aemond stood stoic-faced next to his mother and siblings, hair messily falling in chunks from his sleeping braid as she knew he barely had the thought to fix his hair this morning. No one spoke, no one breathed, no one moved as Y/n made her way off of Crownstealer, her northmen and maids waiting close by to escort her back to her tent.

Y/n accepted the blanket that was offered to her, wrapping it around herself as her guards surrounded her and blocked her from ogling eyes. She looked back at Crownstealer, watching the she-dragon take to the skies again, circling above her as she entered her tent.

“Send for a raven,” Y/n told her maid, “I have news to tell my uncle.”

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thesugarsoiree · 7 months

Text

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER FIVE

The carriage ride to the nearby ‘Maidenswood’ as it was dubbed was moderate in length. They’d been riding for about an hour when the postilion announced they would be arriving soon, Y/n gazing silently through the sheer curtains that covered the carriage windows. The Queen sat across from her, poised posture never wavering throughout their journey.

“Lady Y/n,” Alicent began, catching the girls attention, “when we arrive at the Maidenswood you shall meet your cousins Aegon and Aemond. Helaena informed me that you two met briefly in the gardens, correct?”

Y/n nodded her head, patting down the fluff of her dress.

“Yes, your grace. She is very pleasant to converse with, I hope she did not find me too ill-mannered.” Y/n chuckled, watching the way the Queen fidgeted with the seven-starred pendant in her hand.

“Of course not, my dear. She had only good things to say.” Alicent smiled, although it failed to meet her eyes.

“Your cousin Daeron is in Oldtown with my family, you should meet him soon enough. He is much like your other cousins in looks, fair hair and pale eyes, similar to all those within your family.” Alicent hummed, observing the way Y/n’s dark hair absorbed the light surrounding it.

“I see. As to the Princes Aegon and Aemond, I have heard many stories about them.” Alicent perked up at that, raising a brow.

“And what is it you have heard?” She questioned, stopping her fidgeting.

“I have heard that Prince Aegon has long flowing silver hair and rides the most beautiful dragon in all the kingdoms,” Alicent scoffed, holding her tongue for the time being, “and Prince Aemond is…handsome, with skills in the sword only my father could best.”

“The latter is true, the former not quite.” The Queen permitted her answer, now her turn to gaze out of the carriage.

“How so, your grace?” Y/n asked, curious to what the Queen would say.

“My eldest son cropped his hair recently, he claimed it was too much to maintain.” Alicent soured, thinking on the beauty her son had so readily thrown away.

“Has Prince Aemond also cut off his hair?” Y/n said innocently, as if she didn't know that his hair was far past shoulder-length and very well taken care of.

“No, and gods be good he won’t any time soon—” The Queen paused when the carriage stopped, the postilion announcing their arrival to the campsite. The door swung open, a gold-gilded hand reaching into the carriage to help the Queen down the steps. After she had successfully made her way out the same hand reached in for Y/n, the sturdy arm attached to it leading into Ser Criston Cole.

“Thank you, Ser.” She nodded her head, lifting her skirt so she would not trip. Criston grunted assuredly, letting go of her hand once she was stable on the soft grass. Y/n called out for Tohrren, his heavy padding coming closer until he was in sight. He barked as he approached, leaning into her for scratches behind the ear. He was well rested and ready for the events of the week, as a great hound like him should be. Y/n lifted her head at her name, recognizing Alicent standing beside three silver-haired figures. Y/n approached gracefully, clasping her hands in front of her as she came to a stop.

“Lady Y/n, may I present my eldest, Prince Aegon.” Y/n offered her hand to the young man, Aegon taking it without fuss and kissing it roughly. His hair was cut shorter than Y/n thought, all of it practically gone at the sides, and his hands were softer than Aemond’s were. He did not train, that much was certain.

“My daughter, Princess Helaena.” Both girls curtsied politely at each other, sharing a small smile before the Queen moved on.

“And my son, Prince Aemond.” Y/n gave her hand to him and he held it gentler than Aegon, memories of their accidental run-in flooding her mind. He kissed her hand firmly, the calluses on his from working with the sword and shield rubbing against hers from working with the bow and arrow.

“A pleasure, my Prince.” Y/n grinned, curtsying gently.

“Mother has informed us that this little celebration is to honour your arrival. If that is the case let me be the first one to thank you for the excuse to indulge in Dornish wine without reprieve.” Aegon smirked, adjusting the collar of his golden tunic. Helaena rolled her eyes, playing with the sleeves of her similarly golden dress. Y/n supposed that since they were married colour-matching was to be expected, especially since Aemond had already stolen the green of his mother. He wore it again like a King wears a crown, the dark green of his tunic matching the darkness of the trees surrounding them.

“You should be thanking your mother and father, they surprised me with such an extravagant celebration.” Y/n gestured to the dozens of tents, jousting field, games, and nobles taking a brief home in the forest.

“Of course, of course! Now, if you’ll excuse my wife and I, we must make haste to make our tent feel like a home.” Aegon slurred his words together, breath stinking of ale and wine. Y/n had heard the rumours surrounding him, and it seemed that all were true. He was a drunkard who barely deserved the title of ‘Prince’. Alicent cringed as Aegon dragged Helaena to find their tent, the girl having checked out minutes ago within her own mind.

“Aemond, would you care to show the Lady to her quarters?” Alicent cleared her throat, smile strained as she turned on her heels to presumably find the King.

“If you will follow me, my Lady.” Aemond held his hand out in the direction they were to go, Y/n beginning to walk and Aemond joining not long after.

“You did not tell your mother of our meeting last night?” Y/n watched him out of the corner of her eye, hands still clasped by her front.

“Hm, Neither did you.” Aemond retorted, lip quirking up.

“It would be indecent of me to admit to such a thing.” She stated, eyes still forward for the most part.

“Improper, yes, but indecent? No.” Aemond sighed with a laugh, stopping before one of the bigger tents, this one with northern guards stationed outside the entrance.

“Your chambers, my Lady.” Aemond bowed, the guards opening the curtains for Y/n to enter. She turned to face the prince, his one eye watching the way her cool gaze analyzed his.

“Good day, Prince Aemond.” Y/n curtsied, waiting for his, “Good day, Lady Y/n.” Before she entered her tent. Inside her handmaidens sat with a bath and new dress prepared, Tohrren curling up on the dog bed that lay near the fireplace. Y/n sank eagerly into the bath, allowing the warm water to loosen her tensed muscles. When she was done she changed into another gown, this one darker to match the tones of the sky when supper would be called. Her hair was left down save for a few pieces which were pinned into a bun at the back of her head to keep the strands out of the way. By the time her maids had finished preparing her the dinner bell was rung, Y/n gathering herself and making her way towards the feast.

She entered one of the largest tents, drapes and heavy weavings keeping it insulated from the nightly chill. Nobles lined long tables, all chatting and laughing while torches lit the tent they sat in. Y/n was directed to a table at the front of the room, the one which the royal family sat at. When she arrived she greeted the King first, kissing his cheek before curtsying to the Queen and her children. The Queen’s father, and Hand of the King, sat a table away with some members of his family, watching the Targaryen girl take her place in the middle of the royal table.

He watched her speak, watched her laugh, watched her compliment his granddaughter, all with Daemon Targaryen’s eyes staring at them. Otto took a long sip of his wine, contemplating whether or not what his daughter had planned was a good idea. At first he was thrilled, she was an excellent addition to his plan, but as he saw her now…she was still Daemon Targaryen’s daughter; not just Morgana Stark’s. The Queen whispered something to her husband, the withering man nodding with a smile. He stood, and without having to tap his goblet, the room went silent.

“My Lord’s and Lady’s, I thank you for joining us to welcome Lady Y/n Targaryen to court,” The King looked down at his niece with soft eyes, reaching for his goblet.

“But I fear that her arrival is not the only reason for this grand celebration.” Nobles looked at each other with confusion, Y/n most of all. What was it that the King had planned? More importantly, what did it have to do with her?

“The Queen and I would like to announce a betrothal,” Alicent stood at that, taking Viserys’ vacant hand. Y/n looked around towards her cousins, all three unsurprised and calm, as if they had already known this was going to happen. Aemond straightened out a clasp on his tunic, the prince dressed in all black with hints of red sewn into the details.

“Please, join us in congratulating the betrothal of Prince Aemond Targaryen,” Aemond stood up beside Y/n, the girl looking up at him with wide eyes, “and Lady Y/n Targaryen!” The crowd burst into applause, Aemond offering his hand towards her.

Y/n took his hand, standing up slowly. She looked around at all of the beaming faces, including the King and Queen’s, before turning to face her betrothed. The word stung in her mind, like a poisonous viper biting upon her thoughts. When she faced him his gaze searched hers, expression stoic as ever. She attempted to control her breathing, mouthing slowly, “Did you know?”

Aemond looked away to the crowd for a moment before nodding, his eye meeting hers briefly until she set her sights back within the crowd. She put on a strained smile, curtsying before returning to her seat. The band returned to their merry tunes, nobles taking their turns to come up and congratulate the two and bless their union.

Now Y/n understood Helaena’s words the other day. She was to be the princess’ sister, for she was to marry the One-eyed Prince.

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