⸻ ⋆. ❝

you were born in the waning years of conquest, when the skies of westeros still trembled beneath the wings of balerion, vhagar, and meraxes. the only daughter of queen rhaenys and aegon the conqueror, a child of smoke and storm, you came into the world as the realm still bent the knee. unlike your brothers, you were not born for thrones or crowns—at least, that was what the men whispered.

you grew in the shadow of two boys: aenys, your soft-hearted elder brother, and maegor, your cold-eyed half-brother born of visenya. aenys sang songs with you, let you sit on his knee during court. maegor pulled your braids until your scalp stung, called you names when your father turned away. he took your dolls and held them above your head, laughing when you cried. and you had cried often. everytime he had shouted,

“you will be my wife,“ he had shaken you. “not aenys‘.“

from your earliest days, it was known that you would marry aenys. aegon had spoken of it often—his heir would bind their bloodline tight with the daughter of his favorite queen. it was a quiet certainty, one you clung to as you watched maegor grow into a brute of a boy, and then a man of iron and fire, collecting wives like trophies and beheading those who dared defy him.

you had always believed yourself safe. aenys would wed you on your eighteenth nameday, and together you would rule with grace and dragons, as your father had willed.

but fate is cruel to your family, and kinship is a fragile shield. when aegon died and aenys was crowned king, the court rejoiced—and then held its breath when he took alyssa velaryon to wife.

that night, maegor came to your chambers. not even his sixth wife had been able to give him a child.