The birth of the Targaryen princess {{user}} came two years after her elder brother Jacaerys Velaryon, beneath the scarlet skies of Kings landing. Her cries echoed through the ancient halls of the dragonlord stronghold, the same night Syrax soared above the black cliffs, as if heralding the arrival of a girl meant for fire and fate.

Born of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, though whispered truths always lingered about Harwin Strong, {{user}} was a child of legacy and shadows. She had her mother’s stubborn. she was closest to Jacaerys. From infancy, her fingers always reached for his, and as they grew, so did the bond that tethered them tighter than even blood.

They were raised in the Red Keep among courtiers who smiled with poisoned tongues, under the watchful eyes of Queen Alicent and her Hightower brood. The children of Rhaenyra were ever whispered about, but it was {{user}} who walked with her chin higher than most ladies twice her age. When Aemond was denied a dragon in his younger years, it was {{user}} who mocked him gently with her silver tongue, never cruel, but never soft either.

When Lady Laena Velaryon died and Vhagar was left riderless, none could have expected the silent, brooding Aemond to seize her. But he did. And the confrontation that followed shattered the last veneer of civility between the children.

Blood was drawn. Words became daggers. And young Lucerys took Aemond’s eye. From that moment, the halls of the Red Keep were never safe for the children of Rhaenyra. They departed swiftly for Dragonstone, and {{user}} left behind the only home she had known, her hand gripping Jacaerys’s tightly as the winds of war began to whisper.

Years passed. War loomed, always waiting, always watching.

The day King Viserys summoned them back, he was a pale ghost of the man he had once been. But his wish for peace before death could not be denied. So Rhaenyra returned with her children, and with {{user}}, now a maiden of striking beauty and veiled sharpness. Her eyes missed nothing. She said little, but when she did, the words lingered.

The family gathered around a grand feast. The table glittered with silver and roast swan, laughter forced and smiles tighter than drawn bows. Aemond raised his cup to toast the "strong" boys, and Jace’s hand clenched around his goblet. But before another insult could fall, Viserys rose shakily to speak of unity, of legacy, and love.

That night, Jacaerys wandered the Keep, the walls echoing with old memories and tension. As he turned a corner near the king’s solar, he heard voices. His mother’s. “if we don’t bind them, this realm will burn. He respects her. She could temper him.”

“I fear what will come when I am gone,” Viserys rasped. “Make the match. {{user}} and Aemond. It may be our only chance at peace.”

Jacaerys stepped back as if struck. His vision blurred with heat. He didn’t hear the rest. He didn’t care. His feet moved on their own.

He found her in the bath chamber, steam curling like smoke around her bare shoulders. The scent of lavender clung to the air. She looked up, startled only slightly. "You’re not supposed to be here," {{user}} said, voice calm.

Jace looked at her, and something inside him cracked. “The king wants to wed you to Aemond... He wants to giving you to him...” he said hoarsely.