The Prince - Chapter Four
The Prince - Chapter Four
A/N: Hello friends! This chapter is one of my favorites, full of angst and longing (my favorite things to write). I got to write from Rhaenyra's perspective, too, which was a new challenge. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like to be tagged! Thank you for all your support of my writing! It's been so long since I've been invested in a story and part of that is due to your encouragements. <3
Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 3.8k Synopsis: Things come to a head, as a tense argument breaks out in the Dragonpit. Jace reaches out to his mother for help.
Tag List: @rinisfruity14, @gaiaea, @rexorangecounty
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The next few days pass in a blur. Jace is embarrassed; you rejected him. But more than anything he is frustrated. You didn’t reject him because you don’t share the same feelings, you did so because there is not a chance for the two of you to be together. Jace can’t change the fact that he is a prince, and even if he wasn’t betrothed to Baela, you are still titleless.
The truth of what you said in the gardens settles within him. So few got to marry for love. But his intentions have still not changed. He will keep fighting for you, he will find a way to change the current situation.
He spends the next few days staying away from you, shielding his pride, and coming up with a plan.
When he arrives at his mother’s door, a few nights after the garden, he doesn’t even realize he has come there, until he is knocking on the door. He is let in right away, and he finds his mother dining alone, smiling at something Elinda says.
“Mother,” he says. He cannot remember the last time he came to his mother’s chambers like this, upset and unexpected. His mother looks up with a smile, at the sound of his voice, but it falls when she sees his face.
“Jace?” she asks, standing up, “What is it?”
“I request an audience with the queen,” he says, straightening his spine, hoping to emphasize the severity of his arrival. A hesitant smile breaks across his mother’s face, and she lets out a chuckle.
“What is this?” she asks.
“Please,” he says. Something in her face changes at his look. She gives a curt nod to the maids, and they scurry out of the room. Once they are gone, Rhaenyra leans against her dining table, looking at him with curious eyes.
“You have the floor, Jace,” she says. He takes a breath, giving himself one second before he throws his entire life into disarray.
“I want to end my betrothal with Baela,” he says.
Rhaeynra knows Jace completely. He is part of her, after all. Her first son, her rock in so many ways during the war. But sitting at the head of her table the next day, watching her son speak with Baela, she is seeing someone new.
Jace has had a hard life. He’s seen so much heartbreak – chief among them, the loss of his brother. But through it all, he has always been a prince. Strong when he needs to be, with a kind heart, and a devotion to duty. She has never known him to bock at responsibility, in fact, he often seeks out more. He is the example of a perfect prince, a perfect son.
She chides herself for not realizing sooner that something has changed with him.
She remembers vividly the day he came back from the North, so many years ago. Just that short trip had made him grow up so much. She had foolishly assumed it was only due to the loss of his brother, that had flung him into adulthood. But he had grown on that trip, excelled with the lords and ladies he met with, brokered deals for her, and apparently, had fallen in love.
There were thralls of guests at her table, but Rhaenyra didn’t pay them any mind. She barely even looked at Daemon next to her, or Joffrey on her right. All night, her eyes were on Jace, and his were on you.
Rhaenyra didn’t know much about you. You arrived in King’s Landing about two months back. When Jeyne Arryn had requested you to take ward here, Rhaenyra had thought little of it, so entrenched in the war. Even when you had arrived, she didn’t think much of it. There were so many faces coming and going in the Red Keep, you were just another one, albeit a beautiful one.
She knew that you were close with her younger boys, and Rhanea, too. She had seen Jace spending time with you, but she hadn’t noticed his feelings. She sees them now, though.
You are a beacon for Jace. Every move you make, whether it’s to laugh at your tablemates, or simply flicking your long hair over your shoulder, Jace’s eyes follow. And to Rhaenyra’s surprise, your eyes search for him just as often. A few times, your gazes collide, and a blush forms on your cheeks.
She thinks back to Jace’s words in her chambers. She had been completely blindsided. They had grown apart, now that he was older, and the war was over. They had begun to explore separate paths. But she thinks, even if they had been as close as they used to be, she still might have missedthe change.
“I want to end my betrothal to Baela,” he says. Rhaenyra looks at him, speechlessly, shaking her head to make sure she heard him correctly.
“What?” she asks.
“I want to end my betrothal.”
“Where is this coming from?”
“I have fallen in love,” he answers. She studies his face, as if she hasn’t seen him until now.
“With whom?” she asks quietly.
“Y/N Arryn.”
She believes him now. She had been worried, when he told her, that he was being compelled by lust. But watching him now, it was true love in his eyes. And beneath that, lay a sadness she knew all too well.
Rhaenyra wants him to have everything. He deserves everything. But he is a prince, and he has a duty to his country to marry well and produce noble heirs.
If it had been another highborn lady he was betrothed to, the choice might have been easier. But this was Baela. Rhaenyra loves her, and she knows Jace does, too. Just – not in the way he feels for you.
“What would we tell Baela?” she asks.
“I- I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “But it’s killing me, not to be with Y/N.” Rhaenyra frowns at her son, cupping his cheek gently with her hand.
“I made a promise to Rhaenys years ago, that I would wed our families together.”
“I know,” Jace says, his voice hollow.
She searchs his face for a long moment. She wants to tell him no. There is no way it would work out, but he had already seen so much heartbreak in his life. And she knew the pain of an arranged marriage.
So, she hadn’t told him no. She told him she had to think about it. But she saw, it wasn’t going to be an easy answer, either way.
The next morning, Jace finds you reading in a corner of the castle, alone. It is the first morning you’ve spent in so long without Rhaena at your side, talking over suitors, or meeting with those suitors themselves.
Seeing Jace, at first, makes you blush, remembering the night in the garden. But then you settle when you realize how much you’ve missed him. He has become one of your closest friends here, regardless of the feelings you have grown for him, and not seeing him the last few days had hurt.
“Good morning, My Prince,” you say as he sits across from you.
“No one is here,” he says with a frown, “You can call me Jace.”
“Why are you up so early, Jace?” you ask. He gives you a soft smile and sighs, hopefully letting out the tension in his shoulders.
“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I might see Vermax, go for a ride,” he says.
“Is it tiring to ride a dragon?” you ask.
“It can be, I suppose. Although Vermax is gentle, when he wants to be.” His eyes flick to yours, and for some reason, you get the sense you aren’t just talking about his dragon anymore.
“It’s hard to imagine a creature of that size being gentle,” you say, closing your book.
“You should come see for yourself,” he says simply.
“What?”
“Come with me to the dragon pit. I’m sure Vermax would love to meet you,” he says with a smile.
“I don’t desire being burnt alive,” you say quietly, leaning in conspiratorially. Jace laughs softly, the dimple in his cheek prominent.
“Vermax would never hurt you if you’re with me,” he says. “I promise.”
“Well, I did come to King’s Landing to further my education. Feels wrong to come all this way and not see its dragons up close.”
The entire walk down to the pit, you are anxious. Your heart thuds and your breathing is shallow. You are starting to regret your agreement in coming down when Jace grabs your hand for one second and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“You’re safe, Y/N,” he says as he guides you into the entrance of the Dragonpit. The look in his eyes makes it easier to believe him.
The pit is dark, even at the first light of morning. The temperature is at least ten degrees warmer, and there are sounds you can’t begin to distinguish coming from somewhere deep. Jace leads you to a long platform that looks over a slope. Glancing down at it, you see the tread of giant clawed feet. You take in a quivering breath as Jace greets one of the dragon handlers and requests that Vermax be brought out.
“Doing alright?” he asks, coming to your side.
“Yes,” you say, in an unconvincing manner.
“Vermax is on the smaller size,” he says lowly, “Although I wouldn’t repeat that to him.”
“Even small dragons are massive,” you say. Jace looks at you with a smile, opening his mouth to say something, when you hear a sound coming from the dark entrance to the pit. You move behind Jace out of instinct, as a very large green dragon walks towards you. Jace laughs to himself.
“You’re alright,” he says softly as the beast comes to a stop. Vermax turns his attention to Jace and lets out a breath of steam. You grasp onto Jace’s shoulders, momentarily terrified.
“Hello to you, too,” Jace says with a laugh. You sigh when you realize the steam must have been a sign of affection.
Vermax moves his massive head closer to the two of you, close enough that Jace can pat his snout. You want to shrink behind Jace, want to run, but you know that quick movements around a dragon are not wise.
With his other hand, Jace reaches behind himself, and grabs hold of yours. He doesn’t let it go.
“Do you want to say hello?” he asks, and you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you or the dragon. Vermax’s eyes look to you then, and a shiver of fear races over you. “I promise, he’s scarier than he looks.” Vermax chuffs in response to Jace.
Slowly, you move to Jace’s side, dropping his hand for only a moment to switch which one you’re holding. You give yourself a moment to relax before meeting Vermax’s eyeline.
“Okay, now slowly raise out your hand,” he says. You do as he says, your limb shaking at the movement. Vermax’s snout, which is a good five times larger than your hand, sniffs at the palm. You wait with bated breath, until he nudges against it, and lets you rest your hand on him. You let out a sigh, relaxing as Jace smiles.
Now that you’re this close and settled, you realize that Vermax isn’t entirely green. There are spikes of orange-red that run down his neck. The contrast is striking.
“Oh,” you say with a sigh, “He is beautiful.”
“I’m in love with you,” Jace says in response. You whip your head to him so quickly, something in Vermax’s demeanor changes. Jace tenses and puts out a hand to the creature, at the same moment, pulling you back a step. It’s only a second, and then Vermax eases. Jace turns back to you and reads your wide, sad eyes.
“Whatever you’re going to say,” he says, “Don’t. It’s going to hurt me, and Vermax won’t like that.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you say, whisper soft. Jace shrugs.
“I don’t either.”
“We talked about this in the garden, it’s not something—” You stop when Vermax shifts again. Another breath of steam washes over the two of you, but this one somehow feels warmer, deadlier. Jace sweeps you behind him, holding you close to his back.
“Y/N is our friend,” he says to the beast, his words firm. “Our friend,” he says, and this time, chances a glance back at you at the word, friend.
“Maybe I should go,” you say. You realize you are still holding onto him, and then how much you don’t want to let go.
“He’ll settle,” Jace says, his hand covering yours, resting on his shoulder.
“Yes, but will I?” you ask, making him let out a tut of laughter.
“Alright. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says to Vermax. The dragon trills in response. Jace takes your hand and guides you back towards the Keep. “Don’t worry, everyone feels like this when they meet a dragon for the first time.”
“He really is beautiful,” you say, “In the most terrifying way possible.”
“Vermax is well tempered,” he says, “Be grateful you never saw Vhagar.”
“The stories were horrifying enough,” you say as you come to a stop outside the door to the castle. Your hand is still in Jace’s, the Dragonpit far behind you. You drop it, trying to do so indiscreetly, but Jace notices the absence and sighs.
“You were going to kiss me, you know. Back in your chambers,” he says. You stutter over a response, shaking your head in disbelief.
“There was one moment, yes,” you say, “But then I came to my senses.”
“No, Brigitta walked in,” he says, stepping closer to you. “That’s why you didn’t. And now, you can't even hold my hand.” He gestures around the empty space. “No one else is here!” he shouts. Below, Vermax calls out in response.
“You don’t get it,” you say softly, trying to keep your frustrations at bay.
“What don’t I get?” he asks.
“Do you know what I risk, just being alone with you? You are our crown prince, Jace, there is very little you can do to damage your reputation. If one person gets the wrong impression about us, if we give in to this feeling—” You stop when he moves closer still, his eyes alighting.
“I would be ruined,” you say. “It wouldn’t matter that you are the prince. I would be tainted goods.” He snarls at the description.
“Y/N,” he starts, but you reach for his hand, stopping him.
“Jace,” you say breathlessly. “I wish there was a way but—”
“What if there was?”
“There’s not.”
“I asked my mother to end my engagement.”
“You what?!” you ask much too loudly, stepping back from him.
“I assumed you’d be pleased,” he says, hurt etched into his features.
“What did she say?”
“She is considering it,” he says. You sigh, leaning against the rocky cave wall. “There are a lot of moving pieces.”
“Of course there are. You and your family just went through so much grief to assure your mother’s claim to the throne. Why risk any of it again?”
“Because I love you,” he says plainly.
“We shouldn’t even be discussing this. We need to forget this; you need to forget me.”
“You act like it is so easy,” he says, approaching you again, “Tell me, have I confused your feelings for my own?”
“No,” you say quietly. “It’s not easy, at all. But what makes it harder is the fact that you keep bringing it up. You keep giving me hope,” you say, meeting his eyes. His are wide and nearly pull you in with the affection you find there.
“But there is hope.”
“Your mother is not going to cut Baela out like that,” you say, “And even if she did, I am no queen.” He looks at you sadly, like he wants to argue.
“You would make a good queen, Y/N,” he says delicately. You scoff. “Don’t you think I’ll be a good king?” he asks.
“Of course I do.”
“Then you know that I wouldn’t make the wrong woman queen.” He moves closer, taking your hands in his. He studies the way your hands fit into his, before speaking. “But even if my mother doesn’t agree, who is to say we have to be married? That we have to fight our feelings?”
“You’re suggesting I become your whore,” you say, face paling as you pull away from him.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, reaching for your hand. You stay just out of his reach. “You would be taken care of—”
“Think of what you are saying,” you spit, “I would be an outcast. I would be your whore, and Baela your lady wife. Any children I bore you would be bastards. Is that what you want?” you ask. You think there might be tears forming in his eyes.
“Of course not,” he says firmly.
“As much as I wish things could be different, Jace, I just don’t foresee them changing. But you wound me, every time you get my hopes up.”
“You are not the only injured party, Y/N” he says. “What would you have me do?”
“Let me find someone else,” you say quietly. “Let me do what I came here to do and then I’ll be gone.”
“And I’ll just have to watch you with someone else?” he asks in disgust.
“Is that not what you just suggested I do with Baela?” you ask. He groans, gripping the railing along the walkway tightly.
“So, let’s say I agree to let you find someone else.”
“Let me?” you ask incredulously.
“That I stop fighting for you,” he corrects with a roll of his eyes, facing you again. “What if my mother changes her mind?”
“She won’t.”
“What if she does?”
“By then, it won’t matter to you anymore!” you exclaim.
“What?” he asks, brow furrowing.
“These feelings will die, if we let them. You’ve had this crush for so long, you think that our story must end with us together, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“Y/N,” he says with a shake of his head.
“Let’s just call this what it is – an attraction that we danced around for too long.”
“Do you think me so foolhardy? That I would confuse lust with love?” he asks, taking your face in his hands, so you can’t turn away from him. “I am not that boy you met in the Vale years ago.”
“I know,” you say, putting your hands around his wrists.
“I have laid with women before.”
“Jace.”
“I have even thought I was in love,’ he says. “But never, did I feel anything close to this.” You close your eyes with a sigh, leaning into his palm. His thumb brushes your cheek as he frowns at you. You are speechless. You believe him, want to believe that his hopes can come true, too, but the logical part inside of you is more insistent than your heart.
“I just—” you start, sighing when his face falls. “Jace,” you say smally. He pulls away from you, retreating. “I think we need some time apart, to figure things out.” You are certain there are tears in his eyes now. He bites the inside of his lip and nods.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t be,” he says.
“Jace,” you say, “We have to try.”
“Okay,” he says with a shrug. He looks so broken, you don’t want to leave him there, but you know there is nothing you can say right now to make him whole. You slip out the entrance, and it’s not until you get to your chambers that you let your own tears fall.
You are filled with so much anger. Anger at your father for fucking up your life in the first place. Anger at Lord Yorbert for arranging your initial betrothal. Anger that Lord Blacktyde left you so cautious about your next match. And anger that no matter how much you know you need to stay away from Jace, you can’t seem to.
You think you know the reason why, but you aren’t ready to face it yet.
Jace spends most of the day flying. The fresh air and altitude seem to clear his head a little. The moment in the Dragonpit never fully leaves his mind. He wants to do what you ask, because of the pain on your face, the pain he could practically feel himself.
But he loves you and doesn’t want to be apart from you. He thinks he might go see his mother when he lands, plea to her again. He needs advice at least on how to navigate this next bit.
When he gets to the Dragonpit, though, his mother is already waiting for him. He dismounts and moves hurriedly towards her.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, breathlessly.
“There is trouble in the Iron Islands,” she says. “It seems skirmishes have been breaking out since my ascendence.”
“Ser Tyland?”
“He’s there now, fighting for what he claims is Lannister territory.”
“You want me to go lend our assistance?” he asks. She searches his face, a sad smile on her own.
“It will be dangerous.”
“I assume so,” he jokes, making her laugh to herself. “I’ll be careful,” he adds.
“I know you will.”
“I’ll leave tonight,” he says, “There’s just something I need to do first.” She examines his eyes, like she knows what he has to do, but she doesn’t argue. She just nods and leans in to kiss his forehead.
“Thank you, Jace.”
Night has fallen over the keep, and it is improper for him to go to your chambers this late, but he wants to see you before he goes. He must. The hallway is empty, save for one guard posted at your door.
“Your Highness,” he says, standing up straight. Jace knocks on the door and your maid, Brigitta, comes to answer it a full two minutes later. She does not look surprised to see him.
“Your Highness,” she says in greeting, curtseying as the door shuts behind her.
“I need to speak with Y/N,” he says. The color drains from Brigitta’s face.
“I’m sorry, My Prince, Lady Y/N does not wish to see you,” she says, whisper soft. Embarrassment floods his cheeks at the uncomfortable looks the guard and Brigitta give him. He isn’t sure why he is shocked at this answer, you had said that you needed space.
For one horrible second, he thinks about ignoring your request and ordering his way into the room. But he knows that would just make you angry.
“Very well,” he says with a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” Brigitta says again.
“Don’t be. Can I request a favor?”
More Posts from Berryblupie and Others
Baby Megumi whose mom died at a young age, whose father abandoned him and sold him to the Zenins, whose step-mother ran away with the money they got from the Zenin clan. I wholeheartedly believe that kid would have grown up with serious abandonment issues. That little boy who only wanted the best for his step-sister because in the end she didn’t abandon him like the rest of his family so that’s why he has to protect her, her kindness, he has to become a jujutsu sorcerer so he can be strong enough to save her. That kid meeting another kid who is kind, compassionate, silly enough to eat a curse object, but he loves that kid now and that means he needs to save him too. This boy who only wants to save his sister and this new kid he befriended but ends up harming them both, killing his elder sister with his own technique and unable to do anything as the curse residing in his body harms the pink-hair boy he loved and wanted to save while his soul sinks deeper and deeper. So…he gives up…he gives up fighting because who else is left, there is no one, no body that wants him around anymore.
That little kid hearing the words “it’ll be lonely without you around”….i can only imagine the feeling of being wanted, being needed that would have rushed into him after hearing that. The feeling of ‘I am not alone’, ‘there is someone that wants me for me’ coming from that one boy that he needed from the most.
a call to arms. part one.
— pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader
— type: part of a series
— summary: desperate to provide aid to your starving family due to the blockade, you venture, along with a great many other lowborns, to dragonstone, in hopes of gaining something—anything—which you might bring back to them; something to fill your little sister's belly.
things turn out quite the opposite as planned, as what you now believe to be a mad queen, locks all of you in her dragonpit, and you're forced to run, hide, & fend for your lives against two hungry dragons.
in the end, only two individuals are left standing: hugh hammer, who has now claimed for himself vermithor...and you—chosen by silverwing.
just when you believe things can't possibly get any worse, you then meet prince jacaerys.
— word count: 1,674
— a/n: do i have a fuck-ton of other fics & stuff to work on? idk, bc we are not going to talk about it. ok? <3
— tagging list: @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @emilynissangtr
He grinds his teeth together, filled with utter contempt—disgust—that whatever you are—bastards, lowborns, flea-ridden rats—are now, above all else, dragonriders.
And he is meant to share common spaces with you now? Such as the Great Hall? Meant to pass you in the halls and tolerate the sight of you?
To ride alongside you?
To treat you with...what? Kindness? Generosity for having 'come to his mother's aid'? He will most certainly not be treating, nor addressing you as an equal. Either of you.
To be a dragonrider...it is a sacred bond. And now he is meant to believe that even the lowest scum Flea Bottom has to offer has the same right as he to sail the skies, unleashing fire and blood upon the enemy?
Never.
He will never.
The rest of them got what they deserved for thinking they had any right to claim that which is meant only for those like him.
Queens and kings, princes and princesses, lords and ladies alike.
He is better than both of you.
Even if he is similar in ways he does not want to admit...
Boots echo against stone floors, dark curls falling over dark eyes, a brooding temperament within.
Jacaerys emerges into the Great Hall, Hugh promptly rising from his seat, bowing his head. "My Prince."
Jacaerys studies him for but a moment, briefly judging the plain-colored clothes he dons, before turning his sights across the room to you, who is seated between two stained-glass windows, arms wrapped around your bent knees, while you cast your attentions outward, instead of on him.
Your Prince.
Your superior.
He clenches his jaw at the sight of your long, silver hair that moonlight casts in an ethereal glow, making it appear as if it is sparkling. Cascading down your back like molten silver in soft waves.
"You there—girl—do you know how incredibly rude it is for you not to stand and curtsy when in the presence of royalty?"
You jolt—torn from tormented memories of but a couple days past; of people running, screaming for mercy. Dying choking on their own blood as dragonfire burns them alive.
None of you had anticipated—had imagined—that the very queen you were coming to, under the guise of offering your aid to in the war, would lock you in a room to be eaten by terrifying beasts.
Aegon deserves the throne in comparison to such a monster.
You have made a great mistake, mayhaps. Then again, becoming a dragonrider has already filled your belly, provided you with clean sheets to sleep upon, a guard outside your door, hot baths.
But it is not you who needs these things. You want them for your family.
There is no turning back now, however. You knew as much with certainty when that silver dragon laid her head at your feet before leaning forward, brushing her warm snout against your abdomen while you struggled to contain your bladder and bowels. While you sobbed hysterically, begging for mercy from a being that you do not so much as share a common language with.
You know not a word of High Valyrian, though you will now be expected to learn, you suppose.
Among many other things. Such as how to ride the animal...
Your stomach twists nervously at the thought.
You turn away from the window, slide off the ledge, then grab your skirts in either of your hands before tucking a foot behind your other ankle, bowing. "My Prince."
He scoffs, coming closer. "That was the worst curtsy I've ever seen."
You fold your hands in front of you, keeping your eyes downcast. "Forgive me, My Prince, it is...the first time I've attempted one."
He rolls his eyes, settling his arms behind his back before glancing over his shoulder to Hugh, jerking his head toward the hall he's just come from, and he quickly makes himself scarce.
He looks back to you.
"And what is your name?" He demands.
"Y/N," you state quietly.
A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You are to look at me while we're speaking. Do you understand?"
You nod, trailing your eyes upwards—over a red-and-black velvet tunic, the three-headed symbol of his house embroidered upon the breast—until they're looking into hues of chocolate-brown.
He clenches his hands into tight fists behind his back.
You've every trademark of a pure Targaryen: silver hair, lilac eyes—with flecks of violet—skin so fair it's near-translucent, delicate features.
He fucking loathes you for every asset which you possess and he does not.
He would never—will never—state it aloud, but you look far more Targaryen than he ever will.
He wishes one of the dragons had taken you down its gullet as well. That way, he would not be forced to suffer the nigh-daily sight of you now.
He looks you over, circling you like a dragon does its prey—desperate to find something he may use to mock you with; some imperfection—before standing tall before you again.
"You think wearing rags before your Queen's court appropriate?"
Your expression quickly settles into a scowl.
Good, he thinks. Give him an excuse to introduce you to the Queen's justice. He is silently begging you for as much within his malice-filled gaze.
Your small hands clench into fists at your slender sides. "My mother made this dress for me."
His jaw ticks. "From now on, you will wear more suitable clothing when outside your private chambers—which means conservative in nature; not whatever men found desirable upon the Street of Silk. You are a representative of our house now. A dragonrider. A soldier to our cause. You will look the part."
Tears sting your eyes as yours bore into his own hatefully.
"I am not a whore," you reply contemptuously.
There is a beat of silence, his brows furrowing slightly. Surely you are lying. You have the look—more than.
And then you continue.
"And with what coin, My Prince?" You sneer.
He takes a step closer, causing you to shuffle backward, catching yourself against the window-ledge, the stone digging into your palms as you grip it to steady yourself.
He leans in close—your faces mere inches apart. "I beg your pardon?"
You do not shrink away from him.
Gods, you already hate him with all that you are.
"I came here for coin. Desperate for—"
"So greed is what sent you? Not to aid us in winning back my mother's throne? Her rightful seat. You come to steal away a dragon, and then what?"
"My family is starving!" You finally shout, at the end of your rope from the last few sleepless nights that've been filled with nightmares instead of rest; your temper having reached its limit. "My mother and little sister both! How would you feel if it were you? If your loved-ones were suffering, while all you could do is sit back and watch them waste away before you? So, yes, I came. I claimed a dragon—even if my intentions had only been merely to host audience with a clement queen who would provide aid to her suffering subjects. Not burn them alive for coming to help her!"
He grits his teeth. "You will watch your tongue, you insolent little wench. My mother sent boat-fulls of food to King's Landing. She has provided—"
You begin to laugh, with a lack of humor behind it all, cutting him off. "Oh, yes, how very kind of her to give aid to the very subjects she is responsible for the suffering of in the first place. The blockade is all your all's fault! People were fighting like dogs in the streets—assaulting—killing each other for a small sack of grain! I risked mine own life for a peck of potatoes! That's it! Even then, I was forced to wrestle a full-grown man off myself to get it. I was fortunate to escape with my life—with any food to speak of for my struggles!"
You step forward, forcing his royal highness to take a step back, and he swallows thickly.
"You've never known hunger a day in your life, have you? Never known what is it to wear 'rags' while you don your silk and velvet, while you sleep on thousand-thread count sheets, while you flout your jewels, and your fancy titles, and your gilded castles while the rest of us bow and scrape before your feet for a mere morsel of respect! You are meant to take care of us!"
Once you've finished, your heart pounds in your ears, your shoulders rapidly rise and fall, and it's then that you notice Prince Jacaerys' hand is tightly gripping the pommel of his sword—his knuckles having now gone white from the force.
Your eyes flit back to his, tears filling your own. "And I am meant to one day call you king, given we are 'successful' in our endeavors to win your mother back her glorified chair," you say, spitting the final word at him.
The two of you stand tall before the other, refusing to be the first one to break—your chins held high, even if your stomach is now twisting painfully into knots while your bowels turn to water.
If he puts you to death for your unimaginable disobedience—your disrespect...who will help your family then?
Your little sister... Your little girl.
She became as much when your mother went away in herself after your father's passing. It did not matter that you were still a mere child yourself when it happened. She became your responsibility to look after and tend to from that day forward.
And now...you feel as if you have failed her.
"Go to your room," he orders lowly, his body shaking from anger, brief pauses between each word.
You curtsy one last time.
"My Prince," you mumble, brushing past him, wanting to break something.
He stalks off in the opposite direction, feeling much the same: wanting to burn something—or, rather, someone—alive.
I know it’s not hard to point out reactionaries hypocrisy when it comes to like safe spaces or hug boxes or whatever but genuinely how much of an echo chamber do you have to exist in for you to think this is a reasonable thing to say
Well damn… u just turning me more and more into a Gwayne girlie 🤧 ain’t complaining
— SISTER'S CHOICE
BROKEN OATH (AU)
PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Princess Elaena Targaryen (OC)
SUMMARY — You manage to escape Oldtown after fifteen years of marriage to Ser Gwayne Hightower in order to join your sister Rhaenyra in the upcoming war. Despite the oath given to Rhaenyra, you struggle to be away from your husband and children. Things complicate when you meet Gwayne in the battlefield.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written from the Reader’s perspective but she is a Targaryen and Rhaenyra's younger sister. I did not describe any of her body or face features except for that she has silver hair, lilac eyes and her name is Elaena. The story is quite long already so I haven't described the beginnings of Reader's/Elaena's with Gwayne or her childhood – you can find them in the "Broken Oath" fanfic (link above), which is an AU of this one (or this one is an AU of "Broken Oath" 🙈). Canon events are treated very loosely here for the purpose of the plot (Rook's Rest for example).
WARNINGS — Reader/Elaena is responsible for the deaths in the battlefield & if you're Team Black you might be unhappy about the ending (+ I don't like Daemon and it shows, sorry)
WORD COUNT — 9,930 (💀)
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
SISTER'S CHOICE
It was quite a long trip from Oldtown to Dragonstone but you hadn’t made any stops and now both you and your dragon were exhausted. The sun was slowly rising when you arrived but you had a weird feeling deep in your guts – some sort of anxiety – before seeing your sister after fifteen years. How would you even greet her now? What would you say? That fear alone was stopping you from landing.
Eventually, you spotted a few people looking out for you from the castle. They had to be wondering what were you doing, circling around Dragonstone without clear intentions. After spotting your sister’s long silver hair in the wind, you decided to order Onyx to land on the sandy beach and you waited for someone to come out and greet you.
Sighing, you looked around and breathed in the fresh air. It felt so odd to be out of Oldtown – you hadn’t left it in fifteen years. Not even once. You had grown so used to it that you nearly missed it now. You certainly missed your children. They had to slowly wake up now and you wondered what your husband would tell them about your sudden absence.
Would they understand? Would they grow up to hate you? They were only children, you couldn’t expect them to comprehend the complicated situation of the upcoming war, the delicacy of your family’s relations. And what kind of mother abandoned her children like that? Perhaps it was true what they were saying about The Targaryens – just like dragons they rode, they were difficult to tame. Even an obedient and dutiful Princess like you still had fire and blood running through her veins.
Finally, you spotted your sister and a few of her guards walking towards you. You took off the hood of your cloak and petted nervous Onyx to calm her down.
“Sister,” Rhaenyra greeted you and you hurried to her side, leaving your dragon behind you. You gave her an anxious smile as your eyes scanned hers carefully.
She had grown older those past fifteen years but you couldn’t help a feeling that she had grown sadder, too. Either way, she was still your sister but also your Queen now.
“You came, Elaena,” Rhaenyra smiled at you nervously.
“My Queen,” you bowed down and the hood of your cloak fell onto your head again. Rhaenyra chuckled at that and approached you to fix it.
“It is green,” she pointed out while caressing the fabric of your cloak when you two were face-to-face now. Then, her fingers moved down to the golden clasp, which was The Hightower emblem.
“Forgive me,” you unclasped the cloak and let it fall down on the sand. “I am here now, by my sister’s side,” you told her.
“Come, we’ll make space for Onyx in the dragonpit,” Rhaenyra smiled at your dragon and tilted her head a little. “She’s as big as Caraxes now, do you know?”
You were surprised. You had no idea that your young and small dragon had grown so big. It was also unexpected that it had happened in Oldtown where Onyx had been alone and you had not been flying on her often either. She had been spoiled with sheep and your affection but that would be it, really. Other than that, she had been pretty bored there.
“I am glad,” you smiled at your sister. You wanted to take her by her arm but something was stopping you – some invisible barrier between you two and it was not because she was The Queen, no.
She had always been your father’s heir to you anyway. You had gotten used to the fact that Rhaenyra was your superior. The barrier was caused by the fifteen years apart. Despite knowing it was your sister, despite sharing the same blood, the same silver hair, the same lilac eyes – it was a stranger walking down the beach with you.
“Why did you come?” Rhaenyra asked, genuinely. The guards left you behind and watched Onyx fly up again to rest in the dragonpit after the long journey.
“You need dragons and dragonriders in the upcoming war with Aegon,” you answered, a little surprised as if you couldn’t understand why she had even asked that. It was obvious, after all.
“You loved him when he was a babe, did you not?” Rhaenyra smiled gently.
“I love him still, just like I love you – and to you I have sworn my loyalty,” you answered.
“Haven’t you sworn it to your husband, too, on your wedding day?” She kept inquiring and you grew uncomfortable with that. You didn’t want her to mention Gwayne because you were trying your hardest not to think of him.
“Are you suspecting I might be my father-in-law’s spy?” You suddenly turned your head around to look deep into her eyes. “If so, you hurt me deeply.”
“I would never suspect that!” Rhaenyra gasped and held your wrist to squeeze it assuringly. “You have been telling me in your letters that your marriage is a good one, that you love your children dearly. And now you are here, with me,” she pointed out.
“The war is coming,” you only shook your head.
Hadn’t she been expecting you to come and join her? In her letter, you had read that between the lines and now she was shocked to see you? When she had been asking for your loyalty and for remembering your oath… What had she been exactly expecting?
However, you had no opportunity to continue this conversation because you reached the castle and your uncle Daemon was waiting there with a very unpleasant expression on his face.
At first, your heart swelled in your chest at the sight of him. You wanted to run up to him and greet him like back in the old days when you had been a young girl and he would bounce you on his knee. But you froze at the sight of him eyeing you up and down as if you were an intruder.
“What does she want?” He asked Rhaenyra and you swallowed thickly at that tone of his voice.
“She is my sister, Daemon. She came to support me,” Rhaenyra explained.
“And you believe her?” Daemon whispered but you could hear him perfectly well.
“I can hear you, Uncle,” you nodded at him and he shot you a cold glance.
“That is King Consort to you. We don’t trust Hightower cunts here,” he drawled out.
“Daemon!” Rhaenyra scolded him and you were standing there, petrified.
You were not used to being treated this way. In Oldtown you were a Lady of the town – every man was bowing his head at you, they were showing you nothing but respect and your own Lord Husband would challenge Daemon this very moment if he had heard or seen the way you were treated.
But your Lord Husband was not here because you had abandoned him to join your sister. Your sister – not Daemon. So, you held your head high and clenched your jaw at him.
“I am Princess Elaena Targaryen,” you introduced yourself to him in case he had somehow forgotten. “Lady Hightower, to you, dear Uncle. Lady of Oldtown,” you added even though the last title was not technically yours yet as long as your father-in-law was alive but you had been ruling the city in his name alongside your husband for fifteen years now and everyone called you that.
Daemon, however, found your titles somehow funny. He chuckled at you.
“Onyx has grown, Daemon,” Rhaenyra informed him. There was a hint of harshness in her voice that made shivers go down your spine. Something deeply disturbing was going on between them and you had a feeling her marriage was not as wonderful as she had been describing it to you in her letters. “She’s as big as Caraxes now,” she added.
“But not as experienced,” Daemon dismissed that and laid his eyes on you again. He squinted them and looked you up and down before speaking to you again eventually. “Well, come in, Elaena. We are not in a position to refuse any dragonriders,” he said and turned around to walk away.
You looked at Rhaenyra, questioningly.
“Forgive him, he is nervous about the war and we have also lost our child recently… Our baby girl was born dead,” she sighed and caressed your arm.
“I am so sorry to hear that,” you whispered and gave her a hug. “Still, that gives him no right to speak to you in such a manner. You are his Queen, but, most importantly, his Lady Wife,” you explained. “Such manners are shocking to me.”
“It makes me glad,” Rhaenyra answered mysteriously and you furrowed your brow, “for it means that you had never experienced such treatment from your husband.”
You were given your own chambers in the part of the castle reserved for the royal family and you knew that it was the highest standard for Dragonstone but you missed your chambers in Oldtown dearly. The comfort was incomparable… The Hightower was cosier and warmer – it was full of wood and colours instead of the cold, grey stone. The Reach was warmer overall and the sound of the waves was soothing there, meanwhile in Dragonstone the stormy weather was keeping you up all night.
Not just the sound of the raging sea but also thoughts of your family. Each evening you were crying yourself to sleep, imagining the bedtime of your children, remembering all the rituals Gwayne was doing before going to sleep and you missed them dearly. You especially missed laying in your bed together and discussing your day – trying to work out some problems around Oldtown or with your children… Sometimes gossipping together. And now, you were squeezing your pillow tight and trying to communicate with your husband telepathically. Yet, you still had no idea what you would tell him if it was possible.
He hadn’t written you any letter and you couldn’t blame him since you left Oldtown without even a note on his desk. Yet, each time there were new letters coming to Dragonstone, you were expecting to see the familiar green envelope and your husband’s handwriting; begging you to come back. Gwayne, however, had his pride and you couldn’t be sad or angry about it now because you had always admired him for it.
Seeing Rhaenyra’s relationship with Daemon was only making you miss Gwayne more. He was a Lord Husband that so many women could only dream of – even The Queen of The Seven Kingdoms, apparently.
Daemon was not the only person treating you with a hint of mistrust. Your aunt Princess Rhaenys was by your side but even young Jacaerys was staring at you without a word most of the time even though you had been playing with him and bouncing him on your knee when he had been a babe.
It was not easy to get used to all of this – the coldness and emptiness of your chambers, the treatment of others. From the beloved Lady of Oldtown to a mistrusted Princess, a prodigal sister.
Your loyalty and surname that had been given to you through marriage was being brought up regularly, mostly by Daemon – especially during dinnertime or supper.
“It was not my choice to marry a Hightower and even if it was… I married Gwayne fifteen years ago. No one could have suspected this war…” You rolled your eyes at one more remark by the dinner table.
“Don’t be naive, Elaena!” Daemon snapped. “Everyone has suspected. That was the very reason why Otto Hightower sent you to his son in Oldtown.”
You didn’t answer and you felt the eyes of everyone staring at you and expecting some sort of remark. Daemon smirked at your silence, feeling like the winner.
“I am not used to being yelled at and treated in such a way. And I am certainly not used to dinnertime being a battle between the family members,” you stated calmly.
“Go back to Oldtown then,” Daemon scoffed. “If you find it so insufferable here, then go back to your husband. Do you think he is going to greet you with open arms after such betrayal?” He laughed and shook his head while taking a sip of the wine. “He is going to greet you with his sword instead, Princess,” he mocked your title and you swallowed your food thickly, feeling your stomach turning upside down.
Daemon had only voiced out the anxiety that you had been having for some time now – that Gwayne did not miss you at all. That he did not feel nothing but anger at you and that he would kill you at the very first opportunity. After all, you had hurt his pride and you had stained his honour and these things mattered to him more than anything else – except for your children, of course.
Your marriage had been good but it didn’t change the fact it was an arranged union and not a love match. Sometimes, though… Sometimes, laying in your bed, here, in Dragonstone, tossing and turning, you were quite sure that you had grown to love him, which was quite ironic to have such thoughts now when you had already ruined everything between you two. But you were sure he was not having the same thoughts about you anyway.
“My sister is more than welcome here,” Rhaenyra gave her husband a scolding look and squeezed your hand. You smiled at her, gratefully.
But the thing with Rhaenyra was that despite being The Queen, no one really seemed to care about it. No one except for you, Rhaenys and Daemon’s daughters. All the men, though, were still doing everything their own way. And Rhaenyra herself could not find any solution to deal with that, which made you wonder if she would really be a good Queen…
Not that you had ever voiced that out for it would be treason. You loved your sister and you were obliged to serve her because of the oath you had sworn. But still, you sometimes couldn’t help feeling that she was not a strong leader. On the other hand, it was not that surprising because she had no real experience in such matters and when things had gotten difficult in King’s Landing, she had fled to Dragonstone instead of staying in The Red Keep and learning how to be a good ruler.
The death of Lucerys had shaken everyone. The very first victim of the conflict being such a young and innocent boy… You were speechless and you had no words of comfort to offer. You were a mother, too, and you just couldn’t imagine what Rhaenyra had to feel.
You locked yourself in your chambers instead and spent your whole day staring at the small portrait you had taken with yourself from Oldtown. It was a portrait in the size of a locket and it was of your own four children – twelve years old Steffon Hightower with silver hair and lilac eyes standing next to his nine years old brother Loras Hightower who was a copy of his father with his auburn hair and blue eyes. The girls were sitting on the carpet – six years old Lysa Hightower with her father’s auburn hair and your lilac eyes and three years old Roslin Hightower with silver hair and blue eyes. You felt the warm tears streaming down your cheeks and all you really wanted was to hold them and make sure they were alright.
Sometimes you regretted your decision to flee from Oldtown. Perhaps you should have been an obedient and loyal wife like your mother had always been teaching you to be. It would save you lots of trouble.
Fifteen years earlier, before your departure to marry Gwayne, Rhaenyra had confessed to you that she had wished to be more like you – less rebellious, less stubborn. Meanwhile, you had always wished to be more like her and now you kind of were but you finally understood the price for it, too.
It was Princess Rhaenys that came to your chambers on that day. She sighed at the sight of you and approached you with a soft smile. She took the small portrait from your hands and took a look at the faces of your children.
“How accurate is it?” She asked.
“Very,” you sniffled your tears back. “I sleep with it under my pillow every night. And by day, I have them close to my heart,” you confessed.
“They’re very beautiful children,” Rhaenys sat next to you on the edge of your bed and handed you the portrait back. “What are they like?”
You knew she was trying to help you. She wanted you to talk about your children and let out all the tears that no one else in the castle would want to see now. Not even Rhaenyra because she was grieving her own loss. Meanwhile, your children were safe and sound in Oldtown but your heart was in grief anyway. You were grateful that your aunt wanted to hear about them because you felt like it was expected from you to not express any feelings towards The Hightowers, Oldtown, your husband or your offspring at all. Each display of affection or a hint of the fact that you were missing them was perceived as an act of treason.
You had sacrificed so much for them but no one seemed to understand the significance of it. No one except for Rhaenys and Rhaenyra but they were only two and against many.
“You would like Steffon the most, I think,” you caressed his little face on your portrait. “A true Targaryen, look at him. And he is so…” you chuckled through the tears. “So brave and bold. He’s going to be a knight like his father and, somehow, I have a feeling he’s going to be a dragonrider, too. I don’t know how but he’s determined enough to claim one,” you assured her. “And then there’s Loras…” Your fingers moved to your second son. “He inherited all the kindness and goodness and gentleness from Gwayne. From me, too, I assume. There is not a mean bone in his body. And my girls…” You moved your hand down and sighed. “That is Lysa, the one with auburn hair. And the little one with silver hair is Roslin. They… They were spending their whole days following me around and clinging to my skirts… I have no idea how they are managing now…” You sobbed and hid your face in your hands.
Rhaenys put her arm around you and pulled you closer as she rubbed your back to soothe you. She leaned in to kiss your temple.
“Their mother is strong and brave. She is righteous,” she whispered. “One day, they will understand it and forgive you. You had this calling in you, the calling to join your sister for you are a Targaryen, you are a dragonrider. We are never only mothers and wives and proper ladies. We are wild creatures, Elaena. Just like our dragons,” she lifted your chin up, forcing you to look into her eyes.
“I thought of taking them with me but… But they’re safer in Oldtown, far away from here. And Gwayne… Well, he would hunt me down and kill me for that, I am sure. He is a devoted father,” you tried to explain yourself but no matter how much you were doing so, you still felt like a terrible mother.
“You were right to leave them with him then,” Rhaenys caressed your arms. “Your husband will protect them and of that you are sure, I can see. They are safe there.”
“When this war ends, when we win…” Your lower lip trembled. “I will be allowed to reunite with my family, right? Rhaenyra will allow me?” You asked, a little unsurely.
“I am rather convinced that after we win this war, you are going to remain the Lady of Oldtown,” Rhaenys nodded and kissed your forehead. “You’re going to raise your children there and watch them grow happily.”
“And… And my Lord Husband?” You sniffled, while Rhaenys tilted her head. “I mean… He has to die, right?”
“I highly doubt Daemon would allow it any other way,” Rhaenys told you.
“Whatever he might be saying, he is not The King,” you reminded her.
“That decision will not be Rhaenyra’s to make. Daemon and Gwayne will most likely meet on the battlefield sooner or later,” your aunt reminded you and fixed your hair delicately. “You must think of your husband as dead from now on if you want to survive this,” she added and stood up to leave your chambers.
You knew that she had meant that with the best intentions but it only made you sob even more. You took another look at the portrait of your children and your heart squeezed in your chest. What was giving you a guarantee that Daemon would not hurt your babies, too? He seemed to be filled with an ugly desire to wipe all Hightowers out from this world.
Weeks had passed and you had grown colder and sharper lately. Daemon was not around any longer for he had left for Harrenhal, which was helpful, but if he was still in Dragonstone, you would surely be ready to confront him each time now. You were confronting everyone else whenever they doubted you and on multiple occasions you had confronted them to defend your sister, too.
You still missed your family but all those lonely nights had made you turn pretty heartless sometimes. All those suppressed feelings and regrets had made you a woman who was holding her head high and who was more and more sure of her skills. You were flying Onyx every day now to strengthen your bond even more and it was giving you lots of confidence.
Despite the fondness you still felt towards your marriage, you knew aunt Rhaenys had been right and the marriage was over now. You also realised how much you had missed out in those past fifteen years. You had been living more like a Hightower than a Targaryen. Your husband was a good and kind man but still – he had been trying to tame the dragon blood inside of you. You had not been riding Onyx enough and your High Valyrian had become rusty. Now you were finding your old self back again and all the pain you were feeling because of missing your children only fueled you to be even colder and sharper towards all of those who were doubting you.
When you entered the hall where the council was gathered, everyone nodded their heads at you and you didn’t even bother to nod back. As the Lady of Oldtown you had been respected but you had always been kind in return, too. In Dragonstone everything seemed to be turned upside down.
But why would Princess Elaena Targaryen bow down to any of these men inside the castle that had belonged to her ancestors for centuries now? It was your home – perhaps not in the same domesticated way as The Hightower but Dragonstone was your blood’s home and you would not bow down to anyone inside of it except for the monarch.
The only person you bowed at was of course Rhaenyra herself – your Queen, your sister. Not a perfect Queen and only slightly better sister but you had sworn to her and you valued honour just like your Lord Husband did.
“The battle is coming,” she explained to you as she pointed at the table with the map of Westeros because you were late to the gathering after flying on Onyx for a little too long this evening. “Tomorrow, the armies will clash around Rook’s Rest,” she added and pointed at the place.
“That is close,” you tilted your head. “But the castle has no significance to us, does it?”
“We have already lost enough and we cannot lose more!” one of the Lords protested. “It’s about our honour, my Princess.”
“I want to send a dragon,” Rhaenyra moved one of the stone dragons on the map to put it alongside the Black Army. “I do not intend to use it in battle. No burning, no crushing. I do not wish to be remembered as the first side of this conflict who used a dragon to kill her enemies because once we use them as weapons, the destruction from both sides will be unstoppable,” she explained and the Lords from her council sighed and rolled their eyes.
Those foolish, non-Targaryen men really wanted Rhaenyra’s dragons to cause slaughter, not understanding the possible consequences.
“The dragon will be there to patrol the battlefield – it will be there just in case the Greens send their own, too. And it will be there to intimidate the enemy. Intimidate only,” Rhaenyra pointed out.
“I shall go,” Baela spoke up and everyone laid their eyes on her but you spotted that Rhaenyra was unsure. Baela was like a daughter to her and even if the dragon was not supposed to actually participate in any fighting, it still was a risky business to go.
“I shall go,” you straightened your back and now everyone looked at you. Baela was visibly unhappy with that, too. She wanted to prove herself.
“But…” She started.
“Onyx is bigger than Moondancer,” you told her. “And I am older. This is far too dangerous for you.”
“But…” She sighed again and looked at Rhaenyra in a way that suggested she knew something you had no idea of. “Who is going to tell The Princess?”
“Who is going to tell me what?” You shook your head questioningly as you looked at all the gathered members of the council. The men clasped their hands and looked down or they tried to avoid your gaze in different ways; looking through or behind you, turning their heads away and clearing their throats. “Who is going to tell me what?” You repeated the question, irritated now.
“Elaena,” Rhaenys finally spoke up and you looked at her, “it is your husband who leads The Green army now, so we have been informed. Your father-in-law called for him and Ser Gwayne Hightower came all the way from Oldtown to lead the army of his nephew.”
You blinked a few times at that revelation, still not processing it fully.
“And Cole?” You asked.
“Aegon named him his new Hand,” Rhaenyra informed you. “He was summoned back to King’s Landing.”
“And Otto?” You furrowed your brow.
“Probably on his way back to Oldtown, Gods only know,” Rhaenyra scoffed. “It doesn’t matter now, Elaena. What matters is that your husband leads the enemy’s army.”
Short silence occurred and you knew that everyone was observing your reaction carefully as if they were inspecting you. But those past few weeks you had learnt how to keep a poker face on. Your jaw was clenched as you discretely wiped your sweaty hands in your skirts.
“I shall go,” you nodded, surely.
“Elaena…” Rhaenyra gave you a meaningful look as if she was scolding you. “I do not think this is a good idea.”
“It must be. It is my husband,” you explained.
“Do you think he might stop his army from attacking at the sight of you?” Jacaerys asked you but you spotted a hint of mockery in his voice.
“I do not know. It might motivate him further to attack, it might want him to stop or it might make him indifferent,” you admitted, truthfully. “But it must be me going there,” you insisted, looking deep into your sister’s eyes.
You desperately wanted her to understand that it was important for you to see him again – even if it would be under such circumstances.
Rhaenyra nodded and you cracked a smile although some men were whispering between each other about this decision but you decided to pretend not to hear it.
“You shall leave at dawn,” Rhaenyra told you. “But, Elaena, remember – do not attack, do you hear me? If The Greens bring their own dragon and they use it, only then you are allowed to join the fight,” she pointed her finger at you.
“I understand,” you nodded your head. It was the reason why you wanted to do it – because it meant patrolling and intimidating only, not the real fight.
“Good. I trust you, sister,” Rhaenyra smiled at you.
“Thank you, my Queen.”
In the morning, you didn’t even have breakfast, too nervous for the upcoming battle. You let your maids braid your hair according to the Valyrian customs and you wore an armour that had been made for you recently. It would be the first time you'd actually wear it outside.
The armour was made of black metal with the ornaments made of Valyrian steel. It was light and feminine but it was intimidating, too, and surely worthy of a dragonrider. You insisted on the black colour because of Onyx’s scales.
You hid the small portrait of your children inside your armour and you looked at yourself one more time in the mirror. You couldn’t help but smile although it was difficult to recognise yourself like this.
“I am a dragon,” you whispered to yourself and lifted your chin up. “I am a Targaryen Princess and I am a dragon blood, a dragon rider – a dragon myself,” you repeated, trying to motivate yourself and with a deep breath, you left the chambers as fast as possible to go to the dragonpit.
Onyx was already waiting for you and a brand new saddle had been placed upon her back – it was matching your black armour. She purred at the sight of you and you petted her nose the way she liked it.
“We have a job to do, my girl,” you told her. “We have to scare Gwayne a little,” you chuckled and she huffed in a way that resembled laughter, too.
With a smile, you jumped on her back and you flew out of Dragonstone. Onyx roared when you were up in the sky as if she was saying farewell.
It didn’t take long to get to Rook’s Rest on a dragonback but the closer you were to your destination, the more nervous you were becoming. You saw from a distance the banners of the two armies and you could hear the clinging sounds of their armours in the wind, the battlecries and the cannons.
They were starting the battle already when you arrived and Onyx announced you with a long and loud roar. You straightened yourself and looked down proudly, with a smirk on your face. Everything froze below you for a moment and then a thunderous cheer greeted you amongst the Black Army.
It was a powerful feeling, you had to admit. No experience of yours could match with it – no memory from when you had been The Royal Princess living in King’s Landing, no memory of your recent time now in Dragonstone and not even any memory of yours from Oldtown where you had been the Lady Hightower.
No amount of respect and power that had ever been shown towards you could match to what you were feeling now – you felt pretty invincible, in fact. And you knew it was bold of you and it was only caused by the sudden rush of adrenaline but in that moment you felt like The Queen yourself. Like you could challenge Rhaenyra and Aegon both – after all, you were their sister, too. Your father had been The King and you were a Targaryen. You had been born to rule over those people below you – those small figures that resembled ants in comparison to your Onyx and its fire.
It was scary how easy it was to forget that you were one of those ants, too.
You ignored the cheers of the Black Army and you looked down at The Greens, searching for one person only – obviously. And you spotted him as your heart skipped a beat.
Gwayne was sitting on his horse in his beautiful armour that you had always admired. Even from this great height you could see that he was looking up with fear in his eyes. You smirked and Onyx roared once again, more angrily this time. The Green Army was panicking as the men were shouting at each other and some were trying to hide.
All the time stopped for you for a short while, though. Your eyes were fixed on your Lord Husband only – it had been a few long weeks apart from him. You wondered what was going inside his head at the moment but most likely it was nothing but a paralysing fear. It was a painful death to die in the fire and he had been telling you about it a few times before that it was one of his fears whenever you had teased him about using Onyx against him. Now, it was no longer a banter between a married couple but reality.
You didn’t want to torment him any more. You ordered Onyx to fly away and leave The Greens alone for now as you went back higher in the skies to patrol the battle. Despite giving them a sign that you were not there to kill them, from the corner of your eye, you spotted that some of the cannons of the Green Army were now aimed at you and Onyx.
Gwayne, however, shaking out of his state of fear, ordered them to turn around and aim at the castle and The Blacks instead. You smiled to yourself and kept circling up in the air as Onyx roared.
Despite your strong bond with her, you could feel how uneasy she was, how impatient. It surprised you because Onyx was a young dragon and she had no experience in battle. In fact, you had suspected her to shy away or get scared at the sight the real fight. And now, your girl seemed to be pretty bold and angry as she huffed and puffed, while her muscles tensed.
“Lykirī, Onyx, lykirī,” you ordered as you patted her neck to calm her down but you had to admit that her restlessness was making you feel worried if you were even able to fully control her after all.
She roared and lowered herself. You squinted your eyes to observe the battle but you had to shout Lykirī! all the time at your dragon because she seemed to be more than eager to join the fight. The sight of her and the sounds she was making seemed to work, though. The Greens were terrified and kept looking up all the time to make sure she wouldn’t burn them all any second. Your intimidation plan seemed to be working better than you had expected.
A few times during the battle, you found Gwayne’s eyes somehow and he would look up back at you but then he would ride away on his horse. Each time, your heart clenched inside your chest and Onyx had to feel it because it was when she was growing the most uneasy.
So far, it was the Green Army that had been winning battle after battle but now they seemed to be too distracted by the dragon flying overhead. It was not the fault of your husband’s leadership – your knowledge of warfare was little but you could see even from up there that most of his orders and ideas were good. It was just simply not enough when a huge beast was a constant deathly treat. The morales were simply too low and you could see that some knights even tried to desert the battlefield in a desperate attempt to save themselves from your hypothetical dragonfire. Meanwhile, The Blacks were not as organised but they felt more confident than ever with The Targaryen Princess watching over them.
“Lykirī, Onyx!” You shouted at your dragon when you felt that her neck was tensing as if she was about to let out the fire. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” You hummed to yourself and leaned in to pat her neck and then you froze at the sight below you.
Gwayne was not wearing his helmet anymore and he was no longer in the saddle. You couldn’t spot his horse but he was surrounded by the Black Army knights. He was fighting them bravely but he was alone against four men and it was a hopeless struggle yet he refused to give up and become their prisoner. You looked around and spotted that most of the Green knights that remained in the battlefield were struggling in a similar way to your husband. You knew very well how it would end now. It would be the very first victory of your army and Rook’s Rest would be defended.
But at what price?
You could see Gwayne’s face more clearly now as Onyx lowered herself even further. He was exhausted and bruised, dirty from the mud and blood and his lip was cut. You had to fight an urge inside of you to just run into his arms, to hold him again, to kiss him, to be with him.
But, so far, it looked like you would never be able to do it since he would lose soon. And you would continue your life with the image of him dying in the battlefield – you would continue your life with regret of leaving him and then doing absolutely nothing to help him in the battlefield.
Onyx groaned loudly and exposed her claws and teeth. You were about to calm her down again and then you noticed something that you had not noticed before – she was not trying to attack the Green Army but… the Black one.
You froze as you realised that her eyes were fixated on the knights carrying your sister’s banners. The fire forming in the depths of her throat was aimed at the men gathered near the castle walls and trying to stop the attack of Gwayne’s army.
Onyx was not loyal to Rhaenyra, after all. Onyx was your dragon and she was loyal to you only. You were her mistress and her rider. She knew you better than anyone else.
Some of the knights of the Black Army cheered at you and your dragon – so confident and sure of themselves that they hadn’t noticed that Onyx’s anger was aimed at them. You squinted your eyes at the black banners of Rhaenyra and then the few of the remaining green ones of Aegon.
Gods damn it, you thought. You loved them both – your sister and your brother. But you also did not really care about any of them being the ruler of Westeros because you were not close with any of them. You had been close to your sister but that was fifteen years ago and now she was like a stranger to you. Aegon had been a baby when you left to Oldtown. Your real family – the man you loved, the father of your children – he was down there, struggling, and surely about to die soon if you wouldn’t do anything to help him.
“Dracarys, Onyx,” you ordered after taking a deep breath in. You watched as if you were outside of your own body how her fire destroyed half of the Black Army in mere seconds. You blinked a few times, still detached physically and mentally from the scene that you were responsible for.
Your dragon seemed to have lots of fun, though. She landed on the ground, crushing a few Black knights on the way. The remaining ones were widening their eyes, too terrified to move or they were trying to run away. Onyx did not need your commands anymore, she just kept on burning them as her waving tail destroyed the castle’s tower, killing dozens of men in the process. You were sitting in the saddle with your back straightened and your chin high, looking over death and destruction with the poker face you had mastered the previous weeks.
You had just become the murderer and the destroyer – the very first person in this war who used her dragon as a weapon. And yet, you felt nothing. Perhaps the regret would come later but all that mattered to you now was that Gwayne was safe again. The remaining Green knights ran up to him and helped him to defeat his enemies and then they stood behind their commander while watching the scene in terror.
When the Black Army was defeated by Onyx nearly single-handedly, you turned her around to face the remaining knights by your husband’s side and Gwayne himself. Onyx roared at them and you could hear that she was happy to see them but they didn’t know her the way you did, therefore they remained terrified. After all, you could have been a maniac who would kill everyone, right?
You were a Targaryen, after all.
You enjoyed their fear for a short while and then you ordered Onyx to lay down and she did so, allowing you to dismount her. Your legs were a bit shaky from all the hours in the saddle and all the emotions but you managed to do it gracefully enough.
You turned around to look into Gwayne’s blue eyes. They were filled with shock and terror but you ignored that completely, finally doing something you had wanted to do for weeks now.
You ran up to him and straight into his arms, nearly knocking him off on the ground as your armours clashed loudly. The knights surrounding him were observing the scene carefully, too scared to react in any way since your Onyx had just given the show of what she was capable of.
Now, however, she looked pretty adorable and innocent as she seemed to take a small nap in the middle of the battlefield full of ashes and blood.
“My Lord,” you cupped your husband’s face and he looked into your eyes with a hint of sadness that you could had expected. However, you were glad that it was sadness instead of anger. “Will you ever forgive me for abandoning you?” You asked, nearly innocently, while biting on your lip as if you weren’t responsible for all this death and destruction below your feet.
Gwayne looked nervously at Onyx napping behind your back and cracked a sad smile at you.
“Do I have a choice, my Lady Wife?” He tried to make a joke as he put his hands on your waist. “If I say no, you will order your dragon to burn me.”
“Onyx would never burn you,” you shook your head with a chuckle as you sniffled your tears back. “That dragon is more difficult to manage than I expected.”
“She is just like you then, my Princess,” Gwayne raised one of his hands to caress your cheek. His touch was gentle like he could not believe that you were really there, standing in front of him.
“She is my dragon, after all. Onyx knows my heart – I could lie to myself but I could never lie to her,” you nodded and then you looked around. “What a mess I have caused.”
“Indeed,” Gwayne only nodded and took his hand away from you.
He turned around and ordered his men to look for the wounded knights and to go for the castle since it was practically left for the taking now. They had to put the new banners on the walls now. You kept standing there and waiting for him to finish so you would be left alone to talk now. When it happened, he looked at you with a sigh and you cracked a smile at his handsome face even though it was bruised and dirty.
“I had to leave. She is my sister, I have sworn to her, she needed me,” you explained.
“I know,” Gwayne nodded. “It broke my heart, Elaena, but I understood. At least some part of me did. I could not understand how you could leave our children like that,” he approached you and you looked away, too ashamed to meet his gaze.
“How are they? What have you told them?”
“They are safe,” Gwayne assured you. “They miss you…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I have lied to them… Well, not really. I have told them that you went to visit your sister. That it was an urgent family matter and you had no time to say farewell but you would be back… Soon,” Gwayne explained. “They are too young to know about the war so they believed me.”
“I doubt Steffon did. He is ten and two now, of course he knows about the war,” you pointed out and shyly looked up. “I shall go to them, even today. I shall take Onyx and go back to Oldtown to hold my children and…” You stopped when you realised something painful. “Of course, that is, if you allow me,” you fixed yourself.
“You are the Lady of Oldtown, I would never forbid you from the city,” Gwayne shook his head. “And you are their mother, they need you.”
“Yes, but so do you. Especially now,” you explained. “After seeing our children, I shall come back to you. I shall accompany you in each battle from now on. I have started something you have no idea of… Now Rhaenyra will make sure to send her dragons to war, too. Her pain and anger will be great from my betrayal,” you pointed out.
“Why did you betray her?” Gwayne asked, raising his eyebrow. “You have sworn to her, haven’t you? What made you change your mind to support King Aegon instead?”
“Fuck Aegon!” You dismissed him and he widened his eyes. “And fuck Rhaenyra. I don’t care about any of them.”
“You shall not be heard saying such things,” Gwayne chuckled nervously.
“They are my siblings, I can speak whatever of them,” you shrugged your arms. “I am by your side only,” you confessed and you looked away.
You knew it was a bit stupid to confess such things when you were the one who had abandoned him without a word of a warning or any explanation. You should be grateful that he was talking to you instead of cutting your head off – as your Lord Husband he had every right to after your stunt and since you were technically a traitor to both of the sides, no one would even punish him for killing you.
But Gwayne moved even closer to you and grabbed your wrist to squeeze it, which made you look up at him shyly again.
“I love you, Elaena. And please, do forgive me that it took me losing you to finally say it out loud. And if it took you running away to realise the same about me, then I can be only grateful for this experience. You are a dragon, my Princess, and I am sorry for forgetting about that,” he whispered.
You couldn’t believe your ears… He was apologising to you?!
“Do not be too greedy, Lord Husband. Do you really expect me to admit out loud that I love you as if I haven’t just betrayed my own army for you? Is that not enough?” You chuckled and so did he, awkwardly. He leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon the palm of your hand and then he caressed it lovingly. You could feel the longing and yearning in those gestures. “I’ve missed you,” you confessed. “I’ve missed us.”
“So have I,” Gwayne kissed your forehead. It was not proper to exchange such affections in public but you were in the middle of the battlefield so you did not bother to care about it. “But it would be my greatest wish for you to stay in Oldtown after coming back there. I do not want you on the battlefield, Elaena.”
“You can’t stop me,” you shrugged your arms and squeezed his wrists lovingly.
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” He tried a different approach as he smirked at you.
“Watch me,” you smirked back and gently kissed him on the lips.
You hurried through the halls of The Hightower while all the maids and servants were staring at you with widened eyes. They certainly had not expected to ever see you again but no one was trying to stop you. You rushed to the nursery room where all your children had been gathered after your arrival. You had changed from your armour into a comfortable dress and had ordered your maids that you wanted to see your sons and daughters.
You finally pushed the doors open and tears of joy streamed down your cheeks at the sight of their faces. Loras, Lysa and Roslin hurried to you with big smiles and hugged you tightly. You crouched down to squeeze them all lovingly.
“Mummy!” Little Roslin seemed to be the happiest and she was practically shaking at the sight of you. Your heart ached for her when you kissed her all over her tiny face.
“We’re so happy to see you again, Mother,” Loras greeted you like a big boy and you cracked a smile at him before kissing his forehead.
“I am so happy to see you again, too, my love. I’ve missed you terribly,” you confessed, looking at Steffon from the corner of your eye. The silver haired boy was keeping his distance from you and staring at you questioningly. “Steffon?” You called for him and he walked up to you reluctantly.
“Mother,” he only said and kissed your cheek before moving away. “Does father know that you’re here?”
“Of course,” you furrowed your brow at him. “I saw him yesterday,” you nodded at him but he didn’t look convinced.
“And how was the time with your sister?” Lysa asked and you kissed her cheeks.
“It was good,” you nodded with a sad smile. “But I regretted that I couldn’t be with you.”
“Will you stay now?” Loras asked and you caressed his head gently.
“I wish I could but I have to join your father,” you explained. “We will be back soon. Together,” you assured him.
“Father left for the war,” Steffon pointed out.
“And I must, too. I am a Targaryen and a dragonrider, my darling,” you tried to explain. “Either way, let’s not dwell on that now. We have a whole day to spend together,” you squeezed the hands of your girls.
You didn’t leave your children even for a second for the whole day and in the evening you allowed them to sleep with you in your chambers that you share with Gwayne. Since he was not in Oldtown, there was a lot of empty space in the bed. Steffon did not join you in the evening, though, and for the whole day he was roaming around but never actively spending his time with you either. It was hurting you deeply but you wanted to give him space and you were aware that he was old enough to realise more than you’d like him to. You could not blame him for being angry.
Watching your sweet babies sleep, you could not drift off to the land of dreams yourself. You had spent the previous night in the arms of your husband after weeks of being apart and it had surely helped you to fall asleep but now you were being haunted by the visions of what had happened in the battlefield and of what Rhaenyra’s reaction had to be after hearing about your betrayal.
You were laying on your back and staring at the ceiling when the doors creaked as they opened and you lifted yourself on your elbows to see the intruder. It was Steffon.
“Mother?” He whispered. “Are you asleep?”
“No, my love. Come in,” you whispered back and carefully left the bed, making sure not to wake up the rest of your children.
You approached your son and put your hands on his shoulders. The night was cold, therefore there was a fire burning in the fireplace. You brought him closer and you both sat on a fluffy carpet there. Steffon avoided your gaze but you could see he was dying to ask you something.
“What is it, my love?” You fixed his silver hair gently.
“I know what the war is about and that you left to see your sister…” He mumbled out quietly. “You chose her. Not us,” he pointed out and dared to look up, his lilac eyes meeting yours.
“No, I chose you. You have no idea what I have done, the choice I have made,” you nodded at him and caressed his cheek with your finger. “I left to see her, she is my sister, my blood. I grew up alongside her, we share the same father and the same mother. But there was a hole in my chest because I missed you and… And I missed your father, too,” you confessed.
“I have never seen him sadder,” Steffon said and your heart clenched inside your chest. “I knew it was not about you visiting your sister. I knew immediately you had abandoned us.”
“I know you are angry at me now and you have every right to be. And I know how much children hate it when they are being told that but one day you shall understand it. Because you are a Targaryen, perhaps the most out of all my children,” you smiled at him.
“Because of my hair and eyes?”
“No, my love. All of my children are as Targaryen as Hightower. But you have the spirit… The fire,” you told him. “I love all my children dearly but you are a dragon,” you nodded.
“Do you have to leave again?” He asked and his lilac eyes filled with tears.
“I’ll be back,” you promised. “But I’m a dragonrider and when the war calls, I am on the go,” you explained. “Your father needs me by his side and King Aegon needs more dragons.”
Steffon sniffed his tears back and he finally moved closer to hug you. You wrapped your arms around him and placed a kiss on the top of his head.
In the evening of the very next day you were already dismounting Onyx in King’s Landing. All that travelling had been exhausting for you and her but it was necessary. You patted her and allowed her to rest in the dragonpit as you were being escorted to The Red Keep by a few guards.
You were wearing your armour again even though it felt a bit wrong to wear the armour that Rhaenyra had requested to be made for you so you could fight the war for her.
Gwayne was waiting for you by the gates to the castle. You smiled widely at the sight of him and you ran up to your husband as he ordered the guards to walk away because he would escort you to The King himself.
“And how was it?” He asked you after kissing the palm of your hand.
“Only Steffon knew, just as I suspected,” you sighed. “But we have explained everything to each other. I believe he has forgiven me or at least he is no longer cross with me,” you nodded. “I miss them again but the pain is less when I know I am with you,” you smiled and Gwayne took you by your arm to lead you to the council meeting.
“You have become quite a controversial figure, my Princess,” he informed you and you chuckled nervously.
“I do wonder why,” you tried to joke.
The doors were opened in front of you and you were announced as Princess Elaena Targaryen, Lady Hightower while everyone was staring at you.
The man sitting right in front of you had to be your brother Aegon because he was taking your father’s seat by the table. You bowed down at him and after a short while of silence, he laughed and clapped his hands.
“Sister!” He greeted you so happily that you were nearly suspecting an ambush. He stood up and rushed to your side to wrap his arms tightly around you. “Sister Elaena! How good it is to see you again! Do you remember me?” He took a step back and looked deep into your eyes, hoping for a positive answer like an excited puppy.
You cracked a smile at him and dared to move your hand up to brush a single silver hair strand behind his ear in a motherly way.
“Of course I do, my King,” you nodded. “You were a small babe then but I remember it fondly,” you assured him and it was no lie. “You loved to sit on my lap by the table and eat all the sweets that I was spoiling you with despite our father’s scolding looks. It was always our secret how many cakes you ate,” you reminded him and Aegon grinned at you.
“This is my sister!” He pointed his finger at you after turning around to face his council. “My sister who has burnt Rhaenyra’s army for me. Her loyalty shall not be questioned,” he announced and walked away to sit on his chair again.
You didn’t want to correct him that you hadn’t burnt anyone for him because it would be a political suicide to do so. You only cracked a smile at your husband. You didn’t expect the greeting to go so smoothly. Aegon seemed to be very desperate for any sort of attention or affection.
“Princess Elaena’s loyalty shall still be proven,” the tall young man without one eye smirked at you. That had to be your brother Aemond, whom you hadn’t met.
You sighed and rolled your eyes at that. Each side had their Daemon, apparently.
“I will be proving my loyalty to The King, brother. I do not owe you anything for we are equals,” you reminded him with a smirk, too.
Suddenly, Queen Alicent stood up and approached you to give you a warm hug. You hugged her back even though you were surprised by that welcome from her.
“We are happy to have you back,” she said and you spotted honesty alongside the sadness in her big, brown eyes. You nodded your head at her.
“My Queen,” you greeted her.
“Queen Dowager,” she fixed you. “Helaena is The Queen now. Do you remember her?”
“Of course,” you smiled at the image of tiny Helaena from your memories. “I would love to see her.”
“After the meeting,” Queen Alicent nodded and pointed at the empty chair for you. Gwayne stood behind you as if he was your sworn guard.
Well, as your Lord Husband, he was.
After the meeting of King Aegon’s council, you went to Queen Helaena’s chambers with Queen Alicent.
“Helaena, you have a guest,” her mother opened the doors gently. “It is your sister, Princess Elaena.”
After that introduction, you walked inside and bowed your head in front of your younger sister. She was standing by the window and turned her head around as her eyes widened at the sight of you.
“An oath-breaker,” she greeted you in a mysterious way that made a chill go down your spine. “You bring death and destruction.”
You had no idea how to answer that and you looked at Alicent, searching for some sort of explanation but she only blushed and looked down, uncomfortably.
“Our Queen often speaks in riddles,” she told you.
“No, your majesty,” you shook your head, “I do know very well what our Queen means.”
MASTERLIST
"Walking side by side with a person like you"
"Without you I'd be lonely, Fushiguro"
And what if I kill myself
i really can't overstate how fucking furious i am that corrupt egyptian officials have become millionaires from charging palestinian refugees thousands upon thousands of dollars to escape genocide and not only that, that it comes down to the generosity of normal people like you and me to fund these people, to feel guilty over not being wealthy enough to do more, to feel the pressure of choosing which fund to donate to, to have to shoulder the emotional burden of deciding which lives to save, when politicians will get absurdly rich off of insider trading and taking bribes from companies as they help engineer a worse world for all of us to endure.
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