Shortly after Robert Baratheon Rebellion, 281AC
The cries of an infant were clear in the thick mist of blood in the air. Her hands were soaked in the blood of the young lady who laid engulfed in the grimace of death. The Lady Lyanna Stark who laid there - eyes fluttering and body quivering beckoned the maid to walk closer with the babe in her arms. As she walked closer the baby squirmed in her arms and the sound of fighting through the window became clearer. She laid the fragile brown-eyed babe in the lady's arms and moved towards the window, taking a glimpse of the fight between Ser Arthur Dayne and Lord Eddard Stark. She rushed towards her lady's side in soft whimpers before a hand stroked her head, "Don't cry child, I know this is not what you had expected when the prince brought you here to serve me..." Lyanna whispered. "No m'lady, it was an honour to serve by your side, you must live on. Lord Stark is outside, he has come to take you back to Winterfell. You will be able to see your beloved North once more". The reality that Lyanna might not survive to see her home or her beloved again brought tears to her eyes before the door swung open loudly and footsteps echoed throughout the room.
"Ned?" Lyanna asked. He rushed towards her, "Lyanna." His sword, ice, was placed at the foot of her bed before he kneeled down beside her. His hand drifted to her frail body, drenched in the blood of his foe and his dear sister.
Her eyes fluttered open towards him, "Is that you..? Is that really you? You're not a dream?" Their fingers intertwined and he gave her a desperate smile with tears threatening to fall, "no, I'm not a dream. I'm here. I'm right here".
Lyanna replied with a weary smile, "I missed you big brother". "I missed you too", his answer wavered as he scanned his sister's small face that he had not seen for so long.
"I want to be brave..." she whispered as tears rolled down her pale cheeks. "You are," he said firmly but even the Lord of Winterfell could not dismiss the blood-soaked sheets.
"I don't want to die...but Ned, this is inevitable..." she gave him a small smile.
For the first time in his life, Ned was truly afraid, his beloved sister and dearest friend was dying in his arms and he could do nothing to protect her, "you're not going to die," he looked at her again hopelessly before shouting angrily, "Get her a maester! Is there some water?!".
She grasped onto his hand tightly and moved it towards the newborn babe, "listen to be Ned...her name is Aerysa Targaryen, she is Rhaegars daughter and heir to the iron throne...if Robert finds out he will kill her, you know he will...you have to protect her. Promise me, Ned. Promise me". He cradled the babe in his arms and tears rolled down his cheeks. "Promise me, Ned..." she whispered once more.
Across the Narrow Sea, The Usurper Robert Baratheon Now Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, 296 AC
"Daemon," the silver-haired beauty yelled as she stormed through the great halls of Illyrio Mopatis's estate looking for her brother. He stood by the balcony solemn looking out into the distance. "There you are brother," she headed towards him grinning. "Visenya." the silver haired-violet eyed prince said coldly.
"Why must you always speak with such attitude", he felt her eyeing him like prey. "I have endured your constant lectures all my life, why must you be so insistent today of all days," he replied sternly before walking away from his sister towards the steaming bath.
The charming prince began to strip out of his robe and stepped into the water. "My lord, it is too hot," a maid exclaimed rushing towards him.
"Fire can not burn a dragon," Visenya ushered the maid away before placing herself onto a velvet chair. "You must behave today, we will be meeting the Khaleesi of the Dothraki. I heard that she's a beauty," she smirked.
"I know what she is dear sister. You need not create addition lies to suit your own cause." She chuckled at his reply, "you know me too well brother. She may not be a beauty but she is a warrior and commands a horde of 40,000 men and women whom will all assist our cause once you claim her. You are Daemon Targaryen, heir to the iron throne and rightful king of the seven kingdoms."
He sighed and closed his eyes, "the Dothraki do not follow common laws, they do not select a leader based on gender or birthright. There is no glory in a birthright so fragile it's almost extinguished."
Visenya stood up in a fit at his reply, "fragile? What are you trying to say Daemon? We are the blood of old Valyria. We are descendants of Aegon the Conqueror and the last of House Targaryen!"
The angelic face of the young prince became constructed and Visenya took a step back realizing that she had crossed the line-she had awoken the dragon. The water dripped down his fair skin as he stepped out of the water. Maids came rushing towards him strapping him a pale turquoise silk robe.
Daemon turned to look at his sister, "I will marry her and take back our family's legacy, my birthright. If that will make you happy dear sister."
She looks at him with a wry smile, "o-of course brother, that is all I have ever wanted".
He replied with a kiss placed upon the crown of her head before walking off, followed by his maids and guards. Although she understood the circumstances her brother was placed under, yet it still made her furious that he treated her so. If it were not for her brother her mother would not have died bringing him into this world and she would be the heir to the iron throne.
Daemon returned to his chambers and changed into suitable attire, adorned with beads and gems with a low neckline for the hot climates. The sigil of House Targaryen in the form of a silver embellished broached was placed on his right, attached to a cape that mimicked dragon scales draped over his shoulder. Despite the advantageous event to occur the prince held a solemn expression on his face before leaving the estate. He mounted dark star, a purebred black horse whom he had broken into himself after the horse had been found separated from his herd in the fields. The sun had begun to set and the guards insisted on following the prince. They rode in the darkness for hours before reaching the aroma of spiced meat cooking and large tents formed from leaves, sticks, and bones. The men sat upon their horses each waiting for the Khaleesi and her blood riders to appear.
A figure appeared in the distance, a small lady with dark brown hair and sun-kissed skin draped in furs walk forward with armed men by her side. That's her...he thought. His lips parted, and the words echoed again in his mind. Daemon was indeed nervous, for although she was a woman she was just as much of a warrior and any of his men. It surprised him when she stopped before him and looked up, revealing her piercing brown eyes. Her Dothraki horde became silent as they all began to gather around like a herd of sheep, waiting for what was to occur. He gazed into her eyes, seeing the flicker of fear. Even as the Khaleesi of a great Dothraki horde, she was still a young lady who was pressured into this alliance for the sake of her people. The ritual was done, she had accepted the match and so had he. Daemon replied with a wry smile and turned to ride back to the estate, for the night had yet to come.
Winterfell, Home to Eddard Stark and a Princess Surrounded by Winter Roses 296AC
She dragged her feet in the snow, heading deeper and deeper into the Forrest. On dark nights like this, she oftener dreamed of what her mother would look like. How we would hug her tightly, kiss the crown of her head, tell her tales of the world and protect her. When she would dream of such things it only brought her more sorrow when she awoke. So such nights, she would sneak off without her uncle knowing and find comfort in the darkness of nature. She sat her small body down on the snow and grabbed the winter roses that grew near. They were a resilient flower, one that bloomed beautifully and thrived in the absence of spring. She found herself intertwining the roses into a crown. Despite being beautiful, it was a crown tainted by blood.
"Lyanna!" The words echoed through the Forrest. She was brought to her feet, it must be Robb she thought. Lyanna turned around in search of the voice when arms draped around her and a surge of warmth engulfed her. She was shocked for a moment before she laughed and stepped on his foot. Robb let her go, wincing in pain with laughter plastered on his face, "why must you always do that Lyanna?"
"You must never treat a lady so," she laughed.
He sighed and scratched the back of his head. Robb looked at her with much endearment before grabbing her hands, "did you have such saddening dreams again?"
Lyanna hands rested in his, still dripping blood. She looked away not knowing how to answer him, her head hung low and all she could hear was him sigh as he held her hand. Robb pulled a piece of fabric from his pocket and wrapped her hands, "you are a princess...must you always act like a boy".
Her hands drifted away from his grasp and she sat down in the snow once more, "I am no princess".
"You are the trueborn daughter of King Robert Baratheon and Lady Lyanna of House Stark".
"I am no princess, I was raised here all my life. My father can't stand the sight of me because I look too much like mother..."
"You are beautiful Lyanna".
Lyanna brought her knees towards her chest and placed her arms on them, resting her head and looking away from Robb's eyes.
"Does he even love me...?"
"Of course he does, he is your father...but he is also the king, he has his duties to the people".
"He is not my father. Lord Stark has been more of a father to me than him. I do not even know his face, how can he be my father Robb?" She whispered silently as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Robb moved closer to her pulling her into an embrace. He hated seeing her cry. "Go on and cry Lyanna, cry as much as need be. But once you shed your last tear this night, never cry over such a man again".
"Father said he loved my mother so much so he started a war in hopes of getting her back...but I-I killed her Robb... She died to give me life. Is that the reason why every name day I am cursed to be so pitiful... with no father, no mother, no one who loves me...," she cried as she clutched onto his arms.
"I love you, all your brothers love you, mother and father love you," he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. His hand drifted to her tear stain cheek and cupped her face, "you are the Princess Lyanna Baratheon of House Stark, the Princess in the North".
Lyanna looked up at Robb, who now seemed more of a man in her eyes than ever before. She grew up in the presence of men her entire life, for Lord Stark never fathered daughters. Only five sons, Robbert, Sebastian, Brandon, Eddard, and Rickon. To the people of the north she was their princess and lady-but to the boys of House Stark, she was their beloved sister.
Stark words winter is coming, never really made sense in her mind. To the young lady, it always seemed like winter was never ending in the North. The wind was still dry and cold as always making the absence of spring was evident. Lyanna made her way to her draws in search of an outfit at the break of dawn to find appropriate to attend training with the boys. Much to her uncle's dismay, Lyanna was indeed too similar to his sister. A wolf-blooded Stark in all but name. She grabbed her armour and sword, rushing out of her room as she swung her furred lined cloak upon her small frame. The smile plastered on her face was the light amidst the cold of the winter and it was obvious to everyone who greeted the young princess what she was up to. The Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Tully was a dutiful wife to Eddard Stark and a loving mother to her sons and Lyanna. Despite the whispers that spread throughout the Castle of Winterfell upon Lord Starks return with a small babe in his arms, Lady Stark became smitten with the young princess. When it became evident that she would have no daughters of her own, her motherly instincts towards Lyanna grew fonder and more protective. All the good intentions of Lady Catelyn came to ruins when Lyanna came to produce her own will and mind of what she likes and does not. No septa could teach Lyanna to be a perfect lady and stay seated long enough to embroider flowers, not even with the insistent lectures of Lady Catelyn. Lyanna was a princess, and although it was Lady Catelyn who sat by her bedside when she caught the pox, who sung her lullabies to sleep and comforted her when the little boys and girls were nasty, Lyanna was now old enough to have her own mind. And it was certainly the appropriate age to begin to rebel.
"Lyanna! What are you waiting for? Hurry up princess," Sebastian yelled gleefully looking at her from the balcony.
"I'm no princess Bash," She laughed as she headed towards the stairs before she printed towards them. Sebastian and Robb were practicing their swords skills while Bran was practicing archery. Lyanna stood next to him as he aimed, "breathe Bran. I know you can do it". He finally took the shot and to Lyanna's surprise, he missed. Bran stood and sighed as he hung his head low, "I'll never get it Lyanna..."
"Yes, you will. Go on, fathers watching," she insisted as she pats his back before continuing, "and your mother". Robb and Bash dropped their swords with curiosity and headed towards them. Bran turned to look back and saw his father upon the balcony looking down at him. He felt sweat rolling down his back. Bran had always thought his father too busy to pay attention to his training, but at that moment he was not only terrified but determined to show his best front. A front that did not consist of constant failure. Bran took his stance and pulled the arrow, standing patiently as he aimed, I won't miss again he thought and let go of the arrow as it flew and flew, straight pass...and missed. His brothers bursted into laughter, Bash patted him on the back as he laughed and Robb stood in the distance chuckling. Even his babe of a brother Rickon was snickering.
"And which one of you were a marksman at ten," Lord Stark commented. Bran looked up to see his father looking at him proudly with a small smile, "keep practicing Bran. Go on." Bran let out a soft sigh and looked back towards the target, he began to raise his bow arm up and slowly pulled the trigger with his right. "Don't think too much Bran," Lyanna gushed. Robb observed the determined look on his little brother's face and smiled, "relax your bow arm." To everyone's dismay before Bran could take his shot and arrow landed on the bull's eye of the target. Bran swung his body round to see who it was. There stood his brother, Edd, with a mischievous smile that infuriated the young Stark. Almost immediately, Bran dropped his bow and arrows and chased after his brother like a wolf starved for days. The Stark boys left in the field laughed and Lyanna looked at her uncle with a sweet smile. At moments like this, it seemed as though the words of House Stark were truly inaccurate, for winter was here and but spring was yet to bloom.
East of Westeros, The Dothraki Sea in Essos 296AC
As all Dothraki festivities go, the wedding between the rightful King to the Seven Kingdoms and the Khaleesi of Khalessi's was not an event to miss. Merchants and nobles from across the great grass sea and the poisoned water had travelled to attend the event and pay respect to Prince Daemon and the Dothraki Khaleesi. Daemon had always held a quiet demeanour, had never indulged in partying, women or wine. Visenya, on the other hand, seemed to everyone but him every bit as much of a mad dragon as their father. It seemed trivial to her when she slapped a maiden or condemned another to death. Daemon had a noble, valiant and kind heart. He took no interest into emitting the anger of his misfortunes onto others. He knew very well that his dear sister despised him. She had every right to. Daemon knew that if it was not for him, she would be the heir to the iron throne, she would still have a mother and would not have to raise her own kin before she even knew what the meaning of kin was. He stole away her birthright, family, and childhood. The least he could do was marry a foreign woman. Foreign, but still a woman with power and a crown in her own right. He was determined to take back what belongs to him - House Targaryen. He would get everything back starting from the ground with fire and blood.
The event was like nothing the prince had ever seen. It was a celebration of blatant sex and violence. The Dothraki believed that a wedding without at least two deaths was a dull affair, so they cheered at every death that occurred. Daemon glanced at his new wife who had a grin plastered on her face as she observed her people. He turned back to the men and women who were offering gifts with a calm expression until a man of fifty approached the prince directly and placed a selection of books in his hands, "a small gift to the new Khal, songs, history, and lore from the seven kingdoms."
"Thank you Ser... are you-from my country?" Daemon asked the man who stood before him.
"Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. I served your father for many years, Gods be good. I always hope to serve the rightful king." The Man stated before giving Daemon a respectful bow and head his way.
The wealthy Magister of the Free City of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis who had been the benefactor to his sister and himself for the past few years walked towards the steps and placed ushered his men to place a chest down. The opened chest revealed three petrified dragon eggs. "Dragon eggs Daemon, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," Illyrio explained. Daemon reached his hand towards the Emerald dragon egg, holding it as he observed the gold markings on the scales. "The ages have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful. I thought it appropriate as they are the sigil of your house. They represent the beginning of a new era. The rebirth of the Targaryen dynasty."
The Khaleesi stood and all was silent, she looked over her shoulder to her new husband whom she deemed too beautiful to be a true warrior or man. They walked towards the horses that were prepared and she took the reigns of a silver-haired mount that reminded her of her husband. She handed him the reigns and looked into her eyes. No matter how much she looked at him she was still in awe. His face seemed so fragile, his hair was ethereal and his eyes were a piercing violet. Despite the language barrier his soft smile was enough to reassure her of his good intentions. She left him be and mounted her horse as did he. The khalasar began to follow suit as now it was time to take her newly wedded husband back to Vaes Dothrak to present him to the Dosh Khaleen and the elders of the Dothraki.
Kingslanding Home to the Newly formed Baratheon Dynasty with Robert Baratheon as King 296AC
"You should have killed the bitch and her daughter!" Robert yelled across the small council, eyes glaring at Ser Jamie Lannister then to his queen. News had arrived in kings landing that the dragon-spawn had conceived an alliance with the Dothraki in the great plains of Essos through marriage. The Dothraki were powerful warriors, with almost one hundred and forty thousand fighting men in total yet Daemon Targaryen Khalsar only had the force of forty thousand-horse Lord's at his call and Robert was not ignorant enough to battle Dothraki in an open field. He slammed his fist on the table, "what do you skinny men suppose we do now?" he looked at his small council. Robert was indeed a warrior and a great fighter, but he did not wield enough patience of intelligence to be a good king. In his rage, the king grabbed his sword and pointed it at Ser Jamie, "what do you suppose we do...kingslayer?"
Since his act of betrayal towards the crown during Roberts Rebellion, he had deemed the knight unhonorable despite the great deed he had done for him, for the world. The act of murdering the mad king in cold blood. Everyone knew Ser Jamie Lannister, as the Kingslayer. As the man who dishonoured his vows of protecting his king, the royal family at all cost to his life. Now in his old age, Robert seemed to view everyone even his wife and children with suspicion. Maybe the old Targaryen blood that runs through his veins was making him mad, mad enough to have ordered the murder of babes in their mother's arm. Mad enough to have wished Jamie to had murdered the sweet Queen Rhaella during pregnancy. "If you insist that this is a problem, maybe we should call in our bannermen. After what the mad king was, no man in their right mind would support the Targaryen Prince's claim to the Iron Throne," Jamie said calmly.
Robert chuckled. Then he laughed. And when the laughed died out, all was left was an empty expression and six cold words, "any claim is still a claim."
"Of course, my king." Cersei uttered with a sweet smile, "we shall discuss this on another occasion with our bannermen and the nobles of Westeros. We have two sons, born and raised in Westeros. The dragon spawn is a Targaryen boy was born and raised on foreign lands with madness in their blood. The only motive is to usurp the Iron Throne for their own means from the rightful king."
The words uttered from the queen's mouth seemed ironic to the small council. Who was the real usurper? Who was the real rightful king? The Seven Kingdoms exist as one because of the Targaryen dynasty, they exist because of Aegon. Robert stole the throne by murdering the valiant Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, having Ser Jamie Lannister stab King Aerys II in the back and Ser Gerold Clegane murder Rhaegars children before he raped her. The rightful king should be one with Targaryen blood. Still, the saying was true: Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.