Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to my is my OC and the plot. All other characters, concepts, and locations belong to the wonderful George R.R. Martin.
Queen Rhaella Targaryen's screams echoed through the halls of the castle at King's Landing, bouncing off the soaring walls and ceiling of the throne room, where the Iron Throne stood in all its glory. A silvery sheen of sweat shone on her brow as her body strained and her back arched off of her bed. Another scream forced its way through her clenched teeth and her hands fisted the silken sheets she lay on.
"Not much longer, Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle said in a reassuring tone, "Just a push or two more."
Rhaella groaned, drew in a deep breath, shut her eyes, and pushed, every muscle in her lithe body tense and shaking. Seconds later, a high pitched wail filled the air, and she slumped back down onto the covers, breathing heavily. Pycelle lifted the baby, and a look of delight spread over his wizened features.
"Congratulations, Your Grace!" He exclaimed. Rhaella cracked open one eye and gave the Grand Maester an inquiring look. He held up the swaddled infant for her to see.
"A girl, Your Grace." He stated, his eyes shining. A wondrous smile spread over the Queen's face, and she held out her arms to the Maester, who carefully placed the babe in her arms. Rhaella beamed down at her child, marveling at the tiny, perfect features and dark hair already present on the baby's head. The baby opened her eyes, and Rhaella gasped. Her eyes were as green as a leaf, with violet specks and a ring of silver around the iris.
"Your Grace…?" Pycelle ventured, inching closer to the bed. Rhaella glanced up at him, then back to the infant in her arms.
"Her eyes…" Rhaella breathed, fixated on the newborn, "They're not completely violet."
Worry flashed over the Grand Maester's face, and he shifted even closer to the bed.
'"Your Grace, forgive me for being blunt, but… She is… trueborn, yes?"
Rhaella looked affronted, and when she looked up at Pycelle, her eyes were pits of violet fire.
"Yes." Her reply was stony and cold. Pycelle cringed away slightly, the movement barely perceivable, and Rhaella's eyes softened.
"Forgive me, Grand Maester," she sighed, "My husband is a very suspicious man, and has long been obsessed with the idea that I was unfaithful during…." She trailed off, pain becoming apparent in her voice. For a time, all of her pregnancies were miscarriages, stillborns, or early deaths, and Aerys believed that it was because she was being unfaithful to him. He grew obsessive, and forced two septas to sleep in her bed with her each night. He did calm down after Viserys was born, but Rhaella knew that the obsessiveness was still there, just waiting for an excuse to reveal itself.
And her newborn baby girl, who lacked their trademark silver hair and violet eyes, would be the perfect one. While she was not the first to have features that differed from her Targaryen parents, in his current state, Aerys would think she was a bastard, and have her killed on the spot, damn the repercussions. And if he was feeling particularly creative, he'd have her burned alive while Rhaella watched, just to ensure that the "message" was delivered in full. A chill ran down her spine at the thought, and in that moment, she knew the sacrifice she was going to have to make.
"Grand Maester Pycelle," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. He looked up at her inquisitively, and his face fell at the look of resignation Rhaella wore like a mask.
"Your Grace, surely you don't mean-"
"You know what he will do." Her eyes met his and held them fast., "He will kill her because she doesn't look like the others. This is the only way she'll be sure to survive. Please Grand Maester, I trust you with my life. Now I'm trusting you with hers."
A heavy weight settled across the older man's shoulders, and he stared deep into his Queen's eyes before nodding in consent.
"What would you have me do, Your Grace?" His voice was flat, and his eyes full of sorrow.
"We must keep this as discreet as possible. Aerys will be returning home soon, and we cannot afford to have him find out. I'll need you to write a letter, telling whoever receives it to take care of my daughter, and raise her as one of their own. Make sure that it's signed and sealed from me before it's sent, and comes with a purse of coins to cover anything they have to purchase for her." Rhaella took a deep breath, then continued, "Then find a trustworthy wet nurse whose absence will not be noticed, and bring her to me. She does not have to be on the castle staff, just find one."
"As you wish, Your Grace. Would you like to name her before I write up the letter?" His voice wavered slightly.
"Yes." Rhaella replied, her gaze dropping back to the child now sleeping in the cradle of her arms. She paused, then looked up again, a smile playing around the edge of her lips.
"Her name is Valaena. Valaena Targaryen." She savored the taste of the name in her mouth. Pycelle's eyes crinkled as he smiled in approval.
"A name fit for a princess." He remarked, "I shall return momentarily, Your Grace."
Rhaella nodded, and the Grand Maester left the room. She finally let the tears that had been building up fall, soaking into the fabric of her sleeping silks and the cloth that Valaena was swaddled in. After what felt like hours, Pycelle returned, a roll of parchment in hand and a purse in the other, with a younger woman trailing behind him. Rhaella sat up and did her best to look like the regal Queen her people were used to seeing.
"I assume that the Grand Maester has informed you of the current… situation?" Rhaella asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.
"For the most part, Your Grace." She replied. She had long black hair and startlingly blue eyes, and her voice was clear and lovely.
"Good. Then you understand the level of secrecy we must maintain." When the girl nodded, Rhaella continued, "You will ride north with my daughter until you find a remote village with plenty of people and children, and no sign of my husband's soldiers. Once there, you will ask around quietly to see if there are any married couples who have been unable to bear children. If there are, seek them out and make sure they are lacking children and desire one, then ask them to invite you into their home and give them my letter. If there are no such couples, you will ride to the next village and the next until you find one."
At this point Rhaella looked the girl straight in the eye and asked, "Can I trust you to keep this to yourself and keep my daughter safe?"
"Yes Your Grace. I swear to the seven that I will keep your little girl safe, or die trying." Rhaella could hear the honesty and loyalty in the girl's voice, and gave her a half smile. She kissed Valaena's forehead, then reached behind her and unclasped one of her necklaces. It was a long silver chain with a pendant dangling in the middle and had belonged to her mother. The pendant was a silver dragon with black dragonglass wings and gleaming ruby eyes, and its tail was curled up so as to hold a large dark ruby in place. Rhaella put the chain around Valaena's neck and tucked the pendant beneath the cloth wrapping her up. She leaned in close to the baby and whispered in her ear, "Avy jorrāelan, ñuha raqiarzy tala." Rhaella handed Valaena to the wet nurse, and leaned back against her pillows as Pycelle ushered her out of the room. The heavy door shut, and Rhaella wept.