A/N: Well hello there. Unfortunately, today is the anniversary of the beginning of the end for Game of Thrones. Two years ago "Last of the Starks" played and thus began the destruction of our favorite show by two idiots and their benefactors in Hollywood. It was two years ago and I'm still angry.
But I was faced with two options. Stew, or detoxify the atmosphere with something nice. I chose the latter, and here we have it.
Quite different from my previous stories, but I hope y'all will like it :D
Big shoutout to SerBronn for helping get this off the ground. Couldn't have done it without you!
Enjoy and comment!
The Bet of Dragons
A story by Longclaw 1-6
How can I describe it?
As I sit here with the task of documenting the momentous times the Realm has faced over the past decades, many of the best words are lost to me. None can describe the gravity of what has transpired, so therefore I must try to render it as simply as possible. The future deserves to grasp the truth of the reign of King Rhaegar Targaryen, First of His Name. It is my honor and quite humbling that I was selected to provide the chronicles of not only his deeds, but the future deeds of his son and heir that I dare say will be even greater than him.
None could imagine the sense of dread that followed the disaster at Duskendale. His Grace, King Aerys, Second of his Name, was dead - killed at the hands of the rebelling Lord Darklyn over a simple dispute over taxes and land right. Lord Hand Tywin Lannister's decision to unleash the Rains of Castamere about them was universally accepted, though he would later state that Aerys "Left the Realm in better straits by dying than he did by living."
I choose not to indulge in such grim speculation, but most of court did not believe him. Young Prince Rhaegar was untested, a strong warrior and tourney knight but still unsure of himself with only the perceivably meek Queen Rhaella of his family left to advise him and guide him. Even with the firm presence of Lord Tywin, the feeling remained. That the end of the great Targaryen dynasty was impending after nearly three centuries.
Those murmurs of doom died when the Crown Prince and Dowager Queen walked into the flaming pyre of King Aerys. Influenced by a Red Witch that suddenly appeared in court at the same time the Lord Hand returned from Duskendale, they stunned all onlookers by choosing certain death. They further stunned them when both emerged alive, six young dragons curled atop their bodies.
Gods be good, I was there that day as a mere assistant to the Grand Maester, and to this very moment the memories give me chills.
While it would be years before the dragons could spread their wings over the expanse of entire keeps, bringing awe to the supporters and fear to the enemies of House Targaryen, the newly crowned King Rhaegar wasted no time in consolidating his authority. Tywin remained Hand, while many of Aerys' councilors were removed and replaced with younger and more vigorous Lords and knights, not to mention Queen Rhaella.
Her influence was vast, as seen with his Grace's selection for his Queen. Every eligible maiden in the Realm flocked to King's Landing at the request of Queen Rhaella to petition the King for his hand, but all were shocked when his Grace chose not one, but two of the most shocking choices that he could have picked. Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell and Princess Elia Martell of Sunspear.
The Faith protested. The Citadel protested. Many Lords protested. Fire fueled by the dragons, King Rhaegar disregarded all and married both of them in the Godswood of King's Landing. Not seven moons later, the Queens provided the realm with heirs. Queen Elia bore a daughter of raven hair, golden skin, and purple eyes, decreed Princess Rhaenys to the Realm. Queen Lyanna bore twins, a boy with raven hair and grey eyes and a girl of pure Valyrian features, decreed Crown Prince Daemon and Princess Daenerys to the Realm.
All of King's Landing rejoiced at the birth of the heirs. Both Queens were healthy, as were the children, promising an end to the strife and losses that plagued the House of the Dragon since its founding.
Twenty years since, those hopeful words have been completely exceeded by the glories of King Rhaegar's reign. Atop his dragon, the bronze giant Vermithor, his Grace has transformed the Realm. House Greyjoy's attempt to break free through a campaign of rape and murder was immolated in fire and blood, while plots by the Starry Sept, Citadel, and remaining Blackfyre loyalists were squelched through the skillful maneuvering of Lord Tywin, Queen Elia, and the King's goodbrother and faithful councilor Lord Eddard Stark. Political reforms have left court peaceful and devoid of scheming for the most part, and well-maintained roads and ports facilitate trade, bringing prosperity to both highborn and smallfolk alike.
While the King and his Queens have been very much in love and very prolific in rejuvenating House Targaryen with offspring, I would be remiss if I didn't comment on the glories of their firstborn. It is not with malice or insult that I declare that Prince Daemon - or 'Jon' as he was nicknamed by his northern kin - shall outshine his father in greatness alongside his two sisters. He is the Young Dragon reborn, the very best of the Warrior Without Peer. Knighted younger than even Daemon Blackfyre, he fought with his warrior mother against the wildlings not long after, a campaign in which he lost his grandfather Lord Rickard Stark yet beat back the army of the King Beyond the Wall away from Castle Black. Time has only improved his skill at combat and tactics, learning from both Lord Tywin and Ser Arthur Dayne in such skills.
No one excused his Grace for presenting the recovered Blackfyre to his son for his ten and fifth nameday. No one more richly deserved such a gift, the Prince declaring at that moment he would redeem his blade and his name from the lies that drove the last who held them to treason.
It is said the only of his peers that can match the Crown Prince blade for blade is his half-sister. Princess Rhaenys, the sun dragon. Gifted with Dark Sister, the sword of Visenya Targaryen, in spirit she matches the long-dead Queen with both boldness and ferocity. Trained with her cousins by her uncle Prince Oberyn, she is adept in both warfighting and subterfuge. But unlike her oft brooding brother, she takes after Queen Lyanna in enjoying tourneys and races. At a mere ten and six, she emerged victorious in the melee of the King's Tourney against the greatest warriors of the realm. A favorite among the smallfolk, Princess Rhaenys is.
Although not a warrior as her twin and half-sister, to underestimate Princess Daenerys is to sign your death warrant. Outwardly, she is the perfect Princess in the vein of her grandmother the Dowager Queen. Well-read, well-spoke, an avid patron of the arts, such vivacious spirits disguises her true nature. She is a true mix of ice and fire, possessing both her father's fire and the icy steel of her mother's family. This has allowed her to navigate the passages of court politics, playing Lords against each other for the singular mission of providing benefits to the smallfolk. Ever since freeing a slave girl from bondage upon a state visit to Astapor, this has been Daenerys' pet project, and the recent construction of a sewer system in conjunction with Tyrion Lannister - son of the Hand - has vaulted her popularity among the entire city.
No longer must we smell of excrement whenever we leave our homes, and all is thanks to Princess Daenerys,
As their father and grandmother, the trio are avid dragonriders. Daenerys ascended her cream and gold mount Frostfang first among her siblings, joined soon after by Rhaenys atop the golden Sunfyre. Prince Daemon struggled, but no one can look at his skills upon the coal-black VhagarVhagar - the largest of all the dragons returned to the earth - and not marvel at how the dragonwolf Prince has truly embraced his dragonblood.
At the time of this writing, only Princess Daenerys remains in the capitol and the mood is subdued to say the least. Much is there to be happy about, considering the three-year war in the Stepstones between the recreated Triarchy and the Seven Kingdoms has been concluded as Princess Rhaenys stormed the last holdout of Myr and raised the banner of House Targaryen atop the Triarch's palace. All rejoice when she arrives in the capitol for her triumph.
But nonetheless the celebration at the victories of Princess Rhaenys held under the city rejuvenated from the efforts of Princess Daenerys, the entire Royal Family still is gripped by a sense of dread. A sense of apprehension.
Crown Prince Daemon still fights in the North. No one has heard of his army since they crossed the gates of Castle Black and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, of the Prince Viserys, Lord Eddard, Princess Visenya, Lord Robb, Ser Arthur, or any other of the immensely strong force sent years ago to battle the second wildling threat to its end - finishing what her Grace, Queen Lyanna started. The army began assembling four years ago comprising of banners of the North, Vale, Riverlands, and House Targaryen itself, with the Crown Prince leaving for Winterfell a year later to personally take command.
We all pray for the Crown Prince's safe return. And with him, the continued hope for the glorious future of the House of the Dragon.
Grand Maester Qyburn
One and three-hundred years, after Aegon's Conquest.
"A toast!" All revelry ceased at the announcement of the silver-haired Princess, goblet raised into the air. "To the Queen of the Stepstones, and my beloved sister!" Daenerys' light violet eyes sparkled as they met the darker yet near identical ones of Princess Rhaenys. "To all her victories, and the many victories to come. I love you, big sister!"
"Hurrah!" roared the crowd, most drunkenly, cups and mugs in the air in celebration for their victorious Princess.
Her beaming smile matched the white dress that hugged her curves - a more petite form of her mother's athletic, busty figure - Daenerys sipped from the goblet. "You truly make our house proud."
There were few people that the blunt, ball-busting Princess Rhaenys ever softened up for… one of those was her half-sister. Practically her twin since they were all born on the same day. Tears bristling in her eyes, Rhaenys grabbed Dany and pulled her into a large hug to even more cheers.
Whooping for her two daughters, Queen Lyanna Targaryen fell back in her chair. "I have truly taught them well," she smiled, drinking her mug of ale - one could take the northerner out of the north, but not the north out of the northerner.
"You taught them well?" Lyanna looked to her side to see the equally radiant Queen Elia Targaryen staring at her with incredulity. "If I remember correctly, wife, that it was someone else that provided them poise and manners, and it wasn't the woman that wrestles in the mud."
"That was one time," Lyanna protested. "And it was with Bran at Winterfell."
A snort. "It was six years ago, my love," smirked King Rhaegar Targaryen.
"Shut up." Lyanna was in no mood for his japes, and only removed her glare from their husband when he raised his hands and pretended surrender. "Rhae did not learn her fighting skills from you, dear wife." She straightened herself, looking intimidating with her dark grey eyes and firm warrior build even approaching closer to forty namedays than thirty. "I am the powerful warrior Queen of our pair, while you're the cloistered flower."
Elia blinked innocently… "I suppose then you're weaker than a cloistered flower, since it was I that pinned you down last night while…"
A bright red blush formed on Lyanna's cheeks. "Lia… not in front of the entire Seven Kingdoms."
"How a woman that openly competes in tourneys be afraid of a little public display of affection?" Elia giggled. "You should've grown up in Dorne, none of that idiotic modesty." Both of them wore Dornish gowns for the occasion, but Elia's was far more… authentic.
"You'll pay for that."
"I count on it," Elia grinned back, making her wife roll her eyes… but they were sparkling with a promise that made her shudder. Age had only accentuated the she-wolf's beauty, as did the extra curves of her many pregnancies made toned and strong from furious training and literal battle. Elia admired her own slender frame, and knew her loves did as well. It was a… heady feeling to earn the complete lust of such beauties, and to lust after them in return. Wait…? "Where is our husband?" Engrossed in their banter, she had completely missed his slipping away.
Not having noticed it herself, the northern Queen looked around until she found the telltale silver locks. "Speaking with our goodmother. I believe our raunchy innuendo warded him off."
Elia shook her head. "Gods, after twenty years of marriage… he's still a bigger prude than you. Never be seen, never be heard…"
"I am not a prude, Lia. Remember the hot springs in Winterfell?"
"I'm going to repeat what my brother said when you bragged about that to him. 'Lya, it does not count as exhibitionism when the woods are empty of people.'l
Lyanna muttered under her breath. "Still, one would think with Rhaegar's appetites in the bedroom he would act like such a fuddy-duddy Septon in front of others." She giggled in the way only one deep in their cups was wont to do.
A perfectly manicured eyebrow rose. "I think you've had enough."
"Enough what?" The she-wolf was slurring her words - only slightly, but enough to be noticeable.
"You sound like Brandon at our wedding." He'd had been so drunk that time he belted out the Dornishman's Wife at the top of his lungs and tried to lock lips with Ashara Dayne - Ned's intended. The two brothers hadn't spoken for two years because of that. "How many did you have?"
Lyanna blinked. "Ummmm… three?" It was the highly potent black ale of the north too. "Mayhaps I should turn in…"
Simple words, but one that lit a fire in the Dornish beauty. "Hmmm, I think I should help you to our chambers." Her smile was devious. "The night is far too long, I find."
Drunk but not too drunk, Lya caught the innuendo. "Oh, you lecher."
"Tell me no."
She wasn't that stupid. "No, hurry it up."
Arms open, the Dowager Queen enveloped her son in a tight hug. "Oh, Rhaegar. You look just as dashing as you were as a young man."
"I'm glad you think so, muna," Rhaegar replied, hugging his mother back. The woman had been his rock growing up, guiding him through his father's growing instability and providing a firm confidence in going into the flames. Even though she remarried and gave him three further half-siblings in addition to Viserys, they remained close. Many joked that she was the real Hand, not Tywin. "Lya always teases me about my raven's feet… or that I'm going bald." He looked aghast at the idea of it.
"Oh please, did she mock you while having her lips round your cock?"
"MUNA!" He went a ripe red. Twice she wanders in on Lya underneath my desk and now she has to bring it up…
"What? I'm not cloistered. I've done that before…"
"I do not want to think of you and Ser Jaime engaging in such." He shook his head. "No, not in this lifetime."
Giggling, Rhaella nonetheless noticed a heavy heart in her son. "You're worried about Daemon, aren't you?" She never referred to the Crown Prince by his family nickname 'Jon.'
Rhaegar sighed and nodded. "There's been no contact with the army for many moons. Something's going on and I have no idea why."
Rhaella bit her lip. Viserys was with Daemon in the campaign, as was Visenya, the second daughter of Lyanna's womb. Much was invested for House Targaryen with a second army in the field. But, she had to remain hopeful. "Daemon is in good hands and he is brilliant. Soon we shall receive word of his victory."
"You don't know that for sure."
Wrapping her arm around her brooding son, Rhaella leaned in and kissed his cheek as she had when he was little. "You're a good man, my son. I am proud of you, and that son of yours is just like you. Don't worry."
"I'm his kepa, so I can't help but worry." He smiled at her anyway. "Thank you, muna."
"That's my duty," she replied brightly. In the distance, she caught something. "Ummm… Rhaegar?" Her eyebrow rose in curiosity. "You do see that the Queens are…"
"Running off together towards the Holdfast, giggling as Lya drank too much and Elia wants some time alone with her?" He smirked softly at his mother's furrowed brows. "Those minxes think that I'm so clueless to their little japes and tricks, but I'm not."
Shaking her head, Rhaella bit back a laugh of her own. "Oh, my son. Those two adore you but they have you wrapped around their little fingers."
"I do not mind that… much, but one day I'll show them that I'm smarter than they think I am."
"So why don't you go do that right now?" How tightly wound Rhaegar was, Rhaella knew instinctively as a mother that he could use some sexual release from his wives. Would get him calmed down for once.
But he demurred. "I'll give them an hour or so." He suddenly looked a bit nervous. "I've been… spending too much time on one-on-one couplings over the last week. They… need some time together."
Rhaella nodded. "I understand. Sometimes Jaime and I just need a moment alone so he can give it to me good and hard…"
She couldn't hold in the laugh as Rhaegar turned a bright purple and dashed off.
"I'm sorry, good Ser, but I am conversing with my sister, cousins, and aunt if you don't mind?"
The face of the Reach knight - his name escaping them for the moment - fell, though he rallied. "Perhaps you would like a dance, Princess Daenerys?"
She giggled flirtatiously, making him hopeful for a moment before dropping the hammer. "I enjoy dancing, but not right now. Tonight is Rhae's night." Her sweet smile made it all the worse.
"You heard her, fuck off," said the shortest girl among them… and the only one besides the fully armored Rhaenys not wearing a dress. The knight slunked off, dejected. Arya Stark grinned, purple eyes flashing with confidence until she caught her cousins looking at her. "What? He needed to hear that."
"I do not think you had to be so rude," remarked Helaena Lannister, crossing her arms. "There are ways to put people down gently."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Well excuse me if we didn't have an overbearing grandfather insisting one learn the proper way to curtsey in a petticoat or sew silk embroidery or… or… fuck, you know what I mean."
Giggling, Arianne patted her head patronizingly. "Don't worry, little cousin. We know you're not good with words." She smirked as Arya wrenched her hand away, fuming. "Rhae, you know the suitors will just keep coming."
"They're free to come, just as I'm free to jab them in the throat."
"I'd pay to see that," grinned Tyene Sand - someone who'd stabbed plenty of throats in the conquest of the Triarchy. She, Rhaenys, and Arya had, added humiliation to their enemies that a 'bunch of girls' crushed them into bits. "Dany, how about you? Would you punch them?" Many underestimated the little spitfire, but beneath her beauty and grace was the heart of a dragonwolf, and all the fierceness to spare.
Dany shrugged. "Not really. I prefer Hura to do the talking for me." Reaching down, she ruffled the white and blue fur of her direwolf, who was stretched out on the ground bored. She quirked her head up, tongue darting out to lick her muna's hand. "Either her or Frostfang, depending on my mood."
"I like your attitude," Tyene laughed.
Arya merely grumbled. "Can't believe they let you bring in your direwolf and I can't."
"That's because your direwolf keeps jumping on tables and sniffing the guests," Rhaenys answered.
"Nymeria is the best girl! How dare you?"
"Oh please, with you as her mother… I'm surprised you aren't doing that."
"I do not sniff other people. What is wrong with you?"
Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, a devious glint in her eyes. "Oh really, cause I think I caught you doing something similar with uncle Aegon…"
Arya paled. "Stop, please." She looked mortified.
Helaena's jaw dropped. "My brother?" Poor girl, they weren't going to let her go that easily.
Fortunately for Arya, the combination of much alcohol and the late hour wore out the guests. Many staggered to their wheelhouses or bedchambers, while the lucky ones did so with a beautiful maiden or handsome knight on their arms - or in the case of Oberyn Martell, both.
Soon, it was just the two sisters left alone together. Dany shifted her feet awkwardly, while Rhaenys hid her expression behind a goblet of Dornish red. For one so open and brash about everything, she was rather… bad about most interpersonal emotions. Daenerys and occasionally her cousin Arianne were the only ones she truly could be open with - and their brother. "Dany…"
"Yes, Rhae?" Her sister's voice was soft… scared. When Dany heard herself, her voice was the same.
"Please tell me Jon is alright." Tears welled in her eyes, as much as she tried to ward them off. "If I came back triumphant and his severed head is the trophy to some Wildling chief…"
The image stabbed Dany's heart more painfully than a thousand knives. "No… it won't happen. Our brother is strong. He will come back to us."
Rhaenys' eyes shut. "I should've gone with him, like he wanted. I… I… I…" In a rush for personal glory, perhaps she had condemned their brother to death.
Dany embraced her, face resting on her armored shoulder - to which Rhae matched the embrace. Practically burying her face in Dany's neck. There they held each other, hoping and praying that their brother returned safely.
"Tired, your Grace?"
Rhaegar's yawn may have shown off his exhaustion. He wasn't getting any younger, and had been on his feet since before the sun rose preparing for Rhaenys' special day - when other girls her age were dreaming of handsome knights to whisk them away to a life of beautiful dresses and lively feasts, the Sun Dragon was proclaiming she'd get a mighty triumph as a proud conqueror… and she got her wish.
But he still held himself high. "I'm fine, Ser Barristan. My duties still haven't concluded for the evening."
Around for longer than Rhaegar had been alive, Barristan raised an eyebrow in confusion. "I'm not following…" The glint in the King's eye brought recognition. "Oh… well then I should probably stand guard a bit away from the royal chambers."
"Aye, best that you do." Rhaegar chuckled, still remembering that time he had scarred Elia's uncle Lewyn for life while… trying out something on Elia most non-whores were too prudish to experiment with. "Goodnight, Barristan."
"I would say the same, but it is obvious that you shall have one, your Grace." He gave a tiny grin before assuming his post.
Arriving at the right door, Rhaegar wasn't surprised to hear muffled sounds of pleasure even from the corridor. His brides… modesty wasn't a virtue once they were in the bedchamber, or even outside of it sometimes - the combination of Lyanna's wild personality and Elia's open sexuality were a potent combination. Eagerly, he pushed open the door and slid inside his chambers.
Upon entering the royal bedchambers, he noticed the roaring hearth set by the servants and the shadow it cast upon the wall. It moved and squirmed in a sensual dance, both from the flickering flames and the furious passion of its source. Mouth going dry at the prospect - his ears hearing the screams and moans of pure pleasure now free of any barrier, Rhaegar strode around the corner and was greeted by a sight he reckoned he'd never grow to take for granted for as long as he drew breath.
"Do you… oh fuck… give in?"
A wolf-growl replied. "Never… yes, right there… You will bow before the wolf, oh Elia…"
He chuckled at that. My loves, never change.
Sounds of pure ecstasy filled the room, the Queens rolling on the bed. Sometimes the chestnut hair of his wild northerner took the superior position, while others found the bronzed skin of his Dornish seductress dominate. Most of their moans were drowned in each other, their mouths, lips, and tongues pleasuring their most intimate places simultaneously. It was a… favorite position of theirs when he was unavailable - or just to tease him relentlessly. Based on the tousled state of their hair and the lack of any sense of organization of the bedsheets they had been at this for a while.
"I do enjoy watching this," he finally remarked after both of them screamed into each other's cunt, powerful climaxes rushing through them.
Lyanna was on top, and thus was the only one whose ears were free - Elia's surrounded by Lya's clamped thighs. "Rhaegar, my love," she said, eyes softening in pure affection… quickly subsumed as her lust for him overtook the love, at least for the moment. "Good that you're here."
He heard Elia let out a loud whimper, emerging from between Lya's thighs. "Why'd you stop, my wolf?" Her face drenched in Lya's essence, her eyes darkened even further at the sight of Rhaegar. "My gods, our husband is gorgeous."
Still trembling from the many climaxes Elia had brought her to, Lyanna scooted off of her wife and slid off their marriage bed. She intertwined her hands with Elia's, guiding her up. "It is wonderful that you have shown up when you did." They were a study in contrasts, Lyanna firm and toned as the warrior Queen she was, while Elia was slender yet deliciously busty… gods, they were gorgeous. "You can help us settle one of our little games."
"Another game, my loves?" He played the part. "Don't you tire of such silliness?"
Elia huffed. "For a dragonrider, you are such a fuddy duddy."
"Fuddy duddy?"
"Lya's words, not mine." Their eyes meeting, the Queens acted as one. Grabbing their King and pushing him upon the bed. "We are not asking for your help, husband."
"Tough I doubt you'll complain," Lyanna added, grinning wolfishly. He could only gulp, eyes glued to their nude forms.
Hands began undoing the laces of his doublet. "We seek to see how many times one of us can drive the other over the edge, but have kept at a tie for nary two hours." Elia slipped off the doublet, tunic soon joining it on the floor.
Lyanna's mouth watered at his powerful chest. "So it's time for another challenge to win… whomever can drive you to the most eruptions." His trousers slipped off, freeing their favorite part of him.
They were like nymphs of the snow or oasis, Rhaegar thought. He felt the peaks of their breasts hardening as they scraped against his skin, mischief mixing with pure carnal lust as kissed him all over. "Is that so?"
"Aye, and there's only one rule," Lyanna mused, kissing his neck.
Elia licked a single stripe up his cock, grinning as it twitched. "You may only spill your seed inside of us, for your Queens are truly greedy for you."
Rhaegar let out a groan, muffled as Lyanna captured his mouth in a searing kiss. Their tongues dueled and he grabbed Lya by her plump ass, groping hard. She pulled back and Elia replaced her, this time his hands molesting her ample bosom and making her mewl.
"You are going to fuck us," Lya growled into his ear. "You will give us all your seed until you are drained…"
"You are ours, husband." Elia broke the kiss and resumed her position at his cock. "From this day until the end of our days…" And as she enveloped him, the King lost himself into the pleasure his brides were determined to addle him with.
What had to be hours later, Rhaegar rested on his back, arms raised over his shoulders and tucked underneath his head. Beside him on either side slept his Queens. It turned out to be a tie between the two of them, not that they cared by the end. They were covered in a sheen of sweat and dried juices from their amorous activities, quite many climaxes having rocked through them if Rhaegar wished to brag to himself - not that he could claim credit for all of them. Elia and Lyanna slept as they usually did, the Dornish nymph snuggling close on his chest with her leg thrown over his. Bronzed skin contrasting with his pale flesh. Lyanna was passed out on her stomach, arm draped over his chest and their sides touching. Her beautiful face was contorted in bliss as she slept, looking at him with closed eyes.
With this as the sight he always fell asleep to and woke up enjoying, Rhaegar never forgot how lucky the gods had smiled on him.
But even after an exhausting number of climaxes that his very competitive brides had essentially drained him with, he still couldn't sleep. The wonderful distraction of Elia and Lya's bodies had been just that, a distraction from the worries plaguing him.
Slowly, he wriggled himself out of the bed - not an easy feat, considering the hold his Queens had, as if desperately seeking him out in their sleep. But the King accomplished his goal, and with a quick pull of his trousers and tunic was ready for a quick journey through the holdfast. Hearing a murmur, he turned… only to see Elia burrowing herself into Lya's front, both still asleep. Rhaegar smiled. The two of them could bicker and compete harder than any tourney, but their love for each other was as strong as their love for him.
Quietly so as not to wake them, he slipped outside… only to run into two eyes looking at him from a furry black face. "Shadow, heel."
Lyanna's black direwolf merely cocked her head. A whine came out, nudging his side.
Rhaegar sighed, ruffling her fur. "Alright, come on." The wolf happily trotted beside him, as affectionate to him as Vermithor was to Lya and Elia, often seeking out the Queens for pets and caresses. Can burn hundreds or rip through scores, yet they're all big softies at heart. Tongue lagging out her mouth, Shadow seemed to instinctively know the way her kepa was taking her.
The Godswood of the Red Keep had been neglected for generations, but under the stewardship of someone that actually followed the Old Gods it was rejuvinated. Lyanna brought in trees from across the realm - northern pines and mountain sage, Dornish palms and Riverlands oak… all centered around a growing heart tree. The weirwood sapling had come from Greywater Watch, a wedding gift from Howland Reed. Lyanna spent quite a lot of time here when needing serenity, bringing their children and Elia to speak to the old gods.
While nominally of the Seven, Rhaegar came here too. It brought him a calm that being in a sept never did. And he was in need of calm.
Shadow whined, keeping away from the heart tree - the wolves were like dragons, very intelligent and insightful beasts. She knew her kepa needed to be alone.
Rhaegar approached the heart tree in his state of casual dress, only his silver hair giving away his royalty. He kneeled before the face carved in its bark and pressed a head on the bark. Old gods… please protect my son. He prayed here not four moons ago, asking for his daughter to be safe as the war reached its final conclusion… and only a week later Myr had fallen. I don't ask for much, and am willing to give you all I can… just let my son return to me. To his family. We can't bear a life without him.
Suddenly, the King found himself flying through the air… almost as if he was outside his body. His head ached, loudness almost bombarding him. Eyes flashing white, his vision disappeared…
Fire lancing down from three mighty dragons, enveloping a mob of blue-eyed monsters. Two had riders, while the largest one - a black demon - was unmounted.
Rhaegar blinked, trying to see through the great clash of armies amongst the smoke, flame, and swirling snow.
There was Ned, fighting alongside his son Robb back to back.
Ser Arthur, his twin blades slicing through a tall, spindly figure… the figure disappeared into a cloud of ice, hundreds of the blue-eyed monsters simply dropping where they stood.
One of the dragons landing, fire unleashed as the silver-haired rider leapt off. Rhaegar recognized Viserys, his dear brother, throwing himself with a fury into the fight.
And a sight that made the King stare in utter wonder. Blade alight was his own son, clashing with a being that seemed to freeze everything all around him. The demon was quick, horns jutting from his icy-blue head in some sort of crown, but Daemon met him blow for blow. Eyes alight and fury evident on his face. Blade meeting the other's staff, Daemon shot his head forward, butting the demon and distracting him for the briefest of moments…
Just enough for Daemon to spin Blackfyre and thrust the burning blade into his enemy's gut.
Time seemed to still, but the demon crumbled to dust… as did the entire opposing army. Leaving none but the living, Daemon standing above all, screaming a furious dragon roar into the void...
And with that, Rhaegar was vaulted back into the godswood. He was drenched in sweat, Shadow pressing her furry form against his side. Not a sound but his panting breaths and her whines, the King nevertheless saw a change. The clouds that once hung high above the world were gone, leaving the full moon shining upon King's Landing with bright moonlight. The chill of the sea breeze, replaced by a comforting warmth. The godswood seemed more alive… Shadow joining the chirping birds to howl into the night's sky… a howl of joy, not sorrow.
It was then he realized what happened. The prophecy of old, one that he obsessed over so much as a young man - one dismissed long ago as nothing. But it wasn't nothing. It was real.
The Long Night happened…
And his son had brought the Dawn.
Image vivid to those amongst the gods, the beautiful woman of Valyrian coloring was swinging her arms wildly - invested in the clash before her. "Open! He's open! Go for the chest…! Yes! Yes!" She pumped her fists in the air. "Victory to House Targaryen!"
"Calm down, Vis," Rhaenys Targaryen laughed, clapping her hands nonetheless. She was so proud of her Daemon, the mighty dragonwolf bringing yet another great victory to their house. "He was always going to win. Best wielder of Blackfyre in the blade's history."
"Hey!" Their husband puffed up, not amused. "What does that make me?"
"The second greatest wielder," Rhaenys grinned. "No, wait… third after dear Daemon Blackfyre."
Aegon the Conqueror rolled his eyes. "I should've married Argella Baratheon or Sharra Arryn when I had the chance."
Visenya smacked him on the shoulder, but then cuddled into his side, kissing his neck. "No you wouldn't. You adore your sisters too much to bed any other woman." He grumbled. "I'll take that as a yes."
Another grumble. "I suppose you're right." But when Visenya drew him into a kiss, his ire disappeared as they lost themselves in their love for each other. Upon hearing about what the maesters of the next generations said about their marriage, Aegon wished to leave the heavens and burn down the Citadel for such lies. How dare they say I didn't love both of them. But Rhaegar was printing the correct histories, so he was mollified. "Daemon is a powerful warrior, I cannot lie. His sister too, while the other one is quite the diplomatic mind."
"Reminds me of us, no?" Rhaenys raised her arms over her head, stretching languidly as if a cat. "I think you'd look gorgeous with dark hair, Egg. Just like young Daemon."
Aegon shook his head. "Don't start again, Rhae. When Baelor Breakspear was alive you wanted me to bronze my skin… remember how that turned out."
She stifled a giggle. "I thought you were rather cute."
"The Rogue Prince called me a Lysene statue," he fumed, crossing his arms. "Vis, you were there… you heard it… Vis? Vis?!" The two of them looked over to their wife sitting silently beside them… "Wait, are you crying?"
"Visenya's crying?!" Rhae was shocked.
The mortified Queen straightened. "No, fuck off." She hurriedly wiped her eyes. "I wasn't crying you cunts."
"You so were," Rhaenys laughed. "Now what could possibly make our powerful sister so sorrowful…?" She peered into the void, finding the image of the Princess bearing her name hugging her sister. "Oh." Rhaenys sighed. "They miss their brother."
"They won't miss him for long," Aegon mused. "Though they do look like you and Vis in that moment." In more than one way, he could see. They were in denial, but given their mothers' example it was merely a matter of time. "I see not why you cry, Vis? Daemon will return soon, so the sorrow won't last much longer."
She shook her head. "No, it's not sorrow…" Fresh tears came, but behind a smile. "After so long, watching our descendents so hate and tear each other apart… our Rhaegar has charted the way like kepa before him, and now the three of them sit ready to forge what we hoped to."
Aegon drew her into a hug, kissing her brow. "Aye, my love. They do." Rhaenys joined the embrace, tight and loving.
But their happy moment was ended as their grandson burst in. "Grandfather, grandmothers," Jaehaerys said, exasperated. "Aegon and Daeron are fighting again."
"Aegon the usurper or fat Aegon?" Rhaenys asked. There were too many damn Aegons in their family, while out of the five Daerons there was only one with an aggressive personality.
"Fat Aegon."
Visenya groaned. "Our work is never fucking done." Summoning a sword out of nowhere, fires of the heavens scorching a divine blade, she growled as she pushed aside Jaehaerys to end the latest family squabble.
A/N: So there we have it. Jon's brought the dawn.
A few changes to canon that I hoped people followed. Dany is Lyanna's daughter and Jon's twin, while the rebellion was averted by Aerys dying at Duskendale. While there have been wars the Realm hasn't seriously divided and the dragons maintain their powerful and prosperous hold.
The format will continue like this. The main story with a section at the end of each chapter showing the various Targs in the afterlife watching their descendants. Only 14 chapters of this story so it will be a quick one. Laughs all around.
Be sure to drop a comment, and can't wait to see y'all next time. The more comments the sooner I'll update :D
