SI POV II

94 AC, Driftmark

One of the things I had decided to adopt in my second life was a positive mindset, something I had terribly lacked during my first abysmal existence. I had been somewhere between a cross of a pessimist and a realist depending on the situation-

(*gets ear twisted by invisible entity*)

Okay, okay. Fine, I was lying. I was always that one person who thought every mild stomach ache could've been at worst a tumour and at best a bad case of food poisoning. I had wanted to start this new life with a clean slate: no worries, no stress, just a life of luxury.

*Cue the F.R.I.E.N.D.S theme*

So no one told you life was gonna be this way,

Your job's being a rich first world cunt,

Your love life's gonna get you slain,

It's like you're always stuck in second mule wagon gear,

When it hasn't been your day, your week, your month,

Or even your year, but-

(*ear gets twisted even more violently*)

Okay, okay, I'll end the song. Jeez, was even thinking about music going to land me in the ER? Then again, at this point I've just spent hours upon hours not sleeping after a boatload of crying, so that might just be me hallucinating my ass off. Or maybe whatever fucking deity that tossed me here had decided that I wasn't suffering enough. Hmm, not a good start despite my rather glaringly obvious advantages. As wealthy, beautiful and as lucky as I was to be around some pretty otherworldly not!elves, my second chance at trying to mooch off my parents had turned into a fairly unpleasant situation if what I was 99.99% sure, round off to one significant figure, had occurred.

The situation?

Well, I, or rather my unfortunate consciousness, had been tossed into the body of young Laenor Velaryon just seconds before birth, effectively kicking the kid to the curb before he had even gotten the chance to break in his new body. That thought alone was disturbing enough given a newborn's mind could now be controlling my adult body. God knows my mom had had enough on her plate taking care of me already. At this rate, my plans of becoming a civil engineer were kapoot unless Laenor went through a speedrun of my memories.

The somehow even more troubling thought was the one where I had Thanos-snapped him out of existence and become Expanded Universe Palpatine trying to take over Anakin Solo's body with some spirit transferring Force bullshit, and somehow succeeding through divine (or should I say eldritch) intervention.

No matter, I was going off topic here people. Or well, my imaginary head audience.

To say the least, shit was gonna go down.

Hard.

Laenor was born with every good thing a noble could ever ask for at the worst time possible and despite that, he could've still salvaged things. Yet, he fucked it up completely, second only to Rhaenyra and Daemon alone in singlehandedly ruining the Black cause. Look, look, I got that he was gay and it was downright awful to force him to think of Westeros and just hope for the best. But was the turkey baster method not a thing yet? Or was Westeros a few centuries behind on that?

Damn, it, why was I being so hard on the guy. For all we know, he could've been a genuinely nice dude who didn't want to force Rhaenyra into doing degrading acts to get her preggers. Downright cretinous of course but understandable from the POV of a genuinely good, non-pragmatic person. Still, the least he could've done was insist on a fucking Valyrian stud, not Harwin freaking Strong! That was just a braindead move on both their parts. Hell, even thinking about it was making me lose some braincells. Even then, things were still salvageable despite Laenor being one of the last people I'd want to get SIed into post-Jaehaerys. If I could've gone for an SI in this era, Aemon would have been my go-to guy with young Rhaenys as my go-to gal. With them, I could've killed the Dance in its infancy. But nope, Laenor was what I was stuck with, and thus I must needs think on how to solve the very small family dinner spat the singers call the Dance of Dragons.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

..

..

Not.

Still, let me list out some positive things first since optimism was supposed to be my thing now. For one, as shitty as being a baby was, it was a prime position to start with in the long run. So, thanks ASB or your ilk. Still wish I could've slowly regained my memories or something to truly immerse myself. It would have been way better than just going through CK3 playthroughs on how to win this shitty thing and strengthen the dynasty as they like to say. But moving on, I might just stop the Dance from ever happening with the thing one might call "my existence". I couldn't save Aemon nor could I make Rhaenys queen but I could do my best Greyjoy Alle Breve SI impersonation and get stuff rolling without hopefully pissing the Hightower-backed Faith off. So, I had a plan. Not a very good plan I must say but I had the barebones of it etched into the front, back and 'everything in between' of my mind. It was a 12-step plan, one which went something like this:

Step 1: Claim a big chongus dragon! I'm talking Miss Vhagar herself once Baelon croaks of appendicitis. At the minimum, something like say Vermithor. I could not afford to be left with a pitifully miniscule Seasmoke. One of the reasons the Greens stood a chance despite having less dragons was because of Vhagar herself. I don't care what some idiots say, size and girth do matter and I was not going to limit my chances just because of sentimental value. I, and by extension, my minions were getting swol dragons and that brings me to step two;

Step 2: Get more sibling(s). There were two marriage options here and neither of them were particularly appetising to think of. On one hand, a rather disgusting hand: Laena, my way younger than me mentally, somewhat older physically biological sister. Yeah... no. I'm sorry but it was gross and I would rather not if I had the chance to. But then again, my next and most likely option was Rhaenyra… Well, she was another step in itself. In the most likely scenario that Corlys and Rhaenys toss me to Rhaenyra like a piece of medium rare steak, Laena would need a Valyrian Velaryon husband to keep the dragons in the family. I did not want a Braavosi wastrel as her fiancé in this world. Thus, a younger brother would hopefully come once I could start babbling about wanting a younger sibling. If all was good, Rhaenys had no real issues with giving birth as her mother probably had and her daughter turned out to have and gave me the younger brother I needed. After all, I could use him to get even more big chongus dragons on my side and crush the Greens' dreams into nothing but bad cocaine: just fairy dust that would give me a trippy dream I'd wake up from eventually. If it was a girl… Let's hope not as sexist as that sounds. High risk, high reward after all, and I am not a political mastermind, let alone someone who can successfully pre-empt the Dance;

Step 3: Try to keep Aemma and her son alive/try to expose any affairs Alicent might have had with Daemon. If I managed the former, the Dance could just be avoided completely and we would all be saved. Laena could get the little kid, allowing me to live my best life on Driftmark and Alicent could rot far, far away from me. Corlys and Rhaenys would be happy, I would be happy, everyone would be happy minus maybe Laena who would be forced to wait a while to marry little Baelon. Odds were low though given I doubt she would be taking my medical advice, and well, her body was probably fucked after getting pregnant so young. Big F U to King Fatso and all involved in that abomination of a wedding for that. Even the chroniclers of the time knew Margaret Beaufort couldn't get pregnant after her first and only child due to giving birth at thirteen years of age! I had doubts the more medically advanced Westerosi were that inept. Either way, that plan was probably not going to succeed unless the butterfly's wings flapped like crazy. Therefore, exposing Alicent would be my backup, although another ambitious upstart could easily take her place. Fuck, I wondered how many L's I would take by the time I died. Moving on;

Step 4: Stop Rhaenyra from turning into a spoiled brat. As sympathetic as she was by the end of the war she was still a massive b-word to everyone before that. Someone who literally did not give two shits about anyone but herself and her desires. I would have to get close to her as a kid herself, make her think I'm the love of her life. For all her faults however, she did seem like someone who desperately did love people and want love in return. And she had a pretty messed up childhood with two paedos running after her – scratch that – probably a lot more though the two most prominent ones would be Daemon the Dickish and Criston the Cunt. And well, I doubt the capital was the most ideal of places to raise a child, it being a viper's nest full of opportunists and all. As long as the two ended up rotting in obscurity and I could shove away all the carpetbaggers, I could turn her into a better version of herself with a real support system going on. Maybe even give her-

Step 5: – children. If I do marry her, kids must follow and no Strong plot can happen like in canon. I am not Laenor. Man or woman, human or abominable creature; I was sinking myself fully into this new body and making things work no matter what. Personal feelings be damned!, I was marrying her if I had to and making things work, what with "duty" and "heirs and spares" and whatever other idioms these guys could think of. Children were always good after all, being political chess pieces and what not. A bit insensitive on my part but I was a fucking baby right now so who cares. Feelings were a problem for later. No matter what, I was not getting cucked by Harwin freaking Strong. If the first kid popped out looking like him, divorce and Velaryon isolation it is then. I don't care, I'm not that invested in kids that aren't mine nor do I want to paint an even greater target on my back. Legitimate kids were a must. I had no want to waste their marriage prospects by having to wed them to their cousins in some grand scheme to get Rhaenys and Corlys' blood on the throne. The kids being legitimate also brought me back to Step 2 of my grand masterplan: claim chongus dragons. No Ancalagon the Black here sadly as that might have ended the war in the cradle (although some fanfics would have you think Cannibal was that huge) but Silverwing-sized dragons would do. At least for the boys. Girls… Well, that's another problem. I could go the incest-route but that was just alienating support during a time where the Blacks would need it. But do we need it? The thought of my full-blooded kids banging each other made my stomach churn a little. Maybe with time it'd be more palatable...? Damn it, I'm TBDing this shit indefinitely. There were just too many factors at play and for all I know, I'd butterfly the Dance away;

Step 6: I was a Velaryon and most, if not all, Velaryons were good at one thing: sailing. I'd spent the past two days waiting for my patron god(s) to claim me and I had gotten nothing yet. That meant unless a Gaemon happened to me in a year or two, I was not going to get Valyrian Steel moolah from my side-hustle. As much as that SI from the Male Visenya fic complained about how crappy his life was with his whole "woe is me" attitude, that shit was a fucking unlimited money cheat. And while the Velaryons were filthy rich, I was also planning to do big things that even Corlys would balk at. Therefore, Yiboo I must become. I was not going to go full Industrial Revolution but I was hoping to get Driftmark on the right track. As Pedro Pascal - aka Oberyn Martell for the GoT bros - said in that one Wonder Woman movie no one watched, "life is good, but it can be better". Much, much better. Better hygiene, better administrative apparatuses, and a more efficient system. Also, toilets. Never forget the toilets;

Step 7: Alliances needed to be formed and/or solidified which again brought me back to Step 5. Marriages were the corner stone of how formal alliances were made in Medieval Europe, even more so in Westeros. But again, the question of whether or not I should sacrifice my potential daughters and thus lose out on dragons was weighing on my mind. To TBD it again or not? For all I know, I could just have sons and sons alone. Or daughters… Daughters would be tricky. As much as I would like having the eldest to inherit no matter what sex, a son would be preferable in this case. The Valyrian blood purity shtick couldn't have been all that nonsensical, right? Still, if some Great Council bullshit cropped up because I had turned everyone decent, then political supporters were a must... Then again, canon Rhaenyra had half of Westeros fighting for her despite having a less than stellar reputation. That was where the solidifying part came in. The North and the Vale did not need much incentive other than being tossed some food and dealing with the Mountain Clans respectively. The Riverlands were mostly pro-Black too. I was fairly sure most Crownland Houses sided with the Blacks due to their close proximity to Dragonstone and only turned cloak when Aegon had the capital firmly in his grip. Some of Westerlands and Reach houses could be turned but again, they were prouder than most. I wouldn't put it past me for those gnats to demand a marriage from Rhaenyra. The Stormlands were way trickier. That thrice damned uncle Borros would want one of his girls as Queen if possible. Maybe I could just- Arghghghgh! Next step! TBD;

Step 8: Dealing with Daemon. I'm sorry to the Daemon fanboys but that demon had to go. The dude would not rest until I was six feet under, cucked with my tomb (do they do tombs here?) watered with the blood of my infant children and his piss. Daemon the Dick was so, so dead. Groomer-paedo-child murdering dudes were completely worthless bags of flaming crap no matter how cool their deaths were in one world. Sorry Daemon (with a silent a), you will NOT be the father;

Step 9: Speaking of dicks, Otto O̶c̶t̶a̶v̶i̶u̶s̶ Hightower was going to get put down by a peg or two as well. For all he had a cool sounding name, the dude was hilariously bad at controlling his grandsons. I was getting that small council onto my side whether they liked it or not. So, the incel Kingsguard was not going to win that damned tourney, nor was he ever going to be anything other than a steward's son. That cunt was dying irrelevant and I was going to get a loyalist on my side;

Step 10: Get Caraxes back. A continuation of Step 8, this would see us Velaryons gaining back Caraxes so my hopefully firstborn child named in honour of their great grandpapi would claim as their own. It was PR gold, and Daemon was not going to use the Blood Wyrm to kill off MY WMD. I was getting that niece effer killed somehow. Call me what you want but I was ready to sink very low to keep myself alive, Daemon be damned. God Almighty would have to forgive me for this one. After all, I was probably doing this world a favour by slipping some cyanide into his drink while I still had a cutesy appearance to deflect the blame onto someone else;

Step 11: Get the Stepstones under Velaryon control because complete control of the Narrow Sea is quite neato. I was taking a leaf from that one Corlys SI on Alt His I had once read who was in line to firmly take control of the Stepstones. Maybe I was being a little greedy here but this was also strategic in the sense that I could cut off the Greens from the Triarchy and get rid of their high tolls. All of that would lead to my Driftmark East Trading Company to dominate the world and make my copper counting family even wealthier! It was laughably easy to kick the Triarchy to the curb if you had some guts, some brains and some firepower. I liked to think I had all three. King Ghee was far more likely to make us the Lord Paramount of the Stepstones than the Raging Road Fanatic if we played our cards right. The man was a people pleaser by nature after all. But this time, Daemon the Despot would not be on our side to mess up my grand ambitions;

Step 12: Become the best dragon rider/swordsman/Lord of the Tides/Laenor I can be and have that extend to my allies. I would need to cut canon Rhaenyra's spoiled brat nature by a shit ton and make her more akin to someone who you'd call Rhaenyra the Righteous than Maegor with Teats. No pressure.

Simple if I had to say so myself but hilariously long. Still, the barebones were easy enough to remember although my knowledge of the Dance itself was iffy at best. I was in it for a lifetime and getting murked by fucking Qarl Correy at a fair was not how I was going to go out. Better die beloved and old than crispy and/or bleeding to death slowly.

Huh, a new step to add to the masterplan.

Step 13: Live a long and happy life surrounded by family and loved ones.

So, a quick revision already. 12+1 plan it is! Just in time for my nappy change too! From… Alvida with the Iron Hands.

... I hate my second life.

Rhaenys POV I

Late 95 AC, Driftmark

Her father had promised her she'd be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day. Rhaenys had been but a child of four namedays then, too preoccupied with her own life than with questions of succession and titles and queenship. She had preferred spending her time with her father, pushing the crown's seal onto the hot wax to the jubilation of the man. The day had started well enough, with the two of them having kissed mother goodbye - father on the lips, Rhaenys on the cheek. Then father had picked her up with ease, nestling her onto his broad shoulders, and they had begun their usual idle chatter. It had been all child's talk on her part but father had never minded. He'd listen with rapt attention, pale lilac eyes brimming with mirth while she tugged lightly at his white-gold hair to make him go wherever she wanted.

"You are already such a demanding Queen, love," he had told her with a chuckle just as they had rounded the corner towards his office, "My little queen-to-be."

That had been the day she had truly found out.

Before that, she'd her mentions of Queen from her grandmother and mentions of future brothers for her to even marry from her grandsire. It had not mattered all too much until that day. She'd prodded at the topic in private, curious and mayhaps a bit demanding. Father had only given her that bright smile of his, settled her onto his lap and promised she would be Queen no matter what.

The expectation from then on had been clear as day. Queen she was told she'd become and queen she would be. Her days had been spent from there on with her father, trying her best to replicate his every movement. Aunt Alyssa had even called her "his dark shadow" teasingly. Rhaenys had thrown a mild tantrum at that but her always smiling aunt had only smothered "Her Grace" with kisses and ruffled her hair until it was all messy. They had laughed until their ribs hurt eventually, with her aunt promising her a flight on scarlet Meleys.

The memory now made her heart ache. Those had been happy times, times where the peace her grandfather everyone boasted about seemed infallible. Yet, father was gone, as was her aunt and her cousin who had not lived to his first nameday, and even her mother had joined them but a year past from consumption.

For someone still reeling from her father's death and her position as heir being taken away from her, it had crushed her in ways she hadn't felt before. Her mother had been as strong a pillar as one could ever need. She'd held herself strong when Rhaenys had been at her lowest, had been at her side when she'd given birth both times, all while hiding her own grief behind a veil of strength. When Jocelyn Baratheon had passed... Well, not even father's death had left her as devastated. She'd been given to Meleys' flames, her ashes to be mingled with her love's. It was the funeral of a dragonlord yet Rhaenys did not care. Her parents would no longer be parted from each other. Even a year on, it still left a shroud over them all. Laena had been despondent at first, yet had forgotten as every little girl would have. Little Laenor had been not even four moons old when it had happened, yet he had been solemn in the months that passed.

Still, it had not hampered his progress in the slightest. To say he was exceptional was putting it lightly. At four moons, he had said his first word. At six moons, he had taken his first steps. At nearly a year and a half, he'd already begun speaking coherent sentences and had been dragging Laena with him to Rhaenys' bedchambers for stories and books. It had left her with unspoken pride. Maester Desmond had proclaimed little Laenor to be as exceptional as one could be, just like her own sire had been at that age. It was no doubt an exaggeration on her father's part, but the similarities did bring her comfort. The thought her father never managed to hold either one of his grandchildren still needled away at her heart even now. His last words to her still haunted her almost.

"Mama!"

The sound of her son's voice pulled her away from her thoughts. He was toddling towards her with surprising speed, her husband carrying little Laena in tow. A look at Corlys' face told her all she needed to know.

Another one of Laenor's antics no doubt.

The boy had a penchant for coming up with requests that perplexed everyone despite his desire to hide them. It would not have been nearly as draining if he did not rope Laena into his plans. Sometimes she could not help but feel Laenor was a man grown in a child's skin. It had become a recurring jest to call him "Little Maester" for all his wits and of late, she'd found it to be true.

She rose from where she sat to pick up her boy with ease, planting a kiss on his cheek while he giggled.

"Mama," he called out again, his pale purple eyes brimming with mirth, "Lae-Lae and me have a… a we- wequest."

"We want sister, mama!" the girl chirped from Corlys' arms, her lips extended into a bright smile.

"Or bwother," Laenor added with a pout, "Papa and you make it now, mama."

Her husband's face only grew more and more exasperated at the mention. "Gods be good, speak to them, my love. They have been badgering me with this request all morning."

Rhaenys only stared at her children in surprise. "Where did this idea come from?" she asked, exasperated, yet still somewhat happy.

"Laenor," Laena blurted out, making his eyes widen. "He said we need little brother so we can play the Conque… Conque..rors. Conquerors!" Her lips split into a bright grin at that, a self-satisfied look on her face.

Rhaenys only arched a dark eyebrow upwards. "Little sister, you must mean then. My namesake was a girl, my son. How are you to play the Conquerors with a brother, little Laenor?"

Laenor almost blushed red. "I Queen Visenya, Laena Avon-"

"And Rhaenyx will be Queen Rhaenys!" Laena proudly proclaimed, a toothy smile on her face, "Just like you, mama!"

"Rhaenyx?" Her husband's jaw dropped open. "For a boy….?"

"Yes. And Rhaena for a girl," Laena insisted stubbornly, "For mama and me."

Rhaenys could only blink in surprise. "Rhaenyx," she tested out the name, feeling almost ridiculous, "Laena, where did you even get those names?"

"Laenor said I could choose," her little girl said with a stubborn pout, "And I want to name my brother after you, mama! You and Queen Rhaenys!"

Her baby boy only cast his sister a tired look at that, almost exasperated. Rhaenys could not help but think they all shared his look.

"I… I see. I believe it is time for you two to rest. I will discuss this with your father," she managed, still somewhat incredulous from the whole experience. Her husband only happily nodded along, eager to shuttle the children off to their nannies, before closing the gold and silver banded door with a sigh. His sea-green silks of the Essosi fashion, all trimmed with silver, were near as opulent as her own scarlet silks. His right hand ran through his silver hair wearily. Rhaenys gave him a smile.

"Did you put them up to this?" she asked, more amused than offended. The question made her husband scowl like a little boy rather than a man in his early forties. Rhaenys only walked over to him and placed a kiss on his tanned cheek, softening his expression.

"I have long given up on convincing you for a third, love," he sighed, "It was all Laenor, no doubt. For all he gladly plays the role of a babe, I am beginning to think you were right when you spoke of his… gift."

"Curse," she corrected, "Dragon dreams are a curse, husband, not a gift for all my family claims they are not. Laenor may be seeing… portents from the future. Mayhaps a younger brother as he so claims. That is the only way I could explain the name that Laena came up with. Still… If our son has been plagued by such as I have theorised…" she exhaled, "Then it would explain much of his… peculiar nature."

Corlys frowned at that. "Or 'tis just some boy's fancy for a younger brother. For all he loves Laena, she is still a girl and will never truly be able to be a companion of his. What child of one and a half namedays can decipher dragon dreams?"

"One as exceptional as our son," Rhaenys replied curtly, "He is no normal boy. You of all people should know that."

Corlys only snorted. "I have tossed away enough servants who have spoken of his oddities, yes. Still, I see not why you would do such a thing based on some dream." His expression seemed almost concerned. "Laenor's birth was difficult on your body. Another might…"

He left the words unsaid.

Rhaenys herself bit her tongue. The entire time she'd been pregnant with her son had been hellish, even more so than the first time she'd been with child. The birth had been no kinder to her, and the thought of going through it again made her stomach roil.

Still… Were the gods speaking to her son? Was this the way her blood would be seated once more atop the throne that should have by rights been hers? Another son…

Another child could claim a dragon and solidify their position as the strongest non-Royal family in Westeros. It would make forcing a marriage to Viserys' heir be even easier, especially if he desired to marry his only daughter to his son as their ancestors would have preferred. And if all failed…

They could use that child to strengthen links elsewhere and to form new alliances with the East. Another child was never a bad thing. Still, was it worth the risk? Her own mother and father had refused to have more children after her mother had almost died in childbirth with her. Did she want to share the same fate as her grandmother, Queen Alyssa? Or was the thought of another strong son or beautiful daughter enough to tempt her to dance with fate?

Mayhaps, mayhaps, mayhaps…

She was silent for a while, arms crossed over her chest. Corlys did not deign to speak, only leaning against the weirwood door in quiet thought.

"We shall try for another," Rhaenys finally said after a while, breaking the silence. "If we are lucky, Laenor's omens will be true and we will have a son… Rhaenyx."

She could not help but grimace at the name. "I pray there is a reason for that one name in particular."

Corlys only grumbled in agreement. "I would have much preferred Aethan or another Velaryon name. Jacaerys or Lucerys would be finer names for those born to us Seahorses."

Rhaenys only scoffed before leaning into him tightly and pressing her lips to his.

"Will we make a babe or not?" she asked lowly, tugging at the silken sash at his waist. Corlys only smiled and let her wrap her legs around his waist.