SI POV III

96 AC, Driftmark

My paradigm of an ideal sibling had consisted of not much: in hale health, of a robust build and preferably, with a little sausage (and Gods that sounded sexist). It was not asking for much if I was being completely truthful given the 50/50 odds I was working with (Or was it less? Should I have taken twins and the like into account? Probability had never been my strong suit after all. Well, high school was long gone so fuck it). Anyway, back to my main point….

What had that been again? Something about a sausage? Breakfast sausage with scrambled eggs-

(*ear gets twisted by invisible entity again*)

Gods fucking damnit!

I patted my poor ear, wondering once again where that damned ASB or its ilk was hiding, if it wasn't my hallucinations themselves. Two full years into this "undesired endeavour" as I liked calling it and I still hadn't grasped on how to stay fully mentally on track half of the time, or how to act the kid just about all the time.

Those thrice-damned servants were not nearly as subtle as they believed.

But back to the main topic of this conversation: the child.

It was everything I could have wanted: lusty, robust, and with the desired parts I had been pitting all my hopes on. Rhaenyx Velaryon was all one could have wanted in one sweet, sweet Valyrian package. He even had the pale blue Velaryon eyes to match.

I could not stand him.

Mayhap it was my time spent trying oh so desperately to give us babies a glowing reputation but by the Gods was this drooling baked bean annoying! When he wasn't crying, he was either chewing at poor Rhaenys' teat like it was some slice of chewy beef jerky or doing his best impersonation of Bianca Castafiore from Tintin, simultaneously threatening my delicate tympanic membrane with the mother of all ruptures while violently discharging fluids onto us random passersby trying to win a few friendship points from the bona fide bawling bellyacher that was my newborn brother.

My finely made clothes had been dredged in more piss and puke in the time I had spent with him than in the time I had spent as a literal baby! He spent his time spreading his own shit against the lovely Myrish rugs in the nursery, drooling on my dragon plushy, or responding to Laena's coddling with obnoxiously loud gurgling. How I was going to end up having children of my own to raise had me on the brink of throwing in the towel prematurely given the obvious "sniveling little shit" nature of all children under twenty.

Still, I did not hate him really, as much as I have a small penchant for complaining. In fact, he was by all standards a normal baby, far too energetic for his own good but still your run of the mill neonate. And he was my brother all things considered, so I couldn't judge him off the first three moons of his short life.

"Months", I mentally reminded myself. I had been slipping up again. I blamed it on the ludicrous amount of noxious gas I was no doubt inhaling from Rhaenyx's diapers. "Not moons. Months. God, not gods."

But I couldn't look at him and not see well… Rhaenys on her bed, looking utterly drained from the twenty-five-hour labour that had brought my little brother into this world. Thinking about that made me think of my own role in this whole third child plot and thinking about that made my meow meow hurt deep inside my chest. I knew it logically wasn't fully my fault given I wasn't the sperm donor in question, nor did I believe Rhaenys would ever let my silver fox of a father get her with child against her will. Had he done that, he'd have lost a couple layers of skin and muscle by now if Meleys was feeling a bit kind. But my stratagem had still put Rhaenys, who I unfortunately was already considering to be my mother, at risk. Canon had had her have only two children for a reason and I had reasonably extrapolated why she hadn't gone for a third. It was risky, it was playing with fate, and it was downright shit.

I knew pregnancy could be woeful, but I did not really think things through fully. Mother had spent the entire time she was preggers looking like she'd just gone through hell and back with a quick detour in the frozen tundra shithole that was Russia during the Napoleonic Wars. I wasn't privy to how her pregnancy with me had been (or should I say Laenor before his consciousness had been whisked away), but if it wasn't even a fraction as bad as the stomach-churning, overtaxing, bloated pregnancy the Queen Who Never Was had to suffer, well, let's just say one child would be it for me. And the lesser said about the birth itself, the better. Four-and-twenty hours had passed by the time the child, as I liked calling him, came out covered in what no doubt had been the same old gunk I had been… "graced" with.

Mother had been all but bedridden after that, unable to even nurse little Rhaenyx. Speaking of which, that name was so fucking ridiculous. I had expected better from my new parents! I had been gatekeeping Aemon for my own son but Seven above, why couldn't he have been named after Corlys' father, Aethon! Why they had gone with Laena's frankly braindead suggestion of a name was beyond me! Rhaenys never struck me as someone arrogant enough to do that like the Conkhead and his less based wife. You think you know someone, and this is what they do!

(*mentally slaps imaginary table*)

Rhaenyx wasn't Anus Aenys or Khaleesi-levels of bad, but it wasn't exactly that much better. Not nearly as good a name as Laenor in my completely unbiased opinion.

Still, a bird in the hand is better than two in the bush as the saying goes. Rhaenys seemed far livelier now than she had been before and had even begun nursing that irksome baked bean of a brother of mine. And my brother's birth had heralded new opportunities as I liked to call it. Baelon the Brave had come for a quick visit on the absolute unit that was Vhagar, the coolest of any of the Targaryen dragons ever. Queen Visenya's mount was huge (and I mean yuge). She had been heavy enough to shake the very foundations of High Tide and seemed to blot out the sun itself with her ginormous, bulky frame. The fact she had not even reached her greatest size was absolutely baffling. Baelon was nearly as impressive, I had to admit, very reluctantly. I could almost see why you could want him as king. He was tall, an inch, maybe two, taller than Rhaenys and about the same height as Corlys at six foot two, with a well-built frame. He wasn't built like a tank like my soon-to-be dragon, but he looked powerful enough that I was somewhat envious of his physique, especially with Dark Sister strapped at his hip like that.

Not that I got too much of a look at him given I had been all but locked inside the nursery with my siblings in tow as my parents, or more accurately, my mother, dealt with her unwanted trespasser of an uncle. He had been given the courtesy due to a prince of the blood, but he had stayed only a day. He didn't seem half as fun as I had thought him to be. There were lines on his fair face, not quite as handsome as my grandfather was reputed to have been but still Valyrian levels of good-looking. He'd kept his face clean shaven and his silver hair had been kept down to his shoulders. His dark purple eyes had a look that always seemed sad, even when he forced on a smile for us kids and proved to be the cool uncle anyone would have wanted.

A shame his sons turned out the way they did.

Well anyway, we, the kids, were given a set of gifts: a fine set of porcelain dolls for Laena, a book for me (rumours about me being intelligent were apparently flooding the capital), and a set of baby toys for dear Rhaenyx. And not just with toys, but news as well! It seemed that Aemma Arryn had gotten with child again, and if the Gods were unkind, Rhaenyra would come in the following year.

I had been sequestered back to the nursery before long, but I had caught a slight glimpse of genuine happiness on my mother's face before the same grim look took over. A part of me wondered if she was thinking the same as Baelon was: would this one survive?

If I remembered correctly, there had been one who had died in the cradle. A son was born around the same time as I, just a few weeks before. Prince Aemon.

I could see why Rhaenys' anger had deepened over the years. While it was no doubt Prince Ghee's way of trying to mend the rift between the two sides of the family, all it had done was widen it. Rhaenys had wanted to name me Aemon and when the new prince's birth was announced, she'd been more angry than flattered. Still, she could have still named me Aemon if not for my cousin's death just a scant few weeks before my own birth. Doing so would have been in bad taste and it seemed the name had been tainted by that death.

No one really spoke of him, not really. I'd only found out through one of the servants I had tried to win over and when I had mentioned it to my parents in as cute a way as possible, they'd both looked at me sternly and said that the prince had passed within a fortnight of his birth. The servants had been warned off after that, the one who'd slipped me that tiny bit of information fired as my day-to-today routine returned to its usual mediocrity.

Baelon left before the evening was over, his words as stilted and stiff as his posture had been. It did not take a genius to know there'd been an argument of some sort. He'd left me with a ruffle of my hair and a bright white grin, telling me that Aemon's grandson didn't disappoint before mother had drawn me back into her grip, her lips twisted in distaste. Vhagar the Gigachadette and Baelon left soon after, returning the sun to dear old Driftmark. I suspected Baelon had come with an olive branch, more than eager to make amends. He seemed earnest enough and didn't try to lord over anyone despite his greater status in theory. Still, the wounds of the past seemed too great for even him to overcome. The damage had been done the moment he'd been made heir, whether he wished for it or not, and not even a short visit would soothe over the grievous insult that Jaehaerys had dealt her.

Nothing would ever truly could. Although, her blood on the throne might be a start to making amends.

RHAENYS I

Driftmark, 99AC

The years had soothed the ache ever so slightly.

Rhaenys had never been one eager with just the simple things in life. She had wanted glory; she had wanted fame. She had wanted so desperately to replicate the actions of her namesake, to be another Queen Rhaenys who would be as beloved, as much of a conciliator as her grandsire as she was a warrior like Queen Visenya. Looking back on it now, Rhaenys realized it was her father she'd been trying to replicate. Just and kind, but never weak. Able to find a middle ground between the stone-hearted general and the sharp-witted, canny diplomat that a ruler should be.

Motherhood and building a family had always been an afterthought in her young mind. Looking at her three children - all dressed in their warm, tight-fitting riding clothes with bright smiles gracing their faces - she almost laughed at the thought of it now. There was a part of her that would always desire the queenship, but a greater part loved her children more. Dauntless Laena with her daring streak, mild-mannered Laenor with his quiet nature and little Rhaenyx, but three yet already showing signs of a knight in making.

They were her pride and joy, those she loved more than anyone else in this world and acquiescing to their stubborn demands for a ride on Meleys was more of a treat than the burden she liked to make it out to be.

"I want to go quick!" Laena babbled on, tugging on her silver-gold ponytail with a gloved hand. "Quicker than last time, mama!"

Laenor only snorted at his sister's enthusiasm, ever the prim and proper 'Little Maester'.

"Faster," he corrected matter-of-factly before tossing her an amused glance. "And if we go any faster than last time, I'm afraid that it'll be more than just the birds you should want to avoid."

Laena only pouted, tightening her hold on her youngest brother's hand. Laenor let out a laugh and ruffled her hair, acting more like the older sibling than the younger.

The years had only molded her son into an even more solemn child, always with a slight frown on his face as his gaze went elsewhere. It was clear to her that those were his dragon dreams in play, yet he always seemed to deny the existence of such, no matter how much she prodded.

"My dreams involve only a peaceful life," he had said in response to her queries. His voice had been wistful, as if that life seemed so out of reach. "A quiet life, a quiet people. All I could ever desire in this life of mine."

Even with his plastered on smiles, Laenor was an awful liar. His eyes always averted her gaze when he dismissed such talk, almost as if he was lying to himself in some vain attempt to put away his melancholy. His speech was far too advanced, his mind was too quick. Their Maester, Edmund, a wizened old man long past his middle years with brown eyes still bright and pasty white skin almost as white as the few remaining tufts of hair on his round head, had long declared Laenor had the makings of a man of knowledge. Rhaenys could not refute his claim.

Laenor spent all his time in the library studying old tomes, some from the days of the Freehold itself. His eager eyes never tore away from the yellowed, almost crumbling pages of those large leather-bound books. Instead, they drank in the information like it was the sweetest fruit, admiring the illuminations and taking to his own diary to sketch designs that even she could hardly make out. He had Maester Edmund seek more books, this time from the Citadel itself, to read more on certain subjects or to, as he put it, come to his own conclusion after having taken all theories and historical retellings into account. It was the work of a bright mind, one of a kind.

It was a shame it had come with the cost of a normal childhood. No boy of five namedays should look as ruminative as her Laenor yet his boons were as much of a gift as they were a curse. Little Rhaenyx had come as the boy had predicted, a son that would no doubt be involved in the portents he had seen, and all of it was to keep their family safe.

For that, the cost of a dragon ride seemed a small price to pay.

Meleys was curled into herself when they arrived, her scarlet scales glinting like flakes of blood in the harsh rays of noontide. Her left wing was propped awkwardly upwards beside her, almost as if she were giving shelter to something while her copper eyes fluttered awake lazily. She left out a soft whine of greeting as the sight of her rider, her beaten copper horns tilted towards them so that they could embark on her more easily. She had already been saddled before they had arrived, and she rose with a trail of smoke coming out of her nostrils. Rhaenys only pressed a kiss near her eye, her gloved hands pressed against the scales that burned as hot as coal.

"I want to sit at the front!" Laena declared fervently to her mother, almost tugging poor Rhaenyx off the ground with how quickly she lifted her arms. Her youngest only tugged his blue cloak lined with silver thread closer to his body, his shoulder-length silver hair hidden underneath a soft conical hat made of blue felt. His elder brother matched him wearing the same, although his was teal and silver to match his own cloak.

"You sat in front last time," said son protested, "It's my turn. You hog the front far too much!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do t-"

Meleys' lazy roar, more of a yawn if Rhaenys were to be accurate, cut their little spat short, making them both jump in surprise at the she-dragon's small burst of utter irritation. Rhaenys was glad that her dragon knew her so well at times like this. As much as she loved her children, they were a pain to discipline, especially when petty arguments like this one arose. And sometimes, she had to turn to other methods to get it through their heads that she would not tolerate this sort of behaviour, no matter how old they were.

"Laenor will sit at the front," Rhaenys told her daughter sternly. "You were seated at the fore the last time we flew. This time, Laenor will be given the opportunity to do the same. So will Rhaenyx the next time we fly together."

Laena's eyes only widened in utter shock, her mouth already open to disagree. "But mama-"

"I will not hear any more protests from you, Laena," Rhaenys said, doubling down on her decision. "You will have your turn in time. Laenor, you-"

"On it," her son interrupted without a second thought, legs already carrying him towards the Red Queen's dipped neck.. Laena scowled but Rhaenyx only laughed at the sight of his brother, hard enough that some snot shot out of his nostril. Laena gagged and pulled her hand away at that, Rhaenys only wiped at his nose with a silk handkerchief.

Laenor was halfway onto the saddle when he shrieked in surprise, his legs almost vaulting off the netting as a little bird flapped its wings near Laenor's face. No, not a bird… It was far too different in shape and its shrieks sounded more like a hiss than chirping. A hatchling? Rhaenys narrowed her eyes, walking ever so cautiously to the thing with a hand on the grip of her whip ready to attack if necessary. It did not look particularly harmful. It seemed freshly hatched, small enough to wear around your neck with a silver-grey appearance. Her gaze shifted momentarily to Meleys, watching as her mount looked on eagerly at her newest child. When did this happen? Meleys was young enough that clutches were not so out of the blue for her but she hadn't had an egg hatch in near a decade. Rhaenys had always chalked this down to her not being on Dragonstone anymore, yet she'd given birth in a way to a child of her own. A little hatchling that seemed to be trying to latch onto Laenor, almost like a cat.

"Get away from me," he bellowed, flailing his arms wildly as he tried to slap the hatchling away. "Scram!"

The little dragon only let out a small gout of flame, barely enough to burn, before making its way around Laenor's neck, almost giggling like a child in the way he did. Had the little hatchling… claimed her son? Rhaenys could only watch, dumbstruck as she watched her son try – and fail – to pry the dragon off his neck. It was as mind boggling as it was… wholesome. The dragon seemed intent on sticking with her son, something nearly everyone admired. The two children that were with her only cheered at the sight of the baby dragon in childish awe, with Laena in particular gushing over the little thing and how 'cute' it looked. Her second born unfortunately did not reciprocate those feelings.

"Bugger off, you little miscreant. I am not in need of a dragon! Now get off me!"

The hatchling only curled even tighter, its small claws lightly digging into Laenor's leathers to cling onto its new rider. Laenor scowled again, trying to rip the dragon off but all that did was make him nuzzle Laenor at the neck. The sight made Rhaenys smile. She had not thought she'd see her child claim a dragon when she had woken up today yet this was a welcome surprise. She could almost see in her mind's eye her husband's face at the sight of their son with a dragon perched on his shoulder. Sensing his efforts were in vain, Laenor finally stopped his struggle and turned to Rhaenys almost pleadingly.

"Mother, get this thing off of me," he begged, "I do not want this… baby hatchling. He's too small. I need-"

"- to take care of him," Rhaenys finally said, walking closer towards him to calm him down. Her grip on her whip loosened ever so slightly. "Once you are bonded to a dragon, nothing can break the connection between you both. If there was, that knowledge left us a long time ago."

"But mother- "

"There is nothing I can do, son," she admitted. What little magic the Targaryens had ever known had died a long time ago, leaving them with only the essentials needed for dragon riding and its ilk.

"But- " He paused, almost in dismay, his pink lips thinning into a line of contemplation. He tried once more, halfheartedly this time, to pull the hatchling off again, but the little silver-grey hatchling only cozied up to him even more. Sensing that he had no other choice, Laenor's shoulders only slumped forward as he allowed the hatchling to make itself at home.

"It seems I have no other choice," he sighed, watching as the nimble silvery drake exhaled softly, letting out a puff of smoke. "Huh, Seasmoke?"

The hatchling let out a shrill sound of agreement. Laenor only groaned.

LAENA I

Driftmark, 101 AC

"They've been there for hours."

Her brother did not even raise his eyes from the tome he'd been reading. Instead, Laenor only turned over the page, his index finger following each word with careful precision, methodically taking every single word with eyes that never seemed anything less than efficient. At the foot of the velvet couch over two feet away, her youngest brother, Rhaenyx toyed with his wooden sword, oblivious to the tenseness that had overtaken the castle since the morn. But Laena had noticed. Mother and father had not been seen since Maester Edmund had come to them, a message in hand. The old man's face had been a mask of worry, the wrinkled lines only deepening as he had interrupted their family as they broke their fast. Mother and father had disappeared into father's solar shortly after, leaving the three of them alone as the world itself seemed to slow down.

Something had happened.

Every servant seemed to have caught on. Their whispers were hushed and quickly muttered yet their eyes never trailed away from Laenor, almost as if he were involved in whatever had occurred. Laena had grown worried since then. Laenor had not shown any visible sign of distress but even she could see he was more ruminative than before. Only Seasmoke, the pony-sized dragon that had been his since a year and a half ago, seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. Even then, it was for but a second.

When he did speak, his words seemed halfhearted, as if something else dominated his thoughts. Laena knew that he knew. Laenor always knew everything.

Something had happened and Laena could not for the life of her figure out what it was.

Laenor scratched Seasmoke on the underside of his chin lazily, his pale purple eyes looking at her almost contemplatively before he shook his head and sighed. It was one she had heard before, the sigh of someone too tired to speak to a child. It was hard sometimes to remember Laenor was her younger brother. He never seemed to act like it. From the way he acted to the way he spoke. Still, whatever was on his mind had been enough to leave him slightly irritated. His teal silk tunic, threaded with delicate patterns in silver, was creased, the jewels that dotted it almost disappearing under the shadow of his tome. His nails, always clipped short, seemed to dig into the fine leather of the book, a measure she'd learned helped her brother calm down despite the self-irritation it caused him. She leaned closer, waiting for an answer. He did not even give her another glance.

The action, or rather, lack of had her frowning.

"You know," she whispered, leaning over the arm of the couch. The soft velvet tickled her arms, nearly as warm as the fire that had been burning in the hearth. The sitting room was not too lavishly furnished, yet it had the hallmark traits of High Tide. Polished walls of marble lined with ancient tapestries, stained glass windows from Myr and busts of ancient Lords of the Tides lined up neatly on ebon pedestals. There were toys littered on the soft, Myrish rugs, mostly wooden toy soldiers and plush toy dragons that she and 'Nyx had been using to try and distract themselves.

"I know nothing, sister," Laenor dismissed with a wave of his hand, attention returning to his book. It was about the Conquest from the looks of it. "I know as much as 'Nyx. That is to say, nothing at all."

Their little brother shot him a glare at the mention, shaking out of his daze. His blue eyes burned with annoyance. "I know plenty!" he sulked, sounding the child. Laenor only patted him on the head goodnaturedly.

"That you do," he agreed. "That you do." The words made Rhaenyx preen.

"You have a theory, do you not?" Laena decided to ask instead, feigning disinterest. Laenor only sent her a look of disapproval.

"'Tis never good to say such things out loud lest they turn out to be true."

Even Seasmoke seemed inclined to agree as he let out a soft snort of agreement. It seemed almost like a dream that Laenor had not wanted him so on account of his small size. Nowadays, they seemed inseparable.

"Even so," she began hesitantly, "If such things were to involve us-"

"Then mother and father will inform us in due time," Laenor replied in dismissal. "For now, it is none of our concern. Mayhaps a bit of reading will keep your mind occupied, Laena. Or looking at some maps. I know it has helped me."

Laena could not disagree with him on that. Her wanderlust had only intensified during the past few years and all she desired more than anything was a dragon of her own to fly away on. The greatest dragon there was.

Vhagar, the last of the Conquerors' dragons and the largest there was. It seemed almost sinful to think of given her mother's uncle already rode her and would no doubt pass it to a grandchild of his own, mayhap their cousin Rhaenyra who'd been born but a few years past. Yet Laena could not help but let her dreams overtake her sometimes. The thought of taking to the skies on such a lovely creature, to ride on one who helped conquer and explore the world with her…

It was what any child wanted.

She slid back down onto the ground, grabbing the plush toy dragon close to her chest, slipping into reveries as the thought of the bronze dragon dominated her thoughts once more. By the time her parents had returned, she had half a dozen maps open, trying her hardest to estimate the distances and time it would take to get from one place to the other.

Mother's face told her everything she needed to know. It was not warm like it usually was. It was the face of the Lady of the Tides: austere and not ready to brook any disagreement. It made them all stand up. The scarlet and black robes her mother wore seemed ominous for some reason.

Her father seemed not much warmer. In his grip was curled a scroll, its wax seal broken as the ends of the vellum flapped around. The looks on their faces made Laena bite her lip in anxiety. Not even 'Nyx spoke as their father had them all seated obediently in front of them. It seemed like a lifetime had passed before the news hit her seriously. The words hadn't registered as they should have, too caught up in worry for her ears to want to listen. She saw her mother's lips move but all she could focus on were the words that mattered.

"My uncle has passed, and the king must choose a new heir."

Laena had stared at her mother with a wide-open jaw at that, Laenor had just sighed tiredly. They were old enough by now to know what such news entailed.

She knew she had no chance. Even Mother had been passed over for the throne that should have been hers. But Laenor… She saw hope that she'd never seen in a long time in her parents' eyes. Hope for the crown mother had been denied.

Hope for the Iron Throne of Westeros.