SI POV IV

101 AC, Dragonstone

There is something particularly refreshing about finding oneself in grisly danger. Not the peril itself, mind you; I am fairly sure that I am at least as intelligent as the average dolphin after all. But sometimes, I do grow too lax in regards to the precariousness of my situation, also known as the constant threat on my second life. It was times like this that a 'HERE'S JOHNNY' reminder came in handy. A simple but scary reminder that, for all my foreknowledge leading up to this inevitable Dance, I was pretty much a useless marshmallow waiting its turn to end up skewered, roasted, then slathered between the two graham crackers that would act as my proverbial casket.

Just before they tossed my s'mores-like sarcophagus plop into the ocean if the ancient traditions of House Velaryon were followed.

But again, I've gone totally off topic.

My point is that, for all my careful planning, I am probably doomed to end up prematurely dead. Some orators might refer to the phenomenon I call my sinister second life as some overly detailed manifestation of Murphy's Law, but I much preferred Sod's Law, its shittier British cousin. Just like the British, I preferred to go by the crassest way possible. And just like the British, it went straight to the point, no stalling whatsoever. Much like me you could say, shitty adages included.

The point when all good things would crash and burn was not an 'if' in my case - it was a 'when'. Now, I am taking certain liberties with this dicey assumption of mine. But statistics rule in my favour I would like to think. Not my strongest point, but I had easily mapped out the likelihood of things going my way and they were as fictional as decent plumbing in this most shitty (quite literally) of worlds.

One could not be a Targaryen/Velaryon during this era and not expect something to go horribly wrong. Not even the grandest, wankiest of wankfests will realistically leave their MC safe from the horrible reality of Daemon Targaryen's existence, so my hopes for doing more than just prepping for the Dance were slim.

Besides, if my story was anything like the other hundreds of thousands of self-inserts online, I would inevitably run into enemy plot armour. Now, now, I know that many of these fanmade fables end up with the typical 'butterflies' and the many 'canon divergences'' of their lore, but other than Rhaenyx existing and then some, I had done moot to really change the tides of House Velaryon. Now maybe this was me getting too existential, but I had already accepted that my life would probably fall into the usual tropes from my sheer rotten luck alone, and probably some Alien Space Bat interference. I just knew I would eventually suffer from the Aemon 'Jon' Targaryen syndrome somewhere down the line. Also known as the forced implementation of canon to better suit your readers from whatever Gods that were using me as a way to kill a few decades of their time. After all, whoever thought of tossing me into this backwards world probably wanted nothing more than for the Dance to crop up with a few changes here and there, Black wank and Green hate included. Don't blame me for my wacky logic. I am, after all, a highly paranoid, unpleasant pessimist with trust issues by nature.

Or maybe, I just really, really don't want to even contemplate a world where I was truly thrown off the deep end with no solid details to jump off on.

Who knows? I would hardly consider myself a prime philosopher.

But the universe had finally tossed me my first L and I could already see the house of cards collapsing. Said nudge into the wrong direction came in the form of Elizabeth the Dragoness, or, as everyone else liked to call her, Meleys the Red Queen. It had taken a few roars and a bit of squinting (the night and the distance wasn't really helping my sleepy self) for me to really discern who was the dragon who had decided to swing by our stretch of the beach. That did not matter of course. A dragon - any dragon in fact - meant danger in either the physical and/or emotional forms. Laena might have found it funny to tease me about wetting my breeches, but I won't deny that the sound had very nearly made me unintentionally let out a stream.

A small reminder that I might still very well be suffering from intense, long-term psychosis, so take these nervous ramblings from a hungry, freezing seven year old with a grain of salt.

Meleys landed with no small ounce of pizazz, drifting like a Mazda MX-5 right in front of us, an angry growl on her lips. Pale yellow eyes the colour of heliodor stared down at two pyjama-clad children up way past their bedtime, no doubt a perfect copy of the look in her rider's eyes. Vhagar did not move a limb to my disappointment (no doubt Laena's inborn supreme dragonriding talent or something coming into play), but her eyes did stare down at Meleys threateningly - showing teeth that could have snapped even her in two - and her immense wing curved around the young girl protectively, every fibre of her being ready for a fight that would not happen. My own majestic mount, Seasmoke the Sissy, cowered away with a chicken-like squawk.

Maybe we were fucked.

Rhaenys Targaryen certainly did not seem too pleased as she all but jumped down from her saddle onto the beach, hair wild, clothes looking like they'd been quickly thrown on, and features contorted into a scowl that could have given Maegor a run for his money.

Her face was flushed red with anger, and, for the first time, I saw the Baratheon in her rise to the fore in the shape of blazing hot fury. She definitely looked like someone who had the same relation as the dude who caved chests in for funsies with his physics defying warhammer. Her breathing was uneven and barely under control, as if she was brewing a tempest under those flared nostrils of hers. Veins popped angrily against her tightly clenched fists, creating a fairly good replica of the Mander on those white-knuckled hands. Her lips were drawn into a thin line of displeasure, as if fighting back a hurl of diatribe.

Yep, we were definitely fucked.

"Mama," I squeezed out, forcing on a smile. I wondered if my face really looked as bad as it felt. My attempts at rubbing away the now-crusted blood that had trickled from my nose were quite evidently in vain given the way those pale violet eyes zeroed in on me with a mixture of concern. Still, our mother did not let up.

"Come here, both of you."

It was not a request; it was a command. Like clockwork, Laena and I both straightened and marched towards her, heads bowed in shame. I gave her a small comforting pat on the shoulder on the way there. Behind me, Vhagar's huge bulk stirred, as if hostile, but did not engage in a fight. Seasmoke, on the other hand, was probably trying hard to go the way of John Cena.

His bravado did not extend to standing up to my mother from the looks of it.

Rhaenys' six foot height had never seemed quite as imposing as now, with one gloved hand resting on each hip, and her heavy breathing reminiscent of Vhagar's own predatory breaths. It made a part of me want to cringe at the lambasting I was destined to be getting.

I could only hope that Rhaenys hadn't switched to corporal punishment in the past hour or so since we had run off. I did not fancy my delicate skin's chances against a medieval spanking.

Learning how to ride a pony alone had chafed my poor thighs to near bleeding.

You can imagine my surprise when she instead knelt down with urgency, desperate arms coming to embrace us with a certain ferocity I could only describe as akin to that of a mama bear.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice concerned. Laena shook her head, her eyes still focusing on the ground. I shrugged.

"I hurt my nose a bit, but I don't think I broke it."

"And you?" Her gaze turned towards Laena.

"No, mama," my sister managed.

"Thank the Gods!" The princess sighed in relief, pulling us back into another tight hug. Her arms - usually so sure, stable, and strong - were trembling. It was hard not to melt into them. For all that we had survived, a part of me had feared we might never get another one of these again.

Sadly, our moment of peace did not last very long.

"What were you two thinking!?" the Lady of the Tides barked out suddenly, making us both jump. "What madness led you to go on this fool's quest?!

I grimaced at the sharpness of her tone. It was more than expected, but that did not mean it didn't feel as shocking as a bucket of ice water to the face. I had never, ever made my mama mad. There truly was a first time for everything.

"I… It was me, mama. I told Laena to do it," I reluctantly admitted, my cheeks burning red.

Laena's pale violet eyes, so much like our mother's, fell upon me with shock.

"I told her to claim Vhagar because I was scared. She had nothing to do with any of this. Not really…" I swallowed thickly. "If someone is to blame, it is me. Please forgive me. I apologise for letting my fears get the better of me and convincing Laena that this was not a mistake. I will accept any punishment without complaint."

"Is that so?" Rhaenys' voice was hard. I nodded weakly.

It was not a complete lie. I would much rather have Vhagar on my side than on Team Green or on that of the Rogue Prick's. Her gaze switched onto her daughter next, who wilted at the sight. I sent my sister a comforting glance, hoping that she would at least stick to the script. I had all but prepared for getting the mother of all groundings from the moment I had concocted this messy scheme. I may very well be a bastard-coated bastard, but cravenly backstabber I am not. I did intend to save Laena the trouble of being forced to spend more time than necessary listening to Septon Florion drone on and on about the Seven.

Laena, unfortunately, did not allow me to do so.

"Mama," my sister's voice quivered as she spoke, "It is true that Laenor was the one who spoke of it to me… but I did not disagree with him. The reason I came was because I wanted to claim Vhagar as my own. He may have sown the seed, but I watered it knowing what it entailed. Please do not blame only him!"

Our mother only shook her head, disappointed but not surprised. I was beginning to think I was growing a bit too obvious, huh. The anger that had filled her before slowly started to creep back in.

Damn it, Laena!

"I never intended to do so. You are no fool, girl. Have you both any notion of what you have just done?" Rhaenys' very voice was on edge, as if it were covered with Valyrian Steel. "Do you realise how easily this could have gone wrong?"

I winced. "I had thought that Seasmoke's presence would be enough to deter any wild dragons from crossing our paths."

At the mention of his name, said dragon glared daggers at me from his place of hiding. He very clearly did not want his role in our escapade to be mentioned. He had gotten more than one scolding from my mother after torching a rug or two, and clearly did not want to implicate himself even more.

Well, damn him! If I was going down with this sinking ship, I was dragging that arrogant bastard down with me. Maybe he should have thought twice before forcibly laying claim to me as his human.

Not that his worry mattered much.

Rhaenys scoffed at the thought of my pony-sized mount being our protector and I could not blame her. I loved Seasmoke. For all I criticised him, I would die before I let harm come to him, but the Gods knew that we both preferred lounging in luxury instead of getting into fist fights. Self preservation was our game, not tossing ourselves on the front lines. We had Rhaenyx and whatever chonkster I could manage to get him to bond with to do that for us.

That of course did not prevent the silver-grey dragon from looking utterly offended at the concept of him not exulting the air of dangerousness someone like the Predator from Alien possessed. That attitude of his was going to get us both killed one day, probably from showing too much cheek to Daemon or whatever bullshit the prat would make up to justify disemboweling me. I hoped that Seasmoke could at least be spared from that, though chances were slim with all that sass he cooped up in that tiny body of his.

"I find it hard to imagine Seasmoke fighting a wild dragon like the Cannibal," Rhaenys continued, scowling. Her eyes flickered to Seasmoke's, staring him down. "Dragons not much larger than him have ended up as his supper."

I could swear I heard an audible thud coming from Seasmoke's direction following that reveal. A gag-inducing fecal odor permeated through the air seconds after, mingling with an audible shriek of fear coming from the wyrm.

Okay, maybe I had underestimated how dangerous this plan of mine was. But Rhaenys did not need to know that.

"But we survived," I pointed out, "and with hardly a scratch on us!"

Both Laena and Rhaenys shot me withering glares at that. I was beginning to think my nose really did resemble Rudolph the red-nose reindeer's if it did indeed look as swollen as it felt.

"I think you have both supplied me with sufficient excuses," my mother continued harshly, each word resolute, "I have had quite enough for the night. We will leave. Now."

Laena flinched at the tone. "Mama," she pleaded, her eyes welling up with tears, "Please. We did not mean to-"

"To what, daughter?" she demanded sternly, her voice brooking no argument. "To run off in the middle of the night like on some fool's quest? To worry your mother and father half to death?"

"I… Forgive me, mama." She trembled, hot tears streaming down her face. Her lips wobbled with every word.

The Lady of Driftmark merely shook her head in disappointment at that, her body almost deflating from exhaustion. It was only then that I noticed that her eyes were glassy. Guilt surged within me at the sight. She stood up with her arms crossed over her chest, looking as weary as I felt.

"We will speak more of this later," she finally said after a beat, her tone… defeated. "On Meleys. Now!"

RHAENYS IV

Rhaenys did not dare even speak to her children as they flew back to Dragonstone in silence, her anger still too fresh for her to manage words that were not incensed. Neither of her children seemed to mind. Laena sat quietly at the front, eyes wet with tears. Sniffling sounds came from her every few heartbeats, accompanied by sobs that fought to stay quiet. Laenor was seated behind her in stark silence, his face as unreadable as the starry night.

Rhaenys was glad neither of them spoke. To hear any more excuses might have ended in a tirade that she would prefer to avoid. Her mother had always called it a product of her heritage; she called it a dragon temper born out of Baratheon fury and Targaryen passion. It had been the bane of Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon's lives when she had been a babe, they had been so fond of reminding her.

"One day you will have a child with a dragon temper just as bad as yours," her mother had teased her once.

As a child, Rhaenys had always sulked at the perceived insult. Now, simply thinking of it just left her aching at the heart.

Laenor was too mature for outbursts like that, but Laena had a touch of it. It was her little Rhaenyx who had inherited it the most. Hardly a day went by without him being too bold for his own good, either ending up successful in his daily pursuit or throwing sulky tantrums that continuously challenged the patience of his nannies. Endearing in one so young, but draining to deal with.

Coming here, she had expected her youngest to be the one to cause a ruckus. His less than pleasant encounter with her cousin had all but confirmed her worst fears, though she would hardly fault him for standing up for himself in that case. Yet, somehow it was he who had behaved the most during this trip while her two eldest children acted like froward rogues with hardly a care for their safety!

You are being too harsh, Rhaenys chided herself.

It was hard not to. No caring mother could watch such an incident unfold and not feel trepidation at all that could have gone wrong. It was in a mother's nature to fret over her children's safety. Yet, Rhaenys could not deny that these incidents rarely passed without some ulterior motive behind it. She had long learned that Laenor rarely put his sister up to these things without good reason. Another dragon dream mayhaps? Even then…

She had grown to hold a degree of trust in her son and his tightly-held visions, but that did not mean that the vague worry that they were not completely trustworthy did not constantly disquiet her. The Gods take as the Gods give, so the saying went. An omen need not always show him the complete truth.

But for her heedful boy to go to such lengths to get the greatest dragon in all the Known World on their side was staggering to think about. That thought perturbed her more than she liked to admit. He had said he was scared. But scared of what exactly? Was it a child's fear or the methodical planning of a Gods-blessed oracle?

Rhaenys did not see her cousins as particularly dangerous men. Viserys was far too much of their family's dove to attempt something as violent as open warfare amongst kin. But Daemon.. Daemon had never been one to back down from a fight. He was petulant, ambitious, and forceful, arrogant in his need to possess all he found to be his or of his kin. With his father's firm hand and their grandfather's stern gaze, he had never been allowed to run wild, but now with Prince Baelon dead and King Jaehaerys' health failing, he had been allowed to get away with far more than he could have before.

Why must it always end in such strife?

Was her family cursed to always end up squabbling amongst each other while the nobles of Westeros remained unchecked? Her grandsire might be known as the Conciliator, but Rhaenys could not help but think that he had all but torn his family apart out of pure prejudice against those he thought to be too weak to rule.

Rhaenys would not allow her Laenor the same freedom. She would make him king somehow, through a gentler approach to politics than Corlys. If that meant she would have to make Viserys' daughter his Queen, then so be it.

The piercing cry of a dragon broke her out of her thoughts, familiar even all these years later. A part of Rhaenys wanted to close her eyes, to pretend it was her father's gentle gesture for his daughter to return from hours spent flying instead of the bellicose warning she knew it to be.

Coiled around one of Dragonstone's soaring towers, Caraxes watched with a rage that matched that of his rider's without fault. Meleys responded with a cry of her own, no less threatening than her brother's. A distance away, Vhagar's booming roar made both of her children's sound paltry. Rhaenys idly wondered if dragons felt the same kinship amongst themselves that their riders did.

The dark walls of Dragonstone stood stark in the gloomy shadow of the Dragonmont, a dozen pinpricks of light speckled all over its grounds. They glowed a vibrant red, like blood leaking from a freshly torn scab, matching a pair of eyes that followed their every movement with predatory aggression.

Rhaenys did not allow it to unsettle her, not when two more dragons followed swiftly behind her own. Instead, she calmly coaxed Meleys down, ready for all that would greet her down below.

Two dozen guardsmen dressed in silver-and-seagreen and black-and-red livery filled the outside of the outer court of the castle proper, huddled closely around their silver-haired patrons. They gave Meleys a large berth to land, the red of the fire giving way to a softer orange besieged by a wanner yellow. The ground groaned lightly under the she-dragon's weight, sweeping grains of sand into the air as she shook her slender body, forcing them all to pace back a step. Fear dominated the rough features of the Targaryen garrison as Meleys let out a guttural growl. The Red Queen found satisfaction in that, her mouth drawn into a wicked smile.

The massive ebon doors of the entrance were flung open, set within the sculpted confines of a dragon's fearsome front. Even at night they stood out, banded with gold and silver that fronted the entry of Dragonstone, paired here and there with goldenheart wood and red rubies that mimicked licks of flame erupting around a set of pointed teeth. Dying torches burned at the sconces, shining a dim light on her family.

Rhaenys worked to undo the chains methodically, eyes meeting the faraway ones of her husband.

He stood with their youngest in hand on the left of her cousins, still dressed in the silks he had worn to dinner that night. Viserys and Daemon were no different, though their clothes were noticeably more wrinkled than before. Only Aemma and Rhaenyx wore their nightclothes, something Rhaenys herself had had to discard in favour of more practical clothing to fight off the chill of the night. The small form of Maester Jasper kept quietly beside Aemma, his grey robes engulfing his spindly figure.

Far above, Caraxes' eyes still lingered like two red-hot coals.

It was Rhaenyx who approached them first, a pool of snot and dried tracks of tears covering his face as he jumped into Laena's arms barely a heartbeat after her feet had touched the ground and sobbed in her chest. Corlys followed him down the stairs soon after at a more sedate pace, though his silver hair looked well run through.

Violet eyes gazed sternly at their children as he approached, but Rhaenys could spy hints of curiosity and eagerness hidden within them.

It made her lips thin further, though she said nothing.

"I claimed Vhagar, papa," Laena piped out without any prodding, shrinking into a small slip of a girl trying her best to disappear.

"That she did," Laenor confirmed, his brother half-hanging from his neck in joy. Her eldest son's face was cringing away from the various fluids flowing down his younger brother's face. "I suppose we will be having a stern talking to in private. Or will you have us shipped to Driftmark before the sun comes up?

Her husband smiled slightly at them despite himself. His gaze was warm.

"What you did was dangerous, reckless and could have gotten you both killed!" he stated without pause, kneeling down to match their height. Then, he gently placed a hand on each of their shoulders fondly. "But I cannot deny that I am also awestruck and impressed. Especially of you, my sweet girl. Gods, you make me feel like a callow boy, sweetling."

Their daughter blushed at that, the barest hint of a smile on her red face. Corlys laughed, drawing her into a firm hug, before moving on towards Laenor.

Rhaenys watched it all unravel with a look of disapproval on her face. Again, she held her tongue. She did not need to prod much to know that her husband was more than pleased by this revelation. He had been the one pushing for it all along after all. That it had happened without his urging no doubt filled him with immense joy, especially when he caught sight of Vhagar landing two towers away from Caraxes, Seasmoke in tow. Rhaenyx watched them all with his mouth agape, sorrow forgotten at the sight of Vhagar.

"Mama, I want one too," he admitted in awe, pointing at Vhagar. Rhaenys cast him a stern glance.

"Will you want to serve the punishment that claiming one entails?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Rhaenyx pouted, but said nothing. His siblings noticeably shrank away at the reminder, their success now secondary in sentiment to their impending punishment.

"I hope you do not mind if I have my own say in that," a voice sneered, each word dripping of utter disdain. Prince Daemon Targaryen made his way towards them with unsteady steps, his brother following him closely behind. Rhaenys could see that he had spent the time she had gone searching for them off drinking. His eyes were red with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly that Rhaenys half-wondered if it had snapped shut permanently. One of his hands lay wrapped around the hilt of his sword, aching to draw forth its blade.

"Is that a threat, cousin?" she asked. The princess took a step forward, putting herself in front of her children. She no longer could feign any warmth towards him. All she felt was cold, unhinged fury whirling inside of her, aching to be unleashed. Meleys echoed it just as well, taking a step forward in warning.

Daemon only scoffed in contempt. "A threat? Are you truly trying to make me the villain here? You who sent your two annoying brats on an absurd quest to steal my father's dragon!"

His voice pitched at the end, shaking nearly as badly as he did. An inch of Dark Sister was unsheathed. Viserys' meaty hand dragged his brother's away, letting the sword slide back into its ebony sheath with an ominous clink.

"Is that what you truly believe, Daemon?" she snapped, "Do you think me so petty that I would hold onto a grudge for over a decade? I am not like you to act the child even now."

A flash of pique flashed across his face. Daemon elbowed his brother back with ferocity, his face flushed red with anger. The pique in his dark eyes quickly turned into loathing. A look of murder. "I find it very likely that the weakling who was willing to whore herself out to a dragonless lickspittle and still moans about her dead father's dead wishes would come up with a desperate plot like this one to seat her seahorse whelp on a dragon's throne!"

"Daemon, enough!" Viserys yelled. Daemon chose to ignore him, as did Rhaenys.

The mention of her father all but shattered whatever restraint Rhaenys still had. Her fist was already raised in anger. Daemon was even anticipating it from the way he tauntingly kept a tight grip on Dark Sister. The sound of swords being withdrawn echoed around her, coming from both Velaryon and Targaryen men. Behind her, the princess could hear footsteps and someone shout. Corlys?

She did not expect Rhaenyx to barrel into Daemon with thunder. The last comment was the last straw for the youngest Velaryon. He jumped and sunk his teeth into Daemon's swordarm, managing to draw blood, all while his feet kicked at the man's loins with uncontrollable fury. Daemon cursed, kneeling in pain, before he slapped him away, sending him flying. Dark Sister's blade was whipped out in a dark flourish, seeking blood.

"I'll have your hand for that, you little imp!" he seethed, Caraxes' glowing eyes approaching.

Rhaenys saw red. She rushed at him, she and Meleys roaring as one. Viserys rose to slap at the side of his brother's head with force, leaving him in a daze just as Rhaenys landed a hard punch on his nose, eager to pummel his face into red slop for what he had done to her son. Blood squirted out of it as he fell backwards, his brother kicking his sword away with a grunt then holding him onto the ground with difficulty. The guards all ran to help him in a flurry of black-and-red.

A part of Rhaenys wanted nothing more than to continue hitting him. A greater part - the motherly part - rushed to her son's side with worry. His lip was split and bleeding at the corner, and the flank of his face bore a harsh red handprint that would no doubt turn an ugly purple in the coming hours. He was sobbing hysterically into Laena's arms. Laenor on the other hand was wrestling Corlys' tight grasp on his arm like a wild animal intent on his prey. Seasmoke urged him on, his own roars screaming of murder. Her husband's words fell on deaf ears as Laenor fought to brawl with Daemon.

All while their dragons sang into the night, waiting for the call to attack.

Rhaenys took her son into her arms, trying her best to soothe him with softly spoken words commending his bravery against such a wicked man. He wailed into her chest, blood and tears and snot all mixing into a sticky sap the colour of scarlet. Laena's hand rubbed at his back, her cheeks wet with tears of her own. A wall of sea-green girdled them, their drawn swords pointed to a kicking and screaming Daemon who was being pulled away by six hardy men. In the confusion, Aemma had rushed towards her husband, speaking to him in a hushed voice while her blue eyes looked on apologetically. Whatever it was she had said, it had not calmed Viserys down. His face was as cold as stone as he approached them, his wife trailing by his side.

"You have my apologies for what my brother did," he acknowledged, lips drawn tightly together, "It was repugnant and unbefitting for a man of his station. But what you did…" Viserys' face hardened even more. He was no longer the amiable fellow she had spent the day talking to. "That was discourteous indeed, cousin."

"Discourteous?" Rhaenys could not hide the disbelief that coated each word that left her mouth. "Do you truly believe this to be some… some ploy of mine?! That I would willingly toss my children to Vhagar in their nightclothes and pray they return to me in one piece?"

"Whether it was your ploy or not matters little. I would have thought you would have given me the same kindness I showed you when you claimed my mother's Meleys." His words sounded pained. "Instead you provoke my grieving brother and coax him into a drunken brawl."

Rhaenys stared at her cousin, eyes incredulous. He had said each word, resolute, and she could see a flash of barely veiled anger in his eyes. Aemma sent her a pleading look, but Rhaenys could no longer feel anything but apathy towards her at the moment. Her gaze hardened, frosting into a black look that could have - would have - shattered castle walls. Her voice had never sounded more cold.

"I will see you at the Great Council, cousin," the Queen Who Never Was said before turning towards her dragon who was already poised to return to Driftmark, cursing herself for ever thinking that this rift they had perpetuated was ever worth mending.

A/N: Pretty shit but I've had a busy week and intend to stay on schedule.