Welcome to Blood of Valyria!
This story is based off of the HBO show House of the Dragon, however, I will make changes where I see fit. This is my first time writing a Targaryen OC so I'm quite nervous and I hope to do it justice. I'm sure you guys must have already realized by the summary, but the Original Character in this story is Prince Aenar Targaryen, second child and son of King Viserys and Queen Aemma. I've spent quite a lot of time building his character and I hope you all enjoy him!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones characters in the story or from the novel, A Song of Ice and Fire. Only the OCs included are mine and any original plots.
Chapter 1 : The Dragonless
112 AC
Aenar Targaryen was the textbook definition of a perfect Prince, an iron hard fact that no one would or could ever even dream of denying.
Born the second child and only son of King Viserys the Peaceful and Queen Aemma Arryn, he had been schooled at a young age in the histories of his forefathers and in the art of philosophy. By the age of ten, he had mastered the Valyrian tongue with a fluency that even put his sister to shame, something he took great pride and pleasure in. But it was in the courtyard where he truly shone. A prodigy of swords, Ser Harrold Westerling had dubbed him, for he took to the blade like a sponge to water.
Aye, he was indeed the perfect Prince and the perfect son. Yet, he knew that no matter how many feats he accomplished, no matter how hard he tried to uphold his perfect image, nothing he did would ever be good enough in the eyes of his father. After all, next to his sister, the Realm's Delight, what was he but the lesser child? The heir who had yet to be named heir.
The dragon who had no wings.
It had been said that a Targaryen without a dragon was no true Targaryen at all. Five eggs had been given to him through his ten and five years of life and all five of them had turned to cold stone, much to his shame. Rhaenyra had been but seven when she first claimed her she-dragon, Syrax. He, on the other hand, was now twice the age she had been and had yet to take a dragon for his own. He wasn't even able to claim the unclaimed beasts that nested in the Dragonpit, though not for a lack of trying.
A couple of the denizens of the Red Keep whispered that he was cursed, unworthy of his standing. Those whispers only increased in number as the years passed and his father had yet to declare him his heir, instead trying for more sons. He had never paid them much mind during the years of his childhood but now, as he was growing older, those whispers incited an unknown emotion in recess of his heart. A fear that perhaps they were true. That perhaps he truly was not worthy of his title as a Targaryen Prince or as a future King.
Aenar found himself being pulled out of his innermost thoughts as a blade whistled through the air and bore down on him. The Targaryen Prince grunted as he slipped away from the overhead swing of his foe. The warrior clad in black and gold stood an inch taller than him and wielded a vicious two-handed battle axe whereas the Targaryen Prince preferred the lighter and far more flexible longsword. While his opponent was larger and had the advantage of strength, he was far quicker and more agile. Those would work in his favor and if he played his cards right, he would be guaranteed a victory.
The battle axe sliced through the air fiercely as the black and gold warrior moved to strike once more, this time aiming for Aenar's side, but the dirty blond-haired youth was quick in raising his ruby pommeled blade and parrying the blow. The first kiss of their steel were followed by many more. The Targaryen Prince clenched his jaw as he met each strike of his opponent's sword with his own, managing to turn each away. When he returned with attacks of his own, the black and gold warrior caught them all with his greatsword.
For what seemed like an eternity, the two warriors hammered away at each other, much to the enjoyment of the onlookers in the courtyard of the Red Keep. Sparks flew and steel danced as they showcased their strength and skill to all that were spectating. Then, finally, Aenar managed to place a well-aimed hit at his foe's sword arm and sent his battle axe flying from his grip. The black and gold warrior stumbled back in surprise but stilled in his movement when the Targaryen Prince raised his ruby-pommeled longsword and aimed the sharp tip at his opponent's jugular.
"Yield." Aenar called out with a stern tone of voice. The warrior of black and gold remained still for a few seconds, as if debating on whether or not he should concede, before a resonating laugh erupted from beneath his stag helm and he raised his hands in surrender.
"Fine, fine, I yield. The victory is yours, my friend." The man declared as he raised his hand to the bottom of his helm and pulled it off, revealing a mess of jet black hair that clung to his sweaty forehead and a pair of stormy blue eyes. He was a handsome man, there was no doubt about it. The whores down in the Street of Silk certainly seemed to think so.
The dirty-blond haired youth smiled softly as he sheathed his sword. "So what does this one bring the count up to? Ten to eight?"
"Nine." The warrior in black and gold was quick to correct him. "Remember the Squire's Tourney of Bitterbridge? Well, I do. I knocked you down on your arse fair and square."
"Right, nine." Aenar replied, his voice filled with dry amusement. "That still puts me one win ahead of you, Baratheon."
"For now." Rogar Baratheon stated in response.
The second son of Lord Boremund Baratheon had been his closest confidant and best friend since his days as a squire for the Lord of Storm's End. A fierce warrior and a charming young man, he was only one year his senior yet the two of them had built a kinship that seemed unbreakable; a bond that one would see amongst the closest of siblings. That is, after all, what Rogar was to him: a brother in all but blood.
"Have you heard the news?" Rogar asked as they ventured to the side of the courtyard where a jug of water awaited them. The Targaryen Prince took a seat on the bench while the Baratheon poured a cup for him, filling it to the brim, before he raised the jug and splashed what remained on to his face. He always did that after a spar or a fight; he said it cooled him down and made him feel relaxed.
The Targaryen Prince drank deeply from his cup before pulling it away from his lips and turning his violet gaze onto his best friend. "What news? You're going to have to be more specific. There's quite a lot going in court these days."
There was indeed a lot going on in the Red Keep. His mother was heavy with a babe once more and in celebration for his child-to-be, the King planned to throw a great tourney to welcome the newborn into the world. It would be taking place tomorrow, if he recalled correctly. Some folks mockingly called it the Heir's Tourney as they believed King Viserys would likely choose his newborn to succeed him on the Iron Throne. The dirty-blond haired youth tried not to pay those words much mind though he couldn't help but wonder if his father would actually forego the laws of succession and do it.
"It seems Prince Daemon has returned to the keep." Rogar replied. If he noticed the Targaryen Prince's internal musings, he did not comment on it. "He and his Gold Cloaks were rather busy last night, what with rounding up all the known criminals and putting them to the sword. Quite brutally as well, might I add."
"It had to be done." Aenar stated firmly, draining his cup of whatever amount of water remained before he stood up from the bench. "The measures that my uncle took may be considered extreme but they are also efficient. The city needed order and Daemon delivered. King's Landing has never been safer."
The Baratheon hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe you are right."
Aenar chuckled as he patted the black-haired youth on the shoulder. "When am I not? I would also advise you to keep whatever debauchery you find yourself in tonight under control. I don't want to send you back to Storm's End all trussed up."
Rogar grimaced, no doubt imagining the painful lecture he would receive from Lord Boremund if he were to embarrass him like that. "Perhaps I might stay in the Keep tonight."
"Wise choice." The Targaryen Prince replied, amusement strong in his voice.
As Queen Aemma studied her son's grim features, she couldn't help but feel a coil of sadness wrap itself around her heart. Where Rhaenyra was fiery and passionate about getting what she wanted, her only son was quiet and sullen. He was mindful of his duties whereas Rhaenyra enjoyed her freedom. Her daughter shone as brightly as the sun while Aenar glimmered in isolation like the moon. Perhaps, it was the difference between the two siblings that kept them from getting along; that kept them distant from one another. It broke her heart to see her only children who lived past childhood act like complete strangers around each other.
Aemma knew that while she herself did not play any favorites among her children, Viserys did. To her husband, the King, Rhaenyra was the apple of his eye and the pride of his heart. The Realm's Delight the denizens of the Red Keep and King's Landing called her for she brightened every room she entered. And while Viserys praised her name and deeds, Aenar was left to sulk in her shadow. The reason? Because unlike his sister, he was no Dragonrider.
Viserys loved Aenar dearly, she would not deny it, but her husband could never get over the fact that their son was unable to tame a dragon for himself. He never said it out loud but Aemma was aware of his disappointment on the matter. Every Targaryen King who had come before was a Dragonrider, it was an unspoken requirement. Even Viserys – while he no longer had a dragon – had claimed Balerion the Black Dread before his death. That in itself was a great feat. Seeing as it had been the mythical winged beasts who had helped Aegon and his sister-wives conquer the Seven Kingdoms, it was only natural that it be they who help House Targaryen keep their throne.
The dragon was both a symbol of Targaryen power and of fear, meant to keep the noble Houses, both great and otherwise, in line. There were fears running rampant through court that if the heir did not have a dragon, he would not be able to rule efficiently. That it was a sign of an unworthy ruler. Aemma wondered if the rumors were why Viserys was making such a huge fuss for the unborn child growing in her gut. If perhaps, her husband was planning to put Aenar aside in favor of their newborn if it were to be a son. She truly hoped that was not the case. She did not wish for an even larger shadow to be cast over Aenar.
"What are you reading?" Aemma asked her son who was sitting on a chair next to her bed, breaking the comfortable and peaceful silence that had fallen over them.
Upon hearing his mother's question, Aenar looked up from the parchment he held in his hands. "An old Valyrian scripture about the Doom." He said simply.
Of course, the Arryn Queen thought with a wry smile. Her son was practically obsessed with the histories of Valyria as well as that of the Seven Kingdoms. When he had been younger, she would oft find him holed up in the library, pouring over writings that dated back to the Age of Heroes. The old Valyrian scriptures had always been his favorite though, and Aemma believed that since Aenar had read the story of Valyria's destruction so many times, he could accurately recall and state every word.
"How are you feeling?" Aenar awkwardly asked, putting aside the parchment. Most of the time he visited her, the time was spent in content silence. However, seeing as she had made an effort to start a conversation, he no doubt wished not to disappoint her.
Aemma smiled. "There is still some pain, but well enough, I suppose."
Aenar was an observant child. She knew that he could see through whatever lie she told. After all, it had been Aenar who refused to budge from her side after her two stillborns, two miscarriages, and then the death of little Daeron in the cradle, the Prince who was not meant to be. He could see how losing all those children had changed her, both mentally and physically. Yet, he said nothing and simply nodded, something which Aemma appreciated.
"Rogar tells me that you plan to enter the tournament." The Arryn Queen stated, though it sounded more like a question.
The dirty-blond haired youth made a face at her words. "I was not aware you speak to Rogar."
Aemma laughed with amusement. "Of course I do. Since my own son refuses to share his own thoughts with me, I had to find other ways."
Aenar looked away, a hint of guilt present in his violet eyes. "…I do not wish to burden you unnecessarily."
"I am your mother, my sweet boy." She stated, her voice firm and her eyes stern. "If I cannot listen to the thoughts and ease the worries of my children, then what is the point of me?"
The Targaryen Prince said nothing for a few seconds, wringing his hands together, before he finally spoke again. "Yes, I will join the tourney. And I plan to win it in the honor of you and my future sibling."
"Is that so?" Aemma questioned with an amused smile, but she would be lying if she said wasn't touched by his words. "Then it is only right you bear my favor."
Aenar chuckled lightly as the Arryn Queen slipped out a blue ribbon from a box that stood on her bedside table before gesturing for her son to hold his hand out. He did so without hesitation and allowed her to tie the ribbon on his wrist.
"Thank you, mother." The dirty-blond haired youth said before he lifted himself to his feet and placed a kiss to his mother's forehead. "I will not disappoint you."
"When have you ever?" Aemma replied, lovingly placing a hand on her son's cheek once he pulled away.
The day had finally arrived: the tournament hosting the inevitable arrival of King Viserys's third child - one which he insisted would be a boy. Lords, knights, and squires gathered in the capital from all corners of the realm to compete. Alicent sat in the royal box with her father, the Hand of the King, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, and the King. After a while, she was joined by Rhaenyra, who was dressed up in an elegant red dress. Rising from his seat, Viserys cleared his throat to address the growing and restless crowd.
"Be welcome!" The Fifth Targaryen Monarch announced, his voice being carried across the crowd and bringing all chatter to an abrupt halt. "I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equals in our histories."
It was for sure a generous compliment but Alicent and everyone in attendance knew that the knights in the field below could never measure up to those who had come before them. It had been decades since many of the men of the realm had seen actual combat, not since the reign of King Maegor the Cruel. The tournaments the King held were little more than lavish sparring matches. The highest level of honor any of the participants could hope to receive was earning a spot in the City Watch or a very, very slim chance of becoming a member of the Kingsguard.
"Furthermore, this great day has been made more auspicious by the news… that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!" Viserys declared proudly earning a resounding encore of cheers and applause. "Now then, let us begin the festivities! May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!"
With the King's words, the tournament began underway. Knight after knight took to the field, gripping their shields and lances tightly as they rushed at one another atop their steeds. They would slam into each other, one falling to the ground harshly whereas the one remaining in his saddle would end up claiming the victory. It was a rather tame event but much like the others, it had the capability of turning ugly.
During one of the matches, horses neighed and charged forth, their riders extending their lances. They met in the middle, with both jousters lunging forwards and after a harsh collision, one of the knights who wore the sigil of House Tarly was thrown from his horse and landed on the dirt with an audible thud. Stunned and dazed, nearby attendants helped to escort the fallen competitor away as the crowd broke into cheers of excitement. The victor urged his horse toward the royal box and bowed his head in respect at the king and his family.
"A mystery knight, do you think?" Rhaenyra inquired as she watched the warrior ride away.
"No." Alicent replied as she shook her head. "He's a Cole, from the Stormlands."
The Targaryen Princess made a face. "I've never heard of a House Cole."
"Lord Rogar Baratheon, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen!" A young man who held a stag-emblazoned shield called out confidently as he approached the royal box on horseback. Alicent recognized him as Prince Aenar's friend whom he had brought with him from Storm's End. They were rarely seen apart, always sparring in the courtyard or talking quietly amongst themselves during feasts. "I would humbly ask for the favor of The Queen Who Never Was."
It was quite brazen of him to say such a thing out loud, Alicent thought. Princess Rhaenys was the only child of Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, which made her a contender for the crown during the Great Council of 101, when King Jaehaerys the Conciliator called for the Lords of Westeros to vote on who would be his next heir. She had, however, lost to her cousin, Viserys, and there were many who were still upset by the choice, House Baratheon being chief among them since they shared blood with her.
The Queen Who Never Was stood from her seat and glanced at Corlys and Viserys before walking over to the edge of the box and offering up her favor of a flower crown to her maternal cousin. After a brief exchange of words, Rogar took to the field against his contender – the same Stormlander who had unhorsed the Tarly knight earlier. According to the Master of Revels, his name was Criston Cole.
"Is Prince Aenar going to be riding today?" Alicent asked her closest friend and childhood companion.
Rhaenyra merely lifted her chin, her face blank and devoid of any and all emotions as she answered. "Our mother gave him her favor so I would think so."
For as long as Alicent had known the Targaryen Princess, she had never gotten along well with her younger brother. It wasn't like there was any seething hatred which existed between them, but they were simply far too different to get along, it seemed. They had different personalities, different ambitions, and different views on all things. The fact that Rhaenyra was a Dragonrider while Aenar was not certainly didn't help matters. The Dragonless, some called him as an insult for that fact.
Bringing her attention back to arena below, she saw that Rogar Baratheon's horse reared as he urged it into a gallop toward the opposing steed. Lowering their respective lances, the two knights thrust the jousting weapons forward against their shields - shattering their lances with equal amounts of force. Both were knocked back by the impact. However, to the surprise of the crowd, it was Rogar who was thrown off his horse - eliminating him from the competition.
Rhaenyra clicked her teeth before she tilted her head and beckoned to Ser Harrold Westerling. "What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?"
"I'm told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward." Harrold replied, lowering himself slightly so he could speak to her. "I must say, he is very impressive for a steward's son, seeing as how he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads."
Rhaenyra hummed, a glint of interest present in her violet eyes. "Impressive, indeed."
A couple more matches later, the Master of Revels dressed in Targaryen colors stepped forwards and with a booming voice, announced:
"PRINCE AENAR TARGARYEN WILL NOW TILT AGAINST SER CRISTON COLE!"
Alicent leaned slightly forwards as the Stormlander knight urged his horse forward to face the Targaryen Prince who by then, had made his appearance. His armor was decorated with black curved dragon teeth along the shoulders and down his back, and a warhelm was mounted on his head with dragon wings flanking either side, giving him a rather fearsome appearance. Alicent's eyes did not miss the Queen's favor knotted around his arm, the blue silk stark against black. She smiled softly at the thought that the Prince was riding for the honor of his mother. It was admirable.
Aenar rode one of the King's chargers, his shield bearing the arms of House Targaryen. Standing in his corner were a group of Stormlanders. It made sense that House Baratheon and it's vassals would support the second child of King Viserys since he had been fostered at Storm's End for five years. He had no doubt built good relations with them during his time there.
Lowering their lances, both knights saluted the King, and then turned to face one another. The stallion stamped at the sands, shaking his head, while the charger snorted. As one, they charged down the length of the lists, hugging the barrier of the tilt as close as they could. Lances slammed into shields, and both kept their seats. Alicent watched with bated breath as the two knights faced again, and again, to no result. She gasped when a particularly hard thrust nearly knocked Aenar from his seat. It was returned in kind though and his blow had Ser Criston fighting to keep control of his reins. The Stormlander knight managed to keep his seat and a new lance was handed to the two before the jousting continued.
On the turn of the ninth tilt, the two met again, though this time, Alicent saw that Ser Criston's thrust was weaker than before. Prince Aenar must have seen it as well for he surged forwards, placing the point of his lance right at the heart of the Cole, and in the blink of an eye, the Stormlander knight was falling amidst splintered wood. Ser Criston fell to the ground with a crash as the crowd cheered.
"The tilt was always going to be his." Rhaenyra said as her younger brother tossed away his ruined lance and rode back to his corner where Lord Rogar was grinning widely. The handsome black-haired youth – who had been unhorsed by Ser Criston – boomed out a laugh as he grasped Prince Aenar's shoulder and patted it. The Hightower smiled at the sight.
"He does ride well." She murmured.
A few rounds later, drums began to beat and a dozen knights rode out onto the field, forming a line besides one another. The anticipation grew among the crowd until an armored man emerged, drawing all attention to him as he always seemed to do.
"PRINCE DAEMON OF HOUSE TARGARYEN, PRINCE OF THE CITY, WILL NOW CHOOSE HIS FIRST OPPONENT!" The Master of Revels announced, causing thunderous cheers to fill the arena.
This time, it was Rhaenyra who leaned forwards in her seat as Rogue Prince rode out onto the field with his lance held high. He looked akin to a vision of terror much like his nephew in his black plate armor with dragon scale chainmail underneath. His helmet - forged from Valyrian steel - was adorned with the head and wings of a dragon on each side and had a red plume on top. His shield was emblazoned with the three-headed red dragon of his House and he held it up proudly. Grabbing his lance, Prince Daemon galloped to his fellow jousters. His violet eyes passed over each of them before he smirked and Alicent felt her face pale.
"You." Daemon pointed his lance at Ser Gwayne Hightower.
"FOR HIS FIRST CHALLENGE," the Master of Revels declared loudly, "PRINCE DAEMON TARGARYEN CHOOSES SER GWAYNE HIGHTOWER OF OLDTOWN, ELDEST SON OF THE HAND OF THE KING!"
Alicent, filled with concern for her brother's well-being, anxiously began picking at and biting her fingernails.
Rhaenyra placed a hand on Alicent's left hand to reassure her. "Don't worry, Alicent. Everything is going to be okay. Ser Gwayne is going to be fine."
Alicent squeezed Rhaenyra's hand in response but said nothing as she watched the Rogue Prince lock eyes on his target. Then suddenly, he lowered his lance in a straight line, and gave his horse the command to charge. The horse neighed loudly and galloped towards Ser Gwayne. The two lances collided on impact, causing both riders to lose their primary weapons. Daemon maintained his balance and regained control and both riders charged again, but as soon as they got close, the Prince of the City aimed his lance low and took out the legs of the Hightower knight's horse from under him, throwing Ser Gwayne off his saddle and causing him to land on his face.
No one noticed Alicent's gasp as the crowd broke out into cheers and applause. The Hightower girl watched with great concern as the attendants hauled her injured brother away to receive medical attention. She didn't miss Daemon moving towards the front of the royal stands.
"Nicely done, uncle." Rhaenyra congratulated as she rose to her feet to meet him.
"Thank you, princess." Daemon acknowledged with a sly grin before he turned to the daughter of the Hand. "Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it."
As he lifted his lance upwards, Alicent felt her heartbeat quicken. She looked up at her visibly disappointed father who simply gave her a subtle nod before she stood and picked up her wreath of flowers, courteously throwing it around Daemon's lance. "Good luck, my Prince."
Daemon simply grinned as he accepted the favor. Tilting his head, he sent a nod at his brother before he turned his stallion around and rode away. The regular matches continued afterwards, soon devolving into a melee of knights bluffing each other until skulls were caved and limbs were torn. It wasn't long before only two contenders remained: The Rogue Prince and Prince Aenar Targaryen.
"FOR THE FINAL MATCH," the Master of Revels boomed, wielding his baton, "PRINCE AENAR TARGARYEN WILL NOW TILT AGAINST HIS UNCLE, PRINCE DAEMON TARGARYEN, PRINCE OF THE CITY!"
The crowd roared with cheers and Alicent felt her heart begin pounding in her chest as the two princes entered the lists on their respective horses. Daemon's armor was freshly cleaned and pristine, and his shield had the full Targaryen arms, while Aenar had chosen a shield devoid of any such markings. On her left, Alicent heard Rhaenyra lean forward with interest. Who she would be cheering for, Alicent did not know, but what she did know was that after Prince Daemon's actions, she would be praying to the Warrior to grant Aenar the victory.
The second child of King Viserys spoke final words with those in his corner, with Lord Rogar patting him on the shoulder and Lord Borros Baratheon slapping him on the back, before he took the lance offered to him and rode to the end of the lists. The drums began beating and the horns blasted before the horses were off. Sand flew with each gallop and the crowd exploded with cheer as two collided and both their lances glanced off their shields.
Thrice they tilted and thrice they remained seated. Prince Aenar's lance was kept steady in each pass, finding its target in his uncle's shield. Daemon returned the gesture and gave as good as he received, never once reeling from a blow. The stallion and charger both pawed at the ground as they rounded for another pass, the Targaryen Princes raising their lances, and again wood shattered and splinters flew, yet no knight was unhorsed.
Much to Alicent's disappointment, however, in the seventh tilt, things leaned in the Rogue Prince's favor. Daemon shifted in his saddle just right, and suddenly Aenar was thrown back. He scraped against the tilt barrier as his charger carried him back to his corner, and then he fell in a clatter of steel amidst the sands, the crowd roaring as he went. From the Prince's corner, Lord Rogar jumped over the barrier and ran to his friend's side, just as a group of attendants arrived. They all helped Prince Aenar to his feet before leading him out of the arena to get treated. Alicent watched them go with worry before her attention was directed elsewhere.
She and Rhaenyra watched in confusion as all around them, the gathered Lords stood up and left the stands, all of them carrying fallen expressions. Her doe brown eyes swept over the King's seat but she found it empty of his presence. A horrible feeling consumed her entire being as she began to piece two and two together. It was only when her father approached them with a somber look on his face that her worst fears were finally confirmed. Rhaenyra gasped and quickly grabbed Alicent's hand as the Hand of the King spoke the four words that would soon change everything.
"The Queen has passed."