It's been a while since I have updated any of my stories but here is the second chapter to my House of the Dragon fanfiction! The reason it took me so long to post this chapter was because I wasn't too sure what direction I wanted to take the story in. I do now, but I can't promise I'll be posting regularly since I'm also working on a few other fanfictions for Wattpad.
Thank you to everyone who left a review, followed and favorited this story since I posted the first chapter. I hope you're all still sticking around! Also, for the pairing, I think its obvious who Aenar will end up with.
WORD OF WARNING: Some people may not like the way I've plotted out my story and the ending I have in mind It may change later on but as of now, a lot of people may be disappointed. Just keep that in mind and don't say I didn't warn you.
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 2 : The Heir of the Dragon
The wind blew gently as the Lords and Ladies of the Royal Court gathered outside the city walls. Several days had passed since the death of Queen Aemma Arryn and the newborn Prince Baelon, and now it was time for their funeral. Aenar stood stoically next to his father, watching as the bodies of the Queen and the Prince were wrapped in separate bundles and doused in flammable material for the funeral pyre to be lit. As per Targaryen customs in the tradition of their Valyrian ancestors, when a member of House Targaryen were to die, they were to be cremated by dragon fire and have their ashes interred beneath the Red Keep.
The Targaryen Prince lowered his head as a single tear escaped his violet eyes. His mother, his sweet and kind mother was dead. Killed in childbirth along with his younger brother, Baelon, all because his father wanted a son he could be proud of, a son who would be worthy enough to inherit the Iron Throne, a son who was a Dragonrider. A son that Aenar wasn't. Aemma Targaryen died because he had failed in his duties, because he had failed his House. Because he had not been good enough.
Aenar's left hand reached up and grabbed the blue ribbon that was still tied to his right arm. The favor his mother had given to him when he had promised to win the tournament in her honor. In his sibling's honor. He had vowed his mother he would emerge victorious yet he had not. He hadn't been able to keep the last promise he had made to her. The thought was going to haunt him till the end of his days.
The silence among them droned on, crushing all those present as it grew louder and pounded in their ears. Or maybe it was just him. All Aenar knew was that he wanted the funeral to end, but that could only happen after the bodies were burned to ashes. An act that required the assistance of a dragon, Rhaenyra's dragon. Since she was the King's eldest child, it fell to her to complete the funeral procession.
The dirty-blond haired youth didn't even notice when his uncle Daemon stepped up silently next to him, appearing as stoic as he was. Rhaenyra stood a few feet away with the Lady Alicent Hightower at her side, both of them holding hands tightly in grief. He wanted to go to her, to comfort his sister but he didn't know how to. He didn't know whether she would even want him in her presence.
"Here, take this, nephew." The Rogue Prince spoke lowly from his side, the melding words of High Valyrian piercing through the soft whistling of the summer breeze. Aenar turned his head and saw him holding up a wreath of white flowers.
"The Champion's Favor." The Targaryen Prince muttered as he held a downcast look on his face. "Why are you giving it to me?"
Daemon set his lips in a thin line, a myriad of emotions concealed within his steely violet eyes. "I think both you and I agree that my goodsister, your mother, was most deserving of this crown. You fought in the tourney for her. You deserve the honor of naming her your Queen of Love and Beauty."
Aenar felt a lump beginning to form in his throat at his uncle's words but he forced it down and gingerly took the wreath of white flowers in his hands. After whispering a silent thank you, he slowly stepped forwards and moved towards the funeral pyre. He could feel numerous eyes watching him go but he paid them no mind. All that mattered were the bodies that lay shrouded before him.
"Why are you gone?" He whispered to her, despite knowing that he would receive no response. "I need you..."
The Targaryen Prince forced his tears back as he gently placed the crown of white flowers atop his mother's bandaged chest. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her forehead as he had done many times before, only this time he was not met with warm skin but rough cloth.
"Goodbye…mother." Aenar murmured silently before he stepped away from the pyre just as his sister's dragon stalked forwards, crawling between the Dragonkeepers gathered around her.
"Dracarys!" Rhaenyra called with a broken voice, tears streaming down her face. The symbol of House Targaryen held her head high in the air before stretching open her mouth and unleashing a stream of fire that engulfed the dead bodies that had once been Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon Targaryen. The smell of smoke and burning flesh filled the air as the Arryn Queen and the Prince for a Day succumbed to the flames.
From ashes we were molded, to ashes we shall all one day return.
Otto Hightower had always been a shrewd and manipulative man. Whereas his elder brother had been born to inherit Oldtown, he – the second son – had to forge his own path to reach a higher station.
It was through his unique way with words and his ability to play the game of thrones so flawlessly, that he managed to become Hand to first King Jaehaerys in the later years of his reign and then King Viserys. He had carved out his own place in the Royal Court, right next to the Iron Throne. He had reached a standing higher than even Hobert's. Yet, he craved for more. More power, more authority.
And through his daughter, he would achieve all of his heart's desires and more.
"We regret the Crown's loss, Your Grace." The Hightower knight uttered, breaking the tense silence that had rested in the spacious chambers. Night had fallen outside and despite knowing that it was a grim moment for the members of House Targaryen, he had requested a meeting with the small council to discuss matters of great importance. And, of course, to get his plans underway. "Queen Aemma was loved by many, as was the Good Queen Alysanne before her. And I know this is the last thing any of us wish to discuss during this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent."
"What matter?" Viserys questioned, his violet eyes narrowed.
Otto cleared his throat, silently thinking over what to say. He had to approach this matter carefully otherwise he'd end up facing the King's wrath. "Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace, I feel it firmly important to discuss the line of succession for the stability of the realm should another…tragedy strike again."
"The succession is already set by precedent and by law, my Lord Hand. The King already has an heir." The Master of Laws, Lord Lyonel Strong of Harrenhal reminded him.
"Prince Aenar Targaryen." Lord Corlys Velaryon uttered as he sat across from Viserys, his face blank and his fingers tapping away at the surface of the large table.
Grand Maester Mellos cleared his throat. "That may be, however, Prince Aenar was never officially declared as heir by His Grace."
"A mistake we must rectify as soon as possible." Otto stated smoothly, picking up where the Grand Maester had left off. "In order to assure the realm that the succession of the Targaryen Dynasty is not in danger, Prince Aenar must be declared the Heir to the Iron Throne and receive his vows of fealty from the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms."
"There are whispers circulating the realm that perhaps Prince Aenar is not suited for kingship due to his…lack of a dragon." Lord Corlys muttered, his eyes flitting from one member of the Small Council to the next. "People fear that he will be Aenys come again. That he is too weak to rule."
"Whether the Prince is a Dragonrider or not, frankly, does not matter." The Hand of the King voiced out loud. "He is the King's only son and therefore, his heir. As for these whispers and fears, since when have we paid them any mind?"
"The Lord Hand speaks truly." Lord Lyonel threw in his own two cents. "The laws of the realm state that the eldest son inherits their father's title, lands and holdings. Besides, who else would have a valid claim?"
The King's first born child." Lord Lyman Beesbury, who had been strangely silent up until now, spoke up for the first time in the meeting.
The Hand of the King wanted to laugh at the absurd statement the Master of Coin had uttered but he managed to hold his tongue. Lord Lyonel, on the other hand, couldn't help but voice his opinion. " Rhaenyra? A girl? No Queen has ever sat the Iron Throne."
"That is only by tradition and precedent, Lord Strong." The Grand Maester, who Otto believed had been on his side, argued.
The Master of Laws scoffed. "If order and stability so concerns this council, then perhaps we shouldn't break one hundred years of it by naming a girl heir."
"As Lord Corlys pointed out Prince Aenar would be a second Aenys, or worse." Lord Lyman declared haughtily. "Eldest son or not, without a dragon to fortify his rule, he is unfit to be a monarch. The realm will fall into instability and rebellions will be wrought from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms."
"You forget the histories, My Lord. Aenys was a Dragonrider and yet even then, he could not bring the Red Harren or the Vulture King to heel. In the end, it was mere men who quelled those threats and helped bring peace to the realm." Otto reminded the aging Lord of Honeyholt.
"But it was the might of Balerion the Dread that kept House Targaryen in power." Grand Maester Mellos voiced, narrowing his milky eyes.
"As well as the cruelty of Maegor." Lord Lyonel countered before the Hand could say anything.
The Master of Coin scowled at his colleagues before directing his milky eyes onto the King. "Your Grace, it is the duty of this council to preserve the rule of House Targaryen and protect the realm. Forgive me for being so blunt but Prince Aenar is simply unfit to sit the Iron Throne. That is the truth as I see it, and I know that many others agree with me."
Silence reigned for a few long minutes before Viserys broke it with a mirthless chuckle. "You…you wish for me to choose between my son and my daughter? You wish for me to tear my family apart even more than it already has been?"
"You wouldn't have to, Your Grace." Lord Corlys declared and all eyes fell on him. "There are others who would have a claim."
"Such as your wife, Lord Corlys? The Queen Who Never Was?" Lord Lyonel questioned with a raised eyebrow and a disbelieving laugh.
The Sea Snake glared at the Lord of Harrenhal. "Rhaenys was the only child of King Jaehaerys' eldest son. She had a strong claim at the Great Council and there are many who would support her ascension."
"That does not matter! At this point in time, Prince Aenar has the greatest claim—" Otto began to argue but he was immediately cut off by the sound of a chair being thrown back as the King surged to his feet, a wrathful fire burning in his violet eyes.
"My wife and son are dead!" The reigning Targaryen monarch roared ragefully. "I will not sit here and…and suffer crows that come to feast upon their corpses!"
The Small Council members all fell silent at his outburst and merely stood as the King took his leave, storming out of the council chambers without another word.
Though Otto kept his face neutral amidst the King's anger, inside he could feel his annoyance brewing. What was supposed to be a simple council meeting to discuss giving Aenar his rightful title as heir had turned into another mess entirely. Nevertheless, in the end though, things would go according to his plans. He would get what he wanted.
He always did.
Though the hour was late, the Lady Alicent found herself gliding down the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, her mind set on a single destination. Her doe brown eyes darted left to right as she slipped from hallway to hallway, turning from corner to corner, and descending from staircase to staircase.
Following the funeral, she had gone to comfort Rhaenyra yet her closest friend asked to be left alone. The Targaryen Princess had always welcomed her company yet there were times she'd mirror her silent brother's demeanor and retreat into her shell. With her father busy and herself having nothing to do, she spent hours sitting in her chambers and fiddling with her embroidery until she decided that she needed a breath of fresh air.
Alicent inhaled deeply as she stepped out into the gardens, the fresh and crisp night air filling up her lungs. She tightened her grip around the bound leather book in her hands – a history book, to be precise. It was one of her favorites – a book she had always shared with Rhaenyra growing up. After taking a glance around a second time, she began moving again, in the direction of the large weirwood tree where she and Rhaenyra spent most of their free time. It was her safe haven – her little happy place.
And it seemed that someone else had also taken to it just as she had.
Prince Aenar was sat on the grass, his back pressed to the hard bark of the white tree and one leg propped up. For the first time since Alicent had seen him after his return from Storm's End, he was not wearing his armor. Instead, he had opted for a black doublet with the sigil of House Targaryen emblazoned on the chest. His curly silver hair was damp and swept back and his violet eyes were gazing blankly at nothing in particular.
Alicent pursed her lips as she slowed in her step. Unlike Rhaenyra, Aenar had always been a closed off individual. He was polite and courteous towards her, as was expected from someone of his station, but they were by no means friends. She didn't know how he would react to her presence, especially during his period of grieving. The smart and safe thing to do would be to leave. Exhaling slowly, she prepared to turn on her heel and return to her chambers when she suddenly stepped on a fallen branch and a loud snap followed.
She closed her eyes and cursed her misfortune.
"Lady Alicent." Alicent heard the stoic Prince greet curtly. Biting her lips, she slowly turned around and curtsied to the still seated youth.
"Forgive me, my Prince. I did not mean to disturb you." The Hightower girl said nervously, fiddling with her fingers while trying to fight the urge to bite her nails.
Aenar studied her with inquisitive violet eyes for a few seconds before he finally spoke. "You disturbed no one, my Lady. Though the hour is late."
Though he said it as a statement, Alicent could hear the unasked question. "I…I couldn't sleep. I thought some fresh air might help." Seeing Aenar continue to stare at her in silence made her more anxious and she quickly bowed her head. "Apologies, my Prince, I must go."
Just as she was about to walk away from the awkward encounter, the silver-haired youth spoke. "The Scriptures of the Heroic Age. Written and illustrated by Archmaester Cyrus. That is the book you are holding, is it not?"
Alicent bit her lips and turned her body to face the Prince once again. "It is, my Prince."
"I thought as much." Aenar muttered and let his violet gaze fall to the grassy terrain he sat on. "I must confess, I never took my mother seriously when she told me you enjoyed reading about the histories of the realm. It appears I was mistaken."
The Hightower girl blinked. "You and I have never truly spoken before today, my Prince. It is only understandable you do not know me all that well or of my interests."
The silver-haired youth grunted as he played with one of the many white flowers that littered the ground. "She spoke highly of you, Lady Alicent. Always talked about how good of a companion you are to my sister, how courteous and respectful you are. She was always fond of you." His violet eyes darkened as he suddenly ripped the flower out of the ground. "My mother told me that you lost your own when you were but six namedays old. This pain…was it this bad when your mother died?"
Alicent's doe brown eyes widened when she heard the question directed to her before she lowered her head. She had only vague memories of Alerie Hightower before she passed but she did clearly remember mourning her death for weeks. "…It was. I remember when my mother died, people only ever spoke to me in riddles. Not once did they ever offer to console me. All I wanted was for someone to say that they were sorry for what happened to me." She slowly shook her head and looked at Aenar with sorrowful eyes. "I'm very sorry, my Prince. For your loss."
Aenar clenched his jaw as he stared down at the uprooted flower in his hands. A myriad of emotions seemed to be shining simultaneously within his eyes and Alicent caught a glimpse of how truly vulnerable he was. However, just as quickly as they had come, the silver-haired youth masked his emotions behind a stony façade and pushed himself to his feet, flicking away the flower he was holding.
"I will take my leave now, my Lady. Enjoy the rest of your night." He voiced stoically and gave her a slight bow of his head before he moved. Alicent said nothing as the Prince walked past her, merely holding her breath. Only once the sound of footsteps ceased did she finally release the air she had trapped in her lungs.
Rhaenyra stared up at the skull of Balerion the Black Dread, visually studying its structure. When she had been a child, her father had often brought her down to the bowels of the Red Keep to pay tribute to the largest dragon who ever lived - the last dragon who lived to see Old Valyria before the Doom.
Viserys had once told her that the Black Dread's teeth were as long as bastard swords, it's flames said to be capable of melting both steel and stone and turning sand into glass, and whose wingspan was so large it was said his shadow could engulf an entire town when he took flight. No other dragon currently in House Targaryen's possession could ever come close to Balerion…not even Vhagar, and she was the oldest and largest living dragon today.
Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel, even her father… all of them rode Balerion. However, the beast died three years before Rhaenyra was born. By the time Viserys had claimed the Black Dread, the dragon was too big, too heavy, and too sluggish. But more importantly, Balerion was too old. He did not even have the strength to fly from King's Landing to Dragonstone and could only fly around the capital for a maximum of three times.
"208 years." Rhaenyra blinked as she heard a voice behind her and turned around to see her father approaching her, an unreadable look on his face. "Balerion was the last living creature to see Old Valyria before the Doom. The likes of his kind will never be seen again. Not in this life, at least."
"Father." The Realm's Delight greeted questioningly. She had to admit, she was a bit curious and confused when Ser Harrold had knocked on the doors of her chambers, stating that the King wanted to see her. Viserys had not spoken a word to her or Aenar since their mother's funeral and then, all of a sudden, he had summoned her to Balerion's shrine. There was something else…
Viserys slowly stepped up next to her, waving a hand over the open flame of a candle. The reddish orange fire flickered against the palm of his hand but he didn't seem to be affected by it. The Targaryen King raised his head, looking up at the skull of the Black Dread just as Rhaenyra had done earlier.
"Tell me something, Rhaenyra. When you look at the dragons what do you see?" Viserys questioned cryptically.
Rhaenyra frowned in confusion at the question her father asked. "What? You haven't spoken a word to me since mother's funeral and now you send your Kingsguard down—"
"Answer me." Viserys insisted, his normally calm and collected voice sounding fierce. "It's important. What do you see?"
The Targaryen Princess exhaled deeply before looking up at the massive dragon skull. "People…they say that Targaryens are closer to gods than we are to the realm of man, but they only say that because of our dragons. Without them, we are just as human as everyone else."
King Viserys nodded, seemingly pleased with her answer. "The idea that we control the dragons is but a mere illusion. They are a power that man should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria to its doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us. A Targaryen must understand this if they are to become the reigning King…Or Queen."
Rhaenyra looked over at her father in confusion as the man turned around to face her. "I am sorry, Rhaenyra. I have wasted years since you were born, wanting for a son…you are the very best of your mother. And I believe that you could be a great ruling Queen one day."
The silver-haired girl gaped at the words her father was speaking. It took her a few seconds before she finally found her voice. "Father, w-what are you saying? Aenar is your heir."
Viserys shook his head. "I see now that Aenar was not made to wear the crown. But I believe you were. He will understand my decision, I know it."
Rhaenyra couldn't help but disagree with what her father was saying. Contrary to what many people believed, she did not hate her brother. And stealing what was meant to be his like this…it did not sit right with her.
"This is no trivial gesture, daughter." The Targaryen King continued. "A dragon's saddle is one thing, but the Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the realm."
The Targaryen Princess swallowed thickly and Viserys sighed before his hand drifted down to his waist and he withdrew the catspaw dagger that he always carried around with him. "There's something else you should know, Rhaenyra. It might be difficult for you to understand, but this is a secret that King Jaehaerys shared with me many years ago."
"What is it?"
"It is a secret, one that has been passed down from King to heir since Aegon's time." Viserys held his dagger over the flames burning in the braziers next to the shrine. The blade gave off an orange glow as it heated up but did not melt. "Look closely at the blade."
The Realm's Delight took the handle and squinted her eyes. The message was in High Valyrian; easy to understand, and easy to translate. "'Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo...'" She read out loud. "'From my blood come The Prince That Was Promised, and his will be the Song of Ice and Fire.'" Rhaenyra scoffed, shaking her head. "Is this supposed to be some kind of riddle, father?"
Viserys chuckled, though there was nothing humorous about their situation. "I thought it was too. Our history tells us that Aegon looked across from Dragonstone to the Blackwater and saw a rich, fertile land ripe and plump for the taking. However, it wasn't just ambition that drove our ancestors to conquer the Seven Kingdoms - but a dream. Just as Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men beginning with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant North. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne."
The Targaryen King paused for a moment to allow his daughter to digest all the information he had just given out before continuing to speak again. "It might be tomorrow, maybe next week, decades, or even well beyond our lifetime. King or queen, our kin must be strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. This is the secret of our family: The Song of Ice and Fire. What the Old King passed on to me, I now pass on to you. You must promise me that you will protect it, Rhaenyra."
For a moment all was silent as Viserys stared at Rhaenyra. As father stared at daughter. As a King stared at his chosen heir. Rhaenyra pursed her lips, her mind still reeling from all Viserys had said. She wanted to refuse. She was not supposed to sit the Iron Throne, her brother was. But now, things were different. Things had changed, for better or worse, Rhaenyra did not know.
However, as she stared into her father's desperate eyes, she found that she could not decline the request. Her father had chosen her to carry out his legacy, to preserve the greatness of the Targaryen Dynasty. And despite her conflicted emotions, a small part of Rhaenyra was happy to have been entrusted with such a responsibility. She had always thought she'd have to play second fiddle to her brother but now…
Rhaenyra raised her head and straightened her posture as she looked Viserys in the eyes. "I promise, father. I will not fail you."
Aenar should have seen it coming. He knew that it had been coming. He had even prepared himself for when it came. But when his uncle broke the news to him, he stayed silent for a few seconds, before laughing. And then he turned around and smashed the goblet of wine he had been holding against the wall.
His father had actually done it. He had actually broke the line of succession, broke decades of law and tradition, all to name his sister as his successor. Rhaenyra now had the title his father had once told him would be his. She was now set to inherit that which he had madly worked for his entire life.
Rhaenyra was now the Heiress to the Iron Throne.
And Aenar, as always, was left to grovel in her shadow.
He glared down at her from his place on the second floor of the Throne Room. He couldn't help it. It wasn't her fault their father chose her but he still hated her for it. Hated her for taking everything he had broke his back trying to achieve. Taking everything he had been promised. It made him sick, hearing as each of the High Lords knelt in front of her, proclaiming their fealty. Velaryon, Stark, Lannister, Hightower, Baratheon…
…they all knelt.
Once they all swore their oaths and made their vows, Rhaenyra turned to face the King. Their foolish father who had damned Aenar to a life of disgrace. Viserys smiled at his favored daughter with pride shining in his eyes. Rhaenyra knelt in front of him as he began speaking.
"I, Viserys Targaryen, First of his Name…King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen Princess of Dragonstone and Heiress to the Iron Throne."
And as his speech ended, all heads bowed towards the newly dubbed heiress and the last of Aenar's dreams shattered.