Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen spent her evening in front of her mirror, carefully selecting the most exquisite gowns from her wardrobe. Her maids fussed over her, braiding her silver hair into intricate styles that framed her face in an alluring way. Rhaenyra's beauty was the pride of the Targaryen lineage, and tonight she wanted to shine brighter than ever.
As her maids wove strands of gold and pearls into her hair, her mind wandered. Being a Targaryen, she was no stranger to the idea of family members becoming lovers. It was the way of her bloodline, a tradition kept alive by the gods and dragons alike. So, when she had first developed feelings for her uncle, Prince Daemon, she thought little of it. He was strong, mysterious, and a fierce warrior—the very embodiment of Targaryen power. For years, she had sought his attention, trying to draw his eye, but Daemon had never seemed to notice her in the way she longed for. He was distant, always focused on something else, someone else, and her affections for him had faded slowly, like a dying ember.
Until Robert Stronghammer appeared.
Rhaenyra hadn't known what to expect when she first saw Robert at the Red Keep. He was not of royal blood, nor a knight of noble birth, yet his name had spread across the realm. She had heard of his deeds at the Stepstones, how he had crushed the Triarchy with unmatched strength, and there were whispers that he fought with the raw fury of a demon. But seeing him fight in person—watching him in the melee as he swung his warhammer with ease, laying low his opponents with such skill and might—it had stirred something deep inside her. He was unlike anyone she had ever seen.
And then came the joust. She had watched as Robert defeated knight after knight, his strength and precision unmatched. When it came time for him to face Daemon, her heart had been conflicted. She had loved Daemon once, or at least thought she had, but as Robert unhorsed him and left him bloody on the ground, Rhaenyra felt something new blossom inside her. It wasn't shame or anger at Daemon's defeat—it was desire. Desire for the man who had bested her uncle, who had proven his strength to the entire realm.
The more she thought about Robert, the more her feelings grew. The way he had fought, the power behind each strike, the controlled fury in his eyes—it consumed her thoughts. And in that moment, any love she had once harbored for Daemon vanished, replaced by a burning obsession for Robert Stronghammer. She knew it would not be easy—he was a warrior with no ties to her family, and her father, King Viserys, had likely never even considered him as a potential suitor for his daughter. But that didn't matter.
Rhaenyra was a Targaryen, and Targaryens claimed what they desired.
As her maids finished adjusting her gown, Rhaenyra smiled to herself. Robert Stronghammer may not know it yet, but he was hers to claim. She would make him see her, make him desire her as much as she desired him. She could feel the thrill of the challenge ahead, and the excitement of it only fueled her determination.
Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her gown flowing behind her like molten silver. Tonight, she would attend the royal dinner, and Robert would be there. She would make sure of it. And as her gaze settled on her reflection, she knew that no one—man or woman—could resist her when she set her mind to it.
With her heart set and her course clear, Rhaenyra Targaryen was ready to begin her pursuit of Robert Stronghammer, and she would not rest until he was hers.
Rhaenyra's mind was still a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as she stared at herself in the mirror, preparing for the royal feast. The frustration she felt toward her father gnawed at her constantly. It had been only months since her mother, Queen Aemma, had passed, and yet King Viserys had already taken a new wife—Alicent Hightower, who was nearly the same age as Rhaenyra. She had tolerated many things in her life, but the thought of having a stepmother who was more like a peer than a maternal figure was a bitter pill to swallow. It felt wrong, disrespectful to her mother's memory. Worse, Alicent had been her friend, and now she was queen. The betrayal stung deep.
But tonight, she wasn't going to let those feelings cloud her mind. No, tonight she had a different purpose. Robert Stronghammer was coming to the feast, and he had already become the focal point of her thoughts. There was no time for sulking about her father's choices. Rhaenyra had set her sights on Robert, and she intended to claim him.
As she stood by the window of her chambers, watching him arrive in the courtyard below, her pulse quickened. Robert looked every bit the warrior she admired, but tonight, dressed in his finest clothes, he carried himself with a noble air. His presence was striking. It was said that Robert was the natural-born son of Lord Boremund Baratheon, which tied him to the royal family by blood, albeit indirectly. That connection alone made him a suitable match for any noblewoman, but Rhaenyra wasn't concerned about propriety. She was a Targaryen, and Targaryens were known for their boldness.
Her mind began to race. There was only one way for Robert to truly be considered her equal—to marry her legally, he would need to claim a dragon. The Baratheons had Targaryen blood in their veins, and while Robert had never ridden a dragon, she wondered if it was possible. The thought of Robert atop a great beast of fire and scales, as her husband, sent a thrill through her.
But there was time for those plans later. For now, she needed to make an impression. Rhaenyra watched as Robert entered the Red Keep earlier than expected, moving through the courtyard with purpose. That gave her little time. She hurried back to her wardrobe, deciding that she would wear something that matched what Robert was likely to wear to the feast. If she coordinated their appearances, it would send a subtle but clear message: they were equals, and in the eyes of the court, they would look like a couple. The thought filled her with excitement.
Rhaenyra quickly called for her maids, and they scrambled to help her change. She discarded the elaborate gown she had been preparing for the feast, opting for something simpler but no less elegant—something that mirrored the colors and patterns of Robert's attire. As the maids fastened the laces of her new gown, Rhaenyra glanced at herself in the mirror. She had to admit, she looked stunning. Her silver-gold hair was still woven with delicate jewels, and the dress flattered her figure in a way that made her feel powerful and in control.
Once the maids finished, Rhaenyra dismissed them, her heart racing as she imagined what would happen next. Tonight, she would make sure that Robert Stronghammer noticed her. She would not be another face in the crowd, another woman seeking his attention. She was Rhaenyra Targaryen, and she always got what she wanted.
With one last glance at her reflection, she swept out of her chambers and made her way to the feast. She would not let anyone or anything stand in her way—not her father's new queen, not her uncle, not even Robert's unawareness of her plans. Tonight, she would lay the foundation for what was to come, and soon, she would have him.
Prince Daemon's steps were heavy as he made his way through the halls of the Red Keep. His body ached in places he hadn't realized could hurt, a constant reminder of his humiliating defeat at the hands of Robert Stronghammer. His face was still swollen from the beating, and while the healers had tended to his wounds, the pain lingered. But despite the discomfort, Daemon was determined to attend the feast. There was more to this than his pride, and he needed to understand what had driven Robert to such violence. He knew it wasn't simply because he had attacked Robert after the jousting; there was something deeper, and he intended to find out what.
As Daemon rounded a corner in the dimly lit hallway, fate seemed to intervene. There, walking toward him, was Robert himself. Daemon's first instinct was to clench his fists, but he forced himself to stay calm. They had fought side by side in the Stepstones; they had shared the battlefield, and Daemon knew Robert wasn't a man prone to reckless violence. There had to be an explanation.
To Daemon's surprise, it was Robert who spoke first. "Prince Daemon," Robert said, his voice filled with a strange mix of guilt and sincerity. "I need to apologize for what happened during the melee. I... sometimes lose focus when I'm fighting. It's like I'm back in the Stepstones, surrounded by the crab feeders, and all I can think about is surviving."
Daemon studied him for a moment, weighing the words. He could see the honesty in Robert's eyes, and it dawned on him that the man had not acted out of personal malice but out of some deep, instinctual reaction bred from the horrors of war. Daemon himself had felt that pull before—the fog of battle that could make a man lose sight of his surroundings and his enemies. He, too, had been in the Stepstones. He, too, had fought the crab feeders. In a way, Daemon could understand.
Slowly, Daemon's lips curled into a smirk, despite the pain in his bruised face. "So, you thought I was a crab feeder, eh?" he said with a hint of humor, testing the waters. "I suppose I can forgive that."
Robert looked relieved, though his expression remained somber. "I would never attack you without cause, Prince. I value the bond we forged in the Stepstones. But... I let the heat of battle take over, and for that, I am sorry."
Daemon's smirk grew into a small, genuine smile. He had always been proud, but he wasn't a fool. Making an enemy of Robert Stronghammer would serve no one, least of all him. Besides, they had fought together once before, and there was strength in such alliances. Daemon knew how to pick his battles, and this was not one he needed to fight. "We've both made mistakes," Daemon said, brushing off the apology with a wave of his hand. "I won't hold it against you. We're warriors, and sometimes, warriors lose themselves in the heat of things. But next time, try to remember I'm on your side."
Robert nodded, a small smile breaking through his otherwise stoic demeanor. "I'll keep that in mind."
For a moment, they stood in silence, two warriors who had clashed but were now bound by mutual understanding. Daemon, though proud and quick to anger, knew when to make alliances, and making one with Robert was far more beneficial than nursing a grudge. After all, Robert Stronghammer was a man of considerable strength, both in body and in influence. Daemon could see the respect Robert had garnered from the court, and even though he'd been bested, he knew there was more to gain by being Robert's ally than by being his enemy.
"Well then," Daemon said, adjusting his collar and straightening his posture. "Shall we go to the feast? I've no doubt the others are already talking about our little... disagreement."
"Lead the way, my prince," Robert said with a chuckle, and together, they made their way toward the great hall, their past conflict left behind in the shadows of the hallway.
As they walked, Daemon couldn't help but think about the shift in his feelings. He had been furious when he lost the joust and humiliated in the melee, but now, he found himself more intrigued by Robert than anything else. Perhaps there was much to be learned from the man who had bested him, and perhaps, in time, there would be more battles they would fight together—not as enemies, but as brothers in arms.
The grand feasting hall of the Red Keep buzzed with the low hum of conversation, nobles and influential guests gathered around the long tables, indulging in food and drink while exchanging whispers about the latest scandal. The talk of the evening revolved around Prince Daemon Targaryen's brutal defeat at the hands of the upstart knight, Robert Stronghammer—a man many considered little more than the bastard son of Lord Bormund Baratheon. The guests spoke in hushed tones, weighing their options, considering how to navigate the brewing tension for political or financial gain.
"Did you see how Daemon was unseated?" Lord Peasbury chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet. "I've never seen a Targaryen brought low in such a manner. That knight must have the strength of a dragon!"
"Indeed," replied Lady Aeliana, her voice lilting with a mixture of awe and disdain. "But do not forget who he has humiliated. Daemon is not the kind to forget a slight, especially one so public."
Around them, the other guests nodded, their expressions a mix of concern and anticipation. Whispers of alliances formed and broken flitted through the hall, and the tension in the air was as thick as the scent of roasted meats wafting from the tables. As a new round of wine was poured, many considered how they might best navigate this sudden shift in the court's power dynamics.
Noble houses had a long history of using such conflicts to their advantage, and this was no different. Some plotted how they might ingratiate themselves with Prince Daemon, believing that by condemning Robert and demanding punishment, they could earn Daemon's favor and secure powerful connections. Others whispered about the possibility of befriending Robert, sensing that his victory might bring him favor and prestige—an up-and-coming knight with Baratheon blood and strength that could not be ignored.
Speculation swirled, and the nobles leaned into their discussions, eager to divine the future. They debated amongst themselves, each weighing the potential gains and losses of supporting one man over the other.
"I hear Daemon has been humiliated in more ways than one," Lord Vasily interjected, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It is a known fact that he is as proud as a peacock. What do you think will happen if we support Robert? Surely we could win some favor with the Baratheons, who are on the rise. They may have a claim to the Iron Throne in due time."
Lady Meryn, her eyes sparkling with ambition, nodded eagerly. "And if we align ourselves with Daemon instead? The Targaryens are still the ruling family. If Daemon retaliates against Stronghammer, we could easily find ourselves in his good graces, basking in the warmth of his favor."
"No, no, you misunderstand," another noble chimed in, shaking his head. "If Daemon strikes against Robert, it could ruin him! He'd be seen as weak, as unable to tolerate defeat. Better to throw our lot in with the one who just bested him."
As the guests around him engaged in heated discussions, a low murmur of agreement rippled through the room. The nobles leaned closer, whispering secrets, their eyes darting between the entrance and the revelers already seated. The anticipation grew thicker with every moment, and they eagerly awaited the arrival of the two knights whose conflict had become the talk of the evening.
Then, the great doors to the hall swung open, and a hush fell over the crowd. All eyes turned to the entrance as Daemon Targaryen and Robert Stronghammer stepped into the room together. To the astonishment of every noble present, the two men were walking side by side, speaking in cheerful tones. Even more shocking, they were laughing—Daemon with his signature smirk and Robert's deep chuckle carrying across the hall as if they were old friends who hadn't seen each other in years, not two warriors who had been locked in fierce combat mere hours ago.
The shift in the atmosphere was palpable. Where the nobles had expected a bitter rivalry and a chance to leverage the tension between the two powerful men, they were instead met with an unexpected camaraderie. The guests, caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events, quickly found themselves scrambling to adjust their strategies.
"I don't believe it," one lord muttered to his companion. "Daemon's always been too proud to forgive something like that."
"And yet, here they are, laughing together," another observed, his voice tinged with disappointment. "This doesn't help us at all. How are we supposed to profit from this if they're not even enemies?"
Several nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Those who had been planning to side with Daemon now hesitated, unsure of their next move. Had Robert won Daemon over so easily? Could this knight be rising faster than anyone had anticipated? And if so, would it be wiser to align with him instead of the Targaryen prince?
As Robert and Daemon made their way through the hall, their expressions relaxed and their conversation lively, it became clear that the tension everyone had been hoping for was nonexistent. The guests, caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events, quickly found themselves scrambling to adjust their strategies.
Rhaenyra had spent the evening preparing for this very moment. After an arduous session of selecting the most beautiful dresses and meticulously styling her hair, she had resolved to charm the knight who had captivated her attention. The idea of Robert Stronghammer resonated in her mind, but as the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen, she knew the burdens of her title weighed heavily on her shoulders. With her father poised to marry again, her own desires became complicated by duty and expectation.
As she watched Robert and Daemon share a light-hearted banter, Rhaenyra felt a mix of emotions swirling within her—excitement and longing for the knight she had begun to admire deeply, along with a tinge of jealousy toward her uncle, who seemed to effortlessly befriend the man who had bested him.
The hall began to fill with chatter again as Robert and Daemon approached the high table, and Rhaenyra seized her moment. She rose from her seat and moved gracefully toward them, her heart pounding in her chest. Daemon spotted her first, his expression shifting from amusement to one of curiosity.
"Ah, my dear niece!" he greeted, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You would not believe the gall of this man. He made me look like a fool today!"
"Not a fool, Uncle," Rhaenyra replied, her voice playful yet sincere. "Perhaps just a man who underestimated a strong opponent."
Robert smiled at her, his deep-set eyes reflecting a hint of admiration. "I can assure you, Princess, it was not my intention to embarrass your uncle. The tournament can be unpredictable."
Daemon chuckled, rubbing his swollen jaw. "Unpredictable indeed. I've faced many adversaries, but none quite like you, Stronghammer. You are a formidable knight."
Rhaenyra seized the opportunity, glancing between them, her heart racing. "Perhaps it is your pride, Uncle, that needs tempering. Robert's skills are to be commended, and it is no shame to learn from such a worthy opponent."
Daemon laughed heartily at her defense of Robert. "Well spoken, Rhaenyra. Perhaps I should heed your advice more often. After all, it seems this knight has garnered quite the following." He gestured to the onlookers, many of whom were still buzzing with shock and awe at the sight of the two men together.
As the feast commenced, Robert settled into a seat next to Rhaenyra, their proximity heightening the already electric atmosphere. Daemon took his place across the table, allowing Rhaenyra to engage Robert directly. The more they spoke, the more she found herself drawn to his strength and humility.
"Tell me about the Stepstones," she urged, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You defeated the Triarchy. What was it like?"
Robert leaned in, his expression earnest as he recounted tales of battles fought alongside his brothers in arms, of their triumphs and losses. He spoke of the bravery of their comrades and the stark beauty of the islands—his voice carried a weight of experience that fascinated Rhaenyra.
"I remember standing on the shores, watching the horizon burn as the sun set," he said, his gaze distant. "Every victory was a step toward freedom, a chance to reclaim our legacy. But each battle came at a price."
Rhaenyra felt a flicker of admiration, not just for his strength as a warrior but for the depth of his character. It was rare to find someone who understood the burdens of leadership and honor, and yet still bore them with such grace.
As the feast continued, the conversation shifted, and the other nobles joined in, vying for Robert's attention. Some offered congratulations; others tried to glean insight into his plans or ambitions. Rhaenyra listened intently, noting how Robert handled the attention with poise. It was clear that he was more than just a knight; he was a man with aspirations.
Author's Note:
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