𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒 & 𝕯𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒 || 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈 ― 𝓞𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 / 𝓓𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃

104 AC - The ember that psyched a 6 years of age child to press on and earn the love that she vigorously claimed as stolen from her . On dragonback , wings spread across the skies of Westeros , she envisioned herself conquering not only the world , but living without a single fear in her little body . That was the omen she prayed to each time the moon would ascend on the same horizon she was to belong to soon enough , young arms squeezing the toy a little closer to chest every time .

Yet even the wildest of flames die out drowned in a sea of tears , its chromatic of crimson and golden diminished before blurry eyes as the news of a failed hatch broke out a morrow .

That year will prove to threaten great shifts in the tides of fate , preaching of a weight akin to titans on the shoulders of my youthful soul.

Rage was no emotion that a girl should dance with from such an early hour of life and yet it always finds a way to become ― her upmost confidante .

The shadows cast upon my name devoured deeper as my dear elder sister claimed herself a sky playmate she named Syrax and our beloved mother expected a third joy for the realm's sake  

Heartening , isn't it ?

Certain to claim , there was a constant murmur spread within us all ; hearts followed the same rhythm as we held our breath for the long wait to greet a possible future brother .

And what best distraction from such inner distress could a king do better than a celebration ? perhaps the boasting tunes of trumpets and cheers could only indulge the gods , allow us all to make way through the stormy clouds that gathered and fly higher .

I found myself in no position to weep any longer . Pain suffocated pain and each inch that pressed further than the one before brought a sense of gratitude when it would soften even a moment .

That was a day marked under the banners of festivity as all good people of Westeros appreciated as good luck charm in the name of their future King .The realm tasted prosperity , indulged itself with the sheer faith of another decades similar to what my father's grand sire fought to reinforce upon its peers.

Such fantasy seemed to gain rightness if a proper heir was to conclude that day's celebration .

Proper ―

The word delivers a spoonful of disgust that haunts me still . An invention of lowlife men carried on by their sons of the same weak seed inheriting an awfully distinguishable fear for what a woman is capable of .

Hard to tell if my little self from back then could wander the tourney grounds of Maidenpool troubled by such thoughts , but the fire was there , fed by little things , minor details that must have cost so much later on.

Until then ― i was to be just Aelora Targaryen . The realm's second born with a failed hatchling and notorious for all too many not ― so ― ladylike  misdeeds .

❝  Time is of the essence if the princess wishes to keep a good impression for the crowds . ❞

Voice of a young Alicent Hightower would beg as bitten nails would dig deeper into own digits  .  Anxious yet caring as she had made her name amidst the court paled yet complements the fire of the Realm's Delight , pursed lips of one matching the fiery mischief of the other .

❝  Worry not too much now ; the guests are still gathering . ❞ ―  Rhaenyra would giggle in reassurance , sound of mirth masking the muted tension that rises over the house of crimson and black in expectation of a son's birth  .  

Lies spread in perfumed intentions , to deceive her dearest confidante shall prove more ardous than predicted as her artful smirk keeps only further gossip amidst servants at bay .

And as endless chatter rounded by sweet laughter brought the royal chamber to life , the corners where the glorious sun could not reach had its casted shadows dominated by a silent glare painted in lilac and blue .

They all craft their own way to cope with the matter at hand , whether be it in whispers or screams .

Fidgety hands tossed & turned a small knife over and over again as my heterochromia orbs have never drifted away from the two delicate silhouettes . Playing their game of words in front of the great mirror of shared chamber , the restless tapping of my leg was sole betrayer of impatience .

Whether be it for the  'only worthwhile entertainment of the event '  as I've repeatedly described the bloody tourney or the pure indignation for being denied the right to actively participate in it , most of the court heads took a liking in potraying me as just what I acted like ―  a son with teats .

Simple minded yet impossible to please , the Seven Kingdoms fervently spurned my dreams of knighthood , of battle hardened knuckles and scars to count for days . Instead , it all rewarded with silent judgement as even my father , the king himself believed it's wisest to keep she Aelora 'the beastie' Targaryen away from the public's watchful eyes until marriage and pregnancy will put this fire to a more fitting use .

So the news of a son rapidly making its way into the heart of the Dragon's family has been taken with a grain of salt , as it both carried hopes for a lifetime away from unsought heeds and cruel finality in the attempts to prove myself worthy of a fatherly pride alike .

❝  ñuha mandia ēdruta sagon se olvie gevie  (  my sister must be the most beautiful  ) even if that takes eons to get ready .  ❞

The shadows grow voice .  I  taunted a playful tease of a comment while grabbing my knife once more , staying up with a keen groan of protest . Prideful confessions carried on lyricism of High Valyrian rose a barrier of intimacy ; a reminder that there is only dissonance for whoever is not my own blood .

❝  I ―  on the other hand ... am allowed to do as i please . Even if that would mean walking around in a scrawny sack of potatoes .  ❞

And so opportunity taken , I excused myself with the most graceful yet mocking bow my body could gesture before  dear sister , soon enough vanishing behind the wooden closed doors .

A hound loyalty for own kin could only go so far as desires for own self guide the brazen steps towards familiar grounds ;  away from silks and gold and closer to the roughness of stables where opportunity to sneak into an armor of two may be turned reality .

Cursed to proceed under the constant care of guards , it was only moments as given when fate allowed a chance to freedom in the midst of chaotic and last - minute preparations for the tourney at Maidenpool .  Only a fool would miss it , I dared to remind myself as only stop made was by the servants quarters . A precise plan was to be followed , tiny hands snatching a pair of worn beige trousers and a linen shirt to go with . Gods could swear , if it wasn't for the famous locks of silvery hair caught up in messy braids , I would've made the perfect stable boy !

So such was not the burden of mine , sudden glimmer in these eyes reveling in the sight of silver and wood & senses welcomed the tangy yet deep stench only a stable could be described with .

Only there , cooed in the embrace of simplicity , mind and body could give in the festivities on own accord .  The flesh yearned in desire to have a feel and run my digits across the armor of the approaching jousting . Young dragon could dream of joining the brawl herself even whilst her head could barely rise above the length of a great sword and girlish arms could hardly carry a true shield .

Prideful to be claimed , such infirm details could hardly stop young blood from stirring itself up in the fire of  what's - the - worst - that - could - happen - ?

❝  You know this is for men of honor and knighthood ,  don't you?  ❞  ―  familiar voice leered .