The morning fog rested gently against the green pastures of Runestone, the landscape a blur of rolling hills and dense forests. Lady Rhea was committed to her routine, which was riding out on her horse every dawn— and hunting or tracking whatever creature caught her eye. She would then return home: long ago, it would've been to a bottle of wine and a stack of books. Now, it was to a three year old babe— who was the unfortunate product of an unwanted marriage.

Rhea cared for her daughter. That was true. Though the same could not be said for Daemon Targaryen— her esteemed husband. The father of the girl. He did not even remember the night Valyria was conceived, let alone the day she was born. A daughter to a bronze bitch was of no interest to him. He said this without ever even laying eyes upon the girl.

The girl who resembled him remarkably so. With her silver hair and violet eyes.

Lady Rhea tried not to think of it. But everytime she looked at her daughter, she was reminded of the man who could not love her and the life she could never have. She was grateful for the infants rare quality of silence, never once making a fuss or waking her up throughout the long nights. She learned quickly and listened easily. The perfect daughter.

In the distance, Rhea spotted the approaching figure of her cousin atop his brown horse— a smile warming his features. "Good morrow, Lady Rhea." He spoke, slowing down to a stop next to her white stallion.

"Cousin," She nodded— latching her hands around the reigns of her horse to stop.

He looked to her, eyeing the bow and arrow on the side of her saddle. "What's today's quarry? Rabbit?"

"Deer." Rhea corrected with a smirk, her cousins eyebrows raising as he hummed. "Oh, fine challenge." He appraised, "Care for some company?" He then added— gesturing towards the open fields around them.

The lady situated herself atop her horse, "I'd rather ride alone. In a short time from now, I'll have a babe pulling my hair and pinching my cheeks." Rhea informed, almost dreadfully so. But in a playful manner, she truly did love Valyria. As best as she could.

Without another word, she clicked her tongue and urged her horse forward— continuing down the path. Her cousin bid her goodbye, but it simply faded to the background as the wind whipped through her brown hair. She was headed towards the hill Runestone found itself settled upon, traveling through the misty vale and thin valleys.

It wasn't until she spotted a cloaked figure that she stopped once more. This time, more aggravated. How hard was it to get home to her daughter? Tightening her grip on the reigns, the horse beneath her huffed— her eyes following the hooded face that approached her, his arms swinging by his sides. He had a familiar walk.

As he got closer, her taupe eyes squinted, spotting the silver hair that shifted underneath his cloak from the wind. Rhea now grew weary, tilting her head to the side. "Husband."

It had been years. Three, to be exact.

Daemon stopped. He lifted his head, meeting her stare.

"What brings you to the Vale?" She questioned, "Have you finally come to meet your daughter?" Rhea added, casting a glance back— a sudden dread filling her stomach. She now wished she had taken her cousin up on his offer.

"Not that she asks for you." Rhea continued, the pent up irritation with her so called husband finally spewing from her lips. "She would look at you and see a stranger. A strange man, with a strange face."

Daemon stayed silent, studying her as she talked atop her horse. "Or perhaps your brother has at last had his fill of your company. Cast you aside in favor of a little girl."

Now he moved. One step closer, then another, until Rheas horse huffed and instinctively backed up— whinnying at the proximity. The lady stopped and watched as he raised his hand to calm the stallion, "What will you do now? Will you strike the child down? Or your own?" She inquired, "Or..."

There it was. The realization hit her. He will strike her down. No marriage, no ties. But what of Valyria? What of their daughter? She would stand to inherit Runestone. A girl of three who sleeps with a stuffed teddy.

In the corner of her eye, there was a raven atop a hill. Watching.

Rhea reached for her bow, but it was hard for her to see what happened next. It all went so fast. Daemon lunged forward, the horse jerked back— and she went flying off, her head slamming into the rough, cold ground. Something inside of her snapped, she could physically feel it. Then, she was staring at the blue sky above— and felt nothing at all.

Not her fingers, not her legs, not her toes.

Daemon stood, untouched, only a few feet away. He sighed softly, approaching the wheezing Rhea, looking down at her from above. He watched as she winced and whimpered, his heel wordlessly moving to press against her padded wrist. Once he saw she had no reaction, no feeling, he turned and simply walked away. Without speaking a single word.

"I knew you couldn't finish." Rhea gasped, "You could never even love your own daughter. Craven!"

He stopped. Daemon looked to the pebbled road, then to the bigger rock surrounded by several smaller ones. He picked it up from the ground, testing the weight in his grasp, the noise heard by the paralyzed Rhea who laid a few feet away. She cried softly, hearing nothing but his footsteps growing closer. It wasn't long until she felt the rock meet her head.

The last thought that ran through her mind was that of her daughter's silver hair. And the man she was doomed to be raised by, if he even cared enough to partake in the process.

Gods, how she hoped he would not.

—

chapter one,
the dreamers — 127 AC

TEN YEARS LATER

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the Red Keep. Valyria Targaryen sat at the window of the princesses chambers, her silver hair catching the last rays of daylight. She had been sent here, long ago, far from the halls of Runestone, to fulfill a duty she never asked for. The first words her father taught her were, "Runestone is yours. I do not wish to inherit it." After that— he became a ghost.

His plan did not work out in his favor, after all. Valyria, from her prison in the keep, was torn away from her inheritance. She could not rule a castle she no longer lived in, so the titles and lands passed to her mothers eldest nephew. She was okay with this. Her father, he was not.

Daemon Targaryen was his own person with his own desires. Raising a daughter was not one of them. Instead, he left it to the ladies in waiting of Kings Landing. Valyria lived there, safely in the halls of Maegors Holdfast alongside the King and his family. She was promised to the prince Aegon Targaryen, but they were still children— she the young age of thirteen.

Valyria never wanted to marry. Would you defy your father for your pathetic needs? Daemon questioned. The girl, even at her age, wanted to laugh in his face. He was, if anything, hypocritical. She would've preferred him to speak true. Marrying her off removed a burden from his shoulders.

But she shut her mouth. She zipped her lips and listened obediently, resolving to a dull life. She spent her days buried in books, learning of her heritage and the history of her family. With the help of Maesters, she learned the High Valyrian tongue that her father failed to teach her. She stayed silent, becoming a sponge of information. Not just of histories, but of conversations she overheard. Of whispers in the hallways— side glances in the small council where she served as a cup bearer.

This is what Daemon taught her.

Everytime her father returned to Kings Landing, he would ring her out— taking in the information and then leaving again. It was rare thing, their conversations, but for some reason, Valyria cherished them. It was all she wanted. To be listened to, to be heard. By her father. Daemon only saw her as a source, and that was something she knew deep in the back of her mind.

She knew why she was to marry Aegon. Daemon, he was not around long enough to see it. Everyone knows Aegon was already to be wed to the princess Helaena Targaryen. His own sister. Why two wives, the people asked. Aegon the Conqueror had two as well, the Hightowers answered, he is only following his namesake.

Valyria saw right through this. Viserys had promised the throne to his daughter, yes. But this was before his first true son was born under his name. Westeros, they did not seek council from women. Only pleasure. Rhaenyra's claim would be fought over, blood would be shed. Valyria watched this happen in her dreams, in bright flashes alone.

Having two wives, two bodies to carry heirs, this would strengthen Aegons claim when the time comes.

And Valyria, well, she would be a pawn on a chess table. As she had been her entire life.

A Targaryen with no dragon. Because of the estranged relationship of her mother and father, an egg was never chosen for her. Rhea, stubborn in her ways, never told Daemon of her pregnancy. Not until it had already happened. Maybe things would have went differently if she did, maybe he would have ensured his daughter a protector.

Now— there she was, in the Red Keep, awaiting each passing day. She grew close with the princess Rhaenyra, her sons Lucerys and Jacaerys. And also with Helaena, the princess with dreams of her own. They would be wives together someday soon, leaving Valyria grateful to enjoy her presence.

She missed her mother. She wondered how her life would change if Lady Rhea never fell from her horse that fateful day. Daemon never spoke of it. A look of disgust consumed his features whenever Valyria mentioned her mother's name. So, she never did. She never talked about it. Her mother's cousin told her once she was a great rider, the best hunter in Runestone. This made her question her mother's death even more than she already had.

How could one trained on a saddle fall off so... easily?

Her eyes were trained on a small, ceramic figurine of a dragon. The color made it white, and it reminded her of the ones that visited in her dreams. She held it in her hands, over her lap where her red dress was crinkled together. A few feet away sat Helaena, an insect crawling over and across her palm as she mumbled to herself.

This was how Valyria spent many of her days, biding time with Helaena. Only this day, Queen Alicent joined them— watching over her daughter who analyzed the insect closely. And carefully, with a gentle touch. Every so often the Queen would look to Valyria, a ping of sympathy felt deep in her gut at the sight. A daughter abandoned.

She saw herself within her. Young and curious about the world. Only sooner or later, like all girls, that curiosity would be snuffed out by the harsh touch of men.

"This one has sixty rings," Helaena spoke, more clearly this time. "And two pairs of legs on each. That's two hundred and forty." She informed— watching the creature crawl over her fingers.

Valyria counted in her head, but the numbers jumbled together too fast for her to catch up with. She was never good at adding. Or subtracting. But Alicent hummed in response to her daughter, "Yes, it is." The mother said, raising her hand to absentmindedly massage her brow.

"It has eyes." Helaena pointed out, Valyria's violet stare moving to lay upon her as she continued. "Though, I don't believe it can see."

"And why is that so, do you think?" The Queen countered, leaning her arm against the cushioned divan she sat upon. She wore a pretty green dress, a golden headband intertwined with her auburn hair. Valyria always believed Alicent to be beautiful. But young, like her. And unlike the King, who she was married to.

Helaena turned to look at her mother, "It is beyond our understanding."

"Many things are." Valyria spoke in agreement, fiddling with the ceramic dragon in her hands. Viserys gave it to her, months ago. A gift from the king was one she would cherish. Though it was merely an act of sympathy, for not having a dragon of her own.

The door to the chambers squealed open, the heavy wood making a soft thud against the wall. The next sound that followed was that of heavy armor, a guardsman entering with a smoke marked Aemond in tow. Ah. He went exploring in the dragon pits again.

Valyria was not the only one without a protector.

"Aemond," The Queen sighed, standing from her spot and approaching with a worried look. A worried look that soon turned irritated— "What have you done?"

"He did it again." Helaena whispered, Valyria's eyes turning to her as her attention shifted back to the insect she held.

"After how many times you've been warned," Alicent continued the rant of disapproval, Valyria sinking into the cold wall behind her as if she could blend in. "Must I have you confined to your chambers?"

Aemond pulled away from his mother, "They made me do it!"

"As if you needed encouragement." The Queen retorted. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding." She spoke, and even if the words weren't directed at her, Valyria couldn't help but to look down at the small dragon in her grasp. She understood Aemonds ventures. She's partaken in the same ones, only completely alone, and never getting caught in the process.

"They gave me a pig!" Aemond yelled, voice cracking ever so slightly.

Alicent's brows furrowed, "A what?"

The son met his mother's eyes, "They said they found a dragon for me. But it was a pig."

Valyria felt herself wince. One week ago, Aegon had approached her, and requested she put her sewing skills to fine use, as he said. A pair of wings was what he asked for. Bright and pink, lovey and dovey. For a gift. She knew now, it was no gift at all. Only a way to torment his brother.

"The last ring has no legs at all." Helaena continued to mumble to herself, words only heard by Valyria.

"You will have a dragon one day." Alicent assured, placing both hands on each of her son's shoulders. "I know it."

Valyria looked to Helaena as she whispered one last sentence that seemed to slither into the back of her mind and nest there, "He'll have to close an eye."

Several minutes later, Valyria excused herself from the princesses chambers and set out on a mission. The thirteen year old weaved through the corridors of Maegors Holdfast, the crimson fabric of her dress pinched in her hands as she climbed stairs. Aegons room had a window that overlooked the city, leaving it high up and rather irritating to reach.

But nevertheless she continued on, her silver hair whisking by the sides of her face. Once she entered, she spotted him, already striped down to the bare minimum and sipping from a goblet of wine. His mattress lay on the floor, unsupported and with several thick covers and pillows scattered around.

She did not care to say hello. Or greet him. "You used my wings for a pig?" Valyria questioned, putting both hands on her hips as she huffed. The trip here was not fun, and it didn't help that she rushed to reach him before the Queen.

Aegon laughed. He continued to lay on the mattress, head against the pillow as he eyed the ceiling. "Has he ran and tattled to mother already?" He questioned, balancing the golden cup on his chest. "He is truly no fun."

"Why must you torment him?" Valyria remained in her spot, nudging a pile of discarded clothes with her heel.

"It makes me laugh." Aegon admitted, lifting his head only to sip from the wine. His eyes moved to her, "Why? Are you bothered, betrothed?"

She held back a gag. Valyria swallowed the words she wanted to say and instead rolled her eyes, feeling a disdain run deep at that word. She just wished to be a child, yet it seems Aegon has long accepted their fate. "I am just simply disappointed that you didn't use them yourself, Aegon. I made the wings to suit you, after all."

With that, she eyed the mess scattered around the room, the sight of clutter digging underneath her skin. Aegon sat up with furrowed brows, watching as she began to pick up the clothes— situating them into one pile. "The wings were pink." He said, an offended look etched in his features.

She stayed silent, letting him sit with that answer.

"What are you doing?" Aegon questioned, his eyes following her— folding covers, situating the pillows on the distant couch. "Why are you doing that?"

"Your mother will be here soon." Valyria informed, "It may not withstand her wrath, but it should help temper it." She added— straightening the books on the shelf before stepping back and clasping her hands together. "There."

Aegon sat up against the wall, holding the goblet in his hands. "Is she really that upset?" He questioned, and for a second, Valyria could hear the fearful child within his voice. It was rare, with Aegon, but sometimes it would show.

She felt her chest tighten, that same scared feeling chilling her bones. You are empathetic, princess, the Maesters would say. She complained of this many times to them. When others felt anger, so did she. It went the same way for fear, grief, sadness. As if whatever emotions present latched onto her and clawed at her throat, forcing her to act.

Empathetic, she thought. If this was empathy she did not want it.

"Surely you can handle your mother, Aegon." Valyria clasped her hands together behind her back, squeezing anxiously at her wrists. "Just be yourself. Consider apologizing for what happened with your brother." She attempted to advise, drifting back towards the exit.

He groaned, taking several large gulps from the goblet of wine. Valyria took this as her chance, bowing her head softly before leaving the room— closing the heavy door behind her. She felt a weight fall from her shoulders once she escaped, yet wasted no time in continuing down the halls towards her own chambers where she could find solace. And leaving Aegon to the wrath of Queen Alicent.

It was quiet when she entered her room. As expected. The hearth remained unlit, the stone floors cold and mainly empty. She had a bed, one table, two chairs— and a vanity desk. That was the only cluttered space in the room, its surface covered with journals and books. But Valyria spotted something new atop her collection, a scrolled letter with a red stamp.

Her heart lurched. She took a few quick steps forward, grabbing the rolled parchment and examining the wax that sealed it shut. A three headed dragon. Within two seconds it was ripped off, falling to the floor as she moved towards a nearby burning candle— using the light to see the words neatly written across the letter.

Dear Valyria,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. It has been some time since we last saw each other, and I have missed your presence dearly.

I write to you with joyous news that I am eager to share. Your father and I are expecting another child, and soon you will have a new sibling to welcome into our family. The maesters have assured me that all is well, and we are filled with hope and excitement for the days to come.

I must apologize on behalf of your father for not writing to you himself. He has been preoccupied with matters here and often finds it difficult to express his feelings in letter. Or in person, for that matter. Nevertheless, please know that he thinks of you often.

As you know, Rhaena, Baela, your father, and I are currently residing in the Free Cities, and we find ourselves longing for the day we can be one. I understand that your duties in King's Landing keep you busy, but I hope that fate soon brings us together. Your father and I would be overjoyed to have you here, to share in this special time.

Please know that you are always in our thoughts and hearts. Your strength and resilience inspire us every day, and we are so proud of the woman you have become. I look forward to the day when we can all be reunited, united as a family.

With all my love,
Laena Velaryon

—