( warning—this chapter contains explicit sexual content
if you wish to skip the smut scene, it will be marked with *** at the beginning! )

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞
____________

___𝔄CROSS the blue waters of the Narrow Sea, far from the seven kingdoms of beasts, standing upon a balcony overlooking the free city of Pentos is the youngest of the last Targaryens.

The beautiful girl of seven-and-ten surveys the city sprawling out beyond Magister Illyrio's–their generous host—manse of marble, the tiled roofs glinting in the pale gold light as the Pentoshi mingle about the cobblestone streets languidly.

   The misty sea breeze sweeping through her long silver-gold hair greets her cheeks with cool kisses on this rather humid morrow, filling her nose with the scent of salt.

   A soft breath slips past her lips when her stomach abruptly churns, beginning to rub her fingers over her womb delicately with a grimace crossing her face.

   "𝑻𝒖𝒃𝒊̄ 𝒅𝒂𝒐𝒓, 𝒛𝒂𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒊̄𝒕𝒔𝒐𝒔. 𝑲𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒔." She pleads. ( not today, little dragon. please )

The fateful day Rhaenerys and her twin sister bled on their bedsheets in that house with the red door and the lemon tree outside their bedroom window, 'twas when their older brother, Viserys III, took her to sister-wife.

"Dragons do not mate with other beasts," he had said.

In the thickest of dark nights since the moonless hour they bound themselves in blood, Viserys 'twould take her, his own little sister, against her will to sire an heir within her womb, and after three years, his seed had finally bloomed in her belly.

'Tis only been a moon since they discovered she 'twere pregnant.

And every morn, Rhae prays to all the gods she could think of for a boy, but nothing will cause the babe to grow a cock if it does not already possess one, she knows.

Rhaenerys sighs, wishing she could hatch a dragon into the world like her ancestors 'twould and fly away, far away, from Viserys with her sweet sister. But the dragons are gone, they've been dead for centuries.

"Do you think there is a chance he will forget, Rhae?"

Thinking of her sweet sister, a soft smile tugs at Rhae's once frowning lips when Daenerys joins her on the balcony, resting her hands on the rail as her silver-gold hair catches in the dappled light. It made Dany beautiful, more so than usual.

The twins 'twere donning dresses of similar design, though Dany's 'tis poppy pink in shade whilst Rhae's is a smoky blue. The Myrish silk 'tis weightless and soft against their pale skin as the flowing skirts billow delicately in the gentle breeze.

   "Do you mean our dear brother or the Dothraki warlord?" Rhaenerys suspects her sister's answer before Dany even speaks, "Both."

   "The chance of either forgetting is quite slim to none, Dany," she says forlornly. Facing her sister, heart aching at those glistening violet eyes fearfully looking at her, Rhae brings Dany's hand into her own, rubbing the pad of her thumb across her knuckles soothingly, "But I will be by your side, as always."

   A smile graces Daenerys' lips.

A life without the other by their side simply does not exist for the sisters, Rhaenerys is her strength, as Dany is hers.

"Daenerys? Rhaenerys!"

The voice of their vile brother interrupts the serenity of the golden morning, their once bright smiles fading into forlorn frowns and hearts stuttering in their chests as they turn their heads toward the echo of Viserys' approaching footsteps.

The twins walk into the bathhouse behind the softly swaying curtains just as Viserys enters, holding a silk dress in his arms. The sight of it makes the reality of her brother's intentions all the more real to Dany, and she struggles to withhold her tears, biting her lip to subdue its tremble.

'Twould only anger Viserys, and neither wish to invoke his wrath–a terrible thing when roused.

A cruel smile overtakes his lips when his pale lilac eyes find his sisters walking in from the balcony, hand in hand, "There's our bride to be." The words ring in Rhae's head, bride to be, only serving to grimly remind her of Viserys' intention to sell their own sister off to some Dothraki warlord like a broodmare. 

   All for an army to take back the throne of their ancestors with.

   The siblings meet by the steaming bath, the gems encrusted into its rim glinting beneath the pale gold rays beaming through the sun-drenched windows, and Viserys holds out his arms, presenting the dress to his sister, "Look, a gift from Illyrio. Go on, touch it! Feel the fabric."

   Sweet Dany, frightened to upset her brother, obeys. Lifting the hand not held within her sister's own, she prays Viserys will not notice the slight tremble in the limb as she drifts her palm across the pale lilac silk. 'Twere indeed a beautiful dress, but far too thin, too revealing, but Daenerys knew 'twould not serve her well to voice these apprehensions.

   A sickening grin crinkles the hard lines in Viserys' face, his chest rumbling with a low hum, "Isn't he a gracious host?"

   Daenerys meets her brother's eyes, her words drifting past her pink lips softly, timidly, ever afraid to invoke her brother's wrath, "We've been his guests for over a year, and.. he's never asked us for anything...?"

   "Well, Illryio is no fool. He knows I won't forget my friends when I come into my throne."

   Viserys' eyes roam across his second to youngest sister's body, a cold scrutinizing gleam in his narrowed gaze, before expelling a long breath, as if disappointed in whatever 'tis he saw. Dany swallows the sudden boulder in her throat. All but shoving the dress into the hands of the nearest servant wondering throughout the room–filling the tub with steaming water, or pouring scented oils into the crystalline waters–he steps forward, "You still slouch."

   Though, before her brother-husband could touch her sweet sister, Rhaenerys pulls Dany behind her to shield her from his cruelty this day, as much as she could.

   "𝑽𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒚𝒓𝒚𝒔, please," she looks up at him through her long lashes, violet eyes glistening with unshed tears. ( husband )

   It broke her heart to stare into his cold eyes, remembering the day everything fell apart. As the years turned, Viserys' once kindly nature faded to an ugly bitterness and anger, often blaming them for his mother's death, never their mother, but when he had been forced to sell her crown, the last joy had gone from him, leaving behind only rage.

   Those eyes, once so full of brotherly affection, stare into her own for several seconds of silence where her heart stills within her chest, before Viserys sighs, lifting his hands to hold her lithe waist. 

   "𝑨̄𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚𝒓𝒚𝒔," he mutters in something Rhaenerys 'twould like to believe is tenderness, love, but knows it isn't, just a softness he convinces himself he still holds for her, his sister-wife. She withholds a shiver with all her might when his hands, near as cold as his eyes, slip beneath her dress and trail across her soft skin to her ever so slowly swelling breasts, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples.

   He looks into her eyes, and she looks into his, "I need you to be perfect today. Can you do that for me, sweet sisters?"

   Eyes glistening with tears, Rhae's lips part to speak, but her voice leaves her when he squeezes her breasts, things now so sensitive to any touch. "You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?"

   With a twitch of her lips, Rhaenerys shakes her head, "No, dear brother."

   Pleased with his sisters obedience, Viserys presses a gentle kiss to his sister-wife's crown of silver-gold, her natural scent of lavender wafting into his nose and filling the air with sweetness.

   He tries to convince himself he still loves her, his little flower... but his desire for the Iron Throne, his birthright, is the only thing that matters to him, 'tis just the harsh truth of his black heart. Rhaenerys is only a means to provide him with a worthy heir.

And so, Viserys turns away from his sisters and takes his leave of the bathhouse, looking at them before he steps through the door, "When they write the history of my reign, sweet sisters, they will say it began today." Then their brother is gone.

A tear trickles down Rhae's cheek, closing her eyes with a soft exhalation.

"The scholars will write something, dear brother... but not of you being king, I fear," she whispers beneath her breath, willing her galloping heart to steady itself with slow breaths.

"Rhaenerys," Dany chastises softly, afraid Viserys might have heard.

She looks at her twin with a sorrowful grin, "I speak the truth, Dany. The people call him the Beggar King when he does not hear. Viserys does not posses the makings of a great king."

"He is still the rightful heir."

"Being the last son doesn't make you a good king." Rhae expels a breath, "Now, please turn so I can untie your dress. We must bathe before meeting the Khal."

   Dany does. She stares at the sunlit beams pouring in through the arched windows with forlorn painting her ethereal features as her twin unties the laces wrapped around her shoulders, the bright pink silk sinking to the tiled floor weightlessly.

   Rhae, then, unties her own, shrugging off the Myrish silk, revealing her belly that 'tis very slightly beginning to swell with little red–barely noticeable–stretch marks marring her porcelain skin.

   Her body changing to hold her brother's heir growing within her womb, 'twas a wonder, truly...if she forgot about her worries of birthing a girl.

   Would he toss the babe, his own child, to the sharks in the Bay of Pentos if 'twere a girl? Give her off to one of the pleasure houses, instead?

   Rhaenerys dreaded to dwell on those thoughts, and thus she shoved them behind iron bars, hopefully not to be seen again, yet knowing they 'twould haunt her nonetheless, and clasps her sister's hand.

   Together, the twins step up onto the marble stairs leading into the bath, the waters rippling within near the temperament of boiling as pale wisps of steam emit from its misty surface. "It's too hot, M'Ladies!" One of the servants cries, to no avail as the young girls step into the waters.

   They do not flinch, nor grimace in discomfort. Their ivory skin 'twere not even blemished with the red blush one gains from standing beneath the sun for far too long.

   Sitting on the benches dipped beneath the waters, Rhae plucks a bar of soap from the rim, smelling like citrus–her sister's favorite scent–and gently rubs it across Dany's skin.

   "Have you ever dreamed of the Dothraki, Rhae?" Dany breaks the silence.

   Since but a girl of nine, Rhaenerys Targaryen had been gifted, or perhaps plagued, with dragon dreams. The Dreamer could see things to come, events that 'twere happening as she slept, or, quite rarely, something that has already past.

   Some nights Rhae 'twould dream of dragons, great winged creatures bigger even than the Great Pyramid of Meereen she'd heard about, but those weren't her real dreams, just ones of a hopeful young girl.

   "No," Rhae said on a soft exhalation, lathering her sister's pearlescent locks with citrusy oils, "But I have read about these Horse Lords. Their savage traditions. 'Tis said that every important event in a Dothraki's life is to be held underneath the stars, or the open sky, for their hordes to see, and a wedding is no different."

   "My wedding to the Great Khal..?"

   "Yes, Dany." She rests her palm on her twin's shoulder, "But being joined beneath the stars isn't so outrageous. It was the home of the dragons, so in a way, you will be closer to them."

   Daenerys Stormborn twists her gaze to smile at her sister behind her, "You are right, Rhae."

   A playful smirk curls at the edges of Rhae's plump lips, "Oh, I know." They chuckle, the delicate sound bouncing off the walls.

❁ 𓃗 ❁

     When the waters became too cold for the twins' blood, the girls 'twere dressed with aid of the servants. The dress gifted to Dany by their host is the shade of lavender, the straps holding the dress on her shoulders a deep and rich violet. Thin white fabrics hung loosely from her shoulders, dripping down to her petite waist, with a pair of silver three-headed dragon pins on her shoulders.

   Rhae's 'tis a bright blue, like the ocean beyond the free city's walls, with cerulean straps tied behind her neck, form-fitting around her waist with a slit from her hip to the bottom of the dress on her left. And like her sister, silver three-headed dragon pins glinted in the pale gold light on her shoulders.

   Looking at herself in the polished mirror, Dany felt bare in the dress. The fabric far too thin, revealing her back like her porcelain skin 'twere a prize on display, though her long hair hid some of her discomfort.

   But not all of it.

   She hates the dress, she hates this betrothal...she hates Viserys.

   Nonetheless, she bears it with a bitter smile, silencing her discomforts the way she knows how.

   In the midst of her turmoil, as always, her sister is there, resting her palms on her shoulders and her chin atop the back of her hand. "Even though I won't be able to walk with you, I'll still be there, Dany."

   And that is all she needs to hear to soothe her tremors. Dany lays her head against Rhae's, closing her eyes and mimicking the rhythm of her sister's steady breath. "Thank you, Rhae."

   Simply existing in the serenity of their shared company for a timeless moment, the twins know they must make their way to the yard and thus step apart to slip on their leather sandals, before clasping onto each others' hands and walking to the entry of the manse where the ceremony 'tis to be held.

   The courtyard 'tis filled with curious Magisters, all business-partners of Illyrio, no doubt, sat beneath large canopies to keep cool beneath the glares of the sun whilst servants fan their masters with green bamboo leaves.

   The crisp ocean breeze swept across the pebbles dotting the cobblestone road at the bottom of the long stairwell, where the last Targaryens stood at the very top with Illyri, awaiting the Dothraki Khal.

   At his side, Rhaenerys felt the tension filling her brother-husband's gaunt figure with every moment that came and went with the Khal nowhere in sight, his fist curling around the hilt of his borrowed sword–to look more "kingly", he had said–impatiently.

   The twins held onto their hands as all within the yard awaited for the Dothraki to emerge through the marble gates of the manse, their shared nerves seeping into their bones.

   Rhae had read all about the Dothraki, what little there was to know. The savages, as Viserys loves to call them, whom kill and fuck whenever it pleases them.

   And now with the moment upon them to meet Dany's future husband, she wouldn't deny to herself, she is afraid to see this warlord in the flesh, but Rhaenerys holds herself steady. Tall and proud, like a dragon would, for her sweet sister beside her.

   "Where is he?" There 'twas a feverish look in Viserys' eyes when he growled those words through clenched teeth.

   Illyrio turns to the short-tempered Prince, "The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality."

   Viserys were no less irked at the stout man's response, huffing an annoyed breath.

   "𝑨𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊̄ 𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒊̄𝒓 𝒛𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒋𝒂̄𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏," Rhae soothes in a gentle tone she prays settles her brother's ire, weaving her arm through his own. ( he will be here soon )

   Viserys neither acknowledges her words nor shoves her away, only expels a disgruntled sigh as he shifts on his feet.

Though, not a minute after, the thundering of hooves pounds against the cobblestone as the Dothraki arrive. The Magisters shuffle away from the savage men as their steeds gallop into the yard.

The twins' hearts leapt in fright at the sight of the Dothraki before them, their very presence were even more daunting than they'd heard of. Rhae's grip on Viserys' arm tightened, ever so slightly.

'Tweren't difficult to figure whom the Great Khal 'twas as he sat high upon his chestnut stallion with his Blood Riders behind him, a scowl creasing his features as his harsh eyes roam over all the plump, pompous men below him that stunk of flowery perfume.

Illyrio descends the glinting steps, his arms thrown out in welcome as if he 'twere greeting an old friend. "𝐀𝐭𝐡𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐧, 𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐥 𝐯𝐞𝐳𝐡𝐯𝐞𝐧." The words sounded rough on the tongue, a harsh language for a harsh people. "May I present my honored guests?"

Daenerys' throat closes when the Magister extends his arm toward her and her siblings still at the top of the steps, the Dothraki'i eyes narrowing upon the Targaryens.

"Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, and his sisters, Daenerys and Rhaenerys of the House Targaryen."

Whilst Magister Illyrio continues to speak to the Great Khal in their native Dothraki language, Dany stares at the Khal, believing now the stories her brother told her of him did Drogo no favors.

Khal Drogo had beautiful warm-toned, tawny-brown skin, kissed by the sun, itself. His bare arms ripple with broad muscles, even more stretching across his toned abdominal region. His black hair, glimmering beneath the dappled light, fell to his waist with small, silver bells woven with the braids it 'twere in.

Dany remembers hearing the war horns of the coming Dothraki 'twere the echoes of their silver bells, if one didn't hear the sound of thundering hooves and their haunting shrieks and ululating first.

The Khal 'twere dominating even from horseback, and Dany knows he 'twill be taller than Viserys when he stands on his own feet, it frightens her, yet some whisper within her tells her Drogo 'tis handsome, moreso than she ever imagined.

Drogo 'twere everything Daenerys imagined a Dothraki to be, if not more.

Whilst Dany 'twere staring at her husband-to-be, Rhaenerys withholds a shiver when her brother begins to whisper in her ear, his eyes never leaving the Khal, "Do you see how long his hair is, 𝑨̄𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚𝒓𝒚𝒔? When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids so the whole world can see their shame... Khal Drogo has never been defeated." Her heart began to pound within her chest. "Well, he's a savage, of course, but he's one of the finest killers alive... and Dany will be his queen." Rhae found herself harshly swallowing at those words, her throat becoming bone dry. She begins to rub her womb for her own comfort.

"And does that please you, brother?" She speaks, softly so Dany will not hear.

Viserys' lips curl into a cruel smile, "Very much so, sister."

Illyrio interrupts the moment when he says, "Come forward, my dear," to Daenerys. The young girl looks to her sister, whom bows her head in an encouraging nod with a twitch of her lips. I'm right here, she conveys through her violet eyes.

And so, with a deep breath, Dany begins walking down the steps until she stands beside Drogo's brown stallion. When bright violet eyes look upon listless black orbs, Dany holds her breath.

A moment of tense silence befalls the courtyard, none daring to move nor breathe, as the young girl holds the eye of the Khal for as long as she could whilst she stands on trembling legs.

From the top step, Rhaenerys squeezes her brother-husband's arm, chest slightly heaving with small, and frantic breaths. Should the Khal even twitch with the intent to harm her sister, she will not hesitate to unsheathe Viserys' sword to defend her.

Then, without a word, the Great Khal turns his stallion and kicks it into a gallop, riding out of the yard with his Blood Riders trailing behind him, dust kicking up in their mounts' shadows.

Dany expels a shaky breath, her knees feeling mere seconds away from collapsing beneath her. Behind her, she hears Viserys' frantic shouting, "Where is he going!?"

"The ceremony is over," Is Illyrio's grim response. "But he didn't say anything? Did he like her?"

"Trust me, Your Grace, if he didn't like her... we'd know."

A hand, as soft as the most expensive silk and warm like sunlight 'twere trapped within her skin, rests itself atop her shoulder, and Dany looks to see her sister beside her.

"𝑺𝒊̄𝒓 𝒔ȳ𝒓𝒊̄ 𝒂𝒐 𝒈𝒐̄𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒏, 𝒋𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒂̄𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 𝒏̃𝒖𝒉𝒐. 𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒂," Rhae sweetly coos, before bringing Dany into an embrace. ( you did so well, my love. i am proud )

   As always, they find love and strength in each others' arms. For Daenerys, 'twas her twin's resilience, and for Rhaenerys, 'tis her twin's innocence.

   The Targaryen Twins simply couldn't fathom a life without the other beside them, nor did they ever want to.

❁ 𓃗 ❁

     Sweeping through the garden and rustling the leaves of the trees, the salt laden breeze leaves its crisp kisses upon the twins' skin from their place behind Viserys and Illyrio upon a terrace protruding over the glittering bay.

   The sun reflects off of the softly rippling waters, foamy waves crashing against the white shore, and all Viserys could do is scowl at the sea separating him from Westeros, his rightful kingdom. 

   "It won't be long now. Soon, you will cross the Narrow Sea and take back your father's throne." The Magister whispers promises dipped in honey into the prince's ear. "The people drink secret toasts to your health. They cry out for their true king."

   But Rhaenerys knows, Illyrio 'twere telling her brother all he wanted to hear, not the truth. Although it seems Viserys has forgotten, she knows what their father was, she knew the Mad King earned his infamous name.

   She does not believe the houses of Westeros will welcome the Targaryens' return–if they return–with open arms. The great houses whom rebelled against their king to bring peace back to Westeros...but she doubts that peace lasted for long.

   Nothing ever does—last.

   Viserys turns away from the Bay of Pentos and treks across the gravel paths crisscrossing through the vast garden with Illyrio at his side. The twins trail in their shadows, clutching the others hand like lifelines.

   "When will they be married?"

   "Soon. The Dothraki never stay still for long."

   The twins share a wary glance, Rhae's grip on Dany's hand squeezing a few beats in succession in a rhythm similar to the beating of a heart. Daenerys squeezes back.

   "Is it true they lie with their horses?"

   "I wouldn't ask Khal Drogo."

   "Do you take me for a fool?" Viserys hisses, like a snake, narrowing his eyes upon the man. "I take you for a king," the words seem to appease Viserys.

   "King's lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense, Your Grace," Illyrio bows his head in feigned respect, knowing just the words to say to the ill-tempered young man.

   Rhaenerys expels a soft sigh beneath her breath, rubbing her womb. Her brother is a fool.

   "I know how to play a man like Drogo. I give him a queen, and he gives me an army."

   And there he goes, she thinks sadly, only further proving his foolishness.

   Essos isn't the land of the Seven Kingdoms where men honor blood and heritage, selling off daughters and sisters for alliances. No, in these exotic lands, one must prove their strength a hundred times over before they could ever command respect, even young Rhae knew this.

   She had come to know this truth the day Magisters began to deny the Valyrian descendants residence in their grand palaces years ago, but 'twould seem her dear Viserys remains ignorant to it.

   Her brother 'tis a stupid boy. He would never command an army even if the Great Khal bestowed one upon him. She knows this, and it leaves her sorrowed because it meant Viserys will never bring Dany and herself home.

   A place where they didn't have to run from Robert Baratheon's assassins and beg for mere scraps of food on the dirtied streets of the Free Cities.

   "I don't want to be his queen," Dany's gentle tone breaks through Rhae's thoughts. "I want to go home." She tells the men, whom stop in their path and turn around to face the twins.

   Rhae begins to rub the pad of her thumb across the back of Dany's hand, she wanted to go home too. But where is home for the last Targaryens? Neither really knew, not the youngest that is.

   "So do I," Viserys approaches Dany as he continues, "I want us all to go home, but they took it from us. So tell me, sweet sister, how do we go home?"

   Daenerys timidly shakes her head whilst blinking the sun out of her violet eyes, "I.. I don't know."

   Viserys holds her chin between his fingers, caressing her silky skin whilst tilting her head to look up at him, "We go home with an army. With Khal Drogo's army. I would let his whole tribe fuck you," Rhae smothers a gasp at his words, like the hells she would allow such a barbaric thing to befall her sister, "all forty-thousand men, and their horses too, if that's what it took."

   Withholding tears, her warm blood running cold with fright, Dany closes her eyes when her brother presses a delicate kiss, so unlike his words, to her head, before leaving his sisters in the midst of the gardens with Magister Illyrio at his side. 

   A breath trembles past Dany's lips.

   Rhae breaks the somber silence, "Come, Dany. We'll go for a walk along the shore."

   Smiling at her twin, Dany follows Rhae to a set of polished switchback stairs leading to the bay below the manse. Slipping off their sandals–leaving the shoes on the bottom step–the young girls walk across the white shore shouldering the rippling waters.

   The soft and gritty grains of pearly sand 'twere warm against their bare feet, sinking between their toes, the sun kissing their pale skin with its heated breath whilst the breeze combs through their long silver tresses. The gentle ambiance of the waves sweeping across the wet sand collides with the sound of the water rolling back out to sea only to be thrown back at the beach again.

   A serene hush fell over the twins as they walked side by side, the cool waters lapping over their feet and the ends of their dresses as the sun reflected against the bay's sparkling surface. Rhaenerys casts her gaze to the sky above, squinting slightly against the pale gold light. The sky, itself, was an artistic expanse of sapphire blue, dotted with feathery white clouds as the radiant rays of the sun shone brightly amongst its azure blue depths. 

   She wondered if one day, perhaps, she would hatch a dragon into the world and fly to the heavens, touching the clouds and the sun as they flew.

   "Rhae," her sister's sweet voice interrupts her thoughts, "what comes to mind when you think of the word 'home'?"

   "I think of you, Dany." Rhae smiles at her, squeezing her hand. "My home will always be wherever you are in this wide world. But, I also think of.. something else. A yearning, almost. A.. yearning for someplace out there where we can live out our days, happy."

   Her gaze falls to the horizon beyond the beach they walk across, the yearning she spoke of tugging at her heartstrings, calling her home.

   But where is home, truly? In the land of beasts across those rippling waters?

   Rhaenerys oftentimes dwells on what happens across the Narrow Sea, in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. She would hear rumors, though, the young girl found her interests had always laid with the northernmost kingdom.

   The kingdom larger than all the others combined, inhabited by direwolves, larger than horses, and giants that rode mammoths with magical people whom could see into the minds of animals and peer through their eyes.

   In her youth, before his heart went black with lust and bitterness, Viserys 'twould tell Rhae all about the North and its rugged people nearly as cold as their kingdom. 

   "They are a wild people, 𝒓𝒖̄𝒌𝒍𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒚𝒌𝒂." Viserys would say, "The only respect you'll find from them, is for their Old Gods and themselves." ( little flower )

   He would tell her to never go North, of all the terrible things its people might do to her, yet Rhaenerys knew whenever they returned to Westeros, she would go North.

   She would ride through Winterfell on her way to the Wall–the home of the ancient Starks with wolfsblood in their veins, the family that fought to overthrow Aerys II Targaryen, her father, the Mad King.

   Though, she does not fault the Starks, nor the other houses, whom fought in Robert's Rebellion to end her father's tyranny. 'Twas not the Honorable Ned whom began a war that destroyed a dynasty because he couldn't get what he wanted.

   Robert Baratheon–the fat, short-tempered man–couldn't marry Lyanna Stark and thus the Targaryens, even those whom did not deserve such depravity, had suffered from his greed and selfishness, not because his King 'twas evil and burning innocents alive.

   Rhaegar Targaryen, Aerys' eldest son and child, was slain on the green banks of the Trident by Robert, but if her dear brother did kidnap and rape Lyanna, then Rhae did not feel much sorrow in her heart for the brother she never knew.

   And yet, something within her, a mere whisper against all the stories and rumors she's ever heard, believes them to be lies. Perhaps it 'tis just the naivety of a sister wishing to believe her brother was good and kind, not like the man Viserys became. Or perhaps, she just wants to believe she, nor Dany, 'tis cursed to become their father.

   Elia Martell, Rhaegar's wife, and their young children–Rhaenys and Aegon–'twere butchered by the Clegane knight, otherwise known as the Mountain. Her father, stabbed in the back by a member of his own Kingsguard, the Kingslayer, Jamie Lannister.

   But Rhaenerys held no animosity for the Lannister knight, what he did, she knew what her father was and that he deserved the end that befell him.

   And Rhaella Targaryen, her sweet mother, whom died on the birthing bed, the night of her and Dany's birth. Some nights, when her brother 'twould have his way with her, Viserys would hit her, saying she killed his mother coming into the world.

   Rhae 'twould cry herself to sleep those nights after her brother exhausted himself, her entire body rippling with pain...because she once believed him. But over the years, she learnt what happened to Rhaella 'twas not her fault, how could it be?

   'Twas the gods' decision, not hers.

She has since learned to ignore Viserys' spiteful words, only spoken from the depths of grief that have swallowed his heart, but her eyes still bleed with tears whenever she 'tis left alone in the moonlight to dwell on such cruel thoughts.

"As are you, Rhae." Dany's sweet tone shines through the dark cloud looming over Rhaenerys' mind, whose lashes flutter as she looks at her sister. Dany smiles, "Where did you go?"

"The North."

Perfectly curved brows bend over violet eyes, "The North?" Dany asks.

"Yes, Dany," Rhae giggles, "One day, I hope to ride North and see the Wall. Who knows, mayhaps I'll even go beyond it."

With a giggle, Daenerys shakes her head at her brave sister, she would never dream about venturing beyond the Wall and into the White Waste, "Aren't you scared of the monsters that roam the White Waste, or the Wildlings?"

Rhaenerys only giggles, "No. I am the blood of the dragon, sweet sister, and the dragon is never afraid."

The young girls' soft laughter echoes across the pearly-white shore as they continue their walk along the beach with their hands entangled, the songs of the Bay of Pentos filling their ears with its gentle voice.

❁ 𓃗 ❁

     In the hour of the eel, late that night with silvery moonlight spilling through the curtained windows and illuminating the candle-lit room, Dany and Rhae lay upon the older twin's bed, sharing soft whispers.

   "Rhae, will we ever go home?"

   Rhaenerys expels a breath, tucking a stray pearlescent lock behind her sister's ear, "Our dear brother is weak. He will never bring us home."

   "I know. But... will we ever go home?"

   "I don't know. I hope one day, perhaps."

   "Where would you go, in Westeros? What is the first thing you'd want to see? Aside from the North," Dany grins, and sweet Rhae mirrors it, thinking of the only other place in Westeros she hopes to see one day.

   "Dragonstone. I want to walk through the halls of our ancestors' home. Where would you go, Dany?"

   "I want to see the Reach. I hear its the most beautiful kingdom in Westeros."

   Rhae giggles, "Then we will go there together, sweet sister. The three of us," she rubs her womb.

   Daenerys flattens her palm atop her sister's on her ever so slightly swelling belly. "Boy or girl?"

   "None but the gods will know until they come into the world. I.. hope for a boy. Though, boy or girl, I will love and protect them nonetheless," even from Viserys, if she must.

   A tender grin pulls at the corners of Dany's plump lips, caressing Rhae's womb, "If its a girl, we should name her Rhaella, for our mother."

   So softly, and with such love, Rhae smiles at her sweet sister, "We should."

The tranquility of the moment 'tis interrupted by a knock on the door. And dread eats away at Rhaenerys' heart. She knows 'tis only one whom would come to them, to her, at this ungodly hour.

"Enter," she wills her voice not to tremble, sitting up on her elbow. Flickering torchlight seeps into the room when a servant timidly opens the door. "Beg pardon, Your Graces. The Prince has summoned Princess Rhaenerys to his quarters."

"Thank you. I will be there in a moment," Rhaenerys grins at the young man, but 'tis laden with tension. The servant bows his head in respect before closing the door behind him.

With a trembling breath, Rhae leaves the warmth of Dany's bed, smoothing out the wrinkles and creases in her azure blue nightgown with wavering hands, then turns to look at her sister, whose violet eyes glisten with anguish.

Daenerys knows what their brother does to her behind the closed door of his chambers.

"Must you go, Rhae?"

When she smiles, 'tis both so full of sorrow, yet the strongest thing Dany has seen, "Yes, Dany." She plants a gentle kiss to her pearlescent hair, "Just go to sleep," Rhae whispers, "I'll be here when you wake."

With a heavy heart, and without looking back–for if she did, she would never leave–Rhae makes her way to her brother-husband's room down the hall that seems to stretch on for endless miles. Her heart pounds with every step that brings her closer to him, the polished floors cold against the soles of her bare feet padding softly against the grey marble.

Upon the sight of the wooden door before her, its shadow looming over her like a salivating beast eager to swallow her whole, Rhae's heart leaps into her throat.

Inhaling then slowly expelling a breath to steady her nerves, she lifts her fist to softly knock on the door and await her brother's voice to permit her entry. "Come," her heart hiccups.

Rhaenerys walks into Viserys' chambers with her heart thump, thump, thumping in her throat, rubbing her womb. The heavy door closes behind her with a thud that rattles her bones, she expels a breath.

Stood by the wine table, Viserys grins at her, "Sister," he greets, and holds out a goblet of pale amber wine.

Gliding across the space between them, Rhaenerys takes the crystalline goblet into her hands, knowing 'twouldn't be wise to refuse him and risk invoking his wrath and hoping the wine 'twill settle her sickened stomach.

His pale lilac eyes roam her body with thinly veiled hunger when she brings the goblet to her sweet lips, the thin fabric of her nightgown leaving very little to the imagination, and his chest rumbles with a pleased hum. The sound stirs an instinctive desire within her lower-belly, seeping down between her thighs.

"Come, join me." With the corners of his lips curled into a smirk, Viserys offers his arm, and Rhae weaves her own through it, following him onto the balcony past the fluttering curtains.

The moon with her garden of stars casts an ivory glow on their features as they lean against the marble rails, the salty breeze tousling their starlit locks and caressing its cold tendrils across their cheeks.

"They will be married in a sinnight," Viserys breaks the silence, sipping at his own goblet, and Rhae sighs beneath her breath at his words. She could almost forget about her sister's marriage to the Khal.

"She will make him happy," Viserys tells her, like he knew it to be the truth, gazing out at the livily free city beneath them–the Pentoshi wondering throughout the torch-lit cobblestone streets, bartering for spices and traversing through the night market, and ships with their colored silks sailing across the bay.

"But will he make her happy?" The words had seeped past her wine-stained lips before she could smother them, and her heart quivers within her chest.

"Happiness is not such a common thing in marriage, 𝒓𝒖̄𝒌𝒍𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒚𝒌𝒂." The silent belittling in his tone 'tis clear like the sea beyond Pentos' walls. "She will do her duty to Drogo, and he will give me an army."

Rhaenerys withholds a sigh, "Of course, brother." He seemed pleased enough with her acquiescence.

From all she's ever heard of them, the Dothraki had seemed to do whatever they want, whenever they want, and after meeting the Khal, she does not think they are the honorable men Viserys believes them to be. They respect strength above all, not arranged marriages.

"Rhae." She twists her gaze to meet his own, and all the breath in her lungs escapes her at the tenderness in his lilac eyes she seldom sees these days. "You make me happy, 𝒓𝒖̄𝒌𝒍𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒚𝒌𝒂."

At those words, those sweet words without any malice nor hidden intentions, her lips part, silent tears glistening in her violet eyes. She could not speak, for she could not remember how.

"You are the youngest, but Dany has always been too meek. You, 𝒓𝒖̄𝒌𝒍𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒚𝒌𝒂 𝒏̃𝒖𝒉𝒐𝒏, posses the makings of a perfect queen. When I take back my throne, you will be there at my side. Won't you, sweet sister?"

"Yes, 𝑽𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒚𝒓𝒚𝒔," the words are a mere breath, "I am yours."

A smile blooms across his lips, not a cruel nor a bitter thing, and for but a moment, Rhae catches a glimpse of the brother Viserys once was. He flattens his palm on her womb beneath her shift, rubbing the pad of his thumb in circles across the silky fabric.

"All you must do now, is give me a son."

Rhaenerys blinks, and the kind brother she once knew 'tis gone.

With a silent prayer pleaded to the heavens for a boy to be born to them, Rhae bows her head in a small nod and rests her hand over his, stroking her thumb over his knuckles.

The brother and sister, two beings woven in blood and bound by a string of bittersweet love connecting their souls for eternity, stand in the silence of the night for several moments whilst the muffled ambiance of Pentos drifts through the cool air. 

   She looks into his lilac eyes, hoping to find another glimpse of the brother she loves, yet knowing she most likely 'twould not. She closes her eyes, breath stilling in her chest, when he plants a kiss to her crown of silver, knowing what 'tis to come now.

***

   "Come now, sister," he smirks–commands, she knows–then returns to his bedchamber behind them. Rhaenerys expels a breath, turning her gaze to the sea rippling beyond the walls, finishing the amber wine in her goblet, before following after Viserys with yet another breath to steel her nerves.

Within, she finds her brother stood by the canopy bed, his wool -and-leather doublet tossed aside on the marble floor–his ivory skin sparkling in the silvery rays dripping in through the moon-drenched windows–his fingers deftly untying the laces of his breeches.

She withholds a shiver at the sound of his trousers falling to the floor and lifts her hands to begin untying the laces of her nightgown, but her hands tremble and she fumbles with the silky knots beneath her long pearlescent locks.

Viserys' presence looms behind her, his shadow engulfing her petite body, though, instead of berating her, he brings her hands into his own and, ever so gently, pulls them away.

She lets her hands fall to her sides whilst he nimbly unties the laces himself. Her gown floats to the ground weightlessly, leaving Rhaenerys completely bare before him. Her nipples harden against the frigid breeze and goosebumps prickle across her pearly skin.

Through the polished mirror on the vanity across from them, Viserys admires his beautiful sister with a passionate gleam midst his lilac irises. "𝑰𝒌𝒔𝒂̄ 𝒈𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒆," he breathes beside her ear, his breath warm against her skin. ( you are beautiful )

"𝑲𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒗𝒐𝒔𝒆." ( thank you )

Her lashes rest delicately against her cheekbones, her eyes fluttering close, when Viserys embraces her from behind, pressing his front against her–she can feel his desire against her backside, leaking at the pink tip already.

He kisses her neck with warm lips, marking her collarbones with teeth and tongue. And by gods, she's supposed to hate it, hate him, but her brother ignites her deepest desires.

Rhaenerys leans into him, with heavy breaths falling from her slightly parted lips, as his hands explore her body, sliding from the side of her neck, down her chest, over the curve of her waist, to her hip gently, carefully, until he reaches her soaked cunt.

   She feels him smirk on her soft skin, "𝑸𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒃𝒂𝒓, 𝒂𝒐̄𝒉𝒂 𝒍𝒐̄𝒛. 𝑺𝒚𝒛 𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒂." She whimpers against him at the growl within his soft words, rubbing her ass against his hard cock, desperate for any friction, and he groans in pleasure. ( fuck, you're wet. good girl )

   Eagerly, without another second's hesitation, his fingers delve into her wanton cunny–stretching her out for him. She moans at the sudden breach, grabbing blindly at his hair.

   Viserys groans against her, deft and long fingers curling against that spongy part inside of her that has Rhaenerys squirming against him with a moan. And gods, he loves the sound of her sinful and corrupt licentiousness.

   Whilst his fingers expertly fuck her faster, knowing her body like he knows his own–for they are entwined, skin and bones, heart and soul–Viserys' other hand slithers up her curved hip to her swelled breast.

   Her body 'twere already changing to carry his heir within her womb, and the thought of her swelled and leaking with milk, oh, his cock twitches at the mere thought and he groans against her.

   He pinches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, ever so gently tugging and squeezing at the oh-so-sensitive pink bud in his grasp, eliciting a delicious, and beautiful, moan from her.

   And when Viserys' fingers find her pulsing pearl, the desire wholly consuming her only festers. Her muscles clench around his intrusion as pleasure washes over her in unrelenting waves, stealing her breath away and leaving her a squirming and panting mess, cold tears of rapture streaming down her cheeks when his teeth nibble at her collarbone.

   The wet sounds of sheer ecstasy entices Viserys to add another finger within Rhae, spreading her open and torturing her battered insides as she trembles against him, her peek so close.

   Under the lust enveloping their heated bodies, her limbs liquefy, only his arms keeping her aloft with his fingers so deep inside of her, fucking her tight cunt.

   Viserys groans and grunts against her, marking her ivory skin with his teeth, torn between his raw cock and her soft cunt as he tears her apart like this.

   And then, she falls apart, back arching off his chest with a moan, and he follows her, spilling his seed on her pale buttocks with a groan against her neck that has Rhaenerys shuddering in his steely hold.

   Lifting his glistening fingers from her trembling folds, dripping with her sweet nectar trickling down her inner thighs, Viserys licks them clean, before he twists her around in his hold and captures Rhaenerys' plump lips in an esurient kiss–a man starved for her delectable taste.

   His tongue demands entrance between her lips and, like a good sister-wife, she obeys. Whilst his hot tongue explores her mouth, Viserys shoves her against the wall behind her, caging her body between the marble walls and his naked body.

   Devouring each other like this, so ravenously, so deliciously sinfully, Viserys' calloused hands suddenly squeeze her ass and, knowing what his silent words demand of her, Rhaenerys jumps up and wraps her legs around his waist, aligning her cunt with his leaking cock.

   With their lungs begging for air, they pull apart, a thin string of saliva still connecting their swelled lips. With barely enough time to catch her breath, Rhae throws her head back against the wall, eyes rolling in their sockets, when Viserys sheathes himself inside her.

   "Viserys," she moans.

   He smirks against her lips, nipping at their poppy plumpness, "𝑨𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 𝒏̃𝒖𝒉𝒐𝒏," he growls. ( you are mine )

   "I.. I am yours."

   Filthy sounds of corrupt desire bounce off the walls–skin slapping against skin, moans of ecstasy–as Viserys thrusts in and out of her soaked cunny, relentlessly like a hound, filling her up until all she knows, all she feels, is Viserys Targaryen.

   The very tip of his length finds her pearl and Rhaenerys screams his name to the heavens, neither of them worry of whom might hear them. She floats on clouds with every deep thrust that hits her pulsing pearl, falling closer and closer to the edge.

   "Viserys," she breathes, clinging to him whilst euphoria swells through her trembling body.

   "Rhaenerys," he grunts against her sweaty skin, knowing the both of them are moments away from falling apart at the seams.

   And indeed, mere seconds after, they come undone, together. His seed fills Rhae's insides whilst her nectar blankets his softening cock in its honeyed juices. Oh, nothing has ever felt good.

   He kisses her divine lips, tasting her sweet air, "𝑨𝒗𝒚 𝒋𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒂̄𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏, 𝑨̄𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚𝒓𝒚𝒔." ( i love you, wife )

"𝑺𝒆 𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒋𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒂̄𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒏, 𝑽𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒚𝒓𝒚𝒔," she pants against his lips. She cradles his cheek in the palm of her hand and caresses his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb, ever so tenderly as they rest their foreheads against each others. ( and i love you, husband )

And somewhere within her, she still does. She both loves and hates Viserys–she loves the brother he once was and hates the madman he became. A warring in her soft heart which makes these nights so deliciously bittersweet, and she knows 'tis only just begun when he tosses her onto the bed, so gently, so hungrily.

__________ ❁ 𓃗 ❁ __________

꧁♞  𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞  ♘꧂

🫠 Ignore the smut please, its horrible. 🫣

Anyway, it's finally, finally, finally here! The first rewritten chapter of Tagaryen Twins. 🥳😝 A little early Christmas present! 😘Yes, Rhae is now preggies, and yes, she and Viserys are married. She may seem a little timid, but don't worry, she'll still be the fierce Rhaenerys we all know and love! 🥰 I'm feeling super inspired and motivated to write, so I'll try to spit out as many chapters as I can! ☺️🤩 Uh, I honestly can't wait to write more of the re-written plot, its gonna be so fun! 🤪

Hope life is treating all of you lovely people well, its been quite a long while, 🙃 and that it continues to, and if it isn't, I hope it gets better, 💖😘