Before the union of Rhaenyra with Ser Laenor Velaryon, an event etched forever in memory took place when Daemon claimed Rhaenyra's innocence in the hidden corners of a brothel, planting a seed of life within the princess rightful to the Iron Throne...
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I bite my tongue, it's a bad habit Kinda mad I didn't take a stab at it
Rhaella ran her fingers across the bark of the enormous oak tree and hummed at the sensation of the jagged wood. "For once in my life, I feel alive," she chirped. "As a young girl, I could only dream of the outside world, and on rare occasions, I managed to slip through the cracks of my imprisonment and find peace elsewhere."
Confused, Prince Aemond quirked an eyebrow. "What else did you have in mind as a child? Perhaps to be swept away by a handsome knight or to leave everything behind and explore the seven wonders of the world?"
The young princess hung her head down. "I only wanted to be loved, the same kind of burning love as the sun heats the sky or how the sea kisses the sand. Instead, I fled one prison to land in several others," Rhaella frowned, "and I suppose I am no exception to this cruel world."
"Do not pity yourself, niece. Mother says it brings about premature wrinkles and frown lines," Aemond smirked at his callousness.
She winced at the remark and clamped her mouth tight. Through gritted teeth, Rhaella seethed, "I shall pray to the gods for my death to come soon, for another hour with you is like walking on shards of glass barefoot!"
Laughing, Aemond grinned. "Hmm, I could arrange that. Should we lock ourselves together for a single hour one day, then arrange for glass cups to be smashed for your lovely feet to scar upon?"
Silent, Rhaella marched out of the garden and rushed back to the castle. While she was oblivious to the layout of King's Landing and, ultimately, Westeros, she was certain of one thing: exploration. With a long sigh, the young princess gathered her skirt and ran towards a nearby tree. On a single branch, a black ribbon swung aimlessly against the wind, still holding onto the single speck of spruce. At the bottom of the tree trunk, she admired initials carved as 'D+R' in cursive.
"How quaint," she mumbled, placing her finger against the carving and rubbing the indentations.
Then, a gruffly and irritated voice bellowed throughout the forest-like land, "Rhaella! Return to the garden immediately!"
She smirked, covering her mouth to muffle her laughter. "I would rather not," Rhaella screamed back between fits of giggles.
"You foolish child! If you do not return, I will be forced to take action against you," Aemond bellowed.
This time, Rhaella remained silent and still as night. In the distance, she heard the stomping of branches and leaves, then grinned at the thought of Aemond attempting to sneak attack her while she played dumb. Instead of turning to face the one-eyed prince, the maiden was met with the lingering eyes of little children covered in branches with sickly grey skin and glimmering green eyes.
The smallest child of the three approached Rhaella. In a sing-song voice, it spoke in a language unknown to the young princess, "We are the little squirrel people of Westeros, woman. The last of our kind...."
A bit frightened, Rhaella smiled. "I do not understand, but I will not bring harm to you."
The youngest looked at the tallest of the three and gestured for the woman to speak, and as instructed, she did. "We are the children of the forest, the last of our kind. Thousands of years ago, the first people slaughtered our families and cut our trees. Human, are you here to drain us of our magic?"
"N-not at all! I hadn't known your kind existed until this moment," Rhaella expressed. "I may help with anything you desire."
The youngest chimed in, "A flower with specks of gold!"
Rhaella smiled at the innocent request. "That is a lovely choice, dear."
Before the young princess could fetch the child a flower, a chilling rush of air raised at chest level brushed against the skin of Rhaella. Standing before her-was Prince Aemond, who wielded his sword but glared in the direction of the children.
"Move, niece. These creatures are abominable to the Faith of the Seven," he demanded.
Rhaella shook her head firmly. "I will not, Aemond. They are innocent children!"
"Do not be fooled, girl. These beings have lived for thousands upon thousands of years. They have no soul, nothing-only emptiness."
She blinked a few tears away and sheepishly smiled. "Kill me then. I am filled with nothing but emptiness. I could be a creature worthy of a thousand lifetimes, too! I will do anything you ask of me, but spare their lives!" Rhaella pleaded.
"I will hold you to your word, princess. We shall return to the castle at once," Aemond asserted.
The young maiden nodded. "A moment. I must keep my word for another before I return to the castle." Moving back in the direction of the garden, Rhaella picked the bluest flower with the most golden specks of color for the child. She walked back to the area in which she found them but found Aemond waiting with his sword drawn.
"What have you done?!" Rhaella cried out, stomping towards Aemond.
He jumped back. "Nothing! Calm yourself, niece," the prince grumbled as he placed his sword back into his holster. "They only said to treasure the flower like a promise, and the debt they owe is everlasting."
The young princess looked down at the flower and sighed, "It is quite beautiful."
"Indeed, you are."
On the other side of King's Landing, in Princess Rhaenyra's chambers, the young and somewhat flustered Lucerys felt riddled with confusion. As he paced up and down the hallways of the abnormally spacious room, thoughts filled his mind like bees attacking pollen. It was as Lord Vaemond Velaryon preached before his imminent death the prince bared no resemblance to his father, Ser Laenor. While Lucerys understood that he hadn't inherited Ser Laenor's pale white hair or his tanned skin, it was never justified to be crucified for not resembling either parent.
"I do not understand, mother. If I resembled Ser Laenor in the slightest bit, the court would never question my lineage, but I do not have the palest of snow hair or tanned skin. I haven't even violet eyes!" Lucerys exclaimed as he pouted at his mother, who held her youngest son in a silken blanket.
Rhaenyra shook her head. "My love, don't mind the blabbering of drunken fools of the court. You are a Targaryen, and that is all that matters," she cooed with a soft smile.
The boy gave a sheepish nod. "I must ask, however..."
"You may ask me anything, love," Rhaenyra interjected.
He sighed, "I noticed a young woman, one with snowy-haired locks and pale skin walk into the Great Hall with Aemond. I believed, until now, that I had known our small line of Targaryens, but I haven't yet seen the girl until today. Why is that, mother?"
"I take it back. You are asking foolish questions that I do not acquire the answers for-even then, it is none of our business," Rhaenyra swallowed the lump that swelled in her throat.
Lucerys balled his fists. "If you can lie about my father, you may continue to lie about a girl who greatly resembles you! I doubt the maiden is much older than Aemond, mother..."
Despite holding her youngest, Rhaenyra snapped, "That is enough, Luke! You shouldn't burden yourself with the task of overthinking, my love. If there is something I must tell you, then I shall do so with urgency. Understood?"
Prince Lucerys bit down on his tongue, only nodding at his mother in submission.
The young lad felt his heart begin to beat in rhythms, slowing down as he grieved over his lineage. The cruel notion of accusing a royal member of being a bastard weighed heavily, more so than it would have for a commoner.
