King's Landing, The Red Keep – 118 AC
As I gaze into the mirror, I see a reflection that seems almost too perfect to be real. The teal dress, crafted specifically for me by House Velaryon, cascades down in delicate waves, shimmering like the surface of the ocean on a sunny day. The fabric feels soft against my skin, and the color brings out the depths of my blue-indigo eyes, making them sparkle like precious gems.
The bodice of the dress is adorned with intricate lace that resembles delicate seafoam, swirling around me like gentle waves. Tiny pearls are sewn into the lace, catching the light, and adding a touch of ethereal elegance. The skirt billows out around me, flowing like the ocean breeze, and with every movement, it seems to dance around me in a mesmerizing display.
My long black curls frame my face, cascading down in perfect spirals, and the pearl tiara perched atop my head adds a regal touch to my porcelain doll-like appearance. The seahorse necklace, a symbol of House Velaryon, hangs around my neck in pride. As my maids finish dressing me, I can't help but feel a sense of awe at the sight before me. The beauty reflected in the mirror is almost overwhelming, and for a moment, I feel as though I'm looking at someone else entirely. But then I realize that it's me, Lucerys Velaryon.
With a smile that feels as radiant as the sun itself, I twirl around in delight, reveling in the enchantment of the moment. In this teal masterpiece, I am not just a girl—I am a princess. I allowed myself to enjoy this, enjoy the fact that I was back to being a kid and this time around allowed me to be a kid. I still remembered my time in Winterfell, the cold eyes of my siblings' mother that never left me alone. Had it not been for the War of the Five Kings I was sure she would have sent me to a whorehouse the moment my father had taken the position as Hand of the King.
Catelyn Stark, nee Tully, cast a chilling shadow wherever she went. Her demeanor was as frigid as the northern winds, her words like icy daggers that cut deeper than any blade. Though she never laid a hand on me, her disdain was palpable, her scorn evident in every glance she cast my way.
Growing up in Winterfell, I lacked for nothing material—food, shelter, and clothing were provided abundantly. I received an education, learning to read, write, and even speak the Old Tongue under the tutelage of Old Nan. Yet, despite these comforts, I always felt the looming specter of Lady Stark's disapproval hanging over me like a dark cloud.
Her resentment towards me was evident in every interaction, every cutting remark that pierced through my defenses. When tragedy struck and Bran lost the use of his legs, she didn't hesitate to assign blame, cruelly insinuating that it should have been me in his place. Her animosity towards me only deepened as I grew older, especially when I chose to stand by Robb during the war.
In her eyes, I was a constant reminder of my father's infidelity, a living testament to his betrayal of their marriage vows. I was denied the right to grieve for the father and brothers, relegated to the sidelines of mourning while the legitimate Starks took center stage.
When Robb's ill-fated marriage to Talisa led to further tragedy, Lady Stark wasted no time in laying blame at my feet, accusing me of corrupting her beloved son. Her venomous words poisoned the minds of those around her, turning even Sansa against me, though luckily she never managed to turn Arya against me.
Through it all, my solace came from my brother, my true kin in spirit if not in name. But when Robb fell victim to the treachery of the Red Wedding, it felt as though a part of me died alongside him. In the end, perhaps it was a mercy that I too found my end, escaping the cruelty of a world that had never truly accepted me for who I was.
Only to wake up surrounded by dragons who told me that my whole life was a lie, and I was going to be sent back to fix things. Of course, I had been stunned beyond belief to find out that I was never Joanna Snow, bastard of Winterfell, but Visenya Targaryen, trueborn daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and his second wife Lyanna Stark. I was the Princess that was Promised, by the Song of Ice and Fire. But something had gone wrong. I was not meant to die so early; I was supposed to go beyond the Wall and find out about the Others and find a way to defeat them and their king.
But that did not happen. So, after compartmentalizing the fact that I was not a bastard, but the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and that my father and siblings were my uncle and cousins, I allowed the Gods of Old Valyria to send me back. Before though they explained that I needed to stop the Dance of Dragons from happening, the future, my present? Time travel was hard! To defeat the Others, we will need dragon fire and I could not allow the dragons to die. With that in mind I would be reborn in the body of the catalysis of the Dance that made any reconciliation irremediable.
I was reborn in the body of Lucerys Velaryon. Luckily, this time around the Gods of Old Valyria reassured me I would not have to live a life under bastardy scrutiny. They will make Lucerys Velaryon a trueborn daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Leanor Velaryon. I was very thankful for that, one life as a highborn bastard was enough.
Though, before time traveling, I asked the Gods of Old Valyria if when I died in this life, I would wake up in my original timeline. They assured me that by then I would have fought for them enough and I would be allowed to rest. In this new timeline there will be a Prince that was Promised, and with luck he will be raised as a true Targaryen Prince. Which was fine by me, the bedtime stories of Old Nan about the Others gave me enough nightmares and I did not desire to face them anytime soon, if ever.
The first thing I did when I came back to my senses was to befriend my supposed future killer. Aemond Targaryen was not the kinslayer monster he was portrayed as in history. The war dog of the Greens. No, Aems was a sweet and shy kid, so kind and caring that I could not wrap my mind as to why he turned out the way he did. Though, with time I came to see the reasons. None of them were Aemond's fault, but adults dragged children into the Game of Thrones.
Aems was just like me, a kid trying to fit in a family of ancient linage and constantly feeling unworthy. With the Starks, my issue was my bastardy, with Aems was the fact that he was dragonless. It also did not aid that Aegon was as cruel as a child as he would become in the future. The only difference is that Aegon the Usurper could be guided to a better path, he did not want the crown his mother kept on pushing towards him and kept on lashing out, which in return hurt his siblings. No wonder, Helaena turned so meek and Aems had to harden his kind heart.
Alicent Hightower, the poor girl playing Queen, truly believed my muña capable of kinslaying. Her father was filling her head with poison and paranoia. She was so devout to the Light of the Seven and held similar ideas of bastards as Lady Stark. I thought I would feel uncomfortable around her, but if anything, I felt sorry for her. The girl's fingers were constantly bleeding, and she was driving herself mad with worry. She was just a mother who believed she was doing right by her children. I truly wish I get to save her, to save all of them.
First things first, let's celebrate my first victory! I got Aems his own dragon, he did not have to lose an eye, nor become enemies with the twins by claiming their mother's dragon while Lady Laena's body was still warm. When the Gods of Old Valyria guided me to the dragon egg, I found it totally ironic, Aems would become the dragonrider of Arrax the same dragon he would have once upon a time slayed. Oh, well, it was not like I needed the pearlescent hatchling. One last gift from the Gods of Old Valyria, my bonded direwolf had come back with me! I could not wait to ride Ghost through the sky! It will totally ruin horse riding for sure!
"Where's my princess?" The teasing tone of my kepa, had me beaming. I ignored the giggling maid and rushed towards the door to throw myself in Ser Leanor's arms. I melted into the hug and my heart burst in love when he kissed my forehead. "Here she is! Looking like the Velaryon Princess she is. Kepa will surely love the ensemble!"
I had never been allowed to act this way with Eddard Stark, not while I lived under Lady Stark's scrutiny. He was always Lord Stark and never father. It made me wonder sometimes if he ever truly loved me. Did he blame me for his sister's death? Did he blame me for his brother and father's deaths? Why did he never tell me the truth or fight for my right to the throne? Why did he continue to defend the Baratheon Usurper and died for him?
Knowing the truth now paints our previous interactions differently. Maybe he did care but did not know how to show it. Maybe he was doing what he thought right to keep me safe. Or maybe he kept me at a distance because he did not know yet which side of the coin I had landed on. Did I possess the same madness of my grandfather Aerys and uncle Viserys? Anyway, I do not think I can look back at him and see him in a nostalgic manner as I used to, while I was still Joanna Snow.
"Ready for the banquet?" Kepa asked me gently, the same eyes I had just seen in the mirror, were sparkling at me with fondness.
"Yes!" I cheered, then I pouted. "I miss Ghost."
I truly did, back when he was a direwolf it used to be easier. He could stay by my side all the time. When he had landed inside the Red Keep, poor Ghost had not even realized he could no longer barge inside any keep when he feels me though the bond. Right now, he was pouting in Dragonstone, coiled around himself as if he was still a pup. I nudged my companion through the bond, and I could feel Ghost nudging me back, feeling slightly better. It did not matter that we could no longer be physically by each other's side all the time, we will always have this bond, and no one will be able to take it from us.
"I know, I miss Seasmoke and I just saw him," Leanor chuckled, as he carried me towards the throne room turned banquet hall. I watched in amusement as a squad of Driftmark guards and maids followed closely behind. Granpa Crolys was very exaggerated. "I will take you to Dragonstone soon so you can spend time with him. But no flying until you are at least ten."
"But muña rode Syrax at seven!" I pouted, giggling when he peppered my inflated cheeks with kisses.
"And what do we always say, do as we say not as we do," kepa teased me.
I huffed. I liked having a carefree childhood, or as carefree as it could be with the fate of the world hanging at the balance. But being so young can be a bother. "Got it."
"That's my princess," Leanor laughed, but I ignored him and the fond looks of the Velaryon servants that followed us.
As we approached the grand doors, Jace and my muña stood there, Joffrey was deemed too young to assist to the banquet, as a babe of only a few moons old. I found it hilarious that once upon a time Lady Stark used to call me a wanton bastard, whose only future was to be a slave to lust. When both of my mothers are princesses that went and took what they wanted. Lyanna Stark run away with a married man, and Rhaenyra Targaryen had birthed three children, each one from a different sire. No matter what anyone says about Jace being Ser Harwin's, I have eyes and Jace and Joff only share what they inherited from muña. Jace's brown hair and eyes are lighter than Joff's, the resemblance is only more striking when Ser Criston is close.
Oh, well, that is an issue for another day. Right now, I took in the image of muña and brother. Jace and muña were a striking contrast to kepa and me. While we wore the signature Velaryon-teal, they both donned ensembles predominantly black, with touches of rich burgundy. My muña's attire was a subtle yet powerful declaration of the Targaryen-Velaryon alliance, a visual statement of our family's connections and loyalties. By incorporating elements of the Black Faction into their outfits, she was not only showcasing our association with muña's faction but also subtly asserting our presence within its ranks.
As I observed them, I couldn't help but admire the way my muña effortlessly blended symbolism and style. Her gown, with its intricate embroidery and subtle details, exuded an air of regal sophistication, while Jace's attire conveyed strength and authority, befitting his role as heir to the Iron Throne. It was a deliberate choice, one that almost had me raising an eyebrow. I did not know that my muña had it in her to be this sly, maybe she had been getting lessons from Rhaenys. It's been a long time coming that she started playing the Game of Thrones.
It was a small moment, yet one filled with significance. Before we even entered the room, our loyalties and affiliations were made clear for all to see. As the gates swung open and the herald proclaimed our arrival, I had to stifle a chuckle at the sight before me. Each corner of the hall had one faction, a testament to the deep-rooted tensions that simmered beneath the surface.
On one side, the Targaryen and Velaryon heraldry adorned the walls, a sea of black banners unfurling proudly in the air. It was a sight to behold, the black dominating the space with an air of authority and defiance. Here, the presence of the Blacks was unmistakable, their symbols of power and resilience displayed for all to see.
Conversely, on the other side of the hall, the greens of House Hightower and the symbols of the Faith of the Seven stood in stark contrast. The vibrant hues of green seemed almost jarring against the backdrop of black, a visual reminder of the opposing forces at play. Yet, there was an air of determination among them.
It was a scene that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. In the divided hall, the lines were drawn, and the stage was set for the unfolding drama of the Cold War between the Greens and the Blacks. And as I took it all in, I couldn't help but marvel at the power of symbolism, how even the simplest of gestures could carry such weight in the Game of Thrones.
It took all of me not to shake my head in amusement. This is going to be a fun night.
I turned to look at my other side of the family and my eyes zoomed in on the Queen. Alicent Hightower was resplendent in her emerald-green gown, she exuded an air of regal elegance that captivated all who beheld her. The luxurious fabric draped gracefully around her form, accentuating her slender figure. Each fold and seam seemed meticulously crafted, a testament to the impeccable taste and discerning eye of its wearer. Her auburn hair was expertly styled into a high bun, adorned with delicate jeweled pins that shimmered in the soft candlelight. From this elegant coiffure, a few tendrils escaped to frame her delicate features, lending her an ethereal allure that was impossible to ignore.
But it was her pendant, a Seven-Pointed Star crafted from the finest silver and encrusted with gleaming emeralds, that truly stole the show. Suspended from a delicate chain around her neck, the pendant served as a symbol of her faith and her unwavering devotion to the gods of her Gods. As she moved with effortless grace through the crowded hall, her brown-greenish eyes glinted with the same vibrant hue as her gown, casting a mesmerizing spell upon all who dared to meet her gaze.
It came as no surprise that she had captured the attention of a King. Rumors swirled throughout the Red Keep, whispered by servants and courtiers alike, speculating on how the daughter of a lesser noble house's second son had managed to ensnare the heart of a monarch. In truth, her allure was such that one could easily imagine her ascending to the throne even without the clandestine visits to the King's chambers.
I stifled a frustrated sigh as I observed my muña's disdainful expression aimed towards the Queen and her attire. It was clear that she still had much to learn in the ways of courtly decorum—a fact that would undoubtedly necessitate further tutelage from my grandmother. Such behavior was hardly appropriate for one destined to inherit the Iron Throne, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at her lack of tact.
Thankfully, Princess Rhaenys had taken it upon herself to oversee Jace's education, and I had no doubt she would extend the same courtesy to me. While I would undoubtedly benefit from her guidance, the bulk of my time would be spent under the watchful eye of my grandsire, as I was his designated heir.
My attention then drifted towards my younger uncles and aunt, who despite their tender years, were already beginning to make their mark on the court. Aegon and Helaena, dressed in matching attire, presented a striking image that spoke volumes of their mother's intentions. Alicent's subtle maneuvering was evident in their coordinated outfits—a subtle suggestion of a future union, carefully cultivated from a young age.
Their garments, adorned in a rich jade hue, bore intricate dragon motifs, a nod to their Targaryen heritage and the symbols of power that defined our lineage. It was a bold choice, considering the Queen's well-known aversion to dragons, viewing them merely as beasts rather than the revered icons they were to many. Yet, Alicent's decision to allow such symbolism spoke volumes about the importance she placed on shaping perceptions and solidifying alliances within the court. Despite her personal reservations, she understood the significance of embracing the potent symbolism associated with House Targaryen, even if it meant setting aside her own prejudices for the greater good.
My eyes turned to the other star of the evening—my uncle, Aemond Targaryen, whose presence was just as eagerly anticipated as mine. His attire, much like the occasion itself, exuded a sense of grandeur and significance. Aemond's Basil-colored tunic, intricately crafted and adorned, showcased a hue that straddled the line between emerald green and deepest black—a bold choice considering the deep-rooted division between the Greens and the Blacks. Though, I should not be that surprised, history books often depicted Aemond Targaryen as a figure cloaked in darkness, his garments as black as his reputedly fierce demeanor.
My heart swelled with pride as I caught sight of Arrax, the majestic white dragon hatchling, coiled affectionately around Aem's neck. In that moment, I couldn't help but feel a sense of happiness for my uncle, wishing him the same profound bond with Arrax that I shared with Ghost. It was a bond forged in fire and blood, a bond that would endure even the darkest of days and the fiercest of battles.
Having uncles and an aunt that were only a couple of years older than me was weird. It made me miss Benjen Stark, the only Stark adult that I ever truly allowed inside my heart. It made me wonder if he knew the truth about my parentage. Somehow, I was sure he did not, that he would rather die than allow the daughter of his precious older sister to be disrespected the way Lord Eddard Stark had allowed. It made me wish I had been raised by Uncle Ben rather than Lord Stark. I had only even wished to be a Stark, but now I am glad I was not and will never be.
I am a Targaryen Princess of House Velaryon and I am proud of it.