Just A Dream

A/N - This was originally written with an OC character in mind. 

The Dance of Dragons was fully underway now. With it, Westeros had been torn apart—some lords and ladies of great houses and small sided with Rhaenyra, others with Aegon. The Small Folk swung allegiance between each side, depending on who brought less suffering. All could agree, though it was a pointless war, all of it sparked by a singular question. Which of Viserys’ children should sit on the Iron Throne, his eldest daughter or his eldest son? Rhaenyra or Aegon?

(Y/N) walked through the halls of the Red Keep, her youngest babe swaddled in her arms. Sadness shadowed her pale but beautiful features, her violet eyes surveying the throne room in fear. So much had changed since her father, King Viserys, had passed. Her mother and Grandser had usurped the throne, all but forcing Aegon to his own rushed coronation. Lucerys had been killed over Shipbreaker Bay, Jaehaerys had been slaughtered in revenge, and poor Helaena had been forced to choose between her sons. A son for a son, the assassins had said to justify their actions, before slaughtering an innocent child.

Aegon himself faired no better now, severely burned in the Battle of Rook’s Rest. Now the war threatened King’s Landing more than just a blockade. Rhaenyra and her dragons threatened to fall on King’s Landing and claim it as their own. Something (Y/N) feared more so because she suspected her twin sons, Aerion and Rhaegar, and her little nephew, Maelor, would be put to death simply for existing, or maybe revenge against their fathers. Aegon and Aemond.They would, after all, be threats to Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, threats to her reign as the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“(Y/N),” called Alicent, the Dowager Queen, was partly responsible for such a devastating war. She was still dressed in her blue cloak; mayhaps she’d visited the gods’ wood for solitude again, or Aemond’s suspicion was correct, and she sought to abandon all of them to the fate she’d written for them. If only to save herself and grasp at what little power she had left. “What are you doing? You should be resting.”

“Thinking,” replied (Y/N), holding her weeks-old babe a little closer. Taera was her name. Aemond had been thrilled when she was born, even more pleased that she looked just like her mother. Raven hair and violet eyes. “What could have been, had things been how father dreamed.”

(Y/N) had thought about the late king’s dream. He told her about it when she’d taken her boys to visit him. How he’d wished Rhaenyra and Alicent’s friendship hadn’t turned to bitter hatred and a rivalry that had no peaceful end. How he wished that hatred had not tainted the relationship between his younger children with Alicent and those of Rhaenyra and, by extension, Daemon’s.

After some thought, (Y/N) suspected Baela would have been the strong-willed wife Aegon surely needed to keep him in check. Likewise, Jacaerys would have been the gentle husband Helaena deserved. Maybe even Daeron and Rhaena would have made a sweet match had things turned out differently. Lucerys surely would have made for a good warrior if he’d been trained properly, at the very least a politician who could have changed Westeros for the better.

Mayhaps, Aemond wouldn’t have been as angry and vengeful toward the outterworld either. Maybe he’d freely show compassion and warmth that he hid away from most of the world. Instead, he often portrayed himself as a fierce, uncaring warrior, full of anger and hatred toward everything and everyone. (Y/N) knew Aemond loved her; she had little doubt of that, their children too. But still she wondered how different he’d be if love were fostered instead of blind hatred. How different all of them would have been.

“Husband,” voiced (Y/N), noting his serious expression, even how the room, once filled with life, happiness, and music, had grown darker and full of gloom. Alicent quickly realized Aemond had long since grown to distrust her, her own son. Swiftly and quietly, he moved, standing between her and (Y/N) holding their babe, Taera, as if protecting them from a vicious enemy rather than a mother and grandmother.

“ñuha rȳbasor wï’féza,” spoke Aemond, his voice soft, barely above a whisper, it being clear he had no desire to wake their sleeping daughter. Māzigon īlva kk’haumbërrthza se mīsagon īlva riñi. nyke jöin’nën ao ônnc’hæën Í″vëtor de’aeldhën lēda īlva muña.” (Y/N) nodded, seeing no point in arguing. However, she noted Aemond’s use of High Valyrian, another example of his distrust of their mother. Knowing their mother would not understand the words exchanged.

“(Y/N),” called Alicent, confusion painting her face. Alicent had always thought herself close with her daughters, both Helaena and (Y/N). Thought she was a good mother to all her children. The war, though, had changed that. Helaena had grown distant; (Y/N) talked less now; Aemond was more distrustful; Aegon was more argumentative, to the point that he did the opposite of what she and her father, Otto, suggested. Even Daeron had written less and less.

“(Y/N) has been trying to fix what you and grandsire destroyed,” Aemond said, his voice accusatory. “I know you went to Dragonstone. Tell me, Mother, was Rhaenyra happy to see you? Did she hear you out or shun you?” asked Aemond, his voice hardening as he took on the role of Prince Regent. He had suspicions his mother would flee, if only to save herself from the war she had helped create through years of nurtured hate between innocent children.

“What did I destroy?” questioned Alicent, her tone suggesting she was both offended and hurt by the words spoken against her. “I broke nothing; you did when you killed Lucerys. “Aegon did when he claimed something that was never his in the first place. Rhaenyra did when she allowed Jaehaerys to be murdered.”

“You started this war, mother, as did father, grandsire, and Rhaenyra,” replied Aemond, surprisingly calm despite it being clear he was growing frustrated. “Father’s role is small in the grand scheme of things. He wanted us all to be a true family. He had his failures, but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you.”

“I did nothing!” claimed Alicent.

“Do you think this war would have happened had you and grandsire not plotted to take what was Rhaenyra?” questioned (Y/N) from the doors of the throne room, still standing defiantly, Taera in her arms. “Rhaenyra may have proved she was not fit to sit the throne, but it was not your place to remove her as heir. Father never changed his mind on who his heir was. You claimed differently, GGrandsiredid also, all because you both believed Aegon would be easier to control and thus you’d have power.”

“(Y/N),” sobbed Alicent, as she finally saw her daughter blame her for the war. Blamed Otto, too. If she was lucky (Y/N) was the only one who blamed her for the war. If not, her other children also.

“This war could have been avoided,” concluded (Y/N), suspecting Helaena knew what could have been. Aegon and Aemond, too. “You are right, there is a difference between you and Rhaenyra. She would be a terrible queen, but is a good mother. You are the opposite, good with power, but at the cost of being a terrible mother.” Silence grew thicker aside from Aemond’s satisfied hum. His sister-wife had spoken truths, all of which their mother had willfully ignored for too long. “Had you and Rhaenyra raised all we children to love each other as the family we were meant to be, then this war wouldn’t have happened, we would have been united. The stupid rivalry of hatred divided us, and now rips apart the seven kingdoms, all for what, to prove one of you is better than the other? Both of you are blind to what will happen now. Whoever wins this war, if anyone does, will inherit nothing but a broken kingdom of ashes.”

With her words spoken, (Y/N) left, this time for good. Her children needed her; she wouldn’t allow them to fall victim to such a pointless war, not while she still breathed the thickened air. The second she returned to her shared chambers, a smile graced her lips; the maids played gently with the twins; Rhaegar played with the wooden dragons; and Aerion played with the blocks, building a little fort of his own. Jaehaera was there too, a book in her lap, Helaena nearby watching with grief-stricken eyes. Little Maelor was cuddled in her arms.

“It was just a dream,” whispered Helaena when (Y/N) approached. Her voice echoed with sadness, her violet eyes the same. “I think the dream would have been better to live in,” she added, a tear slipping from her eye. “Jaehaerys would have been here. I would not have been Queen. All of us would have been happy together.”

“United we stand. Divided we fall,” worded (Y/N) understanding the war would not just affect their generation, nor the lives of their children. Instead, it had altered the future of House of the Dragon, destroyed so much more than anyone cared to admit. Both the ancient magic that bound them to dragons and maybe the hope that existed in the conqueror’s dream. “Tell me about your dream, father’s dream.”

“You and Aemond would have still been wed,” whispered Helaena. “Father would have reaffirmed Rhaenyra as his heir publicly, ensured all lords great and small reswore fealty to her. He would have dissolved the marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor, too, and remarried Rhaenyra to Ser Harwin Strong after the truth came out. Grandsire would have never been reinstated; Lord Lyonel Strong would have remained the Hand of the King, the voice of selfless reason.”

“What of you, Aegon, Daeron?” asked (Y/N), allowing her thoughts to wander and her imagination to grow wilder. “Our cousins and nephews?” Perhaps there was an alternative universe where House Targaryen was united rather than divided, where love and happiness prevailed over unyielding hatred and bitterness.

“Father would have taken charge of the marriages,” Helaena briefly smiled, before it vanished in grief once more. “I would have been wed to Jacaerys rather than Aegon. Still a Queen but one more peaceful. Aegon would have been wed to Baela, Daeron to Rhaena. Lucerys is wed to a Baratheon girl.” Once again, a smile flashed across her lips before fading, this time at the thought of more children running around. A generation that was raised with love. “Daemon would still be married to Laena; she would have survived the birth of their third child. I think they would have been happy. Granted Dragonstone by father.”

“And the crown would have passed peacefully to Rhaenyra and then to Jacaerys,” whispered (Y/N), sadness taking over once more. The dream was far better than the reality surrounding them, the war that threatened to take innocent children and slaughter thousands in a rain of fire. To devour hope and spit out little more than destructive hatred and a future of brokenness and a kingdom of ashes.

“Things would have been better for everyone, I think,” Helaena replied, snuggling her youngest son, Maelor, just a little closer. (Y/N) mirrored her actions, cuddling Taera a little more while wishing for Aemond to return from Regent duties.

“But alas, it’s just a dream.”