The Son of Ice and Fire: Lost in Time pt.8

Rhaenyra Targaryen walked slowly through the gardens of the Red Keep, the fragrant blooms of late summer brushing against her fingertips as she moved absentmindedly. She had just returned from her progress, a journey that stretched on for months as she toured Westeros, meeting countless lords and eligible heirs. Instead of returning with a choice for a husband, she had returned empty-handed, much to her father’s disappointment.

The gardens, usually a place of comfort for her, were strangely stifling today. She let out a slow breath, trying to rid herself of the tension that had grown tighter with every mile she traveled back to King's Landing. Her father's words still echoed in her ears, a reminder of all that was expected of her. "You must find a match worthy of your station." Every suitor she met during her travels seemed less like a potential partner and more like another hand reaching for her crown. None of them stirred her heart or spoke to her soul. They saw her as an avenue to power or an object to lust after, not as a person with her own desires and dreams.

Rhaenyra reached a stone bench near a blooming rose bush and sat down, resting her hands on her lap. The weight of her responsibilities hung heavy on her shoulders. She was the named heir, the first woman in the history of the Iron Throne to be officially declared as such. But she knew that many whispered against her, that the Green Faction, led by Queen Alicent and her father Otto Hightower, was gaining strength even though Otto had been removed as Hand.

They spoke of Aegon, Alicent's son—her half-brother—as if he were the rightful heir, as if her father’s proclamation of her as heir meant nothing. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms had all come, one by one, to swear to uphold that she would succeed her father.

The rift between her and Alicent had grown deeper with every passing year, and it was clear now that they were no longer friends but rivals. Alicent, who had once been her confidante, now represented the most significant challenge to her future.

She clenched her fists, her knuckles whitening. She hated this feeling—this sense that no matter what she did, it would never be enough. That her claim would always be questioned, that she would always be seen as second to a boy who was barely old enough to walk, simply because of her sex. She was more than capable of ruling; how hard could it be? She could do better than any son of Alicent, especially one only half Targaryen.

Rhaenyra's gaze turned to her protector and sworn shield who stood guard a few feet away. She sighed. Criston. She found herself thinking of him more often than she cared to admit. He had been by her side throughout the entire progress—her protector, her shadow, her confidant. His dark eyes followed her with a loyalty that was unwavering, and she knew recently he had been seeing her as more, and she too held these feelings. It was a dangerous thought, one that sent a thrill down her spine and yet filled her with anxiety.

Perhaps it was because he was the only man she truly knew well that these feelings arose. She thought they would go away once she found a husband, but she had failed in that, and now the feelings were only increasing. His vow to the Kingsguard meant that he could not marry, could not take a lover. And yet, she found herself longing for the impossible. She yearned to take what she wanted.

She sat there for some time, letting her thoughts wander, trying to remove the more wanton thoughts from her mind. A breeze stirred the branches above, making the leaves rustle softly. Rhaenyra looked up at the sky, the bright blue expanse stretching above her, and felt the familiar urge to escape. She imagined herself on Syrax, soaring high above the Red Keep, away from it all. Only up there, with the wind in her hair and the world falling away beneath her, did she ever truly feel free.

Her thoughts drifted to her uncle, whom she had not seen in a long time, still in the Stepstones, carving out his own path. She missed him. She wondered what he would say if he were here now. He would likely laugh at the pompous lords who had tried to win her favor, perhaps suggest she forget them all and ride with him to conquer some distant land.

The last she heard, he had apparently traveled east in search of the mysterious dragonlord who had conquered the lands of eastern Essos. She wondered if her uncle had found him and if they were off on adventures. She had heard of this dragonlord through courtiers gossiping; he was apparently a sorcerer who practiced dark arts. Some said he was a benevolent ruler who freed the slaves. Some said he had a thousand dragons and would soon lead an army here to conquer them. She did not know what to believe.

She shook her head and stood, brushing her skirts smooth, her eyes narrowing with renewed determination. There was a small council meeting today, and she was to attend.

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Rhaenyra entered the small council chamber, her flowing dress brushing against the polished floor, and took her seat by her father’s side.

She tried to pay attention to the meeting, to listen as each of the council members spoke of the kingdom's affairs, but like every time she did, she lost interest.

Lord Beesbury spoke at length about expenses, the old man’s voice droning on in what seemed an unending lecture on accounts and finances. Lord Tyland Lannister spoke of the royal fleet, updates on ships, ports, and resources. Rhaenyra did her best to stay engaged, but she could feel her mind beginning to wander once again. This part of ruling—sitting, listening, managing numbers—was the part she liked the least. She was a dragonrider, born to conquer, not to balance ledgers.

But her attention snapped back when her father spoke, his voice cutting through the monotony of the meeting.

“Lord Larys, tell us about this guest at Driftmark,” Viserys said, looking towards the Master of Whisperers.

Rhaenyra looked up, curious. “What guest, Father?” she asked, breaking her silence for the first time during the meeting.

Larys Strong leaned forward slightly, his hands folded neatly before him. “The so-called Dragonlord who appeared six years ago—the one who conquered Slaver’s Bay,” he said, his voice calm and measured.

“The one whom Daemon went in search of,” her father added, nodding.

Rhaenyra felt her pulse quicken, her curiosity piqued. “He is here, in Westeros?” she asked, her tone filled with intrigue.

“Indeed, Princess,” Larys replied. “It seems he helped Prince Daemon in the Stepstones, and now resides at High Tide as Lord Corlys’ guest.”

Rhaenyra felt a thrill of excitement at this news—finally, something interesting and exciting. She could hardly believe it: the Dragonlord, the one who had seemingly come out of nowhere and conquered half of Essos, was now here, in Westeros.

Her father nodded thoughtfully. “I see.”

Lord Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King, cleared his throat, speaking up. “Your Grace, we should invite this Dragonlord to King’s Landing. If he is allied with House Velaryon, it would be wise for us to build a relationship with him.”

Lord Tyland Lannister, ever cautious, frowned slightly. “It is curious, is it not, that Lord Corlys has not brought him forth? Why is he hiding him away? Should this monarch not wish to meet with you, Your Grace?”

Larys spoke again, his tone neutral. “There is another matter, Your Grace,” he said, his eyes shifting to Viserys.

Viserys looked at him. “What is it, Larys?”

Larys paused for a moment, then continued. “Lord Corlys has announced the betrothal between his daughter, Lady Laena, and the Dragonlord.”

There was a ripple of reaction around the table, murmurs among the council members.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly. Laena was to marry the mysterious Dragonlord?

“This is unexpected,” her father said, his brows furrowing slightly.

“And dangerous,” Tyland added, his suspicion evident. “We know nothing of this man, and he is to marry into one of the wealthiest and most influential houses of the realm?”

“Larys,” her father said, leaning forward. “Do we have a name? Who is this Dragonlord?”

Larys gave a small nod. “His name, Your Grace, is Maekar Belaerys.”

“Belaerys?” Viserys repeated, his expression turning contemplative. “Belaerys... that is an ancient name, an old house of Valyria. Could he be a descendant?”

The room fell into a thoughtful silence. Rhaenyra could feel her heart beating faster. A descendant of Old Valyria? Could it truly be that there were other Valyrians out there, others like her family?

After a moment, her father spoke, his voice decisive. “Invite Dragonlord Maekar to the capital,” he said. “I shall write the invitation myself. There is to be a grand celebration in his honor—a fellow monarch, a dragonrider, if your reports are correct.”

Rhaenyra leaned back in her seat, a small smile playing on her lips. The coming months might not be a bore as she had feared.

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The soft crash of the waves echoed against the cliffs below, a peaceful sound that served as the backdrop to the secluded garden of High Tide. Here, far from the prying eyes of servants and the watchful gaze of her parents, Laena and Maekar had found a quiet spot. 

Maekar sat on a bench, his breath hitching as Laena straddled him, her dress skirt pulled up to reveal her smooth, bare thighs. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as she lowered herself onto his cock. He could feel the warmth and wetness of her cunt enveloping him, her tight walls clenching around his shaft as she began to move.

"yes... Maekar..." she murmured, her voice low. "You feel so good..."

Her soft moans blended with the sound of the waves, her breath coming in short, controlled gasps as she tried to keep her pleasure quiet, not wanting to alert anyone to their secret tryst. Maekar's hands roamed over Laena's body, his touch eager and hungry as he caressed her thighs, her ass, her back. He could feel the sweat on her skin, the heat of her body as she moved against him.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps interrupted their moment.

"By the gods," Laenor said, quickly turning away, his face flushing with embarrassment and anger.

Laena reacted swiftly, pulling her dress down and sitting on Maekar's lap, hiding his cock from view. She looked at Laenor, her expression one of defiance and amusement. "Laenor, what are you...," she began to say, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart.

Maekar sat with a smirk on his face, his arms around her waist, his cock still throbbing beneath her.

"By the gods, this is the third time!" Laenor said, now turning towards them. "Next time, someone else will catch you," he muttered, his voice tinged with annoyance as he looked between his sister and Maekar.

"Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Laenor," she replied, her lips curving into a playful smirk.

Laenor sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I should be angry," he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation.

Laena smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, please? I'm sure if you had your way, you would be in my place in a heartbeat."

“I…that…” Laenor stammered.

“I'm trying to keep you from causing a scandal before the wedding even takes place," he said, looking pointedly at Maekar, who offered a good-natured shrug, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"We’re careful," Laena insisted, her tone almost dismissive.

“That’s not why I’m here… umm… Father has asked for you and Maekar,” Laenor said.

“Is Father finally planning to enact his plan to marry you to Princess Rhaenyra?” Laena asked.

“Oh, is Lord Corlys planning such a match?” Maekar asked, acting innocent.

“Sadly, yes,” Laenor said.

"I, for one, am excited to see the capital of the Seven Kingdoms," Maekar said.

Laena shook her head, turning to him as she sat in Maekar's lap, her lips quirking in amusement. "You’ll be disappointed. It is not as grand as yours," she remarked, her voice tinged with a hint of dry humor.

Maekar turned his head, his eyes meeting hers with a confident, almost dangerous gleam. "Perhaps," he said, his smile growing wider, "but then again, I plan to have four capitals when I’m done."

"When you’re done?" Laenor repeated, his brow furrowing as he shot a questioning look at Maekar.

Maekar just kept smiling, the air of confidence about him growing even more pronounced. "Yes, when I’m done," he said, his tone casual, as though the statement was merely a given fact.

Laena laughed softly as Maekar's hand began to rub her thighs.

“Are you going to leave, brother? Or do you plan on staying and watching?” Laena asked.

Laenor groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned on his heel. "I swear, you two are impossible." He began to walk away, his hand coming up in a dismissive wave. "Just remember, Father is waiting. Don’t keep him too long."

Laena’s smile widened, her gaze following her brother as he left before turning back to Maekar. She stood, revealing his cock again, but it, once hard and throbbing, had gone semi-erect, the interruption having momentarily dampened their passion.

A mischievous smile played on Laena's lips. "I need to fix that," she murmured. Without another word, she gracefully kneeled before him, her dress pooling around her. Without missing a beat, she took him into her mouth, and moments later, they had picked up where they left off.

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What do you think of Rhaenyra's characterization? Did I get her right, or do I need improvements? Feedback is appreciated.