Chapter Text
† One †
Rhaenyra Velaryon had always known there were things expected of her.
They had loomed over her for as long as she could remember.
Because her name, the name Valeryon, was one that came with obligations.
So, she wasn’t surprised when two months after her graduation and two days after her twenty-first birthday, she was sat down and told what was expected of her now.
She was to be married, that year, to a suitable man.
Her father was being kind and accommodating by giving her options.
She was lucky, her mother said. Her voice was thin as she spoke, but her point was clear:
She was not given options.
She was simply given to Viserys.
She was a way to unite the lands of Vale with King’s Landing, solidifying an alliance through marriage.
Through marriage and blood, Rhaenyra thought, as memories of her mother's many miscarriages flashed through her mind.
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Option 1.
Laenor was charming, outgoing, and likable.
And in love with his boyfriend.
Sigh.
Option 2.
Criston was tall, handsome, and seemed utterly besotted with her.
And he was also weirdly interested in her purity.
That ship had sailed – no, sunk, when she was fourteen, and she informed him of this with a smile.
Then she threw her drink in his face and left.
Sigh.
Option 3.
Harwin was a combination of the two — he had an easy smile, the sort that had the power to make her feel at ease, too. He wasn’t as outgoing as Laenor, nor as handsome as Criston, but he was a good man. She could tell that immediately.
He would treat her well, she thought.
But, he wouldn’t treat her how she wanted to be treated, some part of her whispered, even then.
The connection with Harrenhal would be good for the Velaryons, who were big fish — but not the biggest in the pond that was King’s Landing.
They were always trying to strengthen themselves and had been ever since the Targaryens rose to power. Her Great-grandfather had been the King’ but he had thirteen children, causing branches of the family tree to shoot off in every direction.
He held his title for decades, but when he died, succession became a concern, and…
Well, Daemon beat Rhaenys nearly to death for the title.
She knew her family's history. Knew what they did. Knew that violence was common. But as a woman, she was protected from it.
As Viserys daughter she was protected from it. Because Viserys worked in an office and worked on the books. He was part of the family business in name, but not in action.
Viserys wasn’t like Daemon or Harwin. Though to be fair, she had never met the former, and only met Harwin that day.
But her father wasn’t part of the inner circle. He hadn’t earned a nickname like Breakbones for his brutality. Or been called the Lord of Flea Bottom by the age of sixteen for how much respect he commanded over the streets.
Out of the three options, Harwin was closest to the King. In some ways, that made him the most dangerous option. In others, it made him the best option. He ruled the Gold Cloaks, making him practically the boss of the operation in role if not in name.
She didn’t think that would matter to her.
She didn’t realize how ambitious she was.
†
At twenty-one Rhaenyra Velaryon was a beautiful bride.
At twenty-two Rhaenyra Strong was a good wife.
At twenty-three, Rhaenyra was bored.
And Daemon Targaryen was the least boring thing she had ever seen.
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