𝕱𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝕻𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 || 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

𝟎𝟎 𝕮𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝕾𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌

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" all speak of dragons, and a beautiful young queen "

꧁꧂

___𝕴𝐍 𝕿𝐇𝐄 𝖄𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝟏𝟏𝟓 𝐀𝐂 on the 7ᵗʰ day of the year's tenth moon, a terrible storm shook the very foundations of the infamous Targaryens' castle, shrill screams of anguish and promises of pain echoing throughout it's vast halls. The hour had grown late, the wolf's moon illuminating pale light from it's high peek within the garden of stars, yet the cries continued.

     The Crowned Princess and Queen of the Realm were written to have brought forth the newest members of House Targaryen all while the greatest storm in the history of Westeros howled outside, ripping gargoyles from stone walls and nearly smashing the Velaryon fleet to kindling.

     No dragon dared fly that night.

     The shrieks of the Realm's Delight's she-beast, beloved Syrax, emanating from the caverns beneath the Dragonpit shot cold tendrils of dread across the bones of all whom heard as Rhaenyra Targaryen lay upon a bed of sweat and blood, shouting and screaming.

     "The head, Princess! Push!"

     "I've...– Ah!... been.. pu-pushing,– AH!.. you cunt!"

     The younger Maester Orywle decided upon feigning ignorance to the Princess' unbecoming words, grasping the child coming forth into the world from her royal womb.

     Whilst within Alicent Hightower's bedchamber, Grand Maester Mellos announces the babe within her womb was coming forth. Cradling the babe's head with his aged hands as the Queen gave a final push with a blood-curling scream that shook the stones of her royal chambers clad in the shade of the beacon's war-green.

     The bells of the Great Sept tolled as the dragons all roared as one in the birth of chaos embodied. And thus a pair of purple-eyed and silver-haired babes, brighter than the silver-gold of their Valyrian kin, were brought forth howling into the world of war and death, together. The blood of dragons blanketing skin whiter than northern snows and wisps of hair paler than the stars shimmering above.

     The firstborn of the Crowned Princess' is laid within her trembling arms. Rhaenyra's lips lift with a joyous smile even as her silver-gold hair, slick with sweat, clings to her cheeks and pain like none she'd felt before pulses and throbs between her legs doused in blood. The stubborn babe had chosen upon coming into the world earlier than the maesters' nameday predictions, yet she were as healthy as none could believe. Singers would write over a decade later it were so because the princess wished not to be apart from her love.

     The Realm's Delight has a daughter, a beautiful and bright babe to call her own. The babe coos in the warmth of her mother's arms as violet eyes flutter open for the first time. Upon the sight of her mother, a toothless smile lifts young lips. Rhaenyra pulls her sweet girl unto herself, skin to skin, allowing her hatchling to know her mother.

     Her guide, her protector, her shinning light within the dark... whatever may come.

     Midst the Princess' violet eyes were speckles of Velaryon pale blue, which would instill not a doubt amongst court the babe was Ser Laenor Velaryon's daughter... his only offspring.

     "A beautiful girl, my Princess." One of the Crowned Princess' numerous maidens declares. Rhaenyra smiles ever wider, lifting a finger to stroke it down her daughter's silken cheek.

     "Vhaehra. Princess Vhaehra Velaryon, shall be her name."

     Far from the Princess' bedchamber amidst the winding halls of Maegor's Holdfast, in the Queen's chamber, her thirdborn child is placed within her awaiting arms. Holding the wailing babe against her heart, his cries settle with his mother's scent and warmth.

     The Queen had gifted the King with another son. The scholars reported the second son of the Peaceful King was half the size his older brother had been upon birth yet the boy would grow to be twice as fierce.

     When the babe's eyes opened, like her other two children, Alicent took to notice they were the purple of the godlike Valyrians yet her thirdborn's were a deeper shade of indigo like nothing she'd seen before with a singe green swirl in either breathtaking iris.

     "A fine boy, Your Grace." Maester Mellos spoke. His Queen beams a radiant smile, pressing gentle lips to the babe's head, whom coos as he seems to lean into the warmth of her touch. A mother's sweet boy, even at birth for the labors that brought him forth had been the smoothest by far. "Has His and Her Grace discussed names?" The elderly man asked.

     "My husband had expressed a wish to name a son for his late uncle, Aemon Targaryen. He will be Prince Aemond Targaryen."

     And thus were the Children of the Storm named. Princess Vhaehra of House Velaryon, the Realm's Jewel, and Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, the Sapphire Prince. The Valyrians whom rode the mighty King and Queen of Dragons. Theirs a story of myths and legends, of songs that describe two lovers having brought the world to heel midst the dragons' dance, the beloved rulers of the smallfolk.

     The Prince and Princess who wore their names were true Targaryens... dragons.

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