Before the union of Rhaenyra with Ser Laenor Velaryon, an event etched forever in memory took place when Daemon claimed Rhaenyra's innocence in the hidden corners of a brothel, planting a seed of life within the princess rightful to the Iron Throne...
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In the darkest sector of the night, Rhaenyra was confronted by Queen Alicent and King Viserys I regarding her whereabouts with Daemon the night before. With her head held high and a smile plastered onto her face, Rhaenyra lied through her teeth.
With a cross face, Queen Alicent narrowed her gaze upon Rhaenyra. "What happened last night? My father claims that you fucked Daemon in a pleasure house. Relieve me, dearest friend, is it true?"
Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "You cannot believe such gossip! What a vile accusation."
"Well, you Targaryens do have queer customs...."
The young princess shook her head. "To question my virtue would be an act of treason, your Grace."
"I do not wish to accuse you of anything, Rhaenyra. I only want to help you. Tell me what happened," Alicent cooed the young girl, taking her hands between hers and rubbing them softly.
Rhaenyra did as told—leaving out most of the truth in fear of Daemon's fate, let alone her own.
Hardly a sunset after, the King requested the princess's undivided attention. As he sat on the Iron Throne, a chair meant for a strong king with thorns that poked each exposed crevice of Visery's body—his hand gestured for Rhaenyra.
"Were I born a man, I could bed whomever I wished," Rhaenyra spoke with strength. "I could father a dozen bastards, yet not a single person in your court would bat an eye at my actions."
King Viserys shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You are right, but you were born a woman."
"Should the day I conceive a daughter, the babe will not be subjected to such patriarchal and unjust rules!" Rhaenyra shrilled.
The man adjusted his crown and avoided eye contact with his beloved daughter. "You will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon, and you shall do so without protest."
Straightening up, Rhaenyra remarked with annoyance, "I shall do my duty as heir and wed Ser Laenor, as you should do your people, including your daughter, the owed favor of removing the vulture as your hand."
"You ask of me to remove Otto Hightower as my hand?" He paused. "Very well then, consider it done."
Three moons later, the House of Velaryon came to King's Landing with a proposal: to unite the Velaryon and Targaryen together again through marriage. At the Iron Throne, Lord Corlys of House Velaryon approached the King.
"As you know, Lord Corlys," the King coughed without warning. He then puffed out his chest and continued,"—upon my death, my throne and titles will pass to my heir, Rhaenyra. She and Ser Laenor's firstborn child, regardless of gender, shall inherit the Iron Throne after her succession."
Lord Corlys submitted. "Then it shall be, my King."
While King Viserys and Lord Corlys spoke in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor walked amongst the coast, talking amongst themselves. Despite neither feeling the forced attraction between the other, they respected the boundaries it would take to ensure that the Iron Throne would have prosperous heirs, all without an unloving household.
Rhaenyra cleared her throat. "I must tell you something, cousin. While I do not wish to burden you with the truth, I believe it is preferred over secrets, is it not?"
"Of course, Rhaenyra. Should you feel comfortable with me as I do you, then the marriage shall be smoother than these waves."
The two laughed, looking at the crashing waves beside them.
"I have not bled for three moons, Laenor. Not since the fateful night, I spent with Daemon, to which I am sure your father spoke of it by now...."
"Oh?" Ser Laenor looked at Rhaenyra, then back at her slightly bulging belly. "Are you certain the babe is that of Daemon's?"
"I am," she sighed. "I fear for the child. If others know of their lineage, I could not forsake the Iron Throne to my half-brother, Aegon."
Ser Laenor nodded his head in understanding. "What if I told you of a secret, one of my own?"
"Tell me, did you kill a man in cold blood, cousin?" Rhaenyra teased.
Looking down, Laenor smirked. "Better. I slept with a man."
The two exchanged looks, prompting Ser Laenor to speak up. "Perhaps we could help each other in this marriage? I claim the babe to be of my flesh and blood, and you proclaim that I, Ser Laenor of House Velaryon, are attracted to women, booze, and uh...."
"Boobs?" Rhaenyra finished.
"Indeed!" Set Laenor reached out to his cousin, solidifying their truce.
Once the marriage between Ser Laenor and Rhaenyra in the weeks following commenced, the child that continued to brew within Rhaenyra became more challenging to conceal. The large, thick cloaks wrapped around the young princess no longer worked, nor did the refusal to wear tight, unwavering clothes.
Finally, upon the sixth moon, after bedding Daemon, her firstborn was delivered. A healthy baby girl with hair white as snow, eyes like a glimmering amethyst, and skin kissed by the sun, not too pale, and yet, not quite brown. The babe was the most beautiful creature Rhaenyra had ever seen, and the thought of Alicent's children wilting her most beloved flower frightened the princess. As such, the firstborn and only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, named Rhaella Targaryen, would be kept away from the world's wickedness, held in a sacred location elsewhere.
Ten years later....
To the seven seas, the firstborn heir to the Iron Throne following Rhaenyra's succession was to be delegated to Jacaerys Velaryon, as the rumors of a hidden princess were mere—rumors.
Queen Alicent and Ser Criston walk among the castle made of stone and moss, continuously disparaging Princess Rhaenyra as they raise speculations about her bastard children.
"Have I gone mad? None of Rhaenyra's children bare the slightest resemblance to that of Ser Laenor! How can that be? Hm?" Alicent grumbles with her arms crossed.
To her side, Ser Criston bites down on his tongue—catching him before he could say more. "I saw that, speak." Queen Alicent demanded from the knight.
"Well, your Grace. There are rumors of a hidden child, one resembling the Targaryen dynasty with hair white as snow, eyes like a glimmering amethyst, and skin kissed by the sun. She's said to be the fairest maiden of the seven seas...."
Queen Alicent stopped in her footsteps. "Excuse my tongue, but that is absolute horseshit. Have you read that from a prophecy, or is it said to invoke laughter?"
"My apologies, your grace! I—I heard the rumor from other knights, they march around a single tower within King's Landing, and I am certain that it belongs to the hidden child." He gasped, "the firstborn heir of Rhaenyra."
Scowling, Alicent rolled her eyes. "I, too, have heard such baseless claims amongst the commoners. Let it be known, if there is a child with pure Targaryen blood, as you say, then I would wish to see this phenomenon for myself."
"Perhaps, my Queen..." Ser Criston began, placing his arms behind his back. "I could find the child, and we can plan accordingly."
The Queen nodded. "I believe the bastard child is being used as a pawn by Rhaenyra and her pesky relatives. If not, then why should the child be kept sacred from the world?"
"Right as always, my Queen." Ser Criston Cole bowed.
Sighing, Alicent side-eyed the knight. "Do not irritate or vex me, pretentious fool. You will bring the girl if the child is of Valryian blood. If not, I shall see that you are relieved of your duties as Lord Commander of my son. Is that understood, Ser Criston?"
Ser Criston Cole's face grew sour, contorted like a child. "As you wish, your grace."
