THE BASTARD QUEEN (Jacaerys Velaryon)

𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓼

Standing on a very familiar platform you did not feel panic or guilt. Not like the last time. Last time your grandfather had sat here, and despite your sick satisfaction, watching him be beheaded because of you, would haunt your nightmares for the rest of your life. Now though, as you stood on the wooden platform that was stained with blood, you felt nothing but relief, mixed with the sweet smell of justice. Justice for your mother, and justice for the Strong men who had been taken from their family far too soon, by their own brother, or son.

You stood in all red, dark like the blood that would be spilt, no hints of gold or black, just velvety red. Your family matched, there was no green, no color but that of death and blood as you all stood waiting for Larys' head to be severed. It seemed none of you felt the same guilt of last time. This time even your mother and Helaena were present for the serving of justice.

Jacaerys stood next to you. A united front had to be put up, always. He stood just inches away, yet you felt so far apart, if you lifted your hand you could touch him, yet you resisted the urge. Any warmth you had felt, even before you were married was gone, you felt ice cold standing there, as if winter had come early. You itched to hold his hand, to feel his warmth. If you held him though you're afraid you'd be burned by the dragon scales that made up his skin.

Aemond stood on your other side, glaring a hole into the wood. If Rhaenyra hadn't demanded it was her to kill Larys, you were sure your brother would've taken the job. Your siblings followed beside him, their children away from death, inside the safe walls of the Keep. Jacaerys' brothers, the ones past ten, stood by his side. Daemon stood next to your mother, your sister on her other side. They were surrounding her as if she was glass to be broken. Someone was finally protecting her the way she deserved.

Rhaenyra stood, tall and elegant, as always. Her hair was braid tightly, red draping from her and clinging to her very pregnant stomach, red fell from every inch of her. Even her eyes, they seemed to glow red instead of purple under this light. She was out for blood, and she would get it. No one could stop the Queen, no one dared try, and no one wanted to.

A guard, Ser Erryk, had Larys Strong in chains as he dragged him out by the fat of his neck, like a cat in trouble with it's mother. Without a cane, the man struggled to walk, Erryk pulled him most of the way, compensating for any of the man's disabilities. He shoved Larys to the ground, right in front of the Queen. With a nod, and a final disgusted glance at Larys, he left, this was the Queen's task, no one else's.

She walked forward, a heavy sword, Blackfyre, the one her father yielded in her grasp. She didn't so much as glance at Strong before she spoke to the crowd that had gathered, each and every one of them thirsty for blood, "I do not intend to rule with cruelty and an iron fist," the crowd murmured, it was a lot of executions, whispers of Maegor with teats had already started, a name Rhaenyra had cackled at, practically falling out of her chair as she laughed, "I intend to rule fairly. I intend to rule in the favors of those who need it, the common people, women and children, the men who protect them," more murmurs. The people were mixed with the hope of help, and doubt, these promises had been whispered before, "Though, I will cut down who I see necessary. The men that stand in my way of providing peace and protection. Men like Otto Hightower, who betrayed my father and I. Criston Cole who spoke so lowly of women and hurt my children, traitors" she finally looked to the man that had been placed in front of her, "And men like Larys Strong. The men that abuse their positions. The man that betrayed his King even before he betrayed his Queen. Larys Strong is the man who takes pleasure in a woman's feet. Who pleasures himself while the woman cries," murmurs and looks of disgust spread, others spoke that this alone wasn't enough to execute a man, women's despair was never a good enough reason for men, "The man that killed people to feel powerful, a murderer. The man that killed his brother and father, loyal servicemen to the Targaryens. Larys Strong is a kinslayer," the crowd burst into yells, screams of kill him, echoed through the city, an oddity, that killing one's brother is worse than a stranger, "I will not rule with cruelty, but any man that betrays my father, and therefore me, any man who dares to hurt my family, and hurt those who lay below them, will face the wrath of the dragon," cheers flew through the crowd, and you couldn't help but smile at the cheesy speech too.