Aelius Targaryen. The daughter of Aemma Arryn and Viserys I Targaryen. A fanfic about her life during the Dance Of The Dragons. Her growing up in the Vale and years later coming back to King's Landing before the Dance Of The Dragons Started.
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"I love being called a 'bastard.'
It somehow implies that the
the most heinous thing
I've done is exist."
- TIMESKIP TO A COUPLE MONTHS BEFORE AELIUS MOVED TO DRAGONSTONE
Vaelor Snow's childhood was far from ordinary. Born as the illegitimate offspring of a Stark and a barmaid, he was raised as a bastard, a product of a liaison society frowned upon. Yet, Rickon Stark, his father, chose to raise Vaelor as his own.
Despite this, Vaelor constantly faced reminders of his lower status at Winterfell. The castle's noble lords and ladies looked down on him, always pointing out his bastardy. However, Vaelor harbored no resentment towards his situation.
With a swift and skilled movement, Vaelor sheathed his sword. "There we go," he whispered, reassured by the weapon's familiar heft at his side—a constant companion.
He had spent the entire morning in Winterfell's yard, sparring with the other lads.
Looking up, Vaelor noticed his half-brother Cregan approaching. Cregan, with his tall and striking figure, was clad in elegant attire, his dark hair styled impeccably. In stark contrast, Vaelor wore simple black garb, more practical for training than social events.
"What do you want?" Vaelor inquired, his voice laden with fatigue. He anticipated the forthcoming invitation.
"There's a feast in the great hall," Cregan announced. "You should join."
"Why bother? I'm not truly a Stark. I'm likely not welcomed," Vaelor retorted with a scoff.
"Don't think that way," Cregan replied, nudging him playfully. "You're definitely invited. Father insists on your presence."
Vaelor exhaled deeply. He appreciated his brother's intentions, yet he couldn't shake off the feeling of being an outsider in his own home. Nevertheless, he realized the feast was inescapable. He had to confront the critical eyes of Winterfell's nobility.
Resigned, Vaelor trailed behind Cregan to the great hall, the burden of his illegitimacy weighing upon him.
Upon their arrival, Vaelor's apprehensions materialized. The nobles' whispers and sneers were as cold as the northern winds, their contempt for him barely concealed. Even the serving maids appeared to regard him with disdain.
