❝𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲?❞ The realm is starving. Not for spectacle. For bread. For justice. For something the Crown has never truly given. But in the Red Keep, they call it unrest. They call it something to be managed. Princess Saelene Targaryen has no intention of becoming another temporary solution to a problem men refuse to understand. She has walked among the smallfolk. Listened where the Crown has ignored. Seen what lies beneath the polished illusion of power-and she knows one truth above all: If the realm is breaking, it is not because the people are ungrateful. It is because they are hungry. Prince Baelor Targaryen was raised to believe in order. In duty. In control. In a Crown that does not bend. But Saelene is nothing like the royals he has known. She does not play the game. She questions it. Challenges it. Unravels it with a single, steady gaze. And gods help him- he cannot look away. As whispers of unrest grow louder and something dangerous begins to take root among the people, Saelene pushes for change that could reshape the realm itself. But power does not yield easily. And neither does desire. Because some things are forbidden. Some thoughts should never be entertained. And some lines- once crossed- cannot be undone. And wanting her? Wanting him? In a world like this- is nothing short of guilty as sin. Baelor Targaryen x OC female Targaryen CW: ⚠️smut Copyright Notice: This work is a fanfiction set in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire / A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. All canon characters, settings, and associated intellectual property belong to George R. R. Martin and their respective rights holders. This story is a transformative fan work featuring the original character Saelene Targaryen and is not affiliated with or endorsed by the original creators.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬. Maekar Targaryen left King's Landing a grieving widow, drowning in the duty of raising six children in the isolation of Summerhall. For seven years, he was a ghost. He remembered his niece, Elaena, as nothing more than a bright, laughing child, a fleeting memory of a life he left behind. But seven years is a lifetime. Summoned back to the Red Keep by royal decree for Elaena's nineteenth name day, Maekar returns to find the court unchanged, but the girl he knew entirely gone. In her place stands a woman of fierce warmth, a sun cutting through his eternal winter. She is his brother's firstborn. She is forbidden. And in a court built on whispers and treason, the slow-burning heat between the anvil and the sun might just burn the Seven Kingdoms to the ground. All characters belong to George R.R. Martin and me.

"𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏𝒔. 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅." → 𝑯𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒚𝒂 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏, 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒎, 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐. 𝑩𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒆𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏, 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒓 - 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒚𝒂, 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒓, 𝑴𝒂𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕, 𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚. 𝑯𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔, 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒚𝒂, 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒂𝒌𝒆, 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒌 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍. 𝑰𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓𝒔. (fem! targaryen!oc x baelor breakspear) (targcest! uncle x niece) (mature: eventual smut, sexually explicit content,

Prince Valarr Targaryen, son of Baelor Targaryen, was carefully sculpted to be the perfect prince. But the death of his beloved wife, Elayne Redwyne, left a hollow space in his chest that duty could not fill. In the cold wake of his loss, he found warmth in the one place he should have feared to look: the tempting arms of Lady Lysara Loraqen. Lysara is renowned for being clever, with a beauty that surpasses the muck of Westeros, and-most dangerously-the shackled wife of the volatile, Prince Aerion Targaryen. What began as a whispered confidence in a dark corridor has spiraled into a feverish obsession. For Valarr, Lysara is no longer just comfort; she is a necessity. But for Aerion, possession is the only law. Known for a temper that burns hotter than wildfire, Aerion views his wife as his absolute domain. The one thing no one can claim ownership over, but himself. In a court where every wall has ears, and every shadow has eyes, Valarr and Lysara play a lethal game of heated liaison. They dance recklessly on the edge of a blade, knowing that if Aerion were to suspect of their betrayal, the Dragonpit will run red with more than just old blood.

Elaine Targaryen, the youngest daughter of Alicent and Viseris, is one of the most innocent women. What could possibly happen if Alicent orders her brother ser Gwayne Hightower to guard her?

˚✧🗡️🐉. ( ᴡᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ ) -✿-🗡️˚ʚ ᗢ₊ ˖ ࣪⭑ ━ ❝ she is the blood of the two greatest dynasty's the world has ever seen.❞ ─── 𝗔𝗡 𝗚𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗡𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗡𝗙𝗜𝗖

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 Rhaella Targaryen, delight of the House Targaryen, eldest granddaughter to a King. Moved with grace, spoke with confidence, yet most admired her for her beauty. One look at her silver locks, one quick glance into her violet eyes, and no lord of Westeros was safe. But she had eyes focused only on one man. And even if she wished one pair of eyes look at her in return, she found herself being watched by two. And one of them was intense, with no peace, no fear. That frighted her the most. ✧OC x Valarr Targaryen Written by xaellve, 2026

Baelora Targaryen was the only female of the Targaryen siblings. Holding the known status of beauty and purity amongst her brothers who were either known as- reckless, careless, or just plain cruel. But purity was a fragile thing in a family built on tradition and reproduction. As the much younger sister of Prince Aerion- the Bright Flame- Baelora had grown up watching his cruel victories and mistakes, where whispers followed his name. Most of the time Baelora simple thought of him as her older brother- her guardian- her protector. Yet as the great tourney at Ashford Meadow draws near, she begins to see the truth behind the stories of him. And in a world where 'dragons' are the royalty, Baelora must learn that even the brightest flames can burn.

When love first turned to desire, both Maekar and Baelor found themselves drawn to their sister, Saenara. Their looks lingered, their touches felt too warm. The court spoke of duty and distance, but the blood of the dragon ran hot. What the world called wrong, they felt as fire.

After Dyanna Dayne died, bringing Daella into the world, the prince swore before gods and men that he would never wed again. Dyanna had been the only woman he had ever loved, and with her death, something within him had hardened into stone. For years, he kept to that vow, burying himself in duty and the raising of his sons, while the memory of his Dornish princess lingered like a ghost in every hall he entered. But vows made from grief rarely survive the demands of a kingdom. King Daeron II, unwilling to risk losing the loyalty of House Dayne after Dyanna's death, arranged another match between Sunspear's most ancient allies and the Iron Throne. Maekar would wed again - not to a stranger, but to Dyanna's younger sister. A girl with the same violet eyes. The same silver-gold streaks in her dark hair. The same blood. Yet she was nothing like Dyanna. Where Dyanna had been gentle, she was sharp-tongued. Where Dyanna soothed Maekar's temper, her younger sister challenged it. She had grown up in the shadow of a beloved elder sister and had no wish to become a replacement bride for a grieving prince who looked at her only to remember another woman. They were two people trapped by duty, legacy, and the expectations of their houses. And slowly, dangerously, grief begins to turn into something else.