{Book 1} The winds of war howled through the scorched skies of Westeros, carrying the scent of fire and blood. Among the Targaryens, a name whispered through history was not only Rhaenyra's, but that of her younger sister-Velleanna Targaryen. Born in the shadow of a realm divided, Velleanna was not raised to be a queen, but a warrior. While Rhaenyra played the game of thrones, Velleanna sharpened her blade, vowing to be the shield that stood between her sister and the darkness that sought to consume her. From the moment she could walk, Velleanna was drawn to steel and flame, trained by the finest warrior Ser Athony Mormont the Kingsquard. She grew into a fierce protector, a rider of dragons, and a woman forged in loyalty. Through years of war, betrayal, and shifting allegiances, she stood unwavering at her sister's side, her sword a promise of devotion. As the realm spiraled into chaos, with House Targaryen tearing itself apart, Velleanna would be more than a mere footnote in history. She would be the tempest, the firestorm, the sister who chose not the throne, but the woman who rightfully claimed it. And when the dragons screamed and the world burned, she would be there, standing at Rhaenyra's side, ready to carve their fate into the very bones of Westeros. {Velleanna Targaryen x Charlie Hunnam} (SPOILERS ABOUT HOUSE OF THE DRAGON READ AT YOUR OWN RISK !!) ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ,ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ.ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʀɪꜱᴋ

This story follows the original series storyline but what if Rhaenyra and Laenor were able to conceive a true born child? When Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor wed, political duty birthed an impossible miracle: Princess Visenya, a trueborn daughter bearing the stark silver hair of the Velaryons and the fierce violet eyes of the Dragonlords. In a court suffocating under whispers of bastards and betrayal, Visenya becomes her family's formidable shield. After claiming the Bronze Fury, Vermithor, at just six years old, her status as the realm's greatest prodigy is sealed. Fiercely protective of her brothers and trained in steel by her doting uncle Daemon, Visenya sees the Hightower traps clearly. The Dance is coming, but Team Black now has a mastermind.

Cregan Stark/OC - NOT self insert SMUT teehee-characters are aged up and any smut that happens is with them of age Jacaera Velaryon, twin to Jacaerys Velaryon. Second in line to the Throne, born the spitting image of her great-grandmother Alyssa. She's always by her brother's side. But one word plagues them as they grow: bastard. It is ignored. They try to ignore it. But there are uncles to remind them of the word. Uncles that they train with, that they're supposed to be close with and love. Jacaera is not so lucky. She is cursed. Because one of her uncles takes an unwelcome interest in his child niece. Terrorizes her until there is nothing but fear. It is this that prompts a move. A relocation with their newest baby brother. Peace after an eventful funeral. But then feelings resurface. Fights at dinner. And Rhaenyra is usurped by the very same uncle that terrorized Jacaera. She will do anything to garner support for the rightful Queen. Treat with any Lords she must. There is one, however, that she might take more of a special interest in. One that could win the war. One beautiful northerner. Lord Cregan Stark. She needs his support. Among other things. Jacaera will have his support. And she will win the war for her mother or die trying.

Dread coiled and turned to solid stone in his gut. It Weighed him. Weighed each step toward his dressing table. There, the source of his sleepless nights rested. The Glass Candle. It was burning. A starry, pale white flame flickered above the twisted black glass. He stopped but a pace away from the flame. Still close enough to feel the cold flame licking at his face. Turning his nerves in a way that made his skin crawl. A sickening feeling. The chilling burn of its glow sank back into the root of his bones. He couldn't stop it from growing. From becoming the monster he swore would never fall upon him again. Fear. His lips parted. A ragged breath rushed in. That fear swelled in his chest. He could not breathe in or out. Could not think clearly from the endless barrage of questions striking in his mind. Millions he wanted answered, and millions more he didn't. He feared what would answer. What lived in the pale white light... What lived beyond it? Could they be trusted? The most frightening question of all shrieked louder than all others in his mind. So loud he winced. So loud he could not stop himself from asking... "...What do you want from me?" He stood in the silence. It blanketed him like falling snow. He stared into the weepy white flame. Its icy barbs impaling him slowly from the inside out. Then sinking into his bones over again. A breeze trickled into his bedchamber. It's chill clawed at him from behind. From the opposite direction of his window. Her voice seeped into him like the sharp white flame burning at his back. "What does anything anywhere want? Does the seed not want to grow? Does the river wish not to flow? Does the hunter not want his prey? Do the storm clouds wish not for relief? Does fire not wish to burn?" Jacaerys Velaryon x male!oc [Some Aemond and a lil sprinkle of Baela] [Book 1/2]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𖤓 House Greyjoy has joined team Black at the start of the dance of the dragons, Lord Dalton Greyjoy sends over his half-sister Marra Greyjoy to Dragonstone, to serve Queen Rhaenyra as her cupbearer and ward. However Marra's dubious parentage, her mother being a salt-wife of the late Lord Greyjoy who died in childbirth, causes for some turmoil on Dragonstone when Marra decides to help team Black in any way she can. She and the Crown-Prince Jacaerys find their likeness in each other and are sure to change the course of history as they grown closer. 𖤓