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myocsfanfictions · 25 days

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THE WRATH OF FIRE

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

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CHAPTER 8

The rumors surrounding Rhaenyra’s children only got worse when her third child had been born.

Ysilla was now a girl of fifteen. She was very different from the skinny little child that had left Runestone so long ago. People would describe her as elegant, intelligent, and beautiful. She had grown to be graceful, as much as her dragon was. And as Dārysyr, her fierce was known by now. Her dragon had grown large and powerful; his muscles were well-formed, and his wings were strong. Ysilla went flying on Dragonback once a week. She would have liked to do it more, but she had her studies and her duties.

Just a couple of years before, Ysilla had the chance to speak with the Alchemists of King’s Landing, and she had been left very fascinated.

“Vysenia was said to be familiar with dark magic,” she said one day, sitting beneath the Hearth Tree as she observed Aemond practicing combat movements with a stick.

“You want to be Vysenia born again?” He asked, fighting against air.

“Do you think I’d made a fool of myself?” She asked with a little smile as she looked at the boy.

“No,” he answered, turning to her, “I think you are as willed as her. But with the grace of Rhaenys.”

Graceful. Yes. Ysilla had grown up to be very grateful. She knew how to bow, to speak, and to dance. The court was well impressed by her. And from Runestone, her aunt Jeyne was hoping for a good arranging for Ysilla. Not only because she had become very well respected by the people in King’s Landing but also because Queen Alicent seemed to have high expectations from Ysilla. She called her her ward.

“She probably wishes for you to be wed to one of her sons,” that rumor had reached her aunt Jeyne as well. And she seemed pleased by it in her letters. A Royce on the throne.

Ysilla, on the contrary, had no thirst for power. The thought of ambitions and schemes only reminded her of her father and what he had done to be always a step closer to the Iron Throne. But she was not her father.

The lack of personal ambition, though, did not make her blind to politics and schemes. It was because she knew how harmful they could be that she was always vigilant and observant of what happened in court. Fully aware that knowledge and duty were what was required to keep alliances and peace. She had grown up side by side with the Queen, raised by the same people that raised the princes. She knew that the health of the King was faltered, as did the respect some people had for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when her children started to grow up to become more similar to the Captain of the Guards than her own husband. Everybody knew, and yet the King did nothing. This had also happened ten years before when her father had killed her mother.

“Are you not coming to the pits?” Aegon asked that morning when they were breaking their fast.

“You heard that right,” she answered, smiling at him before taking a sip of her milk.

“You cannot ditch me like this,” he said, leaning towards her with playful eyes, “I’ve promised you today would have been fun.”

Aegon had grown up, but his search for fun and enjoyment had remained the same. “Helaena wished to dance today. You know how I love her and how I enjoy dancing.”

He cocked his head to a side, “More than riding Dārysyr?” Then his hands moved to touch a strain of her hair, “Did I say how I like your hair today?” Ysilla took his hand to push it away. Aegon had always had a fascination with her hair, and since he had started to grow and notice women, he had begun to voice his compliments on her hair and appearance more often than not.

“I love nothing more than Dārysyr,” she answered, looking at the boy. "And we already flew with him and Sunfyre last week.”

Not so long before, Aegon managed to bend Sunfyre, becoming his dragonrider. Sunfyre was known to be the most beautiful dragon alive, and he really was. He had golden scales and pink shades, and even his flames were golden.

“I wasn’t meant to go fly together,” he said, a mischief light in his eyes.

“What’s with the face?” She asked, making him laugh.

“What face?”

“The one that always brings you trouble,” she answered with a glare. He was planning something. She knew him too well to be mistaken. She didn’t have time to ask because the wooden door opened to let Aemond enter the chamber.

“Good morrow, Aemond,” she greeted him with a smile.

“Ysilla, brother,” he answered shortly. It was how Aemond was, very different from his older brother. He was composed and dutiful. Less impulsive than Aegon was. “Mother is looking for you, Ysilla.” He said, sitting down.

“That’s why you’re not coming. Because of Mother,” Aegon said, making Ysilla turn to him.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” she said, standing up. Her eyes went from one brother to the other. "I’ll see you both when you return from the pit,” then she looked at Aegon.

“Behave.” He blown her a kiss.

“Like always, my sweet.”

“Stop that,” Aemond said, focusing his attention on the plate in front of him. Ysilla ignored Aegon, making her way towards the door. She wondered why the Queen wanted to see her. Ysilla knew she would have been busy with Rhaenyra after the princess’s labor ended and the third of her children would be born. Rhaenyra had been screaming for hours, and Ysilla stopped to observe the corridor that led to her chambers on her way to the Queen. By the screams, she seemed to be suffering very much. That made her anxious. She knew that it was a woman’s duty to give children to her husband. She just hoped the gods had mercy for them and an easy way to bring life to the world.

“Princess,” Ser Cole was guarding the door, bowing his head as she walked closer.

“Good morrow, Ser,” she answered politely. “I hope your day has been good so far.”

The man smiled, “It is, Princess.” His smile would have made her blush just a few years before. But the more she grew up, the less embarrassing it became to share words with men, even handsome men such as Ser Criston.

When Ysilla entered the chamber, the Queen was standing next to the window, and a serving girl was fixing the back of her dress.

“My Queen,” she greeted, bowing. “Have you asked for me?”

“Good morrow, my dear,” Alicent Hightower smiled kindly at her, “Indeed. Helaena is a little... agitated today."

Helaena had stayed the same in those years. She was still the sweetest girl that Ysilla had ever met. Sweet and gentle. But her queer behavior sometimes agitated even herself. Ysilla had seen Helaena in those moments, and she knew that the princess didn't like to be alone when she was feeling like that.

"We'll find something else to do then," Ysilla answered. They could have taken a walk or talked about bugs. Helaena liked bugs. Ysilla would have found something to ease Helaena's mind.

The Queen smiled at her, putting a hand on her arm. "What a blessing you are." Ysilla returned the gesture, bowing her head in gratitude and respect.

At that moment, the door behind them opened to reveal Rhaenyra and Laenor. Ysilla widened her eyes to see her cousin.

"Rhaenyra," the Queen gasped, "You should be resting after your labors."

"I have no doubt that you would prefer that, Your Grace," Rhaenyra answered, trying to keep her trembling voice steady. The pain that she had experienced was well visible on her face, and it was not surprising.

Ysilla had heard Rhaenyra screaming only a few moments before. She knew what happened during labor, and the septa had explained that to her. How could her cousin possibly walk? Or even walking up the stairs?

"You must sit," the Queen said, turning to one of her serving girls, "Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess.” The girl bowed and turned to attend Rhaenyra.

“There’s no need,” Rhaenyra said. By the Queen insisted.

Ysilla followed Alicent as they walked towards the couple. Rhaenyra had finally accepted sitting down with Laenor's help, but seeing her in pain and holding her newborn baby, Ysilla felt like moving so that she could help her cousin sit. As the girl touched her arm, the Princess turned to look at her. A small smile appeared on her lips, probably still trying to hide her pain. It was well-known how stubborn Rhaenyra was.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“There’s no need,” Ysilla answered, then exchanging a look with the Queen.

Alicent was observing the baby like she had done with Lucerys just a few years before. Ysilla knew what she was thinking: even this child had nothing of Ser Laenor in him.

As Ysilla went back to stand next to the Queen, King Viserys entered the chamber with a huge smile on his face. “What happy news this morning,” he exclaimed.

The years had not been gentle to the King. His body was weaker and more fragile. His skin had gotten paler and his hair thinner. The condition of his left hand had gotten worse. He first lost just three fingers, but it kept getting worse until the Maester decided that it was better to cut off the entire arm. Even so, Ysilla’s uncle tried to maintain a positive attitude, always smiling at everyone.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ser Leanor, taking the child in his arms to present him to the King. Ysilla observed Rhaenyra’s husband’s face as he looked at the baby. He smiled happily and proudly. Could he really be so blind? He had never seemed such a man to Ysilla. It was true, though, that he was not very present as a father.

He is more present than mine, anyway. She thought as she observed the unbothered son of Corlys Velaryon pass the child to the King. But even in his expression, Ysilla could not see surprise or disappointment. She could not understand why both men acted so blindly about the behavior of the future Queen? Why did her actions have no repercussions? Everybody knew, everybody whispered. And yet the King did nothing.

He must truly love her, if he is protecting her like that. Ysilla thought, observing the happiness on Viserys’ face.

“A fine Prince,” he said, his eyes looking at every one of them. Ysilla smiled, lowering her eyes. “Sturdy. You will make a fearsome knight.”

Surely, Ysilla thought. If the rumors were true and his father was Ser Harwin Strong, he surely could have become a terrific fighter as an adult. Breakbone was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Does the babe have a name yet?” The Queen asked with curiosity.

Rhaenyra took a breath, “We haven’t spoken-”

“Joffrey.” Ser Leanor interrupted his wife. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

Ysilla looked between them, hoping that her face did not give away the kind of thought she had in mind. Had they spoken of it or not? Did Rhaenyra agree with such a name?

“An unusual name for a Velaryon.” The Queen was speaking the truth. Velaryon came from Valyria as much as the Targaryens. Their names came from Old Valyria to keep the traditions. But it wasn’t only their costume: in the Seven Kingdoms, all the Noble Houses had names and family names. Ysilla’s name was a Royce name. Her mother, Lady Rhea, had done it on purpose. Ysilla’s father could be a Targaryen, but she had Royce’s blood in her veins as well.

“I do believe he has his father’s nose,” Ysilla would have frowned at the King’s words, but she had to keep her composure, so she decided to look at Rhaenyra and smile at her. The Princess did the same, but there was no truth behind that gesture. They were both aware of what was happening.

The King chuckled, still focused on Joffrey, and soon after, Laenor did the same before clearing his throat.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest,” Ser Laenor said, ready to help his wife get on her feet.

“Of course,” the King answered. The Queen was soon at his side, taking Joffrey in her hands. Ysilla moved aside when she saw the King walking closer to his daughter, but she didn’t walk very far, curious about what they would have talked about.

“Well done, my girl,” Viserys said with tenderness. Such a tone forced Ysilla to lower her eyes, fully aware that her father would never have such sweetness for her. If she’ll ever see him again. She knew that he was an Essos with his lady wife and their two twin daughters. She wondered how he was fathering them. If he was cold and cruel like he had been to her so long ago. Ten years had passed, and yet she remembered the way he had looked at her as he said that he felt nothing for his firstborn daughter.

“I do hope the labor was easy,” the King said as Ysilla walked towards the Queen, who was giving the baby back to Ser Leanor.

“Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Sooner or later, you may get one that looks like you.” She had said it so politely, but her intentions were quite clear—she was voicing the thoughts of the entire court. The man looked startled, and when he noticed Ysilla standing there, she didn’t say anything. She only smiled, with no true intention behind it.

Rhaenyra then walked towards her husband before they both left the chamber. Ysilla bowed gracefully as they disappeared behind the heavy wooden door.

“What a happy day,” the King exclaimed full of happiness.

The Queen lowered her eyes from next to him. “Indeed, my love,” she answered.

The whole situation was against everything that politics and duty required. Ysilla could understand why her uncle was protecting his daughter, but her King was making a fool of himself. And whispers could only get louder and louder, not only against Rhaenyra but against the King as well. He was not only Rhaenyra’s father; he was the Protector of the Realm, of the peace of the Realm. How would the realm answer once the King had left that world? What was ahead of them? That uncertainty was heavy in her heart. Politics could be ruthless, and it could reclaim anyone’s life.

“You wanted to dance, I’m sorry,” Helaena was saying as they walked in the corridors of the Red Keep.

“Nonsense, Helaena,” she answered honestly. The events of that morning had left little room for light emotions in her heart. “I don’t feel like dancing today.”

“Running from the back is important,” her cousin said. Ysilla turned to observe her. It didn’t matter how many years they had known each other; Helaena’s strange sentences left Ysilla confused all the time. She knew better than to ask. Helaena didn’t know how to explain the meaning of her words, and the more people asked her to, the more she got agitated. That was one of those days. One where Ysilla stood quiet, listening to all the strange things her cousin felt to say. She loved Helaena, but on those days, the hours went on slowly.

I wish I was at the Dragonpit, she thought. Ysilla wished nothing more than to be with Dārysyr, especially during days that felt so heavy in her heart.

They were back in Helaena’s chamber when the Queen arrived. Ysilla was set next to her cousin, who was very interested in counting the rings of a centipede. They have been there long. And Ysilla decided to take one of the many books that she had in her chamber to keep herself occupied until Helaena was satisfied with her counting. When the Queen entered, Ysilla was ready to stand up and bow, but the woman gestured for her to sit still and keep with her reading.

“This one has sixty rings and two pairs of legs on each, ” Helaena whispered, looking closer at the centipede, “It makes two-hundred-twenty-four.”

“Yes, it is,” the Queen said in a soft tone, even if her expression could not hide her worry. It was difficult to communicate with Helaena when she acted like that. They had to be patient.

“It has eyes,” the girl spoke, looking closely at the creature in her hand.

“Does he?” Ysilla asked, keeping reading her book.

Helaena muttered in agreement, “Though, I don’t believe it can see.” Ysilla looked at her with a confused frown.

“And why is that so, do you think?” Asked the Queen.

“It is beyond our understanding.”

Beyond mine, for sure, Ysilla thought at her cousin’s words. Those were too much of abstract concepts for her mind. She liked history better.

“I suppose you’re right,” the Queen answered. Some things just are.” As she finished speaking, though, the door opened to reveal Aemond. Ysilla put aside her book. Her eyes widened, seeing how dirty his face and clothes were.

“Aemond,” the woman gasped, walking to her son, “What have you done?”

“He did it again.” Ysilla stood up after Helaena’s words. He must have entered the Dragonpit. That place was dangerous for someone without a dragon, and Aemond was the only one of them without one. Dragons bend only to one person, and when they did, they will only listen to their rider. They could become very dangerous for anyone else. But Aemond had always been very fascinated by dragons. The pain in his eyes was always visible when they went to the Dragonpit.

Ysilla could understand him. She had been fascinated, too, before Dārysyr’s egg hatched. Being a Targaryen without a dragon hurt a lot.

“After how many times you’ve been warned,” the Queen reproved him, “Must I have you confined to your chambers?”

“They made me do it!” Aemond argued angrily. Who made him do it? Ysilla moved forward, feeling for her cousin. He truly seemed so upset. What had happened? But the Queen didn’t seem to share Ysilla’s same thoughts.

“As if you needed encouragement,” the woman said, worryingly observing her son to be sure he was not harmed. "Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.” When she spoke like that, the Queen truly reminded Ysilla of her mother's skepticism about dragons.

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond exclaimed. Ysilla’s eyes widened.

“A what?” The Queen asked in confusion.

“They said they found a dragon for me. But it was a pig!” Aemond answered, trembling with anger.

I’ve promised you today would have been fun. Aegon had said to her that morning. He was behind it. Ysilla could not believe it. He knew how Aemond suffered since he was the only one without a dragon. Even Rhaenyra’s sons had one each, but not Aemond, a son of a King. How could he be so stupid to do that to his own brother?

“You will have a dragon one day,” Alicent said trying to calm her son, “I know it.”

Aemond deserved a dragon. It was saddening to know that his egg hadn’t hatched. He had asked Ysilla many times how she did it as they grew up, but she truly wasn't sure how or why. Dārysyr was just born one day. It had been a very normal day. But Aemond’s didn’t, and it was not fair. Why did the Gods play such games?

Aemond lowered his gaze, “They all laughed.”

And why did the Gods make Aegon to be such an idiot?

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myocsfanfictions · 25 days

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Hello! May I be added to the 'The Wrath Of Fire' Taglist please :D

Of course! I’ll do it immediately ^.^

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myocsfanfictions · 26 days

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THE WRATH OF FIRE

MASTERLIST

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CHAPTER 7

The morning of her name day, the Queen congratulated her, "Eleven of age today. I wish you all the best."

Ysilla had risen from her seat next to Helaena to bow graciously, "I thank you, your Grace." The Queen smiled at her, a hint of pride in her eyes.

"You've finished the dress," she said, observing the white gown with green embroidery that Ysilla was wearing. The girl had found many new interests as she lived in the Capital. She had often spent time with Queen Alicent and other ladies who came to the castle as guests.

Ysilla had learned how to sow and make her dresses, including her riding attire for when she went flying on Darysyr's back. At five, she would have never thought that creating something of her own would make her feel so proud of herself. But being close to the Queen had introduced her to a more polished and elegant side that she had never thought would have enjoyed. But she did.

"Princess Ysilla is growing to be very fair," she heard Lady Redwine say.

That day, Ysilla and Helaena had to attend the Queen with the ladies. Ysilla had never liked that woman, always looking at her with sufficiency. But that had been the first time she had complimented her. When she was that skinny little girl of five dressed in simple clothes, people's eyes judged her.

The goat's daughter. Her father called her. And for long, she had felt like one.

She wanted to be liked and accepted by the people in the Red Keep. It was important. Alliances, rumors, and opinions were all linked. Bad rumors brought a bad reputation. And bad opinions did not bring good alliances. Or alliances at all.

"Princess Rhaenyra's second son seems healthy, your Grace," Lady Redwine said as Ysilla looked at Helaena's sawing work on her piece of cloth.

"Thank the Seven; both the mother and the child are healthy," Ysilla said, turning her eyes to observe her Queen. She had heard the strange tone of her voice crack, even if she was trying to keep her posture.

Ysilla had heard some whispers in the castle the day Jacaerys had been presented at court. But they had only grown worse when Lucaerys had been born. Both boys were dark-haired and had nothing of their father, Laenor Velaryon, in them.

"People say they are bastards," Aegon told her one day as they sat in his chambers, as they usually did, spending time together after their studies.

Ysilla regarded Aegon, "She could never do it." she said, "Rhaenyra would not cheat on her husband."

Aegon laughed as he lay on the ground. His purple eyes looked up at her, set on the cousins of the furniture. "Why?"

"We've studied politics, Aegon," she said, glaring down at him.

He smiled again, "I like to hear you read."

Ysilla sat up. "Then now listen," she answered. Rhenyra is married. She has a duty toward her husband and her people." Aegon seemed bored, but she kept talking. She was used to his behavior. "An unclear parentage brings an unstable claim to the throne." She explained, "Do you remember what I told you about my father? He would have liked to insinuate that I was a bastard for my dark hair so that he could accuse my mother of such a vile act." Those words tasted bitter on her tongue. She still remembered clearly what her mother had told her so long ago.

"But your pretty hair is streaked with silver, and your eyes are purple like ours." He answered, resting his weight on his elbows, his eyes looking at her. "So no harm done."

Ysilla lowered her eyes sadly, "There are always repercussions."

If she had been a bastard, her father would have disowned Lady Rhea, ruining her reputation. But maybe she could still be alive.

"Ser Criston," she greeted as she walked towards the Queen's chambers.

"Princess," he said, bowing his head respectfully. Ysilla felt like blushing. It happened quite a lot with Ser Criston lately. She had started to notice how beautiful the features of his face were, and that thought always made her blush. She felt a little stupid every time he was the one guarding the chamber.

"Princess Ysilla, your Grace," Ser Cole announced as she entered through the door.

"Thank you, Ser Criston," the Queen answered. The man bowed before exiting. "You are early today," Alicent said, gesturing her to come sit next to her.

"How was your morning, your Grace?"

"The King had trouble with his hand this morning," the Queen explained with a heavy breath. The Maester is tending him."

"I hope his Grace will recover soon," Alicent's lips turned into a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"How was your morning with Aegon?" She asked Ysilla, changing the subject. Ysilla took a breath.

"You know your son," Ysilla answered, "He gets distracted easily."

The woman took a breath. "At least he is less distracted by you. Thank you for keeping an eye on him." Ysilla shook her head.

"No thanks needed," she said sincerely. In six years, she had grown fond of all the cousins. But there was something that Ysilla could not quite understand. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," the Queen answered.

Ysilla took a moment. She didn't want to make a wrong impression after those years in which the Queen seemed to favor her. "You once told me that it was important for Aegon to respect his duty since he was next in line," she noticed Alicent's posture become stiff all of a sudden. But she didn't interrupt her. "Rhaenyra has given birth to two healthy sons. Couldn't Aegon get discharged from all these duties?"

The Queen's face darkened. And for a moment, Ysilla thought that maybe she should have kept quiet. But then, the Queen spoke.

"You are quite observant, Ysilla," she said, their eyes met. Very little slips from your sight. So tell me, when you've seen Rhaenyra's sons, what did you notice?"

Ysilla bit her lips, lowering her gaze. "What should I have noticed?" she did not want to answer. It was another dangerous accusation, the one that she was about to make. And from the look the Queen was giving her, Ysilla knew that she could not avoid answering.

"There's no Laenor in those children," she said truthfully, feeling uneasy about such words. Alicent nodded her head as she listened to her.

"There are many whispers in the castle, and they are spreading." the Queen said, standing up, her hands clenched together as she walked towards the window. "No one believes those children are Laenor's."

Ysilla frowned, "Shouldn't the King do something about it? Didn't he notice?"

"He does, and yet he refuses to see." The irritation in the woman's voice was evident. Ysilla, on the other hand, wondered what it would have been like to have a father who'd have protected her at any cost. She felt envy.

"But this puts all of us in great danger." Ysilla frowned, looking at her Queen with worried eyes. What danger?

"Aegon is a challenge to Rhaenyra." The Queen explained.

"A challenge?" She asked, confused.

The Queen nodded her head. Her hand moved to touch the skin of her neck, and as she did every time, anxiety rose in her.

"When Aegon was born, many believed him to be the rightful heir." Ysilla knew that Rhaenyra had been made Heir to the Iron Throne long before Aegon came to the world. If he had been born years before, surely the king would have named him, like tradition wanted. But the King had changed that tradition.

"He surely had done it to prevent my sweet husband from becoming King," Ysilla still remembered her mother laughing. She kept saying that, and it made her laugh every time, even after years.

"The King didn't change his mind, though," Ysilla said, quite sure she was not mistaken.

"No," Alicent let out a heavy breath. Perhaps no one would have questioned her rights. But now, giving birth to bastards..." The irritation in her voice was evident. Ysilla knew how righteous the Queen was. Duty was the most important matter. It came before anything for her.

"What might happen?" Ysilla didn't like where their conversation was going.

"If her right to the throne were ever challenged, my children would be the first obstacles to overcome."

Ysilla understood now. And a shiver went down her spine. If someone had ever questioned Rhaenyra's claim, since her children were considerate bastards, people would have turned to Aegon. Viserys' firstborn son shared the same name as the Conquerer. So, the only thing that stood between Rhaenyra and the Throne was Aegon. And with him, Aemond, Daeron, and Helaena. They were Targaryens, sons and daughter of the King that now set the Iron Throne. They would have to die.

This thought made her shiver with fear and rage. She had already lost her mother to schemes to gain power. She did not want to lose the people that had now become her family.

But Rhaenyra was family as well.

"This is not meant to happen, though," Ysilla tried to look at the situation from a better perspective.

Alicent looked at her with pained eyes, "I wish not, child. But if it is the worst to come, we all better be ready. That's why Aegon has to learn."

_____________________________________________________________

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myocsfanfictions · 27 days

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#bran stark #just missing bran stark

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myocsfanfictions · 27 days

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THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 6

Three years had passed from Rhaenyra's wedding, but she remembered well all the rage that she had felt. As she remembered the way her father had danced with the future Queen. And they had acted way more than friendly. They had danced close to each other, their mouths almost touching.

Ysilla stormed out of the hall. What she had seen and heard had been truly too much for her to handle. But it was the morning after the wedding that her life took an unexpected turn.

"Jaelan naejot ȳdragon naejot ao." She had said that morning when she saw her father before the Heart Tree, in the Godswood of the Red Keep. (I want to speak to you)

"Konīr iksis daor drīve naejot." Her father answered dismissively. (There is no reason to)

"You do, don't you?" she asked, stepping closer to her father.

"Do I what?" his eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

His eyes were frightening, cold, and cruel. But she didn't want to show it to him. She wanted to know so many things. She wanted to understand. Why did he never love her mother? Why hadn't he ever tried to know Ysilla? Why had he killed the lady Rhea?

But the only thing she found herself saying was, "You do hate me." It was not a question. She knew that it was the truth. But even if she knew, his mocking laughter hurt her anyway. Then he came closer, and she flinched, lowering her eyes when his hand touched her hair—a stand streaked of dark and silver.

"I feel nothing." He simply answered.

She felt cold, and tears ran down her face. He kept looking at her, but there was no sympathy in his eyes, no remorse. He made her cry, and he didn't care, and that made her sob.

Ysilla could not forgive herself even after three years. She could not accept that she had cried in front of her father.

Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla. Her mother had told her so.

Ysilla would have liked to have been stronger like her mother had wanted. But her father's words and eyes had hurt her deeply, and she felt ashamed.

She had been crying when Queen Alicent had found her sitting under the Heart Tree.

"Ysilla?" Her voice forced Ysilla to turn her back so that Alicent could not see her red eyes, and she quickly dried her tears.

"Good morrow, your Grace," Ysilla said, feeling her lips quiver.

Soft steps made their way towards the little girl. "What had happened?" At the question, Ysilla had started to cry. After three years, she could still remember the way Alicent had embraced her. Assuring her that everything would have fallen into place. It was not long after that the Queen had asked the King to let Ysilla become a ward of the King's Landing court. Viserys had agreed without protests. It was most fit for a lady to grow up in a different court, to learn and form alliances. Viserys said that it would have been a good thing for Ysilla to live with the family she had left.

"You are a Targaryen, a part of the family," he had said, "And I'll be happy to have you closer."

The King had asked, and he could not be refused. Ysilla's father had shown little interest in this because when Viserys was asking for his brother's opinion, Daemon didn't even mention the matter. Instead, he asked his brother for permission to wed the lady Laena Velaryon.

Alicent's hands rested on Ysilla's shoulders as her eyes glared at the man. The little girl just lowered her eyes, feeling anger again. He was to be wed to another woman. He had no interest in Ysilla and looked at her with the usual cold stare.

That had been the last time she had seen her father. He had wed Laena Velaryon when Ysilla had gone back to Runestone to gather her things to bring to King's Landing, and then they left. Ysilla had been glad to miss it. She didn't want to see such act. It was insulting to her mother's memory.

At the time, that was what bothered her the most. But after three years, she felt like her father had insulted Ysilla herself as well.

"Rȳbagon, Aegon," She said to the five-year-old boy, who boringly looked at the parchment in front of him. (Listen, Aegon)

"I think it is time to rest, too," the prince said, jumping down from his chair, but Ysilla had to be quick to stop him by the arm.

"Rȳbagon means listen, and you know that," she said, "Don't try to fool me."

Aegon scoffed, "You've promised we would have played!" He complained, "I want to play!"

"And I want to study," Ysilla stubbornly answered. Her cousin didn't seem to like her answer. "I've promised I would have played with you, but we have to study.""

"I know, I know," he rolled his eyes, "Targaryen must speak High Valyrian."

"Precisely," she said with a hint of happiness, "I'm glad you've remembered."

"How can I forget?" He answered, "You talk like my mother."

Aegon was restless and easy to bore. He didn't have the patience to learn; he just wanted to do whatever he pleased. But he seemed to appreciate Ysilla's company, and it was easier to make him respect his duties of the day when Ysilla was around. The Queen had noticed, so Ysilla and Aegon usually studied together.

"I'll gladly take the compliment," Ysilla said, feeling pride in being compared to Alicent. She reminded her of her mother. She could be strict, with a high regard for honor and duty. Ysilla had found that side of the Queen very welcoming, something that she knew in a court so different from Runestone.

King's Landing was overwhelming. Full of people, nobles, and servants. It was busy and noisy. Everyone wore rich fabrics and jewelry. The men were chivalrous, and the women were so graceful. Ysilla had felt like she would have made a fool of herself.

"What's with the face?" The Queen had answered on the fifth day she had arrived in King's Landing.

"Don't you like the dress?"Her uncle, the King, had gifted Ysilla a purple silk gown with silver embroidery as a welcome. Ysilla had seen such a fabric, but she had never worn it. In Runestone, they preferred more comfortable clothes for daily life. Less decorated. And when she had put it on, she felt as if she was not pretty enough for that gown. Her body was too skinny, and her hair too messy and streaked.

"No, your grace, it is beautiful," she was quick to say. But then she lowered her head, "I just feel..."

"Like what, child?" The King had asked with a gentle tone.

"I... feel out of place." She had answered.

At that point, Alicent stepped forward, "It is difficult to move your entire life to another place. I know. I did it, too." Ysilla looked up at the Queen, "But you'll find at home in a short time."

"We are family, Ysilla," added the King, "That's the most important thing."

After three years, Ysilla could say that she felt at home. She lived with her relatives. Her uncle and aunt, her cousins Rhaenyra and Aegon. In Runestone, she had always been alone but not there. And they were her family, too. Ysilla had always thought that to truly feel like she belonged, she had to be with her father. But she had realized that her place was with her family.

Another thing she loved about living in the Red Keep was that the castle was huge, with many hidden passages for her and her younger cousins to explore. There was not a moment of boredom. And they had many books in the library—books that belonged to the Targaryens, and Ysilla loved to get lost in those pages, talking about tradition, history, and House Targaryen.

But the thing she loved the most was the Dragonpit. Ysilla loved to go there and spend time with Dārysyr.

"Alright, how do you say brother and sister?" Ysilla asked, managing to make Aegon sit next to her.

"Annoying," he answered with a laugh. But Ysilla nudged him with a glare.

"Helaena and Aemond are not annoying," she said.

When Ysilla arrived in the capital, Heleana was just one year old. The next year, Aemond was born. They were now four and three.

"So, how do you say brother and sister?" She asked again.

He looked at her, "Lēkia se mandia."

"Syr," she said happily. Then, when she turned, she saw Aegon's eyes observing her hair, like he always did. (Good)

When they had finished studying High Valyrian, it was time for the little princes and princesses to go to the Dragonpit. They did this once a week. They had to get used to dragons so that one day, they could claim one of their own.

"Helena, do you want to sit with me?" Ysilla had asked, walking closer to her cousin. Helaena had a peculiar character. She was sweet and gentle, but she often whispered to herself and seemed to speak in riddles.

"The snake flies on a field of blue," the little girl said, her purple eyes always wide. Ysilla observed her for a moment before she turned to Aegon, who shrugged his shoulders before entering the carriage.

Ysilla shook her head, then turned to smile at Heleana. "It will be fun, come on." Something pulled softly at the fabric of her gown. When she turned, she saw Aemond looking at her quietly.

"Yes, yes," she answered gently, "You're coming as well." The boy's lips turned up in a little smile before he ran inside of the carriage.

Ysilla had learned how to deal with her younger cousins. It was one of her duties to keep an eye on them since she was the oldest. Rhaenyra was a married woman; he could not waste her time running around with children.

After what she had seen at Rhaenyra's wedding, Ysilla had decided to put some distance between her cousin and herself. She did not hate Rhaenyra; she had no part in the death of Ysilla's mother. But she knew she was the reason why her mother had been killed.

It had been difficult to accept that it was impossible to prove that Daemon Targaryen had killed Rhea Royce. And him being the brother of the King, protected him. It was a gruesome accusation to even suggest that a prince would kill his own wife. But Ysilla knew it was true. She understood that her uncle, the King, had decided not to take a deeper look into the situation.

But Ysilla remembered. For now, that was all that mattered.

"How many dragons don't have a dragonrider?" Aemond asked curiously. Ysilla stopped to think for a moment.

"There's Dreamfyre," she said.

"And Sunfyre," Aegon added, smiling proudly when she turned to him.

"Exactly," she answered, returning the smile. Then her eyes moved back to Aemond. "Syrax belongs to Rhaenyra-"

"And Vhagar?" Aemond asked eagerly. But the name of that dragon made Ysilla lower her gaze. Helaena's hand immediately went on hers, squeezing her fingers gently. Ysilla was grateful to her.

"I heard Father say that Lady Laena reclaimed her," Aegon spoke. Ysilla felt rage building inside of her. Her father's new wife had reclaimed the biggest dragon alive. And then they had happily moved to Essos.

After his attempt to take Runestone, which was now held by Ysilla's aunt, Lady Jeyne Royce, he had decided to take his wife across the Narrow See.

And he left me behind.

Ysilla knew she shouldn't have been surprised or hurt by that decision. But she did. And she hates herself for feeling like this.

"But he does whatever you say," Aemond said, his eyes never leaving Ysilla.

"Darysyr is yours, though," Aemond said, getting Ysilla's attention back, "You've reclaimed him."

"An egg had been chosen for me," she answered, "He just hatched."

"That is true," Aegon said from the seats in front of her, "You even make him breathe fire."

"You just have to ride him," Aemond said. He loved talking about dragons and could barely wait to have one of his own.

They were correct, though. She knew that she and Darysyr shared a connection, which had been like that since he was born.

My first friend. She thought fondly.

Thanks to her cousins, she decided to try to ride Darysyr that day if the Maesters agreed. Her dragon was big now—as big as Sunfyre. His dark scales with purple shades shone even in the dark. His wings were large, and after three years, he had learned how to gracefully slide on the ground.

"His body moves like a snake," Aemond said, fascinated. He looked at Darysyr, who was moving closer as he saw Ysilla.

"But are the claws on his wings that help him move." Aegon was right. Darysyr used his front legs to crawl on the ground. He was fascinating and elegant even doing that queer movement which allowed him to move on the ground.

"Ñuha raqiros, iksā sīr gevie," she always said that when she saw her dragon. Her hand would touch the warm scales of his neck, "Jaelan naejot sōvegon tubī." (My friend, you are so beautiful) (I want to fly today)

"Do you?" Aegon asked with wide eyes as his brother's lips turned into a smile.

The old Maester looked at her with a stern face, like he did every time. But she saw something else this time, a different kind of glim in her eyes, that only pushed her to think that she was ready to try and reclaim her Darysyr even in the sky.

"Luck," Helaena whispered quietly behind her as they all moved outside. The Maesters were all around Draysyr, ready to intervene if something unexpected happened.

"Emā naejot udrāzma zirȳla naejot umbagon gīda. Ēza naejot rȳbagon se dohaeragon." The man said as she walked over to Darysyr. He did not like to be controlled by those men. In the years, his gentle nature had become more restless. He glared at them and roared, but he was different from Ysilla. He liked to have her with him. She knew. They were similar. They could feel the same things. (Calm, my friend. You are not only going to serve. We are going to fly together. If you will let me. (You have to command him to remain calm. He has to hear and obey)

I know what I have to do.

Ysilla reached out a hand as she moved to Darysyr. He let her touch him like he had done so many times before, focusing his attention and his purple eyes on her.

"Gīda, ñuha raqiros." She spoke gently, and she immediately heard the Maester telling her to be more firm. But she ignored him. Aemond was right; Darysyr was hers from long before she came to King's Landing. "Iksā daor mērī jāre naejot dohaeragon. Iksi jāre naejot sōvegon hēnkirī. Lo kesā ivestragī nyke." (Calm, my friend. You are not only going to serve. We are going to fly together. If you will let me)

Darysyr's eyes looked deep into hers like he had never done before, and she felt a warm sensation in her chest—the same warmth that she felt every time she touched his scales. And she knew he was letting her in.

Ysilla felt her lips turn up into a smile as she moved to touch the leather belt that had been tied around Darysyr's body. She held on with all her strength as she started to climb up.

"She is doing it," she heard Aegon say.

"Of course she is." Aemond answered.

When Ysilla arrived on the saddle, swinging her leg to each side of her dragon's body, she felt like a Queen. She was so high up compared to the people on the ground. Darysyr moved from under her; she could feel him breathing before he roared and started to move. The claws on his wings gripped the earth of the ground hard, sliding forward powerfully as he made his way towards the cliff.

"Ysilla!" she heard Aegon shout, but she touched Darysyr's scales.

"Soves, Darysyr!" she said to her dragon, who roared one more time before letting himself fall off the cliff. (Fly, Darysyr)

Ysilla's stomach jumped towards her throat as they fell. And she felt the wind hitting her face. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, flew back as the ocean beneath them moved closer and closer. She had no breath in her lungs, not to talk, not to scream. But it was when Darysyr finally opened his black wings that the fall became a flight.

Ysilla's excited cheers echoed in King's Landing as she shouted her dragon's name.

Flying was the most amazing feeling she had ever experienced. It was much better than riding. The ocean beneath her passed quickly as they flew. They were so close to the water that she could see her reflection in it. Then Darysyr flew higher and higher, passing over the streets of King's Landing. The people looked so small from there. Even adults.

On dragonback, she could see everything. The busy streets of the city started from the poorest part and moved to the castle. Huge and red, it towered over everything. But Ysilla was higher than the highest tower. And that feeling was of pure blessing, of completion. She had finally flown on her dragon. She had finally reclaimed Darysyr, and the gift he was giving her was far more precious than anything she could ever have.

She was Ysilla Targaryen, a true member of the House of the Dragon.

_____________________________________________________________

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myocsfanfictions · 28 days

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I'm in love ♥️

House of the Dragon | 1.06 "The Princess and the Queen"

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra x harwin #rhaenyra targeryan #harwin strong #i fell in love with this man

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myocsfanfictions · 29 days

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THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 5

Ysilla missed her mother. She missed her every day since she had died.

The little princess had cried for days. She would run to her chamber, closing the door, not wanting to see anyone.

It didn't matter how many tears left her eyes. Ysilla would find no comfort. She wanted her mother. She wanted to break her fast with her, talk about her duty, and go riding together.

We had to go hawking, she thought, crying. Her head had been pounding for days. She could not understand how her mother, an expert rider, would fall from her horse.

Ysilla was now the heir to Runestone. But she was too young, so her uncle Gerold was holding everything together. He had the castle organize the late Lady Rhea's funeral.

"The Lady Jeyne is the next in line until Princess Ysilla is old enough," Ysilla heard her uncle Gerold Royce saying one morning in the tower of the Maester of Runestone as she was supposed to go to study with him. Ysilla had been early because she felt like not eating.

"We have to alert the King about the accident first, my lord," Ysilla stood quietly behind the door.

"You know, well, it was not an accident," her uncle's words made her frown, pushing herself closer against the wooden door to try not to let anything that they were saying go unheard.

"It is a dangerous accusation, the one you're making, my lord."

What accusation? Ysilla was so confused.

"Rhea would have never fallen from her horse. It was him, I'm sure of it," her uncle said, his voice full of rage. She felt that rage as if it was meant for her, but it wasn't.

What were they saying? That someone had killed her mother? Who were they talking about?

Ysilla felt her lip quiver, feeling the tears in her eyes. How could someone have wanted to kill her lady mother?

"Have the informers come back yet?" Her uncle asked again. The Maester took a heavy breath.

"Some, my lord." the old man spoke, "There had been no sign of Caraxes so far."

Ysilla gasped, covering her mouth. Her hand was trembling against her face. They were accusing her father.

"It was him," her uncle said, slamming his fist to the table. The sound made her shiver, "There's no mistake in that."

"My lord..."

"Princess Rhaenyra was in search of a husband. It is such a coincidence that Daemon is now widowed."

Rhaenyra? What was with Rhaenyra? Did her father want Rhaenyra?

He loves his ambition. Her mother's voice was so loud in her head. Louder than it had ever been.

But that had to be a mistake. Her father would have never killed her mother. He was a warrior, a prince. In the songs, princes always save the lady. They would have never hurt them. And her father was a Targaryen, the noblest of the Houses of Westeros. He could not be that vile.

Such a vile act, Otto Hightower had said.

Ysilla felt her breath become heavier. The walls around her seemed to become narrower. She felt like she was in a trap—in a nightmare. It must have been a nightmare. In a few moments, she would have woken up, and on the morrow, she would have spoken about this bad dream with her mother.

But why wasn't she waking up? It had been seven days, and she was still trapped inside that nightmare.

So it isn't... Ysilla knew that it wasn't, but at that moment, she never wished it was.

"I can't stay here..." she muttered before turning to run toward the only place she felt safe: to her dragon.

Her feet moved quick, and her cheeks were wet with tears. It was not possible that her mother had been killed. It was not possible that it had been her father. It was not possible he had done it to wed Rhaenyra.

"My lady," the Maester from King's Landing bowed his head as she arrived to where they kept her dragon. But Ysilla ignored him; she ran to her dragon, dropping to her knees. Her arms circled his slander, long neck.

He had been growing, and now he had become too heavy for her to pick him up. And she was glad. She felt so protected when she felt the warmth of his scales, and she wept when she felt his head lying on her shoulder.

"Iksan sīr mundagon," she wailed. Her dragon made a quiet sound. (I'm so sad) "Vestrasis sīr naenie ra. Se nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon skoros naejot pāsagon." (They say so many things. And I don't know what to believe.)

Her dragon moved his dark wings, growling. The movement made her move back a little, and in that position, their eyes met. They had both purple eyes, and he was staring. Sounds kept coming out of his mouth.

This is strange, she thought. He was a quiet, gentle dragon, yet he was acting restless and angry, like he had that day, the day her mother had died.

"You know something..." Ysilla muttered. Their eyes never leaving each other. She could feel it. It was like she could understand him.

"Dārilaros..." Ysilla had almost forgotten about him. The Maester was there. As he had been there that day. And he had been acting rather queer. (Princess)

"Iksin konīr iā zaldrīzes bona tubis?" She spoke to him, but she kept looking at her dragon, who suddenly stopped his movements. (Was there a dragon that day?)

"Skoros, dārilaros?" The Maester asked, his voice trembling. (What, princess?)

That question made her angry. Could he not remember the dark day in which Runestone lost its Lady?

Ysilla turned as her dragon roared. The man's face got pale.

"Dragons sense other dragons. You've told me so." Ysilla's tone was flat, but her dragon roared again: "So I'm asking you again: iksin konīr iā zaldrīzes bona tubis?" (Was there a dragon that day?)

But it was when the Maester lowered his gaze that Ysilla knew. And her dragon roared louder.

Ysilla wanted to cry, yet rage was all she could feel. She desperately wanted to believe that it was not true. But her mother had told her that her father loathed her.

To such a point? She asked herself, sadly knowing the answer.

He had taken her away from Runestone and Ysilla. Her mother was the only family she had ever had.

"I've chosen my dragon's name," she said, standing up. The Maester looked back at her. "His name shall be Dārysyr."

The man widened his eyes, "Wrath of fire."

Dārysyr breathed out fire, his flames of a dark red with shades of purple.

There was no way that they could proof of her father's deeds, but they all knew.

The following weeks had been strange. Ysilla's feelings were much different from before. She had never felt like that. But at the same time, everything seemed more clear now, as if she had finally woken from a dream much longer than the one she believed had trapped her.

"I do not wish to sing," she has said one morning to her septa.

"This is your duty, Ysilla. Your mother-"

"My mother is dead!" She exclaimed, standing up, "I wish to do more than singing."

The woman's expression was sad, but she spoke anyway: "What would you wish to do, princess?"

Ysilla observed the woman for a moment before answering, "I want to learn."

"Learn what?"

"Everything," she said in a hiss.

She wanted to learn and understand politics. She wanted to learn what her father had done and why? She wanted to learn about ambition. And she wanted to learn how to see through people.

She wanted to learn.

That very day, a raven arrived when Ysilla was training with Dārysyr. She observed him with pride as she noticed how he was learning how to move more swiftly. His wings were becoming much stronger, and his body was learning how to slide with ease on the ground. He was becoming more gracious yet powerful.

"Ysilla," her uncle's voice came from behind her as she observed her dragon, who was ready to feed on a goat.

"Darysyr," she said, raising her dragon's head higher. "Dracarys." His throat glowed a bright red before his flames hit the goat.

"Ysilla." Her uncle called again.

"I've heard you the first time, Uncle," she said before turning to look at the man. His eyes lingered on Darysyr feeding, but after a moment, they went back to his niece.

"A letter from the King," Ysilla nodded, wanting to know more. Princess Rhaenyra is about to wed."

Ysilla's eyes narrowed as her dragon growled from behind her.

"Who?" She asked, surprising her uncle.

"Leanor Velaryon, niece," She felt like breathing a little. So, Rhaenyra was not to be wed to her father. Then if they didn't, maybe her father wasn't the reason behind her mother's death.

But Darysyr had sensed another dragon. The Maester said so. What Targaryen could have gone to Runestone the same day her mother died.

It was useless to deny it. Ysilla knew she had to stop trying.

The Princess Rhaenyra was in search of a husband, her uncle had said. If her father had killed her mother to wed Rhaenyra, then Rhaenyra was about to become Leanor Velaryon's wife. If all that was true, then her mother had lost her life for nothing.

"So?" Ysilla asked, trying to control her eyes to fill themselves with tears.

"We are to attend the wedding." The girl observed her uncle for a moment in silence. She did not wish to go, and she did not want to face all those gazes alone.

Be proud, Ysilla. Her mother would have said. Lady Rhea had always wished for her to be resilient. To not be afraid. She was now the heir to Runestone; she could not be afraid even if she was.

"Will he be there?" She asked, clenching her hands so as not to show that they were trembling.

Her uncle's face got darker. Ysilla did not need to hear any words. She knew the answer.

"So be it, then."

The journey to King's Landing had been different from the last one she had made. It had been only seven months before, and yet everything was different. Her gown was black, and her hair was loose as she stood on the deck of the ship. The only thing that could make her smile was the sight of Dārysyr flying around the ship.

Ysilla had been there the first time her dragon had taken flight. It had been scary because he had let himself fall from the balcony of the chamber where he was held. Ysilla had thought he was leaving her, too, but he didn't.

"He does not have legs to push himself off the ground. But during a fall, it is easier for him to fly."

Dārysyr was reckless. But he was always by her side. Ysilla knew that.

"I miss your laughter, sweet niece." She heard her uncle say from next to her.

"I do not have the strength, uncle," his hand rested on her shoulder. His expression was also pained.

"I do not want to force you. The loss you've suffered is great." Ysilla's eyes remained on her dragon, and she found strength in that sight.

They arrived the morning of the wedding. This time, Ser Westerling was on the deck escorting them to the Red Keep. His expression was grave as he greeted Ysilla. She had hoped to get used to that feeling, but she didn't. Seeing how people looked at her constantly reminded her of what had happened—how it happened.

As she arrived, the castle was busy. The future Queen was about to be wed; it was an important day. As the King had been busy, in fact, as she entered the chambers that had been assigned her, the servant girl apologized on behalf of her uncle.

"He said he can't wait to see you at the feast, princess," Ysilla nodded her head, thanking the girl before asking to be left alone.

The walk she had made in the hallows of the Red Keep had been stressful. Not just because of the stares but because Ysilla was the one looking around. Hoping and fearing to catch Targaryens' silver hair of a man whose face had been nothing but a dream until it became a nightmare.

As the sun started his journey to disappear behind the horizon, the servant girls entered her chambers to help Ysilla dress. She decided to wear her mother's favorite dress on her. A pale blue silk gown with runes embroidered in silver. On her head, a silver hairband. Ysilla touched her streaked hair as she looked at herself in the mirror.

"You are so pretty, princess," Ysilla only forced a smile.

The goat daughter, she remembered. Nobody had ever called her beautiful.

She arrived in the hall. It had been richly adorned, and there were many tables for all the noble families of the realm who could attend.

"Princess Ysilla Targaryen, heir to Runestone," her name was yelled as she entered the hall, as was her costume. All the noble Houses had to be announced.

Ysilla walked through the hall, ignoring the gazes upon her. But her eyes were on the table in front of her, where the King and his heir were set. She noticed that the Queen was not there, and the same was true for her father. No other silver hair was set at that table.

She almost felt disappointed.

"My King," she said, bowing in front of her uncle.

"Welcome, dear niece." Ysilla's lips moved up in an unsure smile before she turned to Rhaenyra.

"I am so sorry for your loss, Ysilla," She said with sad eyes, and Ysilla felt guilty. Guilty because she had felt anger towards her cousin. Because deep down she had blamed her as well. But only now did she realize that Rhaenyra had no part in what had happened. It was not fair to blame her for something she had no power over.

"Lady Rhea will be missed by all of us," the King added.

"Thank you for your kind words," Ysilla answered politely, then she looked at Rhaenyra, "Congratulations, my princess, for this happy day and more to come," the septa had taught her what was proper to say.

"Thank you, dear cousin," Rhaenyra answered. I've heard that your dragon is flying now."

The King smiled, "What a lovely news."

Ysilla nodded her head, thinking about her dragon, which had been sent to the Dragonpit until they had to depart.

"He has a name now," Ysilla said. The two of them looked at her curiously, "Dārysyr." The King's smile dropped, but Ysilla bowed one more time before heading towards the table to sit next to her uncle Gerold.

One by one, all the Houses congratulated Rhaenyra, wishing her and her betrothed for better days to come. But her betrothed was not there yet. He arrived sometime after with his whole family.

"House Velaryon," was announced, and all of them stood up to greet the future Prince Consort. Ysilla had never met the Valeryon, but she knew that her aunt, Princess Rhaenys, was the wife of Lord Corlys Velaryion, and from their union, Laena and Laenor were born. She knew that her cousin Laenor was even a dragonrider. If she recalled correctly, his dragon was called Seasmoke.

The Velaryon walked proudly. Heads high up. They were already the richest House of the Seven Kingdoms, and now their position had been elevated.

Ysilla had never stopped studying, never once. Her Maester had been proud of her.

But it was when the Velaryon had finally sat on the main table that Ysilla's breath stuck in her throat. As everyone was sitting, he appeared at the entrance. He wore a black vest with red sleeves and walked confidently. His hair was short and shining silver, and he had a smirk on his face.

Ysilla had never seen him before, but she knew. That was her father, Daemon Targaryen.

He was exactly like she had imagined him—tall and handsome with the demeanor and grace of a warrior. Just some weeks before, she would have swelled with pride at seeing what her father looked like. But now she felt very different emotions. And she wasn't the only one. The King was looking at his brother strangely, with a hidden anger. But anyhow, he gestured for a servant to bring another chair to add to their table so that Daemon could sit.

As everyone sat down, Ysilla didn't. She was standing, her purple eyes never leaving her father. The King had noticed her standing, and soon after, even Ysilla's father looked in her direction. The child flushed with uneasiness as that man looked in her direction. His eyes were on her hair first, and that was enough to give away who she was. Yet he was not surprised; his eyes didn't widen. He only laughed.

Her father had just seen her, and he was laughing. Her cheeks flushed. She felt ashamed and mocked. Her eyes stung, but she would not have cried. He had never seen her. He would not remember a crying little girl.

It took her uncle Gerold to make her sit. But until that moment, she had held her father's gaze. Trembling, but she did.

"Be welcome," the King started to talk after a moment of awkward silence.

"Are you alright?" her uncle whispered, and Ysilla nodded her head. But her eyes kept glancing at her father.

She had imagined it to be much different, their first encounter. She thought he would have walked to her and kneeled in front of her.

"You've grown up so much," he should have said, kissing her hair gently as he promised to stay with her.

But he did none of that. He just laughed.

"Tonight it's only the beginning," the King kept saying, "We honor the crown's oldest and fiercest ally, House Velaryon." Ysilla kept observing her father, "Reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the Age of Dragons." And she saw it. Her father was looking at Rhaenyra. He was ignoring his own daughter, but he was looking at his niece. And for a moment, for only a moment, her father and Rhaenyra shared a look. But Ysilla had seen it.

She felt like trembling, but not because of fear or shame. Anger found its way into Ysilla's heart once again.

"With House Targaryen and..." the King's words stopped abruptly as he observed the entrance, forcing everyone to do the same.

Ysilla found herself doing the same.

The whole Hall fell silent as the Queen made her way towards the table. Everyone's eyes were wide, even her uncle Gerold's.

Ysilla did not understand; what she saw was that the queen was beautiful. Confidently wearing a shining green gown.

"The King will not be happy," a tall man said to a skew one not far from where Ysilla was. "Right in the midst of his speech."

The skew man spoke next, "The beacon on the Hightower, do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls the banners to war?"

"Green." the other answered back, and that made Ysilla turn.

War? War against who?

For a small moment, she found herself hoping that that person was Daemon Targaryen.

That anger only kept growing during the feast. Her belly was so torn that she had no wish to eat. Her eyes were on her Father, but he had no slight interest in her. He followed Rhaenyra's frame wherever she went. As she ate, as she danced...

"He is vile," she said as she observed him. Her uncle Gerold looked down at her. She could feel his eyes, but it was only when he took her hand that she finally looked away from her father.

"What is going on?" she asked as he brought her closer to the main table. Ysilla didn't know how to feel. A part of her wanted to face her father proudly like her mother had taught her. But the other part wanted to forget that she had ever seen him. She liked the father in her dreams better. She wanted to remember him like that. But she knew too much now, and so even her dreams had faded away.

"In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens." Her uncle's determination was admirable, but his words were dangerous. Too dangerous without prooves.

"Who are you?" It was the first time Ysilla had heard her father talk, and his tone was sly and mocking in some way. And that made her step forward.

"He is Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone," her father's eyes moved to her. With cold eyes and the same tone, he said, "And?"

Ysilla felt her heart beat fast, and her eyes filled with tears.

I will not cry. I will not cry, she repeated to herself. Feeling the Queen and the King's gaze on her.

"And I am Ysilla Targaryen," she said, trying to sound strong, "Daughter to the late Lady Rhea."

"Ah, yes," her father answered as if he had just remembered a distant memory—a not-so-important memory. "Terrible thing."

Lier, she thought observing the man.

"Such a tragic accident," he kept lying. She knew he was lying.

"You know better than anyone; it was no accident," her uncle Gerold said, putting a protective hand on Ysilla's shoulder.

"Are you confessing something, Ser Gerold?" How could he lie like that? Wasn't he feeling anything after what he had done? If not for himself, for her. His action had left his daughter motherless. He really cared so little to have killed Lady Rhea.

"I'm making an accusation," Ysilla looked up at her uncle, wishing for him to stop. She could not bear the thought of someone else in her family being killed.

"You know, in King's Landing, men are made to answer for their slanders. Even old bronze cunts like you."

"Ȳdra daor ȳdragon naejot zirȳla hae bona!" She exclaimed. Her father laughed again as his eyes met hers; his gaze lingered on her hair for a moment. (Do not speak to him like that)

"Truth is, I'm glad you've come," her father said again, looking up at Sergeant Gerold. I wished to speak about my inheritance."

Ysilla frowned, looking at the King and the Queen. They were listening to everything.

"What inheritance?" her uncle Gerold already knew the answer, though. As did Ysilla.

"I am the heir to Runestone," she exclaimed.

"Lady Rhea and I have only one daughter, and she is too young to rule. Has her husband. As we wait for her to become old enough, everything that Lady Rhea had now passes to me."

"You cannot do that!" Ysilla said, stepping forward.

"Ao vēdros runestone. Ao hated ñuha muña. Ao vēdros nyke. Ao daor emagon runestone. Issa daor aōhon!" She would have never let her father put his hands on a place he hated. He had killed her mother and her Lady, and it was Ysilla's duty to protect her mother's memory and possessions even from her own father. (You hate Runestone. You hated my mother. You hated me. You cannot have Runestone. It's not yours!)

Her father leaned over. It was as if he was trying to show her that he was stronger and scarier. And he was. She was terrified by him, but she would not have let it show. "Se qilōni gaomagon ao pendagon iksā?" He asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. (And who do you think you are?)

"Iksan Ysilla Targārien se iksan daor iā hubre" (I am Ysilla Targaryen and I am not a goat)

_________________________________________

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THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 4

“Dracarys.” When Ysilla said those words, her dragon breathed fire. She had the serving girl bring her a piece of raw meat.

Dragons didn't eat raw meat.

"Sƴz, riña," the Maester told her. He had been with her for six months now. A gift from her uncle after she visited King's Landing. (Good, child)

"Kirimvose," she answered. Her eyes fixed on her dragon. (Thank you)

Ysilla had been studying High Valyrian as soon as the Maester started to serve her, but her mother did not appreciate the King's gift. She said that there was no reason for him to be in Runestone.

"Mother, please!" she complained one night when her mother expressed the wish for the man to return to King's Landing.

"We don't need him here." She had answered.

"You may don't, but I do," Ysilla said. The shock on her mother's face was visible. Ysilla usually listened to whatever her mother said. It had been a strange feeling to be stubborn with her. But Ysilla could not let her lady mother send her teacher back to the Capital.

"I'm the only Targaryen who does not know High Valyrian," Ysilla explained. Her small hands clenched in fists. She wanted to be strong in front of her mother. She had to be.

"I've always told you to be proud of your blood. First Men's blood," her mother's words made Ysilla's eyes stung with tears.

"I remember," she said. But she wouldn't have backed down. "But I need to learn High Valyrian."

"You need to learn how to hawk," her mother answered firmly.

Ysilla felt so much rage in her.

"I'm not a goat; I'm a dragon!" Her mother's dark eyes widened. Shocked, she shared a look with her cousin, Ser Gerold Royce. At that moment, Ysilla understood that the words she had heard from Otto Hightower were true. It had been painful. But she knew what she had to do.

If Father sees I'm a good Targaryen, he will love me. Ysilla was sure of that. She did not act as a Targaryen at all. Her mother wanted her to be more similar to a Royce. But Ysilla was much more of that. She was a Targaryen princess. In a few years, he would have been a dragon rider. And when she would have grown up, she would have been like Visenya. She was more than a noble lady from the Vale. She was a Targaryen.

Father would be proud of me, she swore.

Ysilla would study all day. History, philosophy, calculus, politics, and High Valyrian. With the Master of the Dragonpit, she would speak only High Valyrian. She wanted to learn fast, especially when she found out that the war on the Stepstones was over.

"Father won!" Ysilla said happily to her uncle Gerold one day in the Godswood of Runestone. "He must have flown with Caraxes and burned them all."

Her uncle observed her in silence. His beard may have hidden half of his face. But she could see his lips tight in a thin line.

"You've changed, Ysilla, since you visited King's Landing," he said, making her smile.

"The Maester says that dragons feel other dragons," she answered, looking at the red leaves of the Heart Tree, "Maybe it had been the same with humans as well."

Her uncle took a deep breath. "Why are you so obsessed with these matters? You hardly speak of other topics, if not dragons."

Ysilla lowered her eyes. No one wanted to talk about those matters with her, as no one liked her dragon, her only friend.

"I'm a Targaryen," she said, "My father is Prince Daemon Targaryen."

"And your mother is Rhea Royce," he reproved her. Does she not share equal importance?"

"Of course she does," Ysilla muttered with a flush of shame. Since her dragon had been born, Ysilla and her mother had started to argue frequently. Her mother did not like Ysill's interests.

Ysilla wished not to argue with her mother. She had been very important to the little princess. She had been a role model, and Ysilla had so much respect for her. And she had raised Ysilla as a Royce. Proud as a Royce. But she wanted for Ysilla to forget that she was a Targaryen. And she could not. Ysilla had to show her father and everyone else that her mother was no goat. And that she was a dragon.

"You know I love you?" One evening, Ysilla asked her mother about it as they were dining.

"So sudden?" Her mother answered with raised eyebrows. Rhea Royce was not an openly loving woman, but Ysilla knew her mother cared for her.

"Do you?" Ysilla insisted stubbornly.

Her mother took a breath, "I do."

Ysilla seemed happy by her words, "And I'm sorry if in the last months I've been wilful."

"I'm glad you've realized it," her mother said, but Ysilla kept talking. " Why do you don't like that I'm a Targaryen?" Her mother took a breath. She put the knife in her hand and put it back on the table, but she did not answer. "Everyone in the realm wishes to say that their children have the blood of old Valyria."

Her mother observed her in silence for a moment, "The marriage between me and your father is a rich arrangement for the realm," Ysilla's eyes grew larger, leaning forward on the table. Her mother had never spoken of those matters with her. "But your father grew insufferable here. Insufferable of me," Ysilla listened quietly, "When I gave birth to you, your hair was as dark as your eyes. And he was there. He suggested that you were a bastard."

Ysilla lowered her eyes. It could not be possible. But why would her mother lie to her? There was no reason. So it must be true. But it could not be.

"He never wanted to see you," her mother said.

"I'm not a bastard," Ysilla whispered.

"No, you're not," her mother answered. Growing up, your hair and eyes proved it to everyone. But your father never accepted that."

"Why?" Ysilla asked, confused.

"He loathes me as I do him," she answered. And he would have broken the marriage off if he could make people think you were a bastard. That's why he never wants to see us." Ysilla lowered her gaze. "He loves his ambition, Ysilla. And you are more than him."

Ysilla felt confused. It all seemed absurd to her. Why would her father hate her mother? And why did he hate his daughter because of that? He had never talked to her. One could not just decide to hate someone, could they?

"All the Kings of the Seven Kingdoms, Ysilla," asked the Septa one morning.

Ysilla took a breath. "Aegon I the Conquerer. After him, there was his son, Aenys I. His mother was Queen Rhaenys. Then Maegor the Cruel. Then Jeaherys I. He was called The Old King, or the Wise, or the Conciliator. He ruled peacefully for half a century. But he had no heir."

"So what happened?" The Septa asked.

"He had to choose between his two nephews," Ysilla remembered, "Princess Rhaenys or Prince Viserys. And he chose Prince Viserys. Now King Viserys I."

"And who is to follow?"

"The King chose Princess Rhaenyra," Ysilla said. Then she frowned. No woman had been queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And when her Uncle chose Rhaenyra, Aegon was not yet born. So, the rightful heir should have been her father, Daemon Targaryen.

He loves his ambition. Ysilla remembered her mother's words. How did her father react to the King's decision?

And the Dragonstone folly. She remembered.

"What is it with Father and Dragonstone?" Ysilla asked before she could stop herself.

The Septa's eyes widened, "That is off-topic, princess."

"But I want to know," Ysilla said stubbornly. "Why was Father in Dragonstone? Rhaenyra is the Princess of Dragonstone, not Father."

"Ysilla," her mother's voice came from behind her, making her turn. The Septa was quick to stand up and bow to the Lady of Runestone. "Stop with those questions," Ysilla observed her mother; she was wearing her riding attire. She was surely going out to hawk. Then she came next to her daughter, caressing her hair, "I'm riding out," she said, "Do you remember your duties for today?"

Ysilla nodded, "History, then sawing lesson."

The High Valyrian, she thought.

"I'll be back to dine together," her mother said, putting on her glove, "Behave."

"And be proud," Ysilla muttered. That made her mother chuckle.

"I don't need to remind you that," she said, "You never fail to be proud." Ysilla smiled, observing her mother walking toward the door.

"Be careful," Ysilla said to her mother like she always did. The little princess didn't go out to hawk that much—her pony was too little. But her mother had told her that in six months, they would have gone hawking together. Her mother loved to hunt, but Ysilla could not wait to be on the dragon's back more.

"Skori jāhor nyke sagon naejot sōvegon issa zaldrīzes?" Asked Ysilla, stammering some of the words. Not sure she remembered them correctly. (When will I be able to fly my dragon?)

"Hāre jēdri, riña," the Maester answered, observing how Ysilla's dragon liked to be next to his rider. (Three years, girl)

Three years, and she would have been able to fly. Her dragon was growing every day more, surprising everyone. But the Maester told her that he was growing fast for his conditions.

"I really need to find a name soon," she said, observing the violet eyes of her dragon. "A fighter name." Then he looked at the sky, making a little sound. Then he looked back at Ysilla, making the same sound. He seemed a little agitated, but he calmed down when the girl touched his head.

The Maester had told her that she and the creature had a strong connection. "Hae dārilaros Daemon se Caraxes." (Like Prince Daemon and Caraxes)

Ysilla looked up at the man. He had been in King's Landing all his life, tending the Targaryens' Dragons. He had seen all of them: King Viserys and Balerion, The Black Dread, Princess Rhaenys and Meleys, Rhaenyra, and Syrax, and, of course, Ysilla's father and Caraxes.

"Gōntan kepa gūrotan Caraxes lēda zirȳla, skori istas naejot Zaldrīzesdōron?" Ysilla spoke slowly, thinking about every word. (Did Father take Caraxes with him when he went to Dragonstone?)

"Hen rhinka, riña." the man answered. His tone was strange. Trying to hide anger. But it was there. Why anger? She wanted to know. (Of course, child)

He would have never answered if she had asked inquisitively, she knew. But maybe that anger could be used in some way.

"Such a vile act," Ysilla said, using the same tone Otto Hightower had used. "Dragonstone belongs to Princess Rhaenyra."

"The stolen egg was much more vile," when she turned to the man, his eyes were wide. Regretting those words. "Forgive me, princess," he was quick to add, bowing his head.

Her father had stolen a dragon egg. Why would he do such a thing?

Her dragon looked at the sky again, flipping his small black wings.

"There's no need," she answered, trying to do her best to hide the shock in her tone, "I already knew," she lied, "My mother always tells me about my father's deeds. And they are not always positive words." She thought fast. Her egg had been chosen for her as soon as she was born; that was the Targaryen's tradition. If her father had taken an egg, there was only a reason. She felt rage thinking about that possibility.

"A dragon to a bastard," she said, noticing how the stolen egg was a sensitive topic for the man. "That's an insult."

Would he really steal an egg to give it to a bastard when he had insulted his mother by saying that Ysilla was one?

"Fortunately, no bastard was born, as far as it's known," he answered, "It was just an act to challenge the King's authority."

He loves his ambition, Ysilla.

Didn't he support his brother as King? Or he didn't support Rhaenyra as the future Queen? Why did he take that egg?

"Skoros drōmon iksin bona?" Ysilla asked not turning to the man. (What egg was that?)

"Se drōmon hen Dreamfyre. Dārilaros Rhaenyra ēdas chosen ziry syt zirȳla morghe lēkia, Baelon," Ysilla felt the blood in her veins run cold. (The egg of Dreamfyre. Princess Rhaenyra had chosen it for her dead brother, Baelon)

It was such a vile act to steal his dead nephew's egg. To give it to who? If he hated his wife, who was he planning to give it to? She would have liked to ask more, but her dragon started to growl, agitated. He flapped his wings again and kept looking at the sky.

That was strange. He had never done that. He was a calm dragon, never making many sounds, but he was upset and not able to stay still.

"Skoros iksis jāre va?" Ysilla asked, glancing at the man before walking to her dragon, kneeling at his side, "Lykiri," she said, trying to gain her dragon's attention, but he wasn't listening. (What is going on?) (Calm down)

"Maester?" She asked, seeing the man looking at the sky as well. His face was dark with worry.

"Dohaeris," she said, focusing back on her dragon. He seemed somewhat drawn to those words and glanced at her with his purple eyes.

A strange feeling went down through Ysilla's back. A shiver full of dread.

I want Mother, she thought instinctively. Feeling her eyes stung with tears.

"Ysilla," The voice of her uncle Gerold made her turn with a gasp. The man was behind her. His face was pale, his hands were trembling, and on his clothes, there was blood.

She stood up, trembling. Her eyes never lived the red of the blood.

"The Lady Rhea…"

Ysilla felt cold as her dragon roared with wrath.

_________________________________________

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myocsfanfictions · 1 month

Text

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair were dark, but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen and her wrath was not different from the one that burn inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 3

Ysilla had loved her time in King's Landing. Her uncle was a sweet man, and he liked Ysilla's company. It had been strange for the little princess because no man had ever treated her like family. She had only her lady mother in Runestone. But King Viserys had been very kind to her, allowing one of the Maesters of the Dragonpit to follow her back to the Vale so that he could attend to her dragon.

"Your grace," she had asked timidly one morning as they were breaking their fast. Queen Alicent was with them as well.

"Tell me, dear niece," Viserys answered with a smile.

"I would like to learn High Valyrian," she noticed how the King shared a look at his Queen. A hint of sorrow was in his eyes, and Ysilla wondered if she had asked too much.

"That would be a lovely idea," the King said, smiling gently at her. Ysilla blushed, happy that her uncle appreciated her wish. "From your mother's words, I know you like to learn."

"It is true, your grace," Ysilla answered, nodding her head. The Queen chuckled softly.

"Let's hope our Aegon will have the same endeavor for knowledge," Vyseris said.

Ysilla had met the little Prince Aegon, who was almost two years old. The girl did not know what to think of him; he could not even talk properly yet.

"Is my father happy to hear it as well?" Ysilla asked curiously. But then again, she noticed how the King shared a look with his wife.

"I... I'm sure he is, dear." Those words should have made her happy, but they didn't because she was not sure how true they were. Was her father not happy with her? Was she disappointing him?

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked, confused.

"Of course not," her uncle was quick to say, "Your father is at war; it's been long since I last saw him."

Ysilla looked down. She was truly so silly. She was only two when the war on the Stepstones started. But she wanted to meet her father and talk to him.

She had been trying to talk about him sometimes, but no one would talk about Daemon Targaryen. She was not sure why, but it seemed to her that the Hand of the King didn't like her father, while the king seemed pained to talk about his brother. But no one explained anything to her; she was too young, they said.

She had hoped to get to know her father better in King's Landing, but he was far even in a place that he had loved. Or so her mother would say.

Ysilla missed Runestone, but she could understand why her father loved King's Landing so much. Her favorite place was the Dragonpit; she even loved the smell of dragons. And it seemed that her own dragon liked to be there, too. At first, she was afraid he would not have recognized her, but he did, happily and clumsily crawling in her direction.

"Is Vhagar in the Dragonpit as well?" She had asked curiously at Rhaenyra one morning under the Heart Tree.

"She is too big," Rhaenyra answered. "Why? Do you want to see her?"

Ysilla smiled, "Visenya was Vhaghar's rider," she explained, "I like stories about Visenya."

"I like them too," her cousin answered, sitting closer to Ysilla, "I would have liked to have a sister like you."

Ysilla felt like blushing, but then she got curious, "You've got Aegon, though," but Rhaenyra's eyes lowered silently.

Did she not love Aegon?

Ysilla wondered why. But she dared not to ask, not wanting her cousin to get sad.

"I hope my dragon will be as big as Vhaghar," Ysilla confessed, "And that I'll become as strong as Visenya." And that her father would be proud of her.

"I'm sure you will," Rhaenyra promised.

Ysilla was enjoying her time in King's Landing. She enjoyed spending time with Rhaenyra and the Queen, but never together. The two of them didn't seem eager to stay in each other's presence, Especially Rhaenyra.

"You truly look beautiful," said Alicent the morning of Aegon's second name. The Queen was wearing a beautiful red gown, and her auburn hair was held together by a net of jewels. Ysilla blushed at the compliment. No one ever complimented her appearance. Her mother didn't want her to focus only on her physics. She was a woman of the Vale, stronger than most. But Ysilla wished to be pretty. She sometimes wished that her hair was silver like the rest of her family and not strange like hers. Dark and streaked with silver. It always looked messy; it didn't matter how many times she'd brushed it.

"I wish I was as pretty as you," she said, biting her lips.

"You are just five of age," the Queen told her gently. "You've got time to think about those things." Then she put her hands on her shoulders and said, "Shall we go?"

That would have been her last week at the Capital, and she was very sad about it. She enjoyed that visit as much as her dragon. He was little, but he was not afraid of other dragons, and he was growing healthier by the day.

The feast for Aegon's name-day was like nothing Ysilla had ever seen. So many people were dressed in rich, embroidered clothes and the finest jewels. All the ladies fussed about Aegon, and they were all happy and made a lot of compliments. They seemed to love him very much, the first son of the King.

"May I introduce you to my niece Ysilla Targaryen, Lady Redwine?" The King said, lightly pushing Ysilla towards an old lady. The woman looked at her. Her eyes lingered on her hair, but then she smiled. It was a tight smile; it didn't fully reach her eyes. "The daughter of Prince Daemon," Ysilla nodded her head proudly at the woman's words. "It is a pleasure to meet you, princess."

Ysilla bowed clumsily, "The pleasure is mine."

"What about Lady Rhea?" Lady Redwine asked the King. "Is she not present?" Ysilla didn't like her tone. She seemed to be judging and mocking. But she had no right to speak in such a way about her noble mother.

"Lady Rhea is a very busy lady," her uncle answered, "But Ysilla is here in her place."

The woman nodded, "To not let people forget." Ysilla frowned, looking up at her uncle, who was glaring at her for some reason.

What should people remember? Ysilla asked herself. She did not understand that woman.

"How about Prince Daemon, your grace?" Lady Redwine asked Viserys, "What words are from the Stepstones?"

Viserys smiled with tension. Ysilla could tell he did not like the question. "A war of little concern for the realm." Ysilla frowned again.

Her father was fighting. His brother. Why was that a little concern?

"Ysilla," Alicent called her, gesturing to get closer to her. The little princess looked at her uncle once more before doing as she was asked. "What about you sit here with Aegon?" she asked, gesturing to the wet nurse to put Aegon on a soft carpet. You could play together."

Ysilla was not sure what she should have done, but she nodded nonetheless. Then, she sat quietly next to the little prince, but her eyes remained on her uncle.

I wish I was older, she thought. I could understand better.

Ysilla started to play with Aegon a little, but her eyes kept looking at the people around. And she noticed it. They would whisper as their eyes lay on her.

Is it for my hair? She asked herself. But even if she hated her hair, she was not quite sure that was the reason behind their gaze and whispers.

Then suddenly, she felt something pulling at her dark lock, not enough to hurt her. When her eyes moved, she noticed Aegon looking at her hair curiously before his lips turned up into a smile. He seemed to like it.

It is not for my hair. She thought, looking back at a man with golden hair and a roaring lion embroidered on his chest, whispering to his twin brother.

Did they know something she didn't? Did something happen to her father at the Stepstones, and no one would tell her?

She wanted to know.

Ysilla managed to get away from Aegon's grip before telling the wet nurse that her tummy was empty and that she would have to go to eat something and then come back. Ysilla walked to the table, observing the food as if she were truly hungry, hoping to catch someone talking about the Stepstones and her father. But she didn't catch anything. Women were talking rumors, and men were looking forward to the hunt that would have closed the Prince's celebration.

Nothing of her interest, then she heard it.

"The King does not want to help," she heard the Hand say to a man with the sigil of House Hightower on his chest. "Daemon and Corlys Velaryon acted without His Grace's word," Ysilla was as quiet as a shadow as she walked closer to hear them better.

"He has always been a disgrace," the other man said, "And the folly about Dragonstone."

Otto Hightower nodded. "His Grace wanted him to go back to Runestone, but he never wanted to."

"We all know how he disrespects Lady Rhea and his daughter." Ysilla felt her hands shaking. What did it mean? She did not understand.

Otto took a breath, "The goat and the goat's daughter. He truly is vile."

Ysilla felt her eyes fill with tears, but she was quick to walk away. Wanting to forget about that conversation. But she couldn't. Her father couldn't have talked about her and her mother in such a way. Why?

That could not be possible. They must have been lying. The Hand didn't like her father; she knew that. But could that really be a rumor? What was his end?

Those words had been repeating themselves in her ear for all the rest of her visit to King's Landing. And they never went away. They've kept coming louder and more painful.

_____________________________________________________________

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myocsfanfictions · 1 month

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@darylandbethfanforever9 Thank you so much! ^.^

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 2

Ysilla had been right. Her dragon had survived for the first weeks of his life, and it kept getting bigger. No one believed it, but he did, and the girl spent the majority of her time with her dragon.

Since it survived, her lady mother had agreed to make the Maester write to King's Landing so that the keeper of the Dragonpits could take a look at the dragon.

Soon, Ysilla found herself on a ship, cradling her dragon in her arms, heading to the Capital.

She had been when she was only two, or at least that was what her mother had told her. She had to go because her uncle wanted to meet her. But Ysilla had little memory of that. At that time, her aunt Aemma was still alive and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But only some months after her visit, she had died, giving birth to her son.

Her aunt came from the Vale as well, and Ysilla would have liked to remember her. But she really couldn't.

"You'll be taken care of," she whispered to her dragon, caressing his head. He seemed to like her touch, which made her giggle. "You are a strong one," she said proudly as his tail circled her wrist and moved his black wings.

Ysilla arrived at King's Landing by ship in five days. When she could see the shape of the city, the girl ran to the front.

King's Landing was huge, and she could already see the Red Keep and the Septon of Baelon. It looked so different from Runestone. Her castle was set on the tall mountains, and it was smaller than the Red Keep.

When her ship arrived at the dooks, her eyes noticed a knight wearing the white cloaks of the Kingsguard. He was a young man, olive-skinned and dark-haired. For some reason, his features made her blush. Her mother didn't let her hear songs much; Royces were strong warriors, and in a hard land like her own, there was no time for stories. But the few that Ysilla had heard talked about beautiful knights, such as the one that was waiting for her at the docks.

"Princess Ysilla," the knight greeted her with a bow of his head, which she reciprocated, holding her dragon in her arms.

"Good day, Ser," she answered politely, feeling a faint blush creep upon her cheeks at the realization she had no clue what the knight's name might be.

"Ser Criston Cole, my princess," he said gently, "I'll be escorting you to the castle. The King is waiting for you." He gestured towards a big carriage. The girl blinked her purple eyes in amazement. She never used those in Runestone; her mother taught her how to ride as soon as Ysilla could. Even her ride to the port had been made on the back of her pony.

Ysilla nodded silently, ready to follow the knight, but she didn't miss the way Ser Criston's eyes lingered upon her dragon.

"He is good," she said, suddenly afraid that they didn't want her dragon to enter the carriage. "He always obeys me, I swear," she assured him.

Since her dragon was born, Ysilla has never separated from him. He has become a dear friend to her, and he was always with her.

"Do not fear, princess," he smiled down at her, "Shall we go?"

Sadly, the carriage had no windows. Ysilla would have liked to watch the busy streets of the city, but she could only hear the people outside. She could not understand any words; they were just buzzing. Riding on horseback to the castle could have been more entertaining.

The dragon in her hands moved, and Ysilla looked down at it. He was still trying to find a way to move as swiftly as possible, trying to put all his strength into his front legs. Sometimes, he hurt her with his claws, accidentally scratching her skin. But Ysilla was patient with him.

"How old is he?" Ser Criston Cole asked her. She knew he had seen her dragon's missing legs, as he had noticed her dark hair streaked with silver.

"Almost two months old," she answered, biting her lower lip, feeling a bit shy. "Ser Criston," she called after some moments of silence, "Is my father here in King's Landing by any chance?"

The knight shook his head, "I'm sorry, princess. Prince Daemon is still fighting on the Stepstones." She flushed with shame. She should have known, but she stupidly had hoped that maybe he would have came in King's Landing after hearing of her arrival. She had just being stupid.

"Oh, thank you." The little claw of her dragon trying to keep himself up made her look down so that their eyes would meet.

You are here, though, she thought, caressing its head.

Once they arrived at the Red Keep, Ysilla felt so small looking up at the stone that built the castle.

"Ysilla Targaryen," her presence was announced as she stepped down the carriage, helped by Ser Criston. On the steps at the entrance of the castle, Ysilla noticed a man with long silver hair wearing black and red vests. On his face, there was a short beard, and he was smiling at her. He was the King Viserys and Ysilla's uncle. Next to him a young lady, with auburn hair tied at the back of her head. Her hands were resting upon her swollen belly. She must have been the young Queen Alicent, her aunt.

"My dear niece," the King said, walking towards her with open arms.

"Your Grace," she knew how to talk to the King; her Maester had thought of her well.

"You've grown so much, my dear," he said, gently smiling at her. At that, Ysilla felt like blushing. She knew how she was supposed to talk to the King, but not so much to her uncle, so she decided only to smile.

"You must be tired," the sweet voice of the Queen got her attention to see her stopping next to her husband, "And hungry."

"You are very kind, my Queen," she spoke shyly, "But I'd like to ask you to make sure my dragon is healthy."

Both the King and the Queen looked at the little beast in her arms. And Ysilla noticed their eyes linger at on the dragon, searching for the hind legs.

"It is-"

"Strong," she spoke, interrupting her uncle, blushing, "But we do not have Dragonpit in Runestone."

"Then we should bring him to the Dragonpit," another voice said from behind the King. She was a pretty girl with long silver hair and a smile, dressed in a soft yellow gown. Ysilla knew who she was: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne.

"You want to think about it, Rhaenyra?" Ysilla's uncle asked. The girl noticed the princess making a strange face when her father spoke as if she didn't want him to share words with her. But when Rhaenyra's eyes went back to Ysilla, she smiled again.

"Of course," she said, gesturing towards the carriage.

"He is so pretty," Rhaenyra told her once the carriage moved again to bring them to the Dragonpit. Then she frowned as she got closer, taking a better look at the hatchling. Ysilla brought him closer to her.

"Thank you, princess," Ysilla answered, waiting for a comment from her cousin. She knew she would; everyone did. Ysilla's mother was not even sure that he would have survived.

"How's he called?" The question surprised her. She was ready to answer any question about her dragon, but not that. Ysilla blushed.

"I still have not named him," she admitted, ashamed.

"And why is that?" Asked Rhaenyra curiously.

"No name fits," the girl answered, caressing the head of her dragon.

Rhaenyra smiled. "It will come," she assured her, "Give it time."

Ysilla looked up, her lips curling up, appreciating her cousin's words. When she did so, she noticed the neckless of smoke-grey steel with a deep red ruby in its center. It was shining brightly, even if there was not so much light inside the carriage.

"You like it?" Rhaenyra asked, touching the necklace with her fingers. Ysilla nodded shyly.

"It's Valyrian steel," her cousin said, and Ysilla's eyes grew large.

"Like Lamentation!" She exclaimed, remembering the Valyrian Steel sword that House Royce possessed.

"And Blackfyre, or Dark Sister," Rhaenyra said, talking about the swords that one Aegon the Conquerer and his sister-wife Vysenia possessed.

"Father wields Dark Sister!" She knew all about those matters. Ysilla loved Valyrian Steel. Rhaenyra chuckled, nodding her head.

"Exactly!" She exclaimed before touching the neckless once again, "This was his gift."

Those words confused Ysilla. Her father had given that necklace to Rhaenyra? Why? Perhaps for her name-day, no doubt. If not, why? But did her father usually give gifts on name-days? Ysilla never received anything from him, nor did she know. Or maybe he did!

He must have if he had given something to Rhaenyra, Ysilla though. Her mother probably never gave her presents because she was still a little girl of five—too young for such jewelry.

It must be it, she thought, looking down at her dragon when he moved in her hands.

The Dragonpit was huge. Set atop one of the hills of King's Landing. The Hills of Rhaenys, Rhaenyra called it. The main door of bronze and iron was so tall that Ysilla felt her neck ache when she tried to look up. The Dragonpit was the home of the royal dragons of House Targaryen. Ysilla looked at her dragon as they walked inside, wondering if he would have liked to stay with the other dragons more. Maybe, that was the right place for him.

The Maesters of the Dragonpit were like nothing Ysilla had ever seen. They spoke a strange language that she had never heard before.

"Do you know High Valyrian?" Rhaenyra asked from next to her. High Valyrian was the language that was spoken by the people of Valyria. But Ysilla did not know it. No one in the household was Targaryen. And her mother wanted to raise her proud and strong like the people of the Vale and Ysilla wanted to be. But a part of her wanted to be Targaryen. She was a Targaryen, and she felt ashamed when she shook her head, admitting that she did not know High Valyrian. Rhaenyra observed her for a moment before starting to talk with the Dragonpit Maester. The man spoke to Ysilla, who only frowned, but then Rhaenyra touched her shoulder with a gentle smile.

"He'd like to see the dragon," Ysilla held it a little more, knowing that she had to let him go. The man was waiting, but she could only focus on the dragon moving in her hands.

"It's going to be alright," she assured, looking at the purple eyes of the hatchling. You are a good dragon," she said before moving her arms so that the man could take him. He squirmed, complaining as Ysilla took a step back.

The man put the dragon on a stone table. The little beast had some difficulty staying still due to the lack of its hind legs. But Ysilla observed him proudly as he found his balance using his wings, his long black and purple neck standing eloquently as he got more confident.

The man started to talk, and Ysilla turned to Rhaenyra, who was waiting for her to translate.

"He is deformed," Rhaenyra said, "The hind legs had not developed. He should have been dead by now," Ysilla's heart beat fast, full of worry, "And yet he is strong." Rhaenyra added, "Strong muscles, strong wings. It is unlikely that he will perish." Ysilla felt tears in her eyes, "He is growing good for his age. He says it is a miracle."

"So he will be fine!" Ysilla exclaimed happily. Rhaenyra nodded her head with a happy smile. Then the man talked again, and Ysilla waited patiently for her cousin to translate.

"He needs to be watched over," she said, "If he survives the furst year of age, he will be fine."

Ysilla was so glad to hear, and after asking the permission to go to her dragon, she happily caressed his head.

"You are going to be fine," she assured him, "And we are always going to be together."

________________________________________

Taglist: @watercolorskyy @darylandbethfanforever9

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