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stardusksx · 1 year

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BORN OF THE SAME SIN, Jacaery’s Velaryon x original!fem!character . ( chapter one )

summary: Ivorlyn Targaryen is the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen, and despite the dysfunctional nature of living with the man, his new wife and their many children— she finds her life on dragon stone somewhat peaceful. That is, until, they’re called back to Kings Landing and her relationship with a certain future king is put under a new light.

This story is in tandem with a future aemond fic, so there is another OC ( Valaena ) who will feature through out! <3 not my gif !!

Just a preface of the ages seen so HOTD is a little vague— Jace, Valaena and Ivy are 18, Aemond is 19, Helaena is 21 & Aegon is 22.

warnings: canon typical violence & themes, angst, targ!cest, sexual assault, abuse, illusions to childhood abuse/trauma, eventual smut.

word count: 4.0k

Valaena's skirt was hitched up to her knees— more for the added agility it would grant her than to keep it dry as the scarlet fabric had become sodden long ago. Water lapped against her skin, and she treaded through it seamlessly, almost as if it caused her no resistance at all. "Luke!" She chided, her voice lilted with laughter as the boy sloshed towards her, hands full of seaweed. Ivorlyn watched with an amused sort of melancholy— her step siblings had always been so free in character, so careless in joy, and some ugly part of her envied it. Her admiration for them was plentiful, but she wished for their candour in her state of guarded introversion. Rhaenyra's gleeful laugh spilled out like honey, one hand resting on her swollen stomach as she watched her children.

Jace raised Joff onto his shoulder, water soaking the breast of his tunic from the younger boys legs. He was one or two years too old to be carried now, but Jacaerys didn't seem to care. "I fear they will never grow up." Her stepmother mused, tone indicating she had no such fears.

Ivorlyn smiled gently, "Perhaps not."

Aegon tugged at her skirt, his silky hair golden with the setting sun. He was her fathers heir— a boy of legitimate birth and clear, undeniable, Targaryen features. She had those feature too, granted, but her blood was not pure like his. His little hands made a grabbing motion at her, so she hoisted him onto her hip and allowed his head to nuzzle into her neck. "Where is father?" Ivorlyn found the question slipping out— truthfully, the man had always made her rather anxious, and she tried to steer clear of the topic of him.

Rhaenyra gave her a tired smile, "Research."

Oh. She could barley mask her grimace. Ivorlyn was dragonless— she was not born with an egg to warm her cradle, nor had she attempted to claim one in the years since, a fact which her father detested. She wasn't the only child of his to not have a dragon, Rhaena, too, was yet to claim, but for some reason that didn't bother him as much. She didn't let the thought of it being because she was his only bastard child to burden her for too long. No. She always dismissed the thought, but it lingered, he's trying to give you value. Make you worthy. No.

Her fingers ran soothingly through Aegon's hair. "Have you told them of the news?" She nodded towards the sea, her half siblings looked younger playing amongst the waves, like children— a sight she knew would become scares in the coming months. Jace, Laena and herself where nearing eighteen, Luke only a few ages behind, and the past few years had been peaceful enough to facilitate a happy childhood.

"I am to tell them tonight," Rhaenyra responded, a troubled look on her face, "I do worry, though, of Luke. He has felt the weight of... the rumours... more so than his brothers."

Ivorlyn gave a sympathetic hum. It was true that Luke was insecure of the whispers that echoed the realm, she'd seen first hand how it manifested into self doubt— his older brother was more defensive over such matters, quicker to anger rather than yield meekly to thoughts that made him feel unworthy. She felt for Luke in that regard, but the whispers of her illegitimacy where more like screams. Joff was still slightly young to fully comprehend, or care, about the topic.

"It will unnerve him, I think, but he is more resilient than we credit him for. It's his title, and deep down— he knows he has every right to it."

Her stepmother sighed, "You are right, it just bothers me. I do not like to see him distressed."

She smiled reassuringly at her, "You love them, such a dislike is only natural."

She smiled back, rubbing a hand once again over her stomach. The women watched her children for a moment longer before she spoke again, "Ivy?"

"Yes?"

"Your addition to this... to our family... we are grateful for it. All of us."

She felt the weight of Aegon in her arms, the sound of laughter that echoed back to them from the sea, the look of warmth in Rhaenyra's eyes and nodded. While her father was a difficult man to understand— to feel connected to, she was glad for the family he came with. The people who had accepted her and given her a home.

"I do," She said appreciatively, "I share the same affection for all of you."

Viserys, from where he'd been seated by his mothers feet, toddled up to her and began to tug at her skirt. She laughed slightly, struggling to crouch down and hoist him onto her hip with only one available arm. Sand stained the fabric, and she slipped onto her knees for a moment with a startled noise. The grin on her face, however, never faded as Aegon let out an excited squeal. Viserys arms wound around her neck, and with each child resting on a hip, she attempted to stand once again. It failed however, and she fell onto her backside still gripping onto them. They giggled relentlessly as she huffed.

Hands plucked Aegon from her grasp, and she looked up to see Jace smirking down at her, the sliver hair boy now resting on his oldest brother’s hip. He held out a hand to her, and she allowed him to pull her and Viserys upright.

"They have grown too big for you." He was smiling, poking Visery's cheek as he squirmed away from him in her arms.

"It's picking them up," She denied, "I think I can carry them both for a little longer."

He cocked a brow at her, then a mischievous look overtook his face before he handed the small boy back to her. Okay, Ivy struggled to hoist him comfortably onto her hip, maybe they are getting heavy. She wasn't prepared to admit that, however. It didn't matter though, Jace was grinning like he'd read her mind.

"Soon they will be just as tall as Joff."

"Don't speak such words," She feigned heartbreak, a pout befalling her lips as her head came to rest on Aegon's, "They must stay small forever so that I may always be able to set them on my lap and listen to their made-up stories."

"They will always have stories to tell you," He smiled warmly and caressed their youngest brothers cheek, jesting, "Perhaps one day, they'll even be true."

Ivorlyn snorted, "I don't know, the one about the water snake that breathed fire over their boat before falling a victim to Egg's sword sounded rather real to me."

Jace swept Visery's onto his own hip— much to her chagrin, she was clearly not going to be able to carry them both back. "Oh no, that one was most definitely true," He laughed, then sent her a wink as he turned to walk back towards the castle— glancing over his shoulder as she followed with their younger sibling, "I was there."

Ivorlyn let out a snort— which seemed to heighten his amusement— "Oh how it sets my blood alight with envy that you boys get to have such exciting adventures."

He was walking backwards now, boots kicking up sand, still grinning, "Perhaps if you're nice enough he'll let you be apart of the next adventure."

Ivorlyn mocked offence, "I'm already nice enough."

He gave her a I-don't-know-what-to-tell-you shrug, "Egg's rules, not mine."

She looked down at the boy on her hip, poking him in the cheek until he squirmed with giggles, "I'm nice enough to be in your stories, right Aegon?"

"You're a girl," he said between gasps of laughter, "You can't fight sea monsters."

"Now, Aegon," Jace protested, only a light tone of scolding in his voice— their brother was young after all, such idealisations were merely a product of what he'd been taught, "Girls can fight sea monsters— some of the best fighters in history were girls."

Ivorlyn was already confident Jacaerys was going to make a good king— he was determined to learn his duties and had a moral heart, but it was when he said things like this that she believed he would be a great one. Someone who wasn't too arrogant to deny help from anyone who could give it— be it boy or girl, rich or poor, what mattered to Jace would be what is best for the realm, not best for reputation. Aegon looked curious, tilting his head, "Really?"

Ivorlyn hummed in response, "Visenya Targaryen, your ancestor, is one of the most well known warriors to have ever lived. She was the sister-wife of your namesake."

"Oh." He said, like he'd never considered such a thing. Perhaps he hadn't— she, Valaena and Rhaena were not trained like the boys where to fight, so Aegon was not accustomed to the concept of such a thing. Ivorlyn supposed if Baela was here— who cared not for the scorn of people's opinions when it came to training with her swords, then perhaps Aegon wouldn't be so surprised. Ivy could recall a phases of interest Valaena had in learning the skill when they'd been back at the redkeep— Sir Harwin had always been kind to her, and she was determined to be involved with his training of her brothers. After his death, her interest had diminished. Ivorlyn wasn't sure wether it was the swords, or the man who was comfortingly familiar to her that had driven the desire to be taught.

She did not ponder the question with contempt— it was a sad thing, the void it created within one's heart to feel something to be inherently true within the depths of your very soul, to know a little secret that was valuable and shaping to who you are, and not be able to acknowledge it within reality. It was a feeling she knew well, so the whispered judgement surrounding the the dark hair was not a stigma she shared her scorn with.

“It’s getting late,” It was Rhaenyra who spoke next, offering a small smile to Valaena when she took the women’s arm to alleviate the strain pregnancy had put onto her body, “Time we get the little ones ready for bed.”

Luke carried Joffrey on his back, racing slightly ahead of Jace as they laughed towards the castle. Fondly; she smiled down at the boy in her arms as he gradually began to show his tiredness through the way his eyelids grew heavier. Tomorrow, things would be different, but for now she would enjoy the peace for as long as she could.

•*⁀➷

She did remember her mother. Ivorlyn was only young when her uncle had taken her in— five, in-fact, but there had been a time when it had just been her and the older women with the hair of honey and a musical voice that she could still hear in the wind sometimes. Her name had been Alessia, and she was a beauty favoured by men of depravity— one of those being her father, Daemon Targaryen. She had been kind. Ivorlyn remember that, even when her face began to fade to her memory and that part of her childhood felt so very distant. Kind and gentle. Yet, a whore house was no place for a child, and there was vivid parts of those days that where scarred into her mind permanently. Scenes too obscene for such a young age, men's eyes that burned with things that made her skin crawl— things that shouldn't be aimed at girl of not even six.

She didn't speak of those days to anyone. It took up a quite, yet screaming, part of her mind. And when she slept, and the nightmares crept in, it was those men that haunted them.

"Ivy?" She startled, her book slipping out of her grasp and colliding with the carpet. An apology slipped from her lips instantly as she reached to pick it up, the figure filling her with a momentary sense of guilt. Yet, it was only Jacaerys, and she wasn't in some place she wasn't suppose to be— this was the family library. Her guilt was unfounded, and she tried to suppress it as she looked at him.

"Jace," She fidgeted with the spine of the book, yet the apology she fought against still came, "Sorry, I did not think anyone—"

"No need," Jace smiled tiredly, his hair unkempt as he stood in just his night shirt and slacks. It was clear he'd been trying to sleep not long ago. "Tis' late, you couldn't sleep?"

"No," She murmured, "I... no." There was no explanation she could give him, it was all too long of a story to tell and she was certain he only asked out of pleasantry. He'd always been kind to her— kind like a future king should be, all chivalry and self-assuredness. He racked a hand through his hair and closed the door behind him, placing the candle he was carrying on the table.

She watched him as he walked towards her, allowed him to take the book from her hands, and noted the small smile that curled his lips. "You where always fond of this story in our history lessons."

Surprise washed over her. They'd shared lessons with her cousins and his sister in the year before they left kings landing— but education had been separated after that, she didn't think such a minute detail would have stayed with him. "You remembered these things quicker than I, the stories where always harder for me to learn and commit to memory."

"I didn't know you struggled with such things," Ivorlyn said truthfully, because he'd never seemed to miss a question, "You always knew what you where talking about."

"Only the big parts," He grinned, "The little details that weaved the story together always skipped my mind. You could retell a whole history word for word."

"They where a comfort to me," She admitted, "I think it was something to do with knowing how it ended. There is no surprises in history."

"You are not fond of surprises?"

"Not necessarily surprises," She shook her head, "The unknown."

He nodded like he understood something, and asked gently, "The whole future is unknown, do you fear it?"

"Yes," She answered honestly, but it felt more complicated than that, "It makes me silly, I suppose, to be afraid of the inevitable."

"It makes you brave," He responded half in jest, half sincerely, "To face fear everyday."

Ivorlyn blew out a breath of a laugh, "I don't think I've ever been considered brave before."

"You have," Jacaerys smiled at her, "T'was unspoken, but I have always considered you as such."

Her eyebrows pinched— Jace had never spoken to her like this. They where always friendly but never discussed much beyond small talk. He was familiar and a stranger all at once. "Why?" She found herself asking, too curious to bypass it.

"It's no small thing, to come into a family like ours when you weren't raised into it from a babe. You never cowered, even in those early days in Kings Landing when we where all strangers to you."

Ivy had always thought of herself as timid, quite, so hearing someone speak of her like she was anything but was rather jarring. Not in a bad way, but it was always strange to know someone's perception of you was far from the one you had of yourself. "I was terrified," She admitted, "It was a lot different from where I'd come from."

Jace looked curious, "You never talk about before."

"Some things are better forgotten." And it was true, there where parts of those few years she'd spent with her mother that shouldn't be spoken of— what would they think? What would the realm think? To know that the Targaryen's not only harboured a bastard, but a one who had been tarnished? No, she thought, it will remain in history, and be forgotten to it. Though she knew— she'd always remember. Yet there was good parts, parts where her mother had been kind and loving and a lost women who was trying her best. Ivorlyn wondered what had become of her.

Jacaerys was gentle as he smiled, and it was one of sympathy and sadness, "Nothing is better forgotten, not when it paves way for who you are now."

"They are not good memories, Jace."

"Where you come from is not your flaw, Ivy. It's a display of your resilience."

"Maybe," She gave him a small smile, "But the realm won't see it that way— I'm already disgraced through my illegitimate conception, but if people where to know the circumstances behind it... I fear they won't take well to a ruler that supports such a thing, and your mothers claim to the throne is already questioned enough on a mere basis of her gender. She doesn't need her name tangled in my mess."

"There isn't anything that she wouldn't bare for you," He told her, "That we wouldn't bare for you. All of us. You don't have to be alone with your torments, it's harder to be isolated in these things."

"You are to be king one day, too." She murmured, looking away from him and to the book in her hands, "'Tis best you don't know of such things, either, it'll make it easier should you ever need to exile me if your ignorance is authentic."

"I would never." Jace was frowning as he took a determined step towards her, hand curling around her wrist, "I would never exile you, Ivorlyn. There are things I'd bare scrutiny for, and you are one of them."

Ivorlyn blinked, unable to hide her surprise. She was the bastard daughter of a man who had showed up out of the shadows and wed his mother only a breath after the death of his father. Yes, he was kind and cordial, but that had always been Jace— a boy who knew of the weight he'd one day bare, and had been preparing for it ever since his birth. He couldn't afford to be cruel, couldn't afford his reputation to be that of man who displayed his contempt so brazenly for those who he didn't hold in high favour. He had conflict with his uncles, that was known to many, but he could afford such information to be public knowledge because they where threats. She wasn't. She was a girl who he could either be civil with, or display a weakness to— show the realm that he didn't tolerate people who had differences to him. It wasn't a good message to send, especially with so many rifts between the Targaryen name and other high status families that would need fixing during his and his mother's reign.

"You doubt it?" He sounded confused, as if he couldn't comprehend where such an idea would set root in her mind, "We are family," His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it, gentle, "And you are not defined by the things that brought you into this world, Ivy. It is your character I place my judgments upon, and I happen to like it very much."

She'd never known her breath to freeze in her lungs like this before, and gods, was her eyes beginning to sting? Maybe she'd never realised how much she'd wanted to know that she finally belonged somewhere, told herself that she was okay with being the outsider as long as she had somewhere safe to be. After all, how could she ever want for anything more when what she already had is beyond what she deserves. A bastard. A child born of sin, of a whore house. Ruined long before she even knew the concept of ruin.

She swallowed, unable to meet his eyes, but he was reaching out to swipe away the single tear that had struck her cheek. Oh, she thought, I'm actually crying. She shouldn't be— it was undignified, he was the future king. But for a moment, as he watched her with empathic eyes, he just felt like a boy.

"You will always have a place here, no matter what whispers follow your name. That's a promise."

But they won't be whispers, she wanted to say, they will be screams. But he sounded so sincere, and maybe it was through the haze of her emotions that she let herself believe him. "You will be a good king, Jace," She told him, meaning it entirely, "When your time to serve the realm comes, it will be an honour to witness it."

She saw something flicker on his face— a side to him she'd never noticed before; self doubt. It hadn't occurred to her that he was anything but confident in his abilities. He'd never been arrogant, no, but the way he carried himself had always been self-assured. The momentary flash of vulnerability was surprising to her, yet it humanised him in a whole new way. It wasn't that he'd been this imperial type of being to her before— she'd known him knee deep in mud laughing with his siblings, or teasing Luke in that brotherly-well-meaning way. He was teenage boy, and he acted like it, that part wasn't foreign to her. The idea that he harboured doubts about his claims to throne, however, was. Anytime she'd known him to be challenged in such a regard he'd always met it with a firm and unwavering defence. He didn't cower to whispers, to rumours, and there was plenty of them where he and his brothers was concerned.

She admired the newfound revelation about him, truthfully. It took a different kind of courage to not allow those insecurities turn into cowardice.

He gave her an appreciative smile, "Thank you, it means a great deal to me that you believe so."

She wanted to tell him that it wasn't just a belief, that it was a simple fact that she knew. He was as stubborn as his mother though, and no brief reassurance would change his beliefs. A thought dawned on her, as to why he was awake and unable to sleep at such an hour, "Your mother has told you then? About the Vaemond?"

Jace tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck as weary sigh escaped him, "She did," he folded his arms, "It troubles Luke."

"She thought it would," A small thrown fell onto her lips, concerned for her step-brother, and there was a distantly fond look on his face at her words, "The claims will not matter though, Visery's has never tolerated the entertainment of such rumours."

An unspoken understanding passed between, one that had existed ever since they where young children. The circumstances of his birth where not openly acknowledged by anyone unless they wished to know the punishments of treason, and while they where different in that way ( the Targaryen bastard being a more common title to refer to her by than her own name ) they still felt the weight of such scrutiny equally. Because, while she'd never say it, Ivorlyn knew the truth of it all— and she also knew that he did too. Born of the same sin.

"I know," Jace smiled at her tiredly, the picture of boy who was already baring the weight of something far bigger than him, "It will be sorted swiftly, of that I am sure."

Then he tilted his head at her fondly, and she realised a yawn had risen from her and exposed just how tired she was begging to feel. "Let me walk you back to your chambers," He reached to pick up his candle from the table, "It would cause quite the surprise if one of the guards found you sleeping in the hallway."

Ivorlyn scoffed in amusement, "I'm not going to keel over on my way back, Jace."

He gave her a boyish grin, "A king must take his precautions."

"You're not king yet, Jacaerys."

His grin only widened as he guided her towards the door, "However could I let such a thing slip my mind."

When he bid her goodnight as she slipped back into her rooms, their final exchange of looks was fond. She slept with little disruption.

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