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Cousin​:

@neithergodsnormen { stannis }

Seven years she had been a prisoner. It was a comfortable confinement, yes, complete with one of the Keep’s finest chambers and two servants to see to her every whim. Still, Rhaenys longed for her husband; she longed for Driftmark. Most of all, she longed for freedom. But that her Targaryen blood would never allow her.

Her visitors were not many aside from the King himself, so she was always mildly surprised when one showed up. When the door to her chamber opened, she looked up from the book she had been reading and an eyebrow arched at the sight of the Lord of Dragonstone.

“Cousin,” Rhaenys greeted, setting the book aside. “What a surprise. I heard no murmurs that you were in King’s Landing.”

He had never thought to question Robert’s choice to have Rhaenys as a prisoner, his brother was the king now and no one was to question a king. When his brother had named him the Master of Ships, a role that had once belonged to his cousin’s husband, he had not thought of what the consequence of such an act. It had just been the natural response to the change of a dynasty. Seven years, and he had not known the ache of being far from home, from those that you loved.

He understood now, thinking of the little girl back in Dragonstone who was soon to turn a year old. He had never longed to be with another human being as much as he longed to hold his child every waking moment. He may not have held love for Selyse, but by the gods did he love the result of their marriage. On the return from his latest visit, he’d passed Driftmark and seen the shape of High Tide in the distance.

He’d felt shame in that moment.

Rhaenys may have been born to House Targaryen, but she was blood all the same, as her mother was a Baratheon. How could he just ignore her? Leave her alone to her confinement? Each time that he’d been called to court, he had not once paid her a visit. Something that he was starting to remedy. He was not one to smile, but his usual scowl was not as prominent when he entered into the room that held his neglected and captive cousin.

“I only just returned today,” he responded, “I hope I am not interrupting anything.” He knew how annoyed he was when he was focused on something, himself, only to be made to interact with another person.

@ofvalyriansteel sent: “No, no, no, don’t die on me!” (for corlys ) 

Send me “No, no, no, don’t die on me!” for a scenario in which my muse dies protecting yours.

He couldn’t lose her. She was the light of his life, the only thing in the world that had left him feeling satisfied, the one that he had never asked for more than. His QUEEN, as the rest of Westeros should have admitted to her being. Seeing the men above, knowing that saying anything would cause them to loose the arrows faster, saying anything about it would cause him to die inside. He should have insisted that she be in the air, that Meleys be there flying in once Seasmoke began his strike began.

His ax falls from his hands as he runs to her. Sand slows his feet, and he has to push past bodies. His own soldiers, members of the Crabfeeder’s men, he doesn’t pay attention to who it is he shoves from his path. All that mattered was Rhaenys.

His Rhaenys, his queen, his wife, his life.

The volley of arrows hit him as he reaches her, pulling her against him so that none of her was exposed. Each strike parted his armor, slowed enough by the steel so that it would not reach her as well. He’s still holding her in his arms as the arrows stop, still holding her as his knees give way and he falls to the ground. He coughs, finding it hard to breathe, a wheezing leaving him tells him that his lungs had been struck in the volley. “Are you alright?” he asks with what little breath is left to him.

@ofvalyriansteel sent: ❝ I must admit I expected far worse from an arranged marriage. ❞ (for viserys i ) 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ* ARRANGED MARRIAGE SENTENCE STARTERS 2.0

Viserys looked at his cousin as the words left her lips, their grandfather had arranged their marriage to shore up Aemon’s line of succession, and though she was three years older than he was he’d been the best option. Jaehaerys had stated that he wanted to ensure that the throne would follow the Targaryen name, the other option would have been to marry her to another Valyrian blooded family in the Velaryons or the Celtigars. None of them would have ensured that the Iron Throne would belong to a Targaryen, however.

Viserys was the fourth in line, following his own father and Rhaenys herself in the succession. It was a good match, and at least they liked each other well enough. There were fuzzy memories of him running after her on tiny legs, calling out her name. He already could envision their reign, how it could look, with the two ruling equally like their grandparents, a throne shared by two dragons.

“Is that so, Cousin?” he asks, trying to figure out if that was a compliment or not, though he had to agree with the thought. Their grandfather could have chosen anyone for the two of them to marry, it was better that it was someone that they already knew and liked well enough. He could have engaged them to someone that they hated from the offset. “What is it that you were expecting from an arranged marriage?”

Grandmother​:

@neithergodsnormen sent:  ❝ heads or tails? ❞ - from Jace

Rhaenys pretended to give the matter a great deal of thought as she studied the coin, silver head propped up against one hand as she rested her arm on the table they were sitting at. “Tails, I think,” she said finally, dropping her arm. “I do hope that’s not a double-headed coin, Jacaerys, and you’re trying to cheat your old grandmother.” There was a playful glint in violet eyes that made it clear that she was teasing.

Jace made a face when his grandmother suggested that he had chosen a double-headed coin. “I would not cheat you, grandmother.” He moved over to her, climbing into her lap with the room that she allowed him. “Maybe I am just lucky?” He looked up at her, big brown eyes glinting with a search of praise. He wanted to be accepted by the Velaryon side of his family, to not be treated coldly or with uncertainty. “What was great-grandmother like? Mother says I got her hair.”

@ofvalyriansteel sent: PLOTS + Corlys, Viserys, and the grandsons 

*  ―  send 🖋 or ( ‘PLOTS’ ) for me to tell you a couple potential plot ideas i have for our muses, whether it just be certain types of dynamics or general storylines i’d like to explore.

ooooh this is going to be fun, under the cut to avoid clogging up the dash

Corlys

Courtship

Wedding

Early marriage

Fighting together in the Stepstones (more than our thread of him dying)

Raising their babies

Viserys

naming RHAENYS as his hand when he takes the throne

young cousins interacting before the Great Council

Jacaerys

learning High Valyrian during a visit to Grandma

asking for stories about Laenor when he was growing up

Lucerys

learning from Grandma how to be the best ruler he can be for the people of Driftmark

spending time with Grandma

bonus Laenor

Laenor sends a letter to his mother, summoning her to the free cities so he can let her know that he is alive

@ofvalyriansteel yes it’s THAT starter

Qarl had warned him not to. Had told him that contacting her could ruin everything that Daemon and Rhaenyra had done to ensure that he could have his freedom. He chose to ignore Qarl’s warnings. His mother deserved better than to think that she’d had to bury both of her children. He couldn’t imagine having to bury Jace and Luke, even if they were not his by blood they were his sons, he would not do that to his mother. Not while he still had breath in his lungs.

Muña,

I still live. Look for me in Tyrosh.

Aōha tresy,

L.

Once the raven was sent, he waited, hoping that she would come. She had no reason to believe the letter, and more than that she had no reason to even look at the letter. The days were long, longer than he’d expected them to be and he found himself wishing they had found some way to bring Seasmoke with them. It was one thing to go riding on horses, another entirely to fly. Oh how he’d taken flying for granted. He oft found himself looking out over the sea, letting the wind whip at his face, the closest he would likely get to flying again, and scanning the skys for any sign of the Red Queen in the clouds.

Muña​:

Rhaenys almost hadn’t read the letter. The servant had left it carelessly on a table by the fireplace rather than delivering it directly to the princess. She examined the missive curiously, not recognizing whose scrawl it was printing her name, before parting the wax that sealed it shut with a knife. Flicking the folded parchment open idly, she noted that the message was short and to the point upon first glance.

Then she read it and she had to sit down as the color drained from her face. Twice more she read it. Then five times. Ten times. Each time trying to wrap her mind around what the words were telling her. Laenor was alive?

It was impossible to believe. She had seen her son’s burned body herself, had cried over it, and seen it interred beneath the waves just like his sister’s had been a few short days before. `Surely this was some sick-minded jest meant to wound a grieving mother’s already broken heart even further. 

But Rhaenys kept on looking at the handwriting, examining it for any sign of familiarity. She, who had taught her son how to write his letters herself, thought she saw in it some trace of Laenor’s. Her mind tried to warn her that it was wishful thinking, but some almost primal urge in her responded to it like a mother dragon responding to the call of her hatchlings. And the writer’s use of High Valyrian…

If Laenor was alive…if he was writing to her…she must go.

Her mind made up, the princess had Meleys readied for travel as she changed into her riding clothes. There was no need for ceremony where she was going and even less needed for a, tentative, reunion between mother and son. So dressed simply and without any flair, she mounted her dragon and took off for Tyrosh as quickly as the Red Queen could move, her heart pounding the entire way. Whether it would be made whole or broken again was entirely in the hands of fate.

Laenor wandered along the beach, thinking about what he had given up in order to have this freedom of duty. Rhaenyra had made her choice, had deserved a husband who could give her children and he couldn’t. Time and time they had tried to no avail, he just could not preform his duty to her. Free to dine as he saw fit... it had been a shame that their tastes had not aligned.

He did love Rhaenyra, and their sons, but he could not love her in the way that she needed from a husband. The suggestion to allow him to be free, to make her a widow, had not been easy for her. That much he was certain of, just as he loved her, she loved him despite all his faults. Something that did pain him, was the fact he would not see Joffery grow. The first one that he’d had a chance to name. The one named for the love of his life taken far too soon.

Another wave of guilt hit him as he thought about Joffery Lonmoth. His mother would have been left to see his ‘corpse’ with a ruined face, just as he’d had to endure with Joffery. He finds himself standing waist deep in water more often than not most days now, letting the sea move around him, knowing that even if Seasmoke is back on Driftmark that he at least has one of the places that he felt more at home in.

A deep breath before he looks at the sky once more, and sees her.

Meleys.

She’d read the letter.

Eyes widen and he must look a right fool as he tries to run out of the water, practically waddling until he is closer to the beach. Once in the sand he starts to run, arms waving in the air, hoping that she looks down and sees him from above. He knows that she cannot hear him, not from that height, but the cry for his mother leaves his lips regardless as he runs along the beach. He can no longer tell what is seawater and what is tears on his face as he screams in both common tongue and High Valyrian.