The Son of Ice and Fire (Jon Snow SI)

Rhaenys found herself walking through a beautiful garden. It was filled with clusters of blue roses swaying gently in the breeze, interspersed with vivid red and gold blooms, their petals seemingly glowing in the soft sunlight. The air was fragrant, filled with the sweet scent of flowers and the fresh aroma of damp earth. Parts of the garden seemed familiar, as though she had walked these paths before, though she couldn't quite recall when or where.

Suddenly, a small blur came running around the corner, barreling straight toward her. Rhaenys barely had time to react before the figure hugged her legs tightly. She looked down in surprise, her breath catching as she took in the sight—a young girl with rich olive skin that mirrored her own, raven-black hair that curled gently around her small shoulders, and vivid violet eyes that gazed up at her.

For a moment, Rhaenys expected to feel confusion, wondering who this child was. But instead, what she felt was an overwhelming sense of joy, as if this girl was someone she had always known, always loved.

The child pouted, her little face scrunching up. "I don't want to marry Baelon, Mama! I don't want to, I don't want to!" she declared, her voice high and indignant.

'Mama?' Rhaenys thought, startled. The word rang in her ears, echoed in her chest. 'Marry... Baelon?' Her mind felt sluggish, unable to grasp what was happening.

"I... what?" Rhaenys managed to stammer, her thoughts spinning in circles.

The girl looked up at her with teary eyes. "I didn't mean to push him, Mama. It's just that I was angry—he kept making fun of me."

Rhaenys bent down, trying to keep up with what was happening. She gently cupped the girl's chin, meeting her eyes. "Who did you push, sweetling? And where?" she asked softly.

The girl looked down, avoiding Rhaenys' gaze, her small fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her dress. "Baelon," she whispered. "We were playing by the fountain, and now Dany is angry with me too."

'Dany?' Rhaenys thought, her confusion deepening. None of this made any sense. Yet there was a strange pull in her heart, something deep and instinctive that kept her from pulling away from the child.

"What is your name?" she asked, the words pouring out of her in confusion.

The girl let out a small giggle, as though the question itself was silly. "Silly Mama, it's me—Gael."

"Gael..." Rhaenys repeated softly, testing the name on her tongue.

Gael smiled, her little face brightening. But her smile wavered when she saw the expression on Rhaenys' face—the uncertainty in her eyes.

"Is something wrong, Mama?" Gael asked, her small hand reaching up to touch Rhaenys' cheek, her fingers feather-light.

"No, no, nothing's wrong," Rhaenys quickly assured her, her voice almost breaking. She smiled, though it felt shaky, her hands moving to smooth the girl's unruly hair. "Nothing is wrong, my sweet."

But Rhaenys' mind was racing, struggling to make sense of what was happening. Was this a dream? It had to be. But everything felt so real—the warmth of Gael's small body pressed against her, the weight of her little hands, the scent of roses in the air. Rhaenys touched her own arm, feeling the solidness of her skin, then looked back down at the child, who was gazing up at her with eyes so like her own.

"Rhaenys," a familiar voice called from behind.

She turned to see her aunt Daenerys approaching, a young boy walking beside her, his small hand wrapped securely in hers. Her aunt looked just the same—beautiful, regal, and strong. The boy beside her looked to be a year or two older than Gael.

Daenerys had an annoyed expression on her face, and as they drew nearer, Rhaenys noticed that the boy was wet—his tunic and breeches clung to his small frame, water dripping from the hems. Realization dawned on her as she pieced together Gael's earlier words. This was Baelon—the one Gael had pushed.

"Gael pushed Baelon into the fountain," Daenerys said, her eyes narrowing slightly at Gael, who clung tighter to Rhaenys, seeking shelter in her mother's arms.

"It was an accident!" Gael said defensively, her voice muffled against Rhaenys as she buried her face in her mother's side.

"No, it wasn't!" Baelon insisted, his face twisted into a scowl as he glared at Gael.

Daenerys sighed deeply, turning her attention to Gael. "Is it true?" she asked, her voice softening just a bit.

Gael pressed herself closer to Rhaenys, refusing to let go, her small voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to…"

Daenerys sighed again, her gaze shifting to meet Rhaenys'. "This is the second time this has happened," she said, her tone edged with frustration.

Rhaenys blinked, unsure how to respond, her mind still reeling with confusion, trying to make sense of it all. But an instinct, deeper than thought, took over. She found herself defending Gael without hesitation. "Perhaps she had a good reason, Aunt."

Daenerys' eyes narrowed at the title, her expression shifting to one of surprise mixed with a hint of amusement. "Aunt?" she repeated, her tone incredulous, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Rhaenys, I thought we had moved past our problems long ago. We've made peace with our arrangement, haven't we? There's no need to return to the... complications we once had."

'Arrangement?' Rhaenys thought, her confusion deepening. What arrangement was Daenerys talking about? What was happening here?

Daenerys looked back down at Baelon, raising an eyebrow. "Baelon, why did your sister push you into the fountain?" she asked, her voice gentle but firm.

'Sister?' The word echoed in Rhaenys' mind, leaving her stunned. Sister… That means...

"Because he said we were going to be married, and I don't want to marry him!" Gael exclaimed, pulling herself away from Rhaenys, her small hands forming fists at her sides. Her face flushed, her violet eyes blazing with defiance.

" Father told me we were going to," Baelon retorted.

"Of course he did," Daenerys muttered, clearly exasperated. She then looked beyond Rhaenys, her eyes expectant, searching for someone. It was as if she assumed Rhaenys would share in her frustration, but Rhaenys remained silent, unsure of what was going on.

And then, Daenerys' eyes brightened, her stern demeanor melting into a smile. "Oh, so you've finally come," she said warmly, her attention no longer on the children but on someone approaching from behind Rhaenys.

Rhaenys turned, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight.

There, walking towards them, was Maekar. He looked older—more refined, and to Rhaenys' shock, he had lost his left eye. A black patch now covered the empty socket, adding a fierceness to his demeanor, a hardened quality that left her momentarily stunned.

"Papa!" Gael squealed, breaking into a run toward him.

Rhaenys felt her heart lurch. 'Oh…' The word resonated through her, filling her with a surreal understanding. Maekar was Gael's father.

Maekar reached down, lifting Gael effortlessly into his arms as he approached. He looked at Rhaenys, his expression one of concern mixed with irritation.

"I knew it was a mistake giving the Pentosi autonomy," he muttered, his voice carrying the edge of anger. "I can't believe Viserys talked me into it."

Daenerys' eyes narrowed with worry. She exchanged a glance with Maekar, but Rhaenys just stared, too shocked to form any words, her thoughts spiraling.

"What happened?" Daenerys asked, her voice urgent.

Maekar scoffed. "What do you think happened? There was a plot for rebellion. Those fools. They took our generosity for weakness." His tone grew sharper, his eye flashing with a dangerous glint. "I should have burned them all."

He looked at Daenerys, nodding as if to reinforce his point. "All three of us need to go—show them our strength. Three dragons are always better than one."

Daenerys nodded, the concern on her face shifting to resolution, though she still glanced towards Rhaenys, worry not entirely faded.

Maekar's gaze finally turned to the children. He noticed Baelon standing there, his clothes still wet from the fountain, and he let out an amused sigh. "What happened here?" he asked, a hint of laughter beneath his words.

Daenerys turned her eyes toward Rhaenys, then at Gael, still in Maekar's arms. "It seems," she started, her voice laced with gentle humor, "your daughter decided her brother was deserving of a swim in the fountain."

Maekar raised an eyebrow, but the smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Before he could respond, Gael twisted to look at Rhaenys, her small brows furrowing in concern.

"Mama, is something wrong?" Gael asked, her voice innocent and worried, her tiny hand reaching toward Rhaenys' face.

Rhaenys' heart pounded, her breath suddenly coming in shallow gasps. This was all too much—Maekar, Gael, Daenerys, the reality of this place, this vision that felt too real.

"I... I don't..." Rhaenys stammered, her voice barely a whisper, her head feeling light. She stared at Maekar, her lips parted, struggling for words that wouldn't come.

Maekar's one eye narrowed in concern, and Daenerys stepped forward, her hand reaching towards her. "Rhaenys, what is it? Are you alright?" Daenerys' voice sounded far away, almost distorted.

The world around her started to blur. The vibrant garden, the laughter of the children—it all began to fade. Rhaenys blinked, her head spinning as if reality itself was unraveling around her.

And then, just like that, she woke.

She bolted upright, her breath coming fast. Her hand clutched the silken sheets beneath her, and her eyes darted around, taking in the dim light of dawn filtering through the flaps of her personal tent in the royal pavilion.

The dream had felt so real…

"What the fuck..." she muttered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide, trying to make sense of the vivid dream that clung to her.

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She took a deep breath, steadying herself before standing up.

Rhaenys walked to the small basin in the corner of her tent, the cold air hitting her bare body. She splashed the cold water on her face, the chill biting into her skin and dragging her fully into the waking world. The shock settled her, just enough to calm the erratic pounding of her heart. She stared at her reflection in the small, polished mirror above the basin.

She studied herself for a moment, trying to reconcile the woman in the reflection with the strange dream she had just experienced. She had never had a dream quite like that before. It wasn't unusual for Maekar to appear in her dreams, but this… this had felt different—too real, too vivid, too close to something that could be or might be.

She frowned, pulling herself away from the mirror, her thoughts circling endlessly. She blamed it on her cousins. They had been pressing her towards Maekar for weeks now, urging her to reconsider her alliances. "For the realm," they had said. "To hinder Aegon's chances," they had pleaded. 

Rhaenys moved back to her bed, wrapping herself in the sheets once more, the chill of early dawn still lingering. As the sky brightened and the morning began to creep in, she let her handmaidens enter the tent to help her dress and prepare for the day.

Her mind buzzed with thoughts of what the future might hold. She had done what she set out to do—gather loyal lords, secure those who understood her cause, those who would support a more measured approach to the chaos her brothers were brewing. Even though her closest confidants, her cousins, had advised against it, she had persisted, determined to carve her own path. But the gnawing doubt remained—would her plans work as she intended? Could she steer the tides of fate?

With her handmaidens dismissed and her preparations complete, Rhaenys left her tent, moving toward the Dornish contingent. Ser Jaime Lannister followed behind, along with several guards. She mounted her horse, her fingers deftly taking hold of the reins, her eyes fixed ahead.

She knew what awaited her—her uncles had only arrived yesterday, and they were insistent on seeing her this morning. She knew, all too well, what they wanted to talk about.

Aegon.

Arianne had told her of their intentions—how they were determined to support Aegon, regardless of what she had tried to tell them about the danger he posed to her, to the realm. The thought weighed heavily on her heart. Her uncles were proud and stubborn, and Aegon was still Elia's son. They would not give up on him easily.

Finally, she arrived at the Martell pavilion, a sprawling tent that rivaled even the royal ones in size. The Martell banners were displayed proudly, sun and spear on a fiery orange field. The tent flaps were open, and Rhaenys dismounted, handing her reins to a servant as she approached.

Doran Martell, her uncle, sat beneath the awning, his expression one of contemplation. His gout-ridden legs were propped up on a cushioned stool, and he turned his eyes to her as she approached. Beside him stood Oberyn, who offered her a wide, welcoming smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief as always.

"Niece," Doran greeted, his voice quiet and measured.

"Uncle Doran. Uncle Oberyn." She greeted them warmly, her eyes flicking to Arianne, who stood nearby. Arianne gave her a reassuring nod, though Rhaenys could sense the tension beneath it.

After a few moments of polite talk, exchanging pleasantries and comments on the festivities, Doran's gaze hardened, and he gave a small nod. "Arianne—leave us," he instructed, his voice gentle but commanding.

Arianne hesitated, her eyes lingering on Rhaenys for a moment, her concern clear. She stepped forward, as if to say something, but a stern look from Doran silenced her. The cousins exchanged glances, reluctance evident, before Arianne turned to leave.

Once they were gone, silence settled over the tent, heavy and uncomfortable. Rhaenys turned her attention back to her uncles. Oberyn, who usually had something quick and sharp to say, remained silent, his eyes studying her carefully. He tried to smile—a half-hearted attempt—but there was tension there too. Doran, meanwhile, looked as serious as ever, his eyes focused on her with a weight that made Rhaenys feel exposed.

She could tell this was not going to be an easy conversation.

"Rhaenys," Doran began, his eyes watching her carefully, "I believe you know what is happening."

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes, her tone challenging. "Tell me, Uncle, what is happening?"

Doran's lips pressed into a thin line, clearly annoyed by her deflective response. Oberyn, standing beside him, looked restless, leaning against the table with his arms folded.

"Your brother is in danger—his position is in danger," Doran continued, trying to convey the urgency.

Rhaenys' lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Which one?" she asked.

"Rhaenys, this is not the time for jest," Doran snapped, his frustration finally breaking through his calm facade. "Aegon is under threat—your half-brother Maekar is making moves against him. Lines have already been drawn. War is—"

"Inevitable." Rhaenys finished, her voice a whisper of resignation.

Doran nodded. "Then you know." He paused, locking eyes with her, his expression hardening. "You know Aegon is…"

"That Aegon is not fit to rule... yes." Rhaenys stated, her voice cold, watching as both her uncles stared at her in shock.

Oberyn chuckled, a dark and humorless sound, as he took a step closer to her. "Dangerous? Perhaps," he conceded, nodding slowly. "We know the boy has not been himself since Euron—since what happened." His voice carried a hint of sympathy, but only a hint. He shook his head. "Aegon can be controlled."

Doran nodded, his expression severe. "You will be the one to do that."

Rhaenys clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing as she looked between the two of them, her frustration building. "You underestimate him," she said sharply. "He will be worse than our grandfather."

Doran frowned, his gaze unwavering. "Aegon is the rightful heir, Rhaenys. He is Elia's son—your full brother. He is also the crown prince. As his family, we need to support him, protect him from the grasping plots of your half-brother."

"I have spoken with the king. He plans to announce your betrothal to Aegon by the end of the tourney," Doran added, his tone attempting to sound gentle.

Rhaenys felt as though the ground beneath her feet had crumbled away.

"What?" She looked at her uncle, her eyes wide, shock taking over her features.

Oberyn stepped forward, his eyes softer. "You could be the power behind Aegon, Rhaenys. Guiding him, tempering him, keeping him from the path of ruin."

"No." The word escaped her lips before she could stop herself. Frustration and anger swirled in her chest.

"Even Aegon will not let it happen; he has already promised his hand to the Tyrell girl," she snapped back.

Doran looked stunned, his calm cracking. "What?" he asked, his voice edged with disbelief. "Are you certain of this?"

"Oh, did you not know?" Rhaenys said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "It seems you are behind, Uncle. Very unlike you." She smirked bitterly.

"Aegon is dangerous," Rhaenys said, her tone turning cold as her thoughts raced. Her mind flashed to the idea of being tied to someone like Joffrey Lannister or maybe even worse. The thought sent chills down her spine.

Oberyn crossed his arms, stepping closer, his eyes hardening as he looked at her. "We all have our roles to play, and yours is clear."

Doran leaned forward in his chair, his calm facade slipping. "We are not asking, Rhaenys. We are telling you. You will do what needs to be done—for Dorne, for your family, for the realm. A war is coming, and Maekar is a threat that must be dealt with."

Rhaenys felt her breath catch in her chest, her heart pounding. Her uncle's words echoed around her, each one pressing down on her, suffocating her. "You don't understand..." she began, her voice weak.

"Do you prefer Maekar?" Doran asked, his voice now filled with disdain. "Do you prefer the man whose very existence is a shame to your mother's memory?"

Oberyn shook his head, his expression one of grim resolve. "We have plans to deal with Maekar, niece. He will not be an obstacle for Aegon much longer."

"You will marry Aegon," Doran said, his tone final, his eyes never leaving hers. "You will marry him, and you will keep him under control. That is your role in all of this."

Rhaenys could feel the anger boiling within her, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

"Please, niece," Oberyn added, his voice softening, his eyes almost pleading. But she couldn't take it anymore.

Without another word, Rhaenys turned on her heel, her rage and frustration boiling over as she stormed out of the tent, her hands trembling.

====

She could still hear her uncles' words echoing in her mind as she rode back to her tent.

Maekar will be dealt with.

She arrived back, her thoughts still spinning with confusion and anger, her chest feeling tight. As she stepped inside, she saw Arianne, Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene waiting for her. Their expressions spoke volumes; they knew what her uncles were going to say.

Arianne rose from her seat, concern etched across her face. She moved towards Rhaenys, her eyes soft with understanding. "Rhaenys..." she began gently, reaching out to pull her cousin into a hug. Rhaenys hesitated for only a moment before collapsing into Arianne's embrace. The tightness in her chest seemed to release a little as Arianne held her close, whispering softly to her. "It's going to be fine. Just breathe, cousin."

Rhaenys squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to spill over.

After a long moment, Rhaenys stepped back, Arianne's hands resting on her shoulders. She nodded at her cousin, taking a deep breath as she tried to collect herself. Nymeria and Tyene watched silently, their eyes filled with worry, while Obara looked as though she wanted to smash something, her frustration evident.

As the room quieted, Tyene finally spoke up, her voice cutting through the silence. "Aegon will win, Rhaenys. He has more men, more kingdoms on his side." Her tone was calm, almost resigned. It was clear that she believed this wholeheartedly.

Arianne nodded slowly in agreement, but her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "That may be true," she said carefully, "but Maekar... Maekar has something. He is strangely confident, even with Aegon's overwhelming advantage." She glanced at Obara, who gave a firm nod.

Obara crossed her arms, her expression serious. "We don't know everything, Rhaenys. There's something he's keeping to himself. Something that makes him so sure of his victory."

Rhaenys sighed, her voice weary as she spoke. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Obara stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Rhaenys. "You should go to Maekar," she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. "He asked me to arrange a meeting with you. He wants to speak with you, Rhaenys."

Rhaenys paused, her eyes widening slightly. Her mind drifted back to the dream, to the feeling of peace that had washed over her in that strange, vivid vision. Was it a sign? She didn't know, but she couldn't deny that something about it had shaken her, left her with questions that needed answers. What was Maekar planning? Why was he so confident?

Why had he even thought to suggest marrying both her and Daenerys together? She had thought him mad for it at first, but now, she found herself... intrigued.

After a long silence, Rhaenys finally nodded. "Fine," she said quietly, her decision made. "Go and talk to Maekar. Tell him... tell him I will meet with him."

Arianne's face softened into a smile. "I think that is the right choice, Rhaenys. We should at least hear him out—let him tell us why he believes he can win." She paused, her gaze steady on her cousin. "And maybe, if it makes sense, we can work with him."

Rhaenys looked at Arianne, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "Why are you willing to go against your father?" she asked.

Arianne looked away for a moment, her expression pained. "Because they don't see the danger, Rhaenys. They believe they can control Aegon. But they're wrong. He is too far gone."

Obara gave a curt nod. "I will meet with Maekar today."

Rhaenys nodded once more, her mind drifting back to the dream—the feeling of holding her daughter in her arms, something she had always wanted. As she thought more about it, the idea didn't sound so bad after all.

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Read up to chapter 91 here :

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Here is something iam working on there.

Alyxander the Great, reborn as the son of Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon— brother to Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was.

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He was a god. Tyrant, they yell so easily. I laugh; no tyrant ever gave back so much. It takes strong men to rule. Alexander was more; he was Prometheus, a friend to man. He changed the world.

— Ptolemy I Soter 

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Excerpt from "Alyxander the Great: His Wars, His Empire, His Legacy"

Written by Maester Aerys Targaryen

Alyxander Targaryen, the only son of Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, was born in the year 80 AC. His birth, though marred by tragedy, was surrounded by a sense of divine providence. Lady Jocelyn, beloved by all, succumbed during labor, leaving the young prince motherless and Prince Aemon without his cherished wife. It was a day of both mourning and inexplicable wonder, for it seemed the world itself shifted to acknowledge the arrival of a figure who would reshape its destiny.

The birth of Alyxander was marked by auspicious signs, as if the gods themselves had taken an interest. On the very morning of his birth, a remarkable transformation took place within the dragonpit of King's Landing. Balerion the Black Dread, the greatest of all dragons, who had been fading slowly since the ill-fated incident involving young Aerea Targaryen years earlier, suddenly regained his strength. The Black Dread, once lethargic and thought to be dying, let out a powerful roar that echoed across the city, shaking the very foundations of the Red Keep. Dragonkeepers, witnessing the beast's renewed vigor, were astounded, and whispers began among them that the newborn Targaryen prince was destined to ride the great dragon, as if a bond between them had been forged at the moment of his first breath.

Other curious events took place that day, seen as further omens of greatness. A shower of falling stars was reported by smallfolk near the Blackwater, and an unusual calm settled over the usually turbulent Blackwater Rush, its waters flowing as smooth as polished glass. In the godswood of King's Landing, the heart tree—which had not flowered in decades—was said to have sprouted a cluster of bright red blossoms. From the perspective of the court, these signs pointed to something extraordinary—a life destined for deeds that would eclipse even those of his forebears.

Among all these omens, none stood out more than the Black Dread's sudden recovery. The elder dragonkeepers, grizzled veterans who had tended dragons for decades, whispered that Balerion himself knew a new master had been born. As Alyxander grew, the connection between boy and dragon seemed to prove the truth of these whispers. At just six years old, Alyxander stood before the Black Dread and did what few would dare: he touched the beast's ancient scales, and Balerion allowed it—a quiet acceptance of his new master.

In this Maester's opinion, Alyxander was the greatest rider of the Black Dread, surpassing even Aegon the Conqueror. While Aegon forged an empire and laid the foundations of the realm, Alyxander expanded it threefold, taking Balerion to the ends of Westeros and across the Narrow Sea to Essos. For all his victories, Aegon had boundaries, but Alyxander had none—only horizons yet to conquer…