What if Rhaella and Aerys Targaryen had a daughter other than Daenerys?
What if Daenerys and Viserys had an older sister?
What if the history of Westeros was re-written?
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆
•|°
283 AC, 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠
The moment he was born for had finally arrived.
How he dreaded it.
It took ounces of discipline and self-control to carry himself up the long flight of stairs leading to the reconstructed Dragonpit.
Fists clenched at his sides, blood rushing through his ears as he watched the cavernous doors loom closer, the former prince of Dragonstone wanted nothing more than to turn back, seize his wife and children and fly far, far away.
Rhaegar was born to be a King. He dreaded it solely, for everything that had happened in his life had been reduced to a single, defining moment that would carry him and the Seven Kingdoms forward for the rest of his days. Even before he'd donned the crown, the reality and truth of it lay heavy on his head.
He did not want it. He did not deserve it. Alas, what choice did he have? Before his own needs and desires came those of his people and their futures, that much he understood. Before his own dreams came that of the Conqueror that told of an impending evil-the kind that would need the strength of the Seven Kingdoms united under the rule of a Targaryen King to face it.
The crowd parted as his men filed out in front of him up to the dais where his queen and high septon stood. It was there he kept his focus as he walked, not wavering once from the stability, the surety he found in his steps as he strode towards the unknown, the burden of the great crown seated upon a red velvet cushion, promising in all its magnificence unimaginable power and unfathomable temptations.
She inadvertently clasped her hands when her husband ascended the dais. She wrung her fingers together, watching him, as everyone else was, with anticipation as he knelt before the High Septon. A slight crease formed on his forehead, so minor was it she might have missed it, as he was marked with the holy oil, anointing him in the sight of gods and men.
When the High Septon began speaking the ceremonial words, they locked eyes. His were stolid, frozen in a time of duty and harsh winters as though he'd returned moments ago from a long battle. There was not a morsel of her husband to be found. He was hidden now behind the king as the high septon carefully placed the crown upon Rhaegar's head. It was fashioned out of steel and wrought in the shape of a three-headed dragon. The wings were that of onyx and their eyes inlaid with red rubies.
He averted his gaze as he rose and faced the thousands of citizens, lords and ladies filling the expansive Dragonpit from top to bottom.
