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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IN THE DRAGONS LAIR
•|°
298 𝐀𝐂,
𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠
SANSA
All her life she'd dreamt of a life bigger than herself; bigger than Winterfell and, perhaps, even bigger than all of Westeros. But dreams end when one awakes to the reality they briefly left behind: the truth of what their life truly was.
Yet no matter how many times she pinched herself, the mist did not fade, the sun did not die, and the dream did not end.
The city of King's Landing was far more grand than the stories depicted it to be—and far more malodorous. She scrunched her nose.
"Lady Sansa," hissed her Septa. "That is unbecoming of a lady of Winterfell."
Like the tender little bird she was, Sansa chirped an apology and quietened.
All around her were sloping houses, some in far better condition than others, but none of them so derelict and abandoned as father described.
"During the reign of Aerys the Mad, the streets ran thick with blood and ash," Old Nan had said in another one of her gruesome tales.
Sansa wished to ask how she knew that but refrained lest she interrupt the storyteller.
The sloping buildings and dung-filled roads soon gave way to gilded homes and glistening structures. It was as bright as a dream, reminding her of all she wished to accomplish with her life.
Would she one day get to live in these gorgeous buildings? Would she hold her own court with her own ladies and dashing knights?
The young lady was pulled from her thoughts when a towering structure caught her attention. It was made of the finest marble and hardest stone, and stood in the center of the small paradise of the city.
Havenfyre.
It was a white castle that, in the day's light, was far more marvellous than the Red Keep. Soon it, too, passed and the home of the King was fast approaching.
•|°
Upon Aegon's High Hill, a small crowd was gathered to witness the arrival of the Starks of Winterfell, a few members of court well hidden amongst them. Lord Eddard, the new Master of Laws, was not as they expected—not at all bearded nor barbaric as they'd heard, but a rather upright man with a face accustomed to the harshness of Winter.
The portcullis stood open for them, the banner of the house of the dragon flying high on either side. Lord Eddard dismounted from his stallion once within the confines of the castle and a servant with a shy face was rushing to greet him.
