𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝐎𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 himself as a good son and an even better soon-to-be King of the Seven Kingdoms. He excelled in the combat lessons he's been in since he could pick a metal weapon up. His father would forever be proud of him even with him using a sword rather than a mace - a mace was much too intimate with death and blood, something the boy didn't want. He knew the inside and out of each house and kingdom under his father's rule. He showed respect to everyone around him, the guards, the servants, the lords and ladies of any house and his future subjects. It wasn't with a manipulative nature; it was because he was thankful for everything they did, and he cared for his people (much more than his father did). He would continue to care for them even without his title, but he thought it made him a better king.

He loved his father immensely even with his stubborn, brutish, carefree behaviour regarding his people and duties. His father wasn't a particularly good and honourable man or even a good king since he liked to delegate far too much work than he should. He wasn't even a good husband with his whoring tendencies that created more bastards than he could count, Orys could see the distance and hate between his parents even when he was young he could. It didn't help when Orys was named the heir to the Iron Throne even though he was not Cersei's son but Robert's old wife, Arella from the Stormland house of Buckler. She died in childbirth, eight months after Robert married her a few years before the Rebellion out of duty when she became pregnant. Robert loved her (not as much as Lyanna but he couldn't have her so he began loving her but he never stopped loving the she-wolf), she was a willful woman who loved to challenge him with her smarts. Orys had her eyes as Robert told him when he was younger. It was the reason Cersei didn't like him, because he was legitimate since they married and Robert loved her like he did Lyanna and had never loved Cersei.

Despite that Robert Baratheon wasn't a very good father either since he didn't have the time to care for his children and focused on the negatives more than their positives and talents. He was absent in every role he had in his life but being a warrior which had also left him since he drank and drank and lost his once strong and formidable body that won him the crown all those years ago. Orys was six-summer's old during the Rebellion and he remembered the man his father was then, sometimes he wished he would become him again.

Despite all that he loved his father, he knew how heavy the rebellion took hold of him and the death of his mother. Orys thought the war was what made him the man he was today, he was a warrior through and through (he wasn't made for the crown) but all that death weighed on him as Orys liked to justify his King's behaviour. Lyanna Stark's absence cut him even deeper, he did love the poor woman and it put a strain on his relationship with his real wife – Cersei Lannister even if Orys was hers. Those reasons did not justify his poor behaviour, but it was the reason. He also knew his father's time as King was slowly running out.

But he never would've tried to take the throne before his father was dead, he didn't think himself ready just yet and he wouldn't let the kingdom suffer for his non-existent greed. But the 'evidence' said otherwise. He had no idea how it came into his room; he couldn't even think over the thundering metal footsteps of the Kingsguard and his stepmother yelling "Treason", her delicate and bony finger pointed at him. He let the Kingsguard-his somewhat Uncle dragged him away but he saw the satisfied look on his so-called step-mother.

He knew Cersei didn't like him, she was cordial and polite with him in public knowing how much his father loved him. In private they barely spoke to each other, both of them never spoke rudely to each other or spit insults. They had come to a silent agreement to deal with others and be nothing more than stepmother and step-sibling. When he was younger, before Cersei had her own children she took care of him, singing him lullabies for him to sleep when they settled into the castles where Orys could swear shadows of dragons lingerd.

He liked her, she was beautiful, smart and a strong woman to deal with his father. He respected her and she respected him to a degree. But it appeared nothing mattered anymore, she had set him up for some reason. He knew she was ambitious - most women were since they couldn't be anything but poor to a prostitute without a title. Which he hated, women were much more than for pleasure, they had capable minds and dreams. He had met a woman much smarter than him and his father (not that there was much of a battle, he was smart in battle strategy but not concerning his royalty duties) - Cersei was a good example of a smart woman. She also loved her children more than life and wanted them safe and wealthy which the crown would help.

With the betrayal still ripe he was shoved on his knees before his king, and his father and was banished. His pleas were ignored but he heard the hesitance in his father's voice and the saddened yet angry expression he wore when his rough voice cut through the throne room, "Orys Baratheon, you are hereby exiled from King's Landing. You have an hour to leave and never return, if you do then you will be executed".

He heard the whispers of the Small Council calling his father weak when he wasn't executed and simply banished from King's Landing to roam Essos. Varys stood silently, his hands crossed over his front watching with lidded eyes. He liked the bald eunuch, he was funny as he was sly which wasn't a shock since he was a spymaster. Varys and he had great conservations walking through the garden where his little doves fluttered about and would speak of his adventures before he became in service of his father. He liked to think the man liked him because he had nothing but respect for the man despite what his father said about him being a 'coward'. Orys just thought he was smart, much smarter and cunning than him.

He ignored them and said his tearful goodbyes to his younger siblings, Tommen and Myrcella. He didn't care they weren't his real siblings because he loved them as they were. He would miss their innocent smiles and ramblings when they dragged him around the garden to show him new flowers or new books. He loved his gentle siblings (they were nothing like Cersei or Joffrey, they were too innocent for this game) so much and it would pain him more than any wound to be far away from them, unable to see them grow into the strong prince and princess he knew they could be. He loved them even when they looked nothing alike, with both having golden lion-like hair, light blue eyes and sharp features – the three of them looked like the spitting image of his mother.

Joffrey, the oldest of his younger siblings, stood straight with a smug grin and all Orys could think was that the kingdom was doomed. He loved Joffrey, only because the boy was his brother somewhat and he held a deep loyalty for his family. He knew he would be lost without his family, he would die before seeing them hurt. The young prince was a cruel boy, who loved to torment and terrorize his subjects and servants. Even when he was young, he was a menace, always pushing and pulling at people's hair and throwing insults he didn't even know the meaning of. Only now did he know the meaning and spat them with even more venom.

Orys was allowed to grab his items from his room with two guards hovering over him, watching for any hostile movement, he could tell they were hesitant with the request - all the Kingsguard were but they hadn't given their oaths to him but to his father. Orys respected that no matter the good terms he was on with them and how they secretly wished he would become king instead of the now new heir in line, Joffrey. Most of everyone in the court knew how dangerous and twisted the boy was, some would have mistaken him for a Targaryen if not for the pure Lannister features he had.

With the last of his things packed, a loud stomping figure walked into his room. He didn't need to turn to know it was his father, he could smell the ale wafting off him.

"Orys, I thought you were smarter and better than this, but I guess I was wrong. You will go to Essos and never come back," his father told him, he sounded more tired than he liked.

He turned away from the small bag and pleaded, "Please, father you know I would never do this. I've been set up! I love you and this kingdom; you know I would never jeopardize either."

He didn't want to bring Cersei into this, the relationship was already strained enough and he didn't have any evidence unlike her.

Robert sighed deeply, his large stomach dropping as he sternly stated, "Be that as it may, the evidence is not in your favor and as annoying as the council is, this cannot go unpunished. I've been lenient, shown mercy. So, while you are in Essos, I expect you to become better and come back to knock that golden cub off that ugly chair when I'm dead. I also want you to take care of those annoying white-haired bastards. I hear they're mooching off a rich noble in Pentos, they are gathering some support in Essos and that cannot happen."

"You believe me?" Orys whispered in shock at his father. If he did then why was he letting this happen? He knew how bad Joffrey would be with more power as the oldest heir and would make an even worse King.

Robert scoffed, grabbing a jug of ale from his desk pouring it into a goblet and explained, "Of course I do. You're my son, your love for his kingdom goes beyond mine and every greedy bastard on the council. It's pure and without greed unlike everyone scampering in King's Landing. You get it from your mother, she didn't have an ambitious bone in her body. But I need to be a King, and this is what Kings do even if you're my blood."

So it was a month later that Orys Baratheon, once heir to the Iron Throne, found himself far away from his inheritance in Essos looking for the last Targaryens. Robert had sent knights to kill them over the years and even his Spymaster found it hard to get ahold of where the silver-haired dragons were. Orys couldn't be wholly mad at his banishment (even if it was his stepmother's fault) because he was truly seeing his kingdom for the first time and it made him sad and made him want to do better. He knew King's Landing wasn't perfect; it was drowning in debt, poor people littered the kingdom, crop yields were low, bastards roamed and it stunk of shit and piss. But Essos was drowning in slavery, they were poor because of the nobles hoarding it all, and deadly punishments were given out for everything. Both kingdoms were suffering along with their people. He had met so many different people unlike the people in King's Landing who were obsessed with gold and wealth.

He bartered with the locals, struggled with the numerous different languages he had never heard of, and learned how to stir a boat and command a crew. He drank in taverns and learned many things from the loose lips of battle-hardened men and made friends while everyone was unaware a banished prince was in their midst. He liked the animosity of being far away from the throne where no one knew or cared he used to wear a crown.

And the best part of it was, Rhael. A beautiful and kind woman he assumed was a daughter of some lord with how she dressed and held herself. She always wore a shroud over her head that covered her face but he loved her wild and dark violet eyes. His father hated any shade of purple and Orys used to be the same until he passed down the street and nearly ran into the woman and held her up and those eyes stared at his brown eyes with a genuine gentleness that he never saw before. He was no one in her eyes, just a stranger but she graced him with a true and pretty smile. Orys was in love that first moment. He didn't care that her beautiful violet eyes reminded him of the Targaryens he was sent to kill.

He chalked her up to being some descendant of a Velaryon or even a Targaryen and the violet eyes came through no matter how diluted the dragon or sea snake blood was. A Targaryen princess wouldn't be walking around like some commoner, he heard they were locked up in a place with a Magister called Illyrio. It had taken him a while to get that piece of information and surprisingly heard it in a tavern.

So his father's quest of killing the Targaryens was overshadowed by the woman. The day Rhael bumped into him, Orys offered to buy a drink seeing how jittery the woman was as if she had stolen something. They slunk into a tavern, into a dark corner and chatted about Pentos. She had said she had been living in Pentos for two summers but she was still like a newcomer but Orys didn't mind. They would explore the Free City together.

Orys kept his secrets and so did she, they were both unaware of the hurt and confusion that would come from the lies or rather misguided truths.

They didn't see each other very often due to Rhael's overbearing family not knowing she snuck out and mingled with common folk. Orys admired her curiosity about the world and the people, he watched her gently ask vendors questions about their products, lives and their family. It only took her a month to know all the vendors personally and a few regulars.

Soon enough their spot in the tavern became theirs (with a few coins quietly placed in the owner's palm) and Orys was finding himself falling in love. He might've been a virgin before he met Rhaellena (uncommon in young princes especially with a father like he had but he hadn't found anyone worthy) and young in the concept of love but if he learned anything from his father, it was love and how consuming and dangerous it could be. Rhaenella joked his love for her was only because they had bedded and she had taken his first but Orys knew that was not the case. Orys would've loved her the same even if she didn't bed him and even if she never had an intention to bed him.

They had known each other for three months and had only met for a few hours a day in the months but they seemed to know everything about each other like they had known each other for summers. If Orys believed in magic he would've believed she bewitched him with a love spell with how eager he was to marry her despite his lost title but with his exile, it didn't matter what he did. He wasn't a prince anymore, he had no royal duties and could marry for the sake of love and not politics and garnering support and he hadn't even bedded her yet!

Nearly three months passed when Rhael showed up outside his tavern door, softly knocking on it with a sly red-tinted smile. It was the second time she had come to him in the middle of the night, the first night was always present and lingering in his mind of the day she bedded him. He could tell there was more to the story than just a feeling of loneliness that she wanted sated in his sheets if the bruise on her face was any indication.

"By the Seven what happened my love? Was it your brother? I would kill him where he stands if you would just let me." Orys told her sternly, his big hand cupping her pale cheek, his gentleness was a stark construct to Viserys' dainty ones. Rhael never told him about her brother but Orys knew he had a temper especially when she always grimaced and looked over her shoulder when he was brought up - Orys knew she was afraid of him and always made sure to turn the conservation onto her younger sister, Dany and she would light up in love.

"It is fine, Orys, I am fine," Rhael told him truthfully, gripping his bicep gently to comfort him and he let out a sigh and hesitant in his nod. He pulled her flush against his bare torso, closed the door behind him and simply held her.

"I've a big favour to ask of you, my love," Rhael whispered into his chest after a moment, afraid to say the words but Orys gently sat her down on the bed and grabbed her hands and looked imploring at her with such affection it hurt Rhael's heart.

"Whatever it may be, consider it done." Orys told her, gazing at her with his expressive and warm brown eyes of his.

"I ask that still continue to still love me after I tell you the truth about me. It is a selfish request but my people have always been," Rhael asked softly and afraid.

Orys smiled like she was telling a joke and huffed, "Nothing you could do would change how I feel about you."

"Don't be so sure" Rhael muttered, looking away but Orys hand again reached out and pulled her violet gaze back to him, telling her to tell him. Rhael took in a fresh gulp of stale air and pulled her shroud off showing off her intricate silver braids and said, "I'm not a bastard. My name isn't Rhael, it's Rhaenella Shadowborn Targaryen. My brother is Viserys Targaryen, rightful heir to the throne and my younger sister is Daenerys Stormborn."

Orys's hand dropped from Rhaenella's face like he had been burned, he stood quickly and took a few steps back, his hip hitting the bedframe as he went. "You're lying. Please tell me you're lying and this is a cruel joke," Orys whispered but Rhaenella heard him and shook her head.

Orys scoffed, his hand rubbing up and down his short beard angrily, "Of course, the first woman I sleep with is a goddamn Targaryen princess, honestly I should've known. My father would be rolling in his grave if he knew and was dead. He would've wanted me to kill you."

Rhaenella fiddled with her fingers, her violet gaze catching the floor as her angelic voice apologized, "I know and I'm sorry. You just assumed I was a bastard and I could see how much you hated Targaryens and I wanted to know more about you so I didn't correct you. But I know you are lying to me too."

At her words Orys stilled, the confession still rolling in his head like a thunderstorm and everything was too loud; the rustle of clothes and the drunks outside and the lovers a few doors down. He didn't think he hated Targaryens that much, he only believed the words his father had spoken a few cups in. He had never met a Targaryen until Rhael and she was nothing like the stories Robert spat at. She was not a crazy, bloodthirsty rapist or a snake that wormed her way into the ears of weak men. Sure, she was unknowingly a temptress in Orys's eyes but the word used to be a jest unless she had known who he was and was trying to slither her way back onto the throne, that was once upon a time his throne.

He shook his head at his spiralling thoughts, Rhael wasn't like that, she couldn't be. She was innocent, kind, loving and beautiful inside and out. He had witnessed her ask vendors questions about their family and slip them more coins than they asked for and blushed angelically when they tried to refuse. He had heard the quiet lullabies she sang after they first bedded when he couldn't sleep. He had seen the way she lit up like a proud mother (not that he remembered what that truly looked like) when she spoke of her sister, a Targaryen.

His father had to be wrong. He had to be. Rhanella was nothing like a Targaryen.

Everything was just too confusing but he had to tell her the truth. She might not know the weight of her claims to him in particular but she had been brave and told him. Ulterior motive or not.

So he sighed, the anger slowly leaving him as he kneeled below her and hesitantly took her soft and clean hands. They were not stained in blood like other Targaryens, but they were a soft pale, a few callouses growing in her palms from the sword training she had boasted about. The lessons were the highlights of her weeks and he knew how important it was for her to be stronger and he admired that about her. She was not a normal woman who simply accepted their outcome but tried her hardest to overcome them.

He swallowed deeply as he tried to figure out the best way to tell her that the man he called father and king had tried to wipe out her family line, had taken her ancestor's throne and homeplace, and had replaced the three-headed dragons with yellow and black stags.

"You're right...I have been holding something back," He started, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hands and her violet eyes that were glistening with tears he had spotted a trial of salt and he reached up to wipe it away in a moment of weakness. He truly was a weak man and he forever would be in her presence. He cleared his throat and simply said the words, "I'm Orys Baratheon, son of Robert Baratheon."

He couldn't truly blame her for her reaction especially when he had a similar one just moments ago but it still hurt him to see her so afraid of him. It was the one thing he prided on himself, that she would never have to be afraid of him but here they were.

"You're Robert Baretheon's son, the Usurper?!" Rhaenella shouted but it came out as a mere whisper like her world was crumbling, just like him. She shot up from the bed that was once theirs, her hands knocking out of his and he stood up abruptly. He watched sadly as her hand crept into the cloak and she brandished a blade and if there was no confession Orys would've fallen to his knees seeing her point a weapon at him.

The way she spat Usuper out made him flinch in anger, no matter how he felt about his King, he was still his father. But it also made him defensive, he didn't want her to see him like he was his father because he was nothing like him like she wasn't like a normal Targaryen.

"I was," Orys snapped defensively and he regretted it seeing how Rhael or rather Rhaenlla tried to hide the flinch her hand quivered around the blade but she never dropped it, just kept it pointed at him. How he hated to see her look at him like that, so afraid, distrustful and angry that she shook with it. He lowered his voice gently and explained (like she deserved one and not him but wherever Rhael was concerned she deserved the stars and the sun and the whole world at her feet), "Cersei, my stepmother set me up and I was banished, my title stripped and I can never see my family again. I was sent here to kill you, your family but I don't want to! I would never hurt you and you know that."

"But you have Orys," she implored, stabbing the knife into the air, tears rushing down without stopping, her shoulders scrunched up tightly. By the Seven Orys wanted to cry, he had never seen her so upset, to have things go back to the way it was when he was just a knight and she a violet-eyed lady.

She uncurled her shoulders and continued, "You have hurt me and I you. We have to stop this, I should've stopped it the moment you said you hated Targaryens but I was selfish, so undeniably selfish that I couldn't help myself. We can never be together, we are just too different you and I. We are on two different sides of this war!"

"Don't say that Rhael! I love you and I know you love me! I see it even now when you hold a knife at me." Orys told her, a tear running down his face at the idea of them not being together, to never hold her or kiss her as the sun went down.

Rhaenella shook her head at him, and a cold laugh came out as she cried, "I know! I shouldn't but I do but that can't change things. I'm a Targaryen and you're a Baratheon. One day when your father dies you'll go home and take the Iron Throne and I will come with an army by my sibling's side and take it from you."

"Then so be it!" Orys shouted as another tear ran down and he took a step forward.

"Don't be foolish, Orys. That is the truth and you know it, I will not let love stand in the way of my dreams, my sibling's dreams of a home. I may be a woman but I vowed to myself when I saw the damage my brother and Lyanna Stark placed upon the Seven Kingdoms to never let love blind me. I have stood by that vow ever since.," Rhanella told him after wiping the tears away from her face with her empty hand and ignoring the sharp intake of Orys at the she-wolf's name.

"You would kill me where I stand to protect your siblings and I always will put Dany first. It makes you not less of a man but so much more." Rhanella told him softly, her tone was mournful like he had died and maybe he did in her eyes. The images of their futures together he had secretly concocted drifted further and further away as she spoke but Orys was a stubborn man and he would not let her go so easily. His heart would not take it.

"Is my love not enough? Am I not enough?" He asked, a fist tight over his chest as he poured his heart out to her, "Does the crown matter so much to you that you would deprive yourself of the world's greatest gift? I could take you and Dany somewhere safe! We could be free, from everything if you would only say yes."

"Please Orys, do not make this any harder than it has to be. We will never be safe anywhere while your father lives, he has hunted us for years! The throne has always been the goal, it always will be. It is my home! Dany deserves to know where her people once resided."

The silence was deafening and he hated it.

"...Fine," he agreed with a determined nod, "I will help you."

Rhanella scoffed with a shake of her head, "You are smarter than that. Your love for me is blinding you to what you agree too." She watched him warily as he stepped closer and closer to her, he reached out and pushed the dagger down and Rhanella watched him closely.

He leaned his forehead against hers like he had done every time they parted and closed his eyes, submitting to her and letting himself open and vulnerable to any attack, "Be that as it may. Long before I knew you were Rhaenella Targaryen I would have done anything for you. I would do anything for you still. The truth...changes nothing. You are nothing like the stories my father spoke of. If the throne is what you want, I will help you till my dying breath. I know you are too merciful to hurt children, my siblings are safe."

Rhanella inhaled deeply at his words, the scent of soap and metal was comforting to her so her shoulders dropped and the knife clattered to the ground as she closed her eyes. They stood still, open and vulnerable for another time like they had their first night.

"Please my love, do not lie to me about something like this. I could take your rejection but not your betrayal. Never that," she whispered against his face and cupped his cheeks and he met her with a kiss that seemed much more intimate, with a heavy weight to it as supple lips met chapped lips.

"Never that," Orys agreed when he pulled back and stared deeply into those violet eyes he should have hated but didn't. "Come with me," she whispered with a tense smile, hope glittered in her purple jewels for eyes and Orys could never say no to her. He truly was his father, stubborn to the bone and at the whims of a woman.

"You just have to ask," Orys told her truthfully, he would do anything for her, only if she asked. She hated asking him for everything, not wanting it to seem like she was greedy or wanted something from him but his love.

Orys wrapped his arms around her waist tightly when she leaned her forehead against his and they stared deeply into each other's eyes; smouldering dark brown and shimmering violet were such a stark contrast but it was there's.

He didn't have to wait longer than a few seconds when she leaned up slowly and kissed him, smooth lips gently caressing his chapped ones. It was gentle and slow at first until the need and burning desire they both felt for each other came into full throttle, the adrenaline of the fight seemed to burn both of them from the inside out. Their hands were fast as they tried their quickest to disrobe the other.

"Too many fucking laces and clasps," Orys muttered with a huff as he tried undoing the many ties of her dress. All he wanted to do was rip the blasted thing off but he dared not face her wrath again, she didn't let him come for hours when he first did it, and it was amusing to watch her fuss about fabric and dresses - she was a vain woman and wasn't ashamed of it.

"Don't you dare," she breathed, shooting him a writhing glare as she finally gave up on getting her man naked and in his bed. She pushed him towards it he landed with a huff, a creak of the bed echoing out and a faint blush grew on his cheeks when she stood before him and with nimble and methodical fingers undid the laces, quicker than he would've done them, the dress soon landed on the floor and it didn't take long for Orys's clothes to join them.

Rhaenella crawled onto the bed and up Orys's strong and slightly scared chest, it was such a difference to her brother's soft, pale and unblemished skin that it showed how different the men were from each other. One was a true crown prince and warrior and the other a prince that was more princess than prince and an arrogant whiner.

Her nails trailed all over his chest, gently rubbing over his scars with the same curiosity as she did the first time. She wanted to ask what happened for him to get them but she never had to, when they lay together at night and the embers of the fire slowly dwindling he would whisper stories of training, small accidents from when he was younger, he had gotten a lot more when he was banished, too many people trying to rob him on his journey.

She laid three kisses on his body, at his navel, the middle of his chest and the lady on the side of neck just below his ear and whispered seductively, "Since you've declared your 'undying love and devotion' for me I think you should kneel and bow before me. Don't you?"

"Of course my Queen," Orys whispered with a charming smirk, his eyes blown in lust as he leaned up for a cheeky quick kiss and she rolled over to let him pass and watched with a raised eyebrow. He was quick to get off the bed and stand before her, his big and calloused hand gripped her small ankle gently and pulled her closer to him and she let out a surprised yelp falling onto her back and not being held up by her elbows. He quickly kneeled before her and let out a small chuckle of laughter at the sight before him, him kneeling before a Targaryen princess and ready to devour her cunt like a man starved because he always was when she was concerned, there was no sweeter thing than her supple flesh. Gods, his father would kill him if he ever found out, he just hoped he drank himself to a quicker death before the news reached him or he might give the old man a heart attack.

He teased her by making his way up by lathering kisses up her pale legs and thighs. When he glanced up at her when his mouth met her wetness, she had righted herself up on her elbows watching him with heavy breaths and flushed cheeks. She let out a small gasp when he pulled her legs further apart so he could nestle his head better into her thighs and a smug smile reached his face, especially seeing how wet she was.

He lowered his face and ate like a man starved, as if he had just trekked through the harsh heat of the Dornish deserts and she was his only salvation and at some point, she had become that for him. Sure he had grown up as the heir to the iron throne, the crown prince to six kingdoms but that was stripped of him and in exile, he felt out of place, like he was walking through a void unsure of his new life and destiny until she came along. She gave him a new purpose and happiness that he didn't get as an heir.

They were the same, two banished souls trying to figure out their path and destiny that was set before them but he knew there's were entwined, he had known it the moment they bumped into each other. Some would call him cunt enthralled but it was more than that. Orys wanted to consume her as much as she consumed him, body and mind because there was not a moment when he met her there that she didn't linger in his thoughts or her touch lingered on him for days after.

Orys was spurred on by her tight grip on his hair and the sweet moans that rang out through the room and everything seemed to fall away as he focused on them. He didn't hear or care for the voices outside or the worry that she would leave him after finding out the truth.

She was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, better than ale and the sweet fruit the maids gave him when he used to study and read to be a better prince. He didn't know how he lasted without knowing her, without tasting her and hearing her moans. Orys knew deep in his heart that these thoughts wouldn't had changed if he wasn't a virgin. No Rhaenella Targaryen was much different than any woman he had ever encountered or could've conjured up in his past time of loneliness.

He stopped himself from going too fair and he could tell she was close from the way her thighs tried to steal his very breath from their tight grip around his head or the way her back arched off the bed and how only silent breaths left her slender throat.

"Not yet my queen, I want you too cum on my cock," Orys told her when he pulled away and took a greedy breath of air not that he minded dying in between her legs, it would be a pleasant death that he knew.

But Rhaenella was not a woman to be denied something, "and I will but you will not stop. Not when I'm so close." She sternly snarked and yanked him back in between her legs and shot him a hot glare when he chuckled. His warm hands splayed out on her pale thighs and teased, "I live to serve, my love."

Rhaneys huffed with red cheeks which turned into a pitched moan when he continued lapping at her drenched cunt, two fingers back in place trying to coax the impending orgasm. He didn't have to do much since she was so close, she came with a shudder and a gasp, her legs shook and her whole body felt aflame. Her body shook and when he gently coaxed her back down from her high she laid back down taking a deep breath. Orys stood up, ignoring the burn in his legs but he couldn't ignore the painful erection he had, his member was hard as steel and was weeping slightly at the sight of his lover so blissfully content because of him.

"Are you alright?" He asked gently, trying to keep the smugness out of his voice at the sight of the silver-haired goddess before him. While he loved seeing her like this it was hard not to be concerned, he was still new to the ways of bedding a woman.

His words made her let out a rough chuckle and she sat up and answered, "I'm more than alright, Ñuha velkrys (my stag), you are brilliant with your tongue. It's hard to imagine you when you were so clumsy our first night all that time ago. Still eager to please I see."

There was nothing more than being praised by her that spurred him on, maybe when she spoke in her mother tongue when she was experiencing too much. It was strange to hear her speak in High Valyrian since he hadn't heard it before in the Keep or understood what she said but it was melodic yet rough in a sultry manner that he would hear her for days if he could. Perhaps that could've told him that she was in fact not a bastard from Voltains or Driftmark or something like that.

"Of course, watching you wither under me gives me all the pleasure I need," he whispered against her skin after he made his way up her flush and naked body. He licked and nipped gently at her generous breasts that would look ethereal when she was with child but he knew he couldn't just yet no matter how much he dreamed about it.

She ran gentle fingers up his muscled back with a hum, letting him have his way with her body. She spread her legs wider so he could slit himself more comfortably in between her legs and give him more access. It didn't take long for either of them to get needier and want to be inside.

Orys lifted himself up and unfortunately away from her now red and wet skin to rub at her thighs and pull her closer to him so they could finish what they knew would happen the moment she came to his door at such a time. He laid a kiss on her knee and looked at her, searching with his warm eyes his and she smiled with a nod. The meaningful action was never lost on her, to finally be seen as a woman and not a silent object to be played without her say. It filled her heart to the brim that it almost hurt knowing how soft Orys, the son of a man that had tried his damned hardest to snuff out their bloodline was compared to her own brother.

Orys gave himself a few gentle tugs after spitting in his hand to make it less painful for her despite the fact she was thoroughly drenched because of him. He would rather put himself to the sword than be the cause of pain for her. He would never allow himself to be the man his father was or the man that was promised to her - that bit of knowledge hurt him since it was still fresh. At first, he thought it was her father that colored her skin but after relentless questions, she told him the truth about being promised to another, unmarried but still betrothed and Orys hated it. He could never fathom hurting the person he was meant to love and cherish but he was more than happy to show the woman underneath him a real man.

He rubbed at her stomach almost apologetically when he slowly sheathed himself inside her warm and wet carven and it was almost better than when he lapped at her or when she deemed him worthy of allowing him in her mouth - gods was that an experience.

The both of them groaned at the stretch, even though she wasn't a virtuous maiden she was still so tight like she didn't want to let him in or never want him to leave and Orys would be happy never to leave. He set a slow and torturous pace, letting her get used to him and 'heal' from her previous orgasm. Rhae clung to his back racking up a fresh set of red marks on his back with her breasts flush against his chest.

Orys knew he wasn't going to last as long as he wanted, lapping at her always took too much from him. So the slow pace quickened when more moans came from his lover and his hand reached lower and gently pressed against her cunt and rubbed his fingers against her while kissing at her neck enjoying the sounds coming out of her.

"Adertrī!" Rhae urged him on, wrapping her legs around him and he didn't know what she said but seeing her moan and try and match his movements he went quicker and faster, he had heard that a few times and knew it was something along the lines of that.

His fingers went quicker and his hips thrust into her quicker with harder thrusts and soon enough she was cumming on his cock like he wanted her to, the sight of her eyes squeezing tightly, her face scrunching up in pleasure and her cunt squeezed himself tightly not wanting to let go and her fingers digging into his shoulders was a bliss sight and feeling to behold.

Orys slowed down not wanting to overwhelm her and whispered praise in her ears and he could barely hold himself back from sowing his seed into her at the feeling of her gushing cunt fluttering around him.

So he pulled out when she calmed down, a rough grip on her hip trying to center himself. He stroked quickly at his wet weeping hard-on and soon he was spilling his seed on the sheets beside them with a gruff groan, not wanting to spoil her skin. He shuddered and breathed deeply looking down at her with a happy yet tired smile and laid himself down with a huff. She laughed lightly and kissed his cheek, her nimble hand resting on his dark-haired chest and laying her head on him.

They lay in each other arms for a while, soaking up each other's body heat even in the hot weather of the free cities it still got cold in the night not as cold as Winterfell thank the gods. Orys was content to lay with his lover on his chest singing softly in High Valyrian as if they hadn't bore their very souls to each other. While Orys found himself free of the weight of the secret he had been withholding from her he could feel the slight distance that had grown within Rhaneys. But he would not let his family, his father ruin the only good thing in his life from across the seas.

So Orys did the only thing he could think of, he pulled her closer to him and kissed them with such reverence and deviation like he was trying to wipe the stain of secrets away. It didn't take long for them to be ready for the next round with her riding him like he was a wild horse and her a stern horse rider taming him. Well, she was born to ride dragons and Orys was a stag no matter how much he disliked the idea now knowing of her true heritage.

𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 think of herself as first and foremost a scholar and a powerful witch second. In both moments in her life as a muggle child and a witch, she studied and learnt about everything and anything she got her hands on. She read the newspaper each morning after her father was done, read all her school textbooks before she needed to, and read articles and texts about all the subjects that interested her - she was at the top of all her classes after all and her title as 'brightest witch of her age' was nothing to scoff at. When she let her mind rest she dived into fantasy books. It was her favourite genre since she always imagined a more interesting life for herself especially when the small bursts of accidental magic happened; doors closing on their own when she got truly angry, and pages flicking themselves over when she was absentmindedly rereading something.

Her favourite series were Lord of the Rings and A Wheel of Time mainly because of how long they were. She didn't like short stories or small books because she couldn't completely dive into them with such a small amount of words for world-building. She read the first book of the A Song of Ice and Fire series; A Game of Thrones and became immediately enthralled with the amount of lore and worldbuilding, sadly she never got to read the sequels  due to her...untimely death. She never would've guessed she would end up in the back of a fictional character's mind let alone one that didn't exist in said book.

At first Hermione thought she was having a really weird and very lucid sexual dream, she's a teenage girl sure she'd had a few before but it was hard to worry about having a relationship when your best friends are always in trouble. She had one about Krum the night they became unlikely friends, it was hard not to. His accent made him much more interesting than his quidditch superstar status. He was built much differently than her skinny peers. Even with the minor language barrier, it was interesting hearing him talk about the differences between Drumstring and Hogwarts. He was also smart underneath all that athlete persona he didn't particularly like to partake in. But she saw him as a friend and that was all, she was an embarrassed mess the day after her silly dream about his calloused larger-than-life hands.

Then there was Ronald Weasly, she grew to love him as a friend after the insults that led to the bathroom/Troll incident on Halloween their first year. She got over it and soon began seeing him as one of her best friends after being around him and Harry all that time even if he didn't like studying or wasn't that bright he was brilliant at chess. Then it began to change at the Yule Ball and she began to see him in a different light and grew to love him as a boyfriend during the hunt and the multiple cold nights in the forest when any day could be their last.

She wasn't as much of a prude as everyone (read; Malfoy) saw her as, she was curious about all things and that didn't stop with romance books and the activity of sharing a bed. She was still a virgin for all purposes but her mother would blush like a nun if she had paid closer attention to the books she read.

She couldn't understand why she was having such a dream when she had just died, she needed to get priorities set it seemed. She had no control of her body as it withered atop a handsome man with sharp features and a set of curly brown hair she realized she had no control of her hands because she wanted to touch it and see if it was as fluffy as it looked. Even without the control of her body, she felt like she was on fire, her hands digging what looked painful into the man's toned body. She couldn't really feel the skin underneath her fingertips that well but it was still there, she felt it more than she did in dreams though.

She couldn't move her head to see where they were. Her mind went into hyperdrive trying to figure out what was happening as flashes of beautiful people and sights she had never seen in Scotland before went through her head. If she felt like she had control over her body she would've screamed and jumped off the man but the whole thing felt like she was imperioed and thanks to Mad Eye/Barty Crouch Jr she knew what that felt like. It was as an out of body experience as you could get.

She tried to retreat further into her mind like she usually did when she was solving something, studying or answering a difficult question. The flashes dimmed slightly but still played on in what felt like the corner of her brain. It was mainly just two pretty blondes who looked like they could've been Malfoys if not for the pretty violet eyes.

She honestly had no idea what was happening, it was as if it was a mix of legilimency and imperio. She could remember everything of her life at Hogwarts and her last moments and that annoying yet beautiful flash of green but other memories were lingering of a blond princess she knew for a fact she had never met before. Rhaenella Targaryen her ever so helpful brain supplied for her and wasn't that a strange name.

Not that she could judge since hers was stranger than most at Hogwarts which was the feminine name derived from the Greek god Hermes; the god of messages, travel, luck and trade - the list went on like it did for most gods and their domains. It was also the name of the daughter of Menelaus, King of Sparta and Helen of Troy. It was a strong name with meaning in Greek mythology Hermione found out when she dived into Greek mythology over the break after the Fluffy incident.

Okay, she was most definitely getting sidetracked but she didn't know what else to focus on because she knew the last name Targaryen. Of course, she did, she remembered nearly everything when she read a book and the same went with A Song of Ice and Fire, she liked it a lot. And the Targaryens were a big name in the book, the family of dragon riders that were usurped for good reason.

She liked Daenerys' POV's in the book though there were only the first two out currently or forever since she was dead and somehow in the world since she could recognize names and descriptions of places that fit the memories. She had never had a dream like this but the truth was more hard to believe than what was staring her right in the face.

She felt for the poor girl who was only 13 when she was married off like cattle to a rapist savage because her brother wanted the throne. The feminist part in Hermione screamed for the girl.

And she gained her freedom when he died and with it the birth of her dragons. She used to laugh about it with Harry, the mother of dragons and joked that Ron's older brother Charlie would've married the princess on the spot if he knew the girl and her ability to tame them.

But the humour was lost when she felt more than heard the stranger, the woman who was older than Daenerys ramble about being crazy. Hermione had dealt with the many conversations she had witg Harry to know how it felt to have another person in your head to know it wasn't pleasant (she also now had first hand experience) and it was clear this world hadn't had magic in it for a long time. It felt barren to her, it was so different to Hogwarts which dripped in ambient magic alone without children doing spells for a laugh or to survive.

She didn't really know who the woman was, an older Targaryen sister was never mentioned or even hinted out and the memories seemed to show her she was prevalent in their family, taking care of young Daenerys like she was her mother and having to deal with her disgusting brother Viserys and Hermione was annoyed to admit she would rather be in the company of one blonde Malfoy than the violent 'dragon' prince. So she put her own feelings of confusion on the back burner and tried to calm the princess down because the man in front of her wasn't working, she was far too deep in crisis. And wasn't the stranger a mystery too, Orys Baratheon? Again another person not in the books, something strange was happening and it wasn't the fact she was now in a new world or she was stuck in the head of some princess who wanted the iron throne.

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐑𝐘𝐒, she didn't know why, she had seen handsomer men. Perhaps it was because he thought her a bastardized Targaryen or Velaryon something she never commented on, letting him think whatever he thought. It was obvious he had something against the Targaryen house, whatever it was she didn't know nor did she ask. If anyone else assumed she was anything but a princess no matter if her family was banished she would've done something worse than sleeping with them and ended with a lot more blood.

She liked the amenity of it, to not be known or snided behind her back being the "Beggar Kings princess'" or that there were no expectations to be had with Orys. He was also a kind man within a city of snakes and rats. She liked the way he held himself, with a strong and royal humility, he held himself like a Lord which could be useful for her but it was something more than that. She didn't know his last name but she had somewhat of a secret assumption with his dark brown curly hair, brown hairs and rigid and sharp features.

But that changed when she told him the truth, at first it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders but then he reacted. She knew he was hiding something but she never expected it to be this. Of course, the one-time Rhaneys finds happiness in her life, Robert Baratheon seems to destroy it. Orys didn't seem to care they were on opposing sides, there's no doubt there was hesitance, like she, he had grown up with dreadful tales about her ancestors and her family.

All the backhanded comments about Targaryens when she felt bold enough to feel for his opinion on them cemented her fear of being spurned and turned away. It was clear he was rehearsing lines when he said such comments and he didn't care that much if he bedded a 'Targaryen bastard' and continued to do so when he found out she was in fact the Princess.

She was touched at Orys's devotion for her, to give up his entire life and being for her, to make her happy and safe was strange. She was used to greedy people who lusted for power but Orys was so different. He wanted to help because he loved her and couldn't stand not being in her life. Rhaenella had never felt so wanted or desired before him besides Daenerys but the girl relied on her it was different.

The sliver-haired princess thought herself to be an heir, a future queen first and then a scholar or perhaps a strategist second and that was only because being smart made her into a better and more worthy heir and future queen. But she had to admit she loved reading and learning, languages were her favourite to learn. Reading allowed herself to not worry about being one of the last Targaryens, to forget her brother had a strange obsession for her that went even further than the Targaryen norm. It allowed her to forget that assassins weren't in every corner waiting to kill her or that Robert Baratheon wanted her dead after stealing her family's throne.

She could admit that her father did need to go, he was mad and it was clear as daylight but her family didn't deserve the things they got and neither did Elia Martell. Rhaegar would've made an excellent king, probably one of the best if he didn't go after Lyanna Stark and throw himself into the mystery of the prince who was promised.

So when she heard a confused young girl's voice in her mind rambling about her sister, Greek gods (whoever they were, she was a believer in the Old Gods of Valyria like her siblings and ancestors though she was still curious about the Old Gods weirwood Heart Trees) she panicked, perhaps she was going mad just like her father. The walls she had built upon years of unknown abuse had crumbled down. She was in a safe room with the one person besides Dany that made her completely safe and she was going mad.

She stopped to a still atop her lover, perhaps the truth had finally made its mark on her and she was now spiralling. She thought she could move past it but she then felt the heavy hand of death that seemed to have the hoove of a stag and scrambled off a worried Orys and hit the floor, she shuffled back with closed eyes and her heart felt like it would jump out of her heart and she flinched when her back met the wooden wall.

She could barely hear the worried questions of Orys or feel comforted by his hand on her shaking knee. She was so confused, she was hearing voices! It seemed he couldn't hear them because his attention was solely on her. By the Gods, she wanted to cry out but she held back as flickers of images of a redhead boy and a black-haired boy with the most devasting green eyes she had ever seen before and the glasses just made them more the clearer. She saw feats of magic that she had only read about and felt herself feeling melancholy over not being able to join in and use it.

Magic was said to be all around the world when dragons still existed, in the Valyria before the Doom it was said Valyrians could control fire and bond and even control dragons because of it. It was also the only reason why she was alive today for she.. had the sight and had a prophetic dream about the Doom.

Rhaneys felt like perhaps she was imagining it all and magic was playing a trick on her, perhaps she had been given the Sight to dream of other worlds because there were no knights, kingdoms or rulers in her dreams. Or maybe it was the very distant future because she knew a dragon if she had ever seen one before, she had scoured over books on dragons, Valyria and magic for years before her brother prohibited education because women should not be educated in those matters even if it was their history, her heritage.

Dragons were as beautiful as they were mighty, taller and larger than any man, horse or a building. She had counted at least five in her dreams and she wanted nothing more than to fly atop them like her ancestors had.

'As beautiful as they are, they are vicious,' she heard the feminine voice of a young girl speak out. She opened her eyes and looked around the room in a hurry at the source of it, ignoring Orys.

'I'm in your head by the looks of it,' it said again and Rhaneys flinched, she couldn't see anyone besides Orys in the room and there weren't many places to hide in the small traben room.

"I'm going crazy," Rhaneys muttered with glassy eyes as her head sat in her palms unaware of Orys twitchy movement.

'No you are most certainly not. Now take a breathe, hold it for three seconds and exhale,' the voice spurred her on and Rhaneys would've argued but found herself doing as it instructed and her breathing soon calmed down listening to the voice count methodically in her mind.

Rhaneys pulled her head up nearly groaning at the weight at such a task, she was mentally and physically tired and knew it was just beginning. Then Orys was gently pulling her up, a warm hand stroking her hair as she lay on his chest focusing on his heartbeat trying her hardest to ignore everything.

Then the voice echoed out and Rhaneys finally groaned, 'I'm Hermione Granger and it seems we've found ourselves in a strange predicament.'

_____
I wanted to drag out the 'enemies to lovers' trope between Orys and Rhaenella but I just couldn't because of how I wanted the plot and timeline wise so we get a half assed lovers to enemies for like three paragraphs (it helps that Orys is the biggest simp and hella stubborn and Rhae loves him anyways but if she had to choose you know she would pick her sister and the throne). Don't mind the shitty smut, it's been months since I've written it. It's half edited btw soo

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