Jacaerys Velaryon

She was named Lucia Aragón once. Lucia. And she was born in the place of a Strong Boy meant to die. She was born in the place of the spark, the kindling and flint that began the rage of Fire across Westeros. She is the first note to the Dance. Or, well, she’s supposed to be. But the girl born to the Realm’s Delight had one, single thought about that: That in her second life, Princess Lucerae Velaryon will take a note from her surname, and RUN.

It was amazing that once she had someone by her side willing to fight for her, how she too started to fight. Once she saw someone fight for her it was like the fire that had been starting to die down was rekindled. She vowed never to let go of it again. What could have been the worst night of her life and the catalyst of her downfall became a turning point in her path to ascension. *Harwin dies and, after being shown the death of his children and Rhaenyra, wakes up on the night Daemon took Rhaenyra into King's Landing and is determined to do everything to ensure the past does not happen again and that his children and the woman he loves never have to experience the misery they did in his past life.

After a disastrous dinner, Aegon and Rhaenyra have a well-needed conversation. Edit: I am writing this fic simply for the fun of it. Arguments between team black and team green in the comments are kind of ruining this for me and will therefore be deleted!

On the day Aemond lost an eye, he was but thirteen namedays old, whilst his darling nephew was merely ten, yet there was blood on that sweet boy's hands. Rather than allowing such a thing to go unpunished, both Blacks and Greens suffer a lose that unites them. Whilst Criston Cole is banished from the crownlands for the entirety of his life and stripped of his titles, Lucerys is banished from King's Landing and Dragonstone until the king seems him worthy to return. Eight years later, Corlys returns with the prodigal son in tow. No one expected for Lucerys to grow into such a violent thing and neither did they expect for him to follow in his mother's footsteps and claim a Hightower as his best friend. But eight years is long. With war in his veins and blood staining his hands, Lucerys has changed. For better or for worse, Aemond does not know.

Predictably, Luke immediately tries to turn him away. “Aemond, wh-what are you doing?!” The boy - who’s a man now, in truth - exclaims as he gets himself comfortable. This close, Luke’s scent of firewood and cedar is easy to pick up and delightfully appealing. Aemond cocks his head as he stares at him. “Isn’t it obvious?” He asks coyly. “I’m settling into my new place.” “Your new…” the young alpha looks as though he’s seen a ghost, “Your new place? And that’s on top of me?” The omega shrugs. “On top of you, underneath you… Around you, while you bury yourself inside me… Whatever way you desire to have me, nephew.” (Or, Lucerys is the Lord of Harrenhal and Aemond is scheming).

An A/O/B version of the Targaryen dynasty.