SUMMARY: Through Rhaegar's folly, a kingdom shattered, blood was spilled, and a legacy was burnt to ash. It's up to his children to create something beautiful in the ruins of the Targaryen's glory. When little Rhaenys Potter runs away with Norbert into the forbidden forest, Westeros will never be the same. Fem!Harry/Jon. Dragon Dreams. Incest. Parental!Oberyn&Ellaria. Heavy Martell Focus. Rhaenys survived the sack of Kings landing AU.

Changes to Canon: I've swapped Rhaenys and Aegon around, so Aegon was born first, in Rhaenys's place, and Rhaenys was born second, where Aegon is canonically born. Jon Snow stays the same. Heavy canon manipulation for both the Potterverse and Game of thrones. After all, this fic is my version of an already established AU. I've had to do some heavy weaving to make this even remotely work XD.


Late 281 AC: Harrenhal

Daria Sand's P.O.V

When Rhaegar Targaryen, perched proudly on the back of his Rhoynish stallion, galloped past his wife, Elia Martell, and placed the laurel of Love and Beauty in the lap of a fourteen-year-old girl, Elia Martell kept serenely still of face. She sat there, stiff backed, hands folded in her lap, with a straining smile etched upon her lovely face. Daria Sand, a servant under the Princess's retinue, remembered that much. She also remembered the indistinct stare, pinioned to the horizon, distant and detached. As if the Princess had locked herself within, fortified her mind into a lofty castle unclimbable by even this great offence. She remembered the slight clench of Elia's hands, just a twitch of her fingers. She remembered Elia's poise, the tilt of her chin, the glacial composer. Most importantly, Daria Sand, who had known the Princess since she was swaddled in the cradle, remembered Elia's unflagging elegance in the face of such public humiliation.

When Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown Prince with melancholy in his veins and faraway dreams in his eyes, dashed past his wife and placed the laurel of Love and Beauty in the lap of a fourteen-year-old girl, Elia's hand came to an unsteady rest upon the slight bump of her heavily clothed stomach. Daria Sand remembered that distinctly. Her mistress was only a few moons-bloods into her pregnancy, and the thickening of her womb was already taxing on her delicate health. After the birth of her first son, Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name and heir paramount to crowned Prince Rhaegar, Elia Martell, who had been sickly since childhood, had been bedridden for months, precariously clasped between this world and the next. Daria, who was old and greying and far beyond high passions and flaring temperament, remembered poignantly the blaze of undiluted rage licking at the flesh of her chest. Her heart had swelled with wrath it had never known existed previously. Here she was, Elia Martell, a princess in her own right, beloved in Dorne and precious, stressed, surrounded by lions and wolves and swaggering stags, being dismissed so openly, so viciously, by the one man she should have been able to rely on. Her own husband. Worst still, he knew of her soft health, her sickness, the trouble Elia had bringing his son into this world, and her knew of the babe now growing in her womb, and still… Still.

When Rhaegar Targaryen, a handsome man with a fools soul, hurtled past his wife and placed the laurel of Love and Beauty in the lap of a fourteen-year-old girl, Elia dutifully proceeded with the necessities and obligations bequeathed of her station. She watched the jousts and spars till the very end of the tourney. She smiled and gave congratulations to the procession of knights. She gave her favours to plucky lads and blushing squires, all the while, with one hand on her curving stomach and the other fiddling with the pendant clasped around her neck. It was a pretty thing, that necklace. Wrought from polished gold and chiselled rubies, the Martell emblem glistened in Harrenhal's lax false spring sun. It had been the parting gift Prince Oberyn had given his sister before her own pageant had left Dorne for more temperate pastures in King's Landing, preparing for the wedding of a century. There were only two more replicas in the world, one left with her brother Oberyn, and another with their brother, Doran. From the rumours that had flooded the Water Garden kitchens, Oberyn, as was his way in his younger years, had poisoned the master craftsman who had created such beauties, after he had signed such creations as was tradition with craftsmen of higher classes, to ensure only three would ever be created. Of course, it was also rumoured that the craftsmen had killed himself after discovering the prince in bed with his wife and son after handing over the pendants, but those were only semantics. The craftsmen was dead and there was only three necklaces signed on the back by him, Darrion Lockwood, and the rest were petty details. Ever since then, Elia was not seen without that pendant. Not in bed, bath or blistering heat, when the metal got hot enough to burn and singe skin. In the end, in the face of such communal dismissal by an errant husband, it was this pendant that gave Elia the strength to keep her mask on tight and bury the hurt and pain deep within herself.

When Rhaegar Targaryen, who played at princely duties but had the heart and gentleness of a poet, rushed past his wife and placed the laurel of Love and Beauty in the lap of a fourteen-year-old girl, while the wolf snarled at the gesture, when the stag blustered and pushed his chest out in preening anger, while the trout floundered and the lion slinked and hissed, Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne, shone. She shone like the very pendant dangling at her breasts finished from gold and rubies, printed on her families bannermen, the scorch of fire in the sky. Daria Sand knew it was not for her husband, who had so ignorantly rejected her, slighted her and in so, their children, one still in the womb not even having taken its first breath. Nor was it for the crowds around her, vultures and hawks searching for weakness to exploit, to use and peck until the wound festered. Neither was it for her own sake, the damage had been done, her reputation hewn, her standing capped at the knees, her image dirtied and squandered. No, she had kept her lovely smile, elegant grace and shining heat for her children. She had loved them more than any insult or reputation, more than any hurt or ache thrust upon herself. She smiled and played her part for them.

When Rhaegar Targaryen rode past his wife and placed the crown of Love and Beauty in the lap of a child, nothing but a girl barely in her adolescence, the smiles died, and Elia Martell's fate was sealed. Yet, her legacy would live on, sprouting from that very same bottomless love she had for her children.

Next Chapter: A child is born...

A.N: This fic is going to be told in short, snappy chapters. I already have part one; When The Smiles Died, which focuses on Elia and the lead up to the sack of King's Landing, and just after the sack, written up and I'm just fleshing it out. Part One will likely be spread out between 3-5 chapters, including this one. Having done it this way, chapters should be quicker coming forth, and will be posted, if people like this fic enough, every couple of days, or at least once a week. Having said all this, expect this fic to be a slow-burn, or an Eventual Romance, with the plot as the main focus rather than the couple. I want Rhaenys (Fem!Harry), well established before even meeting Jon, and I want her role to be more than just getting with Jon and running off into the sunset. She has her own Arc, plot and drives. Though, Dragon dreams do play a part in creating a bridge before hand, so Jon won't be completely missing for long. I also want to state that this is NOT a reincarnation fic, nor a Harry born into a different world fic, or regains lost memories or previous life fic. If that's your cup of tea, I'm sorry, but there are plenty of wonderfully, and I really do mean wonderful, written fics out there already following this, and as I'm already doing one common AU, I thought that was enough, lol.

All that being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I really had fun just sitting down and blasting it out. As always, if you enjoyed, follow, favourite, jump onto this crazy train and take a ride with me, and if you have the time, drop a review! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21