Chapter 1

                                    

                                          
A/N: I wrote this first as a oneshot (see Sprinting Fox: Unwritten for the chapter with an OC paired with Otto Hightower) but then decided to write it as an actual fic. The oneshot avoided the Dance of Dragons but this fic will not. Additionally, several things have been changed. 
As with my previous stories, I wanted to make a note about a few things. One, you can expect the usual Game of Thrones themes of abuse, miscarriage, traumatic childbirth, underage marriage, violence, incest, etc. Two, it will be depressing in many aspects and have a great deal of angst. Three, I am basing this off of the show. And four, as with my past fics, the main point is NOT necessarily the love story, it is about the growth of the character! The majority of the focus is on the OC's journey. 
If you're still interested, go right ahead. For reference, the OC's face claim is Thea Sofie Loch Næss (but with Valyrian features!). If you look up gifs from her role as Skade in The Last Kingdom, you'll see the image I have of her.
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The Red Keep, King's Landing, 97 AC
Before the Great Council: 49th year of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator's rule
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Her favorite seat in the whole castle was the Iron Throne.
When she'd been a little girl, only just starting to become curious about the extents of her speech and movement, the castle had been a solemn place. She couldn't quite understand the cloud of grief that floated over the castle, only that she was somewhat important in bringing out smiles and laughs whenever silence swallowed the Red Keep. 
She was her father's most precious jewel. She was her grandmother's porcelain doll. She was her grandfather's ray of light. Since the age of three, she'd had the responsibility of keeping her family happy.
Her grandsire would call upon her to bring this joy out into the world, whenever he felt it necessary. She'd be drawn away from her toys, books, and sword toward the throne room, escorted by tall knights who were increasingly shorter each year. She'd be threaded like a string through the needle of people who'd come to see their King, and even they would cry out in delight at the sight of the growing Princess, always prim and proper for the crowds. 
She'd skip up the steps of the Iron Throne, past the swords of Aegon's enemies, until she reached the Old King, who would scoop her into his arms and plant her on his knee. She'd cuddle up to him and sit quietly as he listened to grievances and requests. On days such as those, it was up to her grandmother to carry her to bed, little head tucked neatly on her shoulder as she dreamt of swords and crowns and dragons.
Ten years later, she understood the weight of her role in the castle— the significance of her piece on the game board. All of the knowledge the world could seemingly offer a girl of three-and-ten came crashing into her all at once the moment she was introduced to her niece.
"She's so..." She could not find the words to describe the babe. "She's... pink."
Her father gave a hearty laugh, clapping the shoulders of his sons, the younger of the two snickering at his sister. "Pink," laughed Baelon Targaryen. "The Pink Targaryen Princess."
The girl's face burned with embarrassment. "It isn't a bad thing," she tried to say, smiling awkwardly at the babe's mother, her exhausted cousin only two years older than her. "She's as beautiful as you. I simply didn't know babies were so... strangely colored."
"I did not have her in mind to be pink, either," agreed Aemma Arryn wearily. Her lips turned into a weak, upturned smile, "But she is a beauty."
"That she is," agreed Viserys Targaryen, dipping down to kiss her forehead. "Well done, my love."