||Queen OC||

Not in the original timeline!

Born the first daughter of House Hightower, Ysara was raised within the towering walls of Oldtown, where the Faith of the Seven loomed above all else. Her mother was devout, and her father stricter still. From a young age, she was escorted to the Starry Sept daily, taught the scriptures, the etiquette of court, the art of embroidery and music, and most of all—restraint.

Ysara adored her younger brother, who would one day become the Lord of Highgarden. The two shared a bond deep and unshakable, often found sneaking sweet tarts to stable boys or feeding injured birds in the garden behind the sept. She cherished the quiet of nature, the gentleness of animals, and the goodness she believed lived in every man—until she met her husband.

At seventeen, Ysara was married to Vaeren Targaryen, ten years her senior. It was a grand wedding, sung of in all the reaches of the realm. But the grandeur ended when night fell—Vaeren, drunk and troubled, never touched her. Instead, he murmured of omens, fire, and shadows. In the morning, he spoke of prophecy and sorcery, and Ysara’s dread bloomed like rot.

Though he tried to woo her with gifts, with gold, with affection, Ysara recoiled—not out of pride, but faith. Her husband had taken Elorrah, a foreign sorceress and flame-priestess, into their home. To Ysara, this was sacrilege.

Still, she wore her crown with grace, and the smallfolk loved her. She gave bread to beggars and blankets to orphans. She kissed their brows and called them “child.” Some say she is more beloved than the King.

At court, Ysara remains composed, soft-spoken, but immovable in her beliefs. Her piety runs deeper than blood. She cannot be bent—not by Vaeren, not by the gods, not by fear.