Nominative determinism: a look at GRRM's use of Targaryen names pt. 2 [Spoilers MAIN]
Intro:
About two months ago, I wrote a post examining the use of certain Targaryen names (mostly Valarr, Matarys, and Baelor) after the Dance here. My conclusion was that George uses Targ names (1) as foreshadowing, (2) to give insight into the character, (3) to give insight into the character's parents, and (4) as a nod to history. I'm going to double down on that because I have some more thoughts about names during the ... what do we call this era? We have the Conquest and Dance era, so Daeron the Good's reign is ...? The Blackfyre era, mayhaps? He's such a good dude. I don't want to trivialize his reign, but anyway, I digress.
While "nominative determinism" (the belief that people are drawn to professions that fit their names, effectively making their names their destiny) isn't the exact phrase to capture my thoughts, it's pretty damn similar. And once again, I don't mean to argue that names are inherently deterministic (i.e., naming your son Aegon will not make him the Conqueror reborn) ... but there is a meaning to the names of Daeron's children and his children's children. It's almost as if George has his thumb on the scales, subtly tipping characters toward certain traits, destinies, or narrative roles.
King Aerys I + Rhaegal vs. King Aerys II + Rhaegar:
Why did Daeron (or his wife!) name their second son Aerys? Well, the Watsonian reason, first. In AGOT, Catelyn I, George already establishes that there was an Aerys I: "When the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen had demanded their head."
But the Doylist implications become much more interesting when you look at Aerys I alongside his brother, Rhaegal. Now, what names do they sound similar to? Aerys II and his son, Rhaegar. I refuse to believe the parallels between Aerys I + Rhaegal and Aerys II + Rhaegar are accidental. Even their names echo one another phonetically and symbolically.
Aerys I is remembered as an isolated, bookish king obsessed with prophecy and higher mysteries. He neglects governance for scrolls and signs, preferring to bury himself in ancient texts rather than produce an heir or meaningfully rule the realm. Decades later, Rhaegar becomes consumed by prophecy in much the same way. Rhaegar begins as a scholarly, melancholy prince before abruptly deciding he “must be a warrior,” all because he believes himself trapped within some larger prophetic destiny. Hmm, sounds familiar...
Then there is Rhaegal, one of the strangest and saddest Targaryens George ever wrote. He's described as sweet-natured yet feeble and mad, rumored to have danced naked through the halls of the Red Keep. His instability feels proto-Aerys II. Not identical, of course, but familiar.
In ASOS, Daenerys VI, Ser Barristan Selmy says, "King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air." The quote has been refuted by most in the fandom in the past couple of years, and I agree, but I think it's still meaningful. It's poetic license, for sure. Jaehaerys did not mean a baby is born literally either mad or great. But I do think the "mad" signifier is useful, as to me, it's a broad term for "strange, undesirable behavior." I don't think people in the story care to differentiate between types and degrees of undesirable behavior.
I say all this to test out the theory that yes, there is a sort of "Targaryen madness." I'm not going to diagnose fictional characters, but with these four men in particular, the "Targaryen madness" is less simple insanity as we know it, and more of an inability to properly exist within reality. Rhaegal drifts through life in a haze of fragility and dreamlike instability; Aerys II later mutates that same instability into paranoia, cruelty, and grandiose delusion.
What fascinates me the most is that George appears to split traits across generations before recombining them later into stronger forms. Aerys I possesses Rhaegar’s prophetic obsession; Rhaegal possesses shades of Aerys II’s instability. Then, generations later, those traits re-emerge concentrated within the far more explosive pairing of Aerys II and Rhaegar. Brother and brother, father and son. It is almost genealogical theming. History does not repeat perfectly in ASOIAF, but names sure do!
King Maekar I:
Ah ha! Now Maekar is even more interesting. I'm gonna say it: he was cooked from birth. And I'm only half-kidding.
Looking back at Targaryen naming patterns, “Mae-” names are bizarrely cursed??? There are surprisingly few major Targaryens whose names begin with “Mae-,” and almost all of them are associated with violence, tragedy, instability, or dynastic catastrophe.
Maegor the Cruel is the most obvious example: usurper, tyrant, kinslayer, and one of the most hated kings in Targaryen history. Maelor, the innocent child of Aegon II, is literally torn apart by a mob during the Dance of the Dragons. Then there is Maelys the Monstrous, the last Blackfyre pretender, a grotesque and violent abomination.
Then we arrive at Maekar himself: harsh, joyless, militaristic, emotionally distant, accidentally responsible for his own brother’s death, and ultimately remembered as a severe king. He is not “mad” in the spectacular Aerys sense, but there is still something deeply ill-fated about him.
Maekar's sons:
>“The king’s fourth son [Maekar],” said Raymun, “not quite as bold as Prince Baelor, nor as clever as Prince Aerys, nor as gentle as Prince Rhaegel. And now he [Maekar] must suffer seeing his own sons overshadowed by his brother’s [sons]. Daeron is a sot, Aerion is vain and cruel, the third son was so unpromising they gave him to the Citadel to make a maester of him, and the youngest—" - THK.
Lastly, I'd like to talk about Maekar's sons' names because I genuinely think this is one of the clearest examples of George using names as narrative shorthand. In the above quote, Ser Raymud Fossoway believes Maekar's sons are overshadowed by Baelor's. And strangely enough, I think the naming patterns reinforce this idea.
I said here that Baelor gives his sons uniquely Valyrian names with no enormous dynastic burden. They are not Aegon, Daeron, or Jaehaerys reborn. They are allowed to exist somewhat outside the crushing historical gravity of prior Targaryens. The names feel fresh, almost forward-looking, as though Baelor’s branch of the family represents possibility rather than repetition.
Maekar, however, names his sons very differently. He reaches backward into the dynasty’s most loaded and symbolically powerful names: Daeron, Aemon, and Aegon. It is almost as though Maekar—consciously or not—attempts to strengthen his branch of the family through association with the dynasty’s “best and brightest” figures.
It's quite ironic that Raymun turns out to be wrong, I think. Valarr and Matarys met an untimely death. But in the current books, Maekar's children are more well-known. His line is the line of kings. Maester Aemon is well-respected at the Wall. Even Aerion is mentioned in ASOS, Sansa I: "Aerion Brightfire was comely enough, but a monster all the same." Ironic in a hella sad way, I mean. Anyway, I digress.
Daeron the Drunken:
First: Daeron. Not Aegon. Not Jaehaerys. Not Baelor. But Daeron. I see in fanfictions that people think Daeron the Good and Maekar had a tense or cold relationship, but Maekar naming his firstborn after his own father strongly suggests the opposite. It's a loving gesture, but I think it can also be a political one. Maekar grows up surrounded by tensions between the black and red dragons. Naming his heir Daeron feels deliberate, almost defensive, like an assertion that his branch of the family remains firmly tied to Daeron II’s legitimacy and legacy.
Daeron vs Daemon pt. 2, electric boogaloo:
All right, call me crazy. I'm ready for it. But Daeron the Drunken and Daemon the Brown Dragon feels like a warped reincarnation of the older Daeron II/Daemon I conflict. Once again, George pairs a “Daeron” and a “Daemon” within the same political generation, but this time the rivalry has decayed into something sadder and stranger.
From my recollection, Daeron the Drunken and Daemon II do not interact at all. Yet, they do have some interesting similarities and differences, which are for the reader only.
Both men are the opposites of their namesakes, and both men struggle to deal with prophecy. Daeron the Drunken couldn't give less of a fuck about politics, and his dragon dreams are a menace to him, it seems: fragmented, symbolic, causing him to drink. He is not guided by prophecy in the way Daeron II is.
Daemon II, by contrast, openly embraces his dragon dreams and the original Daemon archetype. Where Daemon Blackfyre I was all charisma, martial presence, and the “idealized warrior prince,” Daemon II is imitation without substance. He seems quite pleased with his dreams and is confident in himself.
Together, they feel like a decayed echo of the original Daeron II/Daemon Blackfyre conflict, where legitimacy mattered. Here, the same conflict survives only as fragments: one man overwhelmed by visions he cannot use, the other trapped inside a destiny he cannot convincingly embody.
Aerion:
Then comes Aerion, the standout. Unlike “Daeron,” “Aemon,” or “Aegon,” Aerion is not a recycled dynasty name loaded with centuries of prestige. It appears uniquely crafted, almost Valyrian to the point of excess. And George does this constantly with “special” Targaryens. Valarr. Matarys. Aerion. These names stand apart from their siblings because the characters themselves are meant to stand apart narratively. There is only one Aerion Brightflame, and of course, he becomes one of the most bizarre and dangerous Targaryens in the family tree: beautiful, cruel, unstable, obsessed with dragon blood and superiority to the point of self-destruction. The uniqueness of the name itself primes the reader to see him as aberrant before he even speaks.
Aemon:
Then there is Aemon. Sweet, scholarly, gentle Aemon. And once again, George reaches backward into Targaryen history for associations. “Aemon” is one of the softest names in the dynasty. Aemon the Dragonknight is remembered as noble, honorable, dutiful, and tragic. Maester Aemon inherits that same aura of wisdom, restraint, melancholy, and quiet goodness.
King Aegon V:
And then we arrive at Egg. Honestly, I have to laugh. Of course, the good boy, everyone's favorite little egghead, ends up being named Aegon. In Targaryen history, “Aegon” is a legitimizing force. It is the dynastic name. The Conqueror casts an absurdly long shadow over the entire family line, and generations keep reaching back toward him whenever legitimacy is in question. Anyone remember Aegon 1.5, the Uncrowned, son of Aenys I? That poor kid was the first Jaehaerys's older brother. Jaehaerys also named his firstborn Aegon, though that kid died three days after his birth.
See also: Rhaenyra naming her first "trueborn" Targaryen son Aegon specifically to rival the Green claimant Aegon II. The name itself becomes a declaration: this is my heir. This is the rightful line.
So when Egg, the overlooked fourth son, eventually rises to become Aegon V Targaryen, it almost feels inevitable in retrospect. Like, no shit, he'll become king! George could have named him anything. Instead, he gave the future reformer king—the king closest to the smallfolk, the king who tries to heal the dynasty (and perhaps, the king who hurried the dynasty to its death...)—the single most symbolically powerful name in House Targaryen. Once again, the names are not destiny. But, boy, is George still tilting the scales.