Summary: A glimpse into Daemon's life as a father.
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After watching your husband act like a fool for days you finally lost your patience so tonight when Daemon climbed into bed with you and started kissing your neck you pushed him away.
“What did I do?” He asked, knowing that you were upset by the frown on your face.
"You're ignoring Baelon," you accused him without any doubt of your words.
Since the two of you had came back home from the war, Daemon had barely been to the nursery and when the whole family was at the table he never tried to talk to Baelon. You didn't expect him to instantly become familiar with his role as a father., after all, he hadn't been able to meet their son before, but you never thought that your husband would look for any excuse not to be with your son.
"He doesn't like me so I'm not going to bother him" he responded, wanting to appear unconcerned but you know him well so you know that this actually bothered him.
When you and your husband returned from Stepstones, your son had burst into tears the first time Daemon spoke to him. You noticed the pain in your husband's eyes when Baelon hid his face in your neck, refusing to see him. You didn't blame your son for being afraid since it was the first time he saw his father. You knew Daemon had been excited to finally meet Baelon so you understood that the boy's reaction would have disappointed him but you didn't expect him to decide to distance himself because of that.
"He doesn't like you because he doesn't know you yet," you explain now in a softer tone. "Daemon, I don't know what you expected from your first meeting but he acted like any other child would. He doesn't know you so you have to earn his trust. He's not going to love you just because im tell him you're his father. You have to spend time with him," you advised him as you traced random patterns on his chest, hoping he wouldn't take your words the wrong way.
"I will," he promised before kissing you on the lips. He was satisfied to see that this time you didn't push him away so he continued kissing you again and again.
And Daemon really considered your words because after that night he started spending more time at the nursery. At first, Baelon looked uncertainly at Daemon when he spoke to him but you always encouraged him to respond. In addition, it also helped that your son saw that you were always calm and smiling around Daemon, so little by little the boy began to gain more confidence. Every time you were about to tell him a new story, Baelon asked his father if he knew it too and he listened attentively every time Daemon contributed. When he realized that his father also knew High Valyrian, he began to proudly tell him the words he had learned so far and asked him to also teach him new words, now at the table after the servants brought the food Baelon spent his time asking his father what he liked and what he didn't, interested in knowing more about him. Not only that but Baelon also started inviting him to the walks the two of you take together on the beach. Seeing all this, you were proud of the progress between father and son and it made you happy to see the happiness on Daemon's face every time Baelon asked his opinion or asked him something, not to mention when he held his hand for the first time while the three walked together in the beach.
But still, you couldn't help but notice that the two of them were never alone, you were always there as if they wouldn't dare to be alone.
"Where is he going?" Baelon asked, looking with a pout at his father's back as he walked.
"You Kepa is going to go see his dragon" You smiled as you came up with an idea so that they could spend some time alone "Do you want to go with him?"
You weren't surprised when he let go of your hand and started running after Daemon shouting "Kepa! Kepa!" Your husband soon stopped and turned to see the little copy of him running towards him with a big smile. He felt his heart warm at the sight. When Baelon was a few steps away from him, he approached and picked him up without warning, making the boy squeal with happiness.
"I want to go with you," the boy announced before his father could ask him what was happening.
Your husband looked at you waiting for you to say something but you were already raising your hand saying goodbye to them with a smile. Baelon moved his hand back and forth until you became a distant speck on the beach.
"What's the name of your dragon?" the boy asked, still in his dad's arms as he walked.
"Caraxes" the father responded with a smile even though this was not the first time his son had asked him that.
"It's like Wing?"
Daemon would be lying if he said he wasn't fond of hearing how Baelon called your dragon Wing because according to the Nightwing boy he was too long.
"Caraxes is much grander than the dragon on your muña," the prince responded, feeling his smile grow larger as he imagined your indignation if you would listen to him. A part of him hoped that Baelon would later tell you this just to see your reaction.
"He's giant!" Baelon exclaimed impressed when he saw the red beast. "Will my dragon be like that too?" He asked excitedly.
"Probably but in many years" Daemon replied and poked his nose when he saw him pouting "Do you want to pet him?" Instantly the pout was replaced by a smile.
"Yes!" the boy shouted excitedly and before Baelon went to touch the dragon, Daemon took his son's small hand before placing it and his carefully on the dragon's face. He did not believe that Caraxes would do anything to him but he preferred not to risk it, it was known that dragons did not usually react well when someone who was not their rider approached them with too much confidence and the last thing he wanted was for his son to end up hurt so he was for a while talking to his dragon while they both caressed it.
Daemon could remember the proudest moments in his life: when he claimed Caraxes, when his father gave him Dark Sister, when he called you his wife for the first time when you told him you were pregnant and now it added up to see his son bond with his dragon.
They were there for a while. Daemon listened with amusement to Baelon's ramblings about how giant Caraxes was and that he surely had to eat a lot to achieve that size, all while never stopping petting the dragon. Until started to get dark then they headed back to the castle.
"I like Wing more" the boy confessed once the figure of the dragon became a distant speck.
"Tomorrow you will come to fly with me and you will see that Caraxes flies faster," the prince said instantly. He had to change Baelon's mind before he said that again but in front of you. He could already imagine your cocky smile and how you would never let him forget it.
"Let's fly now!" the boy squealed excitedly.
"We can't now, your daughter must be waiting for us for dinner" the father explained, and seeing that Baelon seemed about to complain he added "Would you like her to have dinner alone? I'm sure that would make her sad"
"No, let's go with muña!"
During dinner, Baelon spent his time talking non-stop about Caraxes and how tomorrow he would fly with his Kepa. You listened to everything with a smile and only interrupted your son's ramblings to remind him to eat before the food got cold.
In the middle of Baelon's talks, Daemon took your hand and kissed it. He didn't need to tell you anything, you could see it in his eyes, he was grateful that you encouraged him to stop hiding and that he would make an effort to form a bond with his son.
When it was time for Baelon to go to sleep you and him got up from the table to go to the nursery but first Baelon said goodbye to his Kepa with a kiss on the cheek. You encouraged your son to go ahead with one of the maidens while you stayed with Daemon.
"I'm proud of you," you said as you took your husband's face in your hands and leaned in to kiss him "I can't wait to see you with the next one" you declared between kisses.
Your husband took a while to register your words because he was distracted by the taste of your lips but once he did he stopped kissing you to look at you impressed.
"Are you pregnant?" He asked just to make sure he understood correctly although he could already feel his heart racing.
You nodded with a smile and let out a laugh the moment Daemon pulled you onto his lap. You kissed his neck while his hand rested on your stomach. You still didn't show but he couldn't wait to see how the life inside you grew. He couldn't be by your side when you were pregnant with Baelon but this time it would be different, this time the two of you wouldn't have to discuss the baby's name by letter, this time Daemon would feel the baby's kicks instead of having to imagine it, this time if you wanted him, he would be by your side when you gave birth, this time he wouldn't have to wait years to meet his son. This time he would be there to see him grow.
"This time I won't miss anything," he promised, kissing your forehead.
Taglist for all my House of the Dragon works: @chaotic-fangirl-blog @venus-flytrap3 @ajordan2020 @iloveallmyboys @sweethoneyblossom1 @fudge13 @crystal-faith @tita004 @ichanelvxgue @snowprincesa1
Summary: Daemon Targaryen has never truly cared about anyone but himself. Yet somehow when he visits an old brothel he used to frequent and he sees a little girl who looks a little too familiar, he can’t leave her. Will taking her ruin him or will he finally know peace?
Note: I’ve never written anything to be published before 😅, I’m a little nervous and I just know this is BAD but fuck it we ball. Anyways, this is not proofread (unless you count grammarly) and I’m thinking about making this a series. I hope at least a few people can enjoy this! Thanks for reading! ❤️
Daemon Targaryen never truly believed he would know peace. No matter how many women he bedded, how much wine he drank, or how many battles he fought, there was always something that felt almost wrong.
The brothel was loud with laughter, moans, and the clinking of glasses. Music drifted from a far corner, but with all the loud noises, it was the soft creak of floorboards beneath his boots that caught his attention. It was absurd to him truly, that the one sound he chose to focus on was the one most difficult to hear.
He had come here often in the past and still did on occasion. A place where his name and title carried no weight and where no one cared if he had the blood of the dragon. All that mattered here was the coin he carried. Women still flocked to him, of course, Daemon knew he was not the most unsightly of men, he also knew that they were eager simply because they knew he had the coin to pay for their services. Though tonight their attention stirred nothing in him. There was a strange unease he felt, crawling beneath his skin, like something was out of place.
Then he saw her.
Alaena, he thought he remembered her name being. A whore he’d lain with once or twice. Flame-red hair tumbling down her back. She stood in a far corner, cradling a child.
wait? A child?
Daemon’s brows drew together. The girl couldn’t have been more than five. Who in the seven hells brings a child that young to a brothel?
He moved closer, slow, curious, and cautious. As he neared, he saw Alaena kneel and open a trunk, setting the little girl inside it roughly like she was stowing away old linens not like she was caring for a child. Her voice was hushed, but as Daemon approached, the end of her sentence became clear.
“Get out again,” she hissed, “and you won’t be eating for a week.”
Daemon stopped. What the hell was this? And why did he care how a whore spoke to her child?
Alaena snapped the trunk shut just as he reached her. She flipped her hair over one shoulder and perched atop the lid like it was nothing more than a stool. When she looked up at him, her face relaxed into a sultry smile.
“Daemon,” she said, smoothing her skirts, “how may I be of service tonight?”
Daemon didn’t answer immediately. His eyes lingered on her face, then dropped to the trunk beneath her. The young girl’s hair, what little he’d seen of it, was the same shade of red as the woman before him.
He opened his mouth to speak, then stilled when he heard it, a faint muffled whimper.
His eyes narrowed.
“What,” he said quietly, “is in the trunk you’re sitting on? I saw you stowing something away rather harshly.”
Alaena stiffened. It was barely noticeable but Daemon saw it. He saw it. The way her shoulders drew tight, the flicker of panic in her eyes before she masked it with something more seductive.
“It’s nothing,” she said, voice sickeningly sweet. “Just a place where I keep my things. Clothes, oils, silks, you know a lady like myself must be as soft and sweet as possible”
Another muffled sob came from beneath her, causing Aleana to kick the trunk rather roughly.
Daemon’s expression darkened. “Stand up.” He wasn't sure why he was so hell-bent on seeing the child but he'd come this far so he wasn't going to stop now.
She blinked, panicked, lips parting. “Pardon?”
“I said stand up.”
Alaena hesitated only a breath longer, she knew the repercussions of not listening to him. Daemon came here as Daemon, not the prince, but she knew that didn't erase his title or his power. So she slowly slid off the trunk. Her feet barely touched the floor before Daemon was already moving, crouching down and lifting the lid.
The girl inside blinked up at him, her cheeks tear-streaked, her tiny body curled tight in fear. Her red curls clung to her damp cheeks, she shrank away from the light, hiding her face, and that's all it took for Daemon to see them.
So faint. So fine. But there.
They were hidden beneath her red curls, streaks of white barely visible unless one was close enough. Those strands did not match the rest of her hair, They were cut. Short. As though someone had taken shears to them with the sole purpose of hiding them.
He looked back into the trunk and reached his hand out, slowly, it took the child a few minutes of consideration before she placed her small hand in his and allowed him to pull her from the trunk. She didn’t fight him when he gently checked her over, only whimpered softly, eyes wide with a tired look. He saw slight indications of fear but she seemed more accepting of his touch then he liked.
She was too thin.
Too quiet.
Yet eerily familiar.
He ran a hand gently over her hair hesitating only when she lightly flinched away, he continued, parting it enough to see more of the white hair. Not dyed, not painted, it had grown, and looking closer there was a lot more that was easily hidden under the unkempt mop of curls she had.
He took a second to look at the child, truly look at her. Brushing his thumb over the pale strands, He could see it now. Not just the shape of her eyes but the bright violet of them. The bridge of her nose. Not exactly like his but close. Familiar. The girl looked familiar. Then it hit him. The girl was almost identical to him.
He turned back to Alaena, his eyes alight with anger. “Whose child is this?”
The woman swallowed hard. Her bravado was gone now, stripped away by the weight of his gaze.
“She's mine.”
Daemon's jaw clenched as he stepped closer. He had almost forgotten he was still holding the little girl's hand until he felt her stumble into his legs to keep up with his movement. He froze and allowed the girl to steady herself using him before looking back up at Alaena.
“She’s not just yours. Not with hair like this.”
Alaena tried to recover her composure. “You need not know who her father is. It's not like you Targaryen men care about where your seed spills anyway. She is a brat, a bastard who needs to learn her lesso-”
Daemon warned, “Finish that sentence, and I will burn this building to the ground with you inside.”
Alaena paled, eyes going wide with fear.
Daemon stared at her, unwavering, and then the questions came.
What was he saying? Why?
She wasn’t wrong.
He had bastards, plenty in fact. A dozen, maybe more. Some he never knew, others he barely acknowledged. Some he’d walked away from without so much as a name.
So why this one?
Why did the very thought of this child locked in a trunk make his blood boil in a way nothing had in his entire life?
He looked down at her again, studying. She was watching him now, Her little hand clutched his, knuckles pale from how tightly she held on.
Daemon could feel it in his bones. This wasn’t like the others. This wasn’t wine and a moment of lust and forgetfulness.
Perhaps it was those strands of silver hair, perhaps it was the fact that Alaena had tried to hide her from him, perhaps it was that he was being told he couldn't have her that made him want to keep her.
Either way, he turned on his heel without another word. Throwing Alaena his bag of coin, he slowly walked the child outside, careful to keep pace so she did not stumble. Daemon ignored Alaena's yells for him to stop and let the girl go. The child said nothing as he stepped out into the street still holding her hand.
Her lack of self-care and her unquestioning acceptance concerned Daemon but they would work on that. He removed his cloak, crouched to her height and wrapped her in it.
“Do you have a name?” he asked softly.
The child nods her head before softly replying “Girl”
“Your mother called you Girl?” Daemon seethed
The girl nods again “Yes, sir”
Daemon sighs not wanting to frighten the girl with his anger. “That won't do. How about we find a real name for you? Hmm?”
The girl looks up at him wide-eyed and curious.
Daemon studied her expression. “Perhaps later”
He reached out slowly, giving her plenty of time to decline his touch. When she didn’t, he carefully scooped her up and held her close. It felt… nice? He couldn’t explain it, but for the first time ever he felt content. He felt like nothing was out of place. Maybe he’d eaten something weird that day, who knew, but all he could focus on was how natural it felt to have her in his arms, a comfortable weight he enjoyed.
“Lets go” he said as he began walking back to the keep. He wasn't sure how this would play out but he was eager to get her cleaned up, fed, and warm.
For the first time ever, Daemon wanted to care for someone. For the first time ever, Daemon Targaryen felt close to peace.
Disclaimer: I plan on making this a series where the oc/ reader grow. Eventually oc will have a love life and be an adult, etc. ALSO! my work is my own! I give no one permission to translate or post my work anywhere!
a|n; I love the idea so much!😂 hope you like this @witch-of-letters
Daemon Targaryen x Platonic Daughter!Reader , Rhaenyra Targaryen x Platonic Daughter!Reader
warnings: fluff
Translations; Kepa ~ Father || Muña ~ Mother
There had been very few times in his life where Daemon Targaryen could remember feeling nervous. He had always been so self assured, and though he understood the many dangers of the world, he always thought ahead - always felt prepared for whatever might come his way. That side of his nature had only grown after Rhaenyra gave birth to their first child. A beautiful daughter. You.
At the age of 8, you had found yourself your very own dragon. One that neither he nor Rhaenyra expected.
Your parents could scarcely believe it as you described first meeting your dragon, named ‘Cannibal’ by the small folk of Dragonstone, on the island where you lived. You told them the tale of how you bonded with him, managing to calm him as he stood guarding over the remains of various carcasses. He was terrifying and magnificent all at once. You’d never felt such an array of excitement and fear, but you knew, in your heart - he was meant to be by your side. He was meant to be claimed by you.
The first sighting your parents had of you flying on Cannibal’s back around Dragonstone felt like something from a dream. The dragon was so calm, so content in your presence. The opposite to the usual ravenous dragon who terrified the local people, animals and dragons.
Despite being one of the largest dragons, he navigated the sky with such ease, his wings gliding through the wind. You were so small and fragile in comparison, but it was like you were born to be carried by him.
“Kepa! Muña! Will you come and meet him now?” You rushed into your parents' chambers, paying little attention to the ladies in waiting styling your mothers hair for the upcoming tourney, or the septa calling your name as she tried to catch up with you after running off from your lessons. Spending the day with your dragon sounded much more interesting.
You were quick to be at your fathers side as the septa caught up with you, panting for breath.
“I apologise, your grace, my prince,” she looked between your parents, wide eyed. “l tried to get her to stay at her lesson.”
“I am not a dog,” you commented.
Rhaenyra and Daemon shared a glance, your father unable to hide his smirk at your reply. You seemed to resemble your parents more every day, a fact he found such pride in.
“Thank you, septa,” your mother replied with a polite smile. “She can spend the rest of the lesson with her father.”
The septa bowed her head and left, closing the door behind her.
You turned to your mother with a furrowed brow, “When will you meet Cannibal, Muña?”
Rhaenyra leaned forward, pressing a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll come and join you once I’m finished here, sweet girl,” she told you, and you grinned in response before taking your fathers hand in yours, unable to hide your excitement.
“Come along, Kepa,” you tugged at him, “before I send you to the septa.”
“She wouldn’t want to deal with me,” Daemon laughed, letting you lead him out of the chambers and through the corridors.
Despite the nerves gradually growing inside him at the thought of coming face to face with the infamous wild dragon who feasted on his own kind for the first time, he knew couldn’t let you down.
After all, he would do anything for you. Even stand in front of the Cannibal himself.
~~
There were no men willing to stay alongside your dragon, not even while you visited him up in the hills. He didn’t like anyone near him. The dragon would only accept you.
The trek across the island to Cannibal’s lair wasn’t far and the dragon seemed to sense your presence before you even reached him. With a bellowing roar, he swooped in from the clouds and landed in front of you, his dark, narrowed eyes focusing on your father as he bristled.
“Lykirī, Cannibal! Bisa iksis ñuha kepa. Lykirī!” [Calm, Cannibal! This is my father. Calm! ] you shouted, hand raised out in front of his large head, his teeth bared.
The prince bowed his head and lowered himself to his knees out of respect, silently reminding himself to stay composed as he watched you reassure and coax the dragon to obey. ‘Lykirī, Daemon. Lykirī. Even though the blood of the dragon runs through your veins, you are really not to his taste.’
This was one time Daemon was definitely content to not be desirable.
The strong blow of air and stench of Cannibal’s breath slowly faded from Daemon’s presence as the dragon focused back on you, gently nuzzling against your outstretched hand.
Daemon looked up and slowly stood, amazed by the interaction between you and the dragon. The bond between dragon and rider was always something special, but no one ever imagined it would happen with the Cannibal. Daemon Targaryen never imagined his daughter would be the one to claim him.
“Sȳz, (good),” you praised, breaking into a giggle when the dragon dropped to the ground and rolled onto his side, playfully blowing a little air at you through his nose and knocking you backwards into the arms of your fathers, who couldn’t help but laugh along with you.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
Warnings: nail biting, mentioned war, conflict, hinted abuse, mentioned grief/just grief, mentioning of funerals
Synopsis: After bending the knee, Rhaenyra is now your Queen. You have made your bed, but the question still lies whether you will lie in it or just ruffle the sheets. All the while your father - Daemon - is quick to jump into war.
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It was beautiful. You had to admit. The way the orange illuminated under the table. The way the cold room warmed from the fire after the biting cold of outside which the stone never truly kept out.
I stood beside Baela awaiting Rhaenyra, my heart thumped with every impending echoey footstep that haunted the halls. I was not afraid. No. More in awe, in a sense, to see a woman sit the throne or will sit the throne. It was breathtaking. That was the true beauty.
The orange glow was hers. Her castle. Her council. Her crown. Her throne. Her war table.
But our war.
I bowed my head as my father's voice rang through as he listed Rhaenyra's titles. They swam in my head - so surreal. Rhaenyra stepped forward, honking metal following until she fell short, the men only one toe behind. None of them blinked. A warning. The unsettling feeling of unbatting-eyed clunking metal men behind you, are all too familiar. But they listened to her. Their Queen.
They stepped back some and remained in place.
I watched as Rhaena moved forward cup in hand, "Wine my Queen." Rhaenyra seemed unsettled, hesitating to take the cup, but still my mother's smile lay perfect on my little sister's face.
"Thank you, Rhaena." Her voice was still soft. Mothering. "Come."
Rhaenyra continued her path forward with Rhaena a step behind her before she turned to Baela nodding for her to follow with a small gentle smile as her eyes met mine. Baela looked at our grandsire for permission before moving in step just a short pace behind. They all gathered around the table.
I moved closer to Rhaenys.
It was silent. For a minute. Nothing, but crashing waves and flittering ocean breeze. All eyes remained on the Queen. Awaiting judgement. Awaiting anything at all.
"What is our standing?" The only place she seemed to be able to look was at my father.
"We have thirty knights, one hundred and three hundred men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired..." my father's voice seemed to drone on, but all I could hear still were his silent cries on the beach. Mournful cries. So similar. Like those I cried at my mother's funeral.
Strange how age doesn't influence grief. Just the person who was lost.
I watched as Jace placed pieces onto the board. Each house which has (so far) rallied to our side. "Lord Boris Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father's promises." Rhaenyra's voice carried and silence followed.
I looked to the floor. The way my dress skirted across my shoes. The clinking of metal against wood was loud. Like when Aegon used to whack at Aemond's wooden sword with his steel one. I jumped as the Queen's voice flowed in my direction.
"What news from Driftmark?" I raised my head to look at my grandmother. Her head remained high, her shoulders back. She emanated confidence. Embodied it even. I followed suit.
It was unnerving how Rhaenyra's eyes bore into what almost felt the space in-between. Unwavering. "Lord Corlys sails to Dragonstone."
Her voice was soft compared to my father's biting tone, "To declare for his Queen." Confidence never wavered between the two of them. It was clear to anyone here that they had never seen eye to eye.
No addressing my father, "The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's yoke. He decides where they sail." Her voice was steady, soft and calm. Despite my father's glaring from the head of the table.
"We shall pray for both you and your husband's support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake's return to good health," Rhaenys looked down and swallowed as Rhaenyra's words sat on her shoulders, "There's no port on the Narrow Sea would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet." Rhaenyra turned away.
I studied my grandmother's face. Stoic, but with a small smile. Pride? Jealousy? One would not know until it falls from the lips that stayed purse on the face of a woman who should have been. She turned slightly to look me in my eyes. I smiled softly at her. Her lips remained unmoving. Permanent. Unwavering.
Unlike loyalty it seems.
"Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons." Silence once again cut. Deep and harsh.
"The Greens have dragons as well," Rhaenyra seemed nervous as she rang her hands.
"They have three adults, by my count," my father cut in, "We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys." Rhaenys tilted her head. "Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer and Y/n has Selene." I bit the inside of my cheek.
"Daemon. None of our dragons have been to war," Rhaenyra's tone seemed final.
Yet, my father persisted. "There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless." I looked over to Rhaena. She looked nervous as she watched my father, "Then there are the three wild dragons, all. of whom nest here."
"And who is to ride them?"
I turned away to the sound of slapping feet on stone. Erryk moved to meet him. A messenger. A harbinger of sorts. "...surround King's Landing with the dragons. And we could have every Green head mounted one spikes before the fucking moon turns."
"Your Grace. A ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon," I felt my blood run cold and my mouth sour. Sweat began to prickle on my skin.
"Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies," my eyes trailed after my father. He seemed at home, interwoven with chaos. The blue in his veins. Rhaenyra remained.
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I stood in the middle of the mass. I could see the top of my father's head pacing as he awaited the opposition. My chest squeezed in distaste as Otto Hightower came into view, his own men - his grandson's men - his daughter's men trailing behind him.
Otto stopped just far enough that he'd still be able to hear over the waves, the sun painting an orange sky behind him. Ember-ed fire. "I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of His Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. I've been directed to deliver her message only to Princess Rhaenyra. Where is the princess?"
I smiled a little at the familiar screech of Syrax as the beat of wings flew overhead. Rhaenyra circled Otto and his men as they all looked up, bodies twisting to follow her movements. And in the setting sun you could proudly see the glowing gold that sat upon her head. She landed behind the knights who all turned quickly as they leaned back as Syrax bellowed from where she is perched on the ledge.
They all parted as she walked down the middle, head held high. Her silver hair swayed gently as she came to stand next to my father. Otto stared after her, his mouth slightly ajar. "Princess Rhaenyra."
"I'm Queen Rhaenyra now." She did not waver. My gaze drifted to see my father staring at her before my eyes fell back onto her, "And you are all traitors to the realm."
"King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name...in his wisdom and desire for peace..." Syrax gently gurgled and snapped her jaws "...is offering terms." I rolled my eyes. Aegon can hardly get a sentence out over his blubbering. Were these Aegon's terms or his mother's?
"Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your true born son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon." I could see my father growing restless as he shifted from one foot to another.
"Your sons by Prince Daemon will also be given places of high honor at court: Aegon the Younger as the King's squire, Viserys as his cupbearer," my tongue kissed at my teeth. My little brother's cupbearers, practically servants to a drunken man who calls himself King while his mother practically sits the throne for him, "Finally, his King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent." Otto's voice grew rough as he got louder.
No one moved. And I didn't dare breathe, scared to make sound or the tiniest movement. "I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shield and cups for your drunken usurper cunt of a King." I chewed at the sore spot of my cheek to keep from laughing.
"Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He wears the Conqueror's crown, wields the conqueror's sword, has the conqueror's name." And still a man pretending to be someone he's not. Like a child playing dress up before her being caught by one of her Septa's. "He was anointed by a sexton of the Faith before the eye of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him."
I felt a pit form, ready to gather dread, at the bottom of my stomach as Otto began to list Noble Houses who are all considering siding with the Greens. With Aemond. "Stole oaths will not put you on the throne princess," Otto moved forward and the Queen's Guard all moved, ready to draw their swords. Awaiting the words.
Ready for warm crimson to drip from the cold edge.
I fell back from the mass as Rhaenyra moved forward as I turned to make my way back inside the castle. "Fucking traitor," rained out across the loud as Syrax once again gurgled. I turned to see the Hand's Pin flung into the crashing sea below.
I felt content.
I hurried up the winding walk, my hands picked up the skirt of dress so I could move faster. Syrax's agitated roar called behind me just as I made it through the doors where two men allowed me in. I raced through the courtyard to where people still battled in quiet corners of their own, before the doors were opened to allow me in.
I retraced my steps back to my chambers. The fire was dim, casting dancing shadows all around, for my eyes to trace as I removed my cloak. Allowing it to pool to the floor. Quickly I made my way back to the war room.
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I stood in the spot I was previously watching my father's and Rhaenyra's argument unfold. Rhaenyra doesn't want to rule over "ash and bone" and still my father does not, will not offer her such luxury. It is clear he lives through her. He wishes it was his head haloed by a golden crown. But alas it is not.
My father all but marched to stand in front of the fireplace. The whole room was set alight, my father's shadow cast small across the table, but still large enough to loom.
"Clear the room." Simultaneously, everyone made their way out. Rhaenyra still staring at my father. Neither have moved from their current positions. My father's chest is heaving with anger. Like that night.
I fell into step with Jace and Luke. "Hello," I greeted both, kindly, awkwardly. Jace stared at my face before turning away and walking up ahead, Luke turned to offer me a smile before quickening his pace to walk with his brother once again. I stopped as knights and men and the Maester weaved around me as I watched the two boys walk away.
This is what it is to mourn a friendship rather than someone individually. The hairs on the back of my neck raised as I felt a hand press on my left shoulder, my hand moving to grab the handle of my dagger. "It is just me sweet girl," I felt the tension ease, but my shoulders ache. Everything aches.
I smiled a tired smile. Only now I realize why Rhaenys’ is so familiar. It’s the same.
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I paced in front of my - now reignited - fireplace. My dress was uncomfortable with the way it rubbed against my collar bones. My thumb nail had started to bleed as the skin around it is tared and snagged at by my clenched teeth. My eyes are turned down watching my fast and careful repetitive steps. My stomach lurched with dizziness.
I stopped to look at the exposed steel of my sword that rested on the chest at the foot of my bed. The mirror like metal glittered orange licks of fire. I sucked gently at my wounded thumb before dropping it to my side and grabbing the arm with my other hand. An insecure sense of security that could break with simple rejection.
I turned to the soft knock at my door. I sucked in an aching breath before walking forward. Scoldingly freezing iron grasped in my hand as I released my breath. I pulled the door open. My heart stuttered in my chest with surprise. Having half expected my father or Rhaenys, but neither stand in my door. Instead Jacaerys stands in their place. A welcome, nerve-racking sight.
“Jace,” I breathed as he pushed past me, “what are you doing here?” The question felt foreign in my mouth, my back turned to him as I softly shut my door with a quiet ‘clunk’.
“Why?”
I stopped, my hand still on the metal doorknob, “What?”
“I just want to know why him? Out of everyone why him?” His voice seemed far and yet; I could feel his eyes so close. I could practically feel his breath on the back of my neck. My skin itched. I wanted to scratch it raw.
I pressed my forehead to the wood and squeezed my eyes shut, “it’s simple really,” I opened my eyes to brown before turning to see the younger stood where I was pacing moments ago, “I love him. I always have.”
“And yet you bent the knee.”
“And yet I bent the knee.”
“Why?”
I huffed at his constant questions, but he deserved an answer. A reason rather than an excuse. I walked towards him, were ye level now. How strange. I remember when he was shorter. How he was so small. How quiet and high his voice was. But here he is all grown up in front of my eyes and still I blinked, and I missed it.
“Because Jace, my duty and honor lie with family rather than love that can easily be lost as easily as it was found, and yet still...” I paused trying to swallow around the lump in my throat.
“Still?” he questioned his eyes watching my face for anything. Anything at all.
“Still, I love him despite everything. I still yearn for him. I know that you know that feeling all too well. Wanting something you can’t have that is.”
His face bloomed red, “I don’t know what you speak of.”
“I was there you know. I saw how you looked at Haelena when you danced together, but that’s all it can be, a look. Anything else is dangerous, jeopardizing. As you have seen,” my voice fell tight at the end. My bones ached for Aemond and still my chest stirred with unease. “Do not worry Jace you will make for a wonderful husband for my sister, I have no doubt.”
He nodded as he looked down at his shoes. I smiled. I have missed Aemond, but all the while I had never realized how much I have missed this. Missed my siblings. “Get some rest, we will both need some for tomorrow.”
I escorted him out, my head peeking out the gap as his silhouette faded into the black of the hall.
