Gifted Grace - isnightshade - House of the Dragon (TV) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: A Gods Will

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

A procession of nobles went to the high table where the King and Princess sat to welcome the wedding guests. Princess Rhaenyra greeted them one by one, with courtesy and charm, enchanting them with the sweet and attractive beauty of her Valyrian features.

The light from the bright braziers placed along the columns of the throne room, the candles in the candlesticks on the tables, and the chandeliers hanging over the heads of the guests illuminated the throne room. Food overflowed from the tables in the most sumptuous forms, from whole roast suckling pigs, with red apples stuffed into their mouths, drizzled with herb broth, spices, and fatty meat juices to create a crispy crust; until the stuffed ducks, roasted whole and sitting as if they were still alive, with their feather headdresses now cleaned to decorate There was, in general, a lot of exuberance. The light of the golden candlesticks flickered with the breeze created by the breaths of the nobles sitting at the long tables talking. And in the wide corridor, created between the two side tables for the guests to sit, there was a steady stream of nobles socializing with each other and newcomers presenting themselves before the King.

The minstrels stood to the right of the high table, playing in a tolerable tone to keep the conversation going without having to shout, while the dancing had not yet begun. A pleasant buzz filled the hall with the hum of conversation, and a pair of nobles came forward to greet their King and the bride. Rhaenyra kept a regal, almost arrogant expression.

There was, however, a commotion with someone disrespecting the greeting line.

"Your Grace. Princess. Congratulations on your marriage." He said, by way of introduction. Bowing in a way that bothered Rhaenyra. There was something insolent about it.

She suppressed her frown. He looked familiar, though at first, she didn't know why. Rhaenyra watched him ensnare her father with ease in a conversation that, after the greetings and congratulations on her marriage, served to give her clarity. Not only did she know who he was but met him about twice in her life. One of the occasions stood out more than the other, etched in her memory more firmly. Rhaenyra wasn't thinking about her uncle's forced marriage when she was very young. She remembered him from the tournament for Baelon's birth a few years ago.

Ser Gerold Royce.

It brought to her the remembrance of the recent, and convenient, death of Lady Rhea Royce, her uncle's unwanted wife. A shiver ran through her skin, though she couldn't quite say why. Rhaenyra kept her expression unfathomable as she listened to him accuse as clearly as possible, without being explicitly direct, his suspicion that the accident might have been a murder.

What are you playing now, Daemon?She thought with some lingering taste of bitterness from the night in the brothel.

Rhaenyra struggled not to grit her teeth. It was not worthy of a princess, much less of the heiress of the Seven Kingdoms. And if her chin thrust millimetrically forward in defiance of her thoughts, no one could know.

Blood of my blood.

Ser Gerold did not have the opportunity to further poison the already fractured relationship between her father and uncle, as the heavy doors of the hall were opened and the Velaryon clan entered. He was quickly led away from them, for which she was grateful. On the front lines were Lord Corlys, the Sea Snake, and at his side Princess Rhaenys, then Laenor, heir to Driftmark and Rhaenyra's fiancé. His twin sister was in the second row, behind her parents and brother, among the silver-haired men and women of her House.

The Velaryon came before them.

Rhaenyra rose gracefully, stepping aside to take Laenor's hand and lead him to the high table after proper greetings. The Velaryons quickly followed Laenor's lead, as he sat down next to the bride, and looked for a place to sit. And when the last silver hair was away from her eyes, Rhaenyra's blood ran cold in her veins before pumping back quickly. Hot. Blazing as if the Fourteen Flames roared beneath the skin.

Dressed luxuriously and armed with his swagger, Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, entered the hall. His gait, his indolent confidence, his impertinence to return even after he had been exiled only thegods of Old Valyria knew that onceled to chaos when he was duly noticed. And though the sight burned her with rage and resentment, her heart couldn't help but burn and flutter between the flickering speed of a hummingbird's wings or the warmth of a dragon's fire.

Daemon approached as if all of this was his own. Her father, at her side, was tense and looking like he would like nothing less than to kick his brother out by any means available. But despite the frown on his face, he didn't make a scene. The indolent expression on Daemon's face and the furrowing of his brow in a false request for permission, knowing,having to know, that he had cornered the King, sent a hint of satisfaction through her.

Rhaenyra had been, since the disaster of Daemon's plan, walking on thin ice with her father. She wished could still challenge him with the confidence of still possessing his inexhaustible forgiveness, but since she knew would be doing so now with a borrowed amount of patience and benevolence, Rhaenyra had decided to use her limited supply wisely. There would be bigger battles in the future to be fought and her father would be essential to the outcome for or against her.

But unable to escape his gravitational orbit, her gaze was drawn to his, three seats down at the table. He sat down with arrogant sloppiness. His indigo eyes were already fixed on her. They had been since he entered the hall, and she knew that she had taken everything from him not to look at her while he had to look at the brother he considered foolish and unworthy in many ways.

Daemon Targaryen's heart seemed to twist. He lived to annoy his brother, it was true, and the two of them lived trapped by a taut lute string that could break at any moment irreparably. Who knew if it hadn't already been done when he took Rhaenyra to that brothel? But he still cared about his brother, he was still loyal to him. For all his mistakes and blunders, he loved his brother and would do anything he could for Viserys. But if he was to dig his nails into the bleeding wound between them, then Daemon was ready to admit that he didn't regret the night on Silk Street.

No.

Not at all.

The night at the brothel merely revealed things to him from a different perspective.

He had adored her forever, ever since she was a baby, and outlived all her siblings. He liked to bring her trinkets from his travels, pamper her, and teach her the way of rebellion. But as she grew, strange things began to grow behind his ribs along with her. The memory of the Valyrian steel necklace he had presented her with in those days before the death of Aemma, his good sister, came to his mind. Rhaenyra had walked into the throne room so confident and aware of herself.

That had done something to him.

Something that roared in his chest at that moment. Something that got under his skin when he hung the necklace around her neck. Something that numbed him with the delicate notes of lemon and lavender, intoxicating his senses as he moved her hair to the side. Something that stayed with him even when Daemon fought in the tourney and asked for the favor of the Hightower girl, just to assess Rhaenyra's reaction. She looked as confused as he did. Awkwardness and hesitation in her behavior. He wondered if she was fighting the beast of jealousy.

Because Daemon knew he was fighting his when she gave her favor to Crispin Cole.

Nothing improved after that.

Especially when he saw her in Dragonstone, furious and gloriously flushed to retrieve her brother's egg he had stolen only as an excuse to be able to see her, and annoy Viserys,though the order of priority remained the same. Rhaenyra in first and Viserys in second. And next to her, he would always come in second.

His thoughts of her tortured him during his time in the Stepstones in infuriating ways more than at any other time. The fact that she refused, even from miles away, to get out of his head had interfered with his carefully thought-out plan throughout his years away, only because Daemon still wasn't sure what his feelings for her meant. He wasn't sure if this was something more if it was just that Targaryen custom, or a deeper, messier love for his niece.

She was the key to his problems, as well as the root of them all. And many sleepless nights.

And she still wore his f*cking necklace, no less.

Kissing her, touching her,smelling her, f*ckingFourteen Flames, her warmth;all had turned his brain into liquid and his body into a furnace. Daemon wanted nothing more and nothing less than to make her scream his name that night and possess her for life. This was part of the reason why he had begged Viserys to marry her. Only too late had he realized how much he loved her, in the tradition of their House, with a little help from the Targaryen custom. The curse of their existence that attracted like to like.

Dragons bound by fire and blood, soul and heart, mind and body. By the desire of the Valyrian gods.

She was his, and he was hers.

But in his eagerness and ambition, he had put his tangled up and f*cked masterfully with everything.

Rhaenyra was very good at hiding her emotions from people, but not from him, which meant that she was still very angry about the night at the brothel. Her eyes gravitated toward his, but fleetingly. As if she couldn't look at him. As if she doesn't want to. Daemon preferred to believe that she didn't want him to bare her soul. Let alone in public. His eyes wandered back to the crowd as Viserys began his wedding speech. Only to be interrupted by the Hightower bitch crashing the party. He would have appreciated the postponement of his torment if the c*nt had been wearing nothing less thangreen. Indignation boiled through him and in his act of anarchy, he continued to sit, refusing to show respect he did not feel. A mocking sneer twisted his smile. He wouldn't deign to stand up for a c*nt's daughter.

Viserys resumed, having the good sense to appear incredulous at the boldness of the whor* he called wife, and Rhaenyra and Laenor were taken away to start the dance.

His gaze followed her as she took to the dance floor with Laenor.Gods, he took a sip of wine to numb the familiar wave of jealousy. Daemon didn't care that Laenor's preferences weren't geared towards Rhaenyra, which, was a blessing, but it still didn't help him feel less territorial. Less eager to invade their dance and tear Laenor limb from limb. He couldn't. Viserys would have killed him in the act, and it would have broken his heart that Rhaenyra would have been there to witness it. If, however, she was still angry with him, it was likely that his death would rejoice her.

Daemon hardly believed this, not even for more than an instant. Of all the people in the entire world, she was the only one who could see the beast in him and know there was more, and he was the only person who could see the same in her and offer the same understanding. Some things were priceless, but they had little to do with face value.

Daemon snapped, digging his dinner knife into the table and looking for a partner to dance with. Two could play that game. And of all the poor unsuspecting ladies who crossed his path, Lady Laena was the chosen one. She had potential. Laena was attractive and captivating, as well as beautiful, but his eyes never left Rhaenyra. Even when he looked out for his reputation and out of habit, flirted with her. Was Rhaenyra close? Had she seen or heard it? He searched for her discreetly, her beautiful amethyst eyes promising fire and blood when she saw them. Daemon suppressed his pleasure. However, all composure was gone when he spotted her with her new partner, and he didn't waste a second when he watched her dance with Harwin Strong.Damn it.She was certainly his type. Harwin likedwomenand that was more than enough. And Daemon had caught that signature glow of attraction and interest in his face when they danced together. The chain containing the beast inside him snapped the moment Strong drew a laugh from her.

The dragon in his chest roared, and he went after what was his.

"Ser Harwin, may I?" His voice sounded soft and lilting, his accent noble and graceful.There was no doubt he wasn't f*cking asking for it.

"Of course, my prince." Harwin pulled away, the flash suddenly suppressed from his gaze.

He noticed Rhaenyra grit her teeth.

Daemon held her, appreciating her in her wedding dress. Bitterness made his heartburn. It shouldbe him.It was supposedto be their wedding.

"You're supposed to be mine." He said.

"Then you should have f*cked me."She retorted through gritted teeth in Valyrian.

He slipped onto their tongues."Is that what you want?"

"I didn't know what I wanted mattered to you."Rhaenyra bit.

Daemon bit his tongue, to suppress the Fourteen Flames knew what."That's not for you."He said instead that everything she desired was important to him."Laenor is a good man and a fine knight. But he's going to bore you senseless."

The fire with which she looked at him ignited the very fire in Daemon's veins. Desire, fury, passion, and lust rolled through him, and he moved closer to her than was considered appropriate. Especially between uncle and niece.

Rhaenyra pushed her chin forward defiantly."I've heard that marriage is just a political arrangement."

Satisfaction washed over her as she watched the frown cross his face as she used his own words back.

"Mine was recently dissolved."He said.

Is that so?She thought.

"Then marry me. Isn't that what you wanted?"She challenged him with a taunt as sweet as venom. His indigo eyes grew dark and intense like the storms Dragonstone was well known for."I'm not married yet, but the hours go by quickly."She purred softly and dangerously. The chords of the music growing."You clearly set it up. Go through my father's Kingsguard. Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife."

The lights in the hall dimmed significantly, agitating the guests. But neither of them seemed to notice, too wrapped up in themselves that they couldn't realize it. Daemon grabbed Rhaenyra's face, the tips of their noses brushing, their breaths mingling, their hearts racing. An attraction so intense it felt like it could fuse them.

"I want the Iron Throne."He admitted, looking at her with intensity and madness, and Rhaenyra struggled not to drown in the feeling."But I want you more."

Rhaenyra looked at him with softer, though no less passionate, eyes.Take me with you, she meant.Make me yours. Not a word escaped her. Her tongue felt too heavy to move, and her mind kept spinning with a single thought.Kiss him, something inside her whispered urgently,kiss him now.

The hall was suddenly plunged into darkness, frightening them both, as if a sudden gust of wind had swept through the place and taken all the light with it. The throne room grew darkly cold. Daemon pulled her to himself, protecting her in case there was a commotion.

Suddenly, from braziers to candles, the whole room burst with light, making people scream in surprise. The fire flickered in the darkness, growing in height and intensity as far as brightness was concerned. And when everything was bathed in light in a blinding flash, there was more than one frightened scream and more than one broken glass goblet. People parted in the middle of the room, almost as if they were throwing themselves on the tables to escape something. The hall was filled with the creaking of tables being pushed back with the flow of people trying to get away from the one standing in the middle of the room.

Rhaenyra gasped and Daemon stood in front of her. Her small hand grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

In the center of the hall, there was an ethereal figure forged of magic and fire.

A woman.

Her dress of red, orange, and blue flames hit the ground, licking the stone maliciously. Hissing and popping. Her skin was a warm golden like the light of dawn. And her hair floated upwards like a campfire in all the colors of the fire. The red, the orange, the yellow, and the blue at the root. Only the eyes were an incandescent white, like peeking into the sun.

Her face echoed in every brazier, flame, candle, and candlestick or chandelier lighted. There wasn't a single soul who wouldn't have seen her face.

Viserys fell to his knees behind the desk.

"Muña Zaldrīzoti"he murmur.

"I am Agni." Her voice sounded clear, and she spoke Common, in a soft but deep cadence with a Valyrian antiquity that wasn't quite an accent. The smaller versions of her reflected in each flame created a chilling echo of her words.Agni-gni-ni. I am-am-m."The Mother of Dragons, patron of House Targaryen. Vallar Targaryen's lover. Mother of Aegon, the Conqueror. And Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Targaryen-garyen-aryen.

The fire of which it was made flickered, and floated, but never extinguished or weakened. It was almost... cozy, like a fireplace. But there was a clear aura of magic around her, ofpower. Agni belonged to the pantheon of Valyrian gods. The most important one. Most loved and worshipped by the ancient Dragonlords.

She brought the dragons to earth; she gave them life. Valyrians were believed to be descended from dragons because the flesh of dragons would have heated to shape differently, so the first dragon was able to sleep with a man to create the lineage of Dragonlords, making this the reason why their people were able to ride dragons.

But now, the story, the myth and legend, have asserted itself as true. Agni came out of the great golden egg that gave life to the world and created the Dragongods. Aegarax being the first of them, sowed his seed and scattered the dragons in the cradles of the Fourteen Flames. Then Agni spread her wings and flew to meet the unexplored creation, soaring over the fiery mountains of Valyria, where she met a humble fisherman worthy of her attention, who led her to mold her form into the body of a woman capable of carrying a blessing for him. A child. The beginning of a dynasty. The first of the Dragonriders. The first Targaryen.

It was said that the only reason the Aegarax’s children allowed a man to ride them was because they could feel Agni's magic in their veins, and that without it, dragons and men could never have joined.

There was a satisfaction in knowing that although overlooked and underestimated during the age of the Empire, House Targaryen meant everything to them, meant power and magic. And that without them, none of this would have been possible. Disappearing into the background, therefore, was the best thing to do. Who knew what people would be willing to do to get their hands on it?In power.

Except, now, not anymore.

Targaryens bowed neither to men nor to gods because they were divinity itself. And their rule was never to be challenged after this historic day, as historians would call'The Will of the Gods'.

Agni turned to Viserys Targaryen, trembling. Powerful and majestic.

There was something familiar about her.

There is something vicious about her delicate and beautiful, dangerous and fatal features.

"Ah, Viserys Targaryen"her voice was pure melody, though there was Valyrian steel beneath her seemingly harmless words. "I was once Aemma Arryn to you. Do you remember?"Remember-emember-ember. The King, who was struggling to stand, his face was pale and distorted with horror as he realized the extent of the consequences of his mistakes so many years ago. Aemma. She looked down at him from above. The flames of her eyes clouded with contempt. "The Dragondreams are one of the gifts I gave to your family for protection, not ruin. And you did, chasing a future that wasn't yours. I gaveyoua blessing, and for what? You crave more than the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria believe you deserve. Your condition is your curse for threatening my legacy." The offense and resentment she felt seemed to fuel her fire and she doubled in size for a moment, and then flickered, slowly slowing down with the whisper of her words.Legacy-cy-y. There was an air of fatality with which she made her statement. "And because of that, you're going to have a slow death and a haunted life."

Haunted-nted-ted.

Agni flickered, her face changing and seeming to stare at the crowd of spectators coldly. She looked at them as if they were below her, and they were. A dragon did not bow to gods and men, no, they were their law.

"I come to warn, to curse, to bless."Bless-ess-ss.Agni announced, flickering, her face staring directly at Alicent. The Queen, once so arrogant and so pedantic, so proud,as she entered the hall as if she thought of herself as better than a Targaryen, turned pale. Agni seemed to grow cold, her light dimmed, and her colors grew more intense and darker, reflecting on the haunted faces. The blue became darker, like midnight, and the red became more intense, like blood. The most vibrant orange was like dragon fire, the golden as molten gold, and the white burst of her gaze seemed more violent. Her features of a sharp sharpness. "Be careful what color you choose to wear, girl who plays at being queen."Queen-een-en. "The Fourteen Flames have no power over you, but they will make your future burn and your gods can do nothing." Alicent trembled.Nothing-thing-ing. The knees became weak. Agni, however, remained unfazed. "A child for a throne you seek. A Mummer's Dragon. A Usurper King. Behold your curse: four children you must have, and every one of them must perish."

Perish-ish-sh.

Agni flickered once more, her body swaying and turning towards Princess Rhaenys Velaryon. Corlys stiffened beside her, a fierce expression on his face. But on his wife's face, there was only admiration. And bravely, she stepped forward to face her destiny.

"Queen Who Never Was, the fate of women is cruel and unforgiving. And yours was stolen."Stolen-olen-len, the flames flared. "The Fourteen Flames warns you: patience is rewarded, but greed is despised. If one daughter is happily married, so may another. A Queen Who Never Was, a Princess Who Never Will Be, and..." The flames rose in the braziers and Agni shone brightly, "The Queen Who Will Be.Choose to listen to me and flourish, choose to ignore me and rot."

Rot-ot-t.

Rhaenys exchanged a glance with her husband, something going on between them that no one else could know. Something to be discussed in words later. Agni flickered and turned to the back of the room. People seemed to drift further away. The nobles stepped aside to reveal Daemon and Rhaenyra, still clinging to each other, still static and in shock. Only Agni's presence made it possible to go unnoticed as they clung to each other.

Her face of light, warmth, and flame softened with an almost human expression of love and affection, making her sharper and more human. Less divine.

Rhaenyra gasped, turning away from Daemon.

She heard him hold his breath in shock.

"Muña,"she stammered in Valyrian.

Agni's face was exactly as she remembered her mother's, and Rhaenyra remembered what she said early on.Mother of Aegon, the Conqueror. And Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Oh.

The ghost of a warm smile played on Agni's lips, and she held out her hand in an invitation.

"Come closer, Child of Ashes, Princess of Dragons, Queen of Them All. Come closer, Black Queen. Come near, my daughter, my heiress."Heiress-eiress-iress. As if bewitched, she did, circling Daemon and approaching her mother. He tried to grab her, to keep her safe, but Rhaenyra slipped like smoke through his fingers. Agni rose at least three feet above her, as an adult would over a child. The heat dried the moisture from her eyes before they could flood. Her throat became dry, like the land devastated by the dragon's fire. Still, Agni raised her flame hand and brushed away the tear that should have flowed. There were gasps, and Rhaenyra felt like she might break down. It was so kind and so warm... as if her mother had touched her. As Agni walked away, Rhaenyra's face remained untouched by the fire.

Unborned.

"The blood of Old Valyria remains strong in you. The fire of the Fourteen Flames burns in your heart. I exist in your soul, waiting to one day be reborn."Reborn-born-orn. She said. Her eyes followed briefly just above Rhaenyra’s shoulder. "Fear not, my good-son."Son-on-n. She seemed to smile slightly as Daemon moved forward, fearing what the fire might do to Rhaenyra. A foolish concern. Agni looked at him with respect and only the slightest hint of amusem*nt in the face of the fear that raced in his heart. He stopped, not even a step behind her daughter, and Rhaenyra relented, using him for support. She never thought she would see her mother again, let alone learn she was a goddess. "I left this life and you too soon, my dear. So young. Still so naïve and unprepared for the heartbreaks of life and with men."Men-en-n. The fire burned in her eyes and Agni held her daughter's cheekbones, gently. "I'm going to favor you. Thieves lurk in the shadows, sometimes showing their faces. They all want to steal from you."

You-ou-u.

"Steal me what, Mother?"

Agni looks sad.

"Six children you should have and only one will survive."Survive-rvive-vive. She made them tremble against each other and Daemon squeezed her, even though his heart was heavy. She would have six children and lose five.Gods. Rhaenyra trembled fighting back tears. Six children and she would losefive. Did any of them make it to adulthood, apart from the survivor? Her heart suddenly broke for children who didn't even exist in her dreams. For the children who would be stolen from her.

There was no way she could manage it, by all means.No. From a young age, she saw her mother lose not only one child after another but lose her own life and feared her fate as a woman. What was expected of her as an heiress. Offspring. Children.Herchildren. Her battle in the birthing bed. How, for Old Valyria's sake,shouldshe live with the knowledge that her fate would be equal, if not worse, than her own mother's?

How should she, who wasn't even a mother yet, nor devote a thought to it, learn to live with her heart beating out of her chest only to see it wither and die?

"The fate that awaits you is cruel, I fear."Fear-ear-ar. "But not inevitable. Your son"son-on-n.She said as she looked at the two of them, shocking the entire room with a single word.Your. Before he could think, before he could feel, his hand slid over Rhaenyra's still-empty belly. The black beast behind the cage of his ribs hissed feeding the ferocity and possession within him.So did my child. My son. My seed. Gods were good."They call him Dragonbane, the Broken, the Uncrowned King. Because from a young age, he saw the destruction and ruin of House Targaryen at the hands of men who think of themselves as gods, as kings."Kings-ings-ngs. A hard expression crossed her face, Aemma's face. "Unacceptable to the son of the heirs of Old Valyria. Those who follow the customs, worship the Fourteen Flames, honor my descent."Descent-escent-scent. Wrath roared her form to life, and her hair grew, as well as the fire of her dress spread across the floor, hissing at all those with a cowardly heart. "Those in whom my fire and blood run strong. To you, the Fourteen Flames will bless, I bring the gifted grace."

Grace-ace-ce.

Agni pulled away from Rhaenyra. Her fingers twitched slightly as if to keep her mother from leaving once more. Agni clasped her hands before her, producing a globe of incandescent light, which shone brightly enough to blind an entire hall. Someone screamed in pain, stupid enough to look. Even Rhaenyra and Daemon weren't immune, and she averted her face, her eyes tightly closed. Daemon raised his arm, trying to block the light over them, his eyes locked on Rhaenyra.

The luminosity dimmed, and tendrils of white steam dissipated like tentacles. Suddenly, the silence in the hall was broken by a loud and high-pitched scream.

Shock erupted all over the place over the wails of pain and Rhaenyra opened her eyes, finding a baby in Agni's hands. She felt captured the instant she looked at him. Her eyes locked on the baby. An attraction singing in her blood. He appeared to be a newborn. Behind her, Daemon froze, and Rhaenyra found no resistance to approaching her mother again.

"His name is Aegon Targaryen, the Gifted Grace."

Grace-race-ace.

Agni looked softly, with a sweet expression of motherly adoration. Rhaenyra moved even closer, her arms reaching out unconsciously to receive the baby reflexively. When the gaudy little bundle landed in her arms, he felt light, and the crying soon fell silent. Rhaenyra gasped as the boy opened his indigo eyes. A darker tone, like Daemon's...hisfather. Silvery-blond hair like all Targaryens. He had a little button nose, ten fingers on his hands, and opened the sweetest yawn she had ever seen. She loved him from the first sigh. As strong and fierce as what she felt for Daemon, as strong as what she knew he felt for her. Looking at this boy, it seemed silly to be angry at the night on Silk Street when he could have been the result.

They could have conceived him then if Daemon hadn't run away. They could have conceived him if he had stolen her. But this does not matter now. Aegon was real and soft in her arms. Nothing else mattered. Just him.

She gasped, struggling to hold back her tears.

Rhaenyra dropped him without a care. f*ck everyone. This was her baby. Her f*cking divine gift from her mother. Nothing else matters.

"Hello, ñuha taoba."She cooed to him in Valyrian. She gave him her index finger and Aegon, already so strong, grabbed it in a steel grip. A choked giggle bubbled up in her chest."I am your mother."

Aegon looked at her as if contemplating the statement, and slowly closed his small eyes, snuggling up as if he had found no rebuttal. Arms wrapped around the two of them. Daemon created a crib for them, whether to indirectly hold the child or help her with him, Rhaenyra didn't care. She only cared that he was there, and turned her face away, looking for his. It was full of adoration. Of love. Tenderness.

And fury.

Everything was engraved in an amalgam on his beautiful features. She knew in her heart that the fury roaring within him was related to all the enemies they would make and destroy to protect this little dragon that was theirs. She knew this because she felt the same thing inside her. There was nothing, she already knew, that wouldn't do for him.

"The son of the Realm's Delight and the Rogue Prince. He will be the Blessed, the Favored, the Gift."Gift-ift-ft. And Agni looked at the crowd as if daring them to say otherwise. "He will one day be the King of the Andals, Rhoynars, and First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm."

Realm-ealm-alm.

Rhaenyra looked at the goddess, her mother.Thank youfor being muttered in silence. Agni smiled.

"I must depart, my child, to where I am to be reborn one day."Day-ay-y. Sadness tarnished her joy, and tears threatened her. Agni approached, holding her daughter's face in her hands. Warmth washed Rhaenyra in a way that only her mother's touch was able to do when she was alive. The feeling could never be forgotten and all she could do was miss Agni when she left. "One last gift, from one mother to another,"Agni whispered to her in Valyrian. Suddenly, Rhaenyra shuddered as a strange sensation passed through her body. She blinked in a daze, looking at Agni. "But remember, my daughter, I am always with you. In fire and blood."

Blood-ood-od.

Rhaenyra nodded. "Fire and blood."

Agni pulled away and then exploded in a flash of fire. The braziers remained burning, as did everything else. But the goddess was gone. Rhaenyra's heart bled and she turned to hide her face in Daemon's chest. He held her, hugging her as much as he could to give her privacy without crushing their son.

The boy in question sighed, only slightly disturbed in his sleep.

Rhaenyra sniffed, swallowing back tears and knowing she needed to end this whole circus. Now that both she and Daemon had been favored by an ancient Valyrian goddess, nothing could stand in their way. She looked up and he wiped away her tears, kissing her on the forehead. Adjusting the baby's weight in her arms, Rhaenyra spun on her heel and marched forward. No one moved, only the sound of her shoes and Daemon's boots could be heard. She came before the high table.

Her father had a numb expression of shock. Alicent had frozen in equal terror and shock, and Rhaenyra took pleasure in it. But instead of addressing her father, she turned to Princess Rhaenys. She lifted her chin and even though her face was red and all the telltale signs of the tears, except for themselves, were still there, she acted worthily.She was blessed by a f*cking goddess.

"I believe you understand that our negotiation will need to change." Rhaenys' eyes narrowed between Rhaenyra and Daemon.

Beside her, Lord Corlys opened his mouth with an expression of displeasure.

"Husband." Rhaenys shut him up before he could even say anything. "Patience will be rewarded and greed despised. The Queen Who Never Was, the Princess Who Never Will Be, and the Queen Who Will Be."

They exchanged one of those glances where an entire conversation seemed to take place without anything being said. Rhaenyra watched as Rhaenys's lips articulated "choose to listen to me and flourish, choose to ignore me and rot."

This effectively stopped him and forced Lord Corlys to nod, leaving his wife to take control.

"Of course, Your Highness," Rhaenys answered. Articulated eyes on baby.

Rhaenyra knew what that meant and was ready to accept it, as long as they didn't make a case for dissolving the current wedding alliance. If anything, being warned and blessed by a goddess should bring them closer together. If it couldn't be done,well, nothing else could.

Rhaenyra then turned to her father, who seemed to have finally recovered. He staggered with Lord Lyonel's help towards them. Anxiously, Rhaenyra rocked the baby in her arms to have something to do. Gentle pats on his small bottom covered in a velvet robe of a yellow so soft it almost looked white.

Viserys' eyes were fixed on the child.

He stumbled on the last step and the Hand grabbed him by the elbow. That didn't stop him.

Rhaenyra fought all of her newfound motherhood instincts to keep her father away from Aegon. But she knew that if she wanted to marry Daemon here and now, she needed to let him be bewitched by the little boy.

Daemon stiffened behind her, his fingers digging into her waist to contain probably the same wish as hers. He probably held back for the same reason. It wasn't wise.

"Oh!"Viserys sobbed, his gloved hands reaching out to the baby. He brushed against Aegon’s belly and put his hand on his tiny head.

Aegon sighed as if he was very tired and opened his indigo eyes. His gaze swam to all the people around him, to his parents and grandfather, settling quickly on Viserys before seeming to aim at Daemon. They held each other's gaze for what seemed like a minute and then Aegon's eyes flickered slowly, closing.

"Ah,"Viserys gasped, putting a clenched fist in the mouth. Eyes filling with unshed tears.

"We need to get married, Father," Rhaenyra informed coldly. "Even if he's a divine gift, his parents should still get married."

"Yes," Viserys stammered."Yes, yes. You must get married.Oh, my gods."

She thought heard him mumble'Aemma', but it was so quiet that she doubted had heard anything right or even anything.

Thus, Rhaenyra and Daemon found themselves in front of all the silent nobles in the hall, facing each other, exchanging their vows. He cut his finger and smeared the blood on her forehead, then cut off her finger so that Rhaenyra could run her finger across his forehead. She refused to let go of their child, even if it was to be married. Much to the dismay of Viserys, who longed to hold his divine grandson.

Daemon needless to say that it amused him.

Then she said the expected words. "I'm his..."

"I'm hers..."And he said his.

"From this day,"their voices echoed together,"to the end of my days. United by fire and blood."

Fire and blood, the wind seemed to whisper.

Chapter 2: A Haunted Heart

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

Candlelit in the King's apartments, the plaster model was almost an eyesore due to its size. It was probably the biggest thing in the set of rooms. Bigger even than the bed. A work of magnificent precision and design, as long as it could be appreciated. And it wasn't, not by anyone other than its craftsman or mastermind, or by those who were no longer alive.

The whispers of years echoed in his restless and confused mind, dazed and overwhelmed by the events of the last few hours.

Viserys' head had long since belonged to him. Not since he and Otto Hightower became friends, perhaps. And not, especially, since he became King. Too many advisers, too many whispers, and too many subtle suggestions. Too much noise for him to recognize the very voice of his conscience, though he had recently improved. Or so he believed. Viserys thought he had begun to know what his thoughts were, and which ones were put there by someone. Lyonel Strong turned out to be a good Hand. He defended the interests of the kingdom, not his own. He never even tried to offer any of his sons to the princess, and if he offered her anything, Viserys knew in his heart that it had been nothing but well-meaning advice. He was a good man, a good Lord, an even better Hand.Damn. Why didn't he get close to people like Lyonel? Why Hightower? Well, it was late. It was no use lamenting the water under the bridge, the river had long flowed, taking through time and possibility, the changes necessary to avoid what today was more than an imminent political crisis, but an imminent rupture in his own already fractured family.

If only he wasn't so weak...

So much effort to exile Daemon again and here he was, and finally had what he wanted within arm's reach. Rhaenyra. But then though Viserys wasn't happy, though he was still angry and feeling betrayed by Daemon's sordid plans and the near-success they had, he wasn't blind or foolish. He could see how they were like moths in the light.

They always have been, after all.

The glances exchanged. The touches. The words. The Valyrian that they spoke more than the Common. But he had dismissed all of this as a niece's favor for her uncle because Daemon did her whims without hesitation. As if the only thing that mattered in the world was her desires. Maybe that was part of the reason she was seduced by him...

Viserys was afool.

His eyes turned to the massive model of Old Valyria. Tables that continued to be added to support the extension, weight, and structure of his project. A place where, as he put the pieces in place and planned the new additions, he felt he could organize his own thoughts as well. A sense of control. A mental mirror of its physical namesake. There existed in his mind an Old Valyria of thoughts, ideas, and memories, sacred places to revisit. And each block of tangible plaster in his hands that he used to place in a marked place on the model was a thought, an idea, a memory that he analyzed and took away something wise before returning it to the place in his mind. Most would certainly consider him crazy for thinking that way. But they did not understand that this was one of the few forms of peace he had left in this world.

And he had so little to give him pleasure, to have peace.

He loved his children, his new children. He had the son of whom he had always dreamed. AnAegon,no less. But his mother wasn'ther. And none of them were Rhaenyra. Nor was his relationship with any of his youngest children the same as it once was with his firstborn.

Viserys gazed at Valyria. Elongated by the additions, pearlescent and unharmed. Untouched. Each of the Fourteen Frozen Flames is out of reach of time and space. Just a harmless representation of its real, devastating hom*onym. The little houses of the commons, the mansions of the lords. Research centers similar to, but more advanced than, the Citadel in Oldtown. Full of wonderful magic. The architectural design and landscaping as it should have been. The sinuosity and fluidity of access and traffic routes. The temples, the fields, the meadows. Paintings and sculptures to dignify the most magnificent of creatures, the dragons. The brilliance and glory of an empire.

His gaze searched for a special plaster construction, nestled between the foot of one of the volcanoes and the shores of the sea. A place he could have imagined as beautiful and impressive, imposing. The Temple of Agni.

His fingers brushed the dome of the temple, thoughts racing. Memories stir and present themselves in the face of the resemblance. As fresh as the first blood of battle. She looked better than he remembered. Prettier and stronger. Like the woman he knew before they got married. He glided along the model, his fingers skimming surfaces until he stopped at one of the city's battlements. A sharp tip of plaster threatened to pierce the leather of his glove. Viserys captured the wicked sculpture between his fingers. The design and wingspan of the wings, the tiny claws, the open jaw with sharp teeth frozen in the middle of a roar, or an explosion of red-hot and scorching fire. A dragon protecting its home, its nest. Their mother's land. The sculpture in question was not as old as the others and not as pristine, having already been broken once.

And gentle hands brought it back repaired. He had found it very sweet of her. That was years ago. Not quite half a year after the death of his biggest supporter and one of the few actually by his side. But Viserys received the statue anyway from his new wife.

Should he?

By adding an imperfect, broken figure to the untouched, reconstructed realm of Old Valyria, wasn't he adding stain and imperfection to his design? Hadn't he done the same in his life?

He shook his head.

Water under the bridge, water under the bridge.There was no point in thinking about things that have already been and would never be again, so little that could not be changed. It just brought pain. Uncertainty. And if he looked back, Viserys feared he would be lost...

But he couldn't help some things. Some treacherous thoughts, but true.

How much of this project was built with the support, encouragement, and even participation of his new wife? How much did she get involved in this, a silly thing, just because she wanted to do something with him? Although it was his project and his hobby, how much was she interested in it because was she interested in himandnothis crown? The answer to this was as clear as a peek in the sun, or the explosion of a dragon's fire. It hadn't been and never would be, enough to replace, equal, orevencompareto his years of marriage toher. In this model, there were the years of Viserys and Aemma building it. Her hand was on pretty much everything. The craftsman who helped him with the molds had beenherchoice.

Aemma.

His dearly beloved Aemma.

Viserys grabbed the hand whose wedding ring he still held and ripped off the glove to gaze at it once more. Something he did often more than not. He could never give it to his new wife. Nor did she deserve it. This ring told a story that she wasn't a part of, she didn't know anything about. She was no more than a fleeting spectator. What did she know about marriage? About their marriage? Nothing. She was still a girl. As young and asgreenas his daughter.

A girl who was as close to his daughter as a sister would be. As for any of his children with Aemma, if they had lived, they might have been. He had been thankful for a long time that amid so much loss and pain, there was Alicent for Rhaenyra. To distract and console her. It was because of this that he thought that...

Bullsh*t.

His mind turned elsewhere. Sweeter and brighter. Of better times and happier days. More alive.

Memories of mountains and blue skies, of dragons soaring through the skies. Of sweetness and honey pouring from her lips, and bleeding gentleness from every one of her manners. Of the softness and ethereal beauty, indeed divine, that she possessed. Of the compassion and kindness of her soul. The perfect summer day of their wedding. From the sunshine, the blooming flowers, the birdsong. The idyll of the date. The wild happiness on her face when she announced the pregnancy, the feeling of someone who combined parts of her and him moving in her belly. The joy of the birth of their daughter later. A tired, sweaty Aemma from labor, but with an indulgent smile as she longed for the baby in her arms. A child he has seldom seen her without. Realm's Delight they called her, her mother's delight what that sweet little girl was.

A blessing in every sense of the word, yes.

The people who looked at his wife and thought of her as a lark, a swallow. Even a doe. Only to be fooled by her goodwill and general complacency that masked a sleeping angry dragon. One that could rival the wrath of Balerion, the Black Dread. How she burst with love for the small and already so fierce and willful Rhaenyra, a maturing little dragon.

His wife had been a gentle and kind soul in life, more than words could ever do her justice in trying to describe her. She had a soft voice and manners that prevented her from acting agitated or disturbed. If provoked, she could maintain a composure. But if her loved ones felt threatened...well, Balerion would have to fight for the title. And if she were sad, her melancholy could only be compared to the pain of a dragon that lost its rider. Their grief might well be able to melt the coldest of hearts, perhaps even the grandiose wall of ice in the North. Turn the stone into muscle and make the blood throb in tenderness. And when she smiled, there was a fire behind it. There was brilliance and explosion. The grandeur and magnificence of the rarest of treasures, the most beautifully indescribable. She would be able to light up the world and at the same time make it burn.

Ah, Viserys Targaryen. I was once Aemma Arryn to you. Do you remember?

How in the world could he forget?She was his world.Aemma and little Rhaenyra. It didn't matter how many wives he had, how many children and heirs. Nothing and no one would ever beher, nothing and no one would beherliving daughter. Nothing and no onecomparedto her.

He had built a good life for himself after her treacherous murder. A life that could...Satisfy himand bring moments of pleasure. But it would never have the same light or brightness that a life with her had... Once it was.

Aemma had a temper, which no matter how hard it was to be attracted to, she did. Fire and blood in her veins. More than anyone knew, or used to know now that the blood of a fire goddess was revealed in her veins and her flesh. What would she think of what he did with his life? Of Rhaenyra? Daemon? House Targaryen? Nothing good and surely it would have attracted her, if she had been able to bring the Goddess Agni across the Narrow Sea, across the Smoke Sea, overcoming stone men and leaving the tomb of ashes and magma hardened in the ruins of Old Valyria.

Viserys remembered the last time he had a glimpse of it. Of her scorching temper. He had underestimated it. The underrated and discarded.Foolish. If only he knew...If he were suspicious...

Viserysshouldhave known better, and he knew it. Aemma had been enraged a few times in his life, but it had been enough for him to recognize the spark when he saw it in her violet eyes. And on that day, almost five years ago, he knew what he saw. He recognized it for what it was and discarded it as if it were dust in his doublet. He underestimated her, something he had never done before, so great and glaring was blindness to a son. And where did that lead him? Where did that bring him? What did his desire do for him? It was there, crackling in her eyes as she lay down in a tub of water as steaming as much as the maester would allow, seeking relief from the discomforts of gestating yet another baby that neither of them knew would live or die, despite his unwavering belief.Sheknew better. The Valyrian steel in her gaze as pulled him closer and told him that this would be their last. She wouldn't give him any more babies after this one. How much she couldn't do anymore. How much he had broken her. The last cry of a dying dragon. The saddest song he had ever heard.

He was blind, that much was for sure. Whether it was a Dragondream or a fear of absolving the words, of interpreting and accepting them, of the threat they carried, he did not know. Not even a bat could be blinder than Viserys Targaryen. He had discarded her anyway and walked away like a happy fool.Ifonly this was the last time they saw each other.Ifthe next time he had not condemned her to death, hadn’t given the order. It made no difference that instead of a slit in her throat, he had ordered her to be cut open from the sternum to the hip. It was almost as good.

Heir for a day, his brother said.He scoffed. Viserys had been so angry about it. But was Daemon really mocking the dead boy andAemma's sacrifice, or was he mocking Viserys and the result of his obsession? He had no idea and was afraid to ask. To reveal in the process what his brother's opinion of him was. It was very easy to pretend to loathe Daemon for who he was and how he was, but it was undeniable that he was someone who took responsibility for his actions when he had to do them. Daemon never shied away from retaliation for his actions.

The heat of the summer day returned to Viserys. The room was full of handmaidens at work, the trembling maester offering a choice. Viserys should have asked if it would kill her, not the baby. He didn't. He had agreed with what she had said earlier. Her refusal to give more babies.Agreedmore as a means of reassuring her and making her rest for the difficult work ahead of her than by actually agreeing with her. Ignorant fool that he was, he got up and went to attend the tourney, thinking that even if the baby was lost, and he was convinced it wouldn't, Viserys would find a way, an argument to convince her to try again.

He would never have the opportunity.

The Dragondreams are one of the gifts I gave to your family for protection, not ruin.

No word or amount of thought would ever be enough to demonstrate, and express, how much he regretted his choice that day.Or before that. He should have stopped, should have chosen her over the boy. How manywhat-ifscould his mind conjureup ifhe just...Justlisten to her.Ifhe took it seriously,ifprioritized her over his selfish desires and self-serving whispers from the Small Council. So she could still be here, she could be with him for better or for worse. For wealth or poverty. In health and now in sickness, until death do them part, and even then, only until they met again on whatever plane it was. If she were alive, wouldn't be a green girl helping and supporting him through such a terrible and cruel disease that weakened him day after day, and threatened to make him lose a piece of himself in each one of them.

It would be she, Aemma, who would see the final construction of Old Valyria with him, not Alicent.Gods, what did he do?

Repentance had a bitter taste. Rancid. Like an old thing, a mold that had rotted for years and that had probably become as deadly as any poison as it ran thick and slimy down his throat. As if Viserys had been the only one to drink from the still warm, thick blood she had spilled with a single word from him.Do it. This built up and locked in his narrowed esophagus. Clogged by guilt. His churning stomach churned with disgust. Hit by the storm of self-loathing. Lemon would be sweet next to his feelings about Aemma's death.

Especially...especiallysince in recent years, since the births of Helaena and Aemond, he has thought less and less about it. He poked less and less at this can of worms, in favor of focusing on the parts of Old Valyria he had built since he had married Alicent. As if trying to forget the past, to leave it behind. Sometimes...sometimes...heforgotwhat that was like. What it was liketo feelthat. The guilt. Sometimes he forgot that he was sorry, that there was something to regret. Something to mourn and cry for the rest of his life. Time and its incessant running were relentless and sometimes made it very difficult for a person to blame themselves all the time. Especially when there were other things, more enjoyable things, to focus on. If he chose to be trapped in a damn bubble of happiness — which couldn't be happiness, there was no way, since it was nothing but an illusion, nothing but a colored stained-glass window through which he came to enjoy looking at life to deceive himself, to have a semblance of'making peace'with his choices — then Viserys could have the illusion of happiness. Of peace.

But looking at Rhaenyra always threatened to bring him to the surface. Threatened to pierce the precious bubble of his new children with his new wife.

The threat of, the mere face, the mere presence, that she could invoke... Made him distant from his daughter. He still loved her, always would. But there was a rupture, a chasm of distance between them since her mother's death, a festering wound that became worse each time they reopened. To protect himself from the pain of the past, Viserys had slowly but surely and only slightly unaware isolated Rhaenyra. He, Alicent, and the kids were a family. Rhaenyra... The gods knew what she was. A stranger in her own home, with her own father. That she was rebellious and irritated him at every turn was not a surprise. He had pushed her away from him with his mistakes. He had done this long before Aemma died. It had begun when he gave in to the Council's pressure for an heir. The best thing he could have done was to annul Daemon's marriage and promise him to Rhaenyra. It would have avoided half that confusion, to begin with. It could have given Aemma peace and more years of life, rather than a painful and certainly harrowing death.

He could never forget the look of betrayal on her face as he comforted her for the maester to plunge the knife into her sternum. If the Grand Maester had driven a blade into the King's chest, not have hurt as much as it had been to stick into the Queen's. It didn't take a physical blade to hurt him. To open up his chest. On the contrary, the barren blade, hard as steel and cold as ice that pierced him from the heart to the stomach, was made of irreducible regret.

The image of Aemma bleeding not only from the ichor but also from life. Her life. Gods Above.He would never forget it. He would never sleep in that bed, on that mattress again. He dealt with it as soon as he could. And if watching her die had been...Indescribable to him, Viserys couldn't ever have imagined the extent of the pain of betrayal and what the very physical wound being opened would have inflicted on Aemma in her last moments. He couldn't imagine such a death. Between swimming and floating in pain. In heartbreak and betrayal. He wondered, if she had the strength, she would have cursed him to be heard. If in her mind, as her strength left her and the flow of life as well, she had not cursed him to what he was now. Aemma died in nothing but pain. Paying with her life for Viserys' ambition and greed.

... Andyou did, chasing a future that wasn't for you. I gave you a blessing, and for what? You crave more than the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria believe you deserve.

Aemma, Agni... Viserys didn't need the ghost of his deceased wife or the apparition of a goddess to tell him what he had already thought for himself for a long time alone in his most intense moment of grief. This, he could proudly admit, had been an idea, a hypothesis, produced by his own mind and no one else's. Hearing from Agni, Aemma, didn't change what he knew. Viserys could feel it in his bones. It was always in the recesses of his mind that the illness slowly killing him was a divine punishment from the Mother for his actions. Of the Maiden. From the Father. And certainly from the Stranger, for daring to do his job. For considering himself as tall as they are. And now he knew. They had never been the Seven. They didn't have the power to do this to their family, it was probably a punishment from his ancestors.

Viserys never had a moment of revolt or feeling of injustice against his situation. As long as Aemma was alive, this was barely anything. Barely a concern. But since her death... It looked worse. No matter how bad it started to get, and it was getting bad fast, he never thought of taking a faster route through Calvary. He never thought of... Get it over with. Now even less. The years he lived, terrible as they were, he would live them. He would endure them until the Valyrian gods saw fit that it was time to take him. A penance was a penance. And he would.

On the days when he considered himself particularly stronger in spirit, Viserys dared to revive Aemma's face for long, tender hours before bed. Even when he had just rolled onto Alicent's side, as he lay with her. It wasn't fair to the girl, having just painted her womb with his seed. Viserys knew he was a scoundrel and disgusting. But sometimes...sometimes...He bit his fist to fight back the tears that came to his eyes after the gods knew how much time wasted in his reflections after the events of this night. Aemma probably already hated him a little more for this, he was a damned soul after all, so Viserys would wallow in the mud to truly deserve this. He considered himself beyond redemption.But gods take him,he just didn't want to forget Aemma's face for anything in the world.

Her face was sacred to Viserys. Her memory.

And to see her in the flesh like fire after having spent her whole life by his side in the flesh, she was exactly as he remembered. But stronger, more beautiful... Without the weight of all the dead children to carry.

Oh, gods, why?Why did he have to be so greedy? Why couldn't he be a wiser man? Firmer? More resolute... LikeDaemon.

Sometimes the words he and Daemon threw at each other before he was exiled to Dragonstone, before the Stepstones, would come back to bite him in the dead of night. Or in the relative peace in his head when he got involved in building the model, and sometimes when Rhaenyra was involved. The words of accusation that Viserys never considered him for the position of Hand, who had pushed him from one position to another. Master of Coin, Master of Laws, and finally Lord Commander of the City Watch.

Because I'm your brother.

Viserys knew logically that it was dangerous to put so much power in Daemon's hands. He gave command of the City Watch and there wasn't a soul alive in this forgotten city who didn't know what he did. Of course, it helped with criminality, but the brutality of his methods, the cruelty... It still gave Viserys goosebumps. Regardless of what Otto believed or the advisors who knew his brother the least, Viserys knew that if he put that much power in Daemon's hands, it would never be used against him because Daemon was violent, impetuous, and impulsive but he was not heartless, though he might seem so. Viserys knew that Daemon loved him and that he was loyal regardless of the squabbling between them. It had been the life of envy, of jealousy. The joviality, the virility, the wild and carefree freedom of being a second child made their relationship so volatile. Viserys had been made King and shouldered a world of responsibilities on his shoulders and the weight of failure to provide an heir, while his brother had the freedom to be insatiable, indomitable, and ferocious.

Perhaps even the gods couldn't count how many bastards Daemon should have, and Viserys would never dare to ask. Even he didn't want to know how many of them were boys. Perhaps the relationship between them would have deteriorated even worse and faster, and beyond repair, if Daemon had had children of his own with Rhea.

Daemon wouldn't have done it out of malice, but it was who he was, and he couldn't hold back. He wouldn't be able to contain himself, even if he wanted and if he had a son to call his own. He acted like a peaco*ck for no particular reason,gods. Viserys could only imagine what his brother would be like now with a son gifted by the gods. Bitterness and jealous resentment bubbled up within him. He was embarrassed to admit it, even to himself, but his grandson could be the reason why the relationship between him and his brother could be torn in guts and blood.

His mind compelled him to revisit what could be a prelude to the future just by remembering Rhaenyra's birth, and how his jealousy grew greater. Viserys couldn't shake the wish that he would rather Rhaenyra had been born male rather than female, and all the while his brother loved her with an unnerving, maddening depth. Daemon had never been interested in babies before. Especially the ones himself, which was good for Viserys's melancholy. But Rhaenyra had wrapped Rogue Prince around her pinky finger on the very day she was born and opened her beautiful amethyst eyes to him.

Viserys knew that at that moment, Daemon would do anything for her. He would love her more fiercely than anyone, regardless of her gender. And he would give her everything, even the throne. Even himself. Daemon had loved her, though it had later revealed itself to be a different kind of love, and now Viserys knew, more intensely than her own father.

When younger, a child, Rhaenyra was often seen hanging around on Daemon. It was as if they were bound by the soul, entwined by the dragon's fire. A mildly offensive word about her gender and his brother would have a visceral'say it again. We'll see if I cut your tongue faster than you can repeat that, motherf*cker’,and it was all settled. Viserys wanted that. He'd like to hold his little girl and do it. Tell all his advisors to. Send them all to the Seven Hells.

Instead, Viserys saw Rhaenyra grow and flourish under Daemon's tutelage more than his own. His violent little brother, irresponsible, impulsive, reckless, and indolent... was surprisingly a better father to her than the very father who fathered her. And it rotted Viserys from the inside out. It ate him alive as worms would eat the flesh of the dead. How the disease was eating him at this very moment.

f*ck.

Here was what awaited Viserys for years to come, for the rest of his life: the knowledge that Daemon was a better father than he was.

Why didn't Viserys do any of this? Why didn't he tell everyone to f*ck off and protect her and raise her as he wanted, as he should? Why did he cling to a dream?

... chasing a future that wasn't for you.

Viserys had no idea.

The throne was his, it belonged to him by the Great Council that brought him here. He was already in the position of the most powerful man, what was it to tell everyone to swallow their tongues and do whatever he wanted? There were tyrannical Targaryens in power, there would still be others in the future. He wasn't a tyrant, he just wanted to live in peace with his family. Looking out for his daughter's interests was not tyranny, but love.

His mistake was never to draw a line, a boundary, where the King began, and the Small Council ended. His mistake was that he longed for more than he was meant to have.

You crave more than the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria believe you deserve.

Wind and words, wind and words. Only regret. What was done was done. And if he kept looking back, Viserys was bound to lose himself even more. But it was impossible for him otherwise. Viserys was so lost in the past and bitter that he didn't even know how to move on anymore.

Looking at Agni,Aemma,was like stepping back in time. He had simply gone into shock as the divine features softened and became more human. And then she placed their grandson,their first grandchild, in Rhaenyra's arms. And when she came before the high table, a baby in her arms... The only thing that held Viserys together was shock. The stupor.

As appalled as if his brain had been wiped out.

She had grown up beautiful, graceful, and regal, their daughter, Rhaenyra. And she looked so much like her mother that cut Viserys deeply every day. A blessing and a curse. He could never look at her face without remembering Aemma and his greedy sin toward her.

And Aegon in her arms, it was like being twenty namedays again and seeing Aemma holding the screaming little Rhaenyra in her arms in one of her rare moments of silence. Viserys could see clearly and were violently transported by his memories to remember more clearly and in more detail one of the days that changed his life forever.

Viserys had entered their room when they came to tell him that the baby had been born healthy and was a beautiful little girl. He hadn't cared if it was a boy or a girl yet. All he knew was that the wait was over and now he was someone's father. It had been terrifying. But the fear and terror had been replaced by a kind of lethargy when he entered the room to find Aemma beaming. Smiling stupidly. They had cleaned her up, though she still looked exhausted from labor. But she had smiled at him with a baby wrapped in a red and gold velvet robe. Small fists flailed in the air, escaping the cocoon in which she had been wrapped. Probably already learning to rebel against the world she'd just been thrust into without warning.

A small, confused, annoyed frown on her little kneeling face. She stuck out her tongue, snapping and already learning the nasty mannerism.

She was lovely.

Viserys could barely feel his legs or the ground as he struggled to get to Rhaenyra tonight, eighteen years later. And although she didn't smile at him like her mother, it went unnoticed. Illusion and reality blurred in his head to make it impossible to know what was true and what was a lie.

He had longed so long to hold the boy...

But he had also hesitated when he saw the caution in his daughter's eyes. He resisted the urge to extend his arms begging for the child, thrusting a fist into his mouth to contain the words and emotion.

See what you've done,a nasty voice whispered in his mind.You've broken your relationship to such an extent that she doesn't trust you with her child.

Viserys hoped to repair this bridge in time.

For all that is most sacred.

And if not...

Your condition is your curse for threatening my legacy. And because of that, you're going to have a slow death and a haunted life.

He didn't think Aemma, like herself or Agni, could be righter.

Chapter 3: A Curse of a Queen

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

Alicent felt empty, numb. She felt this way for a long time in her life, living like a puppet waiting for her father to pull the strings to make her dance like the music played.But...

That night had been different.

That night had taken the emptiness in her soul and turned it into a great abyss. It had taken the last years of Alicent's life and turned them to ashes. The taste of her fate was the same.

Justashes.

The banquet for the opening of Rhaenyra's wedding had passed in a blinding blur. A ringing in her ears. A tingling in her veins. She had become nauseous and suspected that it had nothing to do with the fourth baby that Viserys had placed in her womb as soon as she recovered from the last one. No, it had everything to do with that f*cked up night going off the rails.

Alicent had planned out how everything was supposed to be. The declaration of war by using the color of the Hightower lighthouse. The battle color of her ancestral House. Tonight was supposed to be a watershed. Was supposed to show Alicent who was a friend and who was a foe. It should have been the beginning of her uprising to rally support for Aegon.Her Aegon. Her child, and one of her first sacrifices. And it had all been in vain. As bad as when her mother died, or when Viserys fired her father despite Rhaenyra's mistakes, or when their friendship imploded because Rhaenyra couldn't understand that in the grand scheme of things, the Game of Thrones, everyone had a role to play. Alicent was not exempt. Knowing her place and her role in all of this was vital. It was the only way to survive... and not to lose herself. And Alicent had done everything right. As she has done all her life.

Why did the Seven see fit to curse her, to conspire with... That... Valyrian goddess, f*ck?

Alicent closed her eyes, slipping back into her old ways. The most unpleasant ones that helped relieve her anxiety or stress. She tugged at the cuticle with her fingernail.

The Fourteen Flames have no power over you, but they will make your future burn and your gods can do nothing.

f*ck.

Not the Seven and not anyone else,she thought numbly. Alicent opened her eyes, her gaze taking in her surroundings. The grandeur of the Queen's apartments. The darkness engulfed virtually every nook and cranny of her chambers. The echo of wind currents. The specter of furniture cast shadows in the dim light of the darkness of the night. She felt small in the opulence of the room. Even Viserys was missed now. Because if he wasn't with her,then... The alternative wrapped her stomach tightly.Sohe was withthem.

She watched her husband stand in the middle of the hallway as the lovebirds disappeared into their chambers. Wherever they went. Ser Criston had stayed with her. A look of pity and resolution in his gaze. The latter was the only thing that held her together. It still did. Because amid the foreshadowing of the night, Ser Criston Cole had not been intimidated by anything at all, and he still wished to keep his commitment to her. His oath. She was grateful that not everything in her world had been swept from under her feet. Alicent rubbed the inside of her fists against her eyes. Something growing inside of her.

Frustration.

Alicent was used to anxiety, but frustration was a new emotion in her limited range. And it had been more and more frequent since her marriage to the King. Rhaenyra was the root of all her problems.

Why didn't Viserysjustname Aegon as heir and end it all? Why did Rhaenyra need to make it so hard? Why couldn't she do what she was toldto do for once? Alicent was tired. She was fed up with the spoiled princess.

Has she always been like this?

Alicent didn't remember, especially now with her memories of the two of them tarnished with Rhaenyra's betrayal.She swore to me,Alicent recalled gritting her teeth, eyes burning.She swore by her dead mother.Alicent suppressed a groan of disgust.Lying bitch.

The glorious opening party of the wedding festivities of Realm's Delight had ended earlier than expected, due to the events. Alicent chuckled humorlessly, incredulously. No less reason than the descent of a goddess. Not the Mother, not the Maiden.A f*cking deity from the tomb of Old Valyria.Someone so important that would bring her husband to his knees, though that wasn't difficult. Viserys wasn't the strong brother. She never thought of it maliciously, except to resent him when he was too soft on Rhaenyra. And even then, she apologized to the Seven for questioning her husband's judgment, after all, Rhaenyra had once been like a sister to her. But the truth was that Viserys was the weak brother. He was too manipulable, and even Alicent knew it. Andshewas the queen of being manipulated.

Even when it ended in wounds, thrashing against her ropes, in eventual chains.

But it wasn't Viserys's knee that alerted Alicent to the importance of the woman of fire who stood before the most prominent nobles in Westeros. It was the sudden pallor on Rogue Prince's face. The clear admiration, but also the fear in his gaze as he stepped in front of Rhaenyra to defend her. Hisfirstinstinct. Something coiled and wrapped with the force of the tide in a devastating storm in her stomach. Something dark, ugly, and visceral. The most horrendous shade of green imaginable. Nothing like the color she still wore. No one had ever done that for her. Alicent gritted her teeth.Targaryens and their damn queer customers,she cursed, knowing that this would be Aegon and Helaena's fate one day. Although different. Aegon and Helaena were close in age while Rogue and Rhaenyra were...

She shuddered.

Alicent had barely been able to touch the food after that or concentrate on any conversation. Her gaze fixed on those two. On that baby. Their looks, their gestures, their touches. The articulation of their lips as they spoke in that practically useless language that except for the two of them, and perhaps the Velaryon Clan, no one else in Westeros used. Common was the language.

It didn't help that Viserys was distant from her. As if Alicent was in Westeros and Viserys in Asshai. Her husband's full attention was on that divine baby. Alicent gritted her teeth. He didn't even seem to care about the foretold fate of his own children. The children for whom he sacrificed his first queen, for whom he destroyed the friendship between Alicent and Rhaenyra by deciding to marry her and not Laena Velaryon. In the body, Viserys was by her side, but as far away as if he were on the other side of the world. A longing look at the boy in his mother's arms.

And with a good equivalent dose for his daughter.

It was as if Silk Street had never happened.

It's twisted a knife in her heart to see this marriage take place. And had touched on things that Alicent would rather not touch, not explore further, especially when she looked at the blatant happiness of the last-minute newlyweds. The looks and smiles on their faces at each other were only overshadowed by the baby in Rhaenyra's lap. Alicent bled throughout the event.

She closed her eyes in pain.

Alicent struggled to swallow nothingness, though her throat seemed to have been clogged by the feelings pushing all together to the surface. She fought to keep them down. The situation was already out of control, what good was it to get out of control as well? The memory of emptiness when she returned to her room after the banquet permeated her bones like cold.

Her green dress, her magnificent green dress, whispered with her every step down the long stone corridors. Alicent gathered memories she wanted to hush up on her way to the Queen's chamber. That always happened, revisiting memories of happier times as she walked through this cursed place. The memories always brought a touch of nostalgic melancholy, but ever since she learned of Rhaenyra's actions, everything had been painted red. Bitterness drying up her heart.

The Fourteen Flames have no power over you, but they will make your future burn and your gods can do nothing.

Just like the first time, and just like the next few times when the divine words echoed in her ears, Alicent trembled. The meaning and future that awaited her on the not-too-distant horizon. The Valyrian gods couldn't touch her, the goddess said, her eyes of white fire burning brightly. But they could touch her future. Her children.

...four children you must have, and every one of them must perish.

A violent shiver sent weakness through her. Alicent clung to the furniture, trying to sit up so she wouldn't collapse. So much sacrifice,and for what?Alicent slumped in a richly ornamented chair at a dining table in her bedroom. The silvery moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing as far as its tentacles could reach. The breeze wistfully flicked the curtains of her porch, lazy and mocking. The outside world for the time being still undisturbed for tonight's events. The revelations. The implications.

A curse.

Alicent was not given to anger or grudges. She's always bottled up all her feelings her whole life. But tonight the cork had popped the bottle of her emotions. And she was foaming, the gods knew what. Her son had been called a fake, a mummer in front of all the most politically and financially notable people in Westeros. And her husband had done nothing, but stare dumbfounded at the apparition of fire.

...Mummer's Dragon. The Usurper King.

No, itwasn'tsupposed to be this way.

Alicent clutched her still flat stomach, but already full of Viserys' seed and that would soon begin to swell again. For thefourthtime. Just as divinity said. Four children.

And all of them were doomed to death. What... what should she do?

A lump lodged in her throat and her heart pounded. Flickering like a flame resisting a gust of wind. Alicent was lost and had no idea how to face such a big challenge. How to fight with a destiny, a future, a curse given by the lips of a goddess?

She had no idea, but maybe...

Alicent allowed herself a rare luxury in her life. She allowed herself to lose her mind for a moment. She allowed the tremors of fear and anxiety to overwhelm her body, to shake her soul. She felt lethargic as she let the feeling sink so readily within her. She let it get to the core, to the core of her being. Then she letit rot. Fear was an interesting motivator. A stimulant capable of breaking the bonds of even the bravest and most honorable of men. She allowed herself to feel the cold taste of fear on her tongue, her mouth dry with it. Alicent closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she thought she might have an answer.

Otto Hightower.

Her father was a cunning man who came out of nowhere. A second son elevated to the Hand of the King by King Jaehaerys I. Then he became the Hand of Viserys I. He had even gone so far as to place his daughter at the King's side as his Queen and possess three grandchildren of royal blood. Two of them with more claim to the throne, at least in a matter of popular opinion, than the then heir to the throne, the Realm's Delight.

Perhaps in the same way that the Fourteen Flames of Valyria couldn't touch Alicent, the Seven couldn't touch Rhaenyra and hers. But surely there was something that could cut both just as easily. Men. Otto Hightower was a man, and he was among the best players in the game. If there was anyone who could shed light on Alicent and her situation, how not to lose her children, it had to be her father.

He could have the answers, and even if he didn't, he could find them. Of that she was certain. All she needed was ink and paper, words in her cursive handwriting, and a raven on way to Oldtown. Her uncle, Lord Hightower, could certainly offer them some support as well. They were family after all. Together they were stronger, together they could devise a plan to save her children.

Peace settled in her heart. Alicent descended from the spiral slowly and felt very tired of her emotions. But her mind at least was clearer with a path to follow. An alternative. Her mind ran through the events of the night, albeit more calmly, and fixated on an important detail that brought relief to her being. It quickly became a consolation that the goddess announced a similar fate for Rhaenyra.

A child of six.

Maybe Alicent was a worse person than she ever imagined she would be, because knowing that brought her some relief. Whatever lay ahead, she wouldn't be the only one to suffer from her fate. Whatever came, Rhaenyra would also suffer from the fate that the gods, whoever they were, gave them. And if finding relief in that made her a bad person, Alicent didn't try to care at this point. All she wanted was to find a way to survive it all and keep her children with her.

Although their marriage had been a political trap for her husband, Alicent was honest and admitted that she felt affection for Viserys. Not enough for them to have a marriage in the fullest sense of the word, but enough so that they could live the rest of their lives together in peace and perhaps prosperity. He wasn't violent, didn't demand more than children from her, and was content to leave her to her own devices most of the time, except when he searched for her bed at night. And while her feelings knew limits for her husband, Alicent thought differently when it came to her children.

She loved them genuinely and fiercely. Alicent might not be a dragon, like the Targaryens, but she had spawned three of them, a fourth on the way. It had given her enough dragon blood to make her as brave as one. And Alicent would do anything to save her children.

Setting her mind to more immediate measures, she needed to see which lords, and nobles could still be saved to her side. It would be difficult after tonight's screening, but maybe not impossible. There were always those who loathed and resented the Dragonlords after the Conquest, despite their winged beasts. If the Targaryens were to gain more power through the events of tonight...

Who?Who would go against the dragons now?

Suddenly, an image came to mind.

The septon, by whom the marriage was performed.

Numb, she had noticed little. Given little attention to detail at that time. But now, sitting in her rooms with a cooler head and her heart back in place, instead of jumping around trying to escape the whole situation, Alicent could relive her memories with a clarity she didn't possess at the time they were formed. The septon of the lovebirds' wedding was not happy. Not at all. A person sitting from far away couldn't tell, but someone in the position where the Queen was, and the bride and groom too, could tell. Could see it.

Alicent analyzed the dryness in his voice as he performed the wedding begrudgingly with cold, irritated eyes on the baby in the mother's arms.

Agni's coming was a rebuttal to the Faith of the Seven, whose faces were never shown. The mockery that the Seven were powerless... She could tell he wasn't happy, and she did not doubt that it would reach the circles where the septons were instructed. They wouldn't be happy with their gods being weakened. And it was very likely that the power of the Seven in the Seven Kingdoms would fall due tonight. Wasn't it easier to believe in a god who descended among men, showed their face, and gave them tangible blessings than in gods without a face, without a visible physical presence or body, whose men depend on serendipity to call blessings and miracles?

Definitely, the Faith was not going to like this turn of events. Especially since they hadn't yet swallowed the spectacle of Maegor, the Cruel. Alicent has traversed the history of the Targaryens and their most notorious and daring enemies made since the Conquest. Who else could not like the developments of recent events? Alicent was racking her brain. She needed to find powerful allies to fight Rhaenyra and her divine baby.

Somehow, Alicent needed to prove that her son was even more special than this boy.

How, was the real question, wasn't it?

She got up from the table and went to a small table with a jug of wine. She poured the drink into a golden goblet and drank thoughtfully. Her mind spins in an incessant spiral of political strategy. And only in the background, as a motivator, the crackling fear and anxiety.

The hand rested protectively on her abdomen.

For now, Alicent should strive to abort any attempts by Rhaenyra to strengthen her position. An heir, especially one of the kind she acquired, would already give her a lot of power. But if she had more, if she was more fertile than the late Queen... She could quickly become more popular than Mother. The goddess herself. And no one couldn't tell that the blood in these children's veins was...

Divine.

Gods above.

The wind seemed to whisper.

Be careful what color you choose to wear, girl who plays at being queen.

This was the only verse that held Alicent in place, at the moment. Knowing the meaning of the green Hightower. But if she faltered in her resolve now, wouldn't that be the end of her family? Would she sit back and willfully be helpless, leaving her children to the chance of circ*mstance and Rhaenyra taking everything she wanted on the way?

Isn't that always the case?A voice that sounded like her own murmured in her consciousness. Didn't Rhaenyra always get what she wanted? Didn't she always do what she wanted? Hasn't she always gotten away with it? Rhaenyra mocked the kingdom, Viserys, Otto Hightower, and Alicent over and over again, rubbing in their faces her impudence and utter lack of sense towards her duty. She was awoman. Sheshouldhave been lined up for a wedding.She shouldhave married a Lord.She shouldhave to do her duty and bear children.She should...

Rhaenyrawas also supposedto share the same sortilege as the other women in the kingdom. But for some reason that Alicent doubted was divine favor, and more like a weak-willed father, she was free to do what she wanted, when she wanted, and as she pleased.

Wasn't that unfair?

Why did Alicent and even Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, have to suffer the misfortunes of women's fate while Rhaenyra only reaped the sweet, ripe fruits?Like a husband she really wanted. Daemon Targaryen's image burned behind Alicent's eyes in her memory. He was reckless, impulsive, violent, and brazen, a dragon of lust and blood.But...

Buthis charm was undeniable. And despite the way he referred to the late Lady Royce, Alicent would still have preferred him as a husband to his brother, the King. At least Daemon was whole, while Viserys...

Maybe Alicent should talk to the Velaryons. Arrange a wedding between Lady Laena and Aegon, though it doesn't make her happy. Her son was still just a child. Although to strengthen Aegon's claim, he was to marry Helaena. But they needed allies and the goddess had called Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was right in her face, in front of all the Lords. And Corlys Velaryon lived up to his nickname,the Sea Snake. He was sneaky and ambitious. Greedy. Wasn't that the reason why he was always fighting in the Small Council? Trying to promote his self-interest? So hadn't he tried to marry off his twelve namedays daughter to Viserys? Or marry his son to Rhaenyra?

Alicent wished that Rhaenyra and Laenor had been married. She would never have heirs and Viserys would be forced to choose Aegon.

She was neither blind nor stupid to the stolen glances and conversations between Laenor Velaryon and Joffrey Lonmounth. Laenor would never lie with her, and Rhaenyra would be forced to have bastards or remain without heirs. Which was impractical if she wanted to be taken seriously as a pretender to the Iron Throne. That would make Alicent's life easier. The bastards. She would only have to prove that they were not Laenor’s, and it would be easy with a word from an out-of-it-all lover.

Everything now had to be different, all her plans reevaluated, and she would probably have to bring Viserys back to her side. Alicent just hoped she wouldn't have to stoop to sordid tricks to do so, like offering her body to him in exchange for political support for their son. She shouldn't even have to do that to begin with. Aegon was their son, f*ck!

She tapped her goblet on the table, her knuckles white. Sighing heavily, and feeling a headache setting in, she called a servant, and the maid took her out of her dress. Alicent prepared for the night. There was no point in thinking too hot-headed. Tomorrow, when she woke up rested and with a clear mind, she would reflect on the events of this evening.

And she would write that letter to her father.

Chapter 4: A Warn to Notice

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

The creaking of the hinges of the door of her apartments in the Red Keep alerted the room's only other occupant to her arrival. Rhaenys had just finished checking on her children, after the events and twists of the night. Never, in any of her years of life or yet to live, would she have seen this outcome coming in the direction of both the Targaryens and the Velaryons. But in the end, Rhaenys surmised to herself that the will of men was always of little importance in the grand scheme of things, and the will of the gods always had the final word.

This has never been truer than today.

She might laugh if there wasn't so much to consider. Both to lose and to gain. And Rhaenys knew that the game had just taken such an unsettling turn that it would keep players on their toes for a while. She and her family mostly. She might not be as devout as some other ladies might be when it came to the Seven, but Rhaenys knew how to recognize a divine sign, an answer to a prayer when she saw one.

And it had not Agni's apparition that had alerted her to this, but her words. Rhaenys carefully captured every word given, the meaning of each set of sentences, and their recipients.

A prediction. A curse. A warning. And a blessing.

A beginning, a middle, and an end.

Lines of blood stitching it all together.

Her mind was running wild over every possibility she could think of. She knew Corlys was doing the same, albeit with a more limited vision. Seeing things through a funnel, rather than a multifaceted crystal through which light would pass and refract into possibilities. And it was her duty, not only as a wife but as a member of her House by marriage, to help him visualize his best bets.

It would be a long conversation with many truths and choices that were hard to swallow for a man like him.

Starting with the non-contesting of the marriage between the Princess and the Rogue Prince. Corlys would probably poke at this can of worms until he got tired because her husband wanted to be blind. Rhaenys knew, as a mother,she knew, that Laenor wasn't the least bit disappointed that he didn't have to marry the princess.

Rhaenys, andespeciallyLaenor, knew that one day he would have to fulfill his duty to House Velaryon. He was to marry and provide an heir for Driftmark, for High Tide, to continue the lineage. But mother and son knew that the marriage he entered, whatever it was, would be empty. Whether it was children, passion, or desire. Any coming child would not have Velaryon blood,and the gods knew whose blood it was.However, Laenor not being able to love the princess or even be attracted to her didn't mean that his pride couldn't be hurt. At the end of the day, he was a man. He had blood in his veins, and half of it was dragon blood. Targaryen blood. And Rhaenys knew, Targaryen blood always ran hotter.

Fortunately, her son was nothing but unfazed by tonight's events in every way possible. Part of him dazzled and the other part simply delighted at the prospect of postponing his marriage prospect.

Laena, surprisingly, was the one telling a different story.

Rhaenys had seen her daughter dance with the Rogue Prince and appear to flirt as well. All this she considered innocent. She knew that Daemon had a habit of flirting with just about anything alive as long as it didn't have Hightower blood. And there was his terrible character flaw in seemingly not being able to take anything seriously except his desire for the Iron Throne, which even Rhaenys had to admit, always seemed tenuous. If Daemon wanted the throne so badly, why didn't he fight harder for it? Why spend most of his time on a continent other than the one he intended to rule? Why ruin himself in every position ever handed over by his brother in the Small Council, instead of showing his ability? Why irritate the King more often than there were fingers in the Seven Kingdoms to count and risk exile and desertion? Why not make the least effort to conceive with Lady Royce and solidify his claim with an heir of his own? Hell, why not get rid of Rhaenyra, her real opponent?

Rhaenys knew her cousin, knew he had no qualms when he wanted something. Daemon could have made his life as heir a lot easier if he wanted to. He wasn't stupid. Her cousin was many things, but stupid was never one of them.

The answer was simpler than anyone thought.

And more obvious than the sun shining in the sky.

So she hadn't taken the flirtation between him and her daughter seriously. She knew her cousin, but also her daughter and although Laena might be a free-spirited and adventurous girl, she had more sense than was expected for young people her age. She had some wisdom in her, instilled in the lack of a dragon. So Rhaenys hoped that on both sides, the flirtation would lead nowhere. Most likely, her mistake was not counting on Daemon's roguish charm. He exhaled effortlessly. And her daughter had been ensnared by him like a duckling.

It was his indolent arrogance that made such a strong impression, her daughter said in shaken confidence. For a moment during the feast, Laena had cherished the hope that the spark between them might lead him to court her. Daemon could seduce women with a single look, for which he was famous, and that seemed to have been the case with Laena.

Not even, Rhaenys knew, the Queen was immune.

Although at the time, the girl was nothing more than the daughter of a second child. Even more so a Hightower. And Daemon would never look at her with intent, let alone truthful meaning. His eyes were never far from the true object of his affection and desire, not even in that tourney when he asked for the favor of the then Lady Alicent Hightower. So it did not even surprise Rhaenys that his first reaction to the appearance of the goddess was to protect the princess, or that he even had a say against their sudden marriage. They reeked of desire and longing from the moment he walked into the hall. And the two of them had laid eyes on each other. If everyone hadn't been busy looking at Viserys's stony face with rage, they would have noticed it. And the hall would have been silent for a very different reason.

But Laena had not yet learned her place in the world as a woman. That there was strength even in being underestimated and silenced. Because the less a woman spoke, the more she was able to listen. And that's what Rhaenys did a lot of in her life. Observe. She let her husband speak for both of them as much as he wanted, while in silence she learned everything she needed to know to become wiser and stronger. Laena was still young, fifteen namedays. Scarcely had blossomed into this world. She had no idea about anything. That's why she ignored the tension between uncle and niece. That is why when her mother came to her and Laenor to see how the two of them were doing, her daughter had desolately pointed out the circ*mstances of her flight. Daemon was single, handsome, and a prince. Why should she think not?

Rhaenyra was because not.

Daemon could have charmed her daughter and made her feel in love, but Laena wasn't, and soon that charm would pass. Rhaenys knew it was mostly lust and curiosity. A little bit of that gravitational pull that every human being has had at least once in their life for danger. That couldn't help but attract, even when was supposed to run.

Rhaenys had then made a promise to find a good match for Laena, even though they both knew that no one would be as good as a prince. And no one would be the Rogue Prince. An inevitable evil, she supposed.

They'd have to try anyway.

After checking on her children, she made her way back to the rooms she shared with her husband, finding him in a restless, meditative state. Rhaenys was almost his opposite. Meditative, but quiet. The pieces fell into place in her mind. She entered the room, watching her husband pace back and forth. His hands crossed behind his back. A march between the balcony and the fireplace, a frown on his face, a scowl of disgust at the corner of his mouth, and a generous sip of wine after each full turn. She had rarely seen him as restless as she did today.

Rhaenys got in her way, crossing the room and interrupting her husband's march to prop herself up on the fireplace frame. Her shoulder was against the ornate, carved red stone. The fire crackled beside her happily, almost as bright as the deity seen tonight. Sparks sparkled here and there, and the wood cracked. She stared into the fire as she crossed her arms thoughtfully. As deeply lost in thought as her husband. If not more. The memories of the night going back and forth over and over again behind her eyes in a spiral of hurried, calculated thinking. Meticulous attention to every detail. Her mind trying to wrap itself around all of this to encompass an overall picture of the picture as a whole. Because she needed the full picture or risked making bad decisions with just a part of it.

Rhaenys thought until the thread broke.

"Why?"

Or until her husband's deep voice broke that thread for her.

Rhaenys looked up at him absently. "Mm?"

"Why did you allow them to marry?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Rhaenys let go of her thoughts for a moment, a piercing look at her husband. Just looking to make sure he didn't understand, or it was another one of his blinding moments. The last of the cases.

Curiosity to know where Corlys's mind had gone awoke.

"I thought so." He said, shaking his head as if to chase away some thoughts that boggled his mind. Corlys made a shift to the wine table. He took the goblet, taking a long sip. The sound of the glass hitting the top filled the silence between husband and wife.

Rhaenys' violet eyes tracked his every move. How he looked up and searched for hers. A fierce and determined fire in her gaze that she knew all too well and would be very difficult to mitigate. But not too much to dodge, with the right words.Click, click, click.The pieces were all starting to fall into place.

Her husband approached her, stopping in his tracks at a distance of about two feet. A serious look. Angry. "I thought it was. But the more I think about it, the more I believe it was mere stupidity."

Rhaenys lifted her chin.

"Why?"

Her husband snorted with a shake of his head. As if to say,'Where do I start?'.

"You were there, you saw what I saw." He began, his voice high. Charged with yearning and wish and frustration. "What happened today has brought power to House Targaryen. If they weren't already the most powerful people in Westeros, as the monarchs of a legacy built on Fire and Blood, the last family of Dragonlords in Valyria, then it would surely have pushed them to the same fate as Aegon and his sister-wives. And after today they would be exactly where they are. On the Iron Throne." Rhaenys could see how much her husband wanted to throw his hands up in exasperation, but only the tag carved into his bones at a young age kept him from being even more...expressive. "Now they have more power than before. And Viserys, the weak political fool that he is, has no idea what to make of it. But both the girl and his brother are an entirely different story. Both are more cunning than they let on. Here's how she used tonight's events to easily circumvent her marriage to Laenor and strengthen her claim by catching a notorious thoroughbred Targaryen husband. Crowned not so long ago a King in his own right. She's a crude politician, but with our guidance she could-"

"Our," Rhaenys interrupted, softly. But a touch of steel under the velvet. Her chin lifted in the air in a subtle challenge to her husband's truth. They were a team, there was no need for them to lie to each other. She arched an eyebrow, "oryours?"

This silenced him for a moment, during which he debated with himself whether he should be frankly honest with his wife or not. As if fighting an instinct that told him to exclude her. Rhaenys surmised that if everything were left in the hands of men, the kingdom would have been in ashes for a long time. Thank the gods for women like her who operated in the shadows and tugged at the strings of their husbands' common sense from time to time. She stared back at the fire as she left Corlys to thrash around until he was ready.

Her memory led her back to Aemma.

She was a cousin, and they didn't see each other often, but Rhaenys had affection for her that had been cultivated more deeply in the ten years that Aemma and her husband dwelt in the stronghold as Viserys became the heir of Jaehaerys. When Viserys was crowned over Rhaenys. Not that she had a deep grudge about it, it was more like Corlys. He hadn't understood that the world wasn't yet ready for a woman's reign, but the day was coming and Rhaenys would be there to see it. Aemma always had a fire of her own, very particular, and one that wasn't seen very often, but it was there. Now Rhaenys knew better what it was all about. A divine flame burned within her sweet and gentle cousin. Rhaenys had always thought that poor Aemma didn't deserve the death she had, but now that everyone knew better about the late Queen, it seemed even more terrible.

Viserys's prediction seemed even more justified.

Corlys finally resolved his feelings.

"It doesn't matter." He said with a grimace. Not entirely satisfied. At least not his need to be theonewho provided the benefits for their House. But he was not too stupid or arrogant a man not to know the benefits of consulting his wife, including her in his business. "If they had married, she would have the surname Velaryon. And their children would have too-"

"Except,"she reminded him, sharply, with a pin and a bridle in her husband's reverie, "for the firstborn."

A Velaryon in the royal line, perhaps on the throne yes, but not in the name and maybe not in blood.

Corlys let out a breath, an exasperated frown shaping his expression. He both loved and hated his wife's brutal wits. And he especially hated it when she clipped the wings of his ambitions. "Yes,exceptfor the firstborn. But look at the truth of what I say.Muña Zaldrīzotirecognized Rhaenyra as her daughter and gave her a divine son. Laenor would be her husband, her consort. Boy's father-"

"Oh, Corlys!" Rhaenys snorted as she walked away toward the wine decanter, exasperated by her husband's unrealistic flight. She knew that his ambition could blind him at times, but she didn't imagine that this time it could be so much.

It was a little frustrating.

Where was her Sea Snake?

Corlys followed her on her heels as she searched for a glass to drown out the long conversation and all the shadows in his mind that she would have to illuminate. The hard work of getting someone to see through another's perspective. It wasn't that hard for Rhaenys, but it certainly could be for her sometimes hard-headed husband.Muña Zaldrīzotito help her. Rhaenys took a generous sip, enjoying the taste of an Arbor Gold, before dignifying her husband with the light of true understanding of the situation. She looked at him resolutely. "Your ambition blinds you, husband. Don't remember a single wordMuñaZaldrīzotisaid?Patience will be rewarded, greed despised. What do you think it means?"

Corlys was extremely quiet, staring at nothing in particular. This had been one of his weaknesses. Reading between the lines. The subliminal messages. Give him politics and a goal and her husband might be remarkable but give him poetry and he would be a disgrace. Prophecies and poetry were two very similar things, for which if one did not have good eyes, good ears, and a sharp brain it was just a pure waste of time. And a sure condemnation. Rhaenys wasn't condemned, she was taught as every girl was to appreciate the art of poetry. Often full of secrets. Sometimes the most interesting is if the reader has some talent.

Her husband was a man of rational and sharp logic. Not interpretive and imaginative. There wasn't an ounce of surreal imagination in his mind, except when he dreamed of the Iron Throne. He didn't come from a lineage of Dreamers. But Rhaenys came. And she had a good head for both logic and imagination. And that was why she saw further, both the truth and the benefit of Agni's warning.

She faced her husband until his shoulders slumped.

"Tell me what you think then." He relented.

Rhaenys took another sip of wine, walking away from the table with Corlys still hot on her heels. She grabbed a comfy chair next to the fire and crossed her legs. Her right elbow rested on the arm of the chair, the goblet in her hands and a sly look in her eyes. Settled, she turned to her husband with thoughtful seriousness covering every inch of her expression. He stepped back wisely, aware that his wife now came with something for which it would probably take to be open-minded, and he hated to admit it, but it was often difficult being so stubborn. Especially since she was usually right. He held back a sigh and contented himself with folding his hands behind his back and approaching attentively to listen.

"Let's say we insisted on the marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor." She began. "Then what, Corlys?" Rhaenys furrowed a wry brow at him. "The most notable people in Westeros were at this wedding and although they don't follow the ancient Valyrian religion and maybe won't even start after tonight, they would be foolish to just ignore what happened. The implications."

Her husband's eyebrows rose. "Muña Zaldrīzotichose the two to be one. What mortal has the right to infer in the choice of the gods without incurring their wrath? She may have given them a baby, but she also inadvertently told them to get married. Before revealing herself as Agni, she was Aemma, and my cousin was no stranger to the good manners of the Westerosi people. Decency and decorum would require a marriage. Probably because the Goddess Agni chose the two of them as the boy's parents, marriage to Laenor would be frowned upon. Even illegitimate. And we would be the ones who defy the divine will." She raised her hand when he opened his mouth to refute. "Look at the Hightower girl: she married the widower of the goddess and ended up with a curse that will take away all her children. There is no worse punishment for a mother."

Rhaenys would admit to feeling some pity for the Queen. No mother would want to hear from a deity that her children would die for their choices in life. It was a bleak future that awaited the Hightower girl. Still, she chose it.

Be careful what color you choose to wear, girl who plays at being queen.

She looked at her husband. Her voice was softer.

"Targaryens don't answer to gods and men, they say. Now we know why. There is divine blood in them." She waved in the general direction where descendants of gods lived beyond the walls of these rooms. "It doesn't matter that I have Targaryen blood, it's diluted and our children's even more so. You and our children are Velaryon by blood and I by marriage. We have wealth and power, it's true, but a name and a reputation isn't everything if no one knows us beyond a name and the history books. And if after Viserys passed over Laena, Laenor was publicly passed over by Agni, we clung to the ashes of your plan, everything House Velaryon is known for would disappear. We'd be seen as pathetic, clinging to everything we can for the throne. Is that what you want, the throne at the cost of our House?"

What she wanted to say without offending her husband was‘Are you Otto Hightower?’

Corlys looked away at the fire. An intense expression on his face. He was injured. But Rhaenys never promised that this conversation would end well to his pride. He wasn't wrong to think that Laenor could achieve glory after tonight by marrying Rhaenyra, his interpretations were what was wrong and would have cost them a lot. Big dreams also came at great costs. And while Corlys was aiming big, he was losing sight of all the reasons why it could all go wrong. The higher the flight, the greater the drop, after all. Rhaenys calmly took another sip, pitying her husband. Sometimes the burden of truth was too hard to carry. But it should be up to someone, which is why she decided to push it further. "Would you like to go fromthe Sea Snaketothe Despair of the Sea?"

Her husband shuddered.

"No." He bit softly but bitterly.

"Good." Rhaenys nodded, complacent about his feelings. "Laenor would have been easily forgotten in the pages of the history that begins to be written tonight. It matters little that he would love the boy as his own, whether he would be a good father or whether he was a good man. He would be ausurper. Usurping another's betrothed bride, another's son, another's fate. It would matter even less that he got to the princess first than the Rogue Prince if the whole kingdom already knew the truth of Gifted Grace's paternity. And from a usurper, one appointed by the goddess is enough."

Her husband's jaw rolled stubbornly.

"They could have children of their own." Corlys retorted annoyed. "They could-"

"Stop fooling yourself, husband!" She gritted her teeth, annoyed by his habit of insisting even when he knew was wrong. "I've already told you. There is no future in Laenor. We can only count on Laena."

It stopped any words in his mouth. Corlys frowned in confusion. He was a good husband and a good father, but he was still a man. And in this world, it was practically in their nature to underestimate a woman's potential. He was not immune. Even after so many years of marriage, Rhaenys' mind was still able to surprise him. Like now.

Like throughout this conversation.

"Laena?"He gasped in surprise.

"Yes." Rhaenys looked into the fire. Her mind ran through the memory of a warning. "A Queen Who Never Was, a Princess Who Never Will Be, and the Queen Who Will Be." She reminded him. "We know who a Queen Who Never Was is. It seems obvious to me who the Princess Who Never Will Be is." Her eyes narrowed. "Then who can be The Queen Who Will Be?"

It was subtle, but there was a light of understanding in his eyes. He was very quiet, digesting the new turn of events in their schemes. Rhaenys knew she needed to push him further into that light, for it was only the beginning. "Laenor would never have done his duty as a husband." She gave him a look that said,'Don't make a fool of yourself'."ButLaenacan do her duty as a wife. Remember,if one daughter is happily married, another can be too. My fate as queen and Laena's as princess was stolen in the Great Council. But the future has not yet been set in stone.Patience is rewarded, greed is despised."She quoted once more, sipping wine. "I believe the line about greed applies to you."

A sardonic touch in the corner of her mouth.

Corlys nodded begrudgingly as he swerved to retrieve a glass of wine. He was going to need it. It would help his political and interpretive ineptitude to go down his throat more easily. The light of blinding truth still bothered him, though.

"But how do we make sure it won't fail again, Rhaenys?" He asked frowning. "It will be our third attempt. Once is tolerable, twice is an offense, the third is an insult."

The Queen Who Never Was face softened, and she held out her hand to her husband. Corlys sighed, moving closer to her, and bent down next to her chair. Her hand met his face. She smiled gently.

"The answer to your concern has already been answered, husband.Muña Zaldrīzotiherself is the one who answers." Rhaenys clarified softly. However, a wrinkle of confusion appeared between his bushy eyebrows. "I believe she gave us the mission to provide the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. If this were not so, then why would she say thatif one daughter is happily married, another can be too?Why would she list the failure of two generations and the success of one for me? The Queen Should Be. Why else would she ask us for patience, husband?" Agni's warning contained blessings and curses depending on the fate they chose. All the misfortune and defenestration of a family could be avoided with simple interpretation of words. And Rhaenys made sure to remind her husband of that."Choose to listen to me andflourish,choose to ignore meandrot."

There was a long pause, where they both lost themselves in their minds, reaching the implications of the fate they chose to choose. But it already seemed so obvious which way to go. She reviewed this in her mind many times in a given matter of time. Rhaenys didn't want to be wrong, no one ever did, especially when the cost was high. But she knew in her heart that wrong wasn't something she was in. Only certainty and not a twinge of doubt remained.

Corlys was the one who broke the silence first.

"What do we do, then?"

Suddenly, a giggle burst out of her, much to her husband's confusion. Rhaenys drank the rest of the goblet as he stood up and took the glass from between her fingers. He went to the decanter again, filling both his and hers once more. When he returned, handing her the goblet and grabbing the chair in front of her, Rhaenys gave him a wry look.

"Are you asking me?"

His face darkened at her blatant taunt to get him to admit defeat for today. Rhaenys didn't care. Sometimes it was necessary to teach others, and powerful men, humility. Otherwise, where would everyone end up?

She waited patiently.

"Yes." He pleased her.

Rhaenys smiled conspirative at her husband.

"Very well." She said, humming contentedly. "Our children still need to get married,Laenorstill needs to get married." She reminded him. "I believe the best alternative for him is to marry a daughter of a lesser lord, and certainly has plenty of daughters."

Her husband made a strangled noise of outrage.

"What did you say?" Skepticism in his voice.

Or unbelief.

"You heard me. Laenor needs a non-detachable wife. They'll never have children from him." She reminded him. "His wife needs to be small and forgettable, yet well-educated. Then the lack of children will not be a problem. Or if they still want to try, and Laenor finds he needs another man in bed with them to make him more apt to spill the seed inside her..." Rhaenys hummed, distracted and oblivious to her husband's horror. They had never spokenopenlyabout Laenor's preferences. And though Corlys knew, he just preferred to pretend he didn't, it was still shocking to hear so brazenly. "Well, her head won't be in the clouds thinking of it as an insult."

Corlys blinked.

"He could do the same to Rhaenyra."

Rhaenys looked at him skeptically.

"I believe the princess could be as unscrupulous as her uncle if she had to, it's true." Rhaenys declared. "But I can't imagine her enduring being in bed with two men who don't want her. Not after experiencing the look of the Rogue Prince. Can you imagine that?"

Truth be told,no. The princess was a dragon in every sense of the word. And dragons have never been content with trifles. In addition, when she grew tired of the fruitless attempts with Laenor, she would be left without heirs, which would threaten her position as heir to the Iron Throne. Which would give her two options, neither of which was ideal. Not even good. Rhaenyra would be forced to make her brother her heir in this scenario, or she would be forced to find someone who would not only fill the void in her soul with the absence of love but who would give her children who would be illegitimate. Something that could haunt her if Valyrian blood didn't prevail and show its colors. It couldchasethem. So House Targaryen and House Velaryon would be in a precarious situation, exposed for the jugular for anyone to attack.

It would be very easy to contest both the claim to the throne and Driftmark, and while Rhaenys didn't care about the birth of the children or who their father would be, she did care about the future of her house and family. She could never consciously consent to such a trap.

"To Laenor is a girl from a smaller house." Corlys recapped, annoyed, but probably coming to the same conclusion as she did.

The inevitability of a civil war for power.

"Yes." Rhaenys agreed. The main blow is on the tip of the tongue. "And Laena for Daemion."

Corlys blinked, stunned. "My nephew? Why?"

"Tell me what happens, husband, if Laenor never has children or his wife's children are all bastards?" Rhaenys scolded. "Vaemond would surely want his place as Lord of Driftmark, Lord of High Tide, and Head of House at your death, Corlys. Don't pretend you don't." She admonished him in the opening of his mouth to object. "Laena is the future, the salvation of our house and family, husband. If we marry her to Daemion, the name of the main branch of the family remains the same and the blood remains pure. You can always make their children your heir, in the absence of children or trueborn children of Laenor. And her daughter may be the Queen of the Gifted, coming to him still under the name Velaryon. In this case, it satisfies Vaemond in more ways than one. It makes him our ally in more ways than one. A grandson heir to High Tide and a granddaughter Queen of the Seven Kingdoms nullify, in the event of your death, a contestation of their inheritance and the beginning of a family civil war."

Here's one of the reasons I chose this woman, Corlys thought to himself. She could keep up with him in politics sometimes better than he could keep up with politics. Slowly, he nodded to the plan that tied up more loose ends than he had noticed existed.

"Very well," he said. "You start preparing Laena for the idea, and I'll take my brother for a walk tomorrow and make him a proposal." He said, sipping a big sip of wine as if he'd been the only one to clear things up around here. It amused her, and Rhaenys crossed her legs to the other side, watching her husband. The thoughtful expression on his face. "What do you think of everything else?" He asked after a moment, sounding distracted. "Alicent's curse and the Princess's blessing?"

Rhaenys hummed, pensative.

"I think the noose is closing in on Alicent. She must surely be desperate now that she has been isolated on the Court. She was cursed by a goddess, no less."

"Do you think she's going to fight?"

"As a mother, yes." Rhaenys sniffled, not envying Alicent's position. But the girl sought it for herself when she got into Viserys' bed, perhaps no more than six months after Aemma's death. Such a shame. Besides, she probably felt like she had no other option. If only she had enough sense to negotiate peace with Rhaenyra. An olive branch. Like a marriage between any of her children and Rhaenyra's future children, because Aegon would be out of the question. Not only because Rhaenys didn't think that both Rhaenyra and Daemon would ever deliver their precious child into the hands of Alicent's daughter, but especially because Rhaenys and Rhaenyra had already quietly sealed the deal. And something told her that the princess had heededMuña Zaldrīzoti'swarning as to the Queen Who Should Be. "If I have to bet, at this point, she's making a very short list of allies. No one worth their salt will want to ally themselves with her, with the favor and power of House Targaryen. Divine blood runs through their veins. For all I know, there will be a high demand from girls in the coming years to pledge Gifted Grace. And we are the ones at the top of the list."

Corlys smiled. "A divine baby, who knew! He's hours old and he's already the most powerful person in Westeros."

Rhaenys nods to herself.

"Imagine what his blood will do." She whispered. "The power that runs through his veins. The gifts he will have. That is why marrying him to any of Laena's daughters is also so imperative. More than Rhaenyra and Laenor. He would never have a child of hers, his blood would never possess the power that would run through the boy's veins. But if Laena has a daughter..."

"Oh, yes." Corlys agreed, more than pleased with his wife's ingenious plans. "We're going to have to keep an eye on the Hightower girl. And seal that alliance with Rhaenyra."

Rhaenys shook her head.

"Let's give Rhaenyra time to see how she handles today's events. How is she going to prepare for what is a war coming, regardless of when." It was her suggestion. "So let's seal the alliance Targaryen-style: with Fire and Blood."

Corlys's fingers ran over his lips, appreciating his wife.

Chapter 5: A Bless

Chapter Text

Her old bachelorette room was a mess of people and last-minute preparations. Rhaenyra got the impression she was getting ready for the wedding for the second time. There were more servants than there were things to be done and she could imagine why. But she didn't say a word...

Curious.

With the wedding done, albeit with a different fiancé, and whom she liked better, although she still felt a little angry with him; all that was left was the bedding which looked... frankly, useless considering they already had a child now. However, not even Rhaenyra would dispense with the ritual. It would happen eventually, closed doors between husband and wife. And she would take from her husband what he had denied her once the Gods knew why. After all, that's what he once said, wasn't it? A dragon didn't ask permission, just took what wanted and made it.

The servants looked like a swarm of bees. In and out bringing wine and fruit for the night, more blankets. They stoked the fire and gathered what they felt they needed to gather. Annora looked frustrated that there were three other maids to help remove her lady's dress when she needed no more than herself and another girl, Lyeta, to put the princess in it first. And anyway, it shouldn't be either of them's job to help the princess out of her wedding attire. It must have been the work of the nobles or even her lord husband if the couple didn't want the bedding ceremony. But that entire night had practically blown up. It seemed lucky that at least the wedding itself had gone as originally planned.

Her eyes were fixed whenever possible on the figure snuggled with that arrogant, indolent air of his in a comfortable, ornate armchair. Daemon seemed completely oblivious to the chaos going on in her room, or even oblivious to the overcrowding. The only thing he looked at was the bundle curled in the crook of his elbow, still soundlessly asleep since Rhaenyra had tucked it in there — just after they'd entered their rooms and Annora had emerged with a battalion to ask if they needed anything. Words for her lady, eyes for the young prince. Her new husband's expression was intense as he rocked the baby with a care as delicate as wrapping glass. His lips moved softly, whispering to his son in their language, the language of their family.

In the last few hours, they had both discovered that they were incapable of leaving their son alone. Not just because Rhaenyra's room hadn't been prepared for a baby yet. It was too early. But also because none of the new parents wanted to let their child out of sight. A fierce love born in a matter of hours that brought with it a fierce, possessive protection. Like dragons and their treasures. They didn't want to release the child. Though, she thought, it would be easier to let him go if he went into his father's arms. Because while Rhaenyra had discovered an obsessive passion for holding her son, she'd also discovered that she could give it up if she was going to be rewarded with the sight of Daemon holding their boy. It was worth losing the weight and warmth of him on her lap if were going to see the spectacle of Daemon with a baby.

Strangely, it looked good on him.

And Rhaenyra never imagined there would be a baby in the crook of his arm one day. Much less her. But it was a welcome sight and one for which she would destroy anything and everything to see it realized time and time again.

As befits him, Daemon sat slouched. As much or more than he'd sat through her entire wedding feast until he'd assumed the posture of a prince when he saw himself as her fiancé. Rhaenyra smiled to herself. His long legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed; looking as relaxed as if he didn't have a care in the world, as he always did. Except, they both knew now, from the tiny thing in his arms. Being rocked gently by a man with a bloody and violent reputation. He cooed gently to their son. The only other person in the world currently he would act like that for. He would look like that. Of a softness that would generally be considered blasphemous if related to him and his restless spirit. A softness, stillness, and peace he'd only felt around her, though Rhaenyra didn't know it yet. And now, there was another one to give him the same feeling.

Strands of his short hair fell over his eyes as he bent over the sleeping face of their divine gift.

And, Rhaenyra had noted with curiosity and a touch of protective anxiety, every servant who had at least a decent excuse to come to the room to help them with some trifle or another to see the Prince of Dragons as well. The Gifted Prince, as they called him. Some of them whispered in awe as they passed behind Daemon's back the titles that Muñnykeā Zaldrizoti had bestowed on the boy. The Blessed, the Favored, the Gifted. Or the Gifted Prince. And even though she was nervous with so many people around her baby, undulating trying to look at him; that gave her a light. A new perspective and understanding about a lot. And once they were alone with each other, she planned to share her thoughts with Daemon.

For now, Rhaenyra was content to sit with Annora brushing her hair after undoing her braids, and watching Daemon dissociate from the chaos around him. The swarm of servants making the hardest way to the exit just to look at the little prince.

Rhaenyra counted eighty-nine strokes of the brush through her hair before the peace could be disturbed by a high-pitched, rather angry-looking growl. The brush in her servant's hand stopped midway through the ninetieth stroke. Rhaenyra felt her heart race and looked at it. Her husband sat up straight in an instant, his indigo eyes quickly meeting hers. His shoulders tense. He then looked at the crying baby, rocking him to coax his son to calm down. Speaking to him in Valyrian. Rhaenyra didn't have a second thought before escaping Annora's brush and meeting her husband halfway to each other.

She hovered over Aegon crying-not knowing exactly what to do, but knowing she had to do something. She felt an unpleasant tingle, but ignored it in favor of looking at Daemon. A question in the eye.

"I think he's hungry." That's what he replied.

If she had felt lost before, she was much more so with his answer. Rhaenyra stopped dead.

They didn't have a wet nurse for Aegon. There was no need for the princess to have a wet nurse on standby. Nor was she a baby anymore, nor did she have one until that night. What a situation. The only other wet nurse in the castle was Aemond's nurse. Rhaenyra felt ashamed of herself as she realized that she would rather walk through fire than let her son have the same nursemaid as her half-siblings. Alicent's children. It wasn't a problem with the children themselves, but with their mother and her intentions — whatever was on her mind. Rhaenyra didn't have a good feeling. And she knew that after nursing three of her children, the woman needed to be at least loyal to Alicent. Especially coming all the way from Oldtown. Rhaenyra was reluctant to place her child in this woman's bosom.

But what was the alternative? Let her child go hungry because she didn't trust her good mother and her wet nurse? Was she that resentful?

She struggled with her feelings as Aegon struggled with hunger. Her grumbles turned into pained screams as her need went unmet. She felt guilt and her eyes threatened to sting. Her son cried, his face turning red and his fists clenched as if he was in pain.

Gods.

She needed to do something.

Then Rhaenyra picked him up-and felt really nasty twinges, no longer a tingle. It was a little painful. How, with all these servants here offering to be of service, had she never thought to ask one of them to get a wet nurse? He might have the blood of gods in his veins and a certainly divine birth, but he was a child. A baby of hours to live. He was made of flesh and blood like any human being and clearly needed nourishment. The feeling overwhelmed her and Rhaenyra bent over the bundle in anguish. Daemon was immediately placing his warm, big comforting hand on her back. His lips pressed together in a thin line of tension.

"Are you okay?" e demanded, his voice worried and the slightest hint of anxiety. His heart pounded seeing the two people who made up his world soaked in anguish.

She straightened up, trying to calm him down. Breathing deeply and slowly. A physical relief from the pain in her chest.

"Fine, fine."

"Rhaenyra, what..."

But his question was never completed. Daemon's eyes dropped down. Fixing on her breasts. Rhaenyra felt dragonfire lick her veins and a flush of irritation color her cheeks. She was about to scold him for being such a rakish bastard at a time like this, when they were dealing with a newborn and no wet nurse to feed the baby when she stopped, panting. Her gaze having fallen to her chest in reflex when Daemon looked. To her surprise, her nipples stretched the fabric of her nightgown and twin wet circles stuck the fabric against the swollen peaks.

Rhaenyra blinked in shock. But... how?

One last gift, from one mother to another.

The words seemed to have been whispered on the wind, as warm and gentle as when they were spoken. Had her mother's voice. That last stolen moment with the Goddess Agni... So that was what her mother was referring to. That's what her words meant. Rhaenyra felt entranced, but also relieved. Aegon would not use Aemond's wet nurse. She walked away from her husband, a kind of tranquility descending over her now that she knew what she needed to do and knowing she could do it. Screw the masters. Rhaenyra sat up in bed, next to the pillows. Then, not caring who was in the room or who was watching, she tugged at the laces of her nightgown and exposed one breast.

It was bigger than when she'd dressed for the wedding, and her nipple looked bigger too. No longer small, innocuous and daring. She swallowed any vanity or embarrassment at the change in her body. Rhaenyra just felt that she should be grateful for being able to feed her son instead of worrying about frugal things. Her baby's anguish blinding her to any and all vanity, any and all decorum. She unwrapped Aegon until he was comfortable and relatively free, then positioned him as she thought best. Suddenly, Annora was beside her, adjusting Aegon. Rhaenyra looked up to find her maid giving her a fleeting glance.

"Like that, Your Highness." She instructed. "This is how my mother accommodates my brothers and sisters."

Rhaenyra swallowed the thick lump in her throat and nodded. "Thanks."

Her voice had a faint quality to how overwhelmed she felt by the gesture and her gaze moved to the mumbling baby still trying to guide him to her heavy breast. It was as if the room was holding its breath. His tiny mouth grazed her nipple, his face turning in the right direction and then he captured it in his mouth. Her cheeks working on the suction.

It hurt for a moment as her son sucked the milk and she grunted, looking up at the ceiling. Rhaenyra felt a little weak at the sensation. It was the first time she had felt it and she had never expected to breastfeed in her life. Truth be told, she hardly expected to have children. It was a duty and Rhaenyra had never thought of it as a pleasure. How wrong she was. Rhaenyra ran her fingertips through his thin, but so soft hair. A silver-blonde halo with spikes at the ends, the beginnings of graceful curls. He was adorable and looked at her with big indigo eyes. If she hadn't already been surrendered from the first instant, that would have done the trick. Rhaenyra crossed one leg over the other and stared at the avidity with which he suckled. Poor little thing, she thought fingering his cheeks working. The open indigo eyes began to wander and stare at nothing. He relaxed eventually, throughout the feed. His clenched fists gradually opening.

It took a moment for Daemon to recover from the daze of seeing milk leaking from his wife's breasts. The next minute he had shed his jacket and was kicking his boots off his feet. He approached her, removing the pillows and inserting himself between her and the headboard. Daemon then took her closer. Rhaenyra's small, lithe body leaned against him, her head against his shoulder. Daemon hugged his wife, his arms under hers, holding their the world in her hands. It was a new and overwhelming sensation. So intense it could be blinding. And the Rouge Prince wanted to be blinded by that warm, glowing feeling. He kissed the arch of her ear, just a caress. An escape route for the feeling screaming in his chest for freedom. His lips kissed the curve of her neck, rubbing his nose affectionately against the column of her neck. Rhaenyra turned her face away, rubbing her nose against his.

Seeking a chaste kiss.

Both glances clouded with love.

None of them wanted anything more out of life than to be eternalized in this moment.

"Prin-cess?" A voice stuttered, disturbing them both.

Rhaenyra looked up as Daemon held her possessively against him. The outline of a growl in her throat.

"Yes?" Thanks to Fourteen Flames her voice came out firm and confident, her tone natural rather than exposing the vulnerability she felt at this moment. Not necessarily because her breast was exposed for anyone to see, but because she shouldn't be breastfeeding and there was no sure way that it wouldn't get to her good-mother's ears.

Nobility women were not supposed to breastfeed their children. Maesters believed that breastfeeding could prevent other babies from conceiving. Other heirs. Noble women would then do everything they could to make their milk dry. Rhaenyra was hesitant in this regard. Not just because at this point she had no alternative to feeding Aegon other than her breast, and she refused to place him in the arm of an Alicent ally; but why...

One last gift, from one mother to another.

It was a gift from Muñnykeā Zaldrīzoti. From Aemma to her daughter. She was a goddess, but she didn't seem to have forgotten anything in her time as a human, a human royal. Agni could not have forgotten that it was relatively unseemly for a noble woman to nurse her baby. And yet... she gave the gift of producing milk to her daughter. She wanted Rhaenyra to breastfeed him. Perhaps as a way of compensating for the connection that couldn't be formed in the womb, that she came from bearing a baby and feeling him inside her. Maybe that was it, maybe it was something else.

Rhaenyra belatedly realized that the maid who had called her was Alicent. She forced herself to remain calm, but inside she was tense. Why was this woman here? Although, whatever it was, it explained her husband's dragon behavior.

Her gaze, however, was imperious.

The maid hesitated. "I- Your Highness, the King sent your brothers' wet nurse to the young prince."

A woman appeared at Rhaenyra's bedroom door. She was short with dark hair and smooth features. There was an air about her that only the people of the Reach possessed, even the common ones. Rhaenyra knew who she was. She had known her since the weeks leading up to the birth of her half-brother Aegon.

She cast a penetrating look at the two of them.

"Well, I appreciate the King's kindness, but as you can see, it won't be necessary." She said imperiously. "I myself can provide for my son, with the blessing of Muñnykeā Zaldrīzoti."

"But-" the first maid protested weakly.

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow. The woman fell silent and exchanged a look with the wet nurse, then both had been invited by the Kingsguard at the door to leave. Rhaenyra would also need to discuss with Daemon people they trusted enough to form a proper guard, loyal to them.

"Thank you for your service, I would like to be alone with my family." She turned to the rest of the servants watching the exchange. Amethyst eyes watched them go. Each of them with a reluctant touch in their step. Last stolen glances at the young prince now greedily suckling.

But there was something else there, too.

Rhaenyra didn't miss the stunned quality in their gaze. Wonder and amazement. A thing of unbelief. They all had the same knowledge as her. How inappropriate it was for her to do that. A well-born lady. A princess, no less. And yet, she did. She refused a wet nurse sent by her father, although she served her stepmother. However, Rhaenyra has always thought of herself as more than a breeding mare. If breastfeeding did hinder conception, then she would stop. But not today and not until she was comfortable breaking the newly created bond.

Everyone knew that breast milk was good for babies, more than any other milk. Babies who drank breast milk were more likely to survive. And Rhaenyra felt safer nursing her child than letting another woman do it.

And this was just the first time she'd done it.

Rhaenyra realized something vital-looking.

"Annora." Rhaenyra called to the maid before she could leave. The woman turned to the lady she had served for years. "Please find a group of carpenters as soon as possible so we can talk about the nursery. Oh, and also seamstresses for the baby's layette."

Funny how until tonight, Rhaenyra hadn't thought about having babies anytime soon. Maybe not for another year or two. And not, especially, that it would be anytime soon — not being married to Ser Leanor. But life had a way of doing things and she was far from complaining. Despite the threat Alicent had issued tonight, Rhaenyra had never been happier. However, her lack of interest in ordering babies right away didn't mean she was a complete alien. Ignorant of what they needed. For God's sake, she had three younger brothers alive to tell the tale — not to mention her mother's attempts to bring her closer to her duty as a wife one day by asking her to help with the preparations. She'd been doing this since she was ten namedays.

Furthermore, Alicent and her father made no effort to hide their arguments about the need to prepare for the arrival of each new baby. She listened, annoyed, but she listened and thanked the Fourteen Flames for it now.

Annora nodded, feeling dismissed, and left, closing the door. Too many pairs of eyes still trying to peer over the threshold as her maid sealed them in their chambers.

Rhaenyra felt Aegon release her breast. Tiny hands spread over his sated little stomach. A kind of satisfaction radiated through her and the young mother smiled at her baby.

Her husband moved behind her, kissing the back of her neck before moving on.

"Give to me." Daemon said, stepping out from behind her and leaning over to receive the baby in his arms.

Rhaenyra handed it over, zipping up the nightclothes again. That didn't stop him from stealing a glance at her breast. He smiled, seductive, dangerous and crooked. Motherhood was already beginning to work wonders for his wife, already a delight in itself. After all, Daemon didn't call her the Realm's Delight for nothing. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes. Daemon gave her a knowing look that said 'later'. "Easy, easy." He stilled when Aegon let out a groan as he was snuggled against his father's shoulder.

Daemon paced, patting Aegon gently on the back to coax the small burp. Rhaenyra watched them, feeling a kind of peace sink into her bones. The kind that softened the body even though her mind was reaching great distances. Swimming in thoughts. All and everything about tonight. Miracles, divinations, and most peculiar of all, earthly things.

These were, in her opinion, the most curious.

Her concentration was broken by a socially unacceptable squeak, unless the offender was as young as Aegon was now. She smiled gently at the baby clutching his father's shirt in tight fists.

"My boy." Daemon grinned, trying to free the baby's tiny fists from his shoulder. He kissed Aegon's head. "Here, hold a minute."

Rhaenyra welcomed the baby with a ready melodic coo. Aegon grunted, grabbing his mother's finger. She laughed and looked up, looking for Daemon's reaction. Her husband was ripping off his shirt. Her heart raced and she swallowed hard, blinking a little off-axis. Scars on his chest, but he was all firm. Made of lean muscles and a lot of sword work. The tunic dropped somewhere behind him and Daemon reached for his son. She handed it over, a little in a trance. Aegon grumbled once more as he was passed again, but flinched and fell silent as Daemon settled his son's head over his heart. Supporting Aegon's limp neck and the rest of his body, the Rouge Prince began to pace the room. A familiar rumble with no lyrics, just melody, vibrating through his chest. Aegon was frozen against his father, indigo eyes wide and hands splayed on the warm skin of this handsome, dashing dragon. He looked a little scared, but at the same time fascinated. Rhaenyra felt the same way.

Memories flooded his mind. Sweet memories. Rhaenyra was the same. Wide-eyed and as still as a stone, listening and feeling. Not once did Daemon think he would do that for another baby in his life, let alone one that was theirs. But, and he thought with a growing sense of satisfaction, he would do it again for Aegon every night and each of their other five children afterwards. The thought alone was vicious. Daemon brushed his nose against Aegon's thinning hair, inhaling his sweet baby scent. His son.

Gods.

And he never thought he would have one.

"I remember this." He turned to Rhaenyra... and the confused expression on his wife's face.

"Yea." Daemon nodded easily, making sure his voice had a vibrant quality to Aegon. "You liked it when I did that."

She scoffed, teasing.

"Has Rouge Prince done this before?"

"He wasn't the Rouge Prince then." He snapped back, a smile arching one mocking side of his mouth. "But he would, he does, for those who matter."

"It looks good on you, valzȳrys." Rhaenyra leaned back against the bed, appreciating her husband and child. Gods. It was as if she could walk on clouds. "A baby."

His dragon blood was starting to boil. And she just called him husband. "Not as well as my baby sits in your lap, or inside you, ābrazȳrys."

The image of her swollen with their kid. Another child. A family. The real family neither of them could have. Daemon couldn't wait.

It took less time than Rhaenyra had expected to put Aegon back to sleep. He had easily been coaxed into the realm of dreams, with his father's melodic vibrating and his mother's soft harmonic trilling in the background. A song sung by dragons. His indigo eyes closed one blink slower than the other at a time, ragged at the end — one of his eyes blinking more lazily than the other. It was adorable. Rhaenyra chuckled softly, making room on the bed as Daemon approached, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She pushed herself higher, against the pillows as her husband lay back, their son still perfectly snuggled against his chest.

Then it was just his small chest rising and falling, proving how real Aegon was and how deeply asleep. A pout on his adorable little mouth.

Rhaenyra reached out with her index finger, tracing her son's cheekbone, the halo of his hair, his back. Then she ran her fingernail gently over his smooth arm and stopped at his flat hand. His tiny fingers closed around hers and the baby sighed. Rhaenyra smiled, approaching. He already had such a strong grip, practically draconic. Daemon's hand, looking so big in comparison to their children's body, covered the baby's back, stroking up and down gently. He lifted his other hand, caressing his new wife's face. She leaned into his touch, blinking under her lashes at him reverently and lovingly.

She would be his death, he knew.

She, he thought with satisfaction, and all those babies in the pipeline. Their family. His own family. And he would gladly die for them.

"Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, issa zaldrize?" She muttered in wonder.

"One of." Daemon murmured softly back, his voice deep and vibrant. An acceptable volume for the one claimed by sleep.

Rhaenyra looked up at him. Daemon was looking at her sharply, his indigo eyes fixed on her. The violet tone even darker. So intense and full of burning passion. A kind of feeling capable of burning the world. A luster of desire.

She laughed suddenly.

"I bet that wasn't how you expected to spend your nuptials. If marriage was something you had in mind once again."

Daemon gave her a mischievous smile. So carefree it was like was shrugging his shoulders. So indolent.

"Having you two here..." He shook his head, as if dismissing the comparison. "Not worthy of comparison, Rhaenyra. Nothing compares, you know. Especially this."

Disdain dripped from his voice as he referred to his first marriage.

Rhaenyra had grown up listening to conversations that weren't for her ears about her uncle's marriage. The Good Queen's hand in the match. And his anger that their entire family deserved a Targaryen pair, but he should settle for a sheep. She couldn't imagine what it had been like for him. Young and even more arrogant than he was now. She remembered for a second hearing he'd been dragged all the way to the sept, drunk after being dragged out of a hooker's bed. He was bathed and clothed, but did little to hide where the groom had spent the night. Rhaenyra also remembered hearing rumors about Kingsguards on his doorstep after the bedding ceremony, waiting to be sure the act had been consummated. He was said to be drunker than a skunk, and that he had fainted before he even shed the seed. But it was done, there was proof in the sheets of Lady Rhea's virginity.

Strange how now she was a dead person. Not that Rhaenyra minded. No, of course not. After all, he was her husband now.

The only man she had ever seriously considered marrying.

Rhaenyra remembered a time when marriage felt like the gallows. When she was between twelve and fifteen days old — before he came back from a long trip with that necklace. In fact, in the face of her father's worry and obsession, all she could do was regret not being a boy. To lick her wounds from it. Mom always did her best to console her for the fact, but she was always in so much pain that Rhaenyra did what she could to hide her true feelings from her mother. That's how she got so good at hiding her emotions from other people's eyes. But back in an idyllic place before a flowery woman's life, she liked to think about marriage. Plan it with Alicent. She just never revealed that her ideal fiancé was her uncle.

And why wouldn't it be?

He adored her to the point of madness. He was brutal and fierce with anyone who dared say the wrong thing to her. He would spoil her with dresses and jewelry and candy. He would let her do whatever she wanted without ever clipping her wings. It was everything, at the time, she could dream of wanting in a wedding. But then the years began to pull him away. He began to irritate her father to the point that he had to take longer and longer trips, until he finally began to be exiled. A restless, roaring dragon. Craving and wishing for the Gods knew what. Rhaenyra became more and more alone, more and more aware of not being born a man, more and more anguished. Alicent was still there at the time, and then her best friend, but she wasn't Daemon. She couldn't offer what he could.

Safety, love, comfort. A home more than the Red Keep itself ever was. Family in the fullest sense of the word.

Her mother had been perfect, but she was always so busy trying to have a successful pregnancy that she barely had time for her daughter — though Rhaenyra knew her mother loved her fiercely. It was never in question, like when her father remarried and had his precious dream baby.

Her mind wandered to the brothel episode. The heartache of rejection was even greater because of her feelings for him. Broken childish illusions falling gently like snow, yet as black as the ashes of her lost future. The feeling of betrayal, that he was using her for his own ends; the feeling of abandonment and embarrassment at being abandoned on her way to nudity and pleasure in a brothel, in the middle of a city that devalued her only for her sex and not for her own ability and thinking mind; it had been an impossible pill to swallow. But if she knew one thing, it was that she'd seen the desire in his eyes and the heat in his touch. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, though she couldn't begin to understand why he would stop. She was against his will and against his nefarious plans.

But he did, walked away and was gone, leaving her behind to pick up the shards of her dignity. And with searing heat in places Rhaenyra would never have imagined feeling for a man. Pleasure, especially for the woman, was a practically mythical thing for her.

And the hurt, on the way to the fortress, had turned into solid bitterness and a desire for revenge. So she slept with Cole, hoping to get the consummation back to Daemon. To hurt him as much as he'd hurt her. She never had the opportunity, with him exiled the next day — that was all she knew. The wound had festered over the months of her absence. And the knowledge that no man would be able to do to her what he did... made her more determined to get this over with. Finding a worthy husband. And Leanor was, in theory, the best of them. After all, the marriage was just a political arrangement, he had said. And for a second, while dancing at her wedding, Rhaenyra convinced herself of that as she danced with Ser Harwin and contemplated the idea of making him her lover, but that was swept away with later events.

And although she had told Daemon to take her to Dragonstone and take her as his wife, it had been a bluff to see what he would do. But she'd be a damned liar if she said the thought of it didn't make her heart flutter as fast as a hummingbird's wings. And it would also be an outright lie that she wouldn't just drop everything and go with him. Screw the father, he found what he wanted, didn't he? His dream son.

And with a turn of events, everything had ended more than well.

Or... almost everything.

One of six.

The newfound love for Aegon was suffocating and threatened to overwhelm her, and Rhaenyra wondered what love for five other children would be like only to lose them. Rhaenyra couldn't let that happen. She wouldn't allow it. She was a dragon, she would protect her children with everything she could. With fire and blood. Whatever it takes.

"What do we do now,zaldrize?" She asked.

He looked up from the sleeping baby to his wife. A brow furrowed in amusem*nt. "Now, I suppose, let's pray he's not like you. You were a scandalous little thing in the wolf's hour."

She smiled.

"While it's comforting to know that one of us knows more or less what to expect, that's not what I meant, husband."

"Then?"

"I was talking about Agni's prediction." His face immediately hardened.

"You only have to say the word, prūmia." Steel in his gaze. The same as he had before he killed an opponent. And he would... do anything to keep their children safe.

Rhaenyra grimaced, leaning forward to sit with her weight on one elbow.

"I hardly think we can go to such extreme measures, Daemon." She warned him, though it was tempting. Cut off their heads and they would all go away. All their problems. If only it were that easy... "With the green of the Hightower lighthouse, and all the revelations tonight, it would be too obvious that it was us. Just as if Alicent took a step like that, it would be too obvious its mastermind. None of us have solid allies yet to launch attacks." Rhaenyra clarified. "Besides, you must not become a murderer of kin."

"Aegon is a threat to our son." He growled.

Indigo eyes bursting into flames.

"As our son is to him."

Wheels turned inside her head.

"So what do you want to do?"

"Thieves lurk in the shadows, sometimes show their faces. They want to steal from you." Rhaenyra recited, humming thoughtfully. "Otto and Alicent are certainly the thieves my mother was referring to. And they will certainly use Aegon as a pawn to rob me."

"Again, just say the word."

Rhaenyra stared blankly at him.

"It's true that while I loathe what his existence means to me and our son, now as a mother, I can't help but feel some anguish when I think of the murder of innocent children, Daemon. My stepbrother included, and the others as well."

"Alicent has declared war, and war is death in its most brutal form. How do you expect to win without bloodshed?" He snapped.

"I never said there will be no bloodshed." She fought back. "I'm just saying that I refuse to be the one to draw the first blood. Especially from the innocent."

"The best defense is offense."

"It might be." Rhaenyra pondered. "But we are at a disadvantage. My father will be between a rock and a hard place: them versus us." She gave Daemon a tired look. "He can defend my claim all he wants, but I don't imagine he would be able to do more than talk for it. Use his words as usual rather than his actions." Rhaenyra shook her head. "No. Relying on my father for the coming war is like counting on a wolf to herd sheep: stupid. No. We need allies and strategies — strategies that will encompass our needs, and contingency plans. Killing Aegon is not a plan, a strategy and not even a solution. It's practically a condemnation!"

He had a look that disagreed. But he was impulsive, intrepid. A warrior. Daemon might be able to work out his political strategies, but he wasn't cooped up in the snake pit that was the Small Council the way she had been since being made her father's cupbearer. Her opinion had always been crushed by the fact that her voice was that of a woman, but her silence was far more dangerous. Though she had raised her voice a few times to vent frustration at her imposed muteness, in silence she had learned a great deal about politics and the maneuvering of intrigue. And Otto Hightower had been her main teacher. And thanks to him, she'd made one of her most brilliant moves, like retrieving Baelon's egg without a single drop of blood spilled.

She intended to play the game like this for as long as she could. Being more smarter than them.

They sat in tense silence for a long moment, each locked in their minds. Rhaenyra was the one to break the silence again. "Did you notice how the servants looked at Aegon? How they looked at us?"

Daemon arched his eyebrows.

"And?"

"So you were right that night. The brothel night." He frowned, as if in a silent request to clarify what moment she was referring to. Rhaenyra pleased him. "When you said that if I wanted to rule, the opinion of the little ones mattered. You were right." She looked at her husband, his eyes fixed with concentration. Holding on and waiting to see what she would suggest. "There are more commoners than Lords in this country, my husband. And while it is the Lords who summon their people to war, it is the common men primarily who fight it and they must believe in the cause to fight desperately and fiercely for success."

His eyes narrowed, following her train of thought. Connecting the dots of what she was subtly suggesting. His face, however, was unreadable. "Are you suggesting using Aegon as, what, the symbol of a war? The pivot?"

There was a hardness in his voice.

That was not the intention. Gods, no. Rhaenyra had something else on her mind.

"Not exactly." She said softly. "I do not wish to make him a symbol of war, no. My idea is to get additional protection. Think with me. If the people love their ruler, isn't his pain their pain? Does his safety and happiness not matter to them? Their will not wish the evil to those who wish evil to their sovereign?" His eyes brightened with understanding, the corner of his mouth starting to twitch with anticipation. Daemon discovered that he adored Rhaenyra's political mind. Gods. "That will give us about a million soldiers in this city, or a million guards to protect us if need be. And if Aegon is loved by both the commons and the nobles, that lessens, if not undermines, any support Alicent tries to gain." A mischievous smile crept onto her lips. "It is already a point in our favor that the most important Lords of Westeros have come to my wedding. They have seen Aegon's delivery. That is part of the way."

He nodded. "And how do you want to do it?"

Rhaenyra looked ahead, to nowhere, thoughtfully.

"We need to carefully build a strong image." Rhaenyra drummed her fingers over her lips. A hum escaping her. "We need a united front, one that screams power. We must be the image of the gods, their faces and their spheres of control. Gods walking among mortals."

Daemon chuckled.

"Easy." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. Everything to him was a matter of arrogance — especially since he already looked like a god. Perzysegros. The Valyrian god equivalent of the Warrior.

Rhaenyra remembered an engraving in a Valyrian book she'd seen in Dragonstone once. A warrior in black armor, a Valyrian steel sword in hand, engulfed in flames. A battle cry in his mouth and the sword raised for battle. His eyes were solar flares. The image of Daemon at the tournament for Baelon's birth came to her mind. The spear raised as he felled Ser Criston. All she missed were the bursts of fire in his eyes and the flame licking at him in power. The rest was there.

"Yea." She laughed, feeling herself blush at the image of Daemon as Perzysegros. Heat liquefying her insides. "Ñuhon Perzysegros."

Daemon's eyes darkened. Only a thin indigo rim left. A hungry expression on his gaze. Her husband's mouth curved cruelly as he smiled seductively. "Ñuha Muñnykeā Zaldrīzoti."

"Kessa." Rhaenyra sighed. "Yes. Your Mother of Dragons." A cheeky gleam in her gaze. "The mother of your dragons."

Daemon growled.

The rumble reverberating through his chest. Aegon stirred and sighed, but didn't wake up — though he let go of his mother's finger. Not that either of parents had noticed anything, too trapped in each other's gravitational orbits. Gods, how he wanted to f*ck her right now.

"The Faith will see it as an insult if they don't already consider it." Daemon purred the warning resoundingly. His voice was thick and dripping with desire. A wicked smile on his sinful mouth. Rhaenyra felt a shiver that shook her body sweetly. "The Septon certainly looked less than thrilled as he wedded us."

"Yea." She agreed. "All the more reason to bring the people of King's Landing to our side. If we win their loyalty, the Faith will have no ears to poison nor to incite a rebellion against the heresy and blasphemy of the Seven."

Daemon nodded thoughtfully. Rhaenyra pursed her lips. She leaned forward, tension building in her spine and building in her south. Rhaenyra ignored the dryness in her throat, gently scratching his shoulder with a fingernail. Daemon flinched, growling softly.

In a voice of melodic hypnotism, Rhaenyra expressed concern at her plan. "The hardest part may be finding a balance between being strong image that we must be, but also somehow vulnerable, so that the commons can feel closer to us. We must be like gods on earth to them too, but with kindness. Gods taking care of their people." Rhaenyra stopped. The fingernail scratching the arch of Daemon's ear. He bared his teeth in a suppressed growl. Eyes so dark and so feverish. Her touch was like fire on his skin, igniting him. Daemon almost missed her afterthought. "This might be easier for me than it is for you."

"Why?"

She curled her lips in arrogant wisdom.

"Because I already started." She said to his shock. Rhaenyra gave him a knowing smile. "Oh, husband. You let me down by not noticing all those looks of awe and awe. Especially when I dumped Alicent's wet nurse, choosing to nurse my child. Just like an ordinary mother." Rhaenyra leaned over, kissing his shoulder. His eyes meeting hers, already intent on her every move. "My princess etiquette does a lot for my regal image, all I need now is to develop my humbler side. To be someone they can love and adore."

His gaze was glazed over. A slow, ingratiating grin crept into her mouth. A growing wolf smile.

Daemon lifted his head, holding his son to his chest. Rhaenyra gravitated toward him, lowering her face. Their lips collided with the impact of twin dragon flames meeting. Hot, scalding. And intense beyond measure. His insinuating tongue licked the seam of her lips, coaxing passage. Rhaenyra gave it to him with a gasp. As if back to the brothel night, her tongues met, caressing and seeking each other's touch. Rhaenyra closed her eyes, tasting wine and something spicy Daemon's own. Absently, she tangled her fingers in her husband's hair.

Daemon grunted into the kiss.

Rhaenyra gasped and Aegon groaned, causing both of his parents to freeze and pull away. Daemon's eyes were dark with lust and desire, and hers a mirror of his. Yet they both knew, until Aegon had his own crib, nothing could happen between them.

She leaned her forehead against his, panting. Noses rubbing against each other.

"We need a crib." He grunted according to her words, making her laugh. "And we need reliable guards." Daemon nodded once more, rubbing his face affectionately against hers. "And you need to teach me how to fight."

He pulled back, looking at her. An arched eyebrow. Rhaenyra smirked. "I want to know how to defend myself if the time comes."

His hand gripped her hair in a tight fist at the back of her neck. He hissed through his teeth. "I will always protect you."

Rhaenyra leaned down, kissing him chastely.

"I know." She calmed down. "But we have more children planned, and even you won't be able to protect seven of us at once. Protect me, ñuhongīs." Rhaenyra stole another quick kiss, but just as intense and passionate. "And I protect you, zaldrize."

Daemon stared at her for a long moment, intensity burning in his gaze. She would be his death, definitely. The idea of Rhaenyra wielding a sword and dressed for battle. His blood boiled at the thought. Not in opposition, but in lust. She was always made to be more than what was expected of her as a woman. More than a breeding mare.

And Daemon loved that his wife was her own strength.

His mouth twisted.

"You will be the death of me, ñuha raqnon."

Rhaenyra smiled, snuggling into Daemon's shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, keeping her close. The other hand over Aegon. Home. Family. Love. Rhaenyra didn't want to be anywhere else. And she couldn't help but agree with her husband.

She would be the death of him, as best she could.

Chapter 6: A City Touched by Fire

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

King's Landing seemed to be on fire.

By the time the blanket of night cleared with the sun peeking over Blackwater Bay, the city had long since been burning. The traces of the fire had already reached every hole in the city, every crack and breath of life, so that when the dark blue turned to purple and then pink before reaching a shade of buttery gold from dawn, there was not a single living soul within the burghs who did not already know about the so-called Golden Wedding.

There was a restless energy in the city as if everyone were tiptoeing with an anxiety that had gnawed at their guts and made their hands tremble. The anticipation of the dawn with its secrets deprived many of sleep, thanks to the vertigo taking over them all.

In the capital, the day for the commons always started early, although that morning had been an exceptional feat. Before the first dawn of the sun, merchants opened their shops or pitched their tents, offering in every stall and every table a product to be sold, and the sample of something juicy to be given: the sweet taste of hope, the refinement of surprise, the delight of the future. The harbor, like Fishmonger's Square, was already buzzing with the movement of merchant ships and the trading of fresh fish. Fishermen and sailors in the harbor lingered a little longer before going out to sea or home.

Waiting.

A whole city waiting.

There wasn't a living soul in this gods-forgotten hole who didn't already know of last night's events, for no servant capable of escaping the towering red fortress atop Conqueror's hill waited to spread the story. The word about Targaryen's greatness. The blood of gods in their veins. The coming of gods, announced at the most impious hour a prediction, a curse, a warning, and a blessing.

A Gifted Grace.

A Golden Marriage, blessed by the True Gods.

One night and a single name was enough to shake the castle's foundations. Annora knew this well. She was a servant.

And although Annora had not served at the banquet, there was no use for her presence on the occasion, she knew all the details. She had heard them a thousand times between the event and the dawn. From wide-eyed servants entering the kitchen or wandering around the fortress to spread the news until she was able to discover the truth for herself after answering a call in the princess's chambers; and the truth is that the package wrapped in a Blanket as golden as the summer sun nestled in the crook of the Rogue Prince's elbow was all the proof needed. The coming of the Goddess of Dragons had set the city ablaze with faith, belief, and hope. The tales of the Golden Wedding grew wilder, but they all agreed on one point: the Gifted Grace and the wisdom of King Viserys, with a wiser and truer vision than anyone knew he had in naming his daughter the Heir to the Iron Throne.

For she was the True Queen. Crowned by the gods of her ancestors.

As had been predicted by Muña Zaldrīzoti, after the fire broke out, the streets of King's Landing chanted the name of the Gifted Grace and each of his titles. The Blessed, the Favored, the Gifted. No one was more popular than the servants who had served at the banquet because they possessed the undeniable truth of the facts. And no one was more expected to visit the city than the Rogue Prince with his wife, the Realm's Delight, and their son, the Gifted Grace. All the people covet the chance to catch a glimpse of the young prince.

Annora had left the Red Keep early, almost as early as the city was awake and seething with anticipation. Buzzing with rumors. Wherever she went, there was a promise to hear at least once a mention of the 'Fourteen Flames' or the 'Muña Zaldrīzoti'. Annora even crossed paths with some dissensions between the followers of the Faith and those who began to lean towards the Valyrian gods. Annora had never questioned her faith in the Seven, yet she couldn't help but do so after the things she'd seen and heard...

A man like the Rogue Prince feared and respected for his reputation built on fire and blood and who forged him into a great warrior of his time, and whose dragon was called the Blood Wyrm; men like him were not interested in a baby. Not just anyone, anyway. A man like him, known for spending every single night free between the sheets of Silk Street, who openly despised his lady-wife, a man like him bothered even less with children. A man like him had a tenuous interest in this sort of thing, son or not. It was in their nature. Or at least... of the majority.

Because this time was different.

Annora knew that the prince's heart was not as untouched as it seemed. There had only been a single other baby that had touched him so deeply, and now she was a beautiful woman in full bloom whose potential had not yet been discovered. And now, his heart had been touched again. In more ways than one. Annora didn't think Rogue Prince's obvious devotion to the baby would end when the news cooled down. She thought it would never end.

And for another baby to give a man like him a change of heart like this... To turn a black-hearted warrior into a devoted father...

Well, if the Valyrian miracles continued to happen, Annora would very soon forget about the Seven in the name of gods who existed and cared about those who honored them.

And for the conversation in the city...

Annora suspected she wouldn't be the only one.

With the city buzzing with activity, certain groups of artisans hadn't even gone to sleep yet, having anticipated what the coming of Gifted Grace meant to them. So much so that Annora had no problem in getting the most wanted carpenter in the Seven Kingdoms to be heard. It was enough to mention who her lady was, and she was ahead of other customers. All the man wanted was an audience with the little family. The divine branch of the Targaryens. To see Gifted Grace, the Heir of the True Queen. The Divine King, as he was also called. Because at the end of the day, that's what he was, wasn't he? A King chosen by the gods.

With a pang of contempt that she carefully guarded against her tone of voice, Annora thought how ironic it was that people who yesterday despised the princess for her sex were now willing to worship her. Call her the True Queen. Annora knew better than that.

But she closed the deal.

The craftsmen and carpenters then made their way to the Red Keep and Annora continued the shopping trip around the city, looking for the best seamstresses in King's Landing. Again, she didn't have to wait long to be served. If the men were curious about all of last night's events, a group of seamstresses would be much more so.

Rogue Prince's fame was known everywhere, and in King's Landing even more so. Flea Bottom had never been as popular as it was from last night to the next morning, and it would be even more so in the days to come. The brothels were crowded with curious onlookers wanting a piece of Rogue Prince's story. But with the princess it was different. There was mystery surrounding her, and a certain contempt of the people for her never having graced them with her presence. Not often. The commons didn't usually see her unless the princess was on her way to the Dragonpit, and apart from that, she rarely went out without being in a carriage.

All these idiots lived without having any idea of the gilded cage in which she lived. They had no idea of the fights against the greedy men of this Kingdom that she fought.

The girl known as Princess Rhaenyra, the Realm's Delight? Annora knew her. Better than any fool in this town. Better, perhaps, than her father. But no more so than her now lord-husband. Annora had been placed in the service of the princess since her lady had five namedays. At the time, Annora had just made fifteen namedays and didn't do much more than dress the princess and take care of her chambers. And just like the wise servants who learned in silence by being ignored, Annora watched her princess do the same, letting simple-minded men judge her mediocre without knowing a fraction of her mind, her cunning. Of her intelligence. And other fools might say that she was quick to get angry, though a tantrum was different from an outburst of temper, when her patience burned to the end it left everything else in ashes. In this respect, the princess was very similar to her uncle. Her twin flame. They were fierce, determined, and stubborn as a mountain. But they possessed an air of grandeur.

There was a saying that when a Targaryen was born, the gods tossed a coin and the world held its breath, waiting to see if madness or greatness favored them. The Rogue Prince's coin had fallen spinning like a kaleidoscope. Greatness and madness, greatness and madness, greatness and madness. He was one and both sides of the coin, while the princess coin had long since fallen to the side of greatness. But even a forgotten bronze dragon on the sidewalk could turn with a sneaky move. And the Red Keep was full of it.

Always too much to face to hope to stay sane forever.

The goddess was right, the princess was a blessing given to a man who could not recognize it even when placed in front of his eyes. This was part of the reason why Annora had no qualms about embellishing the details of everything she knew. Regaling every soul who asked her for a story with details about Gifted Grace. Annora was especially generous to this group of seamstresses, most of whom were common mothers who had to provide for their children. Annora didn't mind sharing the intimate details she'd seen last night. Especially the episode with the Queen's wet nurse.

Every common woman knew that a noblewoman, a lady, did not feed her children from her own teat. For a princess to do it... It was amazing. And so... mundane.

The trousseau would still take days to complete, but Annora sat down and waited for a small order. After all, the Gifted Grace couldn't spend the rest of the day in his swaddling clothes. No matter how divine he was, a baby was bound to get dirty at some point. So Annora waited while the seamstresses finished some of the finished pieces. Meanwhile, the women around her hypothesized about how it was possible that a woman who had never given birth to a child could be able to breastfeed, no less than a princess.

But the answer was so obvious.

If a goddess could give to her a son, why couldn't she give to princess milk?

It seemed admirable that the princess ignored noble society to do the will of the goddess. After all, why else would she be gifted with the ability?

It's as it always should have been, the women said. A mother providing for her child.

Her trip to the city still seemed to be delayed, and if word got out that she was the princess's servant, she suspected it would take even longer to return. Her importance in the world was about to change. Things at King's Landing were already changing. It was just the beginning.

Everybody knew that.

Especially the servants...

Nelys was, for example, a witness to change.

The girl, newly arrived at eighteen namedays, was a servant of House Velaryon. She came to the wedding of her employers' son to accompany the young daughter of the Velaryon couple as her maid and a friendly face in a sea of strangers. Although Lady Laena had shown herself to be more than proficient at being social as she matured.

Nelys started as nothing more than Lady Laena's chambermaid, but she was always a gentle soul and bolder than she should have been as a servant, creating a bond of friendship with the young lady, which caught the attention of her employers. It was safe to say that everything turned out well for her, thankfully. And though Lady Laena was the most graceful promise of beauty in full bloom, as well as possessing a spirit befitting both her heritage of the sea and fire, she was a little shy. Princess Rhaenys then promoted Nelys as lady-in-waiting to the young lady in hopes of helping her get over the minor hiccup.

And though she knew they were close, with a friendship as sincere as could be between them, Nelys knew that Lady Laena needed someone who was among her peers. She wasn't upset about it, Nelys understood her place. No one survived in this world without doing so. And the perfect opportunity presented itself during that week of Golden Wedding celebrations, in a possible bond with Princess Rhaenyra herself no less.

The first interaction between the two had been nothing short of awkward. Not because the King had rejected Lady Laena, or because the princess did not marry Ser Laenor, but because the princess was in love with the husband she had married, and Lady Laena was... enchanted with the Rogue Prince. But that was all. The awkwardness ended even before the end of the jousting, where the Rogue Prince had knocked down each of his opponents and received the favor of his wife. Nelys had noticed that he had been strangely brutal to the man who used to be the princess's sworn shield, and who was now the Queen's sworn shield. Things in this town were so confusing. Both Lady Laena and Princess Rhaenyra had been cheerful fans of their respective knights who asked for their favors.

Lady Laena had been taken for a conversation with Princess Rhaenys the morning after Princess Rhaenyra's wedding, from which she had returned, stunned at the prospect of marrying her cousin, Ser Daemion Velaryon. It had been such an unexpected turn of events that even Nelys had a hard time understanding what was happening. But it made sense when Lady Laena confided in her with the excerpt of the prophecy that Goddess Agni had given to her family. Even Nelys, a servant who had little or no hand, or even understanding, about the politics of this country's powers-that-be, could tell that marrying Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor was a bad idea in so many ways that no one should bother to count it.

Lady Laena was still disappointed by the loss of Prince Daemon, though Nelys would never tell her that even if the prince had flirted with her at the opening banquet, she had never been the target of his deepest or truest affections. Only a blind man wouldn't have seen how deeply lost Realm's Delight, and the Rogue Prince were for each other. A funny thought for Nelys, who never thought in her life one day to see a rogue voluntarily fall to his knees for a lady. In the figurative sense, of course, but still perfectly illustrable. Although granted, Princess Rhaenyra lived up to the title of Realm's Delight given to her by her uncle.

Ser Daemion was, however, a surprisingly pleasant cool sea breeze. He went out of his way to woo his cousin with sincerity. And it didn't help that Princess Rhaenyra thought it was adorable. She often made Lady Laena see right through him. The temperament was generally like a gentle sea breeze with a taste of freedom and sea air, as tranquil as the sea on a summer's day. But if provoked, it could be as intense and devastating as a sea storm, with waves that swallowed everything in sight. Ser Daemion certainly didn't possess a single drop of fire in his blood, but he had the fury of the sea in every drop of blood in his being.

It wasn't hard for Lady Laena to discover that Ser Daemion was a kinder soul to her than the Rogue Prince could ever have been, and she soon entertained, if not the idea that they could love each other deeply given the chance, the idea that her marriage to him would never bring her a single day of suffering or boredom. Every day a new emotion. An adventure. And that was all Nelys wanted for her young lady.

Princess Rhaenyra's encouragement brought Lady Laena closer to her and the two were quickly becoming close friends. One afternoon, while they were having tea and cakes in the garden of the fortress, the princess offered to take Lady Laena to Dragonstone, to find out if any of the unbound dragons there would be interested in bonding with Lady Laena after her egg did not hatch for her. Laena also expressed the wish to be able to ride Vhagar, the dragon of Queen Visenya, the favorite queen of the two. A woman not afraid of men or the world, of adventures and passion. A woman like no other.

For two noble girls, Queen Visenya was the herald of a dream. To be more than the world expected of them.

That certainly helped forge the bond.

It was with some concern that Nelys noticed the Queen's heated gaze whenever the two girls were seen together. The look on that woman's face was not a good omen and Nelys would be sure to warn Princess Rhaenys of that. She kept a watchful eye as she watched a bond of friendship and sisterhood forming as strongly as any other could be. She was happy. Pleased that in the Court, where she could not go, Lady Laena had not only not an ally, but a fierce and loyal defender in Princess Rhaenyra

Sometimes, all two souls needed was a meeting to find the affinity between them. Like siblings from another life separated at the birth of this one.

If Nelys ever doubted the trust built between them, it vanished with the greatest proof of trust Princess Rhaenyra could give Lady Laena, granting her something the princess seemed to have granted only to her lord-husband. The privilege of holding the Gifted Grace. As far as the Keep's servants remarked, so far none of them had let slip that the King had already held his grandson. And the Queen had not yet been allowed anywhere near the child. And if it was not permissible for any of Their Graces, the King and Queen, to hold the child, there was no doubt of the Princess's trust in Lady Laena.

Lady Laena, of course, did not disappoint her, and with fierce eyes of understanding made it clear that she understood what she was worthy of, without anything needing to be said. A singular glance was exchanged between them, where it was implied that by fire and blood, whatever the future had in store for them, one would take care of the other's children whenever necessary. It doesn't matter what happened.

Throughout this friendship, the emptiness of a friendship torn apart by lies and betrayals would be filled by true sisterhood, forged of honesty and complicity. Something Princess Rhaenyra would never have experienced before. Not even with the Queen. Maybe because of the Queen. Everyone knew that she had once been Lady Alicent Hightower, always accommodating and a lover of rules. She would never have been able to fully understand the princess's soul. With depth. Not like Lady Laena could, being made of the same material.

Fire and blood, after all.

For Lady Laena, this friendship represented the opening of many doors. She was expanding her horizons, her circle, previously limited to the girl of House Celtigar. The only other noble girl her lady befriended, before being introduced to Court. And, of course, Nelys herself. Though none of them felt like the princess. None of them fully understood her passion for beasts of flesh, fire, and blood. They didn't understand her desire to fly. None of them understood the wild song singing in her soul. Not like the princess. She was something else. She was similar, if not the same.

And Nelys knew then, that if Lady Laena was ever sad to lose the princess as her good-sister, then the feeling could only be overshadowed by reclaiming her as her dearest friend.

This friendship, Nelys noted, appealed to the bosses. There wasn't once that their approval wasn't proudly displayed. And wherever that was about to take them, it could only further please the plans entertained by the noble couple. Though it wasn't for her to stick her nose where it wasn't called, then Nelys wasn't. But from a few conversations with Marya, Princess Rhaenys's maid, Nelys had learned a thing or two on the subject.

The gatherings for the ladies of the nobility, which usually also included Princess Rhaenys, where these women gathered to eat cakes and sweets in the gardens or for a group activity equally enjoyable for all of them, were for Marya an opportunity to take a closer look at the calculating gaze of the woman she had served for almost a lifetime. It was a look she witnessed more times than she could count, that meant things she couldn't even begin to imagine, and that wasn't easily overcome. But Marya found her lady softening at the prospect of pampering the young prince.

And frankly, not even the darkest, most hardened heart in the world could resist the delight of the Gifted Grace. A gracious gift indeed. Something that Princess Rhaenyra was aware of, from what Marya observed, and that only made it harder for her to entrust her baby to anyone.

Marya had witnessed firsthand how difficult it was to get the boy out of his mother's protective, suspicious clutches, even if the people who tried it only intended to spoil the boy. But Marya would give the princess the right to be reserved with whoever held her son because while there was nothing to fear from Princess Rhaenys and Lady Laena, the same could not be said of all the other noblewomen.

Marya had also noticed, as her princess held the little boy, a look of melancholy in her lilac eyes. And after decades in her service, Marya could dare enough to try to guess what might be on her lady's mind. Marya would say that she must have thought of her twins, remembered them at a young age, and how grown up they were now. Both were of marriageable age, so her lady should have been thinking about the soon marriage arrangement for her daughter with Ser Vaemond's son and must have been thinking about finding a bride for her son. Now, Marya didn't pretend to understand why, after he had been engaged to Princess Rhaenyra, Ser Laenor would only know daughters of lesser Houses and not even the first, but third, fourth, and even fifth daughters. It seemed strange to Marya, after all the fuss caused by Lord Corlys when the King refused Lady Laena. It was even stranger that her master wasn't trumpeting the broken engagement between Ser Laenor and the princess. But Nelys had said that it was related to the Valyrian goddess's prophecy to the Velaryon.

And if there was anyone whose wisdom Marya dared not question, it was the gods. Especially when they showed themselves to their congregants.

Marya used to have a Seven scapular that she tore off and threw into the fireplace when she heard a maid in tears, who had poured wine at the banquet, tell the whole story. She had cried herself. The gods did not forget them, they did not forget the smallfolk, but they used the nobles to guide them, for they held the power. It was, in fact, the people who prayed to the false gods. Marya would no longer make the same mistake. And by now, she was betting that the servants of Dragonstone should know everything there was to know about the proper ways to revere the Valyrian gods, after rummaging through the library of the Targaryens' ancestral birthplace.

It was also Marya's understanding that Princess Rhaenys's melancholy look could only be placated by the thought of future grandchildren. Although it wasn't all the desire to become a grandmother. Marya served her long enough to recognize political value when she saw it. And though no one was talking, it was clear to her that there would be a Targaryen-Velaryon engagement, and if she had to bet, this was the only reason why Lord Corlys remained quiet about the ruined engagement between Ser Laenor and the princess. And why not, for all she knew, her lady’s granddaughter would marry the Gifted Grace. A girl who hadn't even conceived yet and had already become the luckiest young woman in the entire kingdom. Despite this, Marya knew that her lady couldn't wait to hold her grandchildren. Political business included or not.

It was just how a mother's heart worked.

And Princess Rhaenyra, though young, and with the soul and heart of a dragon, whose thick blood made her as unsubmissive as one, became a prime example of this. She was barely a mother for one week and yet, she has already shown the results that the winds of change called motherhood have brought to her. Didn't even have to consult her maid, looking at her was enough.

Marya, who barely knew the princess beyond her visit to Driftmark to seal the engagement with Ser Laenor, had noticed how her remarkable rebelliousness had melted in the short space of this week and molded into something else entirely. The ferocity of a mother.

Some of them could be easy to manipulate when their children were the target, while others could be notoriously cunning and amoral when their children needed it most. The princess didn't seem like she would be the type to allow herself to be manipulated by her son, but the type who lied and manipulated. To her children. She seemed like the kind of mother who would do anything for her son. Marya did not doubt that if the situation presented itself before the princess, she would set the country on fire before letting something happen to the baby always in her lap.

That was a mother's love.

It was a glimpse of how far she would be willing to go.

The wrath of a despised woman could only be compared to that of a mother whose child was threatened.

In other words, if Marya had to describe Princess Rhaenyra, she would say that she was exactly as she would have imagined Muña Zaldrīzoti. The mother of a dragon, and as ferocious as she should be. As passionate, as intense, as powerful as she imagined Goddess Agni should have been at the banquet. But the princess was not only the wrath of the goddess of fire made flesh, of dragons. She had a softness in herself that could only be given to a woman by motherhood, by the love of a mother for her child. The princess was, indeed, a delightful sight to look upon when she smiled benignly. When she spoke softly. For the most part, the princess treated everyone around her as she treated her son. Not so lovingly, but certainly, as no nobleman has treated the commons.

Which was a cause for bewilderment and euphoria at the same time. Marya didn't even know what to think, but she was sure to enjoy it while it lasted.

Carefully.

She knew that Steffon, Lord Corlys Velaryon's butler, thought the same way. Both men, Steffon and Lord Corlys, had been carefully watching the changes since the night of the banquet.

Steffon had noticed his master's newfound interest in the Rogue Prince. So Steffon let the women worry about the ladies and teamed up with his master to find out why he cared about the Rogue Prince. Steffon couldn't understand why, given that the Rogue Prince didn't seem to have undergone any major transformations.

He was still, essentially, himself.

Still, the man whose reputation he has earned. Steffon watched from behind his master as the prince in the tourney and would admit that seeing him in action seemed surreal. Rogue had a very particular fighting style. Elegant, fierce, and insane. Valyrian gods were good. The man who truly crossed paths with the Rogue Prince was doomed from the first moment. Prince Daemon showed bursts of energy in the arena that intimidated his opponents, which he slammed mercilessly. Stern and obstinate. No longer careless and determined to show off, but showing what he was capable of, the extent of his power merely with a sword in hand.

Steffon and his master heard whispers from other nobles or even servants trying to compare him to the Warrior of the Seven. Steffon disagreed. The Warrior didn't have a face and not much was known about him himself. Not much more than why the smallfolk should pray to him. Steffon didn't think the Rogue Prince was like that. If he was, then why wasn't he recognized as such before?

No, Steffon thought of something else.

The Rogue Prince was more ancient, more primitive. Primordial and perpetual. His vibrations were older than the First Men. He was a wild and brutish thing. Uncut, but of glorious savage beauty, nonetheless; a rough ruby, res as blood, born in the deepest, blackest heart of a volcano. In the making of the Valyrian gods.

And while his manners and personality hadn't visibly changed, Steffon noticed a certain affectation in the Rogue Prince. He was still arrogant and indolent, an untamed and indolent human-looking creature. But there was a severity to him. The Rogue Prince sported less of those arrogant smiles of his and sported more of an austere and intense expression of... authority. As if he no longer needed to prove himself, to prove that he was the best. He knew that. He was sure of his place in the world, and honestly, for all the arrogance of man, why not just call him a god?

The gods forbade him to be the one to deny his divinity. By all means no.

His master might be inclined to agree with the butler himself from the knowledge from his shared time with the Rogue Prince in the war on the Stepstones. And although Steffon didn't know how much or how, in his master's mind, Daemon's insane plan was repeating. He brought them victory and riches.

All the Rogue Prince missed was the incentive.

The spark that incited the black dragon in his heart.

Although Steffon did not know all the details of the war, even though he had heard many stories during the commemorative banquets, he knew the general concept of the final battle. Of how the Rogue Prince had entered the nest of his enemies and come out with nothing less than victory. Bathed in the blood of the Crabfeed and crowned a king in his own right. Now that he thought about it, Steffon saw the Rogue Prince of that night reflecting. The man did not then have a reason to show that he acted accordingly. But now...

His opponents might say so.

In Steffon's opinion, and probably anyone with half a brain and a good eye for observing, the most interesting opponent had been the princess's former sworn shield. The Rogue Prince wasn't famous for being merciful to his opponents, but when he faced Ser Criston Cole, he had been even more brutal. Almost as if it were a personal reckoning. The Rogue Prince unleashed itself upon the knight like a storm of fury and brimstone. A dragon roared from the flames. Cole, though not a dragon, had a similar ardor when he faced the Rogue Prince. It was clear to Steffon that there was bad blood between the two.

Hatred had veiled the gaze of both of them at the instant the lances and shields were placed in their hands. Not even their horses could escape the growing tension between the two. Both animals seemed as eager to fight as their riders. But even if Ser Criston fought with the wrath of fire, he wasn't a dragon. It was no match for a dragon. In the final match, Steffon had watched the two clash almost as if he could anticipate the pain in his bones. Prince Daemon had struck with a ferocity and violence hard to describe. As if he could combust. Steffon wondered if it was the sun high in the sky that had created a trick of light and heat to make look like flames threatened to dance on the Rogue Prince's armor and lance. And though he wasn't sure about it, he was sure of the maniacal glint in the prince's eyes even though he wore a helmet.

The impact of the prince's lance against Ser Criston's shield shattered the shield in an explosion of wood chips, and the force of the blow sent Ser Criston flying ten feet over his horse's back. The man had fallen motionless with a dull thud. The stadium held its breath to find out if the knight was dead, though the Rogue Prince had remained unfazed. As if he hadn't finished teaching every nobleman and common, every eyewitness to the tourney what ire was. He rode his horse back to the start at a leisurely trot. Like doing nothing but taking a horseback ride on the Kingswood in the buttery light of the morning sun.

Ser Criston was forced to lie in the damp earth for a while, while a maester and some grooms made sure he was alive and well. Luckily, he was. Though Steffon was sure the Rogue Prince wouldn't even blink if the man died. When Ser Criston was finally brought to his feet, there was anger in his eyes.

Bad blood seemed a poor expression for what the entire kingdom now knew to be a rivalry between the two that would be even more legendary than the rivalry between the Rogue Prince and the Queen's father. Steffon found it quite curious. There was nothing obvious to indicate why there was an enmity. It couldn't be because Ser Criston had dismantled Prince Daemon in the day's tourney named after Prince Baelon. No, it seemed to be something else. And it was with the care that Steffon formulated a hypothesis that he kept in his heart, so intrinsic to the essence of his being that not even a maester dissecting it would be able to find it.

If Steffon were right, sure of what was meant by the look cast by Criston to the princess sitting in the royal box, rocking her son and smiling with a mixture of love and pride at her new husband; if he were correct and she was the root of the evil between the two, Steffon feared what would happen to himself.

He didn't want to be the man who truly walked through the Rogue Prince. His end couldn't be good or fast enough. The Seven Hells would look like a paradise compared to Dragon Wraith.

In the end, the Rogue Prince won the jousting, giving him the right to crown a woman the Queen of Love and Beauty. The Rogue turned his horse toward the royal box, a steady look on his face. Steffon noticed Princess Rhaenyra handing her son to Princess Rhaenys to receive her wreath. Her husband removed the helmet, and she kissed him on the forehead, with a caress of her gracious hand on his cheek. The prince's gaze softened just for her. Lady Laena came over to crown the princess as she straightened up, and the princess had smiled so graciously that more than one man fell in love with her in that instant.

But the princess only had eyes for one man.

Together, they were quite a sight to behold.

An image that rivaled Father and Mother. The Maid and the Warrior. And Steffon, who had Essosi ancestry, thought that even the Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa couldn't compete. They looked like gods on earth, reaping the admiration of the people. Again, Steffon reminded himself that they might as well be. Their family descended from Muña Zaldrīzoti. What kept them from being gods? The greatness of a hoped-for future, of prosperity and magnificence.

Nothing, Steffon realized.

Not just him. But Annora accompanies her lady, Nelys, and Marya. And so many other servants and common in general.

Even Andimion.

And he was a mere groom, a lucky motherf*cker who stood in for his friend Hobbes at the princess's wedding banquet. He poured wine that night and had knocked over an entire tray of glasses filled with Arbor Gold when Muña Zaldrīzoti emerged into the hall, splitting the tide of people.

The image didn't leave his head, and Andimion thought about it the whole time. The honor of what he was able to witness.

Andimion felt in his heart that he should do more to spread the word of what happened. Find a way to thank the princess and prince for being the reason there is something to believe in. Andimion believed that if it weren't for his princess and prince, Westeros would never have seen the face of a true and godly god.

He was not an orator and was terrible for gossip. Spreading it with words was a bad idea for him, as Andimion would never be able to put his feelings and thoughts into words. There had to be another way.

Then one morning, five days after the feast, Andimion sat contemplatively in the Red Keep's entrance outer yard thinking about how to do his part when he heard the commotion. A wagon entered the yard, and men were pulling a tarp from over the wooden railings that prevented the contents from falling from the wagon. Andimion was attracted to the noise, as were other curious onlookers. As he approached, the image disarmed him.

It was a crib.

Not just any cradle, but a cradle fit for royalty, though different from those ordered by the King and Queen when their babies were born. This one was much more elegant and befitting the House of the Dragon. The cradle was oval, carved from ebony wood. Black as night. Like dragonglass. The structure of the cradle was exquisite and innovative. Two great black dragons chased each other, their wings stretched out to reach each other, tails snaking as if the creatures curled up to protect the sleeping little thing between them.

Andimion observed, with a closer look, that one of the black dragons had the crease of its scales outlined with gold dust paint and the other had the scales outlined with ruby powder paint with a more intense pigment of red. Seven volcanoes lined up in an ascending style under the golden dragon and seven lined up under the red dragon, representing the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria. The birthplace of the Valyrian gods. The railing had been carved to make it look like fire was raining down on the dragons. And the feet were curved like claws.

Andimion noted with astonishment that the dragons were representations of the dragons Syrax and Caraxes. The prince and princess dragons.

This was the birthplace of Gifted Grace.

The breath escaped him with the beauty, the opulence, and the power that emanated from the cradle. Those ruby eyes of the wooden Caraxes and the yellow diamond eyes of Syrax. It was certainly expensive but worthy of the little prince.

And they were delivering it.

Before he could think, Andimion carefully grasped one side of the cradle. It was f*cking heavy. He puffed up his cheeks with the air as it almost escaped his lungs under the weight. Damn. He swallowed any complaints and helped the workers. The thing was so heavy that no porter looked at it twice. Probably all thankful for an extra pair of arms to carry the monstrosity.

A Kingsguard found them and began guiding them towards the couple's rooms. Andimion's face was red, and his arms were numb from carrying the thing. But a sudden desire took root with each step he took closer to meeting the Gifted Grace. They were almost there when the men in front almost bumped into something. The crib groaned at the abrupt stop, and the men struggled not to lose control of the furniture. Hands already damp with sweat made it difficult to hold the polished wood.

"Your Grace." The Kingsguard sounded.

f*ck.

None of them were in a position to bow properly to the one Andimion realized was, as he craned his neck, the Queen. f*ck off. Each of them did their best to greet her.

"What's that all about, Ser Harrold?"

The man hummed before answering, seemingly uncomfortable with the Queen's cutting tone. "It is the crib of Prince Aegon, the Gifted Grace, Your Grace. The carpenters came to delivery."

Andimion didn't dare correct his position to the man, it wasn't his place and there was no need. He kept quiet. But he noticed the Queen's sharp intake of air. Her eyes opened and her nostrils flared. Her hands clasped each other. She tried to sound composed, but it seemed as if she could barely contain her anger. Andimion didn't like that at all. It gave him a bad feeling. Although he couldn't understand why she seemed mad at a crib for... her grandson. How strange. The Queen was the same age as the Princess.

He didn't think about it anymore.

"I see." The Queen said in an icy voice. "Well, don't let me stop you."

She moved away from the center of the corridor and as Andimion passed in the rear, he noticed the look of pure hatred in the eyes of the Queen's sworn shield. She didn't look much different. It gave him goosebumps.

But this was quickly forgotten when they finally reached the rooms of the princess and her husband. The doors were opened, and all he heard before he put it down was a gracious "Ah!"

It was filled with admiration.

Andimion looked up at the princess in a crimson-colored dress embroidered with shiny dragonglass beads. She looked at the crib in astonishment. The young prince was rocked in her arms. The boy was awake on her shoulder, and Andimion felt as if his soul might leave his body. He was beautiful. Adorable. Andimion thought he had never seen a more beautiful baby in his life.

In fact, Gifted Grace in every way.

His eyes were a dark purple, different from the vibrant violet of the princess. More like the prince's. He had thinning but curly hair that lifted like bows from a crown on his little head. He seemed to look Andimion in the eye for a second, then blinked away sticking his fist in his mouth. Adorable. Oppression threatened to crush the air out of his lungs. He had never felt anything so strong. And Andimion liked to believe that he was in sync with nature, with the sensibilities of this world. He had to sniff it to help himself swallow the moist cake forming in his throat.

"Is it to your liking, Your Highness?" One of the men asked the princess timidly.

"It's magnificent." She sighed and then smiled at each of them. "Thank you so much for your service."

"My master also sends a gift." Another said, moving out of the way. Andimion noticed two men carrying a large box.

When it was opened, there was a much smaller bassinet that was perfect for carrying around on trips. The princess rocked her son even more. A complex, unreadable look in her gaze. But she smiled as radiant as the sun.

"How lovely." She expressed.

"It's for the Hunt, Your Highness."

Oh, the Hunt the next day.

"It's valuable." She approached, running her hand through the delicate work. Then she stopped beside the traveling cradle, infinitely smaller and lower than the large cradle that would stand in the fortress. "I loved it."

The leader of the group smiled back, hesitant. "And one last thing, Your Highness."

The princess looked at it.

One of the men presented another box that when opened revealed, nestled in red velvet, three miniature dragons carved from dragon glass. Two of them had yellow and red jeweled eyes. Syrax and Caraxes. The latter had white diamond eyes. They were attached to a delicate but certainly sturdy chain to support the weight. The man explained that he was to be hung from the crib. The dragons of Muña Zaldrīzoti. For protection. Andimion watched the princess's eyes fill with tears, and she hugged her son tightly. She didn't cry, swallowing her tears and smiling wet.

"The Gifted Grace hasn't claimed a dragon yet, to our knowledge, so my master chose diamonds for his dragon's eyes for neutrality. The stones can be replaced once the dragon chooses its rider."

The princess pursed her lips and sniffed but nodded vigorously. Probably thrilled by the details. The attention is dedicated to her child. What mother wouldn't want to see her child so adored?

After that, they were dismissed, but as he walked away, Andimion thought he knew what he wanted to do to honor the gift of Muña Zaldrīzoti and her descendants.

Back in the outer yard, he felt something strange. Something on the back of his neck. He looked up, noticing the Queen and her sworn shield watching the excited men talking about their moment with the princess. Even as distant as he was, Andimion detected a sour tug in the Queen's mouth. He felt a shiver again.

Tomorrow in the Hunt, whatever happened, he knew, would change the course of Westeros forever.

And he had work to do.

Chapter 7: A Measure of a Man

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

Lying on that couch next to the balcony of their room, Daemon watched numbly as dawn broke. The sun rose on the eastern horizon, still lazy, as if Stark's words had conjured the winter sun. The wind howled softly in the battlements of the fortress, and seagulls soared in the purple sky. The world seemed to have been swallowed up by serenity and silence. Daemon didn't like this at all, though.

The dragon's blood in his veins flowed very fast. Very chaotic. Wild. Thick. Much like his mother's blood. Peace and solitude did not sit well with dragons, and even less so with those whose souls were pitch black and their wings were dipped in blood. For him, the exercise of reflection was even more unthinkable, and yet Daemon found himself unable to avoid it.

Reflecting was not a habit that belonged to him but to his grandfather, his father, and perhaps his brother, if Viserys head could be left alone long enough to figure out how to distinguish between the very voice of his conscience and his advisors. But Daemon never stopped long enough to think, at least not sufficiently. He was too restless, too impatient. Always a man of action, not of thought. He was the type who did it first and thought it later. And f*ck the consequences. It worked for him and helped placate his inner dragon. To Daemon, few things deserved a permanent place in his mind, and even more that would never dream of deserving his attention, let alone his reflection. And yet...

The thinking seemed inevitable.

Especially when he was tethered to the couch. A lightweight lying on his chest that wouldn't let him do anything else. Hadn't let him do anything but feel his mind static and his bones buzzing. Daemon experienced peace for the first time in many years. The kind of peace he had only experienced in the company of a single person. And luckily for him, she was perfectly asleep within eye reach.

His thoughts inevitably wandered to her.

A dragon only binds once.

Daemon had begun to suspect, since the night of the brothel, that he had always been connected, albeit unconsciously. Or maybe before that when he gets her letters in the Stepstones. If, however, his hypothesis was true, then everything changed. It would explain the cruelty and revulsion in his relationship with Rhea. The inexplicable hatred for a woman he had barely known, whose name was first spoken on his grandmother's lips had made him hate her and consider her unfit for him ever since. There was, of course, his fiancée's lack of Valyrian ancestry and the fact that he was the only political marriage in the family while everyone else married for love, which at least chose their partners, but that wasn't the whole reason for his antagonism. Now, Daemon saw meaning in small pieces he hadn't noticed at the time.

When they forced him into marriage, Rhaenyra was a baby. She was almost as newborn as Aegon was now. She was indescribably young, and he was still a boy, not green, but an immature and rebellious boy, nonetheless. And except for the act of making babies, at that age, Daemon hated everything related to them, but, strangely, he didn't hate his niece with an hour of life tucked into his arms crying to suddenly shut up as she was settled in the crook of his elbow. And something changed in that moment. Something clicked into him. And Daemon knew she was important. That would be much more as the years went by. Even at such a young age, he suspected that his niece would be able to hold his world in her little hands.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning at sixteen namedays and scared him like hell. He had sixteen summers. No one should discover at such a young age that someone else has held their world in their hands without even being able to elaborate an intelligible thought. The mere idea of someone holding his world in their hands rang in his anarchist ears the same as chaining a dragon and making a slave out of it. Dragons were not slaves. He would not be a slave. It didn't matter how much he cared about that baby, or how much he loved her. And Daemon found out to his horror that it was a lot.

In the years that followed, he had watched helplessly as the chasm dug in his chest grew along with the girl whose soul grew more and more like his. A kind of hunger that devoured the dragon in him. No lust, after all, he f*cked every woman in this town desperately trying to stop anything, though the feeling hadn't subsided. On the contrary, it will increase. It had to be something else then. Something that grew in proportion to the emptiness inside him, which only served to make him more irritable and restless. More reckless and violent. Needless to say, then, he tried to fill that hole with anything he saw in front of him. Wine, women, fighting. Anything.

Anything was better than the void that promised to be even worse than the one left by his parent's death, threatened to get over it as if the death of his parents was nothing more than a bee sting in the grand scheme of things.

The madness within him led him to Essos in search of a cure. But Daemon had unpleasantly discovered that there was a limit to how far and for so long he could stand away from the Red Keep. Where he went, what he saw, tasted, and felt, nothing could quench the dragon. Nothing was good enough. Nothing was enough. Daemon feared that the only answer to his problems was contained in the affection and tenderness of a wide-eyed little girl. In eyes that lit up, as she looked at him, with a vivid shade of violet that no one else seemed to have. That they were the only way to tame the black dragon in his chest. To satiate and appease his hunger.

And the kiss, the soft touch of her silky skin on his fingertips, her taste, her smell, her touch, her warmth. It made the dragon shake its scales, it made a frisson roll in its belly. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. All these years of ignoring his feelings, stealing moments, teasing the dragon in his chest, and all of a sudden, Daemon was angry at himself for being a goddamn coward and running away from the only thing in the world capable of arousing the force of nature within him. Raw power in the form of an emotion. A feeling. Suddenly, the hunger was satiated, and the black hole was not only filled, but it also overflowed, threatening to drown him. And he couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't move forward with the truth that tore at his heart. His black dragon demands the freedom to chase their twin mirror. The other side of the coin. Half of a whole.

Madness and greatness, madness and greatness, madness and greatness.

Daemon couldn't think of a worse time to realize that she was always meant to be his. That their souls, whatever they were made of, were part of the same flame. They burned with the same fire of which the gods were made. That they were always meant to burn together.

Daemon would regret this for the rest of his life bitterly. For a moment he wanted to tear off his skin. Get rid of the dragon by using the claws against the cage of his ribs, demanding retaliation for being robbed of his most valuable treasure. Exacting revenge. Demanding fire and blood. He took it all of himself not to make a decision that he might regret even more. That it could hurt her. For the first time, Daemon thought before he did. Or that was before he drowned his wrath and himself in wine.

And though dipped in his glasses, he had a plan. Perhaps naïve, but the best he could formulate in his state. He would return to the Keep and ask for her hand, demand in exchange for the damn crown he had given to his brother.

Nothing had come out... As planned, of course.

He, however, wouldn't be himself if he didn't already have an impulsive and reckless backup plan in anticipation of Viserys' response. Daemon would be cursed if he let the Bronze Bitch get in the way of the one thing he wanted more than to breathe.

Fate, the gods, and the f*cking universe should be testing his patience and his sanity by announcing her marriage after he lands in the city planning to marry her even if he had to kidnap her. Gods. The news had pushed him over the precipice, driven him to the brink of madness. His face was the same as always, irreverent, but inside it burned with the fury of a firestorm. And sitting at the banquet, with her dodging the stares he didn't bother to disguise, watching her dance with Laenor... Daemon played dangerously with the dinner knife. His inner dragon roared deafeningly. He almost heard it, almost used the knife for anything other than cutting the meal.

And now Daemon had everything he didn't know he needed. All he unknowingly desired, with a new kind of possessive satisfaction over him. No longer a Targaryen alone in the world, no longer a lone dragon.

His son, asleep on his chest, sighed unperturbed at his first night in the crib or the turmoil Daemon's mind had gone through. The boy had slept much better than either parent, much to the chagrin of Daemon, who had found it difficult to relax without the baby between him and his wife. No matter how much he wanted this to happen to enjoy his marital rights, he found himself frustrated thanks to Rhaenyra's obsessive preoccupation that had infiltrated his brain. He mocked himself.

Daemon had never thought of any other child besides Rhaenyra in his life. Let alone a son. A boy or a girl, it didn't matter. Children were not in his plans. He had made sure of it. And also, this has always been a Viserys and Aemma thing. Not him.

And yet, Daemon would burn the whole world if any harm happened to this boy. Or his mother, or any of the other five children they were supposed to have. Six children. A big family. Daemon never imagined this for himself. But there was something irresistible about knowing that Rhaenyra was his wife and would be the mother of his children. That these children were the mark of his jealousy, love, and possession.

Zȳhon gīs.

Daemon resisted the urge to laugh. Here he was a man legendary for his reputation for daydreaming about his wife. If death weren’t going to separate him from her, he'd say he was ready to die having seen it all.

The thought of her drew his gaze to the graceful form of his sleeping wife. She had only been asleep for a few hours. They had both struggled with having Aegon out of bed, already used to him. Their son, on the other hand, had not woken up to nurse until that night. Daemon had stayed with his son in bed until Rhaenyra fell asleep, reassured by his presence after the night terrors that had hit her softly in the first few hours of sleep. Dragondreams, she whispered.

Fragments of the future forewarned by Agni. This had given Daemon the need to hold Aegon, as he did when he couldn't sleep after seeing his wife cry, scream, and thrash around in a nightmare. It shook the hell out of him not being able to wake Rhaenyra, and it was always worse when Aegon joined her crying as if he were being tortured. Daemon had retreated to the couch at some point, tormented by the memory of tears and the terror in her beautiful eyes so full of pain and misery. Rhaenyra would only calm down when she held her son. And Daemon had never felt more powerless.

The episodes aggravated anxiety about Aegon, making it difficult to let him farther away than an arm's length away. It hadn't even occurred to Daemon to take his wife to bed, to consummate the marriage. How the mighty fell, didn't they? Daemon thought, realizing that Rhaenyra's maid would arrive at any moment to prepare her for the last day of celebration, both the wedding and the day of Aegon's name. Daemon was more than reticent about disturbing Rhaenyra's sleep, though he recognized what was needed. The work of convincing the skeptics never ended.

He appreciated his wife's shape a little more. As a married woman, her wardrobe was changing. Evening clothes included, mainly because she decided to breastfeed. Her choice to feed their son from her breast continued to make him dumbfounded, possessive, and even crazier about her. Possessed by a primitive feeling. Especially when she wore her new thin cotton nightgowns on hot summer nights. An outrageous little thing with a 'v' neckline and a row of pearl buttons that went down to her navel, to make it easier. An outrageous little thing showing the spectrum of his wife's shapes, even with the delicate air of her fitted waist and butterfly sleeves. Daemon could see the shadow of her round bottom against the fabric. His blood rushed hot, making the dragon in his chest ravenous. It fueled the feeling of ferocity in him.

If only Aegon wasn't a small block-co*ck.

Daemon growled silently, using his forearm to shield himself from the sunlight for a moment, then, carefully rose to go and sit next to his wife's sleeping form, pressing his son against his shoulder. Aegon stirred, but he didn't seem to have woken up. Daemon ran his knuckles down her face, appreciating her beauty. Her eyelashes kissed the cheeks. A slight flush on her cheekbones. Her hair has a wavy halo around the head. Her lips parted, inviting him to kiss. No sign of what troubled her last night. Daemon lost himself in her beauty and regretted that he couldn't give her to wake up the kind of kiss that would scandalize noblewomen. But still intended to kiss her good morning.

His fingers dragged around, tugging at her shoulder sleeve. Three buds were left open from when she fed Aegon. Daemon hadn't even noticed. He suppressed a grimace, considering himself too soft. He needed to remember that he was a f*cking husband too. Daemon kissed Rhaenyra's bare shoulder and she sighed in her sleep, pulling her shoulder back a little more. Daemon gave himself a crooked smile and kissed higher. Rhaenyra moved, providing space for him to kiss. She twisted her torso until both shoulders touched the mattress and Daemon kissed her collarbone and felt her fingers gripping his short hair, nails scraping his scalp. He hummed vibrantly against her skin. Her chest shifted with the heavier exhale. Daemon kissed her neck, hearing her hum awake and appreciatively.

He kissed her jaw and then her soft lips. Rhaenyra grabbed him by the hair to deepen the kiss. Her tongue licked his teeth, and her nails scratched his scalp. Daemon smiled against her lips, about to open his mouth to dance with her tongue.

Aegon grumbled, annoyed.

Spoiled boy, Daemon thought with a grunt as he walked away. Rhaenyra chuckled delightfully, and his irritation subsided. Her smile has taken him by surprise often in recent days, thanks to the nightmares that left such a lasting impression on him. He bent down, stealing a quick kiss. Not fast enough for Aegon not to notice and make noise, of course.

"You little-"

"Give him to me, before you finish that." Rhaenyra laughed, sitting up and holding out her arms.

Daemon lifted his son between them, searching Aegon's sleepy eyes. Indigo rifts stared blindly back at him.

"This conversation isn't over yet, little boy."

She gave her husband a mischievous smile as she leaned back. Daemon arranged the pillows for her, and Rhaenyra settled down, moving further down the shoulder of her nightgown. Daemon had his eyes trained on the creaminess of her exposed skin. His hand fell with an anxious grip on her thigh and his wife gave him a teasing crooked smile. Daemon growled, pulling her feet into his lap. He held one of them, pressing between her fingers absentmindedly, just to touch her. Rhaenyra threw her head back in delight. Aegon grumbled against his mother's breast, his cheeks working, as if to tell them to behave. Daemon wasn't even doing anything too much.

Cheeky boy.

Rhaenyra's maids arrived in their room just as Aegon was fed. His wife gave him the baby so she could cool off and start her day. Lyeta approached with a basin of warm water and clean clothes, and then he busied himself with preparing his son himself.

Aegon was a mama's boy, Daemon decided how much noise he was making. Bad luck for him. They were stuck together.

Their lack of trust in the servants meant that they were stuck with each other, waiting for the other to be able to keep their child. He knew that Annora was training Lyeta to take care of Rhaenyra, as his wife was planning to make Annora Aegon's nurse for a while. She was the only one of the servants in the Red Keep that his wife trusted, and so did he by extension. Daemon wouldn't complain, however, about taking on Annora's role of taking care of Rhaenyra. Prepare, dress, and bathe her. Although, not necessarily in that order.

When his wife was ready, she took their son so he could get ready. Breakfast had been served in the anteroom just before Rhaenyra began to give orders to the servants, who began packing supplies for the Hunt. Gods, so much ado about nothing. Aegon remained indifferent to the racket, and most of the servants used the opportunity to take a look at the young prince. Most of them carefully cooed for their son, in the presence of his dragon mother, known for her overprotectiveness. Daemon suppressed the look of smug satisfaction that threatened to take over his face whenever his son was flattered. It gave him a mean pleasure to know that the boy c*nttower was despised in Aegon's name.

Daemon was content to remain out of Rhaenyra's zone of command, only watching his heart split in two exist outside his chest. Aegon looked at everything and nothing at the same time, accidentally pleasing some servants with his looks. He was handling the unrest well, though Daemon knew it wouldn't last long. Aegon was a sleeper and all this hustle and bustle around him would quickly tire him out. Whether he had the soul of a dragon or a koala, he didn't yet know. Daemon only knew that Aegon was the only creature in the world capable of sleeping during jousting and in the sweltering heat of the overcrowded city.

In this respect, he differed from his mother when she was the same age. Rhaenyra was a demanding and curious little thing. Her eyes are always wide open and looking for the world around her. And she rarely slept in Daemon's company. He liked to think that it was the connection forged by the Fourteen Flames acting between them. Planting the sparks of their steaming relationship.

Motherhood suited her well, he thought contentedly. Her newfound softness and natural elegance were devastating to him, so that, in his opinion, Rhaenyra barely needed to exert herself in her role as Mother of Dragons. She acted majestically in her adoration, with her love, in her fierce and ardent protection. Or her jealousy, he mused to himself with delight. Daemon loved it when she got jealous. Those amethyst eyes were shadowed by a clamor of possession and anger that could burn anyone who dared to desire what belonged to her. And though Daemon never gave her a reason to be jealous, he still reveled in the murderous look his wife gave to any lady stupid enough to lust after her husband.

He was the luckiest motherf*cker in the Seven Kingdoms.

It made him anxious to expand the family, to give Aegon those siblings Agni spoke of. There was something hot as hell about watching his wife with their child, and he suspected it always would be. Daemon could only imagine how heavy she would be with his baby. And he had discovered that he wanted every one of the babies Agni had promised them. He would give her every single one of their promised children and burn anything and everything in his path to ensure that their little dragons wouldn't have even a single silver-gold strand of their beautiful little heads harmed.

Let Alic*nt carefully watch her moves. Daemon would crush her birdie brain faster than she would be able to open her mouth to beg for mercy.

He pushed away the dark thought, not wanting his wife to be able to see it in the shadows of his indigo eyes the instant he was by her side. The servants cooed at his son like birds dispersed with a nervous flutter at his gaze, even as he acknowledged their existence. Although he didn't have a smile. This was Rhaenyra's game, not his. Instead, he exuded all the authority he used to use in the City Watch, and on the battlefield. He behaved like a man with titles like his, with an inheritance like his own. Although, of course, it was still him. Viserys barely seemed able to recognize him. Wasn't it sad how much Viserys continued to underestimate him? How much poison did he swallow at the hands of the Hightower c*nt? Viserys, however, had brought this upon himself.

But no matter how much he'd changed to fit the unique situation his family was in, Daemon hadn't changed enough to stop being petty and tormenting Viserys just because he could. His wife reportedly gave him a few disgruntled looks for it, but she never told him to stop or told him to be different. She was the only woman in the world able to see him fully. She just accepted it as it was. And no other woman in the world was made like she was for him. Daemon couldn't imagine being married to anyone else or having children with anyone else.

Now look at it.

f*ck.

She turned to him, rocking their son, and smiled, threatening to make his heart give up. Her smile always had power over him. It's always been beautiful. Daemon didn't call her Realm's Delight just because he was biased. Her smile was a delight in itself. But when she smiled like that, crowned by the sun streaming in through the window, her hair falling straight over her shoulders and decorated with amethyst beads to match her eyes, Daemon did not doubt that she was a goddess.

And suddenly, he was assailed by a memory from his childhood. Of sitting on his mother's knee with an ancient book open and teaching him about Gevives, the Goddess of Beauty. The one who made the Valyrians who they were, with their silvery-blond hair, violet eyes, and moon-colored skin. The stories said that Gevives chose one of the shepherds who began Valyria as a lover and bore him beautiful children. A similar story to the story of how House Targaryen was founded. Although Gevives created a nation. She was the Mother of the Valyrians, and the maidens were brought to her temple before the wedding to receive her blessing at the hands of the Timpys-Voktys. The White Priestesses. She was also regarded as the Goddess of Love because all that was beautiful was loved. And from her name derived the word 'gevie', which in High Valyrian meant beautiful.

Rhaenyra was his Gevives.

The love and beauty of his world.

He decided that as soon as his children were old enough, he would be educating them as Alyssa had educated him about the Valyrian pantheon. And Daemon would make sure to tell them that Rhaenyra was the reincarnation of Gevives.

In her lap, Aegon's eyes seemed to focus on his for a second before his son thrust the tongue out, shaking his head and letting his gaze wander again. The boy twisted his button nose as he got into his mother's hair and sneezed with a confused expression. Daemon smiled as indulgently as his wife, and Aegon searched for the sound of his father's giggle. Aegon kicked Rhaenyra's arm. Daemon smiled, leaning in for a sweet kiss from his wife's lips. Her soft hand grabbed his coat, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, deepening the kiss. And then Aegon grunted, annoyed at being caught between them. His little feet kicked Daemon's ribs. Rhaenyra laughed and Daemon gave his son a wary look, who ignored him, looking at his mother with an irritated wrinkle between his very light eyebrows.

Daemon's gaze turned to his wife once more.

"So beautiful, ñuha prūmia." He said softly with his breath touching her lips, tempting her. "I will miss you terribly until the moment of your arrival." Daemon scoffed irreverently.

Rhaenyra blinked with passion still clouding her gaze. She smiled lazily. "You can always come with us if you believe you will miss me so much."

"And being forced to endure not only your father but Alicent and the little plagues?" He ignored the admonishing manner in which his wife said his name. "no."

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow, placing a hand on her waist. Eyes narrowing.

"But should I?"

"I'm afraid you're the most sensible option, ñuha raqnon." He said arrogantly. "I'll be drawing the steel the instant my brother's wife opens her mouth. She's annoying."

Rhaenyra looked at the carpet thoughtfully, a furrow had formed between her eyebrows.

"I don't know if it's worse or better that father doesn't come with us."

Daemon frowned.

"Will you be alone with Alic*nt?"

His wife scolded him with her gaze. He was very careless with his tongue still. But then, Daemon has gotten away with worse.

She shook her head. "He decided to go with the Velaryon men. Rhaenys and Laena will come with us. I don't know if I could survive an entire trip alone with Alicent."

"I'll bet on you, ñuha zaldrize." He clicked his tongue. His gaze took on a teasing quirk to distract her mind. "In the old days, I could see the advantage of being alone in a carriage full of women, no more. A dragon only binds once."

Her eyes flashed in return, like a sharp blade made of her jealousy.

"And tell me, husband, how long has this change of heart?" Cunning woman. "Seven days?"

"My heart has always been yours." He smiled crookedly.

"And yet, you weren't chaste when you married me," Rhaenyra replied in Valyrian, only half-seriously.

He leaned closer, circling Aegon and pulling her to him.

"And neither do you, my love."

If Rhaenyra had noticed his slip, she hadn't minded.

"But it could have been you." Touche.

Daemon didn't know if he'd groaned in disgust or growled in jealousy. But she was right, though she had no idea why he had quit that night. Nor how he gained access to that information. She didn't even seem to care about it, at least, not yet.

"And I'm going to both reward and make you regret giving the honor to someone like Crispin Cole," Daemon growled dangerously. "Of all people, Rhaenyra. Honestly."

He pulled away, shaking his head. She blushed a beautiful rouge and looked away. He knew she knew intimately that it hadn't been her best decision. However, dragons rarely had the luxury of rationality when they felt slighted. When fury burned in their veins. He would remedy this and obliterate the experience with Cole from her mind. Even if it was the last thing he did in his life.

Daemon then escorted her through the fortress. Viserys were nowhere to be seen. Excellent. Their cousin Rhaenys and her daughter were already in the outer yard waiting for Rhaenyra. The Velaryon girl smiled at his wife and her eyes lowered to a surprisingly still awake Aegon. The c*nt Hightower was already getting into the carriage. He didn't envy his wife's trip. And if there was a safe way to transport Aegon on a dragon, they'd be doing it. Daemon didn't care about decorum or public displays of affection, having waited a long time for the one wife he wished to have. He kissed her passionately without deepening the kiss.

"Travel safe," Daemon murmured against her lips in Valyrian. Just for her to hear.

"Fly safe." She wished.

He gave her his hand so that she could get into the carriage and once he was sure that she was accommodated with the Velaryon women, he closed the door going in search of the horse. Daemon then noticed the servants' gazes. The women seemed to faint at the kiss he had given his wife, while the men seemed to approve.

Smiling to himself, he mounted his destrier, spurring it towards the Dragonpit. He intended to set up Caraxes for the hunting lodge, flying over the camp to assess the perimeter before his family's arrival. Though he knew he should mingle with the nobles and work out his alliances, Daemon had little to no patience to remain in the company of the Kingdom's leeches, though the incident on Silk Street had spared him the worst of them all. Otto c*nttower. And he had even less interest in those who would try to sell their daughters to his son for the highest bids. Aegon was and would be for a long time yet to come, at an age that the only tit* that mattered to him were his mother's.

Avoiding the Court meant avoiding Viserys as well. He did not tolerate the fools of the kingdom, and no one was more foolish than his brother. Daemon, naturally, held a grudge like any dragon. And he still hadn't gotten over the attempted marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor as a means of mending relations that Viserys should be the one to make, by despising Lady Laena. Daemon had understood Viserys's intentions, of course. He was no fool. However, whether it was he or Crispin Cole who had Rhaenyra's virtue, and whether her reputation still needed to be saved by marriage, how on earth had Viserys concluded that it was best to give her to a damned sodomite? Why not him? Hell, didn't he beg for her hand on the cold floor of the throne room?

Damned Viserys.

He wouldn't give Viserys a chance to insult him by offering Helaena's hand to Aegon to mend the bridges he'd burned in their family. Not only would Daemon prefer the imaginary Velaryon girl to a girl with the lowest concentration of Hightower blood any day, but he also wouldn't challenge Muña Zaldrīzoti to allow Viserys to make amends. Even he had limits. And crossing paths with a goddess was one of them. He wasn't stupid.

The pit quickly approached under the thunderclap of his horse's hooves and in a matter of minutes, he was riding Caraxes towards the skies, leaving the city behind. The light was stronger up there, as was the wind and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Daemon had squealed with delight as his Blood Wyrm had dived dangerously, before spreading its wings at the last minute. They flew over the Kingswood looking for the hunting lodge. Beneath him, Caraxes had shuddered with a roar, searching the ground for threats. The tents being pitched rattled as they flew low. Caraxes moved away towards a clearing not far from the pavilion to land.

Daemon hadn't worried about any possible casualties in Caraxes' landing, only a blind man wouldn't see him coming. His dragon was big and all the warning anyone needed before running in the opposite direction. Only idiots didn't move. He dismounted, walking back to the camp where tents with the various banners to which the Houses belonged fluttered in the air. Coats of arms proudly displayed. He searched for the Targaryen tent, the largest and widest. A long table had been set up outside and the men were starting a big bonfire for later.

Among the flags, he recognized banners of Lannister, Stark, Arryn, Strong, Velaryon, and many others. Daemon had just intimidated the lords into staying away when his brother and the others arrived. But not his wife.

The instant he caught sight of Viserys, Daemon immediately turned around. Viserys, of course, hadn't received the memo and sought out Daemon.

"How much more do you intend to avoid me?" Viserys scoffed. "Am I not your brother?"

The irony of Viserys' choice of words didn't go unnoticed, not when Daemon had said something similar years ago to him.

Because I'm your brother.

Daemon showed his left canine with a menacing snap of his tongue.

"I can't imagine why you're looking for me, brother. You weren't thrilled to have me as a good-son before, and I don't believe that's changed." He said as he searched for wine, too sober to handle Viserys. Daemon had approached a servant with a jug of wine and goblets, one of which he wasted no time in filling and spilling. Red Dornish had gone bitterly down his throat, but he hardly cared.

"I gave my blessing for marriage with my daughter, didn't I?" Viserys retorted.

His fingers tightened on the glass goblet, and he fought the instinct to break things.

"Did you?" Daemon retorted through gritted teeth, refilling the glass gloomily. "Or did you find yourself in a situation where you needed to do it? Because, again, to quote Rhaenyra: 'It doesn't matter that Aegon is divine. Your parents should get married.'" A bitter smile twisted his face. "All in the name of decency, of course."

Viserys boiled. "That's rich coming from you, considering the reason she was forced to marry, Daemon!"

The shackles that bound the beast of his heart tinkled dangerously, and the black dragon that lived in his soul bared its teeth with a dangerous cloud of sulfur covering its reptilian eyes for an instant. Fury clouded his judgment, and he towered over Viserys, their faces inches apart. Daemon breathed through his teeth.

"Funny how you think you know everything," Daemon scoffed. "Tell me, did you just listen to Hightower and make up your mind? And you never bothered to know all the facts, because your mind was already made up, wasn't it?"

Viserys laughed, a vicious sound. "And you want me to believe you didn't plan this? Seduce my daughter, ruin her so that I would give her to you, and through her, you would have the Iron Throne!"

Daemon gave Viserys a dangerous look.

"You're right. That's what I planned." Balerion's shadow shrouded Viserys's gaze. Daemon laughed dismissively, giving sh*t to the King's wrath. His brother was the greatest motherf*cker in the Seven Kingdoms. From the f*cking known world. Viserys roared and breathed fire when he shouldn't have and became a f*cking conniving c*nt when he shouldn't have either. He never did what he was supposed to do. It was maddening. "I planned to impress you with a crown, I planned to seduce Rhaenyra and make her my queen. The thing you didn't know, brother, because you know me through the eyes of your advisors instead of me," Daemon declared, his voice barely above a murmur, "is that I wanted Rhaenyra. I always did. And it was seeing her as a grown woman that told me what I was missing. As I wanted her. I always dis. And how could I not, when she's my twin flame? When does she burn her mark on my mind, on my heart?"

His brother staggered.

"Did you want her?" Viserys echoed.

"I still want to." Daemon declared. "I always will. I'm hers and she's mine because dragons only bind once."

Daemon began to walk away, leaving Viserys to know that his younger brother truly loved his daughter. Not just a ruse. But something vicious still burned in his chest, something still putrid and festering that refused to rot and die in his chest. So Daemon let go. Purging himself. The stunned look on Viserys' face was a treat in itself as Daemon spun on his heel, still not done with him. Twisting the knife could only make it better.

"And if your head hadn't been so deeply thrust into Hightower's ass," Daemon hissed menacingly, "maybe you could have believed your daughter when she said I didn't take her. That nothing happened, Viserys."

"Nothing happe-" Viserys blinked. "Nothing happened?"

Daemon shook his head in disgust and a hint of distaste, as well as the bitter taste of regret for not having done something. From not being her first man, to having guaranteed that she would have enjoyed everything they did. The gods knew that most women deserved to know true pleasure. Rhaenyra on all of them. He also wouldn't have minded living up to the charges, of course. The memory of that night threatened to crack the rest of his self-control and Daemon knew that at the end of his wrath, there would be no less than half camp burned. Suddenly, he felt a pain settle behind his eyes, and his vision blurred for a second.

"No. She deserved better than a cunning f*ck in a hole like that. She's a Queen, she deserves to be treated as such. She deserved to be treated as such. So I left her."

There was no need to reveal to Viserys that Daemon had discovered more than that in the soft touch of Rhaenyra's skin. He found out how much he cared for her. So deeply. No one deserved to know, no one but her.

It seemed as if the ground had disappeared from under Viserys's feet. Daemon gave him a twisted smile and walked away. He caught sight of the carriage with the flying Targaryen flags, knowing that Rhaenyra had just arrived. The storm of fire and blood swirling within him led him to her without caring who and what stood in his way. Tension emanated from him in waves and the air filled with ozone, as before a thunderstorm. Twinges behind his eyes punctuated the fierce beating of his heart. Daemon blinked at the black dots dancing before his eyes. Hadn't wine been a good idea, or hadn't Viserys been a good idea? f*ck it. Daemon reached the carriage door, but before he could touch it, his angry wife exploded out.

She stumbled over him, the tense expression on her face softening as she laid eyes on him at the same time as his vision cleared and his headache softened. He just needed her. Daemon helped her down. His fingers dug into the waist of her new dress. He stole a second to smell her lavender and lemon and relaxed. Gods, how he wanted to kiss her now. Ferociously. Take the tension out of them. But then, Lady Laena appeared at the door with Aegon. Rhaenyra held out her arms eagerly to the baby, and Daemon escorted her away.

Lord Corlys was waiting to welcome his daughter and his wife, in the company of Daemion.

"What happened?" Rhaenyra asked immediately.

"I can't decide who is worse to spend my time with," Daemon growled softly. "A Hightower c*nt or my brother."

"Daemon." Her voice contained a warning, and she held his coat to stop him from going... wherever his feet took them. "What happened?"

"We had a disagreement, Viserys and I, about my last exile." Her eyes narrowed.

"Why?"

"The reasons why I deserved it."

Her gaze turned somber, as he imagined it would when the topic was raised. sh*t. Daemon just didn't expect it to be here, in the middle of a hunting camp, with all the gossipers in the Kingdom staring on. Damn. He gritted his teeth and a muscle popped out on his cheek. Hurt flickered in his wife's eyes and Daemon felt that anger at himself sour even more. He would always regret leaving her that night. And that would be his only regret from the event. Everything else had been a pleasure before it collapsed like a sandcastle on the beach before the wave washed away.

Daemon could and would accept her anger. But only hers. He wouldn't swallow Viserys' hypocrisy. He at least never hid who he was, while his brother was worse. Because he was oblivious. Making his decisions with the greater good in mind, not realizing that he was causing harm to everyone else but one. The Hightower girl was proof of that. He had enough of any idiot belittling his wife, including his brother. Vermithor be good, because if Gaelithox would help him...

Daemon fought the urge to physically drive away the momentum within him. It would only bring chaos. And not the kind he liked.

"I see." She said bitterly.

Daemon opened his mouth to invite his wife to retire to their tent and have this conversation, where he would admit why he abandoned her, and more. But the hunting horn sounded, summoning the participants of the hunt to gather and listen to some stupid words from Viserys before they set off into the woods. Daemon looked at Rhaenyra, thinking about ignoring the call and doing what he knew had to be done. But she was a stubborn, spiteful little thing. Rhaenyra rocked Aegon, already walking away from him.

In long strides, he caught up with her. His arm around her waist pulling her against his chest. "We'll talk about that later."

She grunted in response, and they mingled in the pavilion. The Lords assembled. Daemon ignored Viserys and focused solely on the silent Rhaenyra. The tense aura radiating from her. She spun to him before he had to leave.

"Be careful." She said, her voice stiff. But there was sincerity and concern in her gaze. Daemon nodded, choosing to save the words for later. "Bring me something memorable. I killed a wild boar the last time I was here."

He laughed. "Oh. I remember that in the letter you wrote."

"And that you never answered." She retorted more softly than a moment ago, though still accusing.

sh*t.

Daemon shrugged, holding her hand with his thumb caressing the back of her bare hand.

"Hope." He murmured in their language.

Too private for the Common, his soul too raw for the gossips.

Rhaenyra blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Hope," Daemon repeated in a monotone voice, masking his feelings. He gave her a crooked smile. "I convinced myself that my words wouldn't fit a crow, so I would have to answer your letters personally. That meant I needed to be alive to do it. When things got bad, each of your new letters reminded me that I needed to be alive to respond."

Her head tilted and the wind blew through her hair. The shock widened her beautiful amethyst eyes. Daemon gave her a particular smile, one of her own. Only to her. His dragon.

"Daemon..." She muttered in a daze.

A crooked smile curled his lips and Daemon grabbed her hand, brushing a kiss against the inside of her wrist carefully and reverently. Silent worship. Desire sparked in his eyes. Her eyes quickly darkened in response. Rhaenyra recovered enough to pull herself together, though her gaze was as warm as a dragon's scales. Cozy and caustic. Fiery. Eager. He was looking forward to her too. It became imperative for them to get used to Aegon in the crib.

And fast.

"Go, my prince." She commanded, her chin protruding imperiously. The hand that held hers trembled and squeezed her palm. He wanted anything but to get away from her. Damn Viserys. Damn hunt. "Go and bring us a gift worthy of our son."

"I will go, ñuha prūmia."

He pulled her in for a chaste kiss. Aegon stirred, his little fists flailing in the air. Daemon mounted the horse they gave him, looking down on his family from above. He smiled irreverently, pulling on the reins and guiding the horse in the direction of the forest.

"Hya!" He cried out, digging his heels into the black horse's flank.

The animal thundered its hooves toward the forest, and soon the sounds of the pavilion were left behind. All he heard after a moment was the sound of another horse approaching. He looked over his shoulder and a fist of jealousy dragged him into the memories of Harwin Strong's bright, interested eyes during the dance he and Rhaenyra shared in the first half of her marriage. Daemon struggled to keep the expressionless face and jealous dragon caged, though not without a cost. Strong caught up with him.

"My prince."

"Ser Harwin."

"Do you think he's going to show up today? To your son, I mean?"

Daemon frowned.

"Who?"

"The White Hart." Harwin clarified. "They say it's a good omen when he shows up. A sign of the gods that symbolizes royalty." Harwin scratched his bearded chin. "I know your son was delivered by a goddess. I was there. But do you think if you see it, it's another sign of favor?"

Daemon didn't know, and he didn't care either. But it could bolster Aegon's claim. To prove the point that even the gods of Westeros were in common accord with the Valyrian gods. He knew Rhaenyra would like to entertain the idea.

sh*t.

He'd better come back with the damn stag.

Daemon looked at the man askance, a faint hint of irreverent arrogance in his mouth.

"There's only one way to know, Strong."

Breakbones nod.

Daemon spurred the horse towards the forest with only one goal in mind.

Chapter 8: A Rupture of Us

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

Rhaenyra hated the King's hunting lodge where the Court usually gathered for hunts like these. Not because she had anything against the sport itself. After all, killing that boar certainly helped purge her feelings at the time. But reminiscing was unpleasant, which was only made worse thanks to the fact that she hadn't created any good memories until now.

The trip had already been unpleasant enough with four children crying at almost the same time, which made Rhaenyra feel uncomfortable and angry. The cries of babies had started to make her anxious, which didn't help when her Aegon joined awakened from his nap. The crying of the half-siblings also made her anxious, making her angry for being angry with children who were innocent of the sins of their parents. Mother and father. Her father was anything but holy. He was worse, he was oblivious. But what her off was the way Alicent handled the kids. The caustic looks made the nurses feel anxious about the babies crying and desperately trying to get them to shut up. Alicent rocked her youngest desperately, trying to get him to be quiet.

The cramped space, the lingering noise, and her general anxiety crackled as Alicent told her to make Aegon shut up. Shut. Up. Rhaenyra was sure that Laena had grabbed her arm to stop her from assaulting the Queen. As if my son was the only one crying.

Her brother was along with it, not that he had done it on purpose. That wooden dragon that their father had given the boy for his second nameday had slipped from his little fingers and rolled under the seats of the carriage, getting lost in the skirts of the women. And the rocking of the carriage made it impossible to find the toy. Her brother felt inconsolable, much to his mother's growing restlessness, which made Alicent reckless, and much to her misfortune, she chose to target the new dragon mother.

The argument had turned ugly, only ending with the creaking of the carriage's wheels when they finally stopped.

The first face she saw was her husband, who was there to get her, and he didn't seem very happy too. And the kiss on the outer yard of the Red Keep they shared turned into her last good memory of the day.

The Hunt had seemed like a nightmare ever since.

Her husband was summoned into the woods to hunt. He gave her a sweet kiss of 'see you soon' and then Rhaenyra was left to deal with the vipers that still resisted the power of the dragons. Fools who were too old to see or accept change. Fools who never really accepted her family in power. How terrible for them, since this land was claimed by the dragons, with Fire and Blood. And they would do it again if they had to. Rhaenyra let them know this when she walked straight into the snake pit. She looked out over the expanse of the interior of the tent that housed the vast majority of the nobles of Westeros, feeling the gazes on her back and following her every step. All of them waited as long as they could in turn to take a look at the divine baby.

To evaluate the new piece of the game.

While entertaining the Reachmen, she noticed that some seemed calculating their chances of taking her down. Of course, except for the Tyrells, a family that owed its position to the dragons, Lord Tyrell knew it. His wife was delighted by the baby and Rhaenyra had no qualms about bringing her to sit with her group. Her next target was Lady Jeyne Arryn, a relative of her lady-mother. One of the few nice people she met in this place. Rhaenyra took all the knowledge she could and reinforced her roots to Lady Jeyne, who was delighted. If Rhaenyra could bring Jeyne and Diana Tyrell to her side, she would become a ruthless force.

These were easy alliances.

She took a chance with the Starks first, because 'the North remembers' and Lord Stark certainly hadn't forgotten the Fire and Ice pact between the families when Torrhen knelt to the Conqueror. The man was loyal and respectful by nature. And it was very easy to connect with the Northmen based on religion. North more than anyone else knew what it was like to believe in a religion that no one else did, no one else cared about. Rhaenyra respected his beliefs and he respected hers, and they found themselves talking about theology. Lord Stark certainly seemed pleased to know that his future Queen had respect for his culture.

The Crownlands were even easier. Most of the lords at her wedding were from the Crownlands due to proximity.

And some Targaryen blood also found its way through the Riverlands, which was also relatively easy. And the fact that Lord Lyonel Strong was a Riverman and the Hand of the King certainly helped, despite the lust for his position. The real challenge was still the Reach and the Westerlands, as Dorne was left out. And Jason Lannister apparently hasn't forgotten her refusal back then.

Rhaenyra behaved appropriately with her new status as a demigoddess. After all, Targaryens have always been closer to the gods than anything else. Now they knew why. And she made sure to show it. Rhaenyra conversed with most of the lords, though she took no pleasure in it. And she gritted her teeth when she realized that Daemon had avoided laying the groundwork for alliances. Rhaenyra knew her husband hated Court, but that didn't invalidate its usefulness to the cause. They would have the opportunity to discuss it later. Rhaenyra remained regal and imperious, proud of her position, borrowing Agni's magnificence. She was a queen in appearance much more so than the Queen herself, striving to be seen with her children.

Rhaenyra noticed that Alicent made a few public appearances with her children, doing her best to soften her image. It wasn't going very well. Annora had let slip that the servants of the Red Keep had frowned upon her. Envy and jealous, they said, trying to copy the real Queen. Annora had also blurted out that it was a futile effort, as the people didn't care. Rhaenyra, of course, had struggled to let slip her reasons for visiting the city a little while growing up. As, being the King's only daughter, her parents were very careful about her safety. How she had wished her uncle to take her to see the folk, but by the King's rules, he never could and instead regaled her with the stories of King's Landing.

Annora was a marvel, going over these little things every time she went to town. Rhaenyra also knew that her personal maid's popularity was growing day by day. And they appreciated that.

One of the few things that Rhaenyra enjoyed was introducing her Aegon to Lady Redwyne. It gave her great satisfaction to make the woman come to her. Took everything from Rhaenyra to hide her smug smile.

"He looks just like any other baby." The woman commented with some disdain.

The comment didn't bother her, even though she knew Daemon would have drawn the steel for it. It was nothing more than spite for the favor of the gods. Gods other than her dear Seven. After all, Aegon threatened not only his uncle's reign but a Reachman's.

Lady Diana Tyrell turned up her nose at Lady Redwyne silently, and Lord Tyrell took a generous sip of wine, of Arbor Gold.

"Lady Redwyne, what did you expect? He's a baby." Rhaenyra crossed her legs, eyes fixed on her prey. "The lady certainly didn't think my son would have wings and scales and breathe fire, did she?" Her innocent smile twisted into a blunt mockery. A sliver of fire. Her giggle hid the pungent venom. Lady Redwyne's mouth twitched in disgust at her sarcasm. "I assure you he's dragon's blood, but a baby still. Your imagination is very vivid, madam."

Some of the nobles who were paying attention to the conversation giggled. Rhaenyra let a slow, small victorious smile creep onto her lips.

That had been a delight.

"I think", Alicent's voice echoed through the space, as she rose to her feet with Aemond in her lap, looking straight into Rhaenyra's eyes. Aegon grabbed the skirts of her dress as green as the others she wore throughout the week. A determined look in her eyes. Rhaenyra struggled not to grit her teeth, "Lady Redwyne hoped him to look more..." Alicent paused mean, purposefully, "divine. He's as ordinary as any baby Targaryen could be. So common that anyone would think his arrival is nothing more than a beautiful story. After all, what parent doesn't like to believe that their child is special?"

Lady Redwyne smiled with satisfaction at the rescue.

A battle in progress, it was what it was, Rhaenyra knew. She forced a smile twice to mask her sharp dragon teeth.

"And to prove his divinity he should what, Your Grace?" Rhaenyra retorted, forcing softness into her voice. There was a pantomime to play, and her role was to be balanced. Don't lose her head and look... unstable in front of the people she once hoped to rule. Yeah, the commons were important, they were the masses. But the nobles were also important. They ruled the farthest and most far-reaching regions of her kingdom. She needed to be on good terms with them and prove to them that she was a capable Queen. A capable ruler. If she were too emotional, it would be an advantage to take away. "Maybe combust, like the goddess? I hardly think that would be advisable. The Red Keep would be on fire by now."

Alicent's gaze narrowed slightly.

The nobles did not laugh. Not in front of the Queen. But Rhaenyra could see the look of skepticism from those who went to the wedding, who saw it happen. They would be foolish to question. No, Alicent was doing this for the lords who arrived later, after the word had spread and all they had were the tales of spectators as witnesses. For those who wished to see for themselves. Then she continued. "He doesn't have to look special to be one, Your Grace. My son was born special. His delivery proves that if nothing else." Rhaenyra looked at Lady Redwyne, unable to resist the splinter. "He will change the world."

Before Alicent could open her mouth and fight back, Ser Harrold Westerling entered the tent. His eyes scoured and located the princess.

"Your Highness," he called, "the King wishes to see you."

Rhaenyra flinched, gloomy. Not too excited lately to be in the company of her father. She would regret only leaving Alicent when she was winning the battle. But Rhaenyra had made her point against both women of Reach. It was satisfying enough. Rhaenyra nodded to Ser Harrold and turned, carefully placing Aegon in Laena's arms. Something told her not to take him with her, and Rhaenyra was learning to listen to her mother's instincts. Her gaze, however, held the promise of fire and blood as it met the eyes of the young Velaryon girl. "Don't let her get too close, or anyone. Don't give him to anyone but your mother."

Laena nodded seriously.

Both Laena knew they were in a nest of snakes, and had no desire to face the wrath of a mother dragon. One day she would learn the lesson that mothers were capable of anything for their children, but not today. One day in the not-too-distant future, certainly. Rhaenyra's index finger traced along the edge of her son's face fondly before pulling away. She looked at him already feeling anxious about the separation. Missing the comforting weight of him and the knowledge that in her hands Aegon was safe. But she trusted her cousin Laena. And hoped that faith would not be broken.

Rhaenyra left him and followed Ser Harrold.

He took her to the big bonfire being lit with the sun that got lazy as the hours passed, rushing to set. In addition to leaving Aegon with Laena in an unreliable environment, Rhaenyra felt increasingly anxious about Daemon's absence. Rhaenyra longed for the comfort of his presence, the sense of strength he gave her. After all, together they were stronger. Two halves of a whole. Fire and Blood. At this point, she longed for nothing more than to escape to the sanctuary of their rooms, their moments together with little Aegon. Enjoying everything she wanted and loved most together in the same place. Rhaenyra hoped that wasn't too much to ask. Especially, since they hadn't spent a night away from each other since Aegon's birth. Although she knew how to take care of her son, doing it alone was different from having him by her side.

Her partner, husband, and equal.

Her twin flame.

Ser Harrold kept his distance but left her to watch her father with a full glass of wine and distant eyes staring into the fire. Not at all like the image from when he took her to Balerion's skull and told her about the prophecy, which he asked her to secret, but she hoped to tell Daemon before telling Aegon one day.

Now, looking at her father, Viserys looked old, tired, and sad. She felt a pang of pity for him, especially when he was sick, but caution took first place. They had been dancing on a tightrope since the Silk Street incident and Rhaenyra had no reason to believe that Aegon's arrival would change that, especially for who his father was and what it meant to his grandfather. Rhaenyra knew that her father didn't want Daemon to be one meter or day closer to the Iron Throne, but she didn't care.

If she wanted to keep Aegon, and the other children they would have alive, Rhaenyra would need Daemon to share the burden with her. The Iron Throne was important, but no more so than family. That was a lesson she had learned since her mother's death. Family above all and the Iron Throne as the greatest weapon for their protection. A lesson her father seemed to have forgotten when he took her mother's life.

"Have you called me, Your Grace?" Rhaenyra asked, crossing her arms under her breasts growing heavy with the milk. Aegon would be hungry soon. It's been a while since he's breastfed.

Rhaenyra might not have scruples about nursing her child in front of the servants or even Alicent to annoy her, but she knew she needed to be careful with noblewomen. After all, no amount of divine blood or interventions from the Valyrian gods would be able to dissuade them from vanity or resentment at not being capable of the same freedom.

This, unfortunately, was a weakness against Rhaenyra that Alicent could exploit. People could be so vain and petty like that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He demanded, turning to her with fevered eyes.

Rhaenyra took a step back on instinct and heard Ser Harrold's armor creak, she just didn't know who he would protect first. The King or the Princess. The duty of a Kingsguard. "What are you talking about?"

"Daemon," he muttered.

His eyes swam away, lost only the gods dared to know where. He certainly had the help of all the goblets of wine that preceded her arrival.

"And he?" Her spine snapped as Rhaenyra straightened up. Jaw rolling, chin jutting defiantly.

"Why didn't you tell me that you..." Her father could barely look at her, and certainly couldn't finish his words. Nor did Rhaenyra wish he would, drunk as he was, they could start an argument. But wasn't it too late? Hadn't her father already lit the spark? She was drawn like a moth to the light.

"But I said it, didn't I?" She retorted, feeling the venom and anger bubble up. "I said and told your wife that he never touched me." Rhaenyra felt a vicious, petty pleasure grow inside her, wanting to show that ugly head to her father. Rhaenyra decided she would. She approached dark and manic violet eyes. Its tone with a disingenuous quality. "But I think I forgot to tell you that he took me to that place and lit me like a flame, I must have forgotten to tell you that he kissed me and that he pulled down my pants," she approached, hissing. Watching him cringe. "I must also have forgotten to tell you that Daemon never went beyond that."

Her father visibly struggled with the vengeful words that made him bleed.

"Then you-"

But you were born a woman, he told her, not long ago.

"It doesn't mean I haven't found another to finish what he started," Rhaenyra purred cruelly in Valyrian against his face.

She had been angry for a long time, a boiling, scorching rage that ignited without searing by what he believed he had made her do. She had sat staring at the moon tea that night, thinking that if this had been Daemon's seed inside her, her father would have intended to rib off Daemon's son. Rhaenyra had sat there thinking about the hypocrisy of the act. How many times has her father offered this tea to her mother thinking of his wife and not a son? How many times did he deny it so that he could try to get her to give him his precious child? How many times did Alicent need to take it? Would he have considered offering Alicent the tea ever during those six months if it undermined the possibility of getting a child? Did he ever ask someone what they wanted?

Did he ever ask her what she wanted?

Rhaenyra couldn't put into words how close it came to flipping her coin, even now. Especially now. No matter how angry she was at Daemon for abandoning her that night, she was angrier at her father for knowingly, albeit by a lie, trying to take it away from her. Take Daemon of it. Ruining her precious memories of childhood when she thought about how much she would like to marry Daemon one day and have beautiful babies with him. They were childish dreams that she kept carefully in her heart to revisit and strengthen herself whenever the fear of the birthing bed overwhelmed her. Even if it was an illusion, it was all she had after losing her mother, her uncle, and her friend.

And her father wanted to take that away from her, too.

Rhaenyra only drank the tea because her child wouldn't be Daemon's child.

Viserys staggered as if he'd been slapped, and she pulled away, smiling cruelly. "You weren't entirely wrong to give me the tea, Father. But I abhor that if it had been Daemon's seed, you would have tried to pull it out before it took root. You would have inflicted that pain on him when you were always drowning in it and pushing the head of my mother down too!"

"That would have been a bastard!" He raised his voice, and Rhaenyra stepped closer with eyes burning.

"It would have been your grandson, your nephew!" She growled. "For years he has asked you for one thing and one thing only. The annulment of the marriage. But you didn't. Why? Did you fear that he would find a woman he liked and have with her the children you could never have? Because it would strengthen his claim?"

"Would have threatened yours!" Viserys retorted, still speaking loudly.

"Then you should have married us!" Something flashed through Viserys' eyes. Something unique. It took a moment to click in Rhaenyra's mind. To realize that her father had already thought of it, but for some reason dismissed it. That somehow, he saw what was happening to the two dragons, but chose to refuse to see it or ignore it. A fire burned in her veins, and she pushed it between her teeth with ire. "Or did you not because if he was free and could marry me, and I wanted that, it meant that your precious son would never have the throne?"

It was less of a question and more of an accusation.

Her voice was dangerously low and resentful. And Viserys knew it. She knew that whatever truth she was unraveling against his will, threatened their relationship.

"You are my heir..." Viserys whispered. "You're my heir." He repeated it with more conviction. "And that's never going to change. But I can't help it and lie that I wasn't afraid that you would just be a pawn for him on his way to the throne if Daemon was free. Can you blame a parent for thinking about their child?"

She recoiled, not because she felt less burning, she wanted to stay away from the breath of wine and his miserable regret.

"I can't blame a parent for thinking about a child." Rhaenyra backed away slowly. She couldn't, not now that she was a mother. "But I can blame a weak man who let his advisers form his mind. For allowing discord to be planted between brothers. That you never bothered to get to know my husband." Rhaenyra bared her teeth. "Do you know what it's like for him to feel slighted? Pushed away from his only brother, his only family over and over again? I know Daemon isn't a saint, I don't say he is. It has never occurred to you that we are the last of the House of the Dragon, and yet you prefer your advisors to us? Do you realize that you drive away and disperse our strength, destroy us from the inside out? Daemon knows this, which is why he's been trying to get your attention for years. His methods are questionable, it is true, but his motive is not. He does it for us. Our family. By the blood of the dragon."

If she had used an ounce of the same fury, the same wrath, as Daemon in the tourney to bring her father down, she wouldn't have expelled the air out of him in the same way her words did. Rhaenyra needed to get this out before it got even more rotten. She needed to start over, and the first step was to cauterize the infected wound. "And you want to know how I know this without having to ask him? Because whatever material our souls are made of, mine and his are the same. You have rejected us, neglected us, ignored us for your heir, father. We are lonely souls who find shelter and sanctuary in each other. We've always been meant to burn together."

Viserys closed his eyes, grasping the side over his heart. Rhaenyra's heart raced. She was angry, she lived in anger for a long time, but she still loved her father and didn't wish for his death. Even more so by her own hands. With trembling hands, Rhaenyra let herself hover awkwardly over Viserys's unstable form.

However, his almost unintelligible murmur froze her. Even her hands no longer trembled. And she almost lost.

Almost.

"What did you say?" Rhaenyra growled.

Viserys looked at her. Untold sorrow and regret.

"I should have given you to him when Daemon begged."

Everything around her disappeared, even the sounds, and Rhaenyra could have sworn she would hear a pin fall to the earth under her shoes. The heat of the flames of the campfire licked her skin and fanned the fire inside her. Roared to life. The rage that swept through her could have set the world on fire or stopped her heart.

"When"

"I-"

"When!"

"When I last exiled him."

Daemon had begged to marry her.

Of course, she knew it was a machination from the moment Daemon gave her the clothes and the note along with the map of the secret passage. She wasn't stupid. Her uncle who had never taken her out of the Red Keep except to go to the Dragonpit suddenly doing it? Was suspect, of course, but she had to go anyway... because she missed him, craved for him. And she was curious. Everything that was done was of free will. Hell, she wanted to get into his bed. She could easily see where his plans were going and would gladly have helped.

But in no scenario would Rhaenyra be able to imagine Daemon begging for anything. She knew he loved her in his own way, but she didn't imagine he would beg for her. Or for nothing in life. Daemon certainly never needed to. A dragon didn't ask permission, he took what he wanted. Maybe if offered, or ask... But never beg. It wasn't like him. And for Daemon to have done it...

I want the Iron Throne. But I want you more.

Gods.

A part of her planned to hurt her father with that conversation, using it to get some retribution, almost as revenge. But she never imagined that she would be the one to stagger in the middle of the turn. All Rhaenyra knew was that she needed to step aside. From her father, from the camp, from everything. Daemon begged for her. Happiness at the edge of dawn and Rhaenyra was denied the first light of the sun. By her father. So blind and deaf to the sweetly administered poison at him that her father could not interpret his brother's proof of devotion as such, pure, unadulterated love. Gods. If he had accepted, she might have been pregnant with Aegon by now.

And though Rhaenyra was happy for her son's coming as he was, there was no denying the part of herself that felt robbed of bearing their child in her womb. To have Daemon adore the ground she walked on for it.

She swallowed.

Rhaenyra ignored either her father's or Ser Harrold's call and walked away, forgetting her son and where they were, only needing time and space to think in the cold air, away from the heat of the flames that seemed to contribute to the sudden and strange desire to cry.

Why?

Why did Viserys see right through Daemon and leave them in misery? Why didn't he ever talk to any of them? Couldn't everything have been avoided with a simple conversation?

Rhaenyra smirk to herself, in tears.

Nothing was simple with her father, nothing was easy. Always one step forward and ten steps back. Just when she thought they were getting closer, Viserys brought that abyss back. Was that ever going to change? Did her father need to keep hurting her like this? Hurting Daemon? She grunted in frustration, wrapping her hands into fists as she walked into the woods blindly.

Maybe we should go to Dragonstone, she mused. If her father valued his precious Hightowers so highly over his blood and flesh, why not leave it to the vultures? Rhaenyra wanted to. If only gods were good, she wanted it so much right now...

But it couldn't. Because where her father was able to forsake his flesh and blood or to make feeble attempts to protect his own, she could not. She never could and believed neither could her husband, though they both wish they could teach the man they loved in common a lesson.

A branch snapped, interrupting Rhaenyra's spiral of sadness and bitterness. She turned, her eyes red and her cheeks stained with tears. When she noticed her company, she felt tired and wished more than ever that Daemon was already back. She longed for comfort, warmth, and love pouring out of him just for her and their son. Instead, Rhaenyra kept her features neutral, glancing imperiously at both of them despite her wet eyes.

"How brazen you are" Alicent's voice, once sweet for Rhaenyra's comfort, now dripped with disdain. Disgusted. Her shoulders shrugged and Rhaenyra remained dignified before the Queen. Be careful what color you choose to wear, girl who plays at being queen. "Lying so blatantly to your father's face. The King!"

"What did you mean?"

"You play the role of a saint well. So immaculate, so chaste, so pure!" Alicent spat. Anger and contempt shone in her eyes distorting the features that Rhaenyra once praised. It seemed like a thousand years ago. But then, it's been so long... "I know you slept with Ser Criston. Give me one reason not to tell your father!"

Rhaenyra stood still. Standing as if on a tightrope trying to regain her balance. Carefully, she looked at Criston Cole. His gaze met hers the moment she looked at him. His jaw hardened, and a muscle popped out on his cheek. Ser Criston thrust his chin out in defiance. Rhaenyra nodded silently to herself.

It explained a lot.

And how stupid Alicent was.

The princess tilted her head to the side. A beastly move. A dragon considering an intruder in its lair. Friend or foe? Prey or adversary? Though they already knew they would win and mocked the stupidity of a sheep imposing itself on them. She folded her hands before her, the image of unwavering calm.

A dragon.

Alicent gritted her teeth.

Rhaenyra felt satisfaction.

"I don't have to." The princess said softly but confidently. It took all of her own not to find out what their faces would look like if she revealed that her father already knew some of it. But Rhaenyra wasn't stupid, not revealing it to any of them. She would let them spend the night thinking that they had something to hold over her head, that they were all entangled in the same web. Two peas in a pod. Fools. Rhaenyra would play along, but she wouldn't let either of them have the final say. "We both know what would have happened. Nothing. Because he's not going to do anything. He never does. I'm already married, and I've already received moon tea. Everything is remedied."

And here she got a visceral satisfaction as the muscle in Cole's cheek became more pronounced. When the glint of anger in his eyes grew more intense. Rhaenyra was never happier to have had the damn tea. She would hate for a child of hers to share his blood. "Father could do nothing against Ser Criston since it would entail admitting that a Kingsguard slept with the princess, which would make him not only a traitor and an oathbreaker but a target for the King's wrath, if not worse. For my lord-husband."

Thus, when playing the cards, they were all entangled in the same web, as was Alicent's goal. But it was Rhaenyra the spider who wove the plot, who set the trap. Putting her grip on them. How satisfying would it be to reveal everything she knew about intrigue and schemes she had learned from watching her former best friend's father manipulate the King, pushing his buttons as if he were a puppet?

Manipulating his strings.

Her exterior showed coldness and indifference. But Rhaenyra was warmed with satisfaction. Alicent flaunting her emotions and how cornered she felt was something to delight in. Daemon would hate to lose this. She could hear his laughter in the wind, the pride in his voice, and the fierce, hungry kiss he would give her when he didn't know what to say. When her wits stole his words.

A smile from Daemon's arsenal crept into her lips.

Crooked, predatory, and dangerous.

"He can disinherit you!" Alicent threatened, her teeth gnashing.

"If the King hasn't done it so far, why do you think that would change? It's shooting yourself in the foot if you don't already know that." Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose, gently shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Feeling the power flow through her veins. "At worst, the father disinherits me, but he can always make my son the heir. After all, a goddess brings him. He would have been a fool to reject Aegon when Muña Zaldrīzoti announced that one day he would be King. And that was before he realized that the goddess was my mother. Do you think you have a place in his heart like my mother did? My father may be foolish most of the time, but his love for my mother, even in death, is not to be underestimated." Rhaenyra sneered sweetly. "But no matter how you want to look at it, Alicent, you're the one who lost. Because no matter how it is, if you tell him, he realizes that you are your father's blood and flesh. That you just want to promote your cause. And that's good for me because when he becomes aware of your colors, you're even more powerless. You lose. And you know that..."

The Queen's face turned red.

"It's not fair!" Alicent yelled, stepping forward, the gleam of tears of anger and frustration shining in her eyes. "He's the male heir Viserys has always dreamed of! That your mother could never give! He must be King! I sacrificed myself for it!"

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at the mention of her mother, tempted to make Alicent respond for daring to smear Queen Aemma's name in her viper tongue. Where was Daemon and Dark Sister to get her tongue? Forget it, where was her father and Conqueror's dagger for Rhaenyra to rip off this viper's tongue herself? How sweet and poetic it would be to use the blade that predicted the greatness of House Targaryen to silence Alicent once and for all. And though she wanted blood, Rhaenyra thought it was a better revenge for Aemma to trample on Alicent.

"Bullsh*t." Her voice was soft as honey.

"So easy for you to say! You don't understand! You're a spoiled child who always did what you wanted! You'd never understand that-"

Rhaenyra's gaze held onto Alicent's. Empty. Alicent didn't see anything in the look of her current opponent and that... disturbed her.

"… your father put you in my father's sheets?" Rhaenyra concluded coldly. A delicate arched eyebrow. A knowing, spiteful smile stretched one side of her mouth. "I know." A gasp of shock left Alicent and Rhaenyra stepped forward. "Did you think so? I know that Alicent. I could smell your father's intrigue from afar. Why do you think I encouraged my father to marry Laena? Not just because the Velaryons are richer and more powerful and have Valyrian blood, but because I wanted to save you." And some nostalgic melancholy blurred Rhaenyra's vivid and dangerous amethyst eyes. A look of disgust replaced it on her face. "If only you had been braver... less subservient. If you had come to me-"

"Then what could you do?" Alicent growled, lifting her chin and wrapping her hands into fists. Rhaenyra could see Alicent's old ways returning, could see the half-moons of her nails digging into her flesh, wounding, and maybe even drawing blood.

She cared once.

No more.

"I would tell Father to marry Laena," Rhaenyra said, exposing to Alicent her simple plan. Swaying before her eyes what Alicent's 'if' would have been like if she had come, had she trusted Rhaenyra to save her. "Maybe your father would have lost his position sooner, it's true. But you wouldn't have had to marry my father, and I could have helped you choose a worthy husband whom you liked. Because you had the favor of the princess and the heiress of the kingdom. You were my best friend, my sister in everything but blood. And I would have made the world burn to prevent your unhappiness. But you were weak, you never came to me. I did the best I could, but you made the best of nothing."

The Queen's eyes bled with desire and longing, anguish. Despair. Anger. Hate. Grudge.

Bitterness.

Alicent swayed like a leaf in the wind. Shaky. Rhaenyra allowed herself to smile sadly. Grieving what she thought was a friendship. Alicent and she didn't even dust next to Rhaenyra and Laena. Too bad it took so long to happen. "I don't think you're angry because I lied to you or my father. I don't even think you're mad because I slept out of the marriage. I think you're angry because I dared to do everything you didn't have, everything you wanted. I chose who would be my first man, I could have chosen my husband if it weren’t for your father's plot. I impose myself in a male-dominated realm. I make my choices. I am free, I belong to me. And that's all you can ever have or will ever be." The breeze blew the foliage of the forest and Alicent could have fallen like the leaves blown away by the wind. Except, just her tears seemed about to be knocked out. "I don't think you hate me, I think you hate yourself for not being able to be me or at least be like me."

Rhaenyra clasped her hands in front of her body, her amethyst eyes hard as steel. Cold as ice. Distant as the past.

"But you hate me because it's easier, Alicent. It's easier to find someone else to blame for your lack of initiative and courage. It's easier to blame myself than to accept that the only person who still has your blood in this world uses you as a puppet. It's easier to hate me than your father because blood is thicker than water. I know this because it's easier to hate you for marrying him than it is to hate my father for marrying you. Still, that doesn't mean I don't hate him. But just as it is for you, love and hate go hand in hand for me."

Alicent looked desperately at Rhaenyra, fighting back tears. She spun around in a burst of green from her dress and stepped out of the woods.

Criston Cole, no.

He stayed.

Rhaenyra turned her gaze to him calmly.

"Do you have your piece of mind to give me, Ser?" She asked with a bow of her head that was more animal than human. A calculated draconic move.

The knight in question stepped forward, fist clenched, and anger washed across his face. Rhaenyra didn't care. An open truth before her eyes. Once she found him handsome and dashing. And how close she thought she was to falling in love... and how wrong she was.

"You're so cruel!" He roared, so wounded in the name of his Queen. Rhaenyra tilted her chin, accepting the accusation. What did his opinion matter? Rhaenyra held his fate by a thread. And maybe she was a little cruel about it. "Gods, how did I sleep with you?"

Rhaenyra made it simple. "You wanted to."

"You seduced me!"

"You could have said no." She remembered him with ease. He could have said no. Rhaenyra gave him every opportunity to say no. Every piece of armor that has fallen out of place was a silent question. Do you want to stop? Cole didn't say anything. Even when he kissed her and took her to the bedroom and Ser Criston stood still, reality descended upon him and Rhaenyra left him to decide once more, and yet he said nothing. What she said was true. He could have said no. Cole had that choice more than most women in the position he was in, and he chose to be a part of it. "I didn't wield a knife to your throat, or force you in any way, Ser. It's a laughable thought, given that the only thing I did was ask you once not to go. But you weren't. I let you hesitate, I gave you every opportunity."

He seemed to struggle with the truth of her words, before deciding that the best defense was offense.

"You're so poisonous!"

"And you clearly can't tolerate being turned away." Her lips twisted thoughtfully. Of all people, Rhaenyra. Honestly. Daemon was right, she would regret her choice and her husband didn't even have to lift a finger for it. Ser Criston doing his job again, but this time, for a good cause. Rhaenyra found herself pondering aloud. "Passed over for the Iron Throne. It's really sad."

He narrowed his eyes, his face red with anger and embarrassment.

"You wanted me to be your slu*t!"

"Wiser or more ambitious men would think this was not a bad thing. Although, again, I've never left you any coins." Rhaenyra couldn't remember seeing a more miserable man in her life. Threw a tantrum when he didn't get something he wanted. She couldn't imagine her Daemon being the same. A dragon doesn't ask for permission, it takes what it wants. Daemon always got what he wanted because he took what he wanted. Once bright and bold, Ser Criston now looked... pathetic. And Rhaenyra found herself reflecting aloud. "I liked you, Ser. Really. Maybe halfway to falling in love. But your delusions and immaturity quickly crushed that. If fate had kept its course, we could have had a good life togeth-"

"Hiding in the shadows!"

"You were already an oathbreaker, what else did it cost to be my lover?" But only if she got married to Laenor, and Daemon wasn't around to Rhaenyra seduce him in return. Though now that they were married, she knew in her heart that it would have been an unnecessary effort. He was hers, just as she had always been his. And Rhaenyra would never accept another man in her bed if fate remained the same.

If only they were still to be together.

Daemon was everything she wanted.

Always.

"You're brazen and vulgar. You deserved the truth to come out!" Droplets of saliva leaped from Ser Criston's embittered mouth. Rhaenyra was glad she was far enough away.

"Then you know what would happen." She moved, moving closer now that he was silent. Danger and volatility in every graceful movement of her feet bring her closer. Rhaenyra stood royally before him. Steel in her darkened violet gaze. She's had enough of today of all the people she's once valued and somehow ended up being a disappointment. "And if you think death would be a small price to pay, you never died at the hands of my uncle. He would make it last until the dragon you woke up fell asleep satiated once more. Caraxes eating you or burning you would be a mercy."

She then walked past him, coming out of the woods. And the last thing she heard from Ser Criston when left him was:

"Damn you and the day I met you!"

She could say the same about him.

All the memories she had of Ser Criston were blurred by his pettiness and childishness. Truly, Daemon, she thought, where was my head?

And suddenly, it struck her like a bolt of lightning. Rhaenyra froze in step. How did he know? How did he know it had been Ser Criston? Rhaenyra had slept with the knight to hurt Daemon after abandoning her in the brothel, but... She never got the chance. Her father exiled him again and they never had a chance to see each other until the wedding. She could never admit it to him. So how did he know?

A question she would have to ask her husband when she had the opportunity, she wondered.

Rhaenyra returned to the hunting lodge feeling anxious, looking for Laena and Rhaenys. The sun had set for some time, the fires were already glowing. The great bonfire burned over all the others. She found them with a tearful Aegon in the tent that was hers and Daemon's. All thoughts about Ser Criston and how Daemon knew about what happened by climbing out the window.

Silently, Rhaenyra picked up her son and sat down in a chair. She threw a robe over her right shoulder and the crying baby then unbuttoned one of her new dresses. Made with the need to feed a baby in mind. She coaxed Aegon towards her nipple and he clung ravenously. She cooed, stroking her little boy's hair, seeing in him the image of his father. An oppressive feeling came over her.

It had been a long and exhausting day, with many emotions. Most of them were nasty.

Where was Daemon?

"Where's my husband?" She asked no one in particular. She needed his comfort and support.

Suddenly, she felt so tired.

A worried look shadowed Laena's beautiful eyes. Rhaenys just kept a watchful eye on the young mother.

"He's not back from the hunt yet, princess." Princess Rhaenys said. "So are some of the other men. Maybe they won't even come back today. Maybe only tomorrow, when or if they've found what they're looking for."

Rhaenyra leaned back with Aegon still suckling, patting his bottom gently as he made soothing sounds with each sip of milk. She was pleased that he was happy again. If Daemon didn't come back, she'd have to burp him. Rhaenyra didn't mind doing it, but since she was the only one able to produce milk, Daemon enjoyed doing it. A way to feel included in their routine.

And if he didn't come back today... Rhaenyra couldn't imagine what the bedtime routine would be like. Aegon was already spoiled beyond measure. His mother breastfed him when he wanted, and his father burped him and comforted him when he woke up to a full cheat. Daemon thought she was asleep when Aegon cried, but Rhaenyra was awake, listening to him do the work of changing the cheat. The great Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. He exchanged cheats and cooed to get his son back to sleep.

They didn't feel comfortable leaving anyone in chambers at night with them. Not before and especially since Rhaenyra started having nightmares. Some nights she dreamed of a living corpse and the shadow of a crown on its head. Other times with a hatchling-eating dragon. There was a baby lost at birth that tore her apart. And many other strange dreams that mixed throughout the night made it hard to remember them all, but each of them threatened to paralyze her heart. Threatened to trap her in this terrifying universe.

Her husband always seemed frantic and desperate when he woke her up, and since then Daemon wouldn't allow anyone near when he comforted her. No one to see her weakness. Not even a nurse.

Tonight it would just be Rhaenyra taking care of Aegon if Daemon didn't come back, and she kind of dreaded what that would be like. Especially if she had a nightmare. He always seemed so shaken when she woke up from her dreams and Rhaenyra was sure was loud and high, capable of waking Aegon who followed her crying. Anxiously, she wondered what Daemon might have found in the forest that would hold him back.

Then it came to her.

A memory Rhaenyra hadn't thought about since her brother made two namedays. The White Hart. What if that was the reason Daemon didn't come back? Would he know of the mysticism behind the creature? If he did, then she could understand his line of reasoning. Find another reason to make Aegon seem even more divine, more special than Alicent's son.

A separate night could be the price.

Rhaenyra found herself even more eager to deal with Aegon alone for the first time, unsure if the price was worth it. But it's for Aegon, she thought, looking at her son. It would be worth it, wouldn't it?

Anything, so that Aegon wasn't one of six.

Chapter 9: A Favor from Gods

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

Daemon was under the impression that the gods would have used an embroidery hoop to design his day, and with needle and thread, they had embroidered a sun that pointed to the setting horizon, incandescent as steel in a blacksmith's forge, to crown their return in a sky textured by clouds drawn with lines the color of carmine, copper, ivory, and gold. The warm light had been carefully filtered with the movement of the needle through the dense canopy of elegant trees in a golden that blended too well with the earthy brown and forest green. Even the hunting lodge looked more beautiful in the skilled hands of the gods than in reality. And although as lovely as everything looked...

He didn't care about any of that.

Exhaustion had crept in, crept into his bones lazily throughout his day, to overwhelm him. He was thirty-four namedays, but he felt older than that. Daemon had previously slept in worse conditions than on a forest floor, though the knowledge didn't contribute to a single hour of decent sleep the night before. His mind had been tormented by the memory that Rhaenyra and Aegon had been left behind. And alone with his thoughts during the vigil, Daemon thought of Rhaenyra's nightmares, of his helpless son. He must have thought it over too much. Enough for his worries to manifest themselves in his dreams, chasing him in the form of a pale golden dragon that spat flames that licked the silks and lace of his wife's dress before it ate her. And behind the bright glare of the fiery explosion was a trembling little boy who had been forced to watch the spectacle. A single word spoken by him desperately in the silence of the dream. Muña. Daemon felt as if Balerion's claws had torn him from sternum to hip. His bleeding heart was torn apart beyond repair. Through the pain, he felt himself falling.

Falling, falling, falling.

Daemon had woken up amid a roar, pinning Strong under him. Hands wrapped around the throat. A feverish sensation had gripped his mind and clouded his vision. Daemon couldn't shake the idea that he was still falling, even as he pulled away and headed to find the Hart. His hands felt empty away from her body. His mouth tingled without the touch of her lips. His desire seemed to have grown tenfold during the night, so that all Daemon could think about was burying himself deep inside her until the cold clinging to his bones went away. And then he would hold the son and assure Aegon that he would never see his mother die.

He hated to think that the night for Rhaenyra and Aegon could have been worse than it was for him. Daemon carefully avoided all the'what ifs'that would do him no good in his hunt, except to stoke the ferocious beast within him crying out to claim and protect what was rightfully his.No one, he swore to himself,no one... would put a finger on his wife or child. Not if he could do anything about it.

And he could.

Daemon knew no bounds when he felt threatened.

He hoped that all the effort for the Hart would be worth it,or gods would help him. His coin had been dancing in circles all night, swirling between grandeur and madness. More than once almost choosing the face of madness. And it still hadn't stopped, making him wait to find out. Making the gods restless with expectation. A storm formed on the horizon, pulled in from the navel, growing at the core of his being. Promising fire and blood. A doom. And Daemon had channeled the feeling into the goal at hand.

The makeshift camp had been set up not far from where they last saw the tracks of the Hart so that the first light of day could continue from there. Harwin had been clever and had kept a safe distance from him ever since. Daemon had caught Strong touching his throat with his fingertips, analyzing the damage done. Daemon didn't regret it, he didn't even try. The black creature behind his ribs was curled up, still angry. The long tail wagged expectantly, tense as a viper. Ready to pounce. Daemon didn't bother to break Strong's silence. Harwin was clearly smarter than that, choosing wisely to keep his mouth shut on his own so that by the time the first light successfully infiltrated the dense canopy formed by the treetops, they had already gathered the supplies and left.

Daemon had ridden his horse with a single goal in mind, a means to an end, and he intended to get it over with as soon as possible, but the morning had begun without success. Although Harwin had managed to catch a boar halfway through. He then pleased Daemon with the memory of a princess bathed in the boar's blood she had mentioned before he left. Pride curled upwards, almost imperceptibly, at one corner of his mouth.

At noon they paused, much to Daemon's growing frustration. By this time, his coin was spinning wildly, and his teeth were gnashing painfully against each other. The afternoon, however, had brought them more luck with new tracks. Daemon and Harwin followed the tracks, riding carefully along the smooth stone road that skirted a rocky outcrop. And when they emerged on the other side, they saw it. The motherf*cker seemed to enjoy, under the shade of an ancient white oak tree, the view from the other side of the precipice.

And he was magnificent.

Its large antlers of white bone grazed the leaves of the tree. The fur was thick, but soft and shiny like morning dew. The Hart was about the height of a horse, not to mention the height of its antlers. It seemed to have come out of one of the stories his mother would have told him as a child. The creature turned its head with those powerful antlers as if it had been waiting for them all along. As if to say,'Why did it take you so long?'.Daemon couldn't get angry, not when the stag came to meet him. His fingers drummed over the hilt of the dagger, aware that he could kill it with a single, clean shot from where he stood. Steel sang.

The hart didn't even shake.

But backed off.

Not afraid, Daemon noticed curiously as he lowered his dagger. Its black eyes carried a glow of ancestry and wisdom. Something that wasn't fire or blood sang in his blood. Something that was...somethingelse. The deer didn't refuse to die, just refused to do it by his hands. Daemon wondered why before the words written in a hurried letter came to mind.

[...] Ser Criston alerted me to its presence. The White Hart was magnificent. Almost seemed to come straight at me. As if had chosen me. It was so weird. Something sang in my blood, uncle. I was attracted. I was tempted to grab a weapon and kill it myself. It would strengthen my claim.

But I don't. I couldn't.

He was for me, and it still wasn't. Like it's not theright time. I can't explain. So I let it go [...]

Rhaenyra had written this years ago and Daemon had received the letter a few weeks after the nameday of the son of the c*nt Hightower. It had seemed naïve of her to follow emotion over reason, for having ruined such a good chance of validating herself over the boy. But now Daemon understood. It wasn't his death to claim, nor was it the right time back then when Rhaenyra chose to let it go.

Thiswas the right time.

Thiswas a gift for his Queen.

Harwin had furrowed an eyebrow at the sight of the prince lowering the dagger but offered him the rope without asking questions when Daemon asked. The stag didn't move, barely blinked, as it was tied up, and followed them easily as they made the journey back to the pavilion.

By the time they approached the tent clusters, the bonfires were already being lit for a second night and Daemon noticed that they weren't the only ones returning from a long search. There was the sound of more than one horse's hoof or barking of the dogs returning to the pavilion. He heard the murmur of the woods, the crackling of branches breaking, and the voices of men talking, telling of their prey. Daemon didn't bother to find a topic to talk about, nor did Harwin reach out to break the silence, still stunned by White Hart's complacency.

It was the will of the gods, Daemon knew. Whether this was Agni's way of leading them or a blessing from Vhagar, Daemon wasn't sure. So little did it matter to him what god had intervened this time. They did, and that was all that mattered.

Their eyes turned to them the instant they stepped into the confines of the pavilion, to the deer, full of curiosity and admiration.Let them see,he thought,let them see and wonder because White Hart still lives. Let them be in for a surprise.It was not something for all eyes and not all men to witness. Daemon led the stag towards the heart of the camp, where the great fire had been prepared for the night before he left and had been reduced to nothing but ashes in a stone circle in his absence. And although everyone was keeping an eye on him, there was only one he was keeping an eye on.

An amethyst-violet's eyes met his when they were close enough. Daemon noticed the lack of sparkle in her gaze and the circles of weariness under her eyes. It was enough to confirm to him that her night had been even worse than his. Black wings fluttered in the small cage of his ribs so that they made his heartache. Bleed. Rhaenyra looked wistful, and her generous mouth twitched into a mournful smile as if she had just met him again in the afterlife where Morghul had led them. Something happened between them, a silent exchange.

Daemon nodded in response.

I miss you.

Rhaenyra rose from her seat at the table, their son leaning against her shoulder. Pampered, by the way she rubbed his back in comfort. Daemon let go of the rope and got off his horse. Legs feeling weak. Rhaenyra hovered right there. Daemon fought the emotions and the feeling he had of stepping on quicksand on his way to her. Something bubbled up in his stomach. The camp seemed to hold its breath. Daemon longed to finally touch her, hold her.

And screw the Court.

Daemon took the final steps and grabbed her face in his hands. The soft, warm skin warmed his palms, warding off the feeling of emptiness that had haunted him all day. His lips pressed against hers unceremoniously, unabashedly, unashamedly, and not a second later. Rhaenyra reciprocated his feelings with equal intensity, her lips quivering against his. She looked as relieved as he did. Daemon wondered what the Dragondreams showed her. The thought had become fleeting as Rhaenyra opened her mouth and slid her tongue into the seam of his lips. His tongue met hers, dancing with sensuality and longing. Rhaenyra sighed happily, a sentiment that echoed in his bones. It eclipsed everything else.

She walked away first, though she kept leaning towards him. Their noses touch each other gently. He absorbed her scent, the feeling of her in his hands. Their foreheads touched, and they just stood silently, appreciating each other. He didn't think he'd have enough of this woman even if he had a thousand chances to live a lifetime with her. Even all eternity might not be enough. A fire burned within him, and Daemon was assailed by the desire to ignore her plans and simply murder Alicent and the half-blood brats. It would make everything infinitely easier. He would then mount Caraxes to Oldtown and burn The Hightower to the ground.

Easy like that.

But it wasn't whatshewanted. And Daemonalways did what she wanted.

"Is that good enough for you?"He teased, slipping easily onto their language. Rhaenyra pulled back to look him in the eye as Daemon tilted his head in the direction of the stag. Rhaenyra didn't spare the animal even a glance, at least not yet. All she saw or wanted to see was her husband a little more.

"I'll be glad if next time you bring me a boar."That's what she said.

Daemon chuckled.

"Really? And why is that?"

"They're very abundant."Daemon stopped himself from kissing the crooked smile that had curled her mouth."They're not going to keep you away from me for a whole night."

"I hated every second of not having you."He had confessed quietly, still in Valyrian.

Rhaenyra nodded in agreement."We'll talk later."

"Fine."

He stole another kiss from her, this time chaste, before Aegon finally got tired of being ignored. He cradled Aegon over the beat of his heart, hiding his small face in the crook of his throat, and then rocked him.

It was only a week since Aegon was handed over to them, but it was weird how much he missed him in a single night. And to think that he never cared about babies all these years after Rhaenyra's birth. Aegon's little fists clenched fiercely into his father's coat, and Daemon hummed according to his son's feelings.

"You've found it."

Rhaenyra's voice floated to him with a unique cadence. He looked only to meet her sly, wide-eyed gaze on the deer. Daemon announced loudly to anyone who would listen.

"I would say more as if it came to meet me, even though wouldn't let me kill it." He declared, his voice softened slightly at her. "It is believed to be a sign from the gods. Their favor. But not for me."

Daemon motioned for Harwin to release the stag, which moved before the rope even touched the ground. The creature walked on the ashes of the campfire, leaving behind small clouds of smudges in its wake, and went right up to them.For her. His wife pulled away, and his keen gaze followed her. Rhaenyra looked mesmerized. He could only imagine how she felt, the song she heard.

Her pale and delicate hand rose, and the long tulip sleeve of her dress fell, revealing the delicacy and pallor of her skin, showing the bracelet made with silver in the shape of a dragon wrapped around her arm. Her fingers against the late afternoon sunlight touched the stag's snout. The rings gleamed against the setting light. The deer sniffed her hand, shaking his head at the monstrous antlers. But the creature didn't move away, instead snuggling into her touch. Its eyes closed. Daemon’s heart raced and Aegon squirmed, swinging his arms and legs.

Suddenly, Daemon felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder. He turned, meeting Viserys' astonished gaze. There was a dagger in his hand. An offer. Daemon adjusted Aegon and took the dagger from the Conqueror, twirling it in his hands for a moment before nodding at his brother. He moved, catching the attention of both of them. Rhaenyra looked at him as if in the middle of a dream. Daemon held out the dagger and she stared. A singular look flashed across her eyes. Her delicate fingers drummed over the blade. Her ring finger had brushed against the sharp edge. A drop of blood had bloomed on her fingertip. Rhaenyra wrapped the handle of the dagger.

"I believe he awaits you," Daemon muttered.

The White Hart looked at her as if they had an understanding. Rhaenyra's posture hardened as the stag knelt for her, settling for death. Rhaenyra approached, her dress the palest of lilacs rising to ashes. She slid her free hand through the animal's antlers before kneeling. Daemon watched the reverence wash over her face as his wife wrapped her arms around the deer's neck in a hug, stroking her cheek in the soft fur.

The delicate light of the setting sun bowed to the pair, gentle and warm. Soft. Her hair, tied in a thick braid in a style Visenya wore one thousand times, according to records, held a delicate tiara made of twisted silver threads that sported delicate amethysts and white diamonds. Still, her silvery-blond hair fluttered in the breeze, casting the strands in her face and the light refracted into the diamonds, casting rainbow freckles on her cheeks and colored shadows on her irises.

She was so beautiful.

So divine.

And he wassoin love with her.Gods, he wanted nothing more than to make love to her.Feel her. He rocked his son to give himself something else to think about besides throwing his wife over his shoulder and carrying her to bed. Her beauty was only his to be seen. Daemon would never willingly share that vision with anyone else, which was to say that Crispin Cole was a luckier motherf*cker than he f*cking deserved.Daemon allowed himself to imagine crushing Cole's brains out so he couldn't even remember that night.

Her voice sounded like the delicate trill in Valyrian as she addressed the White Hart and Rhaenyra pulled away briefly to give the deer room to lay his muzzle in her lap. She stroked him as if to put him to sleep, though the stag didn't seem to care about imminent death. Rhaenyra had raised her dagger, her hand only trembling slightly, and had executed a downward arc toward hart's neck, drawing from him something that resembled a sigh.

Daemon’s wife leaned over the deer, sliding her fingers through the fur, and lay down against him without caring about the blood or ashes. She was almost painful to look at, not only beautiful but gloriously powerful. Even stained with blood and stained with ashes. Maybe that's why. She whispered sweet words in Valyrian with silent tears on her cheeks. The deer's black eyes lost their sparkle with each caress of her, and then he slowly closed them and took one last breath. Rhaenyra sniffled and lifted her head as she looked up.

A crowd of onlookers was waiting for her, and she looked at them unashamed of her tears. Daemon imagined that she would have felt the stag's death differently than she had felt, according to what he knew, when she had killed the boar. She killed it to defend herself, in the heat of the moment. This time it was different, the stag gave itself to her for that, chose her for this. But sitting covered in blood and soot, to Daemon, nothing else mattered. Rhaenyra looked like the very embodiment of Muña Zaldrīzoti.

"This is your mother, Aegon." He whispered to his son.

His wife's large amethyst eyes turned to his, and Daemon approached, holding out his hand. Heat radiated from the contact and ran up his arm. He felt as if he had been struck by lightning, where all the crackling energy had descended his spine. And when nobles bowed to her, rocking Aegon in his lap, Daemon could only think about making love to her. He brought her to her feet with a firm tug. Their gazes met, having an entire conversation without a word being spoken.

Rhaenyra's fingers curled tighter around his.

"My daughter," Viserys staggered to her.

There was a second of hesitation as if Viserys sought Rhaenyra's permission when he never had before. Daemon thought this was a recent development, the result of all the bickering between them. Rhaenyra moved her head no more than a millimeter in acquiescence, and Viserys hugged her. Daemon watched carefully as Rhaenyra's arms wrapped around her father, only slightly, not because she feared for his health, but because she was reluctant to do so. Daemon hadn't yet talked to her about how deep the scars of her and her father's relationship were, whether it was the wounds caused by him and the brothel adventure, or those older and more painful than that that had nothing to do with him. Viserys, on the other hand, had no reservations about hugging his daughter. He buried his face in her shoulder and the trembling in his shoulders revealed the reason behind it.

All Rhaenyra could do was blink at the King's display of emotion when he hadn't before. Not even for the funeral of his dear Queen.

"My King," Alic*nt approached, clearly gritting her teeth. Daemon didn't miss the way Rhaenyra's gaze darkened. "I'm sure the princess wants to clean up. And Prince Daemon is certainly tired of his adventure in the woods. Let us no longer call attention to them, nor deprive them of their needs now."

A glance exchanged between him, and his wife revealed their opinion that Alicent was doing damage control by trying by all means to minimize the signals sent by the gods in their favor to Aegon the Gifted, which would outshine her son. Daemon wondered, though his mouth had curled, what the cruel little twist at the corner of Rhaenyra's lips meant.

Viserys pulled away, holding Rhaenyra by the shoulders, and his gaze traveled over the silk of her now-ruined dress. His coat had become a blood-stained expanse of ash thanks to the emotional moment. Although, he seemed to care little for the latter.

"Of course." Viserys agreed almost absently. "Of course. What about the har-"

"Ser Harwin", Daemon began in a way that didn't accept discussion. He had been away for more than twenty-four damn hours because of this animal. Daemon had left his wife alone with the son because of the hart,f*ckif he was going to leave it in the hands of any c*nt. "will find a good fur tanner. Say that an exquisite cloak should be made of fur. And find someone to remove the antlers. We don't leave a king's crown behind."

The Hightower c*nt's gaze narrowed, but Daemon merely sneered silently. Challenging her. Harwin Strong nodded completely in agreement with the prince and then began to command men to do the job.

His hand slid around Rhaenyra's waist as she looked at Viserys. "Come, my dear. Mygood-sisteris showing some wisdom today."

He took her to their tent, where the servants were already hurrying to tend to a tub of hot water. Their curious, dazzled eyes inevitably fell on her dirty dress and blood-stained hands. Daemon watched them struggle to decide whether to be haunted or awful. They respected Rhaenyra in a way that they would never be able to respect the Queen. Becausehis wife was their Queen. One chosen by the hands of gods and not of arrogant men who have not known their place.

Rhaenyra was right. Which didn't surprise him. Her mind was sharp, and it was underestimated more often than not healthy. Something that has now served them well.

"Aegon will also need a bath." She said, giving them both a look. The sparkle in her amethyst eyes danced for them warmly. "You two must go first, or the water will be very dirty if I go in now."

She was right, though the maids seemed like they would have no problem getting more hot water for any of them to bathe. He, however, would not refuse.

Daemon had given Annora his son with less hesitation than he would have done yesterday, knowing that if there was one servant he could trust with Aegon, it would be Annora. She had been with Rhaenyra since his niece was five namedays and had never given them any reason to believe she was anything but loyal. He undressed shamelessly and then climbed into the tub, washing himself quickly before reaching out to take Aegon away. His son twitched his legs as he touched the water, with a little grumble, but he had calmed down when his father had put him in the crook of his elbow. Daemon worked quickly and diligently to clean Aegon and then gave him to Annora, ready with a towel.

She had taken the little prince to dress with an indulgent smile, despite the way Aegon was sticking out his tongue and complaining, flailing his arms and legs. Daemon climbed out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his hips by the time a servant handed him clean clothes. Daemon had put on his pants and looked up just in time to see Annora's new sidekick loosen the ties on his wife's dress.

She had been stripped of Rhaenyra’s jewelry and her braid. Her silver-gold hair fell in soft, seductive waves down her back. His fingers itched to feel the softness and scent of the oils the maids had used on her. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin under his fingertips. He wanted to kiss her. Instead, Aegon was shoved back into his arms. He watched her wade into the water and relax for a moment before submerging to wet her hair. Her eyes locked on his as she emerged. He had given her a hungry wolf smile, regardless of the servants or the son.

Like a predator, Daemon had tracked every inch of her perfect skin.

From her narrow and graceful shoulders to her long and elegant neck, and the shadow of her breasts peeking through the foam in the water. Her beauty and perfection struck him like the sparks of a flint, kindling a fire that, though lukewarm at first, burned steadily. The flames of lust warmed his blood, making him hot. He turned around with his son to stop himself from joining her in the bathtub. The likelihood was that they would be dirtier than clean, as well as sitting in a cold shower. The thought never left him, however.

He moved, humming a melody he had been taught long ago when Rhaenyra was a newborn, whiny little thing. Her mother held her to the bed for him to look at, and then offered to hold her. Daemon had taken the baby carefully, sizing up her face and small features. It seemed to him that the world had stopped for a brief second, in which he swore that he would burn everything in his path to avenge her against anyone who dared to cause her pain. It was probable that the bond between them had been forged that night, though of what nature, then, it was difficult to say. Daemon knew better now.

The memory of how Aemma had taught him how to hold her when he had a little more than sixteen namedays, came to mind. He was rather clumsy, much to her chagrin, but he had gotten the hang of it quickly, like everything else Daemon did. Rhaenyra had not rebelled, standing rather quietly in his lap, just listening to him talk nonsense. Her amethyst eyes flickered lazily until he bored her and put her to sleep. Aemma had laughed at him and said that it was better for her to sleep rather than cry, so she had taught him a song aboutMuña Zaldrīzoti and her children's creation that would keep Rhaenyra quiet for a while. And then all the others she knew or that were in Dragonstone's library.

He had never considered himself a singer, but Aemma once told him that what Rhaenyra liked was the vibe of his tenor. A velvety and, at the same time, a thunderous sound that safely lulled her to sleep without fail every time.

Daemon wasn't bothered by the lyrics, though he still knew them by heart, but he preferred the melody thanks to Aemma's advice. And his son, it seemed, agreed with his mother and grandmother. When Aegon didn't fall asleep to the sound of his tenor, he was content to sit still, snuggled into his lap. Indigo eyes, though lost, were full of a certain curiosity. His little jaw dropped.

"His Grace the King!"

He stopped his march at the servant's announcement, and the melodic murmur died in his throat almost immediately. Daemon looked up in time to find Viserys staring at him. His eyes, like Rhaenyra's, of an amethyst hue, seemed glazed with sadness, guilt, and envy. It didn't surprise him at all, Daemon had long since grown accustomed to his brother's looks. Viserys had given him this particular look almost since Rhaenyra was born. He didn't particularly care what Viserys thought or felt. At sixteen he didn't give a sh*t and now, at thirty-four, he didn't give a single f*ck. Though sometimes he almost liked it because Daemon could be a petty creature. What's not to like, when he knew it irritated Viserys deeply? Aegon, however, had little interest in their petty games and grumbled discontentedly at the silence. Just like the spoiled little dragon he was.

Daemon didn't care about it.

"Viserys." Daemon greeted with just a hint of mockery.

Viserys's gaze had fixed on the two of them.

"Father," Rhaenyra called standing in the tub, tying the sash of her robe around her waist. A crease had formed between her eyebrows. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." Viserys' voice cracked, and Rhaenyra climbed out of the tub with the help of her maid. She stood beside her husband, one hand hovering over her son's back.

"Father?"

"I've come to see if you'll join us, Court, for dinner." Viserys' eyes met Daemon's. "The nobles wish you to entertain them with the story of the capture of the White Hart."

"I didn't capture it." Daemon snorted. "It came to me, so I brought it to Rhaenyra." He looked at his quiet wife, who was gazing thoughtfully at her father. She sported a look that was almost blunt and hurt. "And as for joining you, I'll leave the decision to Rhaenyra."

As if Viserys hadn't entered his tent, he went back to cradling Aegon with his tenor. Daemon ignored what was Viserys' gaze burning into the back of his neck. He didn't bother to turn around to observe the desire and envy in his brother's eyes. Daemon had long since grown tired of Viserys'.

f*ck him.

"I don't think we'll do it, father." He heard Rhaenyra say. "Daemon must be tired after his long hunt for the stag. I believe all he wants is to rest. And as for me..." Daemon shot his wife a glance over his shoulder as her voice cracked. "I wish the same. Dealing with Aegon alone for the first time was exhausting."

The truth, but not all of it.

His brother dared to look at Rhaenyra as if he could relate. Daemon held back the derision, certain that Aemma would never have left Viserys to care for Rhaenyra. Let alone. Quite the contrary, he found her taking care of her daughter alone more times than Daemon could count. Although he knew that more than once it had been by her choice because Aemma wanted to be with her daughter. But Viserys, the heir, and later the King, didn't have time for something as trivial as his own daughter. Yet here he was, making it sound like he understood. His tongue itched, but Daemon didn’t do anything.

Aegon shifted restlessly, and Daemon realized he had stopped once more. His back, however, never stopped burning with Viserys' gazes.

"You know you could have come to us at any time, dear." Viserys had said, albeit softly. A reminder, not a rebuke.

"I know." Daemon could imagine her grimacing, despite the polite tone. "But none of you would have been able to help. Although young, Aegon is already used to a certain routine that makes him upset when we don't stick to it. This is a perfect example of what I'm saying."

Daemon found the pair staring at them.

"We're tired, Viserys. There is nothing else I want but to be with my wife and son. Rhaenyra certainly thinks like me." Viserys nodded, clearly defeated.

He was almost convinced to feel sorry for his brother. Then Daemon remembered that these were the consequences of his actions, nothing more. Viserys was the one to walk away from the family when Aemma died, he was responsible for the chasm created between them. And although his brother seemed to be striving to rebuild that bridge, who could say if it would come to anything? Daemon was tired, he got tired of reaching out only for Viserys to slap him away. He was no longer the same man he had been, and neither was Rhaenyra. Even a dragon would be a fool not to be suspicious of a sheep, let alone one like Viserys. A sheep's bones might not scratch a dragon's scales, but sharp shards could still wreak havoc inside.

He watched his brother look at Aegon.

"I..." Daemon and Rhaenyra waited, though they had a sense of what it was all about. "Can I...?"

Their gaze met as his wife turned to him and their son.

Chapter 10: A Burn of Souls

Chapter Text

6^th Moon of 114 AC

"Of course." She surprised Daemon.

Their eyes trembled with a silent conversation which Rhaenyra won and then took Aegon on. He was comforted by the fact that his son appreciated the prospect as much as he did. His wife approached her father, giving Aegon to Viserys holds. Daemon’s heart seemed to skip a beat for the instant it seemed like Viserys would collapse under Aegon's featherweight. Rhaenyra arrived before him, supporting her father and guiding him to sit in the nearest chair. Aegon shifted, flailing his arms and legs. He looked uncomfortable against his grandfather's rough clothes.

Daemon felt forced just to watch.

"Hello, Aegon," Viserys whispered in an emotional voice. "I'm your grandfather."

Daemon watched his wife kneel beside her father's chair, eyes downcast and almost melancholy. She lifted her index finger, tracing Aegon's bare belly. Their son winced and then grabbed her finger with a grip that he was sure would be firm. Aegon calmed down, attracted by his mother cooing at him until he was quiet on his grandfather's lap. Daemon had taken a velvet robe and leaned against the table, carefully watching his wife and son. Aegon lazily thrust his tongue and winked. Rhaenyra giggled.

He watched his brother look distant, even when he still physically was with them. Viserys' mind seemed to have taken him leagues away. Daemon watched him stretch out a finger to brush against Aegon's bare chest, attracting his attention this time. For the first time, Aegon's indigo eyes met Viserys' amethysts. Aegon jerked his grip around his mother's finger, smacking his lips.

"He looks like you when you were his age." His brother chuckled, and the sound resonated with Daemon full of sadness and regrets. Viserys sniffed, giving Rhaenyra a brief look. His wife looked at her father almost with a certain childish curiosity. "You also liked to push your tongue. I thought it was hunger, but your mother used to say that only when you clenched your fists and the trill of a dragon threatened to shake the world, only then did you get hungry."

His wife smiled and so did Daemon.

"Well, then there's no doubt who his mother is." She joked, smiling indulgently at the baby. "Aegon is almost the same, except he makes this grimace that precedes crying most of the time when he's hungry. And he will be soon."

To prove the point, Aegon's face contorted in disgust. His chin had wrinkled, and a prominent crease had formed between his eyebrows before he began to sniff, the corners of his mouth curled down into a pout. The hand that didn't hold his mother's clenched angrily. Then he began to cry.

A dragon trill shook the tent.

"Ah, ah!" Viserys changed Aegon, placing him against his chest and rocking to calm him down. Useless, Viserys might be developing tit* with his weight and age, but he would never have milk.

Daemon grinned to himself.

Rhaenyra quickly got up to pick up her angry son. Daemon stepped forward, quickly finding another chair and offering it to her. Rhaenyra smiled at him as she sat up, before positioning Aegon and pulling the edge of her robe down. Aegon sniffed, still angry, but the moment his lips felt the texture of his mother's breast, he soon grabbed it. Suddenly, the only sound in the room was that of Aegon suckling. Daemon curled one corner of his mouth.

"How do you...?" Viserys gasped as if he had forgotten how to use words. "How can you...?"

Rhaenyra looked at her father enigmatically. A cunning twitch playing at the corner of her lips.

"A gift from one mother to another."

"Ah," Viserys exhaled, slumping against his chair. He looked tired, and his eyes followed Aegon's restlessness as he suckled. Daemon watched as Aegon grabbed his mother's finger again. "That makes a lot of sense. Your mother thought I didn't know, but I knew she liked to breastfeed you in the middle of the night. She never complained about the pain in her breasts like other women did."

"And how would you know about the pains of breastfeeding, brother?" Daemon scoffed.

Viserys blushed.

"Well, there was more than one husband who warned me of the heartbreaks of motherhood. Besides," Viserys' tone became reticent, hesitant. Rhaenyra pretended not to care, though she and Daemon knew what her father was going to say, "Alicent complained enough to let me know." There was a tense silence, which the King felt the need to fill. Viserys then cleared his throat. "You know that's considered inappropriate, don't you?"

There was no judgment in his voice, however. Just curious.

"I know," Rhaenyra answered, still indifferent. "But if this is a gift that I have received, in the manner in which I have received it, then how am I to consider it inadequate? Should I despise the gift of the goddess for the sake of opinion?"

Viserys frowned, surely pondering the question, though he said nothing. Aegon then opened his hands over his belly, sleepy eyes that slowed down with each blink. Daemon’s wife smiled at her satiated and probably quite tired son. Her gaze met her husband, and Daemon stepped forward to lift his son. Aegon grumbled but otherwise went quietly with his father. He leaned his son on his shoulder, rubbing his back gently until Aegon shuddered, startled by the sound he had made, and grabbed his shirt. Daemon chuckled softly, a flutter from his chest that had soothed Aegon.

When he looked up, he met the dark face of Viserys. His amethyst eyes were darkened by envy and spite. Daemon leveled his gaze, challenging him. Both of them were aware that Daemon's tongue would only serve to cut deeply if Viserys said the slightest word.

"It's about time you went to sleep, little man." Rhaenyra cooed, either ignorantly or consciously ignoring the sudden tension between her father and husband. She approached, kissing Daemon and their son, her loving amethyst eyes full of warmth and happiness. Daemon had never thought of himself as a family man, let alone one of those who enjoyed such simple happiness, but there was something about his happy little family that he just couldn't ignore. Not only did it tame the raging beast within him, but satiated it, so that he found himself unable to resist. When he looked at her, his gaze was pleasantly warm, the way only the scales of a dragon could be. "I'll accompany Father for a moment, I must not delay."

He gave her a quick kiss in response, under his brother's watchful eye. Viserys had reached over to say goodbye to his grandson and had squeezed Daemon’s shoulder briefly. Daemon met his brother's hard gaze accompanied by a forced smile and jagged edges of sadness in his expression.

Yeah, Daemon felt sorry for his older brother.

He felt sorry for a King.

Rhaenyra put on a cloak to hide her lack of proper clothing and left. Daemon sat, alone with his son, in a comfortable chair in front of the burning fire in a brazier to keep the tent warm. Slowly, he had resumed a vibrant melody that joined the beat of his heart, reverberating in his chest, under Aegon's small hand spread over his heart. As if with those delicate little fingers, he could hold this heavy, black thing, but it now belonged to him as much as it belonged to his mother. Daemon experienced déjà vu, though he wasn't surprised. Aegon was, after all, his mother's son.

His son turned those indigo eyes back to him, heavy from the sleep he was fighting against. Daemon's mouth twitched, unfazed, and he just cradled his son slowly and stealthily. He even knew a thing or two about a stubborn baby who refused to sleep even when were clearly exhausted. And Aegon was. Daemon stroked Aegon's back gently, muttering the melody of the song until his eyes grew heavier and heavier, harder and harder to open. Until they didn't. Daemon continued for a moment longer, to make sure Aegon was fast asleep.

He was.

It didn't take long for his wife to return. She entered the tent, undoing her cloak and accompanied by a pair of servants, one of whom carried a tray of fruit, bread, cheese, and meat, and the other carried a jug of glasses. Rhaenyra instructed them to put the food on the table and then dismissed them gently, smiling pleasantly. She then approached him, her eyes warm. Daemon straightened up, to make it easier for his wife to pick up their sleeping little package. Aegon moved, and his eyes fluttered for a second before his mother cooed and rocked him back to sleep. Rhaenyra waltzed with him for a moment, on her way to the travel cradle, nowhere near the monstrosity in their apartments at the Red Keep. The little cradle was infinitely lighter and more delicate, but no less magnificent. It was in the form of two intertwined dragons, whose necks were held high to watch over the precious cargo in the nest. His wife leaned over, placing their son in the crib, and rocked him for a moment, just watching.

There was something about her expression that had caused something in him to curl and twist. Daemon stood up with little more than the creak of his chair and silent footsteps. Rhaenyra bent over the crib, adjusting its veil to protect the baby. He caught a glimpse of the dragons in the cradle for a moment, and the thought of choosing an egg for Aegon came to his mind, but as quickly as it had appeared, it had disappeared.

He approached her from behind, sliding his hands on her hips. Thumbs stroking her gently. Daemon leaned over her, meeting her halfway to straighten up. He followed her, inhaling the notes of lemon and lavender from her hair, and from something particular that was just Rhaenyra. Something that drew him like a moth to the flame, sweet and infinitely delicate. She tilted her neck, allowing him to trace the spine of her throat lazily to the junction with her shoulder. Daemon had placed a lazy kiss, then another one higher, closer to her earlobe. Rhaenyra sighed, grabbing his arms around her waist. His teeth pinched her ear, and she flinched, wincing.

"Daemon," the warning in her voice trembled delightfully at the change in her breathing. He smiled against her skin and raised his hand to guide her face to his. Daemon kissed the corner of her mouth, causing her to arch her breasts. Rhaenyra barely stopped herself from sighing. "What are you doing?"

It seemed obvious to him. "Loving you."

He pressed her against him. The growing erection in his pants made itself felt against her glorious ass. Daemon stole a kiss. Rhaenyra inhaled deeply.

"You're going to wake him up." She warned.

"Then you'd better be quiet, ñuha raqnon."

Rhaenyra spun around in his arms, hands seeking support on his shoulders to deepen the kiss. Daemon slid an arm down her back, filling his palm with her glorious ass, pulling her hips against his. The small sound of her sigh drove him crazy. Such a sweet sound, such a good taste she had. He growled, softly, baring his teeth.

Then he pulled her away from the crib to the bed.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing the robe on his shoulders to the floor. Her fingers tangled in his hair and the clutches grazed against the back of his neck. Daemon swallowed a growl thinking of the sleeping little block-co*ck. He was never a religious man, although he liked to honor all the good manners he learned from Old Valyria, Daemon nevertheless clung to all the gods whose names he knew, pleading with them to keep Aegon in a deep sleep.

He flipped her over, cornering her against the column of the bed's canopy. Rhaenyra gasped, arching her back. Nails digging into his biceps. Daemon smiled grimly. He kissed the joint of her jaw as her hands roamed his chest, his shoulders, his arms, everything she could reach. Rhaenyra kept going down his sides, going to his back. Her claws left a bittersweet feeling on his skin. He pinched her shoulder with his teeth, his fingers tracing the edge of her robe, searching for the bandage. He found it and with a tug untied it. His hands gripped her waist as his mouth made a dangerous descent. Daemon kissed the hollow of her throat, sucked on her collarbone, licked her breast without touching the turgid peak, and left a kiss in the valley between her happy mounts.

Her sounds were quiet, and sparse to keep Aegon asleep. But they were the sweetest, most maddening thing he had ever heard. His co*ck was straining the seams of his pants at this point. He didn't hurry. Rhaenyra was naturally an impressive woman, but to him, she was a goddess. His particular goddess. And although he wasn't the religious type, he knew his job was to worship her. On knees, no less. Then he moved down her belly, making her shudder.

Daemon fell to his knees before her, placing her thigh over his shoulder. Rhaenyra looked down on him from above. Her silver-blond hair fell from one shoulder of hers. Her mouth was swollen from his kiss. Eyes bright and dark with desire. A sweet blush on her cheekbones. She had hardly ever looked more beautiful to him.

Daemon kissed her inner thigh, feeling Rhaenyra stiffen. Did Crispin have the opportunity to please this woman and not give her the honor? Stupid bastard. Daemon growled, kissing up. Rhaenyra gasped, one hand gripping his hair tightly and the other gripping the bedpost to keep herself in place. He looked up when he realized she muffled a gasp by biting her lips hard. Her chest rose and fell heavily. Daemon arched an eyebrow, and a dirty grin before kissing her there. Rhaenyra swallowed a squeal at the sensation. She was clearly struggling to find the air in her lungs.

Her husband then made her feel his fingers. His thumb pressing that button nerves while his tongue... gods, his tongue. That sharp silver tongue was doing things to her. He hummed as she tugged at his hair without fear of hurt. His hand gripped her trembling thigh over his shoulder. Daemon smirked as he built her pleasure guided only by the tiny noises she made. Every little sweet, harsh sound of hers was a victory. He continued, sticking two fingers inside her. Biting her thigh. He twisted his fingers inside, looking for that sweet spot that would push her close to the precipice. Daemon absentmindedly stroked himself over his pants, yearning to be inside her. But not before Rhaenyra came into his tongue.

Rhaenyra felt as if she wanted to escape the sensation growing inside her, which seemed to threaten to overwhelm her. Sounds escaped her, the breath of her lungs. She felt dizzy. Until the world shattered into white.

Daemon watched with savage satisfaction.

He could tell that Rhaenyra was vaguely aware of him holding her against the canopy column to keep her from falling. Vaguely aware of his hand covering her mouth. Vaguely aware of him checking to see if Aegon was still asleep. Vaguely aware of the then pressing of his thumb on the bundle of nerves between her legs, two fingers tucked inside her, her puss* squeezing them. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, his eyes were as dark as midnight. Hunger and desire in his eyes. Rhaenyra smiled at him, languid, a lazy look of satiety and still, not enough. She wrapped her arms around his neck as Daemon lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. She gasped at his stiffness.

Her husband smiled before giving her a quick kiss. The taste on her lips was strange, and then Rhaenyra realized she was tasting herself. Oh. Rhaenyra nibbled on his lip, clutches clawing at his back as he pressed his hot, latent co*ck against her wet puss*. Rhaenyra sighed.

Daemon kissed her voraciously, the fury she'd longed to see since the night of the brothel. And now it was hers in all its glory. Rhaenyra smirked to herself as she untied his pants and pushed down with her heels. Daemon hovered above her, the gaze of a predator at its prey. Although, she wasn't prey, was she? No, she doesn't.

They were the equal parts of a whole.

Daemon kicked his pants off his heels, settling into the cradle of her hips. His chest over hers. Surprisingly, he kissed her softly. His tongue licked the seam of her lips, asking for passage. He found her tongue in a tender and kind dance, slow and sensual. Until they both ran out of breath. She kissed his jaw and gasped when she felt him peek down below. Daemon intertwined their fingers, pushing her arms upwards, his weight on her. It felt like he was going to suffocate her for a moment, then Rhaenyra felt just... Embraced. Safe and secure. The feeling has been overwhelming over the past few years. Her eyes moistened.

Rhaenyra felt him waiting to come in, so she was ready. Her consent came in the form of her hips rising to welcome him. Then Daemon slid into her. Rhaenyra gasped her heart racing, and a sense of impossible fulfillment, of fullness, overwhelmed her.

Marriage is a duty, he once told her. But that doesn't stop us from doing what we want. To f*ck who we want.

Thanks to Agni, their marriage was one and the same. Duty and love, obligation and pleasure. She couldn't imagine what her life could have been like if it wasn't this way. What would have happened. The thought of the 'what if' and how close she was to finding out pushed her to tears of relief. She waved her arms to let go. Daemon pulled away, leaning on his elbows and looking for her face. Worry shaded his face as her breath engaged differently under him.

"Did I hurt you?"

Rhaenyra shook her head.

"You set me free."

She hugged him and kissed him with relieved despair. Her heart ached at how close this night, this moment, everything they have done so far, has been close to impossible. Of non-existence. And it will only take a single event to alter their lives forever. Rhaenyra didn't even want to know what would have happened if she had married Laenor. She was prepared to do her duty, though she was also scared. With Daemon she was not afraid, she was stronger and braver. She always has been. He's always been her strength.

Her words whisper to him in that language that was theirs alone, how happy she was to have him. He looked at her once before kissing her, his gaze making it clear that he was on edge. Daemon kissed her longingly. Nostalgia for a lifetime. Longing for what could have been. Missing her and him, and them together. He buried his head in the joint of her shoulder and gave her a thrust that stole her breath. Rhaenyra's eyes widened, tears still shining silently.

She sought his kiss. All the words stuck in his throat trying to escape in a kiss, in the act of love they were making. Daemon felt his head spin in a raw desperation of burning urgency in his chest as each thrust jolted them both. Her breaths slowed. He could feel a shiver down his spine, electricity running down his lower back. But it wasn't enough, it was still too early, Daemon needed to prove to her his feelings in a way that words couldn't.

He imprinted strength and ferocity into his movements, kissing her where he could reach. Daemon took her hands, interlacing their fingers again, stretching their arms above their heads. This brought them closer, he could feel her heartbeat on the opposite side of his, her breasts against his chest, the belly against his abdomen, the legs cradling his hips. Her face pressed against his. Daemon was desperate. Not for pleasure, but for... something he wouldn't even know how to name. Not even if he wanted to. He was just sure that he needed to pursue the feeling, he needed to relieve them both.

His impulses became more frantic and erratic as their love burned and consumed their hearts, only to fall into a delicious freefall when they reached the top.

Daemon felt like he was cracking. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, knowing he was going to leave not just a bruise, but a lasting mark thanks to the taste of blood on his tongue. No one would expect anything less from a dragon, after all. Daemon very briefly registered Rhaenyra digging her nails into the backs of his hands. He knew she had drawn blood. Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, holding back a roar. Their bodies tense like the strings of a lute as they leave reality for a delightful, surreal moment.

Rhaenyra collapsed on the bed, and he collapsed on top of her. Neither of them said a word as he caught his breath. She still had trails of tears in her eyes. Daemon recovered enough to wipe away, kissing every drop of the sea from her.

She had never felt more loved in her life.

She hugged him by crossing her legs and arms for a long moment. Daemon wrapped an arm around her waist and with an impulse sat them down on the bed. She moaned with his co*ck still inside her. His mouth met hers in a quick kiss.

Daemon rubbed his thumb against the depression at the base of her spine, in the small dimple, smiling slightly in the kiss. Filling his hands with handfuls of her ass, he stood up with her. The angle dragged his co*ck inside her, causing Rhaenyra to throw her head back, thanks to her sensitivity. A spark exploded at the base of his spine and his stomach constricted with the new wave of desire that washed over him. Daemon led them to the table, sitting in a chair with his wife still on his lap, still sitting on his co*ck. He hissed as she settled in. Her nipples brushed against his chest as she arched gently. Her mouth opened with a mute sigh.

Blindly, Daemon reached out and grabbed a strawberry, holding onto her lips. Rhaenyra took one look at him and opened her mouth obediently, taking a bite. He ate the rest.

"Does he still sleep?" She asked.

They both craned their necks to take a look at the crib that remained motionless and silent. Thank the gods. One of the corners of his mouth twitched and he pulled Rhaenyra's hips higher.

"Like a good boy." He confirmed it with a kiss on her breast.

"Once he needed to be." Rhaenyra sneered gently, combing his hair with her fingers. Daemon pressed a thumb to her nipple.

"If he wants siblings, then he will have to behave more often." He watched as he circled the peak of her breast with his fingernail. Rhaenyra sighed, rolling her hips gently. He was already hardening again. But Daemon wasn't wrong. Aegon needed more sleep if they wanted to give him siblings, and he didn't object. Not at all. But something about the way his son had slept through it all had bothered him. He searched for her eyes. "A bad night indeed."

"More like too long," Rhaenyra said tiredly, her hips stuttering as if she was going to stop, but she had decided not to, keeping a lazy pace. He caught a grape, feeding it to his wife.

"What happened, ñuha prūmia?"

He had asked softly, filling his hands with her breasts. Daemon licked each of them. Rhaenyra arched, and a shadow that had nothing to do with desire covered her gaze. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, it was almost gone. Almost.

Then she stopped moving.

He looked at her.

"Did you beg my father to marry me?"

Daemon blinked without any reaction for a minute and then the beast inside him curled up. A wall had risen between them before he could think of opening his mouth and saying anything. And Daemon wasn't thinking of doing such a thing. He wasn't cut for that. He didn't like that kind of talk, to be honest.

But his wife, cunning and spoiled little thing that she was, spun her hips around and somehow twitched her puss* around his co*ck. Daemon grabbed her hips, hissing. He looked at her, finding only determination in her gaze. It was more than just a twinge of cruel desire. Oh, f*ck it. She would literally f*ck up his answers. Flames ran up his spine and Daemon felt his co*ck throb inside her.

Though sexy as f*cking Fourteen Flames, Daemon didn't like it.

He didn't like it, but he told the truth.

"I did."

Rhaenyra stared at him for long heartbeats, as if she couldn't recognize him. Her silence annoyed him, so he played her game, thrusting his hips. Her nails dug into his shoulders and Rhaenyra bit her lip hard to hold back the moan full of pleasure and surprise.

He kissed her breast, pleased with himself.

"No matter what I do, I can't imagine you begging," Rhaenyra admitted, sounding breathless.

"Me neither." He confided, not giving Rhaenyra time to think about it. He licked her nipple and then sucked it. Milk flooded his tongue, taking him by surprise. Daemon dug his fingers into her waist, keeping her in place. His tongue swirled around her breast, causing Rhaenyra to give a blow with her hips. Pleasure snapped up his spine.

"How did that happen?"

Maybe he wasn't doing things the right way if she was still thinking about the conversation. But he was never able to deny her. At least not for long. Growling, his teeth scratching the button between them, Daemon remembered that morning.

Marry her to me.

When I gave you my crown you said I could have whatever I wanted.

I want Rhaenyra.

I take her as she is, I marry her in the customs of our House.

Then he told her what happened that day.

Daemon, however, had made sure to punctuate his words with biting blows from the hip. He thrust repeatedly inside her, almost angrily. Maybe he was since she had forced him to talk. It wasn't his favorite memory for more than one reason. He, however, hoped that his blows would distract her and take her away from the conversation. He built her pleasure with more effort than before.

He shouldn't underestimate her.

Rhaenyra locked her feet in the chair, stopping his impulses. They both groaned and though for different reasons, neither of them had liked the postponement. Daemon felt his legs tingling as the climax approached.

"Why?" It was the first thing she wanted to know, still sounding breathless, after using a moment for the illusion of composing herself.

His mind had gone into a knot and Daemon only thought about satisfying them once again. "What?"

"Why did you abandon me in the brothel?"

Daemon hated the harshness in her voice. He hated that the night in the brothel was a bigger wound than he had considered. None of this was like Baelon's egg. When he stole it, she still understood him. They were angry at the same person, they didn't mind hurting the same person, even though they had used it to her advantage. And maybe his as well. But the brothel had been different.

He was different.

He cursed himself.

"I wanted power." He began, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. She wanted the truth, she had forced the truth from him, and the least she could do was look him in the eye to receive it. "Everyone with half a brain wants power. I'm no different. I wanted power. I was losing the war, losing the faith of my men, losing everything, and reading your letters made me realize how powerless I was. I was barely someone without a dragon, Rhaenyra. So I wanted the power like I never wanted it before. Because if I had power, then I would have everything I needed. And it could eliminate everything that I don’t."

Her eyes trembled, but she didn't look away, so Daemon didn't deny her the rest. "The throne wasn't what I wanted." He snorted derisively. "Can you imagine me sitting at this all day, pretending to care about other people's problems? I don't have the talent to be King, Rhaenyra. I never had. I am a man of action, not of politics and inaction."

He hated every ugly bit of the truth he was about to tell.

"I had a plan. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I would give something invaluable to Viserys to be able to demand the same in return, even though I didn't know what it was yet." At first, he had planned to ask for the position of Hand, but then... "Then I saw you, and you looked so miserable. A stranger in your own home..." He had considered asking for an annulment of his marriage to Bronze Bitch, but he knew that Viserys would never give Rhaenyra's hand. So he made a new plan. "I thought that if I had to share power to have it, no one would be better than you. I thought I was doing it for the selfish reasons I rationalized, but..."

"But?"

Daemon swallowed a knot.

"But I saw you at that banquet. I saw you but grown up, and then I realized that..." Inside her, his still-hard co*ck pulsed. "That I wanted you."

Daemon felt her legs tremble. Her fingertips slid over the velvety surface of his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Daemon grabbed her waist, looking her in the eye. Letting her see.

"You wanted me..."

"I-" Give him a sword and some motherf*ckers and he'd know what to do with them, a whor* and he'd know what to do with her, give him wine and he'd know what to do. But give him feelings and compel him to talk about it, and pulling a tooth would be easier. Damn, break his ribs and the hand of his sword, it would be easier to bear than giving Rhaenyra a glimpse of the ugly beast he called the heart. He gritted his teeth but forced himself to admit it. "I wanted you. I still want to. I always will."

"You wanted me," Rhaenyra repeated with eyes as hard as steel, "and yet you abandoned me in that place. Why?"

"Because did I want you." His voice choked as he buried his face between her breasts. He dug his fingers into her flesh, aware that he would leave bruises tomorrow. "I wanted you, but I didn't know how much or how or in what depth. I just realized that-"

Daemon had tensed, his back stiff and his shoulders tense as if he dared to carry Balerion on them.

"Realized you loved me."

"Yes." He said. "And I couldn't go on. You deserved better than that. More than being alone. You deserved the world."

She grabbed his face with blunt hands and forced him to look at her. Daemon had a flash of her eyes before she kissed him hard. Her legs flexed around him, causing enough friction to rekindle the faint flames of desire thrown in the background. They were all about tongue, lips, and teeth.

Rhaenyra pulled away with her mouth swollen and red. Daemon found himself licking her aftertaste off his lips.

"How did you know?"

"What?"

"How did you know about Ser Criston?" Her eyes searched for the truth in his. "I slept with him because you showed me pleasure, and because I wanted to see you when I threw it in your face. I never had the opportunity, though."

Daemon disagreed. Here she was, impaled on his co*ck and talking about another man. How she f*cked him out of revenge. He didn't like that, even though he was proud of her for standing up for herself. But he was still a dragon and hated to share. He didn't answer her question, not right away, no. Daemon sucked a bruise down her throat, pinching her breast and thrusting mercilessly into her. He had been tempted to bend her over the table and show her what a worthy partner would do. But he contented himself with pushing her shoulders down as he thrust his hips up, forcing her to bite her fist to muffle her sounds.

She let him do what he wanted, let him build their pleasure again. His thumb worked relentlessly on the bundle of nerves. He watched her blush and almost peak quickly.

Her puss* pulsed around him and when he knew she was almost there, he stopped.

Rhaenyra whimpered. But Daemon only licked a bead of sweat down her throat.

"I showed you how to get out, I also know how to get in." He whispered.

"You heard it." She murmured, wide-eyed and bright. Between short breaths.

It wasn't a question. Her legs trembled.

"I don't know what I would do if I heard you f*ck someone. Or worse, watch." She grimaced in disgust. "Knowing that you probably slept with the whole city is one thing. It's an abstract knowledge, different from having a proof almost..."

"Tangible?" He offered.

"Yes." She was silent, raising her hand and sliding her knuckles through his hair. "Is that why you begged for my hand?"

"Of course."

Her eyes became very clear. "I'm sorry."

Daemon pressed a kiss to her lips.

"Don't feel it. I wouldn't have been different, if not worse."

She bent down to kiss him slowly and languidly. Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around his neck, moving her hips lazily, panting.

"I confronted them." She said, twirling her hips. Eyes closed.

"Who?" Daemon asked, holding her ass, massaging it with his palms as he slowly f*cked his wife.

"Alicent and Ser Criston." She smirked, sighing. "You would have been proud."

"I already am, whatever you say."

This time the construction happened at a slower pace, with long kisses and indolent blows. Her legs fluttered with every thrust of his hips, the chair creaked, and Daemon swallowed her sounds in his mouth. She was getting slippery with sweat. Daemon reached into her hair, cupping the back of her neck as she arched. He licked her breasts and sucked on each of them, tasting the salt of her skin and the sweetness of milk. The tingling in his legs rose and he felt a tug on his balls. There was a ringing in his ears, and he felt it coming for the second time.

Rhaenyra sounded more and more close, with her puss* tightening around him until he felt her tense. Daemon felt her break. Her mouth was open but muted. He continued to f*ck her until he cummed. His org*sm was a violent wave crashing over him. Daemon hugged her tight, her face hidden in the crook of his neck.

"Avy jorrāelan." She whispered into the shell of his ear.

"I love you." He whispered back.

Chapter 11: A Valyrian Promise

Chapter Text

9^th Moon of 118 AC

"Princess?"

His voice, familiar to her, echoed through the tower, though he didn't immediately find an answer. But he wouldn't have been intimidated, now accustomed to some of her habits. This one in particular more than any other. Rhaenyra barely heard him, though not out of malice. She had been very engrossed in her thoughts, comfortable letting her guard down in Dragonstone, where she felt safe and where the cradle of Old Valyria's legacy flourished years after its demise.

Rhaenyra studied the statue made for Agni, whose design took two years to complete. Much longer than any other project. Her title, Muña Zaldrīzoti, had been carved in cursive High Valyrian on a white limestone base and briefly described her sphere of control in Common. Goddess of Dragons and Fertility. She was faithfully portrayed by the only artist Rhaenyra knew to be able to perfectly capture in stone the combination of human and divine features. The stone goddess before her was a larger version of a gift she received when Aegon was just over sixteen moons born, and it would serve a different purpose. This Agni was neither a gift nor much of a souvenir, not for her. Quite the contrary, Rhaenyra thought in awe once again at the artist's memory. She was a piece.

Seeing the incredibly detailed statue, however, had thrilled her.

Agni had been carved from blue sodalite, with lush undertones blending into one another. Her hair was dyed with a mixture of gold dust as were her face and hands, and where her eyes were to be made of blue sodalite painted gold, the sockets were hollowed out and mother-of-pearl molds were fitted in place to imitate her pearly eyes of white fire. In her arms was a life-size baby, for a newborn, carved out of moonstone and with eyes carved with amethyst. The depiction of the velvet cloak with which Aegon had been wrapped was painted with the same mixture of gold dust that Agni had been.

His features were soft, typical of a baby, and he slept on the warm lap of the goddess as unperturbed as Rhaenyra remembered. The composition produced an image so realistic that it stole Rhaenyra's breath. This was Aegon in his first instant of birth.

The statue of her newborn son gave her a bittersweet feeling. Her heart felt lighter for the love with which the smallfolk and the nobles received him, but at the same time, it filled her with concern about the sort of thing power-hungry men would do for him, in his name, who would commit deeds using his name to ensure they would be forgiven. A weight and a measure, she often supposed, torn between reason and emotion.

Her only solid comfort was knowing that their love and idolatry for her son could save his life one day, keep him safe. He and his family.

The idea for the final project involved placing the statue on a brazier that would serve as a pedestal and stay lit day and night to give the effect of the flames that licked the goddess when she appeared. Sculptures of dragons would serve as support columns, while miniatures made of dragonglass would seem to hover over their mother. Protecting her. The statue would be taken to King's Landing once completed and placed in the entrance hall once the construction of the temple was completed.

At first, the idea was for a small sect in the Red Keep, a slow reintroduction to Valyrianism, but word spread through the city like wildfire and suddenly commoners showed up en masse at the Court to petition the King. Allow your people to worship the True Gods, my King, they said over and over again. A temple, not a sect. Large enough to welcome the new faithful and rival the Starry Sept. It took a year for it to be approved and the construction of the Anogrion Perzys Eglives to begin.

It was an ambitious, gigantic project that involved gardens, plazas, accommodations for the priests and apprentices, as well as a complex with large galleries so that the gods could be worshipped individually. Its location was set at the top of Visenya's Hill, to maintain the aesthetics of Targaryen heraldry, the dragon with three heads. At the time, there was a surge of volunteers to help with the construction and the Commons quickly got the hang of it. She had discussed with her husband the idea of her supervising the construction since his hands were already well filled with fortifying the Stepstones, building command posts, and expanding trade, as well as starting a Targaryen force in the islands. He even had plans to raise an army for the Crown in the Crownlands.

It wasn't anyone's right to argue that he wasn't honoring another of his new titles.

Protector of the Realm.

Rhaenyra was very proud of him. His new positions gave him something to occupy himself with before any of their sons were old enough to wield a sword. Idleness has never been good for dragons whose blood has remained restless and wild. Not that they'd had such quiet years since Aegon's birth. There would not be a single quiet day in their lives until this cold war was won.

The thought brought her back to reality with the memory of the purpose of the visit to Dragonstone this time. Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder at him, dressed in his acolyte robes.

"Andimion." Rhaenyra smiled as she turned to face the Fire Priest's apprentice. The one who would serve as High Priest at the Anogrion Perzys Eglives one day. After all, none of this would have been possible without his innocent spark. "How are you?"

Andimion smiled now with a light beard growing on his face four years after handing her a crib. Rhaenyra would never have guessed that a Red Keep groom had the talent he had, but she was delighted when she found out.

At that time, almost a year after Aegon's birth, House Velaryon announced the birth of Lady Laena's twins, and a few months later their Court traveled to King's Landing to introduce the Gifted Grace's bride. Rhaenyra remembered hearing the sound of footsteps echoing in the hallway and watching the Velaryons being brought to her and her husband's rooms after dropping off all the children at the nursery. Lyeta then went in with a box, to which Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow when the package was offered to her.

"Dear, come here!" She had called him.

She heard his footsteps and Daemon stopped to the side. Rhaenyra was sure he saw the same as she did.

The sculpture had been carved out of blue sodalite with such delicacy and a wealth of incredible detail. Rhaenyra wondered how the artist could have kept so much in their mind. But it didn't matter. Whoever had done so had her thanks and deserved an equally valuable reward for the gift. It was simply priceless.

The image reflected the coming of Goddess Agni to the opening banquet of Rhaenyra's wedding. Muña Zaldrīzoti held a package in her arms, which both parents knew to be Aegon. His blanket, actually made of velvet as soft as the gold of the morning sun, was painted gold. So are Agni's eyes and hair. Rhaenyra felt moved.

"Lyeta, what's that?" The voice sounded choked.

"It's a tribute, Your Highness." The maid answered, her voice thick with reverence. "A gift made by an old servant here." Rhaenyra raised her moist, red eyes full of surprise. It seemed like an expensive project for a palace servant. Lyeta seemed to understand her doubt perfectly. "He poured wine at your wedding, becoming a witness to that night. And at the end of the Hunt, he left to travel the world, working to pay for the materials of his work and when he got it, he came back here to give it to you. He thought Gifted Grace's mother would like it."

Rhaenyra gasped with feelings of reverence, gratitude, and just a little bit of fear. Her son was too young to breathe in so hard. Her thumb grazed the statue with affection and a slight awe. Too young to inspire that kind of devotion. I fear what else he might inspire, Rhaenyra thought darkly.

But she didn't say.

Instead, she looked at Daemon.

Admiration, pride, and a ferocity that matched hers shone in his eyes. A sliver of the same fear that clung to her clung to him. But Daemon had his own way of dealing with it, working tirelessly to keep their son safe. To make them strong and not defenseless. Whether as Lord Commander of the City Watch, Protector of the Realm, Warlord, Prince Consort, or just as a father, Daemon would use all the power in the world to protect all those in his heart.

And that was all they could do.

Otherwise, the alternative to ensuring Aegon's well-being would be to lock him up in the Red Keep. And while it was tempting, neither of them wanted any of their children trapped in the gilded cage Rhaenyra had grown up in.

"He's right, I love it." Rhaenyra took a breath, caressing the statue carefully. She sniffled, pressing the coiled index fingers under her eyes to dry the tears of happiness and anxiety that threatened to fall. She felt Daemon's hand squeezing her shoulder. You're not alone, he seemed to want to say. "Bring him here later. I wish to reward him."

Lyeta opened her mouth and closed it, as if she had something to say, but wasn't sure it was her place to do it. Rhaenyra encouraged her with a wave of her hand.

"He said that was his form of retribution."

"For what?"

Her gaze flashed fiercely.

"Give him something to believe in."

Rhaenyra disentangled herself from the bittersweet memories, focusing on the present, and as if to ground her, a dragon roared outside. Not her dear Syrax, nor her husband's impetuous Caraxes. Dragonstone had become a nest of dragons, after all. Those who were not born on the island or were not bound had fled there long ago. Except for one of them. Andimion, even though he had lived here for the past few years, seemed to still not have gotten used to the singular song. Rhaenyra smiled.

"They're agitated today, aren't they, Your Highness?" He asked graciously, just a little nervous.

"They are."

"Does my lady have any idea why?" His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Mm." Rhaenyra hummed absentmindedly as she moved. Fingertips brush against the statue. "I think they have a sense of what's going to happen today."

Andimion smiled. "Yes, I think so."

Rhaenyra took one last look at the statue before starting to move towards the exit.

"Have you arrived today?" Andimion had asked politely as he followed her pace. He spent too much time with the statues or the Valyrian texts to know this on his own.

"No." Rhaenyra descended the spiral of steps. "Our party arrived near the end of yesterday afternoon, while the King's party arrived in the evening. But as for our guests of honor, the raven declared unforeseen events. But they will be here in time."

"It's a great day," Andimion commented. "Even though His Grace wasn't the King, he's still a grandfather. And no grandparent, to my knowledge, wants to miss a great day for their grandchild. Especially the first one."

Rhaenyra chuckled. "That's right."

The way out of the castle was long, but it was pleasantly done with good conversation. Rhaenyra was fond of Andimion. He was a little older, but he possessed a youthful soul and a freshness of youth unequalled which she could no longer afford now that she was a mother and was buried in politics for the sake of the family. It was very easy to be with him. And according to the Priest Gerardys, Andimion was a devoted acolyte. He would be a magnificent Fire Priest in a few years. She asked him what he thought of Old Valyria's theology studies to which he replied that it was all very fascinating, and he did not forget to thank her for the thousandth time for having the opportunity, to guide them to their usual dance where Rhaenyra dismissed him for the thousandth time. Because while she was happy to sponsor Andimion, her motivation had little or nothing to do with the goodness of her heart. It was a matter of securing the dominance of the dragons.

Their conversations converged on his artwork, touching on the near-finished goddess Agni and which gods he planned to represent next. Andimion pleased her with the idealization of Perzysegros, or Sword of Fire in Common, the title to which the god of war, chaos, and fire responded. His enthusiasm led her to wonder what face would inspire him, though if her hunches were right...

Well.

The conversation went on pleasantly before their paths diverged and he sought the path of the cliffs, through the valley and she took the stone walkway. In the distance, was possible to see a small building where he was going. It was a much smaller version of the temple being built at King's Landing, but a glimpse of what it would have been. And accessible to the people of Dragonstone, whose allegiance the devotees fiercely vied against the faithful of King's Landing. After all, it was the Targaryens who brought life to this island with their dragons and culture. Nowhere in Westeros had more residual Valyrian blood than the island.

Rhaenyra followed the long stone walkway where she once landed with Syrax to retrieve Baelon's egg to make it to shore. Even from afar, one could see the ship anchored, far from the shallow shores of the beach. She reached the beach as Driftmark's skilled sailors lowered the boats for the voyage ashore.

"Muña!" A pair of voices cried out with happiness when they caught sight of her.

The princess smiled as she opened her arms to welcome her boys. Aegon clung to her right side and Viserys to her left, both laughing. Annora and Lyeta's sharp gazes fixed on the young princes from a reasonable distance. The two had been turned into the main nannies for her children when neither she nor her husband were available to them. And they both took their work very seriously. And although her children only needed two nannies, there were four guards available to watch over them. Ser Lorent was there with Ser Luthor, Ser Steffon, and Ser Balon.

And there, on the damp sand, was Daemon with his index finger pointing at the dragons flying in the sky. Rhaenyra looked up for a moment, finding Syrax and Caraxes. One overcame the other's flight without ever straying too far, absorbed in their dance. Daemon thought there would soon be a litter of the two together, and Rhaenyra took it as a good omen. Her husband's face was soft with the twist of a smile, a peculiarity that had belonged to her alone for eighteen years and now belonged to the children as well. Rhaenyra approached with Aegon and Viserys clinging to her legs laughing. She laughed too and hugged Daemon's side, who looked at her. The sneaky smile acquired a distinct peculiarity, all its own. There was a hungry touch that was meant just for her. A sharp edge of passion and lust.

"Mine!" Aegon yelled pushing Rhaenyra away from Daemon. Both parents looked at him. Viserys looked at his brother and started to push his mother as well.

Of her children, Aegon was the most possessive. Unable to deny his father's flesh and blood. His first word had been 'm'ne', a mixed source of disgust and pride for Daemon. Rhaenyra was a little disappointed that she wasn't 'muña', but her competitive side was happy that at least hadn't been 'kepa'. However, it amused her every time they were together and Aegon yelled 'mine' before running over and pulling them apart. It was a very pleasant surprise that he wasn't jealous of his siblings, perhaps because Viserys was so independent. He was a child of as much physical contact as his siblings, of playing together like them, and who loved to hear his father's resounding vibration or feel his mother's affection, but he liked to explore more than anything. Very curious. With two namedays and a few moons, Viserys adored the model of Valyria like his grandfather and harbored a vague but curious interest in the insects Helaena liked. Rhaenys has recently begun to charm him with poetry.

Rhaenyra pleased Aegon by moving away from Daemon. Her son blinked and smiled, immediately taking off down the beach. Viserys shot a backward glance before chasing after his brother. Behind them were Lyeta, Annora, and two guards. Rhaenyra didn't worry, as Dragonstone, despite the dragons, gave her a sense of security that King's Landing couldn't. Less time architecting the future and more time living in the present.

When her children were distracted enough, she turned to her husband and kissed him softly.

"Are you in a bad mood, byka zaldrize?" Rhaenyra cooed, looking at the child sitting in the crook of Daemon's elbow.

She looked at the youngest of their children.

Visenya ignored her mother in favor of snuggling into her father's chest, over his heartbeat. She didn't look very happy, and Rhaenyra could imagine why, rubbing her daughter's back to provide some comfort even though Visenya was in her favorite place. And although she looked a lot like her mother, Visenya was more her father's daughter than any of the boys. Always by his side and trying to steal Dark Sister. She wanted to be like her namesake, wield the sword, and if she could, ride Vhagar.

Visenya longed for the skies with little more than two namedays, and she was loud about her displeasure. Her temper would only be appeased by a flight with a parent on the back of Syrax or Caraxes, though she would prefer to fly with Daemon. Rhaenyra imagined this was what Alyssa and Daemon must have looked like when he was born, and she took him to the skies. Rhaenyra’s husband had barely been able to wait for her to recover from childbirth before taking the newborn twins to the sky. Each of them with a bundle in a sling around their chest.

She knew it would become a tradition, as Daemon inaugurated the ritual on a flight with her and Aegon back to King's Landing at the end of the Hunt. How did they say it? Necessity was the mother of invention. Impatient to leave, he had grabbed a cloak from her and wrapped Aegon up, pinning the boy to his mother's chest and then they flew away.

Visenya's beautiful indigo eyes were fixed on the skies, on the flying dragons. Rhaenyra recognized most of those who were in the air. Vermithor was there, the dragon of the Old King and his counterpart, Silverwing. Even the wild dragons danced. Like Grey Ghost, Sheepstealer, and... Rhaenyra swallowed, Cannibal. Her gaze scanned the sky for a smaller, tiny shape, though Vermax was growing fast.

Cannibal was known to eat smaller dragons and eggs. She didn't wish for Viserys to lose his dragon, not especially when he was the only one of her children with a dragon in the cradle. She searched for her middle child's face, for his expression was always a little more sober when Vermax was around. Viserys was still smiling looking at the dragons and Vermax could only be absent. But it was with surprise that she found Aegon with furrowed brows. A crease between confusion and concentration. Why?

She didn't have time to figure it out with the boats being pulled ashore. Rhaenyra spotted Laenor, Daemion, Joffrey, and Qarl Correy pulling the boat ashore. Two little blond heads peeked out of the dinghy looking for adventure. Rhaenyra smiled, mirroring Laena's smile looking at her children. Nelys, Laenor's wife, and another woman helped Laena with the twins. In the boat behind them were Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys with her youngest granddaughter, maid Marya, Ser Vaemond with his wife, and Daemion's older brother Daeron Velaryon with his wife Hazel and daughter, Aelora. In the last boat came Vaemond and Corlys' younger brother with his wife and small children.

When the first boat was pulled ashore, Daemion and Laenor hoisted two small children onto the beach. Their father smiled involuntarily at his children who screamed and ran when they caught sight of their friends. Even Visenya perked up, demanding to go to the ground. Daemon let her go and she ran to grab hold of young Rhaena. Rhaenyra watched Laena's anxious gaze as Daemion placed her on the wet earth.

Laena's concern was not sparked by the sea or the actual safety of her children, but because like every mother of twins, hers were just as impossible as Rhaenyra's. Rhaena and Jacaerys were younger than Visenya and Viserys only for a few moons. Laena had given herself to Daemion only one moon after the Hunt and two before the wedding. But she didn't get pregnant until Rhaenyra was married for a while and three moons pregnant. And to think that in a short time, the twins would have three namedays. The girls were best friends practically from the cradle and the boys had that tacit complicity between them.

Rhaenyra took comfort that her children wouldn't grow up alone like she did at Red Keep. They had each other and Helaena. And the couple used to go to Dragonstone for a while for the kids to spend time together. It was a relief for Daemon and Rhaenyra to escape the Court.

Joffrey and Qarl followed on the heels of the Gifted Grace's fiancée and the young Heir of Driftmark, in the absence of Laenor's own children.

When Laena's heart calmed, she smiled before Rhaenyra pulled away from Daemon and hugged her best friend.

"I can't believe that day has come!" Laena vibrated with her chin on Rhaenyra's shoulder as they both squeezed an inch of life out of each other.

Rhaenyra laughed. "Wait until the wedding!"

"Gods, no!" Laena cried as she pulled away, holding Rhaenyra's hands. "It's so soon!"

Lady Laena's gaze turned to her daughter playing with Visenya to pick shells. Lyeta, Annora, Nelys, and Marya were keeping an eye on the girls, while Driftmark's sworn swords, Targaryen guards, Daemon, and Daemion stared at the boys. The other Velaryon children, along with Laena's youngest daughter, were all too young to join them. Rhaenyra smiled, knowing how Laena felt. It was a reflection of her own feelings about her children's growth. However, none of them had the power to stop time and keep their children small and innocent forever.

A wistful smile crept across her face and Rhaenyra nodded to Lady Betha Gaunt, Ser Laenor's wife, before beginning the journey of greeting the Velaryon in droves. She and Daemon spoke to Corlys and Rhaenys, and Rhaenyra joked with Daenara who smiled at her. They moved to Vaemond and his wife, then Daeron with his wife and young Aelora, a newborn. Next came Gaemon Velaryon and his wife, with their two young children. Laenor, Joffrey, and Qarl were next, and Rhaenyra wondered how their dynamic worked. Laena swept her husband to greet the Princess and Prince of Dragonstone, and finally, she turned to the strange face, raising an eyebrow at the lady-in-waiting accompanying Lady Velaryon. She turned to Laena, a silent question.

Laena looked over her shoulder as they began to make their way to the catwalk, a sly smile on her lips, and whispered that this was Lady Lysandra, a noble Pentoshi from a lesser house. Also one of many daughters. Betha and Lysandra met on a trip to Essos to which Laenor took his wife, and the two were inseparable for the time being. Rhaenyra was happy that Lady Betha found some joy in her life, as the marriage proved fruitless in more ways than one way other than the children. But through it all, she and Laenor were good friends and dogged in their common goal of spoiling Laena's children.

"Come." Rhaenyra invited the group, stepping aside to take Daemon's arm. Her husband wrapped her waist against him as the little ones ran ahead. "Let's get ready. My father and his party are already waiting for us."

Laena nodded, taking Daenara in her arms and Daemion wrapped her around her waist. The maids and the sworn swords are all behind the little ones. All women and men Rhaenyra trusted, who proved the value of her trust over time. Sure, a mother's worry never ended, and she still got anxious whenever her kids weren't under her wing, but she allowed herself to relax today. All the adults around them were trustworthy.

The group made their way through the valley past the grass that covered the shins of the little ones as they made their way to the temple of Dragonstone and the party climbed the steps, the doors open, where in the entrance hall was the King's entourage. Rhaenyra didn't like Otto Hightower's presence but was surprised to see Daeron. The boy had been taken to Oldtown when he was one nameday and never returned.

"My dear." Her father greeted her smiling, tired from the walk. He was accommodated in a chair with soft padding, for which she was grateful to the temple volunteers.

"Father." She smiled, leaning down to kiss his hand.

Helaena was sitting there next to their father's knee, her little hand bent probably containing some new bug. Helaena was a little weird, but a sweet girl, nonetheless. And though Alicent's daughter, she possessed dragon's blood. Perhaps more than her siblings if the little riddles she spoke of meant anything. And Rhaenyra thought so, for although she had improved in recent years, she still had Dragondreams at times. Most were still unpleasant, and she carefully took the visions. For the past year, Rhaenyra has mostly dreamed of dragons trapped inside a cave in the heights. Thick tendrils that trapped them and threatened to suffocate. She had a hunch for the dream.

Rhaenyra gently stroked Helaena's hair. Her sister was not very fond of touch but was mostly comfortable with Aemond, Visenya, and to a lesser extent, Viserys. Helaena tolerated Rhaenyra's touch on her hair, who reunited her with Visenya to braid almost every morning. Helaena raised her head and smiled at her sister with dreamy eyes.

She felt Daemon fall behind as she greeted the Queen, Otto, and gave Daeron a 'hello'. A shy boy, so to speak, who hid behind his grandfather's legs. Rhaenyra stopped herself from pursing her lips.

Daemon was suspicious of Hightower kids, especially males, but was tolerant of Helaena because of Visenya, as both Helaena and Rhaena were Visenya's best friends and there was nothing in the world that Daemon could deny his little princess. If once he spoiled Rhaenyra and the boys terribly, with Visenya he was ten times worse. Of the three children, Visenya was the most like her mother, physically, except for her eyes, for until now each of them had their father's indigo eyes. And Visenya's heart was cut from the same cloth as her grandmother, Alyssa, and her mother Rhaenyra. Wild and generous. Ardent and compassionate. Free and loyal. A combination of the most loved women in his life. It didn't help that in terms of personality she was just like him. As a result, Visenya maneuvered it as easily as she molded wet clay. But Helaena wasn't a challenge, not when her heart was as soft as Queen Aemma's.

A bittersweet feeling for Rhaenyra.

Alicent's boys, on the other hand, were... Strangers. Rhaenyra could see in Aemond the desire to please, to find a use, like Alicent once did. Which was natural for a spare and yet, he possessed a hint of dragon fire in his veins. Just a glimpse. Daeron... He was quiet, despite being only a few moons older than the twins. He was like Otto's shadow. And Aegon was...

Aegon was the strangest.

Rhaenyra remembered him as a child not prone to tantrums or a spoiled brat. She never paid much attention to him because of her resentment. But since the birth of her son, she had. The boy was a mystery. Wherever he went, Ser Criston or a maester followed him as his shadow. At nearly six namedays, he was the most withdrawn child she'd ever met. Separated from siblings and niblings.

This made her distraught, to say the least.

As the King went through the litany of greetings, she turned to her father with a softness that came from the rebirth of their stronger, more honest relationship since the twins were born.

"The ceremony will start soon. Laena and I just have to get the kids ready." She told him.

"I'm not in a hurry." Viserys smiled.

A smile widened as Visenya leaned roughly into his lap, oblivious to the pains of her grandfather's illness and already chattering about the dragons after he and her aunt parted from her. All the bad mood was forgotten as she demanded another tale about some flight of her grandfather's in Balerion. She, just as Laena once did, asked him about Vhagar. Only for the millionth time. But Viserys couldn't tell. That didn't dissuade her daughter from knowing, Visenya just turned to the next interesting thing: peeking at the contents of Helaena's hands. Heads together as they talked about the gods would know what.

Laena already had her daughter in her hand, much to the chagrin of little Rhaena, who longed to join the girls. Daemon captured a fugitive Aegon who planned to explore the temple with Viserys and delivered him to his mother's arms. She giggled and kissed her husband, Aegon growling and pushing them away and leaving him to deal with their nosy middle child. The boy at this age was everything his namesake was not; a ball of agitation and most of the time the instigator of the adventures and troubles he and his siblings got into, despite his independent nature. Viserys seemed poised to turn to Jacaerys as a fellow explorer.

Laena and she walked away with the children, taking them to separate chambers, to properly prepare them for the Valyrian betrothal ritual. Rhaenyra dressed her son in black trousers and a leather doublet that in a certain light wavered between the black and red of House Targaryen; to honor his lineage and the one that would also be his wife's one day. According to customs, the bride should dress in the colors of her House though she must wear her future husband's cloak at the ceremony, so Rhaenyra knew that Rhaena would be dressed in gray silk gauze and emerald velvet. She had sent as a gift a tiara that had been carved in mother-of-pearl, with pearls and a touch of emerald.

Aegon didn't fight with his mother to get dressed, talking about all the dragons in the sky. He didn't look upset like Visenya for not having a dragon. Instead, Aegon wished to join the others and play. She promised that they would do it once all was said and done, besides asking him to behave. He would, because his mother always kept her promises, even if he were too young to understand it.

When he was ready, they entered through a corridor that led to the central nave. A large, vaulted chamber overlooking the sea. The spray of the waves reached them high up, and with the sunlight falling on the dewy mist, a rainbow specter appeared. Laena entered through another hallway, holding Rhaena by the hand. The ceremony began with their entrance and Rhaenyra watched Daemon with Viserys on his lap as Visenya and Helaena sat on the King's lap. Her father was probably explaining to them what was going on. Probably in a playful way since Visenya was standing there listening, and she didn't stay still unless it was bedtime, and her father told a story. The three of them nestled in his chest as Daemon narrated a tale.

Andimion was there smiling at the altar on the right side of the Fire High Priest who would perform the ceremony. One girl, an acolyte dressed in white, was on the left side. A Timpys-Voktys in training who, hopefully, when the wedding between Aegon and Rhaena took place, would bless the bride with the gifts of Gevives.

Laena smiled at Rhaenyra who had mirrored.

The Fire Priest began the ceremony. The Valyrian rites differed from the rites of the Seven in many ways, duration being generally one of the main ones. Both engagement and marriage were a quick thing. A happy condition, for the bride and groom in question, who had no disposition for the required pomp. The children's patience and obedience could only last so long. Aegon and Rhaena's index fingertips were pierced enough to draw a drop of blood. Aegon looked at his mother with a silent question on the expression of his face, his brows furrowed and his tongue in the corner of his lips compressed with concentration. He was smart and intelligent, they practiced it for weeks. Rhaenyra nodded once and helped him draw a glyph on Rhaena's forehead, with Laena holding her daughter by the shoulders to make it easier. Aegon, for his part, stood quietly while Laena encouraged and guided her daughter to draw the same glyph on Aegon's forehead.

The Valyrian symbol for kīvio.

Promise.

A delicate obsidian carved ring encrusted with delicate little rubies was placed on a necklace for Rhaena to wear around her neck until she was grown enough to wear on her finger. Aegon's ring, on the other hand, was less delicate, with the dragon's signet engraved on it and a twin necklace with his ring on it was placed around his neck.

Aegon held the ring for inspection before looking at his mother and smiling, oblivious to the meaning.

Usually, a kiss between the bride and groom sealed the Valyrian engagement but given the age of the bride and groom, this was not expected. However, the young Rhaena leaned forward and gave Aegon a sweet kiss on the cheek. He looked at his mother and then repeated the feat.

The two then ran to join the other children. Visenya had jumped out of her grandfather's lap, reaching out for the jewel hanging from Aegon's neck to examine for herself. Helaena looked slightly curious, but she made no move to get off her father's lap.

As the celebration was over, some of the children rushed out of the temple, with their nannies and sworn swords right on their bouncing heels. There were a few more greetings as everyone headed for the exit, back to the beach, and then back to King's Landing for the feast. Rhaenyra noted that Jacaerys had chosen to stay with his parents and Daeron didn't seem to want to venture away from his grandfather's hand. Visenya walked beside Helaena who was holding the King's coat, the two girls so far talking. Aegon, Rhaena, Viserys, and Aemond would run ahead as private squeaks echoed in the sky. Heads turned upwards despite the sun and caught sight of the dragons flying. Rhaenyra saw the dragons that flew over the beach earlier, with the addition of Meleys and Seasmoke.

It happened very quickly when the dragons dived from the heavens and fell to the ground shaking the earth on top of the children. Her heart froze as did her husband by her side. And suddenly, all she could see were the tiny shapes of children compared to the size of dragons.

"Aegon!" She yelled.

Her son turned, still holding Rhaena's hand, and smiled, pointing to the dragons.

Rhaenyra had taken off before she even knew it.

"Rhaenyra!" Daemon screamed as Rhaenyra forgot everything and she ran to the children at the same time as Daemion's panicked voice raised his wife's name. "Laena!"

Laena Velaryon was only a second behind Rhaenyra to retrieve her daughter.

"Rhaena!"

Vermithor had the lead, growling at the other dragons as he approached. The dragon opened his maw, fire crackling in his throat. Glazed eyes. And he got even closer to the children. No.

No.

"Daōr!" Rhaenyra grinned.

Chapter 12: A Dance by Dragons

Chapter Text

9^th Moon of 118 AC

Vermithor shook his head and looked at her.

Silverwing and Cannibal had moved.

Unconsciously, Rhaenyra had called Syrax. The bond between them was more vibrant and attuned than Rhaenyra had ever imagined since Syrax had sensed her anguish and had come to her through the bond. The earth shook as Syrax landed, Aegon's fingers were millimeters from Vermithor's scales as the golden dragoness collided with the Bronze Fury knocking the boy down. The fall and violence of Syrax's defense frightened the children closest to the dragons, causing Aegon to let go of Rhaena's hand.

The little girl ran away from them.

Undeterred by the size difference, Syrax roared in rage and intent to protect the cubs from her human.

Daemon's heart rumbled fiercely against his ribs, and something inside him burned and vibrated at the simultaneously felt Caraxes' presence in the back of his mind clearer than ever, and... something else. His eyes stung and his vision blurred from anger for a moment. Pain shot behind his eyes. Burning under the skin. A litany in his mind. Protection.

Protect.

"Mīsagon!" Daemon's voice boomed.

Rhaenyra averted her eyes when Syrax and Vermithor began a violent dance, with her girl pushing the Bronze Fury away from the kids as far as she could.

Her heart plummeted and Rhaenyra felt all the blood drip from her body at the image of Cannibal trying to get to Viserys and Aemond. She felt a brief relief when she realized that Daemon commanded Caraxes to the wild dragon. One glance and Rhaenyra realized he didn't look like himself. Daemon looked possessed.

"Rhaena!" Laena's voice rose in panic.

Laena nearly cut off her tongue, choking when she saw Rhaena turn around, chased by Good Queen Alysanne's dragoness. The reptilians were eyes focused. Silverwing covered up whatever happened to Aegon and Rhaenyra, and the last thing she saw from her friend was a worried look over her shoulder. Laena didn't have time for any of that now. She needed to worry about Rhaena and herself. How did things end up in this mess? Laena could feel her face start to ache from the tension created by the fear. And she could only imagine that her face was a twin mask of Rhaenyra's.

Gods help us, she thought, trying to get to her daughter.

What the hell is that? Rhaenyra thought, the grip on the uplifted skirts of the dress almost strong enough to tear the fabric. What the hell is going on with the dragons? Was it magic? Did the ritual activate something, draw them to us? To Aegon and Rhaena? And before another thought could occur to her, Rhaenyra had to throw herself down when a sweep of Grey Ghost nearly swept her away. She raised her head in time to spot Seasmoke and Meleys chasing Grey Ghost and Silverwing. Rhaenyra could only hear the frightened screams behind her. The crowd dismissed, the Kingsguard ordering the King's protection. Alicent's voice shrill with fear.

A roar brought her to her feet again and she watched Vermithor spin around in his paws, roaring angrily at Syrax who flapped her wings escaping the whipping of his tail. And there was Aegon, crouched and covering his head with his hands amid the confusion.

Daōr.

Roar and trill rang fiercely, and the earth shook as Caraxes faced Cannibal. His dragon descended in a thirst for blood. Daemon gritted his teeth as he watched his stupid nephew bravely raise his hand and shout 'daōr'. Daemon was tempted to abandon the boy as Aemond abandoned Viserys to chase a dragon. His son, thank the gods, had more sense and hid behind a stone. He wanted to leave Aemond to fend for himself with the dragon, but his wife would kill him. Damn. Cannibal's gaze locked on the boy. Daemon cursed. The edges of his vision became blurred, colored red. What the f*ck... Daemon sped up, yelling at Caraxes. He would save his son first and foremost.

Underneath, Rhaenyra felt a headache, a sharp pain behind her eyes. Two more roars joined the cacophony as she looked at Syrax and Vermithor still tangling. Jaws snapping trying to grab each other, claws trying to dig into each other. Vermithor roared.

Rhaenyra skidded into the slippery tall grass and slipped until she grabbed Aegon in her arms. Vermithor rolled over Syrax, bringing the enormous masses of their bodies very close to them. Both dragons rose on their hind legs, necks whipping and teeth snapping, their front claws trying to tear each other's wings. Syrax headbutted Bronze Fury, accidentally sending him on them.

"DAŌR!" Rhaenyra roared.

The hand raised over her and Aegon's head.

Syrax's roar echoed, and the earth rattled again as the Bronze Fury somehow managed to take down Syrax in a twist. He straddled her with his giant jaw snapping towards Syrax's neck. Vermithor's tail came close enough to them, and Rhaenyra felt the scales brush against her fingers. The dragon roared wounded, flapping his wings to get off Syrax. Her dragoness shook her head and roared, turning to him.

Syrax slammed into Vermithor as if in jousting, and Vermithor fell on his back, the claws and feet digging into the dragoness's belly, spinning her on top. Syrax roared as Vermithor maneuvered her, and she fell with a deafening bang behind the dragon.

Vermithor recovered, shaking his head and roaring to the sky.

Daemon's attention was drawn to his wife, covering the body of their firstborn, and wrath gripped him. f*cking dragons. Daemon felt his blood boil as Cannibal tried to get past Caraxes, though the Blood Wyrm refused to allow it. Caraxes violently shoved Cannibal in the direction of the mess that was Syrax and Vermithor. Daemon caught up with the children, pulling Viserys from behind the rock and grabbing Aemond by the collar.

"Run!" He barked at them both.

His son didn't hesitate.

"No!" Aemond bit down.

Daemon never had a real affection for the little plagues, but at this point, his distaste for them reached deep levels. Blood erupted with heat and fury in his veins and Daemon felt pain behind his eyes like never before. Burned. The flesh trembled in his bones, and he was uncertain about himself. But he still had full control when he gritted his teeth furiously at the half-blood Hightower.

"Run." He ordered dangerously. "Now."

Aemond grimaced, a combination of pain and fear, and whatever he had seen in his uncle had changed his mind, had made him run away from Daemon's grasp.

Good.

Daemon didn't feel like himself.

"Mīsagon!" Daemon roared to Caraxes.

The Blood Wyrm rumbled, joining Syrax.

Rhaenyra looked astonished at her husband walking to engage in a dragon fight. Whatever her worries about Daemon were crushed as the earth shook and with a new instinct, she ducked, rolling over and covering Aegon again. Earth and grass rained down on her, filling her eyes with dust. Rhaenyra blinked through the tears brought on by the dirt, hearing Meleys roar as she pushed Silverwing into the great dragon fight. The dragoness of the Good Queen Alysanne had rolled on the earth in anger, momentarily subdued.

In the skies, Seasmoke had grabbed Grey Ghost by the claws of his paws. They both flapped their wings though Seasmoke had the upper hand, dragging the wild dragon away. It seemed that a portion of the dragons had banded together to contain the others.

She looked back and from meters away Laena hugged Rhaena wide-eyed. Kingsguard will finally regroup enough to help recover the children. Rhaenyra could see her father on the steps of the temple, flanked by the High Priest and Andimion. Visenya and Helaena are caught between Ser Luthor and Ser Steffon. The rest of them formed a barricade to protect the Queen, her father, and her children behind the King. The Velaryon men led by example, drawing their swords and forming a barricade between the dragons and the women and children.

"Princess!" Ser Harrold Westerling stepped forward.

The shaking earth paralyzed them, and Rhaenyra looked at Grey Ghost, who was thrown into the dance by Seasmoke. And her stupid husband was about to enter the fray. Fire lit in her veins.

"Stay with my son, Sor!" She said before getting up and shooting.

She ran as fast as she could when the tail of one of the dragons wogged, about to tear Daemon in half. The thought of losing him tore her apart and woke up something inside her that shattered existence as Rhaenyra knew it to bits.

Daōr.

The dragon's tail sliced through the air inches above her head as Rhaenyra collided with Daemon. She knocked him down on the grass and noticed his eyes looked different, black as obsidian and feverish. She looked at her husband, whose clothes were steaming. It was warm to the touch as if it might spontaneously combust. As if the dragon inside him was trying to break through the surface of the flesh. But the fall had disoriented him, clouding the sharp gleam of his black eyes. Rhaenyra didn't have time to figure out anything else when she felt the earth shake for the millionth time and turned her head to see Vermithor being pushed by Caraxes. Bronze Fury shook his head and raised himself on his hind legs, trying to repel Caraxes with a powerful flapping of his wings. Right behind the dragon, Rhaenyra felt the gust of wind. She closed her eyes to block the dust again. The dragon was going to crush them.

Her head felt like it was going to explode. Something seemed to want to break her mind. Something big and powerful. Rhaenyra felt as if her head was going to shatter into scorching pieces.

She screamed, grabbing her head.

"DAŌR!" Her voice was broken. " Kelītī. Misagon, Zaldrīzoti! Amystan! Daōr!"

Fire liquefied her blood, licking the bones and turning her into lava. It grew inside her like an eruption. And suddenly, it exploded like a volcano. Like one of the Fourteen Flames.

Her mind shattered into fragments.

Rhaenyra screamed, burying her head in her husband's chest. Grabbing the hair tightly…

And for a moment, only the rumbling of blood in her ears was heard. But as her blood calmed down, there was a high-pitched buzzing sound. The distant feeling of arms around her and muffled, distant sounds slowly caught up with her. Rhaenyra kept her eyes closed, feeling the warmth of tears, and buried her head in Daemon's chest as she stabilized herself from the strange overload on her senses. Of the pain that threatened to kill her. It took her a moment to recover, and when she did, Daemon was waiting for her.

Rhaenyra rubbed her eyes, her vision blurred but cleared little by little. She caught a glimpse of Daemon blinking in a daze, his eyes turning to a shade of indigo with each second that was overwhelmed by his feelings, becoming clear with concern. As frantic and distraught as if she have had a nightmare.

"Rhaenyra?" Daemon's voice distracted her. "Rhaenyra!" Her husband sat with her, pulling her fiercely into his lap, grabbing her face, and kissing her intensely.

Their kiss tasted of fear and despair.

Neither of them could say another word before something collided with her. Rhaenyra fell next to Daemon and felt small arms wrap around her neck.

"Daōr, Muña!" Aegon cried against her. His shoulders trembled. "Daōr. Daōr. Raqiros. Raqiros." He muttered between sobs.

Rhaenyra sat up and finally looked at the battlefield.

The Velaryon were regrouping around a still-static Laena, Rhaena firmly buried in her mother's chest. Jacaerys and Daemion involved the two of them, with Rhaenys worried about her daughter. Even from a distance, Rhaenyra could tell that the Queen Who Never Was was pursed her lips. Her husband looked at the dragons with concern and the rest of the Court didn't even dare to go near it.

The King and his family also seemed to be recovering. Alicent desperately checked on her children, and Ser Balon helped the King to his feet, checking him at first sight. Otto Hightower looked shaken from where she saw and Rhaenyra was still so distraught by the ordeal that she couldn't even find pleasure in him being reminded of why the symbol of her House was a dragon, or feeling disgusted that he wasn't caught and killed in the mess. Aemond was the only one who was angry. Helaena was a trembling creature who had held her father's hand in the heat of the moment. Her eyes darted between her sister and the dragons. Helaena shook her head desperately, clinging to Viserys.

Viserys. Her son. Visenya.

"The children." She stammered weakly.

Rhaenyra carefully pushed an anguished Aegon so she could get to her feet. Daemon followed her, missing the twins, and the next instant the two were hugging their mother. Daemon lifted the children easily. Their children grabbed her neck, and he grabbed his world in his arms. The throbbing of the fire was still reminiscent in his blood, the dragon in his chest not quite appeased. Still wanting to fight, wanting blood.

He ignored it, seeking the comfort that his family was safe.

Aegon muttered something and Daemon held the twins, letting Rhaenyra hold Aegon. Viserys and Visenya hung from their father like bats on perches. She looked down at her firstborn's tear-stained and dirt-stained face. He looked afraid, but not scared. More like distressed.

"What’s that, zaldrize?" Her voice was a rag.

"Raqiros." He took a breath between high-pitched breaths, pointing at the dragons. "Zaldrīzoti raqiros."

Rhaenyra looked at the dragons. Four of them, two wildlings and two unbound were subdued by the power of four claimed dragons, of which, among them, only Caraxes and Meleys came close in age and size to the unbound dragons. So how had they won when only two of them went toe-to-toe? Something was wrong. Something was going on.

Rhaenyra felt a twinge in her head and discovered Vermithor's reptilian eyes staring back at her. Intensely.

Almost abrasive.

The buzzing in her head lodged itself in her mind, running down the back of her neck and spine sharply and she was drawn to the dragons. Rhaenyra walked with Aegon on her lap for them, passing between Syrax and Caraxes. The two of them were very close to each other, whether it was to defend each other or to defend their riders she didn't know.

Caraxes growled softly, on guard, as she left their protection. Vermithor approached, eyes fixed on her and then on Aegon.

Raqiros.

Friend.

She let the Bronze Fury get closer. The loudest, anxiousest hum. Not a warning. A song of longing. Wishers and wanted. Raqiros. Aegon reached out and touched the scales on Vermithor's muzzle. The dragon released wisps of smoke from his nostrils, looking at her as if to say 'see?'. She did. The buzzing in her head grew fainter and faded into the background, overpowered. Or, at least, a fraction. And suddenly, Rhaenyra understood.

Raqiros.

The dragons longed to be friends. They wished to claim new riders. It almost expelled the rest of the breath from her lungs.

A trill caught her eye and Rhaenyra watched Laena approach between Seasmoke and Meleys, Jacaerys clutching her free hand. They both had glazed eyes, drawn to the song now that their emotions had calmed down. Silverwing trilled again, shaking the ruffles off her neck. The dragoness moved closer, allowing Laena to stroke her muzzle. Raqiros. More silence in her mind, more background white noise as Laena and Silverwing bonded. Grey Ghost approached, eyes glued to Jacaerys and the boy bravely let go of his mother's hand approaching. The dragon accepted his touch. Rhaenyra felt her head lighter and quieter.

But there was an uncomfortable hum still, angry. Swarming. Denied. And she looked at Cannibal. The dragon roared angrily at nothing in particular, shaking his head as if fighting something. Her blood warmed again for an instant, but nothing happened.

Who was Cannibal watching?

Viserys already had a dragon, so it could only be... Rhaenyra gulped, her throat probably raw. Still, she summoned Aemond. A dragon chose the one who was to ride it. Aemond approached, perky, livid. He glanced at Daemon and then approached the dragon. Steam rose from Cannibal's nostrils, but the dragon was otherwise quiet as the boy approached. Hand up. With human skin and dragon scales touching each other, another bond formed.

All the hum disappeared.

Rhaenyra was astonished.

What a terrible, horrible, wonderful day.

Excitement turned to bewilderment as preparations were delayed long enough for Gerardys to check on all those who seemed to need attention, particularly the King and the children who had gone through the ordeal.

Her children were mostly frightened, though Aegon's fear had subsided and had almost been replaced by excitement at having a dragon. It took her a moment to understand, but it was clear that her desire to protect him had confused Aegon enough for him to think she was trying to stop him from bonding. But perhaps the strangest thing about it all was the inexplicable fact that Daemon's clothes looked scorched. A flash of her husband burning hotter than a forge under her touch flashed through her mind. Without needing to put it into words, they had decided to discuss this strange situation later, when they were alone in their solar in the Heir's Court.

A glance around revealed varying degrees of shock, but none of them greater than Alicent's. She still wore the same gaze as when Aemond had joined her after bonding with Cannibal. The same gaze as when she realized that despite technically having four dragons on their side, only two of them were adults, while most of the great dragons had joined the side of the blacks. Alicent's shock, Rhaenyra realized, was turning into something else. Something dangerous. Something she knew would affect the Red Keep's dynamic once they returned to the fortress. Something that seemed to define the path they would follow in the war to come.

Rhaenyra didn't like any of this.

The return to the ships had been a solemn case. Not a word mentioned to the beach, or even when the groups settled into the boats that would take them to the ships. As if there was a certain fear of bringing up the subject. Over their heads, the dragons flew unperturbed, the thick tension hovering between them. Rhaenyra watched Alicent disappear under the decks with her father, the children left with the nannies. Rhaenyra noticed her father glancing at his wife, before being distracted by Helaena wanting to show him some new bug.

She exchanged another glance with Daemon but didn't say a word about it during their trip.

Late afternoon was approaching when the ships docked. King's Landing shook under the roaring chorus of dragons as they flew over the harbor toward the Dragonpit. The commons jostled each other, filling Fishmonger's Square. Rhaenyra gave her husband another look before slipping back into a now-familiar mask. A sailor lowered his plank and the King stepped forward, holding Helaena's hand and being flanked by the Kingsguards. Alicent was right behind them, holding Aegon and Aemond's hands. Not beside or on the King's arm, but behind him and his guards. Rhaenyra and Daemon were right behind her, side by side. He took the twins by the hand and she took Aegon. And behind them, the Velaryons lined up. Ser Otto had been relegated to the back of the line, as had the nannies and Daeron.

Rhaenyra smiled at the people, meeting the eyes of some of them now and then. She watched them cheer for it. Daemon kept a serious, stern expression. Majestic. Arrogant. They were ushered into the open carriages, and she and her husband settled down on one side with the children. Laena, her husband, and their children occupied the other. Rhaenyra’s gaze met Laena's and for a second, her mask fell to reveal a lingering gaze that weighed her down. Her face changed slightly before the expression could deepen into her features. But Rhaenyra wondered what that meant, whether it was for their friendship or their alliance.

The children kept her away from the reflections, and she smiled as she looked at them. Rhaena was shy about Rhaenyra's children, although Visenya had a certain way of getting others to do what she wanted. A talent inherited from her mother and compounded by her father's genes. Rhaenyra watched as Visenya reveled in people's attention and dragged Rhaena and Jacaerys along with the help of her twin brother, Viserys.

In the carriage in front of them, Rhaenyra saw the King with the Queen and the children, flanked by the guards. Alicent's face was a mask of barely concealed anxiety and contempt, as she looked at the ovation that was not directed at her son. By her side, the King, despite his experience on the Court, did little to hide the disdain with which he looked at his former Hand. He was even less concerned about hiding his displeasure. There was a tense atmosphere hanging over the carriage in front of them, but her father did his best to keep up appearances. Behind Rhaenyra's carriage were others for the Velaryons, of which the one just behind him was filled by Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, Ser Laenor, his wife, and her lady-in-waiting. The other Velaryons lined up behind them, waiting for the procession to begin to the Red Keep.

Rhaenyra kept her head high and proud, wearing all those years of etiquette carved into her bones from a young age. Not allowing herself the luxury of showing weakness, even to the smallfolk. She had never found a use for her manners before, as the nobles at court looked almost savage as they tried to sink their claws into any crumb of power. They were a type that made her anxious, especially as the population of girls born in their Houses grew. Each of them waited to turn their daughters into Queen. Fools all of them. Aegon had been betrothed to a Velaryon blood girl before she was even conceived.

A commitment now sealed with blood, she thought as she waved and smiled at the commons in her path, the mask on her face now very well practiced. It was astonishing how much her public image had improved since Aegon's birth since she had dedicated herself to it with Annora's help. She had discovered, to her surprise, a certain love of philanthropy, just as her great-grandmother and mother before her. Rhaenyra had grown to love smallfolk over the past few years. She had learned to admire their lifestyle.

No other day was spent on anything other than their own lives, most of the time. She appreciated the simple way they lived, no lies, no intrigues, no betrayals. None, at least, of the magnitude with which it happened on the Court. She found herself imagining what life as a commoner would have been like for her and her family. If she would have liked it. Rhaenyra thought so. But duty, even for a common, could not be avoided. And so it was for her, for her own. There was no way around it.

Her mother had, after all, come to her that night for a reason. And she refused to throw away this effort, this privilege because she feared the consequences of power. Because she had found something that was worth more than anything else in the world. Even a crown. Even a realm. Even the power. She still found herself wondering at one time or another, though less often, what her life would have been like if she had been born a son. Rhaenyra couldn't imagine what that was like, only the price she would have to pay. For her, as a man, there would have been no Daemon. Neither did Aegon. Or Viserys and Visenya. This was a privilege of being a woman that she was not willing to give up. She was his from birth, just as his children were her from their birth. She didn't regret being born a woman, no more.

Even when childbirth had been difficult, and she had screamed causing Daemon to break into the room savagely, pointing out Dark Sister at any fool who tried to stop him from staying by her side. Even when she tested the heart of her father, who had set pace outside their apartments. Rhaenyra only knew she couldn't trade any of this when she held her newborn twins for her father and a shy Aegon met them.

Rhaenyra had surmised that the less-than-ideal circ*mstances of her siblings' births, coupled with the traumas of seeing her mother on the birthbed, had ruined her for children. But they were just that: circ*mstances. She didn't hate her siblings. How could she, when she hadn't bothered to get to know them? She hated Alicent and her betrayal, her hypocrisy. She hated that the Hightowers would try to use these children to plot the dragons' downfall. She hated that they were poisoned and alienated against her. But Rhaenyra didn't hate these kids or kids in general.

The procession went up the streets of the city and each commoner on the way bowed to their princess and future Queen. Not because it was the correct protocol, but because she earned their respect and affection. Daemon has always caught the attention of the smallfolk for his habit of spending more time with the people than with the Court, and now, as one, they've drawn even more attention. Daemon behaved in that arrogant manner of his, as if people were beneath him, but not so flippant and dismissive. More contained, volatile, and dangerous. Like fire.

His perfect mask showed her, thanks to what happened in Dragonstone, a crack with a hint of rigidity and undiluted anxiety that tempered him darkly. That made him silently warn them to stay away.

Aegon, next to him, smiled like a child enthralled by all the attention. He was still too young to understand public scrutiny, even under the veneer of worship. Something that, to be honest, worried her. Where did worship begin and where did fanaticism end? Rhaenyra brushed her worries away, watching Aegon wrap the smallfolk around his little finger. The way he smiled, his joy. He was too charismatic for his good. He was the son of his parents, though humble in a way neither of them were. A rare personality trait among the Targaryens, but one that served him well. He was the opposite of Visenya, who reveled in as much brilliance as possible. She was very similar to her father in this respect. Loud, arrogant, a little exhibitionist. It didn't help that she had that crooked, mocking smile of her father that charmed people in her path. Rhaenyra knew that she would bring a lot of headaches when she got older when she reached maturity. She was very different from her twin. Viserys, until then, was not very fond of crowds. He felt more comfortable with people he already knew. He was, perhaps, the smartest of her children. Viserys didn't trust easily, but once he did, his charismatic charm hidden beneath his shyness blossomed like a weed in an unsuspecting heart.

Rhaenyra stroked his hair, earning a bright smile. She smiled back as they approached the Red Keep.

The King's entourage was guided into the gardens, as was Rhaenyra, her husband, and their children with the Velaryons in tow. The sun was just beginning to go down at this point and the wind brought a more pleasant, refreshing breeze. None of the children wasted time running into the garden. Not even young Daenara, aided by Marya. A contingent of nannies and guards followed them as usual. It was like déjà vu. Almost as if that morning didn't happen. But it had, of course.

She and her husband found the highest point in the garden to keep their children in sight and Lord Corlys and his wife joined them, as did Laena and Daemion.

The rest of them had dissipated at the Court.

Lord Corlys was the one who broke the silence.

"Many things seem to be going on in King's Landing, Your Highness." He said, skirting around that morning's incident.

Rhaenyra permit.

Surely the current scenario in the city had caught his attention more than this morning's incident. Rhaenyra was sure of this when Rhaenys stepped forward, leaning a figurine on the limestone balustrade. Rhaenyra recognized it immediately. It was hard not to when figurines like this kept popping up around the city, and when she had one. It was a miniature of Agni holding Aegon during her coming. Rhaenyra gave her husband a look.

"It's very... interesting," Daemion commented, frowning. "Do they usually do this often?" He wanted to know, referring to the fact that they had been gifted.

Rhaenyra nodded, clearing her throat.

"Indeed." She said thinking about the blankets with dragons embroidered in the colors of fire that seamstresses presented them with or the dragon figurines that the carpenters made for Aegon and his siblings to play with. She thought about every single thing people did to him, in his name. Tapestries, candles, statues, toys, capes. People offered what they could, whatever was within their reach. They cared for her children as if they were related. With care, affection, and some adoration. She never took them to the city to return empty-handed. "They like to pamper them."

"The city looks bustling, cousin," Rhaenys commented. "I see more and more Red Fathers as they pass through Driftmark, and I can only imagine where they want to go."

Rhaenyra expected no less from Rhaenys or Corlys' acumen, it would have been a foolish thought. So she wasn't surprised by the remark. She felt Daemon's hands on her waist, his thumbs digging into the charcoal-black fabric of her dress. The tension began to radiate from him once more.

"They come looking for their Prince Who Was Promised," Daemon grunted angrily. "Rhaenyra worries that they'll start burning people alive around here too."

A horrified expression crossed Laena's beautiful face, at the same time Daemion's expression grew dark. He squeezed her closer to him.

The glance exchanged between Rhaenys and Corlys had not gone unnoticed.

"Is there anything being done to prevent this?" Rhaenys asked.

"We've met with the Small Council to address this." Rhaenyra waved to herself and her husband. "We asked the priests to elect a leader so that we could make our demands. We said that they would be welcome as long as they did not break either the law or the peace of the Kingdom, and if they did, they would deal with the justice of the King. City Watch is alert, they make more careful rounds, and everyone has orders to stop heinous acts as they see fit."

"I'm sure it's the long nights you have, my prince," Daemion said.

Her husband didn't say it, but she knew he did. Most people might have thought he wouldn't care, and maybe he hadn't before the war in the Stepstones, or before fatherhood. But both experiences had shaped her husband in their way. Daemon still didn't mind brutally punishing criminals, but he did, in his way, when innocents got hurt. He had become a little less self-centered and selfish when it came to the people who cared for his son. His family.

But he seemed to have developed a particular grudge against the Red Fathers since Rhaenyra had dreamed of them burning little children. The episode left her terrified beyond belief. He told her more than once then that any child used as a sacrifice by the red motherf*ckers, he would go to Volantis to burn the Red Temple to the ground. Damn. He'd be willing to burn the whole f*cking city down if it pleased her.

"I'm prepared to take on whatever it takes," Daemon said sternly.

"How wrong am I to assume that they are our biggest problem?" Laena asked.

"Very," Rhaenyra answered. "The Faith has been less than thrilled ever since the King approved the building of the Valyrian temple. They despise the loss of power that comes with the loss of believers in their ranks."

"Shall we expect another conflict with the Faith, as it was in Maegor's time?" Corlys asked, his hand clenching the hilt of his sword.

Daemon chuckled derisively.

"I fear that in this city anything is becoming possible."

"Is there a way to prevent it?" Rhaenys asked.

"I suppose not," Rhaenyra answered. "The only way would be if we could erase my wedding night and the wave of religious instability that Agni's arrival provoked." Rhaenyra struggled not to rub the weariness that crept into her face. "And it doesn't help that we Targaryens haven't stepped on any sept in a long time."

Daemon snorted.

"Not once other than the birth of Alicent's last child."

She dug her nails into the back of his hands on her waist. Although a mother, and therefore less inclined to blame a child for the sins of their parents, Rhaenyra still couldn't completely shake off the sense of insecurity that gripped her whenever her siblings were mentioned. Even when her position as heiress was the most solid in years since her father set her as successor. She knew that the people would accept no other lineage than her own, no Queen other than herself, and eventually no King other than Aegon. But old habits were hard to break. Especially those upon whom her world had been built. The belief that the throne belonged to the same male son for which her mother died.

Rhaenyra was aware that this insecurity was what amplified Daemon's hatred for the Hightowers long before their son arrived. Maybe since her father took Alicent as his wife. His rivalry with Otto was always too deep for Daemon not to extend it to Alicent, or her children.

"I see." Rhaenys nodded thoughtfully.

There was a pause of unsettling silence that made her feel compelled to speak.

"I understand that things look difficult from this angle." She began, hesitant. Rhaenyra offered her hand to Laena, who gripped her firmly. "And I understand if that makes you uncomfortable, Laena. It's a lot, and I understand if you have doubts about the security that the commitment between Aegon and Rhaena brings to your daughter, but rest assured: if it bothers you too much, the imminent danger, we can break the contract. Maybe Aegon's kids and Rhaena's kids can inherit the commitment, if that makes you more comfortable. Take this as a token of our friendship and goodwill from House Targaryen to House Velaryon. To prove our commitment."

Laena seemed to struggle with the choice and clung to Daemion. They let her deal with her emotions very much raw. This gave Rhaenyra time to study Corlys and Rhaenys' expressions.

Her offer impacted the plans the pair had for their granddaughter. Lord Corlys seemed less than thrilled with another postponement of one day having his blood on the throne. Rhaenys was harder to guess how she felt about it. Rhaenys met her gaze and held it firmly. Rhaena's fate, queen or not, remained in the hands of her mother, even though the deal was made between the girl's grandmother and Rhaenyra. Laena was, however, the only one with the power to decide for her daughter.

So they waited for the Princess Who Never Will Be. But when Laena turned, her face and eyes shadowed but shining brightly after a brief conversation of glances with her husband, Rhaenyra knew what decision had been made.

"You honor us," Laena said in a regal voice. "You honor me by giving me the choice of my daughter's fate, even when we were all warned years ago about her future." Laena sniffled, struggling with the idea of painting a target on her daughter's back. "House Targaryen has not broken its faith with our House, and House Velaryon will not break faith with you. We will honor the commitment between our children." Her violet eyes glowed incandescently. "I still accept your son's hand on behalf of my daughter."

"That's good." Rhaenyra smiled, holding Laena's hands. Squeezing. Relieved. "That makes me very happy."

The renewal of the promise made it easier for the group to disperse, eventually, when everyone mirrored to talk to the other guests. Even Daemon left her with Laena for a brief moment to get a slice of lemon cake. She kept the conversation going, even though her eyes were on the children. By this time, the sky seemed to have been licked by the dragon's fire with its colors of red, orange, and gold. Daemon joined them once more, then, and Laena left them to find her own husband's company.

Rhaenyra delicately traced the base of his spine with her fingers, before resting her head on his shoulder. He leaned in, burying his nose in her hair, filling his lungs with the essence of the woman who meant the world to him.

His heart and soul.

She opened her eyes, following his gaze.

Her firstborn ran around the garden plucking flowers without any care under the indulgent supervision of his grandfather and distracted attention from his aunt, while Jacaerys and Viserys were kept busy by Laenor and Joffrey, who probably entertained them with some adventure. Visenya and Rhaena had darted towards Laena at the sight of her, and Daenara seemed to babble in her father's lap who was showing her some flowers.

Rhaenyra didn't find the shadow of her brother, Aegon, but she did note that Aemond didn't step out of Alicent's skirts any more than Daeron let go of the hem of his grandfather's coat. No matter how much his mother seemed to try to lure him to her.

Beside her, Daemon watched with her as their son, Aegon, plucked another flower and added it to the ever-growing bouquet. The Red Keep would soon run out of flowers thanks to him, she thought humorously. Rhaenyra couldn't bring herself to care about the destruction of her garden carefully nurtured to grow with an ever-increasing variety of flowers sent to her as a gift. Aegon then plucked off a small, delicate foxglove. Helaena approached curiously, having been attracted by something. It was a ladybug she picked up affectionately, watching the little creature flap its wings and roam the pale expanse of her skin. Aegon looked at his aunt for a moment and then tucked the flower behind her ear.

The gesture took Helaena by surprise, and she shuddered. She hesitantly touched the small button, and Rhaenyra watched as her heart melted. Her son was very precious. She admired the sweetness of little Helaena, who was of a visceral naivety and innocence that made it impossible to hate her. And Rhaenyra didn't want to. Even she could feel Daemon's reluctance to hate the girl. Helaena was special in an even more special way than anyone knew.

The little girl's little fingers touched the flower and a beautiful, silly smile appeared on her lips. Rhaenyra noticed how lonely the children at Red Keep looked. Watching her children and siblings, she realized how lonely she had been in this place. How she had grown accustomed to loneliness to the point that she had already desired it.

I have no desire to live in fear. Only solitude.

No more.

Not now that she had a bright future ahead of her.

Helaena leaned over, still ecstatic, toward Aegon and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. Her son, much more accustomed to touch than she was, just smiled brightly at his grandfather. The King merely smiled at the little ones.

Rhaenyra knew she would hear all about this kiss later.

"It couldn't always be like this, could it?" She asked her husband, her cheek brushing against the sleeve of his jacket.

Daemon wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest. He cradled her, kissing her head. Rhaenyra closed her eyes, enjoying the cold, warm breeze of the late afternoon as she wrapped around his waist.

Her husband's warm and loving arms around her. The happiness of her children and the days of peace she still enjoyed with her family...

"I'm afraid not, my love."

All hanging by a thread.

"Yes." She murmured so soft and melancholy that one could hardly hear it. Her words were practically lost in the wind. Resignation in her veins. "That's what I feared."

Chapter 13: A Dusty Wall

Chapter Text

A rat's squeal had come from somewhere near her feet, and she thought there was a good chance the repulsive thing had run over her shoes. Who could say with all this darkness? Visenya, however, was not bothered or frightened. Her habit of walking through the tunnels beneath the fortress and sometimes beyond its walls had given her a stomach capable of handling creepy and disgusting little things more than would have been expected of a princess.

And if what she found in the tunnels hadn't solved the problem, well, her aunt could have taken care of it. No other noblewoman but her aunt would have been able to look at a worm and have thought it cute. Not even Visenya, whether she felt disgusted by the creature or not. And in general, she wasn't.

Courage had nothing to do with beauty, after all.

Even her father, the man he was, turned up his nose whenever he saw his wife's sister with a new creature. And Visenya used to think that a man like him, someone who had already disemboweled an adversary without a second thought and who would have seen truly unpleasant viscera and wounds, would have a keener sense of judgment than most to say what was in fact disgusting.

Visenya slid her fingers down the wall where the dust had accumulated from the years the passage had become forgotten or from the simple natural wear and tear of the stone, knowing that she would find limestone dust on her hands and the hem of her dress as soon as she came out of the tunnels. She just didn't care, even when she knew she wore Myrish lace. Visenya also doubted anyone else would do so with the tension that had hung over the Red Keep since the sun had risen.

And when she realized that her tutors had been distracted by the inclement climate of tension, Visenya seized the opportunity to wander the tunnels in search of a distraction for herself, finding it in the form of a small game considered dangerous to most. But not for her, or her father.

Not when, from what each of them had inherited from their parents, Visenya had kept it. Her brother Aegon would receive the Crown one day, but before that, he would inherit control of Dragonstone. Her twin, Viserys, would stay with the Stepstones when he was old enough, and since he was the second child. But for Visenya, the third child, there was little left in the way of proportion. And though her mother had passed on to her all the jewels she had enjoyed in her youth, Visenya had cherished as much or more the priceless inheritance her father had in store for her. Something of a priceless and untouchable nature, something that few people have known since the time of Maegor. He had given her a map of the tunnels that ran through not only the castle but the entire city.

And now, the whole King's Landing was engraved on her pretty little head.

Visenya had already memorized every entrance and exit, she knew most of the underground paths. She knew this underworld at the tender age of ten namedays almost from the back of her hand. And one day, when she was older and more skilled at swordsmanship when her father was too old to wield the sword, then he would pass Dark Sister to her as well.

For Baelon there was even less to inherit, but since he was a boy there were more possibilities. He could become a knight, he could become a priest in the Temple or Baelon could become a Kingsguard if he wanted to and if he was good enough. These were options that weren't even on the table for her and that Visenya didn't have much interest in.

Visenya wondered what the new baby, expected since dawn, would inherit when they came into the world. If they came. She didn't like to think about it, and it was for this reason that she came down here, to distract herself. To play her game and sharpen her mind. To forget all the worries that suffocated her on the surface but were hushed up and left for later down here.

Her little game consisted of exercising her knowledge of the tunnels, honing her senses, and maybe even her reflexes by practicing feeling her surroundings. It was said that when someone has lost one sense, the other has sharpened to suppress the loss. Visenya could agree with this, for once she was in the tunnels without torches or candles to see, her hearing, her sense of smell, and even her touch, became infinitely sharper.

Now trained as she was, Visenya navigated the paths she often used even with her eyes closed. Not that she needed to. The darkness of the tunnels was so thick that at first, it was easy for her to believe she was blind. Her eyesight, however, did not adapt to the darkness and she could not see a dagger even if it were within a hair of her eye. But because of everything else, Visenya could tell where she was in a matter of seconds. It was all in the other senses. She would know instinctively when was close to the surface thanks to her hearing that sharpened to sounds, or through the sensation of varying temperatures on her skin that changed with exposure to the environment, since near the surface it was always warmer. Sometimes she could also smell some things that were different from the characteristic odor of dampness and mildew that dominated the lower levels underground, and that usually didn't reach that far into the darker bowels of the tunnels.

But sometimes, as now, she could notice a subtle shift in the darkness. Visenya felt the pitch slow down along with the suffocating sensation of the underground. She heard the sound of birds and the rustling of the treetops and knew she was near the gardens. The sweet smell of the flowers her mother was presented with every year by the ladies, and the poignancy of the trees, pines and birches, mingled with the sea air of the bay carried by the fresh breeze that came in through the recesses, gave her an accurate guess.

Visenya was about to turn around and take a more challenging path when something she heard stopped her.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

Visenya snorted with a smirk that had crept into her face and leaned back against the wall unbothered to be covered in dust, waiting.

There was a moment of delay between the question and the answer. Visenya muffled the giggle under her hand even though she knew that hardly anyone who wasn't so sharp, shrewd, or very aware of their surroundings would be able to hear her.

"Mm," the almost startled hesitation caused her to have to hold against the wall for support when chuckled, "of course."

Of course.

Fool, she amused herself.

There was a complacent-looking sigh. "You're always so kind."

"Not as much as I could be." He objected, embarrassed.

"It was worth the try."

Visenya could accurately visualize the red cheeks full of embarrassment. The wicked little thing inside her delighted in it, but Visenya herself was short to enjoy the outcome. Instead, she forged ahead in search of the solid, defiant darkness.

There was a change in the terrain, leaning upwards and indicating to her that it was rising through the bowels of the fortress. As high as she was going, the darkness was less stifling, less cold and dusty.

Visenya knew immediately that beyond the wall to her left was one of the castle's corridors, as she could hear the sound of the servants and nobles whispering freely and indiscreetly. She didn't take an interest in their affairs or what they talked about, although if her father had been with her he would lecture her on the importance of valuing a piece of information, as stupid and insignificant as it seemed. Sometimes it was the little trifles that were overlooked and underestimated, different in apparent weight and value, that changed the game. She had been told many times not to judge a book by its cover. Not a sheep for its wool. There was no way to know if a wolf hid under the skin, preparing to attack.

But the point was that they all talked about the same subject, which Visenya was running away from until it was over. Then she pulled away and kept climbing.

In her exploration, she had passed by the kitchens, knowing this thanks to the clinking of the large pots and the heat that penetrated through the walls. Above it, there was a barred opening through which the air and smell of the food being prepared passed.

Visenya smelled the meat being cooked with a delicious variety of spices, but of the spices she only knew rosemary and basil thanks to the strong and characteristic smells. There was also something sweet and citrusy in the air that she knew must be a lemon cake baking. Her mouth watered at the prospect of eating a still-warm morsel with a sugary topping on top. But the servants' conversation quickly drove her away, making her stomach twist in knots.

With a grimace, Visenya went to the right and disappeared into thicker shadows, hearing on her way more murmurs that speculated about her mother's fate. And from the way the steps above her head looked, she knew she had to be under the highest-traffic areas of the Court. The dragging of their shoes added to the gossip made her irritated and she wandered around without really thinking, and until she found some semblance of peace.

For a second, it felt like she had lost her way. However, and still undaunted, Visenya just went ahead to find out where she was. Voices further ahead caught her attention and she planned to flee through a side tunnel once more. But the next words stopped her.

"Do you believe she will survive?" Her voice was full of concern, of anxiety. Visenya could practically see her wringing her hands and peeling off the skin on her nails, a habit that Visenya's mother despised, just as she despised the one who practiced it. "Rhaenyra?"

It was her mother's name, said with such care and fear that it made her stop.

"It's been a long, hard birth," another voice answered, deeper and calmer. Not looking worried at all. Visenya clenched her fists. "Too difficult for someone who already has experience. We can only pray for the princess. After all, the Stranger usually appears when he wants and suits him, and it often suits him to appear on the birthbed."

There was a distinctly human squeal, though no better than that of a rat that disgusted her infinitely more, but Visenya stood still and listened. And what she heard made her tremble, made her clenches engrave on her palms small impressions of half-moons. Every particle of her being rebelled against the idea of just standing and listening. To do nothing.

"Calm your heart, my Queen. Everything will turn out well." She heard the soothing, comforting words. Somehow, she knew they weren't health wishes for her mother. They were an ominous promise. "I wish there was more to do for you."

"There's little we can do, so I don't blame you." Queen Alicent said, sounding strangled and frightened like the rat father said she was. Visenya didn't disagree for a second, not even in the slightest. But even the rats that wandered through the tunnels, or Flea Bottom, had more courage than the so-called Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. "Oh, how I wish her mother's sortilege. The Prince would put an end to all this more quickly if he gave her the same mercy that the King granted his wife." The Queen whispered in a tormented manner, making Visenya's blood run cold in her veins, and oblivious to this, the Queen continued as if she had not wished the death of the girl's mother at the hands of her husband, the prince. "How has your father been coping with everything?"

"As well as he could under these circ*mstances, I suppose." The man sighed. He seemed quite unhappy with the prospect. "He's walking on a razor's edge, and even if he doesn't fall, he'll still suffer enough that he may not recover." There was a pause, this time he sounded almost satisfied. "The same can't be said about my brother."

"He was a good man." The Queen murmured in a mournful tone, ignoring the discordant grunt. "I don't understand how he could give in to her. I don't understand how he had the courage. Her husband is a madman!"

It took everything from Visenya not to make any noise and denounce her presence. But she would like nothing more than to stick her nails in the Queen's eyes. She was already a blind c*nt even without them, what difference did it make if Visenya simply made things more realistic? None, she would say. But her parents raised her better than that. Not to stand above a whor* like the Queen, but to do a refined job, rather than something as simple-minded as grabbing her like this was a brothel fight.

Her father would say it would at least be fun, while her mother would give him a deadly look.

"Mad or not, my brother is exactly where he needs to be. Their reputations are tarnished enough for those who are willing to believe it." He said, sounding annoyed and dismissive. Arrogant. "Everything is in the prince's hands now. And if all goes well, he won't fail."

"No, he won't."

Visenya walked away, even though it cost her a lot. Her dragon-like temperament, the one she inherited from her mother and father, just as each of her siblings had done, was fighting against her already tenuous grip. Visenya would like to disembowel the Queen in the blink of an eye, though for a snake like her, a wink was merciful given the wish she harbored for the princess's death.

Visenya couldn't touch her. No one should. She was the Queen. But there was someone she could touch. She should and would.

There was a c*nt in this castle that she couldn't wait to kick.

Chapter 14: A Bottle of Wine

Chapter Text

7th Moon of 125 BC

The day had presented itself like any other since the arrival of autumn. Slightly grayish and not too warm since the sun had become shy. But the weather was still relatively cool with the last remnants of summer. Enjoyable conditions for a productive sparring, Ser Criston would have said if he had been around. But he wasn't, just as the Queen's sworn shield was the last thing on his mind.

"Oh, c’mon," he tried to coax the girl with a crooked smile. He didn't care that she was older or would rather be anywhere other than near him because it had never been about her.

It was about him and what he needed.

And what Aegon needed was distraction, as he felt more suffocated in the Red Keep than usual.

Any fool with half a brain would want to find a way to avoid the suffocating thickness of the air. He was no fool and prided himself on possessing more than half a brain. So here he was, harassing one of the new maids, a cute young woman fresh from Reach. A poor thing sent to his mother. He had to welcome her, of course. After all, here she was all alone in a new place. He had to do it.

His mouth curled.

He studied her face, which was fresh with the youth he liked, and decided that she couldn't be older than twenty namedays. Aegon noticed the fire in her beautiful eyes as blue as the summer sky, eyes that burned with disgust for him. Which didn't bother him. His mother, after all, had said several times, "You are a prince, Aegon. The King's firstborn male. Take what you want, or others will take it from you."

He didn't always listen to what she said unless his mother was offering him a rare pearl of wisdom or knowledge. And that had been good enough. So here he was, following her advice to get what he wanted from lovely Sabine. His satisfaction grew in proportion to or greater than the girl's annoyance.

"Be good to me. Just give me one kiss." He asked.

"Your Highness..." Her words were somewhere between a sigh of annoyance and a forced politeness as she forced her body to keep its distance from his. "I have obligations to fulfill."

She hadn't said it as a subterfuge or some kind of seduction game to keep him interested. No, Sabine was telling the truth, and one she wished was good enough that he wouldn't bother her again anytime soon. Tomorrow she would have another excuse ready, naturally knowing that he would try his luck once again. Until she couldn't resist. Until she broke down and gave him what he wanted.

It was all very sordid.

At times he felt like a madman. And in his family, the one whose fate the gods decided based on luck and one coin, one chance was as good as the other. Aegon was as likely to be great as he was to be mad. And it didn't matter to him. The gods, whatever they were, and the coins, valuable as they were, would not define who he was, that was right. He would not be like his mother and let himself be drowned in desperate idolatry, obsessively pleading for a coming of the Seven that would never happen.

In fact, the only divine intervention that interested him was the one that came to him when he was bored to death in the front seat of the sept. Aegon would have wished for a bolt of lightning to strike his head if it could save him from attending yet another mass. But, of course, he wasn't so lucky since no god showed up to stop the chants or lightning struck him.

Well, f*ck it.

"I know, dear." He muttered approaching another inch and cornering the girl against the Godswood's Weirwood. "Just be-"

The words died on his tongue with the pressure suddenly placed on the base of his spine. Aegon sighed, knowing that he would have to settle for failing again.

A small pest had just found him.

"You're late," she announced in that annoying way of hers, "uncle."

There was something annoying, besides the personality and... well, all of her, but there was something even more annoying about Visenya's voice. More than usual. Despite the threat, Aegon didn't move an inch from his seat against Sabine's collarbone, nor did Visenya lower her damn training sword. Fate, of course, remained as it always should have been once she appeared. With Visenya still ruining his day. "I know Ser Criston is looking for you. And Aemond is already in the yard. Quite impatient."

Aegon found it amusing how Visenya managed to gather so much rage inside her and wield it on her tongue to put it in some names. The girl hated Ser Criston, a man who had once been sworn to the service of Aegon's sister with passion. One that could only rival the madness with which she hated Aemond.

Visenya longed to be her namesake reborn, which for her meant learning how to wield a sword. And as a general rule, Visenya got what she wanted. Unless it was Ser Criston or Aemond. Hence their hatred. And the feelings, Aegon knew, were mutual. Ser Criston generally harbored a dislike for Princess Rhaenyra's children but seemed to like Visenya less than he liked Gifted Grace. A great achievement for Cole. Perhaps because Visenya reminded him of her mother a lot when she was younger, although Aegon found it hard to believe that Criston met his sister when she was ten namedays.

It was no secret to anyone in this city or this castle the way Criston looked at Aegon's sister. With the hatred and resentment worthy of a despised man. He had already been sworn to her, as far as Aegon knew, and suddenly he was sworn to the Queen. It was still rumored that he fell in love with Rhaenyra, who despised him, already with amethyst eyes fixed on her uncle. The Rogue Prince.

Either way, Ser Criston didn't like Visenya and always found a way to keep her out of practice. Not that she wanted to train with them, but Cole dominated the yard in such a way that it made it almost impossible for that to happen. And though her brothers didn't care about her tastes, both Criston and Aemond deeply despised her passion. Aemond was accustomed to and even quite indulgent of Helaena's oddity, but he was firm and intolerant of what a lady should be like since he had as the epitome of what a woman should be their mother. Aegon would bet all the gold he had that none of this was in fact Aemond's opinion. His brother was so eager to please their mother that it was more likely that he was simply repeating the litany she preached as a universal truth. Aegon knew that as a second son Aemond strived to stand out and please, to deserve his mother's attention. Aegon would like nothing more than to be the second child. To be ignored, then he could be left alone to drink and prostitute himself as he pleased.

Instead, he was indoctrinated to hate his sister, her husband, and her spawns. Alicent always said that Rhaenyra would be the death of them all before recounting for the thousandth time the curse given to her on the day of Aegon the Gifted's birth. She would cry and Aemond would be the only one to bother comforting her. He was also the only one of them with any skill in the matter. Helaena was not only useless in this field, but she could also not offer a single gesture of consolation even to save her life. And Aegon... He didn't care what to do when a woman cried. Maybe it would come back to bite him later in life, but now it was nothing more than an annoyance to him.

"Go," Aegon muttered in annoyance, and Sabine escaped faster than the blink of an eye. He groaned, hitting the Weirwood's shell with his head in frustration. Maybe he had a bruise, and it would be her fault. Then he growled at his nosy niece. "Get that sh*t off my back, Visenya!"

The sword fell lazily.

Aegon spun on his heel, about to be nasty to her, just as his mother wanted and as was convenient for him, considering she had just ruined another opportunity. Visenya was the biggest block-co*ck he knew. It was no wonder it took so long for her parents to have another child. Her only saving grace was that with her annoying ability to get in the way of his achievements, she prevented him from having annoying, nosy bastards just like her. Because with his luck, if he had children, they would be just like Visenya. A curse.

Aegon, however, closed his mouth tightly and pursed his lips. Visenya held the sword with the tip down and both hands on the pommel. She was in her sparring clothes. The hair braided imperfectly thanks to Helaena's skills, since neither the mother nor the third head, infinitely more skilled than Helaena, were available. And Visenya refused to use a maid. Nor should the gods know why. Helaena was much better at embroidering and talking about oddities than she was at grooming.

His sister was the half-thought that kept him from being nasty to Visenya, the rest was all her, her eyes even darker than when they took her mother to the birthing bed. For all he knew, so far it was taking longer than it should. And Aegon never wanted to run away from a place like the Red Keep more than when the foreboding feeling stained the walls, suffocating people...

Aegon didn't want to be in his sister's family's shoes. So he spent his time trying to sink into glasses to drown out his thoughts of the future, the whispers of servants, and his mother's anxiety. He didn't remember there being so much tension in the Red Keep before. Why the King, in his infinite love for his dear daughter, did not ask the Grand Maester Mellos to put an end to it so soon was beyond Aegon's comprehension. It would have made things easier. It would all be over quickly, he figured. Visenya wouldn't seem about to cause damage and destruction at the slightest disturbance, which in turn wouldn't make Aegon wary of approaching a dragon by the tail.

And although he didn't know what to do with a crying woman, Aegon still had the morbid curiosity to make Visenya cry, even though she wasn't known to do so. Maybe that's exactly why. But Visenya didn't cry. For nothing. She pouted, stamped her foot, or screamed, but she didn't cry.

Especially now, when, aware of how proud she was, his niece along with her brothers strove to present a united front during their father's absence, so that when looking at Visenya, she seemed as unshakable as Valyrian steel. Aegon was sure it was a kind of damage control, since by the time his uncle knew, he would already be halfway to madness. And the gods knew that the Rogue Prince would make a slow and safe descent down the road of madness when he read the letter. His mood had always been volatile and flighty, and his uncle had never been too fond of him or Aemond, or their mother and grandfather, so Aegon didn't feel like waking the dragon. He had no desire to provoke a man like his uncle.

The singular twinkle in Visenya's eyes and the tug at the corner of her lips caught his attention and forced him to be cautious. Aegon knew that whatever he said would come back to him ten times in the girl's sharp tongue, leaving him humiliated. He'd already lost Sabine today, he didn't need to lose his pride either. He studied her with an old, deep rage.

"Fine." He said, folding his hands behind his back and moving towards the training yard.

Visenya accompanied him, which in itself was strange. But it was all the more so because she was silent, even though they had never started anything resembling a conversation before. They mostly exchanged barbs. And Aegon didn't want to start changing that now. Or maybe never.

He can't tolerate her.

She followed him towards the middle bailey, down the stairs, and past both the library and the sept to reach the outer yard. Only then did Aegon catch sight of Ser Criston with an intense frown as Aemond looked at the swords.

Aegon also spotted his nephews, Aegon and Viserys, and then understood what was going on. They would share the training yard. Cole should be beside himself about this. Visenya sped up to join the brothers, remaining on the periphery for the time being. She wasn't dumb, Visenya knew that Criston wouldn't allow her a foot inside the lines while he was around. He would find a way to force her out, using one of his pupils.

And accompanying the niblings, Aegon had noticed, was Ser Harwin. The man of the moment thanks to all these rumors chasing him. He appeared to be replacing his Lord Commander in overseeing the joint training of the Princess's children with the Queen's children. Surely, Aegon’s uncle wanted his children to learn all their weaknesses. Cole didn't seem to have noticed Strong yet or was simply ignoring his presence.

Looking at Breakbones reminded Aegon of his mother's new favorite subject and how there was a likelihood that the Princess's baby would be not her husband's child, but Ser Harwin's. But if that was true, then the brat had better be born with Targaryen colors. From the silver-gold hair to the pale skin that only a Targaryen would have. And the eyes, the eyes that were better to be indigos, like Rogue's. And if they weren't, well, Aegon didn't want to be around when his uncle found out. He was not a fool, nor did he share his mother's fatal desire. At times it seemed that her purpose in life was to annoy his uncle, so it was rare a week that the Rogue didn't threaten the Queen's delicate neck with Dark Sister's razor-sharp blade.

And the King, as usual, lacked words on the subject.

Glad to remain oblivious, as always.

Not that Aegon expected his father to do so. He clearly had a favorite in his heart, and it wasn't his wife, or any of her children, for that matter.

Aegon's fists curled.

"My prince." Ser Criston's harsh, angry voice called out to him. He didn't respond, merely joining them for the sparring. "Where were you?" Cole demanded as he approached to find a training sword. Aemond already had his, as did their nephews, still on their side of the yard. "It doesn't matter. Pick a sword right away."

Mmm.

Criston was in a bad mood. Even more so than usual. Aegon's eyes scanned the castle's battlements, looking for any bystanders who had privately bristled the knight. He found only the King and Lord Lyonel watching, which meant nothing. His father smiled, waving to his dear grandchildren as his gaze caught Aegon's, prompting the King to acknowledge his presence, or more boldly, his existence. Though it was so brief that Aegon could have mistaken it for a light trick. His spine stiffened, and he tilted his head stiffly, swallowing a hiss. His father being here was nothing to Cole's mood, but it was to Aegon's mood. He hated.

He'd been dragged into a sh*tty show.

f*ck.

Ser Criston put the boys to warm up with a series of light exercises and then sent them to the straw dummies. Aegon took one look at his training dummy worn by use and time and felt his fingers twitching around the hilt of the sword. He lifted the sword and attacked, much to Cole's delight.

He made them do it for a while.

Aegon indulged in swordsmanship and flowery moves meant to impress his viewers more than anything, without caring much about technique or efficiency. He jumped and attacked, slammed and retreated, spun around his lifeless opponent to be seen from every angle necessary, showing the best Cole had taught him since he had four namedays. Because after all, if his sister was the youngest Dragonrider in history, Aegon must be prodigious in some way as well. His mother would accept no less. He would have preferred to be a prodigy in sex than in the sword, but life wasn't fair.

Immersed in thought and movement, he routinely maneuvered his sword in an antagonistic manner to the sword of one of his nephews, ruining what was probably a perfect sequence. It was easy for Aegon to tell the difference between his nephews and his brother. Not only did his sister's children dress in sturdy black leather or a quilted red from House of the Dragon, but their style and skill were quite obvious when they were placed in the same yard to train or to fight casually after challenging each other, just as Cole liked; while the clothes Aegon and Aemond wore were usually well-lined to lessen the stings of their swords, always in some shade of green that their mother had chosen to be creative and reminiscent of the Hightower lighthouse, because of the statement she had made years ago.

Aegon didn't mind ruining the sparring of any of his nephews, or which one it had been, only that he had done so and that they didn't seem to be bothered this time. He didn't think about it, suddenly getting distracted when he caught sight of two maids. Mm. Sabine and another girl passed by with baskets, probably on their way to the city. Aegon pursed his lips before opening his countenance into a crooked smile at both of them. The girls looked away from him and Sabine pulled her friend to quicken their pace. Aegon found it amusing.

"Aegon." Criston's voice contained a warning that bordered on anger.

"I won my first fight, Ser Criston." He scoffed, smiling arrogantly. "I made my opponent sues for mercy."

Cole hadn't found it funny.

"Then you'll have a new opportunity, Lord of Straw." He had darkly decreed with black eyes that they had sternly met Aegon's lilacs. "Let's see if you can touch me. You and your brother."

Aegon's smile fell, leaving his face blank and limp with expressions. He stood waiting for the man to choose a sword and then he and Aemond prepared to attack. Ser Criston put a hand behind his back and gave the signal.

Aegon became more careless with his blows and attacks, aiming only at the goal.

"You're going to have to do better than that!" Criston scoffed.

Aegon gritted his teeth and started again.

Ser Criston moved, evading his attack and thwarting Aegon, which made him reckless and forced him to launch a direct attack that Cole deftly avoided once again, angering him. Aegon had almost skewered Aemond, who jumped out of his way at the last second.

A muscle popped out on his cheek, and he thrust again. Aegon made the same mistake again and this time Cole punished him by hitting him in the ass with the sword. He felt emotions slip from his face once more, though his heart was racing, and each pump of blood sent one wave of 'wooosh' after another into his ears. Aegon had noticed that there was something inside him that scratched the surface and made him swallow hard. He turned to a new attack but realized that Criston had finally deemed Strong worthy of attention, plucking the man from the shadows into which he had been cast. Aegon figured out why when he noticed the sneer on Strong's face.

Cole obviously didn't like what he saw, so he left the training of his precious princes.

"It's seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention... Ser Criston." Ser Harwin teased, noticing the way Cole looked at him. "I don't think they're doing anything but getting beaten up in front of the King."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"You question my methods of instruction, ser?" Criston countered, holding back what should have been a remarkable grunt of anger. Aegon noticed a spark starting to grow. It was going to turn into a fire...

And it was going to get ugly.

"Oh, I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils." Ser Harwin shrugged. Rhaenyra's boys quickly approached.

Aegon pushed Viserys out of the way.

His nephew barely blinked.

"Very well," Criston said.

Oh geez.

"Prince Aegon, come here." He called, daring to grab the Gifted Grace by the armor's breastplate strap. Aegon's face, usually so composed and careful, took on an intense expression. His nephew was not oblivious or ignorant of the antagonism he and his siblings suffered at the hands of this man. He, as well as the siblings, simply didn't see the need to report Cole's every pettiness. Always so determined to prove themselves capable, "against," Aemond chuckled, and a smile bloomed on Aegon’s face. "Eldest son against eldest son."

Criston positioned the divine plague.

"It's hardly a fair match." Ser Harwin objected now that the arrow had turned against him.

"I kwon you've never seen true battle, ser." Criston retorted, nodding for Aegon to get into position. There was something about the nephew's expression that he didn't like, so he decided to antagonize him, muttering a mockery as he passed the divine boy's back. His nephew's eyes, however, remained unnervingly vigilant on Cole's suddenly illuminated eyes. "But when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect." Aegon positioned himself, training his eyes on his opponent. "Get ready."

Aegon's muscles tensed, as did his nephew's. A clever, calculating glow flickered there for a second. This was the look of someone who was trained up until two days ago by Rogue Prince. Ser Harwin thought this wasn't a fair fight for the advantage that age and size offered Aegon, but that was of little consequence when fighting a pupil of the Rogue Prince. And there were three of them.

"Fight!"

Gritting his teeth, Aegon screamed and attacked, staying on the offensive. His nephew retreated with a twinkle in his eye as he lost ground on the green boundary and was forced to retreat to the black boundary. Feeling a familiar feeling bubble up in the pit of his stomach, his movements became wild and completely sloppy. His blows were loaded with emotions and strength. In a moment of more irrationality than anything else, Aegon pushed his nephew.

The Gifted Grace tried to retreat but slipped on a rock or misstepped and fell as gracefully as a sack of manure that slipped off a wagon.

It was glorious.

Aegon stepped back, smiling at Cole and Strong, one of whom smiled slightly satisfied while the other twisted his mouth. He felt elated, and proud of himself, which led him to let his guard down...

On enemy ground, and this was his mistake.

Aegon heard the sound of footsteps behind him and turned just in time to defend himself, surprisingly, against his niece. He only had time to catch a glimpse of Aegon standing up lazily and positioning himself to watch. Aegon then realized that the girl had been waiting for an opportunity to attack, and she didn't back down now that she had the upper hand. Despite his height, age, and strength, Aegon found himself forced to continually retreat. His niece's short stature helped her better infiltrate his fighting space, and as a result, Aegon had less space to wield the sword and fend off her incandescent fury. This could only mean that his defeat was near and that he needed to do something.

Aegon pushed the training dummy towards her, causing Visenya to flinch for a moment. Her eyes showed a dangerousness that didn't deny who her father was or the feelings that foamed inside her. Storm clouds swirled dangerously in swirls of indigo. If the girl was frustrated by her uncle's dirty little trick, her face didn't reveal it, showing only a perfect mask of concentration.

He knew the fight wasn't over.

"Foul play!" Harwin protested.

"I'll deal with him." Cole pulled him to their side of the yard and Aegon had caught a glimpse of Harwin doing the same more gently to Visenya. She never took her gleamed with bloody murder eyes off him. Criston's gaze had a similar quality. His eyes shone like hot coals. "Plant your feet." Ser Criston snapped softly, drawing the prince's attention back to him. Furious that a girl was getting the better of his pupil, proving Harwin's point. Aegon wasn't happy either. "You have the height advantage. Use it. Advance on her."

Cole looked over his shoulder. Visenya had a sly smile at the corner of her lips that seemed to promise death. Aegon felt something ignite inside his chest as Cole grabbed him with a look and pushed him forward. "Go."

"You!" Aegon yelled at her.

He charged, unaware of how exactly, but demon-like towards Visenya, his sword raised over his head. But his niece stood right on her feet, backing away and looking for an opening that Aegon wasn't willing to give.

"Close with her!"

"Press him backward!"

"Close with her!"

"Stay on the attack!" Aegon hooked his sword with Visenya's, screaming angrily as he tried to get her to let it go. But the girl had an iron grip and a Valyrian steel determination. Visenya was clearly using him as a training dummy, but unlucky that he stood still without fighting back. Aegon had a distinct feeling that she wouldn't have preferred it that way. Visenya was a dragon, she enjoyed the thrill of hunting. And to her, he was the hunt.

That motherf*cker.

Her gaze could melt the f*cking Wall's. But Aegon also had something burning inside him with the same fury. Suddenly, it was his demons wielding the sword, looking for exorcism. Aegon's gaze clouded and the next thing he knew he was kicking the precious princess of the fourteen hells in the chest. Visenya fell to him for the first time.

"Don't let her get up!" His sword descended carelessly and violently, thirsty for blood. Visenya's gaze didn't budge, and she rolled over with practiced grace to escape his wrath. "Stay on the attack!"

"Enough!" Sor Harwin grit.

"Aegon!" The King's voice rose in rebuke.

He gritted his teeth.

There was a flash of pain coming from his ligament as Visenya slipped out of sight for an instant before kicking him behind the knee. Aegon lost his balance and saw the axis of the world shift before falling backward to the ground. The air might have escaped from his lungs, but anger still filled them as it had half an instant ago.

"How dare you lay your hands on me?" He screamed, before finding the blunt sword millimeters from his nose.

He followed the body to the blade with his eyes, hoping to find his sh*tty niece. Her indigo eyes fluttered mercurially. Very much the daughter of her father, she was the image of death incarnate, with a warning in her sharp features.

Do not move.

And although the sword couldn't cut him, he was sure that Visenya would find a way to make the thing draw blood. Of that, there was no doubt.

Aegon growled. Annoying little girl.

"Stay out of the yard, princess!" The voice that struggled to contain the worst of Ser Criston's temper sounded behind Aegon. "This isn't your ballroom."

Aegon noticed Visenya's jaw snap. A muscle popped out of her cheek and Visenya turned her dark and dangerous indigo eyes on Cole. She wasn't afraid of him and Aegon knew that if she had been wielding Dark Sister, Cole would have been the one to bleed. Well, let him be, Criston who had brought Aegon into this mess in the first place.

"I'll stay wherever I want," she retorted with her chin projected in arrogant defiance, "ser."

Three letters and a syllable of a single word, but it carried a dangerous amount of venom and contempt. Cole was nothing but dung under her boots, for all Visenya cared about. She removed the sword but didn't turn her back on Aegon until she was far enough away to be safe. Annoying, but not dumb. Aegon stood up with a look that was blunt and furious and watched Visenya place herself between the divine brother and her equally despicable twin. Aegon grunted and looked away.

"This is what you teach, Cole?" Ser Harwin demanded, quite indignantly on behalf of the princess's children. "Cruelty? To weaker the opponent?"

The knight picked up the swords from the ground and Cole cast his own away pettily. Strong kicked Cole's sword dismissively, approaching a weapons rack to return them.

"Your interest in their training is quite unusual, ser." Cole teased. Aegon watched his nephews and niece harden. No one doubted the ascendency or legitimacy of them. And while most didn't underestimate the love between the Rogue and the Delight, there were those who questioned the ancestry of the unborn one. The rumor mill would haunt the child even if his new nibling had the appearance of a Targaryen. "Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin, or a brother, or a son…" Cole paused in which the silence stretched and grew tense. "Or if a woman's love was at stake."

Ser Harwin tensed and turned around with an expression that promised violence and broken bones. But it wasn't Ser Breakbones' fist that crushed Cole's nose.

No, the honor belonged to the Rogue Prince alone.

His Uncle Daemon had arrived quietly and anonymously at the castle, already burying his fist in Ser Criston's nose hard enough to make it break, and the sound of the bone breaking, and the crushed flesh, had reverberated throughout the yard. Aegon had the embarrassing realization that he could never have been a demon who mastered a sword, not when his uncle was the devil himself. He was nothing but the dust of hell beside the Rogue Prince whose latent intent cried out the death of Ser Criston with his bare hands. He was still in his flight suit, a light and impressive suit of armor. But it was only a matter of time before he removed his gauntlets to revel in the Criston blood on the white skin of his hands.

The Kingsguards tried to interfere to protect who exactly no one could tell. But then, his uncle stood up and Dark Sister's steel sang. He pressed the tip of his sword against Cole's throat and Aegon saw the blood bloom. Despite the rage and fury written on every inch of Rogue's face, his hand was steady. The eyes, the same as those of his children, were darker, however. Aegon noticed that his uncle's eyes were black.

"Say it," his voice sounded like a deceptive, dangerous caress.

Eagerness tensed every muscle in his body. No one moved. Not even the wind dared. A delicate, precarious balance held Ser Criston Cole's life together. It's one false move, one wrong word, and Aegon was sure he would experience death firsthand for the first time.

His stomach churned.

Cole swallowed hard but didn't say a word. Rage burned the coal from his eyes and a cruel grin stretched the corner of the Rogue Prince's mouth. His sharp, white canine peeked between his lips.

"That's what I thought." He picked up his sword and walked away without looking at Cole. Instead, his attention had turned to his children with a meticulous, furious gaze that checked on their well-being. Visenya was the first to approach her father, and his hand ruffled her hair. Aegon watched him murmur to her "Well done, my dear."

Visenya smiled, a hom*onym of her father.

Aegon was tired of all this sh*t and prepared to leave when, suddenly, a maid emerged from the Keep with messy hair and an expression of urgency. She found the newly arrived Rogue and threw herself in his direction.

Aegon only heard her breathe one thing.

"It's born!"

His uncle took one look at his children and barked at his orders.

"Come in. Wash yourselves and get dressed." He commanded without waiting for a challenge. There wasn't. If nothing else, his children were not only obedient, but they were also disciplined and loyal. Ferociously. The Rogue Prince's gaze shifted to Ser Harwin. "Escort them."

Ser Harwin humbly assent.

His uncle darted into the Keep, already removing the alloy steel from the armor and shoving it into the chest of the first servant who crossed his stormy path. Aegon looked up, searching for his father and finding Lord Lyonel and the Kingsguards struggling to help the King up. Surely as anxious to get to his daughter as her lord-husband was.

Aegon didn't wait for the dismissal, he left almost immediately with Aemond on his heels, though it was more likely that his brother had a different way in mind. He didn't care. Aegon only needed a bottle of wine and a glass.

Well, maybe just the bottle.

Chapter 15: A Weeping Sword

Chapter Text

7^th Moon of 125 AC

It was the understanding of all of Westeros that Daemon Targaryen adored his wife. However, from time to time he was tempted by an uncomfortable desire for a violent, and sometimes even cruel nature. A desire driven by her stubbornness and one that had almost seduced him far more than a couple of times during the decade they had been married. And for which he was particularly tempted once again that morning when he received the crow after sitting down at the Fells' table in Felwood.

Gods, what would he do to this stubborn woman?

The memory that had preceded his departure, where he had tried to persuade his wife to remain in their apartments rather than exert herself needlessly accompanying him through the fortress, was still fresh in his mind. Rhaenyra had grown wonderfully well with his son once again, though Dagda had warned them since the pregnancy was discovered that she would need to be more careful this time. The baby would take a higher toll on her than any of her previous children had done, even higher than when she had carried the twins. Rhaenyra had been forbidden to make the slightest effort from a very early age, much to her chagrin; but she had become more accommodating when the recommendations of the midwife who had cared for her since the twins became more urgent about the sixth moon, where his wife had a little bleeding.

Daemon had heard Rhaenyra complain of some cramps earlier that day and had pointed out that she should stay in bed, but his wife had waved her hand dismissing his worry as if it were nothing. He knew that limitation was killing her, that Rhaenyra was going crazy with relative idleness when she used to be so active even when she was pregnant the other times, but Daemon didn't expect her to have such disdain for her own well-being or that of their child that she would defy Dagda's opinion to do as she thought best because she was bored.

But like the underhanded woman she had become, his wife had kissed him in the way she knew would make him forget everything else except her and the desire that had been kindled. She had done a good job with him. And even with the feeling that something didn't fit, Daemon had left to answer yet another crow sent from the Stepstones about a question that kept asking for his presence on the islands regarding nautical movements that seemed suspicious in the eyes of Daeron Velaryon, whose family took care of the islands on behalf of Daemon's family.

Now, see where this will take him...

Daemon found himself gripped by the intense desire to beat up Felwood's smug maester who seemed to have forgotten that his loyalty was to the castle he served, not the Hightower c*nts that funded his beloved Citadel. The black beast in Daemon had responded to the blatant lack of respect by curling up in a rage, licking its sharp fangs with a blood lust that had taken everything from him to keep from satiating. His wife would be very disappointed if she heard that he had spoiled a perfectly pleasant meal with such valuable allies in a land of enemies.

However, her disdain for his concern, coupled with the master's impertinence, made his blood boil. And the idea that it had all started even before she left only made it worse since she was probably already feeling the labor pains, the first contractions, when he had left.

She knew Dagda had warned them that the effort could induce premature labor, and Daemon couldn't think of anything more vigorous for her condition than going up and down the stairs of the Keep. And yet, Rhaenyra hadn't said anything. She had deliberately chosen to omit how she felt.

Daemon didn't like that.

He had gritted his teeth at his hosts' table, trying to control the song of the dragon vibrating in his bones, but he cursed under his breath and stood up before he could commit a folly. And he was so close to doing it...

But the recklessness that used to rule him had long since been buried under the veneer of the authority figure Daemon had become for the sake of his wife, their family. Even though he wanted to bring fire and blood, Daemon controlled the worst of his impulses. He had said something to excuse his behavior superficially and had tried to get as quickly as possible to Caraxes, who had roared, attuned to his rider's mood.

The Blood Wyrm had risen to its feet, shaking the yard, and flapped its mighty wings towards the sky, breaking through the forest mist that grew around Felwood. The light of the early morning hours so far east and so high threatened to blind him. Daemon narrowed his eyes, clutching tightly at the straps of Caraxes' saddle, and then shouted a command in Valyrian. Beneath him, the dragon humped, flapping its wings harder, faster.

His heart thundered beneath the outside, mimicking the rhythm and intensity of Caraxes. The creature in his chest moved restlessly in the cage of his ribs, its spiny tail slapping against the bars of bone and the soft tissue of his lungs. The altitude, coupled with the cold of the autumn mornings and the heaviness he felt, made it unpleasant for Daemon to breathe, but he forced the air into his lungs over and over again. Though neither temperature, light, or air could chase away or ward off the thoughts swirling in his mind. It was too early, he knew, just as Dagda had said it would be if Rhaenyra wasn't careful.

Frustration fought for space with worry and the vain hope of being reunited with her in time to be by her side to welcome another child, just as he had done the other times. Except this time, Daemon knew it wouldn't be as simple as Baelon's birth, or merely as long as it had been with the twins. There was this ominous premonition that this would be a birth just as unpleasant...

Daemon gritted his teeth, refusing to even consider the thought. His wife was strong, she would give birth to another child, and they would both be fine. And yet, even though he wasn't an unrealistic man or entertained idyllic ideas to entertain himself, sticking to the truths and the facts, Daemon had caught growing in his heart, like the weeds in Rhaenyra's garden, the hope that he would come home to find his wife holding their new child, sporting a smug smile. As if she made fun of him for caring too much about her.

f*ck it, he would never leave her side again.

Daemon was already dealing with the bitter knowledge that he had been relatively more absent during this pregnancy than any other. There was no need to keep twisting the knife when he was too far away to do anything, or when he hadn't yet swallowed the stroke of luck that had been in King's Landing when her pregnancy was discovered, which allowed him to learn firsthand just how challenging it would be.

He cursed, not for the first time, the chain of islands he had conquered eleven years earlier, which forced him to fly between the capital and the archipelago frequently since the fortification process was lengthy and dragged on for years due to later attempts at conquest. It had then taken a long time to successfully set up command posts on each of the half-dozen islands that had an outpost at Bloodstone, a forward command post at Grey Gallows, and lighthouses, whose turrets were so tall that the glow of red fire for the enemy would reach Greenstone.

The economy, as well as the population, was growing on the islands. And though rocky soil made farming, if not impossible, difficult enough, port cities still flourished with trade between the two continents with little more than one inconvenience or another. While nothing as serious as the Triarchy, not in much time.

But Daemon liked to keep an eye on things. He refused to let his guard down, especially as the islands became increasingly valuable. All the sea trade to the east coast of Westeros and to five out of nine of the Free Cities had to pass through the Stepstones to reach the other major markets of the world, making the nature of their ownership and control indispensable. And it was his duty, as Protector of the Realm, to take care of the lands he had gained for his wife and that would one day be under her rule and later Aegon's.

A duty that would be passed on to Viserys when his son reached maturity.

Daemon flew over Kingswood, having long since left behind the Wendwater, and finally approached the mouth of the Blackwater Rush to the north. He caught sight of the peaks of the Red Keep against the sun rushing above him and heard the bells ringing. The sound had made his skin crawl and impatiently, Daemon guided Caraxes to Fishmonger's Square instead of the pit.

The screams of the commons filled the square as they rushed to escape the dragon and be crushed by it. His Blood Wyrm shook itself, whipping its neck, and with a snap of its jaw, it launched itself back into the air with a roar the instant Daemon's boots touched the stones of the square. As the dragon's shadow moved away, Daemon noticed Ser Luthor bravely trying to approach by pulling a frightened horse. His men must have spotted Caraxes and prepared for his arrival. Daemon grabbed the horse's reins and mounted without a second glance at the man, immediately spurring the roan he had received to take him to the fortress.

The hooves thundered through the less crowded streets he had chosen, making Daemon able to reach the square in front of the Keep faster than he would have been if he had chosen the wider, more mainstream, civilian-filled thoroughfares. Daemon led the mount through the open gates, as if anticipating his arrival, and jumped off his horse in an impulsive and dangerous move, causing the pain to radiate down his left heel only for the sensation to be dampened by the adrenaline heating his blood.

Propelled by the dragon in his chest that actively fought against the restraints of its prison, he felt the rage that already consumed him double in size and intensity within his chest, as he heard Cole's comment. There was just a 'zing' and then...

Daemon had never needed a reason to crush someone he deemed annoying or inferior. The slightest sign of annoyance and he simply acted as he pleased. And Cole... his mere existence was annoying enough without the crimes committed in Daemon's eyes, so it was with sickening satisfaction that Daemon broke c*nt Cole's nose a little over a decade after the tourney where he had felt only relatively pleased to knock Cole off the horse.

There was only a sparing glance at the gauntlet of his armor to know if, by breaking the bone, he had bent the piece. He had, much to the delight of the dragon in his chest. Daemon still hoped that Crispin Cole was stupid enough to repeat the lies spread by Alic*nt, but he had underestimated the c*nttower minion's cognitive ability. But despite being silent, forced to swallow his opinion, Cole had matched in the belligerent glint of his gaze the hatred and contempt that Daemon felt.

The troubled appearance of the maid had robbed him of the chance to properly check on the children who had certainly been antagonized by the c*nt in his brief absence, but it had reminded him of her.

Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra.

His mind sang her name like a song he couldn't get out of his head and every beat of his heart, every breath of air, echoed her name. Each step closer made him more tense.

Daemon felt a familiar sensation try to take hold of him and replace the anger he had felt, a feeling of helplessness he knew and that hovered wistfully whenever his wife was trapped in Dragondreams, forcing him to watch. He ignored the nobles who tried to greet or congratulate him, motivated by the cold claws of fear that caressed the rough, black scales of the beast in him. Daemon climbed the stairs two at a time, pushing back any fool who tried to get in his way.

The corridor of their apartments appeared as he turned a corner, and his step faltered when he realized that no one was guarding the doors of the solar that were open. Why didn't any white cloaks guard the place?

With a buzzing sound that made his bones flutter, Daemon pushed the doors open and felt his stomach plummet.

The few servants who were in the room looked at him with tense expressions. Two men held the mattress on which he and his wife slept, and which was now ruined by the amount of blood that had been spilled. Daemon couldn't remember if Rhaenyra had ever bled so much when she gave birth to the other children. His hands were cold, and his fingers tingled, as were his feet inside his boots. Daemon felt strangely light, weightless, as if experiencing an out-of-body experience.

sh*t. There was blood... There was so much blood.

Almost as if she had bled to death. And near the bed, there was more. A puddle over which a servant wearing a cap that covered her expression knelt to collect something that was covered in blood and fluids. A shiver ran down his spine, and there was only a suspended instant in time where his heart had stopped beating for a thousandth, in which the beast sank its claws into the junction of his ribs, shattering the bones and burying the sharp shards in his lungs.

He felt the air bleed.

Daemon didn't feel his feet move, leading him to her side. The maid looked at him, frowning. Something on his face turned her expression into pity, causing the blood to throb so loudly that he couldn't read her or understand what she held. 'Madness and greatness, madness and greatness, madness and greatness' the blood seemed to whisper to him. He felt cold.

"It’s..." Daemon bit his tongue, unable to force himself to say.

His mouth felt as dry as a Dornish plain.

"It's the afterbirth, my prince."

His head whipped so hard towards her voice that Daemon felt the tendons snap and the pain send shivers down his spine. His vision blurred for a moment, and he felt a headache, although he felt like he could breathe, freely. It was the afterbirth. Gods were good. It was the afterbirth. Hesitantly, he felt his heart trying to beat again.

Daemon gathered his wits about him enough to ask the questions he needed the answers to.

"Where is she? What happened?"

His voice contained a hard quality that masked the terror that enveloped his heart. Daemon gritted his teeth, not trusting himself enough not to cut off his own tongue by accident.

"The baby arrived early." Dagda replied without a shadow of surprise in her tone. Her mouth, however, twisted in disgust. "Your wife has suffered a great deal, but she has delivered another boy, my prince."

Another son.

His hands trembled, so Daemon clenched them into fists.

"And where is she?" He repeated himself in an almost cold tone.

Daemon could feel the spark of something sparkle inside him, though he still wasn't sure what it was. Dagda looked at him, appraising, and with more than a little grudge in her sparkle in her eyes. He didn't let himself think for a moment that she had forgotten what he had done during the birth of the twins, how he had pulled Dark Sister against her neck for trying to kick him out of the room when Rhaenyra was giving birth. Now, Dagda certainly knew better than to try to stop him from being with his wife when she needed him.

But despite this, he was certain that it wasn't the grudge that made her look at him critically. No. Daemon realized that she was trying to gauge the reaction he would have. The ice seemed to spread, along with something else.

"Went to see the Queen."

And then it exploded.

Each servant stood motionless, their columns taut with tension, gauging his reaction with discreet and careful eyes. Dagda waited with her jaw locked and her eyes burning with indignation.

"What?" Daemon didn't recognize his own voice.

"The Queen sent a servant to fetch the baby, wishing to see him regardless of whether he was premature. And your wife, a woman with a stubborn heart, followed after them. Even when she was still bleeding." Daemon could hear Dagda's teeth grind, though he couldn't tell if the woman was angry at his wife or the Queen. He would admit that he also wasn't sure who the scorching rage that turned his stomach was aimed at. "The maid, Annora, she went with your wife, to help. They left a few moments ago."

The fire licked at his bones, setting his veins ablaze. He felt a vein in his forehead throb and his chin ache from the force with which he locked his jaw. Breath came out in short but rough pants. The chain that held his crossbow had snapped.

He spun on his heel, leaving behind a trail that promised fire and blood, and set off for Maegor's Holdfast. This time, the shadow in his expression pushed the nobles away from his path and none of them dared to try to approach him, dodging like co*ckroaches that feared they would be crushed. Daemon would have no qualms. He climbed the Serpentine Steps as if his every step were so heavy it could crack the stone, and he had crossed the lower bailey with the ferocity with which Balerion had tried to destroy Harenhall.

A familiar ache had settled behind his eyes, but this time it caught him off guard with the intensity, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment. But when he opened them, Daemon saw only red. A crimson red, like blood.

The Cargyll boy guarded the c*nt door in c*nt Cole's absence. Daemon almost wondered if Crispin had put the repair of his nose in Mellos' very capable hands. The thought pleased him, though it had vanished when the stupid boy had detected fury in his face but had still tried to get in his way.

Daemon hadn't given him time, grabbing his throat and cutting the air out of his lungs for an instant. Cargyl's eyes had widened in surprise, but he had wisely held his tongue to himself. Daemon scoffed, showing off his dragon fangs.

"Stay out of my way, boy." His words sounded heated like fire crackling in Caraxes' throat before exploding. His tone was low and vibrant, like thunder, and his shadowed eyes had a cruel glow. "You don't want to fight me."

And then he let him go. Grabbing the dragon doorknobs, Daemon pushed open the doors to enter. His gaze darted, immediately finding his pale wife in her blood-stained dress leaning heavily on Annora, and precariously holding their son in her arms. He growled softly, his gaze meeting hers. Rhaenyra's beautiful amethyst eyes were glowing with defiance. Stubborn f*cking woman.

The Hightower slu*t looked at him with furrowed brows and what appeared to be concern, though he couldn't tell if she feared for her life or if she feared he would believe her lies. Daemon didn't believe she feared the princess's health, however.

Only the slightest hint of relief could be seen in his wife's expression.

Daemon entered the solar, grabbing a cushion and throwing it at the couch. His eyes fixed on the c*nt, like a dragon fixating on a prey that refused to lose sight of. Alicent looked small and incapable of causing harm, but he didn't trust that and refused to take his eyes off her. Daemon pointed to the couch with a raised finger, directing his tone to his wife and not to the girl who insisted on playing at being queen.

"Sit down." He hissed. She was hesitating, from what he could tell from his peripheral vision. Gods. Daemon loved this woman's intelligence and tenacity but often hated her stubbornness. Especially when he was right, and she was just being stubborn so she wouldn't look weak. His displeasure was visible in the way his face had become livid, frozen in a grim expression. Daemon used a tone that left no room for discussion. Either she would sit of her own free will, or he would force her. It was her choice. "Now."

Rhaenyra still refused for a few more heartbeats, but she recognized the anger on his face for what it was. She was already on thin ice with him, so she sat down before it could make things worse. And now that he had at least ensured her comfort, he gave Alicent his full attention.

His fingers curled against the back of the couch and Daemon felt the sting of the splinters under his nails, but he didn't care. The beast in him licked its teeth expectantly.

"Give me a reason... " He growled low and deceptively meek at Alicent. The c*nt's green eyes widened with alarm and the predator in him liked that, liked the idea that she knew he had no intention of leaving a single piece of her, "lest I kill you."

The sound of his name, declared by his wife's lips, contained a warning, and he felt her stirring what was left of his chain as if she wanted to regain some control.

"Daemon."

"How did you say!" The Hightower c*nt choked.

He had taken a dangerous step closer, playing with her.

"How dare you... how you assume, you curse of a c*nt..." His sharp teeth were pressed together so hard that they could turn to dust, and the voice transformed into a guttural, ferocious rumble, it gave shivers combined with the look he had. "Not just dragging my wife from the birthing bed, but demanding to see my newborn and premature son?" Daemon's nose wrinkled with unmistakable disgust as if he could sniff out her rot. His gloomy eyes had for the Queen nothing but abjection, "as if you had some right, some power as if you were worth being in their presence..."

"Daemon," Rhaenyra's tone betrayed the pain she felt.

The fact did not register in his mind, only the rising and violent waves of blood that kept whispering to him 'madness and greatness, madness and greatness, madness and greatness'. Daemon chased the Queen slowly and cruelly, like a cat playing with a mouse. His eyes were lit up by the sparks of pure, unadulterated hatred that solidified his expression.

And at that very moment, Daemon resembled the man about whom the whispers of his acts and actions, of his reputation, spoke. He looked like the one who had done all those horrible things that could only be whispered but never said out loud. He resembled his long-named persona, the Rogue Prince.

And he would live accordingly if nothing else.

f*ck everything else.

The Queen's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she realized that he had almost cornered her against the windowsill. Daemon sensed the ghost of the taste of blood on his tongue, and the dragon in him cried out for blood, it demanded. Wished.

He took two more steps, cornering the bitch.

"Give me a reason not to kill you, Alicent," he pleaded, his tone as sharp as a Valyrian steel dagger, "or may the gods help me, I'll kill you. And I'm going to do it now."

Alicent struggled to force the air back into her lungs, Daemon could see, as well as her trembling hands and the dread she felt that shook her body. He was a cruel and petty thing for liked to strike terror into her heart.

"That's treason!"

His eyes narrowed.

"You f*cking hypocritical c*nt!" Daemon snapped, causing her to jump. "Do you think what you did is not treason? If they die, it's your fault. Their blood will be on your hands. And I'm going to kill you slowly and painfully..." The next words, falling from his lips like a whisper, sounded like a curse, "more than I ever want."

Her gaze met his, and Daemon knew the exact moment Alicent realized that if the gods didn't send help, he would push her out the window to a horrible death on the stakes of the dry pit at Maegor's Holdfast. His brother might be the one whose disease slowly rotted him, but Alicent had been rotten since the day he was born. And an apple rotten was to contaminate the whole basket. Someone had to eliminate the plague before it could reach the orchard, and Daemon didn't bother to do so.

The silence that fell over them was suddenly punctuated by a characteristic sound. A hurried 'knock, knock' that echoed down the corridor presaged Viserys's cane. And sure enough, moments later, the King stormed the Queen's solar.

"I came as soon as I knew!" His brother sounded breathless as he addressed his daughter. "What's going on here!"

Alicent endured the weight of his gaze for one, two, three heartbeats, before searching for some salvation at her husband's hands. Daemon scoffed. Motherf*cker. He would have spat at her feet if his mouth hadn't been dry and hot, as if his throat were as full of fire as a dragon's.

Slowly, the words rolled on his tongue with a sharp, fierce accent.

"Your wife is trying to kill your daughter and your grandson for no other reason than her ambition and pettiness." Daemon looked over his shoulder at Viserys. He found his brother looking paler than usual. The corner of his mouth twitched. "And she still dares to talk to me about betrayal."

"Daemon-" he couldn't tell what exactly the feeling was in Viserys's tone, but he didn't wait to find out.

"f*ck you, Viserys!" He roared, his chest gnawing with rage, the fire licking at his insides, and his head throbbing, making him even angrier. "Control your wife, or I'll make you a widower!"

"Daemon-" Rhaenyra gasped with a pale face.

f*ck. sh*t.

"Treason, my King! He blatantly threatens me!" The slu*t screamed, irritating Daemon's nerves and making the baby in Rhaenyra's lap cry.

Daemon gritted his teeth. His gaze met Rhaenyra's, which rooted him with how weak she looked. Her gaze, however, was still crisp and clear. Determinate. They would give him a warning.

Don't do anything I'll regret.

"Why did you want to see them, Alicent?" Viserys' voice had trailed off, almost devoid of feeling as he turned to his wife with a blank face.

Alicent hesitated, knowing that what she said had the power to further alienate her husband. They both knew it. The difference was that the knowledge of this made Daemon smug, while also terrifying her.

His darkened eyes danced.

"I didn't ask for the princess, I just wanted to see the prince-"

"As if all the f*cking Kingdom didn't know that Rhaenyra refuses to part with her children after they're born!"

"And tell me what a great sin or betrayal," Alicent's voice rose continuously, disturbing the baby in her shrill tone. He heard Rhaenyra try to console their son and he wanted nothing more than to take them away, "does a grandmother who only wants to know her grandson commit?"

slu*t.

"I'd like to see you repeat what you just said, knowing I'll rip your tongue out if you dare!" He threatened with his fingers closing around her throat before he knew what he was doing. "How dare you smear my children's grandmothers!"

"Daemon!" Viserys tried to push him away by using his body weight to do so.

"No!" Daemon spat through his teeth. "Do you want to know what I found when I got to our rooms and didn't find any of them, Viserys? Do you want to know what I felt?" He looked at his brother, madness and anger swirling in the stormy darkness that had formed in his irises. The King faltered. "Our refuge plunged into chaos and disgrace. The bed I hug her to every night was soaked with blood. Just like Aemma's bed after you gut her!"

"Ser Arryk!" Rhaenyra called weakly. "Ser Harrold!"

But still loud enough to be heard.

The Kingsguards' armor jingled as they moved to pull him away from the Queen. Daemon was blind to the incandescent rage that burned him from the inside out. He didn't care about Viserys' men trying to restrain him, Daemon only cared that the despicable woman thought so highly of herself that she considered herself the grandmother of his children. He hated Alysanne for the hand she had held in his first marriage, but Daemon was more inclined to call her his children's grandmother than to allow c*nttower to do so.

It would be a cold day in the Fourteen Flames that he allowed Alicent to say something like that once more. Daemon turned to Viserys with a disdainful expression. A cruel tugging of his lips.

"And how zealous she is for my son, Viserys, sending a maid to take a newborn child from the mother's lap, from the capable hands of the midwife who helped with the premature birth." He scoffed. "How zealous she is with your daughter, letting her bleed." Daemon paused, looking at his brother. "If what your wife did isn't a betrayal, I don't know what is. And I should have her head for it."

"Viserys!"

With a swift and unexpected movement, Daemon broke free of the Kingsguards' grasp, maneuvering to bring himself to his knees before his wife. Her face was pale, more so than he had realized before. Daemon cursed under his breath, feeling his heart thunder. He needed to get her out of there right now. Rhaenyra needed a gieñryi, she needed Dagda's eyes and experience to tell how bad the situation was. Daemon instructed Annora to find Vathara and take her to their apartments as soon as possible. And with a glance at the baby, he handed it to her to place in Dagda's hands as well.

His wife didn't even protest, which made him even more worried. Daemon wrapped his arms under her back and knees, lifting her. There was blood on the pillow. Damn. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

He shouldn't have argued with Alicent.

Daemon shaved his wife on his lap, under Viserys' worried gaze and Alicent's apprehension. He paused under the arch of the doorway, giving his brother an unmistakable look. His voice sounded colder than the Always Winter Lands. "The gods forbid the death of my wife, either from loss of blood or fever. Or they give me strength, I will bring Fire and Blood to the Kingdom. Starting with your c*nt of wife."

He left behind a stunned brother, next to his wife and guarded by the white cloaks. Daemon couldn't bring himself to care about anything other than the fact that his wife had lost consciousness as they crossed the threshold. His heart fluttered at the frequency of a restless hummingbird's wings.

The claws of fear dug deep into his stomach.

"M-my King...?" Alicent turned to her husband standing in the middle of the room.

Viserys stood still, pale and motionless as a statue.

"Pray that such a fate does not come to our House, Alicent. Or I fear that grief will numb me to the point that I no longer care what my brother does." He warned before following his brother and daughter.

Chapter 16: A Golden Beetle

Chapter Text

9^th Moon of 125 AC

The air tasted like salt and sea air due to the somewhat sticky breeze caused by the proximity of Blackwater, as well as a slightly sweet, pleasant note brought by the dawn mist. Viserys didn't care, busy assessing a newly arrived shipment of apples harvested before sunrise and still covered with precious dew droplets. Holding an apple as red as a ruby, he imagined that the fruits would have traveled through the night to be early in the morning at the readily available King's Landing market, and Viserys made a mental note to praise Lord Rosby's orchards. Not only was the harvest good, but in his family's game, every little maneuver counted for them.

Especially when the pressures on the brother eased.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Aegon and Visenya arguing over the grapes with a merchant, trying to negotiate the price. People never wanted to accept their golden dragons, not even those of his mother, who had become accustomed to visiting Fishmonger's Square every morning — whether she was alone or with someone. Whether she was one of the children, the husband, or with Annora. His mother sometimes allowed the commoners to do as they pleased, and sometimes she didn't. The man arguing with his siblings seemed to be in a good mood. He was certainly pleased to see them even when the Princess remained absent, as were most of the others they had passed. Viserys turned to the apple woman and using his card, gave her what his mother called a disarming smile.

A little trick that each of them had.

His brother Aegon, who by the day and according to the stories came closer to the Prince of Spring in terms of appearance, had an air of regal and solemn authority that was endearing. Aegon was revered as a divine entity and did everything he could in the prime of eleven namedays to live up to the legacy left in his hands by the Goddess of Fire, Agni, their grandmother. And despite his parents' efforts to protect him and his siblings' innocence and naivety, in the position of power they were in, playing a dangerous game as it was, innocence was always a tenuous thing of numbered days in the Red Keep. Viserys and his sister found this out not long after their older brother.

And they both did what could to help.

Aegon's rare smiles were therefore generally given as a kind of treat to people other than the family. He had built, by observing his parents and learning the game, to project himself in a noble and dignified manner. Behaving like the most important person in the room. He took a lot from their father's book in this regard, though with far more humility than the Rogue Prince could ever do, of course. They were always told by their father that in the absence of a woman in their heart, confidence, arrogance, and indolence served well. But where his father sought to project a dangerous aura, Aegon projected security. What most of the time made it easier for people to trust him, made it easier to make them loyal and gullible of his every word. And his brother, of course, always tried not to abuse this resource. But every smile of his became a carefully chosen weapon when pointed at one of his targets.

His solemnity had become a more evident personality trait with each birthday and with each responsibility added upon his young shoulders.

And now mine too, Viserys thought.

Their sister, on the other hand, was a relatively faithful copy of their mother, according to what their father and grandfather said. Visenya had the same face and features as her mother, though her indigo irises and hair more silver than golden like dawn diverged from the amethyst eyes and golden hair that countered her moonlit silver. But her smile was all Alyssa, it was all Daemon. And when Visenya smiled, it was devious and dangerous. Viserys believed that if Visenya wasn't so young, Priest Andimion would have used her features to sculpt the Goddess Meleys, the Merciless. His sister was just like her, a force of nature since she was a baby. Her smile was synonymous with trouble, and almost always meant a plot forming in her pretty little head.

His sister liked to keep others on their toes, and she liked it even more when she could do it with a Hightower since she had inherited her father's deep dislike of them. So during the last few weeks, Visenya seemed even more determined to figure out all the right ways to make the Queen's life a living hell.

But Viserys was the one with the most particular smile, the most singular, and the one who was most like his mother in terms of personality. He, therefore, had not inherited the traits of his father's smile, which even Baelon in the prime of four namedays already displayed. The way Baelon smiled, his grandfather had once said, reminded him of how his brother smiled when he was the same age, and it was made of a material that was softer and smoother than Valyrian steel. Viserys, then, instead of following his brothers and having the smile of the Rogue Prince, ended up inheriting the smile of the Realm's Delight. A faceted smile, but almost always seductive. His own signature. And just like his mother, he often smiled with a riddle at the corners of his mouth and in his gaze. With beauty and charisma. Cunning and attention.

His mother, despite being married and the mother of five children, did not miss a day of the beauty that the songs and stories kept talking about. His father said she was like wine. The older she was, the better she was. She had not remained slender like the Queen but had become curvier as the curves of time bottled up in an hourglass, and wherever she went, heads followed. If nothing else, his mother was able to charm and seduce a salon with a simple blink of an eye. She was her husband's pride and belligerence, as was her children's exasperation. And while he hadn't inherited the smile, Viserys had inherited jealousy from the Rogue Prince. He didn't like how people looked at his mother, just as he already knew he wouldn't want them to look at Visenya when she became a woman. They were dragons, and dragons were nothing but territorial, selfish creatures.

He was told that one day he would follow in her footsteps and bring salons to their knees with the promise of unparalleled beauty, but Viserys learned not to let that kind of thing go to his head. Vanity was of little use to him. Confidence was worth more.

"How is your mother, my prince?" He found himself dragged from the depths of his thoughts by the apples' woman.

Viserys flashed a charming smile, subconsciously pulling out Aegon's card, and her face immediately became even more sympathetic. Viserys didn't plan this, but he often couldn't help it. He was handsome and charming, charismatic. He attracted people in a certain way, bending them to his will. A skill that would one day be more useful.

Her question brought him the slightest hint of the relief that gripped him inside, just as it gripped any other member of the family. A relief that none of them dared to show out loud as if hope were still very fragile even after three fortnights, and no one wanted to take anything for granted. Everything still seemed very fragile, raw, and uncertain in a way, which led them to keep that front united in the face of the scrutiny of the allied or enemy masses. Even in front of their father, a stout figurehead hardened by near-tragedy.

Viserys used to think that nothing was capable of shaking his father... Until this happened, and he watched the small cracks appear in the dragon's armor, revealing the shards that presented in the form of the cruelty and brutality he had adopted in his ways. The dragons attacked when wounded, Viserys knew that. And only a fool would believe that his father was not injured. Only a fool would think that his wife's death would not be his death.

Pushing the morbidity of this truth to the back of his mind, Viserys forced himself to stay grounded in reality because he sometimes tended to get lost inside his own head.

"She's much better," he announced, tearing the woman's breath away and making his side of the street plunge into silence. "She'll be fine."

"Praise be to the Fourteen Flames!" The woman whispered fervently as she clasped her hands together and Viserys almost waited for her to fall to her knees, but she was firm, limiting herself to watery eyes.

The market in Fishmonger's Square, through which the goods of the city's principal importers arrived, had shown a mutual and blatant favoritism with the Crown for years, because of the habit the Princess had developed of visiting it every morning to choose what she wanted to take herself. Viserys knew that she found a certain pleasure in it, even though it all started as a political ploy. She and her husband stood out from the crowd, drawing attention to their displays of affection by acting like fools in love. And though they liked to put on a show for the commons, his father took every opportunity to make it clear to any fool that his family had not only become the reason for his existence, but his sanity, and for them, there was nothing he would not do.

Including burning down the Seven Kingdoms.

It was a delicate and dangerous game, but Viserys liked the puzzle and the stimulus forged by the complexity of it. He enjoyed the history books, the model of Valyria, and even his aunt's insects when he was younger, but as he began to grow and his mind expanded, his attentions and interests changed. The art of wisdom, poetry, and riddle was something he now adored and exercised with great enthusiasm on those moons spent in Dragonstone, learning the delicate dance between logic and imagination at the knee of Princess Rhaenys. It was a hobby of theirs to decipher poems and songs, unraveling secrets contained in wordplay.

The contest for the Iron Throne was the same for him, but more subtle, unpredictable, and dangerous. One misstep and it was all over. Viserys felt the adrenaline ricochet most of the time he watched the game develop.

"I've saved the best ones for you." The woman was saying. Viserys blinked slowly, catching with his gaze the sack she held out to him full of apples. He took a look, finding smooth, lush apples. He looked at the woman with a fragile smile. "I've been saving the best ones every day. I've been telling myself every day that she'll come back to get them."

He felt unsure of what his voice would sound like, but he struggled anyway to express the oppressive gratitude that clogged his throat. The reward for the interest of the people was always gratifying. They always gave back ten times as much.

Viserys gave her his best smile.

"We are grateful for your faith." He said. "All of us. Mother's going to be glad to hear that."

She smiled and allowed herself to pat him comfortingly on the shoulder. It wasn't often that the commons were so brave. But his mother always encouraged closeness. Anything that would bring their family closer to the hearts of the smallfolk.

Viserys found it comforting.

"Do you have everything?" Aegon walked over to check. He looked at Viserys' apples and gave the woman a tired but happy smile. Her eyes softened singularly, the way every commoner did to his brother. The look full of sympathy and a certain kind of love. "Oh, good morning!"

"Good morning, Gifted Grace." She said, bowing.

Viserys noticed the slightly sour hint at the corner of Aegon's lips, though his brother's face was nothing if not pleasant as ever. And slightly regal, in that affected way of his.

He couldn't blame him.

Although they were the most adored children in King's Landing, no one was more adored than Gifted Grace. His face, even though he was not yet an adult, had inspired Priest Andimion when he sculpted Aegarax the First. The First Dragonlord and the first Valyrian Emperor. The God of Ruler and Laws, Justice and Dragonlords. His brother was worshipped as if he were his living image. And Viserys knew how uncomfortable Aegon was with that because forced him into scrutiny.

The pressure it brought. The sense of perfection. His brother did not allow himself the luxury that any of his parents' children had to make mistakes. Aegon found himself pressured to be perfect with every blink of his eyes, every breath of his lungs, every second of his existence.

They were the opposite when they were younger and where Aegon reveled in the attention, Viserys fled. Perhaps he knew, even if unconsciously, the price charged to be loved by the masses and this repelled him. Viserys still didn't like to draw attention to himself, but it had become more natural since Visenya didn't give him a choice. He had even developed some interest, but a tenuous one. And now his brother understood his desire for discretion and the freedom it brought.

But Aegon didn't have that luxury.

He couldn't disappear into the shadows.

He was light.

And he was fire.

"What are you looking at?" Visenya suddenly appeared. She flashed a dazed smile at the woman before hissing at her brothers, punishing them almost without taking a breath between words. "We're wasting time, we need to be on time for breakfast, and we haven't even been to the temple yet!"

The abrasive force behind his sister's words almost made him forget how strange Visenya had been in the weeks since their mother had finally given birth to another child and then had been bedridden. Viserys knew Visenya didn't think so, but he had noticed how she had disappeared for hours before appearing in the yard that day. He had been busy burying his head in Helaena's riddles as a distraction from the source of his restlessness, but he, like Aegon, had still recognized the instant he saw her, Visenya's need to be distracted. Creating an opening for Visenya to duel and kick their uncle's ass was easy, but it hadn't solved everything yet.

He could surmise that the experience, now that they were older to understand childbirth, had affected their sister in a different way than it would have affected him or Aegon. After all, she was a girl, and she was... expected to go through it one day. Of course, their father would have the kingdom in fire and blood before allowing Visenya to be forced into a fate that she didn't want.

As if anyone could force his sister to do something.

He observed her whose eyes like his had grown dark, and how she had been almost quiet and withdrawn during the last moon and a half, devoting herself to the sword with a new passion. The same kind of passion that made her cast hateful glances at the Queen. She didn't say it the times he asked what was wrong, but Viserys knew there was something and if Visenya didn't want to talk right now, it would take longer, but he would figure it out eventually with careful attention. Visenya wasn't exactly subtle.

"We must go!" She hurried them.

The indigo eyes still looked quite gloomy that morning.

"Of course." He muttered as Aegon gave a sharp nod.

She turned around, leading the way to the dismay of the guards escorting them. Visenya didn't shy away from taking the lead, whether underground or on the busy streets of King's Landing. She was too much of their father's daughter to fear this city. But Viserys knew better, as did Aegon, and they both kept careful and constant attention on their surroundings despite the escort. Although the people loved them, there was no telling who hid among them with a blade imbued with hatred. And even love sometimes turned into poison, like the love of the red priest. And there were too many of them in this town for him to feel comfortable with.

They left Fishmonger's Square and walked up the Street of Steel toward the temple, and his mind briefly turned to the goddess he planned to visit. Viserys had some offerings to Tessarion, the Goddess of Dominion, but also patron of the Arts and Medicine. He intended to thank her for the gieñryis who cared for his mother.

Viserys looked up, casting a glance at the temple looming a few streets above and thought of the Queen who had argued long and hard about building a sept on Visenya's Hill. She had offered the gold of Oldtown for the building, but his parents had won by choosing to build the temple with a large and beautiful garden. Construction was still ongoing as if it would never end, but the temple grew more beautiful and majestic with each visit. There was always something to be improved, and both his parents and Priest Andimion lamented that they were not able to bring the same magical influence on the temple that Dragonstone still possessed.

The square in the center of the U-shaped complex was not very busy, allowing them to pass with relative discretion towards the staircase at the entrance. They climbed the steps toward the foyer where a pointed arch transitioned to the central nave, and where a ten-foot-tall statue stood, holding a stone baby. There wasn't a soul in this town who didn't know who they were. Viserys didn't miss the way his brother had subtly shuddered.

The nave, whose roof rose several feet above their heads, was relatively empty, though well-lit thanks to the sunlight that streamed in through the stained-glass windows while candlesticks illuminated the darker corners. They didn't linger there, and Aegon had walked, without casting another glance at Agni, toward Arrax's gallery. Viserys wondered if Aegon had intended to offer a promise, or if he was going to fulfill one to the Goddess of Promises, Revenge, Moon, and Stars.

But Visenya, he had noticed, had made a rather interesting choice in choosing Morghul's gallery to visit. He was the God of Souls, the one who guided them to the kingdom of Balerion and so they called him The Shepherd. But Morghul was also the God of Bargain and Viserys couldn't help but wonder what Visenya had to offer that could be considered valuable enough that Morghul hadn't taken their mother. After all, the more precious the soul, the higher the price to make it stay.

Compared to Aegon and Visenya, he had made a rather generic choice. But, Viserys considered, someone had to pray for her health and recovery. So that she would be well, not just alive. He didn't have the slightest desire to see his mother as his grandfather, although the King was better off these days. Better than when Viserys was younger. An unhealthy body was nothing but a prison for the soul. That's why he chose Tessarion.

Viserys did not recognize any faces in the statue, although his father said that it somewhat resembled the Good Queen Alysanne. His grandfather had described the Good Queen for hours so that Andimion could sketch it out on paper before attempting to carve her into the stone. She was pretty, he would admit. But Gevives, the image of his mother, was more. Viserys had lit a candle and incense for Tessarion and placed his offering at the feet of the goddess. After all, the gods demanded balance, a trade-off equivalent to what had been requested. If he wanted to see his mother recover, in perfect health, then he had to offer the best. Viserys pulled out the bag of apples. All of them had smooth, shiny skins, all still crisp and fresh. He knew that one bite would reveal a juicy, sweet apple. Viserys knew Lord Rosby's orchard. These apples were impeccable, they were a perfect offering.

These could very well be the apples of the tale.

There was a story in Old Valyria about the Golden Dragons of the Realm of the Gods who had been tasked by Terrax, the Goddess of Earth, Harvest, and Fortune, to guard the Tree of Life. A tree whose seeds would bring abundance to men and whose fruit would bring luck. But the fruit, if instead of being eaten was offered to Tessarion, could mean eternal life. Viserys didn't have some fruit from the Tree of Life, but he did have Lord Rosby's apples that could be just as good. These were apples that resisted pests in orchards for decades. Pests that killed entire crops. This was what he wanted for his mother, health and resilience, and Tessarion would give it to her at the right price.

Viserys felt a cool breeze on his face that stirred his hair and brought with it the smell of apple blossoms blooming in spring. He had looked up, staring into the moonstone eyes dug into Tessarion's red sandstone face. His eyes trembled for a moment as he watched her, and then he bowed deeply before going out to meet his siblings. The smell of apple blooms still fresh under his nose.

Viserys met the two of them at the exit of the temple, in the company of the Kingsguards and Priest Andimion. He greeted him, noticing the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the tired but happy expression in contrast to Visenya's expression. His sister had suspiciously red eyes and when he looked for more than three heartbeats, she lifted her chin in defiance. A glance at Aegon told him not to press her. Viserys nodded minimally and the three of them said goodbye to the priest.

They had barely reached the square when the first sign of trouble crossed their path. Viserys had only half a thought before drawing the steel sword he carried with him outside the training yard, its blade closely followed by his sister's steel that sang almost with the yearning for a fight. He noticed that Aegon had also come to unsheathe the sword, but with his siblings' swords in front of him and the King's swords at his back, he had rested the tip of the blade on the stone beneath it.

The blood rumbled almost as loudly as his heart, though it ran at the same speed. He felt his back stiff and struggled to keep his hand steady as he got a good look at the threat. Viserys almost sensed the instant Aegon and Visenya realized what they were dealing with. He sensed the moment when their faces struggled to maintain the placid expression of wariness.

His indigo and analytical eyes fleetingly met the Red Priest's gaze.

Viserys could only guess what kind of swears was echoing in the minds of the white cloaks by the way their armor creaked with their restlessness right behind him. The cruel and experienced blades of Ser Steffon, Ser Erryk, and Ser Lorent gleamed in the morning sunlight dangerously.

"Get out of the way!" Ser Steffon demanded.

"Azhor Ahai..." The priest before them murmured in a trance.

His eyes were like a mirror that reflected the gaze of his companions in slightly worn red robes. Bright and feverish. Fanatic.

What damn luck, Viserys almost groaned, though aware that not all Red Priests were bad, some of them were. Some of them were the worst of the scum with the right to walk freely in the Realm. This man, this one right in front of him, was the reason his father came home many nights furious beyond belief. This man couldn't follow a single rule. Don't. Burn. People. Alive. Whether the victims were volunteers or not was of little consequence when their mere presence spread chaos and unrest wherever they went. Men like these made the city bleed and burn with their conflicts with the Faith and the people.

His father had been forced to deal with the combined chaos between the religious groups at least twice a month. A mission that often ended in death. The killing of civilians, of men of the Watch, men of the Faith or red men, and only the iron hand of Andimion helped to keep the faithful of the temple in check.

Viserys had grown up with the love of the people, with their devotion to his family. But he had also grown up with the consciousness of their wickedness and cruelty, of the disposition to which human nature might incline, and so he was aware of how dangerous they too were. Only the pressure Andimion exerted on the masses with his speeches about tolerance and the hand of the gods prevented the situation from taking on a larger proportion, which was important when Viserys' family was still preparing for war. This was not a time when they could afford to fight. Not with his mother still so vulnerable.

"Stay away!" Visenya hissed.

Viserys's sword grazed the man's tunic in a silent warning not to ignore his sister, but it had the same effect of poking him with a sprig of shameplant.

"May the Light of R'hollor be with you always!" He exclaimed.

The others followed him with a mechanical chorus, drawing attention and a small crowd began to form. Viserys suppressed a curse. Gods, if their mother knew that they were all so f*cked up, confined to the Red Keep until she felt safe enough to let them roam the city again. That was all she didn't need to worry about, Viserys thought.

Come on, he thought annoyed, get out of the way.

"May-"

"Enough!" He dared not look back at the one whose voice rose in the lazy morning and reverberated through space with force and authority. He could almost feel Andimion's angry gaze burning without even having to look. The man abhorred the followers of R'hollor as well as most of their practices with great passion. "I will not tolerate disrespect or violence on this hill!"

Attention had shifted, if only slightly, at Andimion's intervention. Viserys studied the crowd, discovering the people who gave the Red Priest glances of absolute abjection that was almost anxious. As if the people were eager to do something about it. Viserys feared what would happen if the priests' presence deteriorated enough to provoke an incident in which they would be caught.

Aegon's presence, of all of them, would only make things worse.

sh*t.

"I respect your faith, man," Andimion had said, "but not your methods. Nor will I tolerate your mere presence bringing chaos to this sanctuary. I'll tell you to leave in peace, but if you don't, then deal with the consequences."

The moment dragged on for one, two, three, four, five heartbeats. And then Andimion added grimly:

"Touch a hair of theirs and experience the wrath of the Sword of Fire."

The tension escalated, building up like storm clouds. Viserys flexed his fingers on the hilt of his sword, and the priest's eyes met his. They were empty, devoid of any lucidity, but also filled with a burning kind of mania. The man didn't move, but the crowd did, making room for them to pass. Ser Steffon, Lorent, and Erryk didn't waste a second, escorting the children through the King's Wat.

The crowd opened up before them as it closed in on their backs, swallowing the men under a sea of hands that leaped to grab them, making this the last glimpse of Viserys from the priests of R'hollor.

The Kingsguards guided Viserys and his brothers to less crowded streets, which snaked along the way and quickly brought them back to the Red Keep. The white cloaks didn't leave them even as they escorted them up the Serpentine Steps towards the Heir's Court. Viserys dared to look at their faces, and the grim expressions they wore were enough to make him aware that there would be stricter protective measures in place once the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard became aware of the situation.

These thoughts vanished as they passed by Godswood, where they met Helaena and the King. Their aunt was very entertained sitting at her father's feet with one of her bugs in her hands. She caught their movement out of the corner of her eye, and Viserys noticed her momentary agitation. A shadow fell on her expression before it lit up for them.

His grandfather noticed them next.

"Don't tell me that Helaena's bedbugs kicked you out of your beds so soon?"

"Of course not!" Visenya exclaimed, approaching her aunt to peek at the contents of her hands. "Helaena's bedbugs could never wake Aegon, he sleeps like a dead man!"

Grandfather arched his gray eyebrow.

Aegon approached the King, a slight frown on his expression caused by Visenya's words. His grandfather was smirked. Viserys moved, taking his brother's place, and then cast a long, piercing glance at his sister. Visenya leveled with narrowed eyes in defiance. Viserys almost imperceptibly tilted his chin toward the King, who was watching the twins. Her eyes cleared and she stepped over to comply with protocol. Their grandfather's smile widened.

But his eyes became melancholy before the face that looked so much like his daughter's.

"Would you like to join us in breaking the fast?"

Viserys invited them in hopes of dispelling the lingering sadness in his grandfather's expression, and as expected, the King seemed to perk up at the suggestion. His grandfather spun around in the chair that had been brought to him and turned to his daughter who was standing next to him.

If the years had been kind to Viserys' mother and father, the same could not be said about his grandfather. The King had lost a hand, though it could have been much worse if Viserys' mother hadn't insisted on changing him to a gieñryi. Viserys still remembered the first few times he'd asked his grandfather what was wrong with him and had received as an answer nothing but an indulgent smile with a pat on the shoulder, and then his grandfather moved on to the next interesting fact about Valyria to distract him. But the last time he'd asked, by helping the King get comfortable when he was drowning in poppy milk administered by a maester at the time, Viserys had finally figured out why.

Delirious, the King had confessed to his second grandson the horror of the death of his first queen. Viserys could feel his grief and regret haunted by Agni's words, which told the King something he already suspected. The memory of the fact, of what had happened between his grandparents, had refused to dissipate or let him concentrate decently on anything else when his mother found herself in the same position his grandmother had been. And there was a part of Viserys that feared that the decision might be made somehow without his mother's or father's consent.

The memory had caused him to lose himself in his mind in such a way that he had ignored the glance exchanged between his grandfather and aunt. But her pale lilac eyes met his dark indigos and dragged him back to the surface. Viserys stared back at her. His aunt wasn't very fond of making eye contact, she thought... difficult. But the gaze between them stretched out despite this, and Viserys had the unsettling feeling that his aunt could sometimes read minds.

Her response extended the exchange for another moment, threatening to make him uneasy. He felt himself strengthened against her piercing gaze, as if she could read his soul, instinctively. Her eyes widened minimally with knowledge. Viserys felt like he had missed something.

"I'd love to." His aunt smiled in that very her way.

Helaena only looked away when Visenya grabbed her arm, dragging her to Heir’s solar. The King had accepted Aegon's offer to accompany him, and Viserys found himself lagging in the buttery morning sunlight that filtered through the scarlet canopy of the Weirwood. The breeze that came from the sea blew his hair and clothes. Viserys inhaled at length, trying to purge the melancholy that had crept into his bones and that often still made it hard for him to believe that all had turned out well.

His mind took him to that day when his mother's fever had finally subsided enough for Dagda to declare that she was out of immediate danger. They father had allowed them to come in to see her, though he had clearly only allowed it due to the pressure the three of them had exerted. Viserys remembered his mother lying on the bed, dressed in a nice, elaborate nightgown that the girls obviously liked. Her hair was clean and brushed, spread out on the pillows. Her hands were placed on top of each other on her now empty abdomen, withered from the disease. Her eyes were closed, and she was motionless.

He would never forget the way it looked like she was dead.

And as it turned out, neither did his father.

Viserys still remembered with excruciating clarity the way his father's jaw had clenched through gritted teeth and how his indigo eyes had grown dark, almost insane. Their father was doing what he could to hide from his children how wrong the vision seemed to him as well. Viserys pretended he didn't see how much the mere illusion that his mother was dead almost killed his father, and Daemon probably pretended not to realize that the children had the same impression.

That night, the three of them had secretly gathered in Aegon's bed when Visenya confided that she had heard their father leave when he thought they had already left.

And they had, but Visenya had crawled into the secret passages to hear the truths that the adults didn't speak in front of them, and then she heard his pain. She described it as the death of a dragon when he begged his sleeping wife to come back to him. Not them, him.

Viserys threw his head back soaking up the sun and breeze, basking and cooling off in the sense of relief that was his mother recovering, and when he felt he was ready to meet family, he opened his eyes and walked away from Weirwood to the Heir's Court.

Chapter 17: A Spinneret for the Web

Chapter Text

9^th Moon of 125 AC

He'd thought he'd done a good job of hiding how he felt, but to someone who knew him, they'd know better than that. People shared little things, little pearls of knowledge, with each other. Sometimes unknowingly and sometimes in common with other people, which made it hard not to notice them.

But see, there was little Helaena shared in common with others.

She was aware of sharing with her dear niece Visenya an interest in beautiful and shiny things such as jewelry and fabrics, albeit in different measures and intensities. Helaena was too much of her mother's daughter for that, and Visenya was too much of her mother's daughter for anyone to dare compete with her. It was the kind of interest passed down from mother to daughter, taught if not in the knee, then from the womb. Or perhaps simply inherent, since even Visenya's vanity could outweigh her mother's vanity, whose wardrobe befitted a woman of her position.

Helaena could also say that she shared with the dragon side of the family a certain love of literature, culture, the stories of her House, and the ancestral home of the Targaryens. But where most of them leaned toward heroism, Helaena turned to the small, interesting, if not slightly odd characters. She liked the Conqueror, though she liked Danys more, simply because she shared the same gift with them. Or curse. Helaena still hadn't made up her mind, like a coin tossed in the air that remained stuck in a cycle, spinning indefinitely. In any case, she owed her interest in the annals of history to her father and a lesser extent to her nephew, Viserys.

And though he tolerated her talk of the subject better than her father, prophetic dreams weren't at the top of his list of interests. Viserys was too much of Uncle Daemon's son for that, especially considering her uncle loved to tell her father that dreams didn't make them kings, dragons did. She didn't know how to point out to him that in fact, dreams made them kings more than dragons, for it was Danys' dream that saved the family from perdition, and it was Aegon's dream that motivated the conquest. But the uncle would not have appreciated the correction. Viserys, however, despite not liking dragondreams, was fond of riddles. Something he learned at Princess Rhaenys' knee as a hobby. Her dreams were for him an enigma to dissect as well as poetry.

As for the predilections shared with her sister, Helaena shared a love for babies. She adored them, the little cherubim with rosy faces and bright eyes. Helaena had even gotten to hold the penultimate of Rhaenyra's babies, and she was sure that one day she would go crazy if she tried to choose between her love of babies and her love of entomology. Helaena loved to hold Baelon when he was younger and could do so for hours because his crying never bothered her. She hoped to share fond memories with the newest member of the family as well, as soon as Helaena's sister and uncle allowed the people around him. Helaena wouldn't deny that she was curious to know what the baby had been named. It had not yet been revealed, a feat in this castle. And it didn't even seem like the parents were in a hurry.

She understood, of course. Helaena knew how important it was for her uncle to spend every second with the wife he loved more than anything and nothing at the same time now that she had recovered more. Helaena had often dreamed of his pain. She had dreamed of the tears that had slid over the shadows imprisoned in the Valyrian steel of his sword. And she was sure that she had shared his sorrow through the dreams he had despised, just as she had shared the tears not shed when awoke.

It was something that brought them together, albeit in a tenuous way. Love for her sister. And the niblings, of course. It was perhaps her greatest redeeming quality in his discerning eyes. Perhaps it would have helped to know that she had never been condescending or sympathetic in his darkest days. Helaena knew he wouldn't have appreciated it, and she preferred to keep her head straight. Uncle Daemon was unpredictable like that, but even more so when he was in pain. No. Better to leave a dragon to lick its wounds in peace.

But perhaps what she liked most about babies was how good she felt in their company. Helaena felt as weightless as a parasitoid wasp. There was something pleasant and soothing about holding a baby in her arms, and something refreshing about the way anything made them laugh and pleased them and how easy it was to fix when they were unhappy. It was almost... euphoric. Helaena also loved the feel of their touch, and how soft and smooth it was. Like the touch of silk gliding on the skin. And for someone who wasn't too fond of being touched, it was simply a treat.

If someone asked her, Helaena couldn't tell why she didn't like being touched. She never did since she was a baby. The touch of people was for her, for the most part, unbearable, so that she tolerated only the touch of a few. And there were even fewer of those whose touch she liked, such as Aemond who was able to give her some sense of security, or Visenya, who was always patient and gentle and never bothered her because she liked insects.

Helaena just tolerated touch from most of the people in her life, such as those with whom she interacted the most. She, for example, preferred her sister to braid her hair rather than a servant and could handle the touch of her father or her nephew Viserys better than she would handle the touch of some nobleman or servant. Even the touch of her dear friend Rhaena was faint. Sometimes Helaena endured it and sometimes she didn't. But she hated it when her mother or brother, Aegon, touched her. It was to her what to others would be the touch of a hot iron.

As if a thousand paederus were crawling on her skin.

What she would have preferred.

Helaena couldn't tell if her love of entomology could be shared with anyone or if it was hers alone, but what she did know was that she considered that perhaps her taste for the unusual made her a woman ahead of her time. Her insects were to her what the sword was to Visenya, the Conqueror's sister, and her eponymous niece. They were women whose society hoped to fit the mold. But forcing them was like trying to keep them in a dragonfly exoskeleton that was too small to accommodate the body and wings. Stupid and uncomfortable. And while Helaena didn't expect to become as remarkable as a woman who wielded a sword in battle, she knew she would become remarkable in her way. She would follow the fireflies and avoid the cobwebs.

She was losing herself.

It was so easy, especially when she felt so comfortable in the presence of people she liked. Breakfast with her sister's family was always more pleasant than with her mother and brothers. The father was always happy to join his daughter, and to take Helaena along. She liked that. Mother's garden was so full of weeds that it killed everything beautiful. Helaena didn't find a single bug there.

To console herself, she embroidered several of them in her embroidery. A spider hanging here, a beetle spreading its wings there. Helaena didn't expect it, but she enjoyed embroidering. Especially when her mother didn't bother her to embroider anything related to the Seven. She didn't like them and never strove to do a good job, so her mother was always angry and disappointed in her.

Rhaenyra didn't mind, though. She smiled and called her creations little surprises. Helaena suspected that it was because she embroidered what could turn out to be a Dragondream since her sister had never told her if the surprises were good or bad. Even she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Ignorance was bliss for a reason. Helaena also didn't expect to share with her sister the gift given to them or to dream of what would be while Rhaenyra dreamed of what once was.

They were like two sides of the same coin, albeit in more ways than one as Helaena did not expect to look more like the late Queen than her parents.

Family was a strange thing like that.

And she was probably the strangest. Helaena could guess that she sported a distant, dreamy look, though her niblings didn't show through. She hadn't gotten so lost inside her own head that she didn't notice, she'd just chosen not to comment.

Helaena gave Aegon a glance that he met with ease, aware that her nephew was walking blindly toward a hard, certain fall. But he would spread his wings stronger than ever. Guilt would cloud his thoughts for a while, but never blind. And the sea would help him get to the other shore. Helaena had seen it before, she had already embroidered a dragon on steaming shores with the sun shining above as left behind the hazy darkness that had trapped him for so long. Aegon, however, still had a long way to go in the shadows before the fall. His wings would grow stronger by then, but would it be enough to stave off the pain?

He looked away first as if dreading a question he hadn't even heard.

She switched to Visenya and felt bad for her. Her dream last night was strange and sad but in some ways gratifying as well. She would share it when the time came. Her niece, so vivacious and energetic, had been reduced to a sullen, glum creature during the last moon and a half. Helaena hoped to see her back to herself now that Morghul was no longer at her mother's bedside, looking at her with such sadness. But there was a strange taste in the air that it would take time, and it would require a lot of flying. Blood would be needed, and anger would brew into resentment, but it would happen. Helaena knew she would have to be careful. Sailing on such stormy days would be a dangerous risk for even the oldest and most experienced of dragons. And although the females were strong, the males were more inclined to brutality and violence, to murder.

Visenya found her staring and then smiled. Helaena felt her mouth curve like a twin mirror. Visenya turned to her twin and poured him some juice. He had lowered his eyes, recognized the gesture, and then turned once more to the conversation of the adults.

He was the one who made her most worried.

Although all of Uncle Daemon's children had inherited his irreverence, and Aegon his clumsiness at talking about matters of the heart, it was Viserys who turned it into a thick shell. His exoskeleton was as tough as the armor of a golden beetle. With Viserys it was always a double-edged sword. If you couldn't get in, he couldn't get out either. He was similar to her uncle in that respect, though he still posed her greatest challenge because she cared. He was just like her brother. But where sometimes Viserys allowed himself a small glimpse of himself to others, her brother did not. He was very hard-headed.

Helaena hadn't a single glimpse of what he felt or thought since she'd seen him enter the Godswood earlier. He didn't let his guard down for a second, even as he began to pile the food on his plate. She wouldn't go so far as to say that she was able to read a person's aura, that was mad people's stuff, but she could feel something when she was around a person. She was sensitive to a person's emotions and sometimes could almost tell their intentions, most of the time she felt them on her skin. Helaena could guess how almost every member of her family felt around the table, but not him. Her nose wrinkled. At least Aegon made it easy for her. Helaena had no intention of forcing Viserys's feelings unless he was ready. But she worried about whether he would.

And it was the 'if' bothering her more than anything.

This might have been clear from the way she had spent breakfast giving him long, piercing glances, which Helaena knew might be uncomfortable since she knew that people didn't like to look into her eyes any more than she liked to look into theirs. She knew she could be quite intense, especially when didn't blink, and she knew that made others feel uncomfortable. Helaena had already made grown men squirm like co*ckroaches when confronted by her gaze. And it was exactly what she wanted for Viserys. Let him know what it was like to be in her shoes.

Viserys, however, had felt her gaze and if he had felt uncomfortable, he had not shown it. Helaena knew he had to at least feel a tingle. But he was nothing but his usual self. Kind, courteous, and charming.

"... have you come to any conclusions about the name?" Her father's voice dragged her out of her thoughts.

With the line carefully cut, the intensity of her gaze was totally lost.

Helaena grimaced at herself, but Viserys smirked out of the corner of his mouth. Presumptuous. He took it as a victory in their little game of staring. Ha! Then he noticed. Viserys didn't lose by waiting. Helaena gave a blank stare, which refused to acknowledge any semblance of victory or defeat, or even a game to begin with. His smirk grew bigger, and she stopped herself from squirming or grimacing again. Instead, Helaena turned to the conversation among adults about the baby.

A soft smile stretched her closed lips as Helaena coveted the chance to hold the baby. She still adored Baelor, but he wasn't so small anymore and his growing amalgam of emotions was starting to tingle on her skin. He, however, was still too young for her to decide how his touch made her feel.

Her sister rocked the youngest son while Baelor sat contently on his father's lap fishing for fruit with his hand, making a mess of juice and honey. Helaena watched as his sticky, sneaky little fingers found their way into Uncle Daemon's doublet, where he dried them. Any other child who dared to smear the Rogue Prince would have earned at least one deadly stare, but his children did little but attract an exasperated look. With five children, Helaena thought her uncle had grown accustomed to the little heartbreaks of fatherhood.

It certainly fascinated her to think that there was something in this world that could soften his black heart, but not of stone as he liked to think. A small wave of melancholy crossed her as she thought of the last fortnights. The uncle still felt very... naked. A raw wound. No dragon liked to be watched when it shed its scales.

She looked away before she could be picked up and turned to her father playing with the baby who was now awake. He had grabbed his obsidian fingers, making her father smile. Sweet boy, she thought itching to hold him.

"Oh, yes." Her sister smiled at the baby, then at her husband, and then at her father.

But there was a melancholy streak in her smile. Helaena felt her own mouth curl downward as a reflection of her sister's emotions.

"And what is it?"

"Aemon."

Her father blinked, looking at his daughter without any emotion. Across the table, she stirred as the first glimpse of emotion passed across his face, and then his Adam's apple slowly moved.

"Like after Aemond?" Silly Dad.

Of course not,

"After Aemma."

She hummed to herself.

But the father kept quiet.

"I thought it was more appropriate." Rhaenyra continued. "He has the same eyes as her."

She hadn't gotten a good look at her new nephew yet, but she knew exactly what his eye color looked like. She saw them daily in the mirror, reflected along with the reflection of her sister's eyes as she braided her hair and listened to everything the girls wanted to talk about. They were also the same eyes she saw when she looked at her father. And now she knew that it had also belonged to his Queen, his dear Aemma.

Helaena thought this would be the first of many things she and Aemon would share. But perhaps the sweetest of them all.

She liked it.

"Appropriate?" Her father's voice sounded trembling.

Poor Dad.

"Indeed." Uncle Daemon had answered. "They almost don't..." But he couldn't force himself to say that word. It wasn't necessary either. Everyone sitting at the table knew what he meant. They almost didn't make it, just like the rest had been implied, like Aemma and Baelon. "It seemed fitting that the child whose birth was the most difficult should be named after the bravest woman we have ever known."

The name didn't need to be said, no when it was implied either.

Queen Aemma.

The same woman her mother saw more and more clearly in her daughter's face, much to her dismay. Fear could cloud the memory of her mother, but never that of her father, or her sister. Helaena had been to the Anogrion Perzys Eglives a few times to study the face carved into the stone whose hers reflected more clearly with each passing moon. She suspected that if it weren't for their physical and sometimes temperamental resemblance, her father would never have looked at her twice. Sometimes he looked at her with such sadness and regret. With nostalgia. Sometimes he looked at her as if he were seeing the love of his life. Helaena might not share more than a drop of blood with Queen Aemma, but she shared more of her features than her own daughter. Rhaenyra, from what Helaena could tell, was the perfect match of her parents and her own person. Just as it should be.

Her sister stood out among her Targaryen peers.

Poor Aemon, thanks to his name breakfast has become solemn.

"Of course," her father eventually agreed, but his voice lacked attachment or feeling. Even from heat. Even the love he so recently showed blatantly for his new grandson. His mind was wandering like Helaena's so often did, but instead of walking down a foggy path, he wandered through a hall of memories. Probably reviewing his beloved wife's face over and over again. "That makes perfect sense."

But to him, it might as well make no sense at all.

Her sister understood and offered a sad smile. Her amethyst eyes fell to the baby in her lap and Helaena felt her desire to hold the little one diminish given the atmosphere.

"We must go." He said a moment later when it became clear that he could not pull himself together in public. "Helaena will be late for class, as will my grandchildren and Lord Lyonel is waiting for me."

"Of course." Her sister echoed the same words as her father, still gently rocking the baby. Helaena suddenly realized how thin and pale her sister looked. So fragile. She didn't like that. Her sister smiled, but it seemed weak even to Helaena's distracted mind. "We'll see you in the evening."

"Yeah, yeah. Right." The King hurried when he probably felt he was about to break. "Come Helaena."

She got up from the table, dancing around it. She pleased Baelor with a pat of her index finger on his nose, causing her nephew to look at it with a giggle that would accompany Helaena's good mood for the rest of the day. She allowed herself the luxury of kissing her sister on the cheek and knelt to kiss her nephew's little head. Rhaenyra smiled and Aemon squirmed but kept quiet. She followed, sliding her fingertips through Aegon's hair, making him smile in exasperation that she messed it up.

Helaena hugged Visenya, humming against the shell of her niece's ear. "Don't fear the bloodline and don't fear the shadows. They hold a lot of secrets, they offer protection when we need it. They will take away the pain of being in the sun. And please don't get mad at the dummy, he's just a puppet."

That would make Helaena sad, but it was true.

Visenya twisted her neck to look at her aunt with furrowed brows but said nothing. Helaena knew she would dissect this later with Viserys. He was better at it than she was, anyway. Helaena smiled at Visenya, distracting her with a kiss on the cheek. She slid to the last one on the table. Her fingertips slid down Viserys' shoulders and up the back of his neck, tangling in his hair.

A shiver ran through her skin, and she surmised that was what the Dragonstone air felt like on stormy days. Static and full of energy. He turned to look at her with glazed eyes. Helaena allowed her mouth to curl slightly, content to bother him.

"Golden beetles have thick shells." She told him, however, without blinking. "And even dragon eggs turn to stone. Be careful."

Her nephew looked at her with an intensity as penetrating as she had given him until moments before. He held her hand gently, as soft as the feather touch. It tickled, but it wasn't undesirable. And there, he had lowered his guard slightly for her, and Helaena sighed at the sensation that ran through her arm. Her fingers twitched and she wanted to pull her hand away from his grip. Viserys looked at her unblinkingly.

He left a gallant and deceitful kiss on her hand. Helaena knew it was a trick he used with the girls who visited the court with their parents in search of an engagement to Gifted Grace and, more rarely, Viserys himself.

Her nephew would smile in that endearing, dangerous way he had inherited from his parents, and kiss the hand of some silly, blushed girl who had come to Court to try their luck with one of the brothers. They wouldn't think much about his reasons behind the flirtation, or they wouldn't think about him at all. They'd be too busy thinking about something superficial like his beauty and charm to notice that this was exactly what Viserys wanted from them, distraction. He should have known better than to think that his cheap little trick would work on her as if she were a foolish girl on the Court.

His slow, mischievous smile alerted her that neither one nor the other, Viserys simply planned to disturb her. Not to make her a fool.

She should have expected it, but it worked like it does every time.

Helaena wanted to remove her hand from his grip, as if his fingers were lonomias about to climb up her arm, spreading the toxin that would make her skin catch fire and itch. Helaena moved, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She clenched her free hand to stop herself from scratching her skin. He had managed to wipe out all her lucidity for the day. It would take hours for the hazy sensation to leave her.

Oh, Aemond wasn't going to be happy.

"I'll have," Viserys smirked once more.

Now that he considered her visible disturbance another victory.

Helaena refused to acknowledge this.

The King said goodbye to his daughter and grandchildren and exchanged a glance with his brother. He stopped at the door, leaning on his cane and waiting for her with a tired expression. Helaena spun on her heel with a slight bounce and followed him outside.

The sun blinded her for a moment, and she hummed, raising her hand, accompanying him for a while, before they parted. Ser Harrold had escorted her father somewhere in the fortress while Helaena jumped the steps in a sort and game that only she knew the rules of. It was fun.

Until met her brother halfway there.

He seemed positively frustrated and annoyed with her. Helaena didn't care. She knew that his irritation was the result of his demand on himself to please their mother. Aemond was still the only one trying. Aegon had rebelled a few years ago when the first glass of wine touched his lips. Now he just did what he wanted, becoming a nightmare for their mother ever since. And Helaena... She never fit in with what was expected of her. Everything she knew how to do, such as playing the harp, painting, and embroidery, as well as having knowledge, had been ruined by her personality. Why, would who care about her designs or embroidery when they were so weird?

No one, especially if she was talking about it.

She knew that some nobles thought she was mad. Maybe she was. The gods tossed coins to decide the future of a Targaryen. Madness and greatness, madness and greatness, madness and greatness. Helaena felt more inclined and comfortable with madness than greatness. Greatness would have made her mother even more delusional.

She didn't like feeding the stray cats.

It was a bad habit.

They would keep coming back, and Helaena didn't like cats.

There was Daeron, of course, but he was busy pleasing their grandfather so there was Aemond, a second son. But a perfect. And yet, one spare behind many others. His fate depended on the death of their father, their sister, a nephew gifted by a goddess, and four others of incredibly noble birth, perhaps Uncle Daemon, and finally, Aegon's death and hers. She knew that he would mourn her death and that naturally he desired his share of attention before they had all met the gods. Still so young and so eager to understand what being the object of their mother's attention and deep affection meant. But Helaena didn't plan to let him down now. Sometimes you can only learn one thing through your own mistakes.

Let him be happy a little longer.

The day for this lesson was getting closer and closer. Whether he would be wise enough to learn was an entirely different question.

"Where were you?" He lashed, though not maliciously. "Mother is already in a bad mood. You don't want to make it worse, do you?"

The same anxiety that had flowed like blood through their mother's veins now ran through Aemond's. And it was quite disturbing. Her brother's emotions were almost like an extension of their mother's emotions, leaving Helaena feeling a little awkward. When their grandfather came to visit, he always said that Aemond reminded him a lot of the young woman the Queen once was.

Helaena hummed accordingly. No, she didn't want to irritate her mother even more. Helaena could handle being forced to embroider the seven-pointed star as punishment or play one of the hymns on the harp and even draw anything to do with the Seven. But she couldn't bear to be at the Royal Sept. It was incomprehensible torture, not only because all the ceremonies performed took forever, but because the place itself made her feel trapped. Helaena suspected that the Royal Sept was to her what the Black Cells were to criminals. A nightmare. So, as Aemond had put it, no, she didn't wish to annoy her mother even more. Not to the point of being forced to go to the sept as penance.

"No." She answered his last question, even though she knew he didn't want an answer. Then added, "Not all deer can be as noble as the White Hart."

Aemond looked at her incredulously, shook his head in exasperation, and then smiled indulgently. There. She didn't like how he looked at her, but she could ignore it if it made him relax a little.

"Come." He called. "She's waiting for us at the solar. She said he has something to discuss."

"Oh, yeah." Helaena agreed. "Hands turns loom; spools of green, spools of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread." She frowned, shaking her head. "Mother isn't good at weaving."

Aemond didn't bother to ask, dragging her to their mother's solar.

He was silent, leading the way to their mother's quarters.

Helaena looked at Ser Criston holding the door as they approached. He didn't look at her, though Helaena continued to do so. Ser Criston cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Helaena relented and entered. She found her mother busy pacing back and forth. There was not the slightest sign of Aegon's life.

Lucky idiot.

"Where were you?" Her mother demanded the instant she saw her come in. Helaena had the feeling that she had already heard this. The Queen wrung her hands in her lap, looking distraught.

Helaena didn't bother to offer an answer, inspecting the chairs in her mother's manor. She was sure that a whole battalion of ants was advancing on her skin pressed against the bones. Aemond pulled her to sit down, and Helaena squirmed, blinking her eyes as pale as an owl. Her mother didn't care, biting the knuckle of her index finger in anxiety.

"With Father in the garden." She replied belatedly. Her mother looked at her in surprise, though honestly, she shouldn't. All the Red Keep knew that the King only spent time with his daughters, he only cared about them. And Helaena knew how torn her mother was about it. If, on the one hand, her husband was paying attention to at least one of their children, on the other, he cared only about the one whose face mirrored that of his deceased wife. It was a bittersweet feeling for the Queen, one that her mother went out of her way to make sweeter. "Then we met my sister's children at Godswood. We were invited for breakfast. Aemon is cute."

Even if she wanted to, Helaena wouldn't have been able to hold her tongue, which would have been for the best. Instead, she had sat watching the spool of thread unwind and wrap around her mother, binding first her wrists, then her arms close to her body, then her legs, until the faint shape of a chrysalis covering her mother became clear.

"Aemon?"

"Mm." Helaena scratched her arm, the sleeve of her dress prickling unpleasantly even though it was fine moments behind. She felt the skin on her face tighten, irritatingly compressing the bones. Not for the first time, Helaena wished she could sink her nails into the skin and tear it out. "Yes. Aemon."

The jumble of lines on the mother's neck seemed to tighten, her throat moved painfully, obviously hard. Suffocated. Helaena let out a mutter. The Queen finally managed to squeeze in a few words: "After..."

"Aemma." Helaena spared her such a stupid remark as thinking, for a moment, that Uncle Daemon would have allowed his son to come after Aemond. Mom could be just as foolish or more foolish than Dad, certainly. And she used to be most of the time.

Her mother made a noise similar to that of a dying animal, getting up despite her trapped body and wringing her hands as best she could. Her mother put a hand on her stomach as if the breakfast wanted to come back. Maybe it was too tight for her. Helaena didn't lift a finger to help, knowing she was just in danger of getting as trapped as her mother was.

"Mother..." Aemond tried, only for their mother to raise her hand and tell him to shut up.

Which he did, obediently.

Her mother seemed to struggle some more, frantically trying to swallow the ball stuck in her throat. Then she finally turned to them, with deer eyes. Well, a deer chased by hunters, specifically. It looked as if someone had pointed an arrow at her. Uncle Daemon was kinder to White Hart than he was to her mother, but Helaena couldn't blame him. Mother had been foolish on her own. There was no need for Helaena to be dragged into her mess. Her mother was the adult, she was supposed to clean by herself.

"The Heir's Court has sent us an invitation," she said, seeming to rather jump out of the window than talk about it. "We should have dinner together tonight, all of us."

Aemond opened his mouth, surely to remind their mother, as she liked him to do, that she was the Queen and had the right to refuse if she wished.

But something about her silenced him.

"It's a requirement," her green eyes turned glassy like the beaded eyes of Helaena's dolls, "from Rogue Prince."

Oh.

Aemond's reminder wouldn't do against that. Their uncle always had what he wanted, by hook or by crook.

And as a rule, he preferred crook.

Chapter 18: A Boll of Yarn

Chapter Text

9^th Moon of 125 AC

Sitting at the dressing table, the Queen looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her features or beauty were unclear in the flickering light of the candles that illuminated her dressing room. But Alicent didn't mind, preoccupied with fighting the urge to pick at her nail cuticle. A terrible habit of a lifetime that had worsened over the past decade and which she struggled with every day.

She was a Queen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Alicent couldn't afford to look anything but immaculate.

But gods, how she wished she could give in to weakness.

Alicent found herself slipping her fingers under the sleeve of the emerald-green dress she had chosen to wear that night. It had been made of brocade, of simple and modest lines, with a neckline appropriate for a woman of her position without making her seem too simple, but also not too ordinary, in her opinion. She had chosen to wear not too flashy, though not so discreet, gold and emerald jewelry. Alicent had no desire to appear ostentatious. She never did, although it became imperative for her to find a balanced style and middle ground for her position as the most important woman in the Realm who, at the same time, was also a humble woman. It had been a long journey for Alicent to be satisfied. But she liked to think she'd succeeded if the amount of glances she'd received from the servants to the nobles in the Court meant anything. As for the lingering glances, she took them for confusion as to the unexpected transition.

As she continued to look at herself in the mirror, Alicent met the gaze of a servant. A penetrating gaze. Alicent felt her hands cold, though frustration was quickly overpowering the spike of anxiety she had experienced for an instant. Alicent had done everything she could, where could and as could try to get closer to the smallfolk, but gods, as suspicious they were. The people of this forgotten town seemed to doubt every little thing she tried to do for them. But no matter how frustrated they left her, Alicent never gave up easily. She didn't become a queen to throw everything into the hands of luck, no.

All her sacrifice and effort would not be in vain.

It couldn't be.

Otherwise, she'd go crazy.

More than the cursed words Rhaenyra had thrown all those years ago in that damn hunt did. The things she had said still came back to haunt Alicent and her dreams. It had become a kind of ritual for Alicent to wake up with a pain in her chest so terrible that it prevented her from breathing properly through tears and a racing heart. It took a long time for her to calm down and shake off the nightmares in which Rhaenyra's words echoed mercilessly, and sometimes she couldn't do it on her own. Then Alicent got out of bed and looked for her children. She looked at them to remind herself what she was fighting for, why she couldn't surrender, why she couldn't give up.

.. four children you must have, and every one of them must perish.

Alicent could have sworn she could still hear the sound of her words.

Perish-erish-rish.

No. Alicent scolded herself. Look ahead, look to the future. Keep your goals in mind and you will succeed.

Ah!

Her nerves calmed enough with a pinch where no one else could see. No one, of course, but the King when he asked to lie with her, or her maids when they washed and dressed her. She ignored the gazes cast by the servants, and as for Viserys... Well, that wasn't a concern anymore, was it? He hadn't invited her to his bed in a long time.

They hadn't shared a bed or gone to bed since she had become pregnant with Daeron eleven years ago. Alicent finds herself freed from the humiliating job of lowering herself to the level of a Silk Street prostitute to seduce her husband and get what she needed from him. She never had to lie down again with his body cursed by the goddess. Alicent never had to witness his fall firsthand, feel it on her skin. She no longer had to endure his physical attentions and had no more children from him. But still, Alicent couldn't feel relief over it. For although she knew that her husband did not seek this kind of attention anywhere else, all his focus, devotion, and effort had been placed on Rhaenyra. Viserys had become her puppet.

It would seem to a stranger, and to her as well, that although she was married in the eyes of the Seven and the Realm, Alicent actually had no husband. As if she were a widow, but of a man who was still alive. Viserys barely noticed her presence these days. It was almost as if it was intentional. As if he had gotten what he wanted from her and now he doesn't need her anymore. Alicent behaved like a saint, trying to take care of him, help him, and comfort him during his illness, but Viserys refused her. He had his new... maesters, or whatever he called them. He didn't need her, or her help. He treated her almost like a stranger, not like the woman who had given him the son he wanted. And Alicent had given him three.

To her husband, marriage or the children they had mattered little, not the sight of his precious grandchildren. Not when her children were the light of his life, turning their children into forgotten dolls in a corner. It angered her, it terrified her. Because it seemed that Viserys had forgotten his goddess's words, or worse, simply ignored them. Like he doesn't care.

She blamed Viserys' behavior for the change Aegon had undergone. She blamed her husband, who was aloof and disinterested, for being the reason their son had gone from a polite and quiet boy to a promiscuous disaster who could rival Maegor, or worse, Daemon. Alicent had found herself thinking more than once about how true the words of how the gods tossed a coin to decide the fate of a Targaryen and then held their breath. She feared that there were too many, she feared that whatever these gods were, they would decide her boy's future on luck. She feared that luck had chosen madness for him because Aegon was not interested in anything good and decent. He didn't mind the lessons, didn't take fencing practice seriously, drank the wine served at Small Council meetings more than he poured and slept through the celebrations held in the small sept of the Red Keep.

Another thing she felt bitter about.

Getting a sept, even a small one, in the capital had been the result of a long dispute with her husband where she had beaten him by fatigue, which had resulted in Viserys approving a small sept for her. Alicent had taken such an insult given the monstrous Valyrian heresy. But she had kept quiet, instead of antagonizing Viserys and falling out of his good graces. She was, however, pious and generous, opening the doors to any commoner or nobleman who wished to visit and attend the celebrations. She went every day, at least twice a day. During the early morning hours and at the end of the day. She always prayed for guidance, strength, and help. To be guided by her gods in the way of truth, justice, and honor. Always have faith.

It helped her heart calm down.

But the gods, she supposed, could only do so much for her. And there was nothing they could do to help her with her daughter.

Helaena was a lost cause, making Alicent wonder over the years if the stress she had endured during her pregnancy, caused by the tension with Rhaenyra so close to her giving birth during the Hunt for the second day of Aegon's name, had affected her daughter's mind. Helaena was absent-minded, had a horrendous passion for insects, and never said anything worth the word. Alicent didn't know what else to do with her. Sometimes, when Helaena was willing, she could be very good at what she was doing. Embroidery, singing, harp, painting, dancing, knowledge. Helaena could be just as perfect as Alicent, but those were unexpected and fleeting moments. Counting on it was like counting on a miraculous harvest in the middle of a harsh winter. Useless. But Alicent couldn't help but pray and encourage Helaena. Perhaps her daughter lacked discipline, since of her four children she seemed to be the only one to whom Viserys really paid any attention and, therefore, Alicent found herself crippled to properly discipline the girl.

If only an ounce of that attention could go to Aemond... her perfect boy. Aemond was the success that Alicent didn't get trying to raise Aegon and Helaena. Where Aegon was spoiled, Aemond was humble. Where Helaena was scattered and distracted, Aemond was focused and determined. The maesters had nothing but praise to heave about her third son and Ser Criston was a proud fencing instructor of his pupil. The dragonkeeps, though she didn't understand them, but her husband did, said that he and his dragon worked. Aemond was kind and devoted, caring and eager to please. He reminded her of herself when she was the same age and wished to prove her worth to her father. He was her source of pride. If only he had been born before Aegon...

If only the gods had thought she deserved such a blessing...

Alicent had to suppress a guttural moan of disgust and surrendered to yet another pinch under the sleeve of her dress.

Sadness had seeped and settled in her heart as she thought of her last child. Daeron had been taken to Oldtown by her father when he was a year old, barely giving her time with him, with her last baby. Taking him had been the punishment inflicted on her by her lord-father for continually failing to secure for Aegon what was rightfully his. Alicent, however, liked to fool herself into thinking that her father had thought she was too burdened with three children so he had taken Daeron with him to lighten her load. It had all started by the time the talk of building the Valyrian temple began to emerge and since she was pregnant, and it had been a very difficult pregnancy, Alicent had rarely felt well enough to participate in the Small Council, so she had not the opportunity to fight to prevent the project from being passed. But to her eternal dismay and resentment, Rhaenyra had gone to every Small Council meeting even when she was huge with the twins, even when the meetings turned into a contest of wills between her and her husband as to the effort she was making. He wanted her to rest near the end of her pregnancy, she said she would attend the meetings until she gave birth. Rhaenyra never relented. She always did what she wanted, after all.

Alicent would receive occasional updates about Daeron if her father felt generous enough to write about the boy. Daeron was an intelligent but quiet boy. An observer. He wished to become a knight and win many tournaments to crown his mother or sister Queens of Love and Beauty. She liked that sweetness. Daeron was quite fond of his dragoness, which he named Tessarion. Her father thought it was a good development, considering that none of Alicent's other children had dragons with Valyrian names. Unlike Rhaenyra's children, whose dragons were all named after gods.

Nowadays, Valyrian is the new fashion.

She had received a letter from her father this morning. He announced his imminent annual visit and said that this time he would bring Daeron. She was anxious to see her son, but not so much to see her father. She knew he wouldn't be happy with her monotony. Alicent was desperately working on methods to gain some ground before Otto's arrival. Her best weapon was the birth of Rhaenyra's son, whose paternity was doubtful, to say the least.

Alicent thought that Rhaenyra had been brazen when she found out that she slept with Ser Criston, but now thought she was incredibly dumb and reckless for sleeping with a man other than her lord-husband, especially when he went by the name of Daemon Targaryen. He wasn't the Rogue Prince for nothing. Alicent's spies, loyal people from Oldtown, had more than once caught Ser Harwin Strong visiting the princess's rooms when she was alone. Without her husband or children around to excuse his presence. They spent a lot of time alone in her quarters.

They were scandalous.

She hoped that the baby would pull on his father and show his mother's sins clearly. But it had not been so. Rhaenyra had caught the fever almost immediately after giving birth, having ventured to the Queen's manor when Alicent demanded to see the baby.

She shouldn't have been so reckless.

The clear, crystal-clear threat of the Rogue Prince still interrupted the airflow in her lungs even a moon and a half after he had done so. Alicent still felt the chill down her spine and the ghost of the kiss of death every time she thought of Rhaenyra or Daemon. Her greed had been so great that if there was any affection left in her husband for her, Alicent was sure she had destroyed it in that instant.

Despite her original wishes, she had never spent so much time on her knees on the benches of her little sept praying as tirelessly as she had done for Rhaenyra's recovery. A desperate act so she could keep her head straight. Literally. Alicent knew that Daemon had been looking for a reason to kill her and get rid of her children for a long time. And although her death threat that day categorized itself as treason, the Realm would not blink at the Queen's death. No one would cry for her when the news of what happened was spread and exaggerated to the people.

Alicent knew there was no alternative to save herself unless Rhaenyra survived.

She barely remembered what it was like to sleep, eat, or exist without the weight of Dark Sister hanging around her neck. And Alicent didn't know what she would do the day wasn't. If on the one hand, it could mean that she would live, it could also mean that she was dead.

Which brought her to the nerves she felt now.

As it turned out, Rhaenyra was recovering well enough to invite the whole family to her manor for dinner. She imagined that Daemon would take advantage of the moment to renew the threat, as well as extend it to her children, and get Viserys amnesty for the crime.

Gods.

Her stomach was churning.

Alicent grabbed the sides of the padded stool she was sitting on, while one of her maids twisted and tied her hair for this dreaded dinner. Not the one that had given her a piercing look and had been borrowed to replace Daisy who was ill.

"Are you done?" Her maid's voice sounded slightly shaky.

A little strangled. None of her maids would know the difference between a little throat clearing and her bottled feelings trying to explode like summer wine. But Rhaenyra would know, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, as always did when it had the right opportunity. And every time Alicent doubted herself, or the future, Rhaenyra's voice seeped into her head, under her skin, and poisoned her heart.

... but you wouldn't have had to marry my father, and I could have helped you choose a worthy husband whom you liked. Because you had the favor of the princess and heiress of the kingdom. You were my best friend, my sister in everything but blood. And I would have made the world burn to prevent your unhappiness...

The words threatened to choke Alicent. She struggled to push and pull the air into her lungs, struggling not to lose her mind. But it was very difficult when she had inevitably wondered, over the years that she had been forced to watch Rhaenyra build a prosperous life, full of love, friendship, and alliances, what if?

It was even harder when Alicent had to witness Laena and Rhaenyra together, as they had once been. And Rhaenyra had even had the effrontery to call her 'sister in everything but blood'.

Did she enjoy playing with Alicent?

... you were weak, you never came to me. I did the best I could, but you made the best of nothing.

Before Alicent could spiral down, her maid's voice scared her.

"Yes, Your Grace."

She hardly remembered what had asked before. Alicent didn't need to say anything, for a knock on her door had interrupted her. She spun around on the stool, clearing her throat and smoothing the skirts of her dress, hoping to look majestic.

"Come in."

The door opened, revealing the handsome face of Ser Criston. He was just as handsome as he was when Rhaenyra added him to Kingsguard as her sworn shield. And now he's mine, Alicent thought with a touch of pettiness. But what was Ser Criston when Rhaenyra had the world in the palm of her hand? A small victory.

A small, pathetic victory.

It wasn't his fault, of course.

The years went by and his face only got more beautiful with age. He was good to look, at least. And he became a valuable ally. Alicent would only regret that he didn't come with a kingdom. It would have been helpful.

"Yes?" Alicent requested, cordially.

"The King awaits you, my Queen." And it was nice to be appreciated.

Ser Criston's dark eyes shone like red-hot coals. A distinctive, appreciative glow. But discreet and respectful.

Oh, how grateful Alicent was for those looks. They reminded her that she was still young and a beautiful woman, though married and faithful to a husband who clearly didn't care what happened to her. Alicent indulged in petty fantasies at times, where she managed to hurt Viserys the way he had hurt her. She would like, sometimes and just a little bit, to be like Rhaenyra. To have the courage and the brazenness. But Alicent knew she wasn't capable, and so she would remain faithful to her husband until the end of his days, for better or worse. But gods, how good it was to feel seen, to feel beautiful when the one who was supposed to make her feel that way made her feel less than nothing. As if she were another decoration statue. Life was unfair, and it seemed when ruled by a Targaryen, it tended to be worse.

Alicent stepped away from the dressing table and forced herself to leave the protection of the walls of her apartments. Ser Criston took his place in the vanguard, protecting her back. That's how they worked. She steered the political boat and he took care of the rearguard. If he hadn't sworn into her service, it was very likely that Alicent would already be insane. He was her anchor. Some light in the darkness. She was grateful for that.

They walked in silence, with no words she wanted to say to him being able to be said aloud and she knew he thought the same. They turned into a hallway and heard the voices. She recognized first of all her daughter's voice, then added to the voices of Rhaenyra's children. In fact, she was right when, as she rounded the bend and reached the threshold, she caught sight of Helaena next to her father. Her other children were also there. Aegon seemed to have put in the slightest effort and taken a shower, though the way he looked at the ceiling led her to believe that he wasn't interested in any of that. Aemond, always her golden boy, was impeccable and stood by his sister's side, watching everything carefully. She then spotted Daemon with the boy, Baelon, on his lap. He was flanked by his eldest sons, Aegon and Viserys. The girl, Visenya, was talking to Helaena and the gods would know about what.

Behind her, Ser Criston stiffened, the likely result of having spotted the Rogue.

Alicent wanted to scream and pull her children away from the Rogue Prince and his offspring, but she knew she couldn't. She was on thin ice with Viserys and demanding to take the children away from Rhaenyra's children just because she expected Daemon to commit fratricide at any moment, at any breath of hers, which was like willingly entering the mouth of a dragon. She didn't want to play with her luck. Alicent swallowed her anxiety and fear, struggling to keep her mask in place.

"Do you want to discuss this with her?" Daemon was saying, sounding annoyed.

Oh?

The boy on his lap was distractedly wrapping his father's hair around his fingers. Alicent was still amazed that he didn't seem to care about it. Or with nothing the children would do.

She felt the familiar burning of envy.

Daemon could have all the faults in the world, but no one could accuse him of not being a loyal husband and devoted father. Not for the first time over the past decade, Alicent wondered if she had chosen the wrong husband. Daemon couldn't be manipulated, it was true, but he was a man and could be seduced. If only she could have been lucky enough to get him for her husband... well, he was admittedly the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms. He was still in shape, even as he entered his forties. Bold. She knew he was devoted to his family and would never have killed his brother for the throne, but he would have worked tirelessly to see their son on the throne soon after his brother's death.

If only her father had chosen the right Targaryen.

Alicent pushed those thoughts away and decided to pray on her knees in the corn on the cold stone on the sept as penance for... letting her mind wander into unsuitable fields. For gods' sake, her husband was right there! She wasn't like that. Surely she was finally succumbing to madness.

Perhaps the madness of the Targaryens was contagious after all.

"But she'll get tired easily!" Viserys looked annoyed, though no more so than his brother.

Alicent had a vague idea of who they were talking about.

The Rogue Prince has seemed very close to raining fire and blood in recent weeks. The whole town had expected it to happen at any moment. He'd shown enough signs that he was on edge, she knew. Daemon had become more brutal when he was making the rounds of the City Watch. His punishments were almost cruel. His patience had been doubled, and no lord or sensible servant wished to cross his path these days. He was more beast than man at this point. Alicent had done what she could to keep herself and her children out of his sight.

What the eyes did not see, the heart did not feel. And what Daemon didn't see, Dark Sister didn't cut.

Alicent shuddered.

No one seemed to have noticed her arrival, or that she was watching from a distance. Certainly not her husband or his brother, the two of them still busy arguing. But they both noticed as a delicate laugh floated through the room.

"I'm right here, and I'll be fine." Alicent froze as if ice had covered her spine. She didn't dare breathe properly, though she felt her legs move stiffly, pushing her forward. Her heart was the only thing working, though even that was relative. The pace shot, like a racehorse, couldn't be normal. Nor did the deafening thunder in her ears, make her doubt her hearing. What she had heard.

Who she just heard it from.

Her eyes darted to her husband and good-brother, who turned to the opposite side of the vaulted room. There was only a tiny twinge of relief, a sliver no bigger than a splinter, dug into her heart at the relative softness in their expressions. Her husband exhibited a particular expression of softness and adoration that he reserved for one person, and one person only. His precious daughter. And as for Daemon... His expression was curiously hard, stony. But the eyes were filled with storms of fire and fury.

She felt a shiver down her spine but wondered mischievously how paradise was for Rhaenyra.

The little plague sent by the gods moved first to reach his place at the table. The painfully raw emotions on his face as she passed by his mother's side. Alicent could read the affection and lingering relief on his face as if she were reading a book. The twins joined their brother, taking their places next to him in order of age. Expressions that mirrored that of their older brother. Alicent surmised that it would be to them, as it would be to her, hard to believe that Rhaenyra had almost completely recovered from the ordeal in the birthing bed. Alicent still hadn't decided whether or not she would be relieved that Rhaenyra had escaped the Stranger's clutches. Feeling a growing anxiety, Alicent only became aware of Aemond's presence at her side when he held her hand. He had taken one look at her, and Alicent had noticed that he was alert, as if he expected to have to support or defend her. Emotion clogged her throat.

Her sweet and dear boy...

In her vanguard, Ser Criston had moved restlessly, but he had fallen behind. Alicent could feel the tension radiating from him. She had also noticed how her daughter's eyes became clearer, more lucid, and full of curiosity about what was real and what wasn't. Her eyes passed to her son... Aegon looked... He had grown rigid as stone, and a maniacal restlessness seemed to have settled in his bones, just as a glint of intrigue had illuminated his eyes. Alicent hadn't time to analyze what she'd just learned, she hadn't time to make conjectures; she needed to figure out for herself where she was stepping. And where her head stood: on her neck or the floor.

And though static, Alicent didn't fail to figure out what was looking for.

The atmosphere had been graciously set for what appeared to be a small family banquet, the decoration of which paid homage to the House of the Dragon. The furniture was all ebony, while the silk gauze curtains were all red and the tableware was all gold. Alicent recognized Helaena's embroidery on the mat on the table, though done with a skill she had seldom seen her daughter demonstrate, and certainly with which she had never been presented with anything. And sitting on the right hand of the King's bedside, in the place that had been empty for about fortnights, was she.

Rhaenyra was a flamboyant sight in the dress chosen for that night. She wore a sort of pearlescent silk muslin chemise with a high collar that she topped with a heavy embroidered red velvet kirtle that was buttoned with dragon clasps along the now-narrow waist, thanks to the weight loss caused by the fever. Although her body was fine, Alicent could see in her face the weariness that just fighting death could give someone, even though she had tried to hide it with rouge and kohl. Hanging from her elbows was a heavy midnight-blue shawl that she didn't seem bothered to wear. Over her silver-gold hair was a delicate tiara of gold, rubies, and garnets.

Alicent had realized, with the eyes that the earth would one day eat, that despite what she had been through, Rhaenyra still looked glorious.

She looked a little worse from the wear and tear and it seemed too much to assume that she had recovered so well and so quickly to be here, but Alicent stopped right there. This was the same woman who had crawled out of the birthing bed out of sheer stubbornness and had gone through half a fortress to get to her son, which had put them in this situation in the first place. But it was her. Thinner, paler, and more exhausted than Alicent had ever seen her. But it was her.

Alicent felt her knees tremble and crushed, albeit unconsciously, Aemond's fingers. She vaguely felt the way he had flexed them, but he hadn't let go of her hand. Nor did he complain. Rhaenyra shook her head, smiling. Her earrings of gold and rubies sparkled like drops of blood in the candlelight. There wasn't a single thing Rhaenyra was wearing that allowed her to look like anything other than a dragon. The moment Alicent realized this, Rhaenyra had been buried by her children. Adored as if she were their beginning, middle, and end. Their whole world.

"Muña!" Baelor shouted, demanding to be placed on the ground.

Daemon had let him go easily, but Alicent had noticed that something had bloomed in those dark, indigo eyes of his. Something volatile and dangerous, primal and visceral. And something else she couldn't name.

"My dear little love." Rhaenyra intoned.

Even the sickly appearance wasn't able to overshadow the happiness she clearly felt. Alicent noticed the serenity in Rhaenyra's expression here, surrounded by her loved ones despite her enemies. Alicent felt like she was trying to force a rock down her throat. Aemond had guided her to the table, and the instant she was close enough, she clung to the back of the chair for support. She looked at Rhaenyra in the seat opposite hers in the table arrangement with wide eyes.

Her husband limped rapidly with his cane and collapsed with very little grace on the seat at the head of the table, despite the efforts of Ser Harrold Westerling to help him. Viserys had reached out his hands to grasp his daughter's. His face was full of concern and adoration. Alicent pursed her lips to avoid hissing. She knew she needed to take advantage of his mood to get Aegon and Helaena engaged to strengthen his claim, but it pained her to think about it. Not only was it humiliating for her to have to manipulate her husband when he was supposed to grant her wishes, which were far more reasonable than the Rhaenyra's, but Alicent hated the prospect of seeing her children married to each other.

She felt like she would vomit at any second just thinking about it. But it was necessary, and she would spend the rest of her life asking for forgiveness from the Seven, fulfilling her promises to reward them once the Seven Kingdoms were Aegon's and the Faith was finally restored. Only then would her heart know peace and she could finally live free.

Only then would she pay for her sins.

If only you had been braver... less subservient, if you had come to me...

She tried not to think that it would never have to happen if she just had...

No. Don't think about it.

Her nails etched deep into the wood and she knew it would scratch the varnish. Anxiety bubbled up in her stomach, rising and making her dizzy.

An invisible hand twisted a knife into her already tattered heart as she was forced to watch Daemon advance to his wife with the same confidence and adoration as always, even after what she had done to him. Daemon grabbed her like a possessive beast, like a possessed man who saw only her. That he only cared about her. Alicent had been hit by Rhaenyra's words once more as if she had been punched in the stomach.

Only if... only if... only if...

If. If. If.

Only If.

Daemon, the rogue Daemon, lifted his wife in his arms and held her as if he wanted to fuse his body with hers as if he couldn't bear not to exist beside her. Daemon grabbed Rhaenyra as if he thought she might disappear in the blink of an eye, as if he wasn't willing to allow such a thing. His High Valyrian, already unintelligible to her, grew even worse. His voice had weighed, deepened, and endorsed, laden and coiled in foreign words.

He returned her to the chair, falling to his knees at her feet.

Aemond had gently forced her to let go of her hands and pulled out the chair for her to sit down. But Alicent found herself unable to take her eyes off the lovelorn couple.

She would never have that.

Her husband would never love her more than he could put into words, and her death would break him beyond repair. Viserys would never put her above anything. Her death would not be his. He would never take her in his arms, full of relief that she was well and alive. There would never be anything for Alicent. Nothing but a cold and distant husband, although Viserys was never in love, but he used to be kind to her. She was left with the despised children, all of royal blood, but no better than relics that no one wanted and that were pushed down the line of succession when Aegon was supposed to be the next King.

Alicent foamed like the salt water that splashed against the rocks in Blackwater. She sat stiffly to her husband's left. Aemond had hesitated to find his seat two seats below her but had walked away after all. Alicent was able to watch as Daemon held Rhaenyra's face, showing her the depth and rawness of the despair that still gripped him. Of the madness that had almost taken him. Not for a second did Alicent think that he was being weak, that he had shown weakness. Rhaenyra wasn't his weak point at all. She was the one who held the fetters that held the beast of fire like flesh chained to him. And without her...

All of them were doomed.

"Sister." Alicent looked up at the sound of her daughter's voice that had approached Rhaenyra...

And embraced her.

There could be no greater betrayal.

She, who hardly knew how to approach Helaena, touch her daughter, let alone hug, had to watch her nemesis accept Helaena's initiative to hug her.

Beside her, Aemond looked at her worriedly, and Aegon seemed to cast both of his sisters' furious glances. A kind of illegible rage had settled in him, mixed with a kind of raw, abject desire. Alicent didn't want to think about it, though she was forced to do so when she noticed Rhaenyra looking at Aegon.

No, she thought clutching the knife unconsciously. Not my son, you bitch. Alicent would face punishment for committing treason before letting Rhaenyra get her claws into any of her children.

Alicent had survived the dinner unaware of the laughter and joy she had not shared, the tears and stories of the past exchanged. She hadn't been a part of any of this, too busy thinking about how she would keep her children away from Rhaenyra's dragonspawns. Because she would, even if it was the last thing she did. She wouldn't see a hair of them out of place because of Rhaenyra's ambition and greed.

Four children you must have and every one of them must perish.

Only over her dead body.

Chapter 19: A Shipwrecked Dragon

Chapter Text

10^th Moon of 125 AC

"I am glad to see you recover well, Your Highness." Ser Harwin Strong had bowed solemnly before Aegon's mother as he entered his parents' manor. "I believe I speak for everyone when I say we fear the worst."

His mother smiled in a way that Aegon didn't like, and he was sure that his father would like it even less. There was something irreverent about her expression, almost as if she weren’t taking any of this seriously. As if the birth hadn't been difficult and hadn't forced her to spend many nights bedridden with puerperal fever. Aegon hadn't ruled out the possibility that she was wearing a mask, of course. Something that Ser Harwin or anyone other than her husband could see. With his mother it was hard to tell, she hid well what she felt or what she thought most of the time so that Aegon rarely guessed her. But while she could hide from him, his mother couldn't hide from her husband. His father knew her better than anyone.

He would know.

"Thank you for your convalescence wishes, Sor." She had said, shaking her head to throw a lock of hair out of reach of Aemon who was awake but quiet in her lap. Aegon had arrived there in an instant and had led the delicate curl away from her face. His mother offered a small smile with her mouth closed, but it had reached her eyes. Something different than the one she had given to Ser Harwin. A mask then, Aegon decided, hovering around it. "I hope you'll take the word of my recovery to anyone else who is worried."

"I will, Your Highness."

"And I hope you please me very soon with good news related to our discussions." Aegon's mouth had almost twitched into a crooked smile, but he had suppressed it in time. It was her first official day back in the game and his mother had already sunk her teeth into politics. He couldn't blame her. Politics was a delicate, fickle thing that changed at the slightest move on the board so that even his family didn't have the luxury of getting complacent.

His mother had told him more than once, after the long Small Council meetings, that the game was not over until it was done. And then she had given him a dangerous smile.

And, he surmised, with the rumors the Queen had insisted on spreading throughout the Realm, his mother was right. The game wasn't done yet. Not until the board was empty and the green pieces were cleared. And there were still several, for the Greens and the Blacks. Among them, were the Queen and her pawns. And Ser Harwin was, to the Blacks, a pawn. A valuable one that should be used wisely.

Not only was he the son of a lord, but Ser also Harwin was the heir to the Hand of the King, as well as the Rogue Prince's right-hand man in City Watch and one of the most eligible bachelors in the realm. Their ancestral home was besieged in the middle of the Riverlands, which made it easy to access other kingdoms. But perhaps the most important thing to be said was that Ser Harwin was willing to be used in the game. The long discussions, for almost a year, where he and Aegon's mother analyzed the marriage options available to him proved this, for when Lord Lyonel had ordered his heir to marry at last, it had come from Ser Harwin to seek the advice of Princess Rhaenyra on the matter since she received letters from various lords asking to accept their daughters as ladies-in-waiting.

They had been looking for a suitable wife for Ser Harwin ever since.

His mother had gone out of her way to enforce the vote of confidence, enough that her diligence ended up reflecting badly on her. Because of the unfounded rumors that she would be sleeping with Ser Harwin and that Aemon would be their son. A laughable idea and one that had little influence on the people, since the servants knew better thanks to Annora. But it would affect the game for some nobles.

Aegon couldn't tell if someone who sided with the Greens was simply brave or too foolish, but he knew that the Queen's audacious little adventure would come back to bite her. No one said Daemon-f*cking-Targaryen's wife was f*cking out his back and got away with it. Aegon was sure that the only thing stopping his father from beheading the Queen was the fact that a clean death would take away from him the satisfaction of seeing her embarrass herself begging for mercy. The gods knew how long it would still hold him back, though.

But the rumor, while ridiculous, did not completely escape the truth. Aegon could see that the Queen had used Ser Harwin's admiration, respect, and loyalty to their family to her advantage against them. She was giving Annora a terrible headache to sort it out.

Ser Harwin's eyes, dark as walnut wood, drew his attention back to the conversation as he saw them sparkle for an instant with the satisfaction of pleasing a friend.

"I hope so, Your Highness."

"So you've decided on a bride?" His mother asked expectantly, rocking Aemon. The lilac eyes gleaming, sharp and cunning.

"I did." Ser Harwin proudly proclaimed. "I have chosen one of Lord Baratheon's daughters."

"What did your father say?"

"He's happy that he'll finally see me married with grandchildren on the way." Ser Harwin chuckled, casting a soft glance at Aemon. "He expects me to leave for Harenhall when that happens."

"What is expected of newlyweds." She agreed, aware of the implications. "Do you and Daemon already have someone in mind to take your place while you're away?"

Harwin shook his head.

"We've been exploring a few options." He said. "Although Ser Luthor is the natural choice for the position."

Aegon nodded silently almost to himself.

Ser Luthor had long since become a trusted man to Aegon's father. He was a good fighter, and he was loyal. Aegon knew that his father could ask of Ser Luthor anything, of any nature, and the man would do it without asking any questions. These were appreciated qualities. For this reason, he was excellent to take over the position of Ser Harwin at the Gold Cloak's.

But being second-in-command wasn't the only position Ser Harwin was vacating. It was Harwin's second position, which they would like to separate from the first to give the man occupying it a clearer direction, which was making things difficult.

"I see." His mother had chirped softly.

Ser Harwin nodded politely and then stood up, bowing to the two of them. He congratulated the princess once again on her new baby and once again expressed his relief to see her well and recover. Aegon could imagine why. Ser Harwin had barely reached the door before it was opened by the Rogue Prince. Aegon watched his father's mouth curl dangerously, with a hint of almost unrecognizable provocative malice.

"Seducing my wife once again, ser?"

His mother, next to him, snorted with an eye roll. But she smiled fondly.

Ser Harwin had bowed quickly to his prince with greetings murmured under his breath and then departed. His father's mouth curled fully with satisfaction, and he entered, closing the door.

He would almost lead Aegon to think that those two weeks hadn't happened and that his wrath had barely burned this city beyond the ashes. After all, his problem was not with Ser Harwin, but with the Queen. She was the one who bore all his hate. She was the root of his problems. Always the Queen.

Aegon sighed.

"Nūha prūmia," He addressed his wife with a piercing gaze. Aegon blinked his eyes, diverting them away from his parents. He felt flushed and grumpy. The two acted like lovebirds in love every time they were together. They were very free with their displays of affection. "You look beautiful."

His mother blushed.

"Daemon."

Aegon was tempted to follow Ser Harwin, but he remained exactly where he was.

"Munã," he growled softly, "kepa."

He heard only giggles.

"I'll give you a few more years, then you'll be more forgiving once you get understanding." His father sneered, straightening up from where he had bent over his wife to kiss her.

"I fear what I shall be able to find if I become as accommodating as you wish, father."

"Brat." His father growled.

"Boys," his mother purred as she stood up to place the baby on her husband's lap with a gentle caress of her knuckles on Aemon's cheek. She then gave their father a peck accompanied by a long look. "See you later, nūha perzys."

His father's gaze darkened. "Nūha ānogar."

There was a glimpse of an unknowable shadow in his father's eyes as his wife walked away with a giggle. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. Aegon continued to stare, even though his father looked just like himself. His mother approached, and he held out his arm out of habit. She picked him up, giving her husband a wink and a kiss before they left.

The guards stationed at the door moved to accompany them.

"You can be grossed out all you want, ruo," she warned as they passed servants and nobles on their way to the Small Council chambers, "but I hope one day you'll be in a position to understand."

Aegon suppressed a grimace.

Although he had a fiancée since birth, he still hadn't looked at Rhaena the way his father looked at his mother, or worse, like his uncle looked at any unsuspecting servant. Which he supposed his parents thought was a blessing. Maybe he was still too young to be interested in this kind of thing, in kisses and caresses, or maybe something was wrong with him. Aegon wasn't sure.

But Rhaena was Rhaena, and he'd known her forever. She was kind and warm. Of a softness that rivaled his aunt's. And she had become his best friend thanks to the machinations of their families, which he assumed was a good thing. Rhaena would be his Queen one day, they would have children. They would rule together until the day of their deaths. Friendship was a foundation for starting a marriage as good as any other and better than none. Aegon believed that if he couldn't trust her, just as his father trusted his mother, then he couldn't trust anyone else. Because trust was a tenuous gift to be earned. It was perhaps the most invaluable thing to him and his family.

The thoughts in his mind turned his expression into something a little solemn, making him sullen. He didn't feel like smiling, he wasn't in the mood to play. So he didn't, unlike his mother who used her mask as a second skin. She smiled and greeted everyone in their path, never stopping working on her image. No matter how refined it already was, how adored she was. His mother always thought she could, she should do more.

No effort was too much, she said, when it came to protecting their family.

Aegon missed Rhaena. He hadn't seen her for nearly five moons, the most time they'd spent apart since they were babies. Her aunt, Ser Laenor's wife, was very ill. Something she picked up on her last trip to Essos with her husband. She never recovered and Aegon knew it was only a matter of time before she succumbed. Rhaena had been quite distraught. She still was if the crows they exchanged were anything. He wanted to see her, to talk to her, to tell her about things he hadn't told anyone else. But it felt selfish, because of what she was going through. So he waited. Always by her side, just as she would do for him.

His mother would punish him if he behaved otherwise.

"You're so thoughtful," his mother pointed out, looking at him.

They approached the council chambers.

He turned his face away finding her amethyst eyes full of knowledge, but also pale with the worry she had felt since they were born. His mother was a determined and assertive woman, she did not hesitate but stagger in front of him at times. Aegon knew why, just as he knew what she wanted to know.

"I'm fine, munã." He assured her with a pat on her hand. His mouth curled slightly, and then he furrowed his brow. "And I should be the one asking the question."

His mother snorted, unimpressed.

"I'm good too, zaldīzes."

His smile deepened, pleased to tease her.

But Aegon still felt the way his heart had twitched with relief.

They reached the council chambers, so she had no more time to fight back with a retort. Ser Harrold had seen them and had announced them to those present in the room.

Seated at the head of the table, against the large windows overlooking Blackwater Rush, was his grandfather, the King. On his left sat his Hand, Lord Lyonel Strong, and on his right, two seats were reserved for him and his mother. Aegon had understood the subtlety of the maneuver the moment he walked through the door for his first meeting, long before he was eleven namedays. His mother had approached his grandfather with the idea since Aegon's uncle had failed in his obligations almost as much as he drank the wine of the meetings. Which was to say, his absence hadn't even been noticed.

He settled his mother next to his grandfather and greeted him, before taking the wine and beginning to serve the lords. His mother's eyes flickered for a moment, and then she turned to her father. Aegon approached Lord Lyonel, who had smiled politely and thanked him for the wine. He served Maester Mellos, who had turned up his nose, and then Lord Jasper Wylder, who had bowed his head in recognition. Aegon moved to the other side of the table, skipping Ser Harrold who always refused the wine to be vigilant. Next to him was Lord Beesbury, who greeted him respectfully. He reached out to his mother and grandfather, who seemed as proud of his grandson as his mother.

The frown lines on Grandfather's face looked more pronounced, he had noticed, just as the King looked a little paler than usual.

It had long been the worst of the disease since the gieñryi's of the Anogrion Perzys Eglives succeeded where the maesters of the Citadel failed to stop the King's infection. His grandfather had lost his hand to Mellos's treatments and had to wear a polished obsidian substitute attached to his wrist by a strap supplanted in place, which ended up creating tension between the Citadel and the Temple of the Graces of Fire. But despite the success of his recovery over the past five years, his grandfather still found himself frail. He never fully recovered.

And he'd expended a lot of energy the day before, especially with dinner that had stretched on well past the wolf's hour. His grandfather looked the happiest Aegon could remember ever seeing him. As if there was little in the world for him but his daughter.

As if his wife and other children didn't exist.

Aegon grew up listening to the stories and whispers about his grandfather's redemption. He knew that he had been warned by the goddess Agni that the mistakes he had made would haunt and chase him until the end of his days. Aegon knew that he had tried for years to make amends with his daughter and brother, and had tried to make things right. And standing by her side, choosing to look down on his new family, had been his way of proving his resolve.

He rested the wine, pouring his mother a cup of water. And then one for himself. Aegon considered himself too young to drink and had little inclination to do so since he had witnessed his uncle embarrassed nearly two dozen times over wine. And mother, although she liked a casual glass, preferred not to touch a single drop during council meetings. She always said that politics was a messy thing without the wine to make it even worse. His father would disagree with her, he would say that it was unthinkable to endure politics and councilmen without wine. He was the only one able to handle both of them elegantly, considering that he caused most of the headaches, rather than feeling it, so he just drank wine and annoyed everyone else.

A very Daemon Targaryen skill.

Aegon’s grandfather started the meeting by addressing the first agenda. He had scarcely said a full sentence before the doors were opened and the Queen entered unannounced. She gave them all an arrogant look. It did not escape her as once again her husband had denied not only a seat next to his but denied her a seat in his council. The Queen was undeterred, and Ser Criston came in to find a chair for her to sit on. Her husband had given her a look, which had been ignored.

Wearing something she judged superior to the Princess's style, though it was little more than a cheap imitation, the Queen probably thought she was dressed for the daily battle on the Court against the Princess. And keeping her chin up haughtily, she annoyed Aegon's mother every time she opened her mouth.

Neither he nor his mother cared, least of all his grandfather. He just frowned intensely, trying to focus on the discussion and ignore his wife. The meeting stretched on for two hours, and Aegon felt his mother becoming agitated, surely thinking of Aemon. His grandfather seemed to have lost a few years, but he seemed satisfied with the discussion of taxes, imports, and harvests. His Grandfather then turned to his daughter to confirm her husband's attendance at the next meeting, to update the council on how security was in the city. She ensured his presence, eliciting a buzz of agreement from the lords.

"If that's all..." His grandfather was saying, already struggling to stand. Aegon's mother was there in a second to offer help.

The Queen stood, slowly, getting everyone's attention.

"There's one more thing, my King." She said, looking at him.

His grandfather frowned and looked at his daughter. They exchanged a glance, and she helped him sit up again. Nothing with the Queen was quick, even when Aegon's grandfather's response was. Sharp and irreducible. She seemed to enjoy being humiliated, being turned down, or being ignored repeatedly.

"And what's that, Alicent?" Not my Queen, not my darling, not my love. Alicent. Grandfather's tone sounded tired and already a note higher, exasperated.

The Queen was undeterred.

"There's something of interest to you that I'd like to discuss, though first, I'd like to let you know," she looked at him expectantly. Waiting for the slightest spark of interest on his face. She found little but slight impatience on his part. "My lord father is coming soon for his annual visit, and he will bring Daeron this time."

She looked anxious, still waiting for a reaction from him. His grandfather gave it in the form of a dull snub, where his thin mouth curved downward, and a groove formed between his furrowed brows. More protruding, more impatient.

"Have you stopped us to attend to a private matter?" Aegon drummed his nails, resting his chin on his clenched fist, watching. In the silence that reigned, only his fingernails beating rhythmically on the chair were heard.

The Queen swallowed hard, the façade cracking. Aegon could see the nervous energy emanating from her. Consuming. Her green eyes grew bigger.

"No, my King. I just thought you'd like to know that your youngest son will be coming to visit us after years away." It was probably meant to be said as a harmless phrase, but the Queen couldn't totally shake off the bitterness, the grudge. Neither would the attempt at sarcasm, if she were braver.

"So what is it!" He demanded, clearly ignoring the trap.

"I'd like to discuss the engagement between Aegon and Helaena. They're both of marriage-"

"Absolutely not!" His grandfather rumbled, this time really angry. An angry blush had crept into his pale complexion. Aegon looked at his mother, but her expression was blank. "Helaena is too young to marry Aegon or anyone else. I can't believe she's interested in the subject right now. Let her be!" The King sighed with a mixture of anger and weariness at the burden of the disease. "And as for Aegon, I wouldn't give his hand to anyone at this point, let alone Helaena. He's very immature, he's not ready for marriage."

"But my king-"

"No." He bit. "This matter is closed, Alicent. There will be no marriage between them!" This time, he stood up alone, probably driven by the hot wrath of the dragon roaring back to life within him. His mother stumbled to get up, to hover and help her father. His grandfather raised his hand, pushing her away, clearly too angry to receive help. As a general rule, his grandfather did not refuse to be spoiled by his firstborn. "Focus on your faith, on charity. On anything but let the kids be kids!"

Though slow, he stormed out of the room. Aegon lifted his head, looking at his mother with compressed lips and a worried look. The lords in the room cleared their throats, snapping out of their stupor and hurrying to the exit. Aegon rose gracefully, offering his arm for his mother to take. She did, giving him a look that promised a conversation later. He nodded.

His last glimpse of the Queen was to see her collapse in her chair as if instead of denying her children's marriage, her husband had sentenced her to death.

"It's not good." His mother whispered in High Valyrian to him on their way back to their ward.

Aegon agreed. It wasn't good at all.

"He did well to deny it."

"It wouldn't have been much of a problem for us," his mother remarked. "But it would have been for poor Helaena."

He nodded. "What worries me is his coming."

His mother hummed in agreement.

"That man never brings anything good."

"No."

"Your father won't be happy."

No, he wouldn't.

Aegon was sure that no one in the Red Keep would stay.

They slowed down the conversation until they were back at his parents' manor, where they were greeted by the shrill cry of Aemon, surely hungry. His mother cooed, floating quickly toward her youngest son. Her husband had tracked her every move with a watchful, sharp eye, as he had ever since Dagda had allowed her to get out of bed and resume her routine. As if he couldn't fully trust her words when it came to her well-being.

His father's expression changed only slightly as the baby began to suckle, turning into cunning and distrust. Aegon could see him sniff that something wasn't right. He didn't let him down.

"What's wrong?" His father demanded, shuffling himself to sit next to his wife with a gaze that brooked no distance. He was still... very tense. Convoluted. On guard. Stretched almost to the limit. His father grabbed one of her hands and kissed it. Gods, they couldn't keep their hands away, could they? "What happened?"

"Ser Otto should arrive soon, bringing Daeron." His father looked at it. The indigo hue of his eyes darkened, obscured by the volcanic ash within them. "But there's more."

His father arched an eyebrow as if he doubted the situation could get any worse.

"Alicent proposes the marriage between Aegon and Helaena."

His father growled, annoyed.

"I knew I should have cut off that snake's head when I had the chance!"

"Daemon."

He didn't take back what he said, even though that's not what she wanted.

"Do you blame me?" He demanded.

"Never." She smiled, though she slipped quickly. Aegon recognized the political astuteness almost immediately. "My father quickly refused, but he's been getting really tired lately. Sometimes he gets confused. I'm afraid she'll keep pushing him until he gives in, like she did with the sept."

His father hissed. The Queen's getting a sept, however small, was still a sensitive topic for his father. He wishes she had nothing. The men under his command, in the Keep or the City Watch, never lifted a finger to guard the place either. Oldtown was forced to fund everything. The only thing given by the King was permission.

Aegon tried to imagine what kind of disaster would happen if the Queen could convince the King to marry off one of her children. Her greatest asset would have been Aegon, so it would have been better to marry him to a large House, to the daughter of some Lord Paramount. And between the Westerlands and the Stormlands, they had the daughters of Lord Jason Lannister and the daughters of Lord Borros Baratheon. Both men with more pride than common sense, men who were turned down by Aegon's mother and who would not miss the opportunity to crush her.

In the worst-case scenario, they could convince Dorne to join and they, for while adamant about bending the knee, most men in power would always be tempted by more. And for Dorne, more could mean a crown or lands; and few other lands could be of as much interest to Dorne as the Stepstones, islands that have been fortified by House Targaryen over the past decade. Where there was a stationary fleet, where maritime trade flourished thanks to sea routes to the largest markets of the known world.

It wasn't good.

They needed to move faster to undermine his uncle as quickly as possible.

"What do you want to do, my love?" His father asked.

His mother gave her husband a long, contemplative, meditative look. Calculating. Aegon figured that whatever her suggestion was, his father would hate it.

"I want to betroth them," she said, carefully, "to our children."

He wasn't wrong.

His father immediately left her side, walking on Myr's carpet like a confined dragon. His eyes suddenly turned dark like volcanic rocks, and Aegon felt a shiver down his spine. His father seemed to turn even paler than they all were. His skin almost seemed iridescent.

Aegon wouldn't say that the idea appealed to him, though he could imagine that engaging his aunt to his brother would be a coup de grâce for her and of the two evils, the lesser one. But it was the idea of getting Visenya engaged to their uncle that he didn't like. Aegon was sure that even his mother wasn't happy with the idea. But if not Visenya, then a girl from some allied House. A House loyal enough to agree to that. His uncle's reputation, though new, certainly preceded him. A drunkard and a scoundrel of the worst kind. He doubted there was a city in the Seven Kingdoms that he didn't know about his uncle.

Aemond or Daeron would have been more reasonable options for Visenya, though Aegon knew she'd have all of them' asses if they dared think she couldn't handle their uncle. The likelihood that she would choose Aegon to teach them a lesson, to make them squirm...

Aegon shuddered, knowing exactly how high the chances were of her doing so.

"You can't be serious!" His father sneered, though his voice was stiff with severity, sharp as Valyrian steel. Daring his wife to repeat.

Tension instantly settled in the air.

"I am." His mother said, looking casually at the suckling baby and rocking him gently. She then looked up at her husband haughtily. She challenged him to counter her. His father halted the march furiously, turning his heel with the subtlety and speed of a snake that attacked. He looked at his wife with something resembling disdain.

Their arguments, though rare in their own right, let alone to be witnessed by their children, were like a tug-of-war so that the occurrences or the spiteful look his father threw at her still caught Aegon off guard.

"You're telling me you're serious about forcing our children, ours, into arranged marriages with offspring of that c*nt!" He roared. Aemon writhed and complained, as opposed to disturbance. His father didn't even look at him. "Should I remind you that you almost met the same fate you're trying to impose on them? I must remind you of how you told me to take you, which, granted, you did as a challenge, but do we know how serious it was?"

His mother looked at her husband for a moment, her eyes piercing and mirroring the disdain in his eyes. Aegon noticed that she was angry.

Of all that he had ever heard about his parents' marriage, made soon after his arrival, it was the first time he realized that there was still some resentment from his mother towards his father. Aegon knew everything, the whole scandal that almost forced his mother to marry Ser Laenor. But he figured that time and love would have slowed down or made her completely forget any grudges she might have. Apparently not.

"I wouldn't wish such a fate on anyone, Daemon." She had said, her voice low and veiled. Poisonous.

"And yet, you want to see our children married to the children of the c*nttower!"

"I never said that."

Whatever his father was about to say, he paused and then narrowed his eyes at his wife.

"You said-"

"That I wanted to engage them." His mother interrupted. "I never said they should get married. You know as well as I do that engagement is not the same as marriage, or this baby would not be yours."

A muscle popped out of his father's cheek, but he remained silent.

Aegon felt curious, and much more inclined to listen to his mother's plans now. He imagined his father had similar feelings for the way his jaw tensed before relaxing, but he was simply stubborn as only a Targaryen could be to tell her he was listening. Aegon had no desire to witness another potential feud between them.

"What do you mean, Mother?"

Her face softened as she looked at him.

"Your grandfather has been sick for a long time, taoba. Even if the gieñryis have stopped the infection, some things are beyond repair. He feels and gets more tired easily and sometimes his mind gets confused when he is pressed. And that makes me consider the idea of him abdicating the throne in my favor." Not a trace of the previous anger still shone in her eyes. Her temperament, he discovered as he grew older, had been disciplined by motherhood and politics. Something his father didn't seem to benefit from, or that he considered useless. His control, even now, was still fragile. His beast was still as savage as it had ever been. "Their engagement will be a temporary measure, only until I take the throne, or we find a better measure to deal with your uncle. I would never force any of you to marry against your will."

But even when she said that her eyes were sad as she looked at him.

Aegon knew there was a pang of guilt in her for not being able to give him the same freedom as his brothers. The freedom to marry whomever he wanted.

His betrothal was agreed upon from the day of his birth, though not a word needed to be spoken. He inherited the match from his mother. He had no choice but to honor her. He sealed the promise with blood at the age of three. It linked her family's lineage to his family. Because it was the wish of the gods.

Aegon, however, held no grudge against her. He grew up with this notion, he grew up alongside his fiancée. They were given all the freedom in the world in their relationship. They were never forced, so friendship and affection blossomed naturally. He was young now, but he hoped that one day he might love his fiancée. Aegon hoped to find in Rhaena the love he saw between his parents. And if he couldn't... Well, weddings were once done with a lot less. Friendship, respect, and affection couldn't be his worst option. If nothing else, he knew he could trust Rhaena.

And the trust was worth a lot for a man in his position.

Almost more than love.

But Aegon knew it wasn't enough for his mother. She would always want more for him or any of her children. It was the simple nature of a mother: to want the best for her children.

"Visenya won't like this." His father declared, on his way of showing, that he had been convinced of his wife's plans.

He, however, was still right.

Visenya would hate it.

Chapter 20: A Wandering Man

Chapter Text

10^th Moon of 125 AC

He hurts as if Balerion's belly was against his back, the weight on him, crushing his bones and the breath in his lungs. Viserys surmised it would have been the best, then he would be dead, and it would all be over. No pain would reach his body or his consciousness.

It wouldn't have been true, though. It wouldn't have been the best. He hadn't thought that way in years. Viserys no longer thought of death as the best thing for him. He thought it would have been the worst thing, so he wouldn't have seen his grandchildren born and wouldn't have seen them grow up. He would not have witnessed the beautiful woman his daughter became or known how sweet dear Helaena could be.

If he had been dead, Viserys wouldn't have seen wonderful things.

And for that, he was grateful, for life. Heavy as it was.

It was the price.

One that he gladly repaid, that paid off and made it a little easier for him to bear the weight of age.

Viserys sighed under Ser Harrold's watchful eye as guided him to settle into his favorite armchair by the fire. He felt like Vhagar, huge, heavy, and old, collapsing with little or no grace into the red velvet that lined the seat cushion. His feet left the ground for a second before landing again. It was not a good day. He felt more tired that afternoon than usual, he realized. The squire who served him more like a nanny than an actual squire, arranged for him by his daughter, rushed to offer the King the mixture of wine and tonic prescribed by the gieñryis of the temple.

His squire filled a goblet from which Viserys took a long sip, satisfied. Happy. Not only did he love Arbor, but the tonic was infinitely better and more palatable than poppy milk, and neither did it make his mind foggy or make him drowsy.

He regretted not having heard his daughter sooner.

Tessarion's medical apprentices, those who treated him, the gieñryis, told him that the sooner he had been treated by Essos healers, the less he would have suffered and the less he would have lost. There was no right cure, they said. And yet, Viserys saw more being done to him in their hands than in the hands of the maesters.

Where would he have been, and how, if he hadn't let Rhaenyra do as she wanted? His daughter was tired of watching him suffer. And she set her limit when he lost his hand. She banished Orwyle and later Mellos from his chambers, thanking them for their service. Viserys didn't catch any gratitude in her voice, though he did pick up the contempt. Mutual, as far as he could tell. She brought men she trusted to know more and put her father in their hands to, if not cure him, as close to it as possible. And here he was, still cursed as he should have been, but graced with enough years to, hopefully, redeem himself with his daughter.

He hoped to do it every day, in whatever way he could find.

And he would keep doing it until Morghul came for him.

Viserys must have been more tired than he imagined after hearing some petitions. He had the distinct sensation of having dozed off, for he had shaken himself when he heard the knocking on the door and the voice of Ser Harrold calling.

"Your Grace?" There was a pause where Viserys grumbled, proving that he was awake. "Princess Rhaenyra is here and wishes to see you."

"Let her in!" He said, clearing his throat.

His body twisted to the side, and he stretched out his good arm to grasp the forgotten cup. Viserys cursed as he poured wine on his hands, the precious tonic becoming sticky in his palms. He cursed under his breath and his feet left the ground for a moment as he tried to sit up straighter.

"Calm down," she said with a giggle as she entered the room.

He did, and his body slowly relaxed against the velvet of his chair as his eyes scanned his daughter's shape, from her silvery-gold blonde hair to the toes of her shoes peeking out from under the skirts of the violet brocade dress she wore. Viserys experienced the same twinge of relief he'd felt since she began to recover.

Inside his chest, his heart beat infinitely lighter just looking at her and knowing that Rhaenyra was fine. That she would live. It was not the natural course of life for parents to see their children die. He never wanted to witness such a thing. Morghul took him before that. Viserys also hoped that she would never want to go back to the birthbed after that. He would give her the moon tea again if he had to. He would have Daemon's balls before she got pregnant again.

Once he was a fool dazzled and blinded by power, but not anymore. His eyes no longer shone at the mention of glory as before, or of greatness. Viserys was no longer willing to sacrifice his dearest ones in exchange for having his name glorified in the annals of history. He learned his lesson well. Blood was thicker than water, and nothing was thicker to him than dragon blood.

"My dear," Viserys sighed reaching out to take hers. His daughter smiled, her ethereal, enchanting beauty stealing his breath. A brief glimpse of her mother, strangely more visible in Helaena than in her. Even so, every glimpse on Rhaenyra's face was precious. Viserys brought her delicate hand to his lips, kissing reverently, contrary to proper protocol. But he was always a bit weak when it came to Rhaenyra. It has gotten even worse in the last eleven years. "What can I do for you?"

Her amethyst eyes, the same as his, lit up curiously. Viserys found himself with his body leaning towards her, curious and intrigued.

Rhaenyra pulled away, sitting in the chair facing his. The fireplace, though it was daylight, threw on her face a contrast of shadow and light that danced on her features, but especially on her eyes. One of them shone brighter and brighter, the other found itself shrouded in shadows.

"There's something I've been thinking about," she had begun as she leaned forward toward him. "And that I'd like to discuss with you in a private audience."

Viserys blinked, caught off guard.

His daughter, as a general rule, did not request audiences. Much less private. There was little she had to say to him that she couldn't do it openly whenever and wherever she wanted. Even the Small Council didn't intimidate her anymore. She stood up and said what she wanted, just like a dragon that took what it wanted without bothering with the mere sheep.

He didn't think she needed anything. Rhaenyra was very skilled at getting what she wanted when she wanted it. And between him and her husband, she had her wishes and desires anticipated by them.

A semi-formal and private audience...

Viserys found himself even more intrigued.

But despite his growing curiosity, Viserys found himself smiling indulgently at her. Smiling like she was more than just a kid who ran up to him and sat on his knee just to tell him she missed him and loved him.

She hadn't been that little girl in a long time.

Nor did she express herself before him as easily as she did at that time. Viserys had no one else to blame but himself. Trust, when broken, could even be repaired. But it would never be the same as before. He accepted that a long time ago as well. He had to. Because despite his actions, what he did, and what he tried to do, his daughter still loved him. And for him, that was enough.

"For you?" He asked with some irreverence. "Always, my dear."

His daughter tilted her head, her eyes large and expressive, but they didn't give him any of her thoughts. Rhaenyra looked at him as if she were studying his character. Viserys put her at ease.

He did, however, settle better with her help, who offered him some pillows. Viserys liked that, he liked being taken care of by her. He liked how she had grown up a better and wiser woman than he would ever be as a man. Rhaenyra had grown to value promises less and actions more, and so she behaved. She taught all those around her to expect her to do something, rather than promise it. Her word was good enough, of course, but actions always had a way of speaking louder, didn't they?

Rhaenyra asked for tea, not liking having wine when she was nursing. He knew it had been a recommendation from her midwife, and so far the woman had given them no reason to distrust her judgment. Daemon wouldn't have left her alive one more day if he'd thought otherwise, Viserys knew. He moved more calmly this time to reach for his wine and then took a long sip, under her watchful eye.

Viserys saw in them a satisfied glow.

"Are you fine?" Viserys asked after another sip, leaving her to decide when the best way was to approach the subject that had brought her here. It was up to him, then, the duty of kindness. Moreover, he had a genuine interest in how she was doing, since it had only been a few weeks since she had slowly resumed her activities and obligations. No more than another half-moon turn. And where was his brother? He grew accustomed to seeing him hovering over her shoulder, worried as hell.

A decade and Viserys still hadn't learned how to deal with them. He didn't think he would.

Rhaenyra snorted humorously.

"Do you think if I wasn't, Daemon would have let me out?"

He nodded.

"And where is he, that husband of yours?"

"With young Aemon." She smiled with a twinkle in her eye that enhanced the beauty in her already stunningly beautiful face. "Aemon doesn't really like being with Annora or Lyeta."

He felt a pang in his chest at the mention of his youngest grandson.

Despite this, Viserys was able to snort. "None of your children liked to be with other people when they could be with you. I can't count how many meetings have been raided by them, and that sometimes still are."

Even if they are smaller and smaller occurrences, he thought to himself.

His grandchildren, unlike his children, were exceptionally mature children for their age. Their wit, their cunning, grew sharper with each passing year. And the last year and a half has revealed to them more of that behavior.

Viserys was aware that while proud of the children she was raising, his daughter felt melancholy about it. He saw in her eyes the same melancholy he felt once he came to see her as a grown woman and not his sweet little girl. The same melancholy that gripped him when he realized how fast she was growing and how little time they had. He was also aware of how much she loved her children. She loved them with all her heart. More than he expected and more than he thought she could do. Viserys feared that she would give them her whole heart because she feared that Agni's words would come true.

That she was fated to one of six.

No, Viserys scolded himself. He would never allow his daughter to lose any of her children. He couldn't. Not as long as he wore the crown and was the King, as long as he was alive and could do something for it. Nothing would happen to them, not even over his dead body.

He hadn't allowed it for the past decade and wasn't willing to start now.

He had long ago decided to do everything he could for her. And for a long time, Viserys had failed with that resolution. He failed when he let greed get the better of him. Not anymore, he told himself every day since.

So he made decisions. Maybe nothing big or spectacular in the grand scheme of things, nothing grand or maybe not even significant. Just as he wanted. It was not in his interest or his daughter's interest that his movements should attract the attention of their enemies. Not immediately, at least.

Viserys was sure that he had become foolish, negligent, and inert in the eyes of many. And he made them blame the disease for it, unaware that it was a calculated move on his part.

Because where Viserys had failed the Realm for the past decade, his daughter and brother were there to cover his failure. For every decision he failed to make and allowed Rhaenyra and Daemon to step up and deal with it as they saw fit, Viserys had quietly and surreptitiously made the Realm lean on and depend on them over the years. Until the Lords and the Commons trusted their judgment more than his. The crown and the Seven Kingdoms were his, but only in name.

Something he's spent quite a bit of time figuring out how to fix.

But until then, Viserys would do everything he could to maintain the status quo. So that the Realm would have no one else to lean on but his daughter. He had gone so far as to ruthlessly undermine Alicent's power, turning her into little more than the figurehead of a sunken ship, by denying and neglecting her. He had done the same with their children, paying little attention to them.

A rather risky move, he knew. A dangerous game one he had decided to play. But the best Viserys has found to do has worked well so far. Even if Alicent's faction did something, they moved slower and in the shadows, unlike his daughter's faction, which moved faster and more easily. Viserys had bought his daughter the most precious thing. Time. He was giving her time to prepare as much as he could.

However, if Alicent's movement at the meeting meant anything, it was that she was getting desperate. He knew then that not everything would remain as he wanted, and it was left to Viserys to find another way to slow her down but to stop her.

Viserys cleared his throat, sipping another sip of wine.

"So, what would you like to talk about?"

She tapped her index fingernail on her knee for a contemplative moment and then spoke.

"Alliance."

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant when two knocks on the door made him close it.

"The tea, Your Grace." Ser Harrold announced.

His squire had returned with a maid who had smiled at his daughter. Rhaenyra graced them both with a slight curl of the corners of her mouth and though small, her smile was very pleasant. Quite charming. The maid smiled, pleased to see her in good health, and then poured the tea as gently as she could in her movements.

Viserys noticed the way his daughter played with the rings on her fingers as the maid poured the tea into her cup. Rhaenyra dismissed her next, enjoying making the tea herself in her way. The maid gave them a sharp nod and left, taking his squire. Ser Harrold closed the door behind the two of them, and Rhaenyra busied herself putting honey and a few drops of lemon into her tea. Viserys watched his daughter mingle and take a sip, humming contentedly.

He was very intrigued by the matter now.

"Alliance, you say," He encouraged her.

Rhaenyra smirked over the rim of her cup.

"Indeed, my father."

"Who do we want to ally ourselves with?" His fingers drummed over his closed lips.

She made him wait for a few heartbeats, and Viserys understood why when she finally revealed it.

"My siblings."

Of all the possibilities that could have crossed his mind since she had spoken of alliances, this one hadn't crossed his mind at all. This was clear when Viserys frowned, and a knot formed between his eyebrows, though each day grayer, still quite thick. The same, however, could not be said about his hair. There was a price... to be charged.

Aemma took him slowly, in pieces. And of the ones she chose to take, he could only be thankful that she hadn't touched his mind now that it was his. Or so he had thought now that he had heard such a thing from Rhaenyra's lips. Maybe he shouldn't trust himself so much. Maybe he shouldn't have boasted. Aemma didn't like it when he was arrogant. She always said it'd come back to bite him.

Here's the proof.

He leaned on his right elbow against the arm of the chair, tapping his fingertips on his lips as he gave her a long meditative look.

"I'm afraid I didn't quite understand," he had said.

"But you did." Rhaenyra took another sip of tea, resting the saucer on her knee delicately, with graceful balance. Her face was blank. "I'm looking for an alliance with my siblings."

Viserys jerked slightly, and the crown on his head wavered in his balance for an instant.

"Why?"

That was the real question, wasn't it?

"The Queen clearly hasn't given up on her games," she pointed out dismissively. And even if Viserys wanted to, he couldn't have avoided the frown that formed on his face at mere memory.

His wife had once been a good girl, an obedient girl. But still a girl. A girl trying to fit into a woman's shoes. Alicent now pretended to be a lamb and had surely become more dangerous than a wolf who wore the skin of one. Viserys regretted, not for the first time, their marriage. He should never have married her, or any other woman. He had grown wiser over time, realizing that any child he had with another woman would have brought trouble to Rhaenyra. Marrying Alicent only brought more.

What he should have done, and what he hated to admit, even to himself, was that he should have married Daemon to Rhaenyra. If he had married them off instead of insisting that Aemma have another child, none of this would have happened.

What a mess I made, he thought to himself.

The obsidian hand felt heavy in his lap.

"Clearly," Viserys agreed in disgust. "Then what's the point of the alliance?"

"To undermine her, of course." Rhaenyra clarified. The beautiful lilac eyes were covered by a shadow he couldn't name. "I don't want to wait to see how it all ends, Father. I wish to take matters into my own hands. We have been tolerant of it, I believe because none of us wants any child to die. I certainly don't."

But I did, he thought to himself. And so does Daemon. Viserys struggled to keep his expression unchanged and swore he could feel the ghost of the amputated hand curl into a clenched fist. And even when his stomach rebelled against the terrible truth that had taken root in his heart long ago, he didn't deny what he knew. Three children were supposed to die. Even if it brought him the wrath of the gods. Even if Aemma or Agni could never forgive him for being the one to think that way.

Three children were to die so that one might live, and with her, a whole dynasty.

He found in this same heart that knew this dark truth, nothing to regret. Nor did he find anything in him that would lead him to do what needed to be done. But Viserys knew someone who could. Someone who would. And he also knew why it had never been done. Viserys knew as well as Daemon that Rhaenyra would never forgive them for this. And to his brother, who put Rhaenyra above anything and everything, even himself and what he considered right; There was little more unthinkable and unbearable than not having her forgiveness and therefore not having her. Viserys knew Daemon wouldn't do anything, even though it was what he thought he needed to do to keep her and their children safe. At least not until there was no alternative.

And he was sure, Daemon considered that it should be done.

But none of them said anything. The woman sitting in front of him was why.

Viserys wished there was still wine left in his now empty goblet to wet his dry mouth, but he remained as he was, content to leave her oblivious to the ugliness of his soul and the cruelty of his heart. Unaware of the monster in himself that he fed. He was a dragon, after all, even if he had been dormant for a long time. Viserys was born for madness or greatness. And he no longer cared whether greatness was destined for him or not, or whether it was madness. What was he made for, then? Maybe something darker, more selfish. Dangerous.

Only the gods would know.

And none of them had any desire to tell him, it seemed.

Until he found himself under pressure, Viserys didn't feel the need to know either.

Then he hummed, flippantly, in response.

"You seem to already have a plan." He commented, none of his thoughts showing in his countenance, or his voice. "What is it?"

"I discussed with Daemon engaging them with our children."

Viserys sneered inevitably. It seemed unlikely to him that Daemon would agree to such a plan. His brother, after all, spared nothing for the children Viserys had with his second wife. Daemon granted these children nothing but the hatred he felt for the kids' mother and grandfather. His hatred of Hightower's blood ran deep and was known throughout the realm.

The crown on Viserys's head, or his opinion, meant sh*t to Daemon when he was sober, and it was even worse when he got drunk. Daemon simply distilled the poison contained in his heart. The same poison that had infected Viserys's heart and made him think about the murder of relatives. Of his children.

No, there was no way Daemon could have agreed to that. He expressed the thought to her.

His daughter looked away for a moment.

"He's not happy, but he's agreed, as long as there's no marriage." She finally said.

It made him raise an eyebrow.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips for a moment.

"It would be a temporary engagement." She said, lowering her voice. "Something to distract the Queen for a while."

That would keep Alicent more than distracted, it would drive her crazy.

Would his daughter have considered that such a move could prompt Alicent and her allies to take drastic action? Viserys took some time to process the information. Considering the worst-case scenario, he didn't know much about what was going on at his wife's side, which made it hard to know what the worst was.

He allowed Otto to come to town once a year, hoping to find out something. But whatever Otto and the people of Oldtown were up to, they kept it close to their hearts. The Reach was like walking on hot coals. There was no way to do it without the risk of getting burned.

"Distracted from what?" Viserys wanted to know.

"Abdication." Oh. Rhaenyra looked at him carefully, stepping back in her chair. The shadows almost swallowed her face, masking her expression. "I realized that I must undermine any political value my siblings have, Father, if I want to prevail. The engagement, however temporary, will do this by limiting Alicent's alliance options. In the meantime, we must begin a transition from the crown to me."

Viserys wasn't surprised at all. This was what he had been preparing her for the past decade, though she didn't know it. He had decided that he wanted to be alive to see her reign, and he wanted to be alive to help with damage control if there were any.

At first, he planned to do so when Agni showed up. But Westeros had experienced enough instability with the crumbling of the religion of the Seven. He didn't need to throw his daughter newlywed and mother, and still very young, into it. Instead, he let her learn from the crisis, and then from the years that followed, preparing her gently. But now it was different with her initiative, besides the fact that she had acquired more power and had established herself better with the nobles and the commons. She made a lot of allies, almost friends, and a few friends. She made many marriages that benefited their cause.

Ser Harwin Strong's next marriage was a perfect example.

Lyonel's son could get little more than a wife with this alliance, in political terms, but once he had her loyalty or her heart, she would be invaluable to them.

Lyonel proved himself a loyal friend and a valuable ally more times than Otto ever did, and Viserys once again had a hard time accepting how blind and stupid he was. Maybe he was arrogant. Maybe he was just foolish. Whatever it was, it almost cost him not only his most precious thing, his daughter, but the future of House Targaryen. He wouldn't make the same mistakes again.

Viserys offered her a nod.

"Are you ready for this?"

Rhaenyra straightened up quickly. Her amethyst eyes sparkled in the fireplace light with a hint of surprise. He almost laughed.

"Are you agreeing?"

"Is there anything I can deny you?" He teased her gently, even though he hadn't said anything but the truth. She simply looked at him. "I've had it on my mind for a while, my dear. I would like not only to see you reign but to be there for you if you need me. The transition would be easier than at my death and, if there are still any doubts, incontestable." The corners of his mouth curled more gently, and his eyes became nostalgic. "Also, I want to spend more time with my grandchildren, with Helaena, and I wish, if I'm lucky, to meet my great-grandchildren. Abdicating will make all of this possible."

His daughter nodded as if all of this had already crossed her mind. Maybe it did. It should have. Rhaenyra hadn't become the reckless type in planning something like this. She wouldn't have produced the plan and come empty-handed, without considering every little thing, be it for or against.

Viserys continued, "Now, tell me. What matches do you have in mind?"

Her eyes became sharper, clearer. Rhaenyra seemed to have overcome her daze.

"Naturally, I thought of Viserys to Helaena." Viserys had no objection to this pairing. His grandson became an exceptional young man with each passing day, and he was also very patient and pleasant with his aunt in a way that few others were. Fake engagement or not, he was a good option to have around Helaena. He would take care of her. And, Viserys knew, there had not yet walked this earth who understood the ways of the heart, often as or more tortuous than the ways of greed. Love always comes with a surprise or two, who knows... "But Aegon is a different matter. His fiancée needs to be very loyal to our family, and I can only think of Visenya or Daenara for the role. I'd have to find the Velaryons and find out."

Viserys couldn't have avoided the way his face twitched into a grimace even if he wanted to, and given the way his daughter looked at him, he knew she felt the same way. Viserys barely remembered the girl Velaryon, but he wouldn't have recommended his son to the daughter of his worst enemy. Let alone the daughter of an ally, or worse, his only granddaughter.

"Do you plan to go straight to the Velaryon girl, then?" Viserys asked.

"I should at least ask Visenya."

He understood why, for although his granddaughter had a great contempt for the Greens, she would hate for it to become the reason why she purposely saw herself kept apart from the plans.

"What about abdication? Would you like to do it soon?"

Rhaenyra shook her head.

"I'd like to take some more time." Her lilac eyes seemed to suddenly turn wistful, she turned them away. "Aegon is still young, and he already has so many responsibilities. I wish he had more time, though that's all I can do before it's inevitable. Maybe a few more years to prepare him."

He could almost hear her say 'to get me ready'.

Viserys held out his hand, offering a gentle pat on her hand, aware of what she meant and what hadn't been said. The crown was a weight he would always hesitate to put on her shoulders. Because although he wished to give her the world, the throne, Viserys never really wished for Rhaenyra to be at the center of power. He knew the cost.

Trust, security, peace...

The Crown exacted a heavy price, he knew it better now than ever.

And he never wanted her to be anything other than happy. Carefree. Free with her wild and adventurous heart. But time and maturity gave the certainty that his decision was right. She should always have been made Queen. The crown fit perfectly.

It didn't make it any easier, even over the years, though.

"Whatever your heart desires, my dear." He assured. "And as you wish."

She smiled. Viserys watched her leave not long after, after seeing him comfortable in bed. Stripped of the heavy robe of velvet and brocade. From the heavy crown. From leather boots. His daughter fluffed up the pillows for him before leaving, wishing him a good rest. Viserys smiled, nodding to her. He felt quite tired after a long day. And especially after this conversation.

It gave him a lot of things to think about, a lot of plans to make, moves to execute. There was no rest for him.

So he waited for a quarter of an hour before calling Ser Harrold.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"Ask Lord Hand to come, yes?"

Ser Harrold nodded and then walked away, with a soft click of the door closing behind him. Viserys turned to the window as he waited. He enjoyed the beautiful autumn day outside. The sound of birds chirping. The fragrances came from the garden, wafting and entering through the balcony of his chambers. He heard very distant, indistinct voices, and felt it on his face and almost tasted on his tongue the taste of the sea air.

He almost fell asleep, before there were two knocks on the door.

"Come in."

Ser Harrold's tall figure was visible for a moment before Lyonel obscured him as he entered the room. His Lord Hand placed himself beside his bed with a worried look on his face.

"Your Grace," he greeted him appropriately. "How can I help you?"

Viserys pointed with a bony finger to a red velvet armchair.

"Bring it close and sit down, we've got a lot to discuss."

Lyonel hesitated for a moment.

"If I may ask, what are we discussing, my King?"

Viserys gave him a tired look, as the aftermath of his day, but determined. There was a very Targaryen glint in his violet eyes.

"My abdication in favor of the Crown Princess, Lord Lyonel."

Chapter 21: A Queen to a Crown

Chapter Text

10^th Moon of 125 AC

Rhaenyra tried to concentrate on embroidery despite it not being her favorite activity. But she still needed a distraction from the unsettling feeling under her skin that was bothering her. The embroidery, however, was working as well as half an hour ago. Which meant it wasn't working. She snorted and her eyes drifted to the armchair on the other side of the manor, where a boy of eleven namedays was very involved in his reading.

He grew up well, she thought wistfully.He grew up fast. More than he should and more than she could bear. But such were the children, they grew up despite the desire in their parents' hearts to keep them close, small and dependent on them, and always in sight to calm their worried hearts. Hers more than anyone else's. There was too much at stake for Rhaenyra to be perfectly comfortable with her heart beating and existing outside her chest.

But here she was once again. Her mouth curled softly and unconsciously as she looked at her husband holding the new baby. Daemon walked around the room shaking Aemon gently on his shoulder, just as he did with Aegon in those early days, just like he did for the twins and Baelon later.

Her heart swelled against her ribs painfully for an instant, trapped in such a small space when she was overflowing with love, of concern.

Of anxiety.

The source of this unsettling feeling came from no other place than her dear daughter, her sweet and violent Visenya. Rhaenyra knew that Viserys would not object. He liked the game, after all. And he was a sweet kid. Considerate. Selfish. Possessive. Viserys always liked to keep everything that was dear close, and the closer to the heart, the tighter he held. They were all like that, they all considered Helaena part of the family. She had never been a Green in their eyes.

Would the engagement between her son and sister please Visenya, but enough to make her want to get involved? To accept her hand in the game, even if temporary? Rhaenyra didn't know. Her daughter was very similar to her father. Very unpredictable.

Undermining Aegon was her priority, but if Visenya was willing, Rhaenyra wouldn't deny Aemond. She knew that despite the deep hatred Visenya harbored for him, Aemond still wasn't able to anger her the way Aegon was, with little more than one breath. But Aemond... he was very much Alicent's son. Rhaenyra once trusted this woman and she betrayed her more than once, in more ways than one. The Queen's third child had all the mannerisms that made Rhaenyra uneasy. And so did Daemon.

He wasn't opposing the match between Viserys and Helaena, but Daemon would never be silent in the face of a match, fake or not, for his precious daughter. Much less when it was with some boy of Hightower blood. The idea didn't appeal to her either, but Rhaenyra always kept an open mind. And Visenya was difficult. She was stubborn, spoiled, and selfish. Visenya could be cruel, the whole Realm knew that. And what was Rhaenyra about to ask of her... She knew she wouldn't be well accepted. If it were.

That's why she shook her knee, restless, as she waited for the twins to arrive after the day's classes.

The doorknob snapped, and she looked up to see Ser Erryk let the pair in. Rhaenyra found Viserys' eyes shaded like Dragonstone on rainy days, pensive. Speculating about what his mother's restlessness had to do with the small meeting she had called. Rhaenyra didn't know if she should curse or thank Rhaenys for it, after all, she trained him well.

"Mūna."He muttered gently as he approached to kiss her cheek. Rhaenyra smiled and caressed his cheekbone.

He was so handsome, so charming. Daemon said he was just like her. But Rhaenyra found in her son more than her husband's eyes. She saw in Viserys that irresistible charm of Daemon and knew that alongside Aegon he would break many hearts one day. Perhaps even more so, since Viserys was free as Aegon was not.

Her smile threatened to waver, and Rhaenyra pushed away her thoughts. She chased away the gloomy clouds hovering over Aegon's happiness. She would find a way, one day. Rhaenyra would do anything for him. To any of her children, nothing was impossible.

"What's wrong?" Visenya stuck her training sword into a cushion in an armchair.

Rhaenyra didn't blink or tremble, much less flinch. She's gotten used to Visenya skewering things since she was a baby, naughty girl that she was. Also, being her mother gave her the wisdom to choose her battles with her daughter. Visenya was the kind of girl that if you told her to go right, she would go left. Rhaenyra couldn't tell if this was her inheritance or Daemon's, perhaps both. But it almost always worked against them. This led her to take things with care when it came to Visenya.

"Sit here too, my love." She said, offering her hand. Visenya grimaced and threw herself into an armchair.

Rhaenyra didn't miss that.

Visenya had been more... temperamental than usual since Aemon was born and since Rhaenyra had recovered from childbirth. She knew this conversation was coming to them, but she didn't expect Visenya to get a taste of what her childhood had been like, what it was like to experience the uncertainty of her mother's survival. She pushed those thoughts away for now.

"I suppose it has nothing to do with family time." Viserys teased, a crooked smile at the corner of his mouth.

Rhaenyra smirked.

"Smart boy," Daemon said, sitting next to her with Aemon asleep on his lap. His smile grew. "And while it's always nice to have you all around, Viserys is right. It's not family time."

"So what is it?" Visenya demanded.

Aegon closed the book, casting a glance at her. Visenya ignored him, pretending not to see. Rhaenyra felt her mouth twist.

"The Queen proposed to the King a marriage between Helaena and Aegon, your uncle." She said casually.

Visenya jumped to her feet, her indigo eyes stormy.

"What!"

"Dear, please," Rhaenyra asked with the slightest rebuke in her tone as Aemon moved. He didn't sleep well the last few nights, crying late.

Daemon looked at her for a moment, interpreting her wish that he would put the baby in the crib for this conversation. He kissed her quickly, got up, and went to the bedroom.

Rhaenyra looked at her children. Aegon just watched the situation unfold, aware of the plan while Viserys waited quietly, aware that there was more. But Visenya... She didn't seem to be willing to listen to anything else after that. Always very sensitive when it came to Helaena. Always with the heart up the sleeves. Visenya rarely made a point of hiding her thoughts, her feelings, her emotions. She wore them on her sleeves, proudly, as a weapon.

And what a weapon it could be.

"Your grandfather didn't agree." She told them. Viserys blinked and nodded slowly. But Visenya changed little, still standing. Still with her arms crossed. But with a less turbulent look. "And yet, it doesn't mean that the Queen will accept it."

"That curse of a c*nt!" Visenya cursed.

It made her shudder. Rhaenyra wasnotagainst swearing and generally did not mind when her children swore in front of her. They were Daemon'skids, it was expected. Still, she demanded decorum and more care with their tongues.

The kingdom could love them, could adore them...

And yet they had to play the game, follow the rules.

Even the coming of Agni would only be able to do so much and for so long.

And although for her that night was engraved in her soul, it had a relative impact to others.Onothers. So the nobles became relapsed and forgotten, conniving. And Rhaenyra wasn't up for that. She had to remind them that more than magic ran through their veins, that the blood of their bloodline was the blood of the gods. And those who did not bow down to the dragons became prey. They became souls to Balerion.

The game didn't end because the gods made their move. Agni's intervention only raised the stakes.

Visenya was still young, Rhaenyra knew, but she understood something of the game. Enough to want to play a role. To choose one. To reincarnate Meleys, the Merciless, and interpret her gracefully. Just like all of them. And however it was, there were expectations about them. About her family, her children.TowardsVisenya. And yet, Rhaenyra didn't try to force her stubborn daughter into anything, she knew better than that, though she hadn't given Visenya free rein. As such, Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow, imperiously, making Visenya hesitate.

Her daughter did not apologize.

Rhaenyra didn't wait for it.

"Do you think she can marry them without the King knowing?" Viserys asked, attracting her and Aegon's attention. She hummed, considering the idea.

Viserys wasn't wrong. In fact, it was a very accurate thought of what a desperate Alicent could do.And why not?Alicent never seemed skilled at deceiving, but once she succeeded and managed to hide from Rhaenyra the truth that she had been sleeping with her best friend's father behind her back. Marrying off her children against the King's will would seem like nothing once all was said and done.

Gods.

"Let her try, let her..." Visenya boiled, tapping her foot. But Rhaenyra ignored her.

"You're right, dear," she said raising her hand and sliding it over his hair absentmindedly. "If I still know her, that's something she would do. The Queen is not averse to deceive, whatever she says. And that means we have to be faster than her."

The burning flames in Visenya's eyes withered a little, and curiosity blossomed. Her daughter took a cautious step closer to them. Visenya seemed to prefer to give up the sword rather than talk about it, but she was never a coward a single day of her life.

"What are we going to do?"

Aegon replied. "Mother and Father are thinking about allying with them."

Visenya opened her mouth, but Viserys was faster.

"Marriage." He said, turning to his mother. Rhaenyra nodded superficially. Her hand fell off. Viserys did not move away or cringe. He barely blinked. His mind already working. He was very similar to Aegon, to her. Visenya was as explosive as Daemon. She followed the style off*ck it and find out. "You want to marry us to them."

Once again Rhaenyra nodded.

Visenya emitted a strangled noise that could be of fury or indignation, of everything and nothing at the same time. But a violent blush stained her cheeks. And her eyes shone brightly.

It was expected.

"Kepacertainly didn't agree with that!" She exclaimed.

Rhaenyra grimaced, about to explain.

"I certainly didn't," Daemon said, interrupting her as he closed the bedroom door carefully so as not to disturb Aemon. He returned to Rhaenyra's side, wrapping an arm around her. Rhaenyra watched Visenya get annoyed at her father's calmness on a subject that, as everyone knew, would have his temper gone faster than any of them could say anything. His jealousy was a legendary beast. Especially concerning his daughter or wife. "I didn't agree to any marriage, just an engagement."

Visenya gave him a betrayed look. Viserys leaned in.

"A fake engagement to protect her?" He wanted to know. Daemon nodded darkly. "I do. I will be engaged to my aunt."

Visenya's jaw dropped, certainly leaving her feeling pressured to agree once Viserys had done so. Especially to protect their aunt, whom they both liked very much. Rhaenyra appreciated.

"Your grandfather has plans to abdicate for me." She revealed it by looking at Visenya, knowing that she shouldn't pressure her. Then she gave them the details of the plan. "We talked about it. He is okay with a long, fake engagement that will be dissolved once the transition is made for me."

"How long?" Viserys asked curiously.

"We're not sure how long it will take, but it could be a few years. You are too young to marry anyway." She said and Daemon agreed. "There is no hurry. But it will diminish the chances of the alliances that Alicent can try to make or try to strengthen Aegon's claim."

Daemon, next to her, rolled his eyes.

Visenya looked at them for a long moment, with an unreadable expression, and then grabbed the training sword and left. Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon kissed her on the temple.

"I told you she would be difficult." He pointed it out.

"I know." She smiled wearily, wishing for nothing more in this world than peace. That she didn't have to ask her children for that. That they didn't have to fight and sacrifice as well. But power, especially throne power, did not come without a cost. Rhaenyra smiled softly from the side, looking at him as she leaned over his shoulder. "I put her in this world."

"I'll talk to her." Viserys volunteered, already standing up.

She stopped him by shaking her head and standing up. Daemon grabbed her hand, deftly twirling it and snatching a quick kiss from her. She walked away with a giggle, knowing the boys were rolling their eyes.So young. She didn't want them to grow up and discover the joys of love. They were supposed to be her babies forever.

"There's something that's bothering her." She told her son, her fingers drumming over Viserys chest, where his heart rumbled steadily and quietly. "It's time to talk."

Her son didn't say anything, he didn't even blink. He knew something was wrong and probably planned to do something about it himself. After all, Visenya was his twin. If something bothered her, it automatically became his problem too.

Rhaenyra loved that her children were all so united. Then she walked away, following the invisible trail of destruction. At least for now.

Knowing her daughter and her tantrums, Rhaenyra found her in the garden pruning the flowers with a blunt sword. Her face twitched into a grimace before Rhaenyra could think. Visenya was destroying the beautiful daffodil bushes and foxgloves sent by Lady Oakheart and Lady Tarly. Visenya knew better than that, but anger always made her reckless, and even her mother's presence wasn't enough to make Visenya slow down or stop.

Rhaenyra said nothing but sighed settling into the Weirwood's roots to wait for Visenya's anger to pass. Her stubborn daughter and her tantrum eventually gave her and Annora a lot of work ahead, but finally, Visenya got tired and came to sit next to her mother with an angry pout that prevented Rhaenyra from cooing or saying anything. The girl managed to get a few scratches on her cheeks destroying Lady Tyrell's rose bush. Rhaenyra smiled at her daughter and brushed away the blood, leaves, and petals from her. Visenya banged her head loud and clear against the tree, just to make a point. Shewashard-headed.

"What's going on, byka perzys, um?"Rhaenyra asked in High Valyrian as she reached out to comb the wandering strands of hair from Visenya's crooked and messy braid. H er daughter gave h er a questioning look."I know something is happening to you, amotheralways knows. Do you want to tell me?"

Visenya's jaw clenched, and her eyes were obscured as she debated whether to share. Rhaenyra hummed, combing her daughter's hair. Visenya pushed her mother's hand away with a non-biting blow of his hand. A grumpy little dragon indeed.

"I don't want to get married!"She proclaimed it in High Valyrian as well.

Rhaenyra hummed once more.

"And I don't want to force you into it."She guaranteed."You know that. You were there to hear that it will only be temporary."

Visenya clenched her jaw again.

"I don't want to get married now or ever!"She bit it."I don't want to have children. I don't want to-"

She interrupted herself, looking right into her mother’s eyes. Rhaenyra looked back, reading the fear in the desperate expression of Visenya's beautiful indigo eyes, and understood.

I don't want to be you. I don't want to go through what you went through. I don't want you to do it again.

There was a quiet, desperate appeal in her gaze that could only be translated in this way. Rhaenyra cooed, hugging her daughter.

"Oh,love, there's nothing to worry about."She said."We would never force you to do anything you don't want to do, we know how you are."Rhaenyra chuckled, and Visenya's shoulders rolled back with pride. She continued smiling softly as she stroked her daughter's hair."You are free from the day you were born to have your destiny as you wish, your father and I know that."

Visenya walked away, looking for the truth and Rhaenyra offered it easily.

"But everyone waits..."

Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Everyone waits for something. People expect a lot from us. But it doesn't mean that our lives belong to them to tell us how to do something."Rhaenyra held Visenya’s face carefully, holding indigo against amethyst."Dragons do not bow to gods or men, much less to sheep. We are the blood of fire itself, of creation itself. We are the blood of Agni. If you don't want to get married, if you don't want to have children, it's your destiny to do as you want."

"But everything our family fights for, Aegon..."It broke her heart the way her daughter's voice trembled.

"There's more you can do for us without needing a husband or children, my dear."Visenya arched an impressed eyebrow."There's so much you or your brothers can do. And none of us, your father and I, or your grandfather, want to clip your wings and prevent you from getting where you want to go. You have the privilege of flying, so fly."

Visenya held her gaze, and Rhaenyra could see the gears in her head shifting and turning, absorbing.

"Can I fight?"Visenya asked sheepishly.

Rhaenyra laughed."Is that what you want?"

Visenya nodded timidly.

"Then do what your heart desires. You are our third child, you have a privilege granted to few. Enjoy."

Visenya nodded and snuggled against her for affection, and Rhaenyra let her do it.

The wind blew through the canopy of the Weirwood, and red leaves flew over them like rose petals. The scent of the garden penetrated their senses like gentle waves on the beach. Her thumb slid rhythmically, up and down, on Visenya's shoulder.

"Who do you want me to have?"She asked softly.

Rhaenyra smiled to herself. Visenya was giving in on her own as she felt secure that she was not being forced into anything. Especially something she seemed to hate with a passion. Rhaenyra could understand the feeling. There was a time when she didn't want to get married or have children. She was older than Visenya. With some nastier scars from her mother's pregnancies. How could she blame her daughter after what happened? How could Rhaenyra blame her when she knew Visenya couldn't help but wonder if she would ever be in her mother's shoes?

Rhaenyra’s mother told her that a woman's battlefield was the birthing bed, and eventually, she willingly stepped into it. But Visenya wouldn't have to do it if she didn't want to. Certainly not now, and not ever either.

Rhaenyra settled better, pulling her daughter to her chest. The chin over her hair. Visenya intertwined her fingers, and Rhaenyra hummed a little more than three notes of any tune.

"Whoever you feel you can take,"Rhaenyra finally answered with a sigh. There was no real choice between the two. Both of her brothers worried her for different reasons and yet, only because they were Alicent's children, if nothing else. But the decision was up to Visenya if the choice could be offered to her. And it was. Rhaenyra would give her children choices whenever she could."Nothing will have to last forever, my dear. Choose the one you can bear."

There was a pause.

"Can I kick his ass?"

Rhaenyra laughed.

"Don't you already?"

They stayed under the Weirwood until Daemon found them, so Rhaenyra sent her daughter to clean and let her husband take her back to their apartments, where she instructed Annora to direct the kitchens to prepare something more special for the night. So she allowed her husband to wash her as if she were a newborn, with care and adoration.

She found herself dressed in a sumptuous taffeta gown as dark blue as the gloomy waters of the Shivering Sea. The lantern sleeves were almost an inconvenience, but she liked it just as much as the skin-fitting sleeves, embroidered with precious stones and gold thread. The pearly silk chemise went up her lap, protecting the modesty of her cleavage and Annora had placed around her neck her husband's newest gift to her. A poncho necklace, filled with diamonds, crystals, and blue sapphires.

It stood out perfectly on her cleavage.

She hung a pair of matching earrings and put some rings on her fingers. No brighter than the ring on her ring finger. Rhaenyra hummed, knowing that it was majestic for tonight. Divine.

A petty part of her felt satisfied every time she excelled Alicent. Not that it was difficult. Alicent never seemed to have an opinion on anything, including clothing. After all, her father took her mother's dresses and forced her to wear them to seduce the King.

Rhaenyra’s hair fell in waves, only half tied up. Her crown shone in the torchlights. The blue grenades of thekokoshnikseemed to capture and reflect the light. Rhaenyra emitted a hum of satisfaction with her image and stepped back to take a better look at herself.

Hands slid down her hips and up her waist, wrapping her in a warm, possessive embrace. The embrace of a dragon. Rhaenyra smiled delighted at the image of her husband behind her, dressed in black from head to toe. A leather doublet textured to look like dragon scales, with clasps in the shape of dragon heads. He wore velvet pants and wore new boots tonight.

They didn't always dress exquisitely, although Rhaenyra always made sure to look as beautiful as possible. But the occasion seemed to call for it. Alicent couldn't say it was all a joke, not when it all seemed so formal.

Daemon’s nose skimmed her neck as she took a deep breath, moving to give him access. His rough, sword-callused palm spread over her now empty, flat, baby-free belly. He pulled her closer, his hand sliding along her delicate throat, while Rhaenyra gripped the hair at the nape of his neck in her clutches. She turned her face into his kiss on her throat, his teeth teasingly capturing her earlobe. Daemon planted a bruising kiss at the juncture of her jaw. Her breasts, tender from nursing, strained even further against her clothes, and Rhaenyra regretted wearing a high-necked chemise; regretting that Daemon wouldn’t be able to slide his hand into her cleavage.

"You're an absolute treat for the eyes," he mumbled hoarsely against her cheek, tracking her lips. Rhaenyra threw her hips back against his. Unfortunately, the volume of her skirts prevented her from feeling anything. Which only fueled the fire in her veins. The sensation bothers under the tight skin, craving his touch. "You're a delight of mine alone to taste,nūha prūmia."

"Yours." She nodded, sighing when Daemon finally kissed her.

He grabbed her chin, tilted it upwards, and deepened the kiss. His tongue danced along the seam of her lips, enticing her to let him in. She did. Rhaenyra parted her lips, allowing her tongue to dance with his. Daemon growled, digging his fingers into the bodice of her dress, and she could swear she felt his other hand slide down the ribbons that held the dress. A few skillful tugs and she'd be in little but jewelry and a fabric barely tougher than a spider's web.

Her belly trembled at the thought of Daemon tearing her chemise. To use his teeth for that. Rhaenyra gasped and he spun her towards him, before pushing her against the dressing table. Rhaenyra wobbled, barely finding support on the piece of furniture. Daemon pushed her higher, fighting for space between her legs with the dress, but his mouth slammed into hers in seconds. He drew moans and sighs in the process. He was one step away from undoing the satin from the ribbons on her bodice when there was a knock on the door. This time he walked away with a growl.

His beautiful indigo eyes cleared, but his pupils were still dilated around the violet rim. Something else changed when he put three steps apart between them. Daemon looked away, and Rhaenyra knew something was wrong.

She walked away from the furniture with her eyes fixed on him. She let her barely protected breasts from the chemise brush his arms as she invaded his personal space to whisper."This is not over yet."

Her husband looked at her with an undisguised desire, an absolute hunger for her.

Dagda left her free to return to his bed this morning and Rhaenyra planned to dojustthat. But for now, she went to the door.

"The King is almost here, Your Highness." Ser Steffon warned her.

"Come, husband." She called over her shoulder, and he followed up to her with merciless determination. Rhaenyra smiled to herself. Daemon made it so easy to seem that, in the world, she was the only one who existed.

There was no way she could say didn't like it.

He placed himself next to her, offering his arm to her and the two went to the dining room in their apartments, where the children were already waiting for them.

Annora was there, making sure Baelon was well-behaved and entertained, causing no trouble.Gods, but he had the quickest little hands she had ever seen among her children. His ability to find or create problems could only rival Visenya's.

Aegon had dressed in black like his father, and Viserys quickly followed them. Their short hair was combed away from their faces, and there didn't seem to be a single speck of dust on their robes. The swords, not the practice ones, were proudly tied to their belts. She knew that Daemon was working hard to find Valyrian steel for them. And she smiled proudly at each one of them. Visenya stood beside them, dressed in deep red and gold. Her golden curls like the first hours of dawn falling down her back, a delicate halo of metal on her head, mimicking Rhaenyra's tiara. Her daughter adorned herself with the same dexterity as she did. For though Visenya liked adventure and violence, she liked beautiful and bright things in equal measure.

Aegon noticed them first. His eyes filled with admiration for them as a pair. She knew that the sight of the two of them together made him create expectations about himself. To sustain this image one day by Rhaena's side. Of being able to live with the legacy that would be passed on to him. Rhaenyra knew she made the right decision by deciding not to allow her father to abdicate immediately. Aegon was already quite confident, but he was still a child. There was a certain kind of confidence that only came with age and the realization that he could do more with the time and knowledge gained. For the next few years, she and Daemon would work better with him.

They would make him comfortable in his position.

Viserys smiled, proudly, showing his feelings openly as he was able to do in the privacy of his family. Once again she wondered how great the price was charged to him. Viserys never hesitated, never showed a groove in his armor or under his scales. He was always fine with everything that had to be done. He played well. He was a good child. They all were.

Visenya looked like an arrogant little queen, with a smirk that could only spell trouble. Rhaenyra wondered what her daughter would do tonight to antagonize Alicent. Whatever it was, she would avert her eyes, letting her daughter do as she pleased. They always have, though tonight, Rhaenyra felt there was more than one reason to do so. She figured that whatever Visenya's choice was, one of Alicent's boys would suffer. Not just tonight, but as long as the fake engagement lasted.

Baelon came next, giggling, clinging to her skirts. Looking at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a wide, devilish smile. She laughed, bending down to pick him up. Immediately he had his little sticky hands on the dragons of his father's doublet, and she smiled at her husband, who groaned in false annoyance and took the boy, lifting him into the air for a moment. His laughter ricocheted off the walls of the chamber and back at them. Baelon was short-lived on his father's lap, demanding to be taken back to the ground to get his sweet little hands in trouble.

Aemon stayed in the room with Lyeta, sleeping. She hoped that he would stay that way all night. He was a sleeper, after all. The laziest of her little dragons.

"The king, your highness." Sor Steffon announced.

Daemon entangled the two once again, assuming his posture and she placed herself next to him, patting his shoulder. They were a sharp contrast. Where her husband was hard and made of fire and steel, she was made of milk, honey, and feathers. Soft. But even sweetness could kill or drive someone crazy. Not that it appeared on the surface of her image, but a flash of this dangerous glow flickered before settling into the background of her gaze. Aegon stood to his mother’s right, as imposing as Aegarax, and Viserys, alongside Daemon, posed as worthily as Vermithor the Wise. Visenya stood before her parents, her eyes flashing devilishly as Meleys was supposed to do before making the misfortune rain.

They were quite an image.

She watched her father enter the room and stop for a moment, studying them with the slightest contraction of satisfaction at the corner of his lips. He recovered quickly, walking towards her. Daemon tilted his head when he was close enough, his face blank but intimidating given the intensity he naturally emanated. The King barely looked at her husband and welcomed her children's greetings. His smile only grew as he realized the mischief in Visenya's eyes. Rhaenyra offered an elegant smile, though her eyes were fixed on Alicent. Evaluating.

The Queen had stopped at the door once more at the sight of her. Rhaenyra had adéjà vu, as she met Alicent for the first time since the Queen's chambers, where Rhaenyra bled, and Daemon vowed death.

Anyone with common sense, who has not forgotten or found it convenient to underestimate the appearance of the Valyrian gods, considered Alicent a fool for wearing green every day for the last decade. Dragons reigned in King's Landing,in Westeros, now more than ever. Their power, influence, fear, and respect were higher than when Aegon conquered the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaenyra had most of the country behind her, it was true, and the other part... She knew she shouldn't trust them. Two of her kingdoms were led by petty men unable to move forward after she refused to marry. She knew they were dangerous territory to lean on. Dorne was never conquered, but Rhaenyra had a feeling that if there was a war and Dorne joined, albeit on the wrong side, it would be the end of the Martell bloodline. They created more problems than it was worth to maintain them.

She knew Daemon was waiting for the opportunity to do this, to burn Sunspear. Tension between Dorne and the Stepstones has grown by the day for the past ten years as the Stepstones have become a focal point for eastern maritime trade, making things difficult for Dorne, the Stormlands, and the Westerlands.

Ideal conditions for Alicent to find support. For Otto to find something to work with. It remained to be seen how much of their kingdoms were willing to underestimate the dragons.

Alicent's eyes were wide, like those of a cornered animal. She struggled to maintain her dignified expression but failed spectacularly. The sight of her and her family terrified the little Queen. Terrified the girl who was playing at being queen. The picture that Rhaenyra and hers composed painted for Alicent the death of her children and her own. And although Rhaenyra didn't wish for the death of children, she could only do so much to reach out to her siblings. Daemon wasn't as merciful as she was, though he was willing to turn a blind eye to Helaena. He agreed that the dear girl was more dragon than snake. Rhaenyra knew that if her husband had the opportunity, he would have already slit all the Hightower throats that he deemed unworthy of existing.

But politics, the game, didn't work that way.

And they had an image to look after.

Rhaenyra’s brothers, Aegon and Aemond, followed. Aemond immediately placed himself next to his mother while Aegon immediately searched for the wine. She caught a flash of hatred in his eyes before he threw his head back spilling the cup. A trickle of wine flowed out, and once he swallowed most of it, his eyes had briefly cooled, like coals that were still dangerous to the touch. Aegon wiped the wine with the back of his hand.

"Please," she invited, her voice sounding like a delicate trill, "sit down."

There was a shuffling of chairs, and she was flanked by Daemon on the left, with Visenya sitting next to him, and Aegon on her right. Viserys sat next to his brother and at the table of seating, there was a vacant seat between him and Aemond, who sat next to his mother, to the King's left, while to his right, sat Helaena and after her Aegon, leaving an empty seat between him and Visenya.

There was an imbalance of power between the seats to the left of each head of the table. Where Daemon was an extension of her left and Aegon the right was her heir, her father's left was a shadow while the right place was given to his second favorite child, Helaena. Aegon and Alicent are thrust out of the spotlight. And while this seemed to kill the Queen, it seemed to Rhaenyra that her brother prospered so close to the servants serving the wine.

Dinner was served and conversations began, entertained at first by Rhaenyra herself with the help of the King and Daemon. The children were slowly adding one thing or another, except for Aegon and Aemond. Even Baelon, sitting in a high chair between his parents, contributed to the conversation with a bit of noise and many new words in his vocabulary. Visenya has been telling him the stories of their family, much to the boy's delight, and he has recounted them to his parents and siblings, dragging them many times into his interpretations of events. Baelon was a sweet adventurer. He would be a small terror when Arrax was ready to take him to the skies.

Suddenly, the King stood up with his cup of wine in his hands, and she leaned back calmly, holding Daemon's hand, while Aegon entertained Baelon with pieces of lemon cakes.

"There's something I'd like to share with you tonight," her father said, smiling at her, Helaena, and his grandchildren. Never for Alicent, as if she weren’t there. "The Queen asked me to consent to the engagement of our children, and at first I declined." Rhaenyra watched with mischievous delight as hope dawned on Alicent's face. "But encouraged by my daughter," he raised his glass to her, and Rhaenyra did the same, smiling softly and watching Alicent stiffen, "I reconsidered the idea and made a decision."

Rhaenyra assessed her sibling's expressions. Helaena tilted her head to the side, almost smiling; though it was hard to tell if she had any clue of what was to come. She was incredibly astute and surprisingly infallible in her predictions. Her sister was a Dreamer, just like Daenys, and just as she became after the arrival of her son. Although Rhaenyra thought that Helaena's dreams were more tied to this timeline, she dreamed of all the things that went wrong in the future that her mother warned her about.

Aemond, like Viserys, analyzed the situation. Though perhaps not as critically and certainly not with the same ability as Rhaenyra’s child to hide his thoughts. He was like his mother, mediocre in the art of hiding his feelings. Aemond showed with unconscious ease the anxiety growing within him, whether by himself or on behalf of his mother, Rhaenyra couldn't tell.

But Aegon was an even bigger enigma. He hid behind his glass of wine, sipping slowly, never keeping it far from the lower half of his face. Only his eyes, like hot coals, were seen and they gave nothing away as he waited for the fate that their father decided for him. Did he hate it? Didn't he care? More boldly, did he like it? She couldn't say. But there was a particular intensity in his face. Something as deep as if it had been extracted to the surface from the marrow of his bones. Hatred, and anger, disappeared. But the sudden eagerness she noticed worried her even more.

For what did Aegon yearn?

"I have conceded, my dear," her father continued, looking fondly at Helaena, "your hand to your nephew, Viserys. He is young, but he has shown impeccable moral fiber. He will treat you well when you get married one day."

Aemond's anxiety turned into utter despair. He looked between his mother and father, not knowing who to turn to. It almost made her raise her eyebrows. Were his feelings grounded in the belief that it should be his brother Aegon who should have Helaena's hand, or was it something different and deeper than that? Was he the one who deserved her hand? It was no secret to anyone that Aemond cared for Helaena more than he ever cared for Aegon, though he still cared for his brother, almost like a Head of House. Rhaenyra always attributed his protective behavior only as that, protection, that he felt compelled to protect the women in his life. But was that all?

Alicent seemed about to break down with the horror that widened her eyes. A restlessness in all its form, incited, probably, by the feeling of impotence. Her second-highest piece in the game was now off the board, taken by her own husband. She shouldn't have waited too long or no longer.

But Alicent was a fool.

The Queen cleared her throat and moved, catching her husband's attention.

"My King, surely-" she gasped, struggling for the right words. Fighting not to offend the King and alienate him even more. A futile effort. The King stopped caring about the girl the moment his late Queen appeared as a goddess ten years ago, "surely you would have given me the courtesy to discuss the matter with me, before making any decision. Helaena is..." She faltered, struggling once more. Whatever the word was, it had stuck in Alicent's throat, "she's my dear girl. I am her mother. I certainly deserve to participate in the discussion about her future."

"Certainly yes," Viserys said, looking sideways at his wife. "That's why I'm communicating to you here and now, Alicent. What do you think I'm doing?"

There was something in his words that made him question her ability to interpret. Alicent cringed.

And then she blinked desperately.

"But you would not separate two siblings in this way, surely you would not, my King?" She tried. Rhaenyra watched her hands clench the tabletop. White fingered knots. "Not when it is their desire..." Her eyes looked like they might pop out of their sockets, and the tendons in her throat became visibly tense. Whatever she was about to say, it seemed that it would require more of her than calling Helaena'dear girl'. "When they desire to be together."

Aegon's gaze turned dark. Any sign of light disappeared. There was something dangerous about him, watching the exchange between them. Something dangerous as he looked at his father.

Viserys turned to Helaena.

"Is that what you want, my dear," he asked. The affection slipped away without the same difficulty he faced in her mother's body language, "Marry Aegon?"

Helaena looked at her father, ignoring her mother and brother, with dreamy, distant, ethereal eyes.

"I only live to serve you as I see fit, my King."

Rhaenyra suppressed a smile.

Smart girl.

Alicent's anxiety grew in waves.

"Very well." The King said. "It is also my wish to bestow the hand of one of my sons upon my granddaughter, Princess Visenya."

There was a short pause in which both Rhaenyra and her father waited for Visenya's decision, that she would announce it. But before her daughter could open her mouth, Alicent stepped forward, desperate to take matters into her own hands and try to gain some illusion of control.

"I'm sure Aemond feels honored, Your Grace. But I believe that we should still discuss the matter of Helae-"

"Why do think my choice is about my uncle Aemond?" Visenya raised her chin in the air, arrogantly.

That was... unexpected, although it shouldn't. Visenya was just as likely to choose Aegon as she was to choose Aemond. But her decision, whether she reflected on it or simply decided on it here and now, still managed to take everyone by surprise. Daemon squeezed his wife’s hand, threatening to crush her fingers. His face turned cold, stony. The violet slowly faded as his pupils swallowed it until there was nothing left. Not even a violet halo was left behind, as it would have been in an eclipse.

The King blinked, surprised. And none of them missed Visenya's impertinence, her rudeness in refusing to use any honorific title for the Queen. Her disrespect and disdain bleeding from her.

"What did you say?" Alicent turned to Visenya.

"I said," Visenya began, devilish, hateful eyes, "why do you assume I would have chosen Aemond?"

Once again without titles.

Alicent blinked, a vein cracking and pulsing on her forehead.

The King did not seem happy, but he quickly endorsed Visenya's decision. Now was not the time to question what she decided.

"I grant you, Visenya, the hand of Aegon." He said, horrifying Alicent.

Visenya gave her Uncle Aemond a mischievous look, but she didn't bother to look at Aegon, who didn't bother to take his eyes off his father. He watched him very intently, for a long time. Even when dinner was ended. It alone seemed to pull him out of his lethargy. The moment everyone got up from the table, he left with some violence, knocking on the doors of the chamber. Baelon, asleep, only shuddered against his mother.

Alicent was unfazed by proper goodbyes, etiquette, or protocols, she seemed to leave on her son's trail. Ser Criston Cole cast a glance at them inside the chamber before following her.

Aemond followed his mother not long after, leaving them behind.

"Are you sure of that, my dear?" The King immediately turned to Visenya.

"Aegon is more tolerable than Aemond." She said. "He won't care about me how long the engagement lasts. But Aemond, he would try to bend me to what he deems fit for a lady. I won't have any of that."

"I'd like to see him try," Daemon said.

A look at Aegon and Viserys revealed that they thought the same.

"Come to me whenever you want to change, dear. I'll do as you want."

Visenya smiled, aware of this.

The King and Helaena said goodbye to leave, and Rhaenyra heard her mumble something about a new doll.

"Are you sure about that?" Daemon demanded from their daughter.

"It's more fun to kick his ass than Aemond's." She said with a cruel crooked smile. "Don't worry,kepa. I know where to go if I need help."

"Of course." He said, mirroring her smile. "And I'm going to love it."

"Oh, I know."

Rhaenyra and Daemon let their older children go to their rooms, and then she put Baelon to bed while Daemon checked on Aemon. She covered her son and combed his hair with her fingers. She wished him sweet dreams with a kiss on the cheek and left.

She found her husband only in his pants and with a glass of wine in his hands. Aemon's cradle in a sort of separate chamber, where they could easily see and hear him, was silent. Rhaenyra smiled, indolently and approached. Her arms were around his waist and fingers spread over the flats of his abdomen, gliding over the soft, though battle-scarred, skin. He let her go, turning her around and pinning her to his chest once more. Just like at the beginning of the night. A shiver ran down her spine.

"Help me with that, will you?" She asked.

"Always." He kissed behind her ear, brushing the hair away from her back.

Rhaenyra heard the clinking of the metal cup against the small table, and then her husband's dexterous fingers on the clasp of the poncho, removing the piece. He took little or no care to throw it over the nearest chair and pulled her, as would pull on a horse's reins, to undo his corset. Rhaenyra sighed.

The blue dress slid out of her body, and he reached out for her to jump gracefully out and straight into his arms, just in her chemise and her tiara, every part of her body exposed for him to see. From her breasts swollen with milk to the curves of her body, which had almost returned to its pre-pregnancy size thanks to the fever that took away much of her weight. The bones of the collarbone were a little more prominent, giving her a more fragile, delicate appearance. But the thighs were still firm from riding Syrax or her husband.

She dragged the tips of her fingers over his chest, feeling him tense. Rhaenyra looked under her eyelashes and Daemon looked back. A delicate violet ring on the eyes. He looked at her hungrily, lovingly, jealously. He looked at her as if she were all that he could desire or have in the world. Daemon looked at her as if she were his beginning, middle, and end. And she gave him her love in return.

He was over her an instant later, grabbing her face and pulling her into a kiss, wet, hot, and violent. His hands slid with little gentleness over her, feeling and capturing all there was to be felt. He growled, annoyed at the chemise and as she predicted, he tore it to shreds, splitting the delicate thing in half. The rags fell to the floor. His hands dug into her waist. Thumbs slid down the sides, brushing her breasts. Rhaenyra arched, gasping in his mouth and entangling her hands in his hair. Daemon leaned over to her, trying to swallow her and she let him.

He grabbed her ass tightly, to leave the marks and his kisses found their way down her throat, licking and sucking to mark her as his. Only his. A growl rumbled in his chest. Never enough, never as much as he wanted. He never got tired of her. His hands fell under her ass and lifted her into the air. Her wet puss* slammed against his hard co*ck inside his pants. A shock went up her spine.

Daemon threw her on the bed, and she fell unceremoniously, bouncing on the new mattress, legs wide open. She threw her arms back, crossing her wrists to show off to him. Daemon licked his lips like a hungry beast, his irises completely black, and crawled over her like a predator, worshipping every inch of her body. Leaving bites in his wake as if he wanted to eat her alive.

Rhaenyra gasped as he pinched her nipples with his teeth and buried his hip at the apex of her legs. She moaned and arched with the new shock of pleasure. Daemon snapped his hips once more.

"Ñuhon."He purred against her skin, sending delicious shivers with the flutter of his voice.

"Yours." She agreed. Rhaenyra spread her legs wider, letting him settle better. "I feel so empty, husband. I need you."

Daemon hesitated for a heartbeat and the thinnest ring of violet appeared in his eyes. Rhaenyra didn't have time to ask what was wrong when someone knocked on their door with a sense of urgency.

She waited for Daemon to send the person away, but instead, her husband slid away from her. His co*ck was still hard and her puss* still dripping with excitement. But he got up and went towards the door. Surprised, she only looked for what was closest to cover herself.

"What is it?" He bit as he opened the door.

"Araven, Your Highness."Lyeta's voice came.

She saw him take the message and then close the door. Rhaenyra watched him break the seal and read. Daemon didn’t betray a single word in his expression.

"What is it? What's wrong?" She demanded between impatience and concern.

"Lady Velaryon is dead." He said.

Oh.

Chapter 22: A Moon for the Tides

Chapter Text

10^th Moon of 125 AC

Facing west, towards the mainland, were the large, tall windows of the Hall of Nine in High Tide that let in light and scattered as many shadows as possible. Rhaenys rested her hip against the windowsill, being framed by the white sun characteristic of early autumn. She had crossed her arms under her breasts and watched the figures growing in the slightly grayish sky. Between her fingers was the cameo that Corlys had given her shortly after their wedding, a relic he had brought back from one of his great trips. Rhaenys felt that the mind flew as high as only a dragon could do.

She emitted a buzzing, almost like a dragon's trill, which lamented the circ*mstances in which she was once again meeting the other half of her family. Her fingers stopped spinning the cameo and instead closed around it. Under the sun, the metal had become heated, and against her palm, it was pleasantly warm. She increased the grip.

"He must not be left adrift for long," said her husband's voice from somewhere behind her. Rhaenys didn't bother to look. "We need another wife for him."

Turning, Rhaenys narrowed her eyes, giving him a piercing gaze.

"He just lost his wife, Corlys." She reminded him, struggling not to lose her temper. But gods were good, Morghul had barely claimed her soul. They hadn't even given her body to Meleys properly as should be, and her husband was already planning a wedding. Rhaenys knew that he was not insensitive to pain or loss. She knew he was suffering. Corlys simply reacted differently, but that was too much. "Leave him alone to mourn his loss."

He moved restlessly, aware that was poking a dragon.

"Did you care that much about her?" He dared to ask.

She gave him another look.

"She became my daughter when she married Laenor, Corlys. Not for you?" The tone of her words invited him to challenge her and refute the truth.

Corlys was not foolish or cruel, so he didn't.

"Of course." Her husband quickly agreed. Rhaenys guessed that wasn't all he would say. Corlys wouldn't settle for so little, not when he clearly had more to say. But he wouldn't share his thoughts carelessly to alienate her. "Laenor, however, is still alive. We must think about his future."

Carefully chosen words.

"What else should be thought about?" Rhaenys demanded with little more than a spark of her temper surging. "Doesn't he already have everything he needs? Don't we already? Why should we demand more when he has nothing to give?"

Her husband's shoulders rolled back, and his chest almost seemed to swell with the air that had entered his lungs. Rhaenys could have sworn his mouth was filled with the raw, unrefined words he wanted to drop. But he didn't. Corlys swallowed each one of them, word for word. For her. And instead of getting into something he might regret later, he calmed down enough to express himself in ways that were not only more loquacious but less dangerous.

He lost a few inches.

"You know him better than anyone, my love." He remembered her after a moment with clear eyes looking melancholy. Rhaenys was finally able to see how Betha's death had struck her husband. "I'm just worried about our son. Her death impacted him more than we anticipated."

Rhaenys allowed the silence to extend for a moment longer.

"They were friends, Corlys." Good friends, she recalled. Her voice was soft and tinged with melancholy. For a man like Laenor, friendship was costly and to him, she grieved twice. "So of course, he feels her departure deeply."

The marriage of Laenor and Lady Betha Gaunt was anything but conventional. That was right. With Laenor's preferences in one place and Betha's in another, it made it difficult, if not impossible, for them to find each other. Those two were like ships that were lucky enough to bump into the same port somewhere in the world. It was rare and interesting to observe. And though empty in many ways, her son's marriage was not completely devoid of feelings. Laenor learned to love Betha, though not as a man would love a woman. And she learned to love him the same way in return. Their love was in their eyes so that very few looked at their bed or lingered on their remarks about childlessness.

Their marriage provided the family with just over a decade of peace, for which Rhaenys was grateful.

And to think that Laenor almost married Rhaenyra.

And where would that have left them?

How much more difficult and terrible would the way to the throne have been if they had gotten married? In ten years, Betha and Laenor had not made a single successful attempt to produce an heir, which was expected by Rhaenys, Corlys, or Laena. None of them had pressured them to do so, although Betha did it for conscience's sake. She wanted to try, at least. Failure was inevitable, and it would have been disastrous if Laena had not been married to Daemion. Rhaenys couldn't help but wonder what would have happened to the Velaryons if Agni had never shown up to warn them. What would Laenor's inability to produce an heir have compelled Rhaenyra, the Heir to the Throne, to do? A terrible shiver ran through her at the idea. And where did that leave them all? The Realm, Driftmark, their position, and the opening to the Greens?

The future might have been hazy back then, but the reality of her family's situation has now proven that the decisions made more than a decade ago were the best. Laenor's marriage to another girl and Laena's marriage to Vaemond's son was arguably the best for them.

Her husband was not wrong to seek the best for Laenor as soon as possible. She knew that. A girl of Velaryon blood was destined to marry the Gifted Grace, she was meant to be Queen. And although Rhaena had been chosen, for the little weasels of the kingdom, it mattered little. Laenor was currently, though a widower, a single man of considerable rank and prestige with Velaryon blood.

Gods, the girls would throw themselves in droves in his path to try to become the mother of the next Queen with more than just encouragement from their families. This could not end well. Rhaenys knew very well the old foxes that lived in the Court.

Women produced stratagems to seduce a man for much less.

And she worried what position not only Laenor would be in, but all of them, if some foolish and ambitious little girl stumbled over more than just her son's bed, but his lover.

Gods.

"We must choose someone for him before others have ideas before plots are made." Corlys echoed her thoughts, making the blood throb in her temples, and the impatient anxiety with which he had begun the conversation faded from his words. "Laenor is still young and still looks quite manly. And Jacaerys being the heir presumptive of Driftmark won't stop some cunning lady from trying to get her place in this fortress, especially one we don't trust." Her husband surrendered to the indignity of rolling his eyes. He clearly despised the prospect. "And I'd rather if we didn't become namesakes of the situation of our Targaryen relatives about the issue of succession."

Now he was being ridiculous to think that they could get this far.

Rhaenys looked at her husband for a long time, aware that he had an indisputable point. And he knew it. Many of the lords of Westeros had daughters, and many of them desired a prestigious position for them. If not as Queen, being the mother of one seemed just as good. She knew that Jason Lannister would have no qualms about pushing his daughters to her son and would be more than elated to get his hands on the truth about Laenor's nature just to have something to hold on to their heads. Rhaenys wouldn't underestimate her cousin, Borros Baratheon, either. A man like him was not comfortable having more daughters than sons, especially when he only had one. He wouldn't blink if his perfect daughter in everything, but sex made a move. And from what Rhaenys had heard, Lady Cassandra seemed to be the most cunning of the Five Storms.

It was not uncommon to marry an older man to a younger woman in their world. Daemon, Viserys, and even her husband were examples of this, although the similarities ended there. Therefore, it was also not uncommon for men like Borros, Jason, and Otto to sell their daughters to the highest bidder.

Rhaenyra's raven detailing Ser Harwin Strong's possible brides and the choice he had made reminded her that they were playing a dangerous game. How to balance a double-edged sword on one fingertip. Harwin's wife could be as much a scapegoat used by them as against them, and it was foolish not to think that any new wife for Laenor was just as susceptible She preferred not to risk her son with any girl of her cousin's blood or, gods forbid it , one of Jason's daughters.

They had doubts about their loyalty, doubts that they would not have defected to the Greens by now. Rhaenys was aware that the bad blood between those two and Rhaenyra had only worsened when she denied any possibility of marriage to the twins. For Borros to have accepted a man remarkably loyal to the Blacks... made Rhaenys uneasy. House Strong had become powerful, but not to this extent. Ser Harwin had nothing particular that recommended him to any of the Storm Five other than his noble lineage and prestige, but that any other young heir to Westeros could also have. She didn't like that.

Her husband was right. They should find a wife for Laenor, and fast. But where would they find a girl as good as Betha, or at least trustworthy, if not better, manipulable?

As a cyvasse lover, she knew that sometimes the best defense was offense, and her husband had already positioned himself on the front lines. Rhaenys almost smirked, and then looked out the window again, noting that the dragons were getting closer and closer. She would talk to Rhaenyra about it to find out what the best options were since her cousin had maintained a rotating system with her ladies-in-waiting. By this time, Rhaenyra knew almost all of the daughters in the kingdom and would have an idea of which ones to look at. The thought led Rhaenys to wonder what had led her to put a Baratheon girl as an option for Lyonel's son.

She shook her head, with no time to think about it now. Her most pressing concern was whether Laenor was still willing to play the game. The friendship and companionship between him and Betha seemed to be as deep and inextricable as his relationship with Laena, so he might become more resistant to being a part of it.

The glass in the windows shook hard, drawing their attention, and Rhaenys realized that the dragons were already there. She had time to watch the tail of one of them whip in the air before disappearing over High Tide's beaten silver roof.

Corlys looked at her, slightly gaping.

"Come, husband." She called, walking to his side in her mourning dress. Her hand outstretched waiting for him to offer his arm for her to take. He did it when she was close enough. "We must receive our guests."

They left the Hall of Nine on their way to the entrance of the fortress. The servants they passed seemed agitated by the arrival of the dragons. Her husband guided her down a side path, which skirted the east side of the fortress toward a wide plain overlooking a cliff that was extensive enough for the dragons to land, and indeed, by the time they got there, they had all done so. It seemed that Seasmoke, Silverwing, and Grey Ghost had grown tired of the dunes of the lonely white beaches and preferred to join the newcomers.

It hit her deeply every time she saw the dragons gathered, even years after that amazing morning.

Aegon slipped with the ease and grace practiced from years of descending from the back of a dragon. Rhaenys noticed that he had grown quite a bit for his eleven namedays and that he wasn't too far off from surpassing his mother. Rhaenyra still had a few years of advantage, but Rhaenys figured it would be too short for her. Aegon looked like he would be as tall as his father. He was built the same way Daemon had been at his age. Aegon and Viserys would be tall, skinny men, but elegant and slender, she knew.

He behaved like his father, with a certain air of authority. He also seemed solemn, but still pleasant. And there was something about him that hurt to look at, something beautiful and unreal. Rhaenys surmised that even she wasn't above thinking of him as a little god.

Vermax's neck stretched, and she caught a glimpse of Viserys in his dragon. Her mouth curled gently without her permission, but Rhaenys didn't bother. She liked him as much as she liked her grandchildren. To be frank, she liked them all. But there was a special affection for Viserys in her heart. He was very charismatic, just like his parents. But something was endearing about him that was all Rhaenyra. Viserys was an intelligent and curious boy in a refreshing way. It was his curiosity that by making him hover around her when she was reading an anthology of poems, that caused Rhaenys to teach him the art of poetry.

It was her wish that they should have time for at least one poem before her relatives left. Rhaenys wanted to share with him Leng's book of poetry brought to her by Laenor and Betha from their last trip, and which she had been saving for the next time she laid eyes on the Prince of the Stepstones.

Syrax and Caraxes moved together as if they were one and Rhaenys watched Daemon jump from the dragon. He was as good as she remembered him, for the past decade. Tall, proud, and arrogant. But not so much the reckless, insolent man she saw grow from a boy. Daemon had his son attached to him. And even though they were still on the back of the Blood Wyrm, she could see Baelon's smile from so far away. He was an easy boy to please, being happy easily. Daemon handed Baelon over to his older brother, who took control of him when his father turned to help his mother down from Syrax's back.

And although Dreamfyre had bent over to make it easier for the two girls to descend, Viserys stepped forward to help his sister and aunt. Visenya didn't seem to be bothered by this, still looking inebriated by the flight on the back of a dragon. Rhaenys could recognize the longing in her eyes and the craving of her soul from miles away. It was the kind of song she had watched for years, played by her daughter before the encounter with her rider. If the girl was lucky, then she might not have to wait long.

Three dragons remained in the air, and using her free hand to shield her eyes as she looked up at the sky, Rhaenys found pale pink wings against the sun and golden scales that caught the light, setting him apart from the others in beauty. Yet in other, more desirable ways, despite his youth, Vermax excelled in strength and size when compared to his rider’s uncle’s mount, so that Alicent’s boy’s dragon seemed rivaled in size only by the hatchlings of the younger children. He was small and stunted, and if he could grow to carry his mount, it would be a miracle.

Watching Aegon’s mount along with his sibling's dragons, one of whom could easily eat him, put things into perspective for Rhaenys. What Alicent hoped to do with it, Rhaenys had no idea. Did she hope to instill fear or intimidate the island with her children's dragons? Rhaenys would give her that for daring, but even Driftmark now had more than four dragons, three of which were adults. Although Tessarion, the dragoness of the last of Viserys' children, hardly worried her, being the smallest of all, it was Aemond's dragon that worried her.

Cannibal had a reputation for eating eggs and cubs. Rhaenys would warn Laena and the Dragonkeepers who resided on the island to take care of Deeptide, Lucerys' cub. It had not escaped her that Rhaenyra had taken the necessary care in advance when leaving Arrax on the pit.

Her attention turned to the couple approaching her and Corlys. The corners of her mouth softened before the small package strapped to his mother's chest, and Rhaenys imagined it was the young Aemon. Laena had mentioned that in the letters written by Rhaenyra, the boy looked a lot like his grandmother, being the only one to inherit her eyes.

The fact should take his grandfather to heaven and hell.

"Princess Rhaenys." Rhaenyra smiled, but it was a strained smile, and her eyes were filled with a solemn sadness. The smile didn't match the emotion in her eyes. Something bothered her, Rhaenys could guess, for although the Princess and the late Lady Velaryon were friends, they were never as close as Laena and Rhaenyra were. Not to the point that Rhaenyra would be so devastated by her death.

She ignored this, greeting the couple.

"My dear, how are you?"

Rhaenyra still looked rather pale and thin, her collarbone and cheekbones sharper than Rhaenys remembered seeing just over six moons ago. She also looked tired, but Rhaenys attributed it to the new baby. A woman could have one baby or ten, all of them were different from each other. No baby was the same. But judging by how little Rhaenys could observe the sleeping boy, Aemon looked like he would be a quiet baby.

A blessing , she thought, because of what they went through to be here.

"Recovering well," Rhaenyra assured her, tired. The smile, however, became softer and more honest. "How are Laenor and Laena? Lysandra?"

The Lynese girl looked almost inappropriately devastated. She planned to return to her homeland once all was said and done, and dear Betha had been delivered to the sea. Her grief was almost equivalent to Laenor's, though Rhaenys knew that Lysandra's affections for Betha were deeper than Laenor's, and thus her grief was deeper.

But Laenor was also suffering. Betha had become someone who understood him better than anyone else in their family, more than his dear and adored sister. Betha offered Laenor something they could never give him. Equality. And so, the loss of her would still take a long time to heal in his heart. And as for Laena, she was sad, naturally. Although she was showing great fiber and composure in taking care of everything for Laenor. She had cared for and welcomed the Gaunts, Betha's family, while Laenor drowned his sorrows. Daemion, the good husband he was, helped her all the way, taking care of the children with the help of sweet Rhaena.

Driftmark was a mess, but standing, firm and strong, as it should be.

"I believe the King's entourage is scheduled to arrive soon, correct?"

A shadow covered Rhaenyra's amethyst eyes, and small wrinkles tugged at the corners of her eyes as her mouth curled into a strange smile.

"I'm afraid, cousin, you'll have to find more accommodations, because Ser Otto and Daeron, my younger brother, got together in time for the trip." Daemon mocked, with eyes that didn't lie about his disgust.

Rhaenys husband's arm, entangled with hers, became rigid. As well as his whole body. Her fingers drummed for a moment over his coat, and she hummed with an impassive face. Perhaps what she couldn't read before in Rhaenyra's expression was this.

More than Betha's death, in fact.

"Of course." Rhaenys declared softly, like a perfect hostess. Perhaps, after all, the dragons had nothing to do with Alicent, but everything to do with Otto. She would be careful during his stay. Snakes were always treacherous, but an endangered snake was always more dangerous. And Otto Hightower never felt more threatened than when he saw a lifetime's work slipping through his fingers with the coming Agni and the strengthening of House Targaryen, not to mention the acclaim for Rhaenyra's reign. Yes, very careful . "Come, let's go in and cool you off. The ceremony will begin soon."

Daemon and Rhaenyra's children greeted them appropriately, of course, before they could take another step. Even Alicent's girl. There was something about Helaena that urged Rhaenys to dissect her, to dissect each of her words as if they were a poem to interpret. It reminded her of Leng's poetry, something she shared with Viserys when the boy gallantly kissed her hand. Just as his father would have done to be provocative. Viserys promised her with a sharp glow that he was eager to find time to take a look. His twin was not interested in any of this, Visenya was courteous, but in another way, she was interested in knowing about Rhaena's whereabouts.

Her older brother, Aegon, as always, was perfectly polite and apologized on her behalf. He also acted in a solemn and affected, respectful manner. Rhaenys suspected that it was as much of his personality as it was of the education reserved for an Heir. Young Baelon was a little love, right next to his younger brother.

Rhaenys let Corlys go and urged her husband to engage Daemon in some conversation when she intentionally stayed behind with Rhaenyra, who looked at Rhaenys with more than a little curiosity.

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about when we have time." She warned.

Rhaenyra looked at her for a few heartbeats and then nodded.

"Of course." Her voice sounded soft, but something told Rhaenys that there was much more to be discussed than just Laenor's marriage prospects.

Their group entered High Tide, and a wing was assigned to the family, so they could cool off. Rhaenys and Corlys had just left their relatives alone when a servant came to warn them that the King's entourage had just arrived.

As they set out to meet in the Hall of Nine, Rhaenys found Viserys looking more angry than tired from the whole ordeal. She figured that an obsidian hand must be too tiring to carry around, even when attached to the wrist by a leather armband, but nothing nowhere near as strenuous as being forced to stay for hours in the company of his wife and good-father on a ship. She would not lie by saying that she had any satisfaction in receiving the girl Hightower and her father, or her sons. The youngest boy, Daeron, was quiet and clung tightly to his grandfather's heels, while the middle son, Aemond, held up his nose pompously. And that boy, Aegon, took a look at them and then quickly got distracted by the High Tide handmaidens, much to the chagrin of her, her husband, and Viserys.

Perhaps what annoyed her most of all was Otto's smug smile and Alicent's arrogance. Rhaenys wishes she could give them both to Meleys. Her dragoness would do wonders for their arrogance, honoring the namesake from which she had inherited the name.

Once the royal family had arrived, the matter happened quickly. Laenor remained apathetic throughout the ceremony and in the end quickly disappeared in the company of Joffrey, Qarl, and Lysandra. The Gaunts spent a few more hours on the island, although they decided to leave later that day as there was nothing left to tie them to the island after the formalities. She was angered once again by Lord Gaunt's disdain for his daughter even after the girl was dead. Rhaenys could only hope that the others would have had better luck with their husbands.

She watched him leave along with his daughters and sons-in-law and then returned home with Corlys. And at the family's manor, they found Rhaenyra and Laena catching up.

"Where's Daemon, princess?" Rhaenys asked as entered.

As fast as something flashed in her expression, it disappeared.

Rhaenyra smiled laconically.

"With the children, I believe." She had said with a smile that had never reached her eyes. Rhaenyra didn't allow the matter to drag on, "was there anything you'd like to discuss with me, cousin?"

"Indeed," Rhaenys said, sitting up. She held back a sigh as she rested her ankles tired from spending hours on her feet. "Corlys brought to my attention something of a troubling, though not alarming, nature. And I believe you're better qualified to help us."

Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow, while Laena looked quite surprised. Rhaenys figured she would be. Busy as she was among her children, husband, and brother, Laena would have little time to think about politics, given how little general interest she had in the topic.

"And what would that be, Mom?" Laena asked, her brow furrowed.

There was a pause, sustained during a few heartbeats.

"Bride suggestions for Laenor."

Rhaenys watched the storm gather on her daughter's face. Laena was ready to defend the grief of her brother and her late sister-in-law that she had grown fond of when her mother raised a hand to stop her.

"Before you passionately defend his right to mourn, listen first." And then amended. "Laenor is still young. He is still, by all means, considered manly. Men are always for longer. We simply want to protect your brother from matrimonial traps, after all, for others, it doesn't seem too late for him to have a child."

Her daughter flattened her mouth in disgust, remarkably bitter for the taste of logic and truth. And in an atypical twist of personality, Laena kept quiet without arguing. Rhaenyra, however, ran her fingers over her lips, looking contemplative as she leaned back.

"You want my help in finding someone suitable for him," Rhaenyra stated circ*mspectly.

"Exactly." Rhaenys watched her hum accordingly. Rhaenyra seemed to be busy scrolling through the lists of available options. But talking about brides to Laenor wasn't the only thing that interested Rhaenys, which she expressed: "Although I'm afraid it's not all I want to talk to you, cousin. Is it correct to suppose that, living in King's Landing, you would be privy to gossip of the vilest kind relating to the birth of your youngest son?"

Rhaenyra's face contorted into a sneering grimace that was a response in itself.

"I do, cousin." There was something of anger on Rhaenyra's face where Rhaenys knew she was more composed than that and would have laughed otherwise. Something was definitely wrong. "It seems from the Queen's understanding that I would cheat on my husband with none other than Ser Harwin, his right-hand man. Either she considers me too foolish, or too vulgar. Neither acceptable and, in fact, her foolishness almost cost our lives."

Well, well, well.

"And why would it be like that?" Corlys, equally surprised, asked.

"She demanded to see my newborn son, certainly in the hope of unmasking me, I believe. And when her maidservant took him, I followed her." Rhaenyra clicked her tongue with almost palpable disdain, "Daemon was furious and almost choked Alicent to death while I almost bled to death."

Gods were good.

"This woman knows no limits!" Laena spat contemptuously. "She feels very comfortable doing the things she does."

But Rhaenyra disagreed. "I believe the opposite, actually. If Alicent had felt comfortable doing what she does, she wouldn't have tried to get my father to agree to the marriage between his Aegon and Helaena right in front of the council."

Corlys snorted and even Rhaenys couldn't resist the derision.

"I imagine it was a fruitless move."

"In fact, it was. But it opened our eyes to something we hadn't considered yet."

"And what would that be?"

"That she could marry them both in secret."

Both of Rhaenys' eyebrows shot out.

"I understand that it may be a concern to believe that marriage between the two would strengthen the claim she believes he still has, but I don't see how that could become an issue." She honestly admitted it.

"From this angle, I suppose not," Rhaenyra agreed. "However, when I think of Alicent coming to the same conclusion, I fear what she would do next. Marrying the two is not a problem in itself, but it becomes one when she decides to use them to make allies with those who are not our friends." Rhaenyra licked her lips, looking reasonably anxious. "And I worry about Helaena. Aegon is not subtle and has little regard for others. He has even less for her."

That was... terrible indeed.

And although she despised the girl's mother, Rhaenys found herself liking her. Helaena was a sweet girl for everything Rhaena told her. She also had Targaryen blood and was a Dreamer. And she was a woman. If Rhaenyra meant what Rhaenys thought she did, no woman deserved such a fate.

Surprisingly, it was Corlys who spoke in favor of the girl.

"Is anything being done to prevent the possible fate of this child?"

Rhaenyra nodded. "I negotiated with my father an engagement between Viserys and Helaena to undermine Alicent's game and protect Helaena."

"Good," Corlys agreed.

"But that leaves her free to manipulate her best piece, the boy." Laena pointed out.

Rhaenyra's face twitched.

"I also agreed to an engagement for Visenya." She said with a tired expression, "although I let Visenya choose. However, unsurprisingly, she took the hard way out and chose him."

"Why would you do that!" Laena exclaimed in outrage. Well and truly, Rhaenys would also like to know why Rhaenyra wouldn't give her half-sister to the boy but would give Visenya.

Rhaenyra almost smiled, although 'smiling' wasn't the correct expression. "For the same reason you just pointed out: he's her most important piece." Faced with Laena's agitation, Rhaenyra waved her hand to interrupt her, "It's false. Both engagements are. And Aegon may not be subtle or care about anything, but he's not stupid to not know what will happen if he touches Visenya. Not only will she make him suffer, but he will have to face the fury of the dragons."

That changed things.

"A fake engagement?" Laena asked.

Rhaenyra's expression almost became presumptuous.

"Yes. It is only a provisional measure."

"How long?" Rhaenys asked.

Rhaenyra gave them a pretentious smile.

"As long as it takes for my father to abdicate in favor of me."

The change was instantaneous.

"Oh! Really?" Laena gushed out.

"Yes," Rhaenyra confirmed with satisfaction. "We talk about it when we talk about engagements. He wants to make a safe transition for me and enjoy the time he has left with his family. He will do it in a few years when Aegon is older."

"A wise decision." Rhaenys agreed. "And what does Daemon think?"

Rhaenyra averted her eyes.

"He's fine. He hopes everything goes well, but if not, he will be prepared. He'll have everything ready."

"It is wise of him," Corlys said.

"And we'll be there, by your side, when the day comes," Rhaenys said, softly. "We will always be by your side."

Rhaenyra looked at them. There was gratitude in her eyes and some sadness since her husband's name had been mentioned. She seemed to be here, but her mind was elsewhere.

Despite her distraction, she kept the conversation going. They went back to talking about brides to Laenor and Rhaenyra suggested some ladies, although she had pointed out that the best option for Laenor was Lysandra if she could be convinced. Corlys objected, but Rhaenyra eloquently put it that Lysandra was the most qualified. She already knew their family, she was trustworthy. She understood him and they could support each other through grief.

Rhaenys considered it a wise choice for all the reasons that Rhaenyra listed, and for more. She would make Corlys agree to this and convince the two, Laenor and Lysandra to see the value of this union. After all, once Lysandra returned home, it was very likely that her father would try to marry her, and who better than a friend to take her as a wife, someone she knew and trusted? Rhaenys would make them see.

And when Rhaenyra came out of their manor, Corlys approached her.

"Do you think the rumors would be the reason they seem distant?" He wanted to know.

She shook her head, looking for the decanter to pour herself a glass of wine.

Whatever it was, she thought, "was something else."

Corlys nodded thoughtfully.

Rhaenys wondered what it was.

Chapter 23: A Sharply piece of soul

Chapter Text

10^th Moon of 125 AC

Daemon was proud of many things in life, one of which was how fearless he was. Full of reckless and often dangerous courage, the kind that led him to look fear in the eye and face it without hesitation or trembling. Daemon has never run away from anything in his life...

Until now.

Because there was no other word that could describe what he was doing other than running away from his wife, and he had been doing it for a while, though Rhaenyra had only noticed it recently. His mouth twitched in the hiss of a curse.

Doubt fought through her beautiful amethyst eyes the instant he saw her in that blue dress and hadn't tried to convince her to cancel her little political circus to stay in bed. Her image was imprinted on his eyelids and Daemon saw her whenever he closed his eyes. He remembered clearly how beautiful she looked, how blue had highlighted her eyes, how he had hugged her body, how her golden-silver hair had stood out. She was like a gift to him that waited to be opened.

His wife was, of course, a vain woman. She liked to look beautiful for no reason, it was good for her ego. And it did well in his eyes, which were made to admire her, and his hands to touch her, and his mouth to adore her. Rhaenyra was simply delicious. But the way she had dressed that night... with so much care, with each choice meticulously made to push his buttons... It could only mean one thing. Dagda considered her ready to share a bed with her husband once again, and his wife was more than willing.

Daemon wouldn't lie, he missed her. Missed being with her. Daemon missed sliding his fingertips over her soft, milky skin, licking every inch, and getting her taste in his mouth. He missed the softness of her body contrasted against the rigidity of his. He missed how her hair tickled his nose as it buried his face at the junction of her shoulder and throat. He had missed her every hour of every day for the past eleven years because he had become a man who was unable to have enough of her. Rhaenyra became more beautiful with each child. Her body becomes more sinful with each pregnancy. And he wanted nothing less than to spend eternity buried in her.

But, somehow, he found himself impeded.

He couldn't shake the image of the blood every time he saw her in bed, and so, to tease him, his mind imagined the stain growing as the light from her eyes faded. His smiles were accompanied by the flash of memories of her pale and bleeding on the couch of the c*nttower. And though he had long since overcome the first death by his sword, the dragon coiled around him was restless when, in his nightmares, Daemon found himself haunted by the prospect that she wouldn’t survive the fever.

He had remained near the rocks from which he had seen Betha's coffin thrown into the sea when not even her widower had stayed. The morbid thought that she might have left him seemed unable to leave tormenting him with the sneaky idea that it could have been his wife in the coffin... that it was her body on a funeral pyre for him to burn with a command to Caraxes.

Suddenly, Viserys no longer looked so weak and insignificant as he didn't set fire to Aemma's pyre. He no longer seemed so pathetic to his pain. Suddenly, his brother seemed like a man of greater fiber, as he remained sane when there was no longer any reason for it.

Daemon couldn't stand the idea that it was possible for the world to still exist without her.

There would be fire and blood for it.

He bowed his head to the moon, bathing in the moonlight when his mind became very tumultuous. When his thoughts became wild.

It was possible that being married to another woman, the idea would not be so visceral, even if he ended up as a widower. If instead of Laenor it was him standing burying his wife. One that wouldn't have been Rhaenyra. But the woman Daemon married was her, and he had no desire to witness his wife in a similar position again.

Of course, there were methods to prevent conception. And yet, hesitation did not leave his bones, nor did his stomach cease to burn stormy, or his mind ceased to run wild through all those possibilities. Daemon just couldn't help it.

He was aware that if he didn't solve his problems too soon, he would be crushed by them, just as Viserys had been crushed by his. And Daemon had no desire to become a fool whose mistakes had dogged him like a curse. He was not willing to do that.

The madness reflected him as he walked along the deserted beach in the moonlight. His boots left behind a trail along the beachfront of Driftmark. The wind blew hard, raising tendrils of fine white sand and Daemon could only think of the grainy thread of time of an hourglass that fell endlessly. In the distance, High Tide rose with the walls and towers tall, the roof of beaten silver reflecting the glow of the moon like a beacon.

Small, gentle waves crashed on the surf of the beach with rhythmic whooshes , going back and forth, like a cowardly man who hesitated to make a decision. The line of his shoulders seemed stiff in the starlight, his head slightly hunched, lost in thoughts that crowded together like the sea that receded to launch the next wave. Daemon breathed in, feeling the salt in the air, brought by the sea air. Driftmark had the saltiest waters he had ever experienced. You could almost taste it on the tongue without even tasting a drop.

The breeze blowing against him reversed, changing direction and propelling him forward. His hair whipped across his face, tossed by the wind along with something else. Daemon took a long breath and under the humidity and the smell of salt water, he felt something else. Weak and diluted in the air, but still there and unmistakable.

Lavender and lemon permeated his lungs.

Daemon turned to find his beautiful wife in a mourning dress, her braids blown away by the wind just as carried her scent to him. His steps grew smaller and slower until she caught up with him; then his pace became lazy, and the walk was filled with a melancholy silence.

"You feel so melancholy, husband." Her words were almost carried away by the breeze. Her voice was soft and low, and if Daemon hadn't been so aware of it, he might have missed it. But he did not, just as he did not lose the sadness that covered her tone. "I wonder why…"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, watching her stoic face, though slightly shaded by a gloomy air that only he could read.

Daemon hated it. But how was he supposed to admit to her a weakness that he had not even understood yet? Rhaenyra was alive and well, so why did his heart keep twitching as he looked at her, keep withering and writhing like a dried flower? He didn't know.

"Aemon?" Daemon asked instead.

He felt more than he saw the look Rhaenyra had given him.

"With the others and Annora." She said, accepting his dodges for now. But what Rhaenyra wanted, she got. Even if she had to take it by fire and blood. And Daemon knew that now that she realized there was something to take from him, she wouldn't rest until did it. His mouth almost twitched with satisfaction. "He sleeps soundly."

"Lazy brat." He smiled affectionately.

His smile reflected hers as he looked at her.

And then her steps slowed down and even smaller until she stopped. Daemon turned with an arched eyebrow, and what he found crushed the already withered and black thing in his chest.

Her beautiful eyes, more beautiful than the sun, moon, or stars, were naked for him to see. Her soul was raw and exposed so that Daemon could read it without farces or lies. He had a déjà vu , from doing it when they were in their rooms, on their bed, and after putting the children to sleep. He would hold his wife close and look into her beautiful, fragile, and vulnerable eyes just for him to glimpse. Daemon would caress her face, her velvety skin soft against his knuckles before kissing her.

Gods, he missed her .

His hands, at his sides, flexed. His fingers stretched as far as his knuckles would allow. Daemon felt a very ancient tingle buzzing on his skin like the static energy that circled Dragonstone before a storm. His jaw ached, whether it was the weight of the words he held or the intensity with which he clenched it. The beast in him wished to bring chaos when they felt trapped.

As he looked at Rhaenyra, her pupils seemed shaky and larger.

"What is wrong, Daemon?"

Daemon.

It sounded like a coup. Daemon couldn't remember the last time she'd called him by name, not like that , and certainly that occasion at the c*nt manor didn't count. It was different. Rhaenyra almost didn't use h is name to talk to him anymore, not when she had other names for him. His wife called him ñuha gīs or my soul, ñuha raqnon or my love, ñuha prūmia or my heart, ñuha zaldrize or my dragon. She was particularly fond of valzȳrys , to call him her husband. Rhaenyra didn't care about the language, or his name, except when she was upset with him.

And she was.

An acidic sensation rose to his throat and he looked away, with restless eyes. He didn't like the way his name sounded on her tongue, and he hated being the one to have caused it.

He hated looking vulnerable in front of her even more, which meant that he rarely gave up his mask and showed the rawness of his emotions. There was no one he trusted more than his wife, but there was no one he wanted her to trust more than he did. And showing her the fear that threatened to overwhelm him seemed the complete antithesis of that. After all, Daemon never feared something he couldn't face, that he couldn't handle. His dark heart had never known a fear that had the power to make him retreat. He hadn't yet known a fear she couldn't guess, knowing that he didn't like to talk about it, and therefore share.

The gods should be laughing at him. This was supposed to be Caraxes' punishment for Daemon daring to consider himself as fearless as the god himself. No one was braver than Perzysegros. And gods , Daemon tried. Just because he could, he tried.

Caraxes, after all, seemed to have reached his limit.

But Vhagar helped him, he would need to find a way to tell her. He would never, willingly, cause her pain. And it seemed that his refusals had done so.

Daemon cursed so softly that the wind carried away the words.

"Why do you assume something is wrong, ñuha prūmia?" With a chin aching from the tension in his jaw, he asked with a still evasive look.

Strands of her hair swayed in the breeze, almost framing her eyes as it curled under and above them. Daemon looked at her, finding a distinct glow in the almost iridescent violet hue of her irises in the pale starlight, a glow that mimicked that reflected on the crest of the small waves crashing on the edge of the beach.

His teeth gritted, and his nails dug into his palms.

"I don't assume, I know." Rhaenyra had said with sullen conviction. Her mouth twitched in a thin line and Daemon caught a glimpse of how she twirled the rings on her fingers. The black satin ribbon on her braid hissed in the wind furiously. She looked small and frail, as she had been when she had a fever. Daemon didn't like that. He didn't like it at all. "I feel it in my heart."

His body rippled, turning to her.

"But I am your heart."

Rhaenyra then looked at him almost looking helpless, terrified.

"I know."

He advanced before he could think and before fear could overwhelm him once more.

"I'm sorry." He muttered.

"Tell me what's wrong?" She begged in a heavy, dripping voice as she grabbed his black doublet; the knuckles of her white fingers as her fingernails dug into the leather. The beast inside him flailed its wings as it tried to open them, and threatened to break the cage of his ribs as it did so. Daemon felt his lungs crushed and his sternum contract, and he gritted his teeth with the feeling that he could turn them to dust. "Tell me what's wrong so we can fix it."

"Hush," he whispered as he took a step toward her, his hands reaching out to grab her forearms. Rhaenyra let go of the doublet, clinging him. "Nothing is wrong, raqnon ." Daemon bent his knees slightly looking for her eyes in the moonlight. "I promise."

"But it is," Rhaenyra whispered, swallowing. "What is it? "I'm-" she hesitated, her eyes widening even wider, almost as if she couldn't believe it. Daemon felt worms crawling on his skin and feared what conclusion she would jump to, "Is it me? It's because..."

Daemon grabbed her by the shoulders, feeling stormy. His fingers dug into the fabric until it pressed down on the skin underneath and effectively shut her up, preventing her from finishing any nonsense her mind could conjure up.

She looked at him with agitation, and in her irises, Daemon saw a shadowy reflection of himself. The expression was loaded with intensity and mania. He almost closed his eyes to compose himself, but he had decided against it. He had decided to let her see him. Everything. Even that part of himself that had turned out to be too cowardly to admit to her that he was afraid.

"Quiet now," he demanded, shaking her slightly. Daemon let go of her shoulder and his hand came down, grabbing hers. He guided her over his chest, pressing her delicate palm over his resounding heart.

One, two, three thunderstorms of the quick, merciless beating of his dragon's wings. He felt every beat in his throat. The thing threatened to escape only to fall into the hands of the only woman in the world who could possess it. Had it. She had made it her own and had become its owner. Daemon snapped two fingers under her chin, pulling her face to him until their breaths were blending.

His indigo eyes took on a dark hue.

"Do you feel that?" He demanded to know while still pressing her hand on his chest. "This twisted and gloomy thing, covered with the same crust that buries Valyria and that is so blackened from the first half of my life? It's yours. Only yours. It beats just for you." Rhaenyra looked at him with big doe eyes through the hair that whipped their faces, sending out sharp, thin stings of pain that Daemon didn't care about. He didn't even blink before finally admitting the morbid truth. "... and would stop without you."

The moonlight turned her tear into a diamond that Daemon planned to pick up before it fell so that nothing about this woman who had made him hers could be wasted. But his wife, his dear and impetuous wife, Rhaenyra, was quicker, painfully digging her nails into his hair and pulling him to her. Her mouth met his with violence and passion, with an urgent and pungent need that sent a bolt of lightning through him. She took him with the fury of a dragon.

And Daemon never denied her anything.

Much less himself.

He pulled his hands away only to grab her waist mercilessly. Immediately the heat of her body chased away the cold of the sea or the night, or of fear. There was only the heat and her maddening smell of lavender and lemon. Hunger roared in his belly and Daemon plunged into the kiss, chattering his teeth and fighting his tongue with hers. The taste of her made him crazy, rough, and anxious. Her body was crushed against his and her breasts pressed against his jacket as if Daemon were trying to imprint her on himself. His hand slid down the back of her neck, grabbing her so that his thumb brushed against her jaw. He leaned her neck back and deepened the kiss by tangling his tongue with hers.

The acrid taste of smoke suffocated him.

Her hands ran down his shoulders trembling and anxiously looking for the doublet buckles. Rhaenyra gasped feeling her skin tug and tighten as she tried to reach him. She undid his buckles one by one, and his hands worked quickly on the laces of her dress. Her neck ached from the angle of the kiss as Daemon towered over her. He let her go only by switching to her throat, to lick from her collarbone to the earlobe he nibbled on. Rhaenyra gasped, feeling a shiver that had made her breasts heavy and painful, compressed inside her dress. His teeth pinched the skin of her throat, and the open-mouthed kisses threatened to leave bruises behind.

She wanted him inside her here, and now.

"Daemon-" she moaned languidly as he stuck his fingers in the cleavage trying to reach her sensitive nipples. "Husband, I need you. I need you here and now."

Daemon grunted annoyed at the idea of someone seeing his wife in a way that should have been his alone. Crispin Cole was once lucky enough to keep his eyes, co*ck, and life to himself. Daemon would not guarantee that he would be able to give the same mercy to anyone else. Not in the state of mind he was in.

"You're mine alone." He growled, closing his fingers almost painfully on a nipple. Rhaenyra saw stars and hissed between pain and pleasure.

"Only yours." Rhaenyra rushed to agree. She grabbed his chin and pushed it away, looking into his eyes without fear of the sharp claws on his gorgeous face. Her fingertips became softer on his cheekbones, though her fingernails still pressed against his skin with little mercy. So handsome . "But I want you, and I want you now. You are mine. I will not let you run away from me again. You will have me, and you will have me when I want you."

His eyes became even darker.

There was no way she could have lost the way he felt wild. Daemon took a look around, spotting a hovel half destroyed by time or the sea. He growled and ducked, throwing his wife over his shoulder. The wind blew away her cry of surprise and she rested one hand on his back. Her breasts infinitely squeezed now. Her puss* tightened around the void with Daemon's show of strength. His rough hands found their way under the skirts of the dress, and the warmth of them now sent shivers through her silk stockings.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes with a pained expression.

Daemon brought her to her feet again, under the scant roof covering through which moonlight poured over them. His hair, more silver than gold, formed a delicate halo that framed his head. Rhaenyra traced the strands for a moment before her husband grabbed her by the back of the neck in another hard kiss. She wasted no time in getting him out of his doublet or undoing the ropes holding his pants, or she wasted no time in falling to her knees and pulling his co*ck out.

She watched him jump before her eyes gloriously hard with a few dripping silver droplets. Daemon, whose hand had shifted and tangled along her long, half-undone braid, growled as he looked down at her from above with dark, lustful eyes. Rhaenyra took a good look at her husband, his beauty and fury, the strength and virility that rolled from him in waves. She brought him to her mouth slowly and deliberately, drawing a growl from her husband. Daemon curled his fingers more in her hair, tightening his control to guide the pace. Her tongue arched under the weight of his co*ck that slid in and out of her mouth, Rhaenyra then swung her tongue and sunk her cheeks as she sucked him, looking at her husband under fluttering eyelashes.

"Oh, f*ck." Daemon muttered under his breath.

The tendons in his wrist tensed as he picked up the pace at which he f*cked her mouth and his wife's nails gently scratched the back of his thighs, sending sparks down his spine. Daemon threw his head back, his sounds getting louder and louder, rivaled only by the howling of the wind. He could feel it when his co*ck touched the bottom of her throat and Rhaenyra gasped her eyes suddenly watering. And although she felt the tension rise and the org*sm approaching, Daemon pushed her away.

Her face was flushed and although moist, her eyes sparkled with impertinent lust. Daemon growled. Damn woman . His thumb slid over her lips in contemplation, and Rhaenyra, with a dark, cheeky look, stuck out her tongue to lick it. Daemon pulled her up in the blink of an eye and the next heartbeat kissed her. He maneuvered her like clay in his hands, turning her on her back to work on the laces of the dress. Rhaenyra raised her arms to hug him, but Daemon quickly pushed them down as he undid the ties and lowered the neckline of her dress, restricting her movements. His hands slid down her waist before they came up, grabbing her heavy breasts.

Daemon brushed his nose against her neck, his mouth dragging pecks down the column of her throat, his teeth brushing the shoulder junction. His thumbs gently caressed her nipples, making his wife gasp. She straightened her shoulders, pushing her breasts into his hands. Daemon pinched her nipples sending a gentle pulse of pain. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Slowly, he caressed the silky skin with his fingertips, circling the small swollen peaks tortuously and sensually.

"Daemon."

Yes, say my name , he thought kissing her shoulder. Say my name like this, and only like this . He grabbed her nipples and twirled the turgid little things between his fingers. Rhaenyra's head spun on his shoulder.

"Daemon," she muttered softly and pleadingly.

He grabbed the black velvet from the dress and used the skirt to create a nice crib for his wife to lie on. To keep her from feeling the roughness of the boards or the scratching of the sand on her silky skin. Daemon took a moment to appreciate his wife's arms still held by the sleeves of her dress, her legs slightly spread and her eyes shining with expectation. His mouth curved mischievously, and he pushed the petticoats upwards. Daemon bent down, spreading her legs and looking at her once before tasting her puss*.

Under him, Rhaenyra arched her spine and grabbed his hair with her eyes closed as her husband feasted on her. His fingers came next spinning, twisting, and preparing her for him. Her legs spread wider, and her inner muscles trembled with cold and desire. The breeze made her breasts ache from the touch of him. Rhaenyra pushed Daemon's face down, feeling the vibrations of his growl increase her sensations.

Daemon built her for pleasure, for org*sm along with a blush that colored her neck. She lost him looking over her skirts, between her perky breasts demanding attention. Daemon kept his fingers inside her, teasing her slowly, slowing down, but always keeping her on the edge of the precipice.

This made her cry, and he slithered on her like a treacherous snake. He hovered above her for a moment before bending down and blowing her breasts. The tip of his tongue slid, circling the halos driving her crazy. Rhaenyra screamed in indignation, but he just chuckled with his hands caught between them. Daemon brushed her nipples with his teeth, and Rhaenyra whimpered softly with her puss* throbbing sore around his fingers.

"You need to f*ck me, zaldrize ." She cried with her eyes closed. "I need you inside me so badly, Daemon. Please."

"Whatever you want." He promised, grabbing a breast and suddenly the taste of her milk spread on his tongue. Daemon removed his fingers, not without hearing a wail that he soothed with a nibble and used them to roll the other nipple and pinch it. He carefully guided himself into her, sliding inch by inch. Rhaenyra's back tensed as she arched, her moan lingering. Her jaw fell open, her lips almost mimicking a smile of pleasure. One side of his mouth twitched consciously. Daemon knew how much she loved the feeling of having him inside her, and with one final move, he buried himself inside her.

He worked slowly and torturously, licking her milk on one side, and on the other, his fingers began to become sticky as the other breast began to leak. He could not allow it, and he moved, covering the one he had just released with his palm open. Rhaenyra worked to free herself and bury her fingers in his back and hair. Daemon struck his hips and Rhaenyra sighed.

He established a slow pace at first that led to another slow build-up, her legs swaying around him with every thrust of his hips. She wanted him hard and hard, so her hands went down and dug her nails in his ass, trying to force him to the rhythm she wanted. Daemon around her breast, complied with her demand, moving faster and harder.

Her sounds were music to him, each impulse told how much he pleased her, how much he gave her pleasure. Her pleasure was his undoing, so that her passion drove him mad. Daemon slammed his hips with force and speed that made it impossible for him to keep her breast in his mouth. He arched in such a way that his pelvis brushed the small nerve bud between her legs and Rhaenyra screamed, her nails almost drawing blood from him. Daemon simply chuckled, throwing his head back and increasing the pace, becoming almost punishing.

Her breasts painted milky tracks against his sternum, and he grabbed one of her legs, hooking it at his waist. Rhaenyra rested a hand on his shoulder, forcing him down with each thrust.

The rope stretched and he found himself increasingly overwhelmed by the approaching org*sm. Her voice grew louder and higher and Daemon's breath too, his moans mingled with hers in an amalgam of sighs and gasps. Her eyes closed when they were almost there. Just a little longer. Yes, just a little longer.

Oh...

Behind her eyelids, white burst, and something spread inside her, a scorching heat that left her suspended in limbo for a moment. Daemon prolonged this moment with the drag of his hips, but he soon followed her, stopping and shuddering with the force of org*sm. A load of his seed filled her, and Rhaenyra sighed.

Daemon calmed down and relaxed over his wife for a moment, resting his weight on his forearms so as not to crush her. Then he rolled to the side and Rhaenyra went with him, crawling over his chest.

With her by his side and their scent intoxicating his senses, his heart began to beat at a calmer pace and Daemon felt himself relaxing. Rhaenyra settled as she wanted, rubbing her cheek against his chest. Her nails drew patterns on his chest and Daemon grabbed her hand to intertwine their fingers.

"I still want to know what was wrong." She declared, a moment later.

Daemon snorted but smiled crookedly to himself. Stubborn woman as f*ck . He was quiet for a moment, still reluctant. But the more he reflected on the words he should use, the more Daemon realized that the paralyzing sensation that had dominated him before had partially disappeared, and the claws of fear only brushed his heart now. Rhaenyra leaned over him, spreading her legs as she mounted him. Daemon arched an eyebrow before she kissed him briefly.

Rhaenyra walked away, her eyes sparkled with determination, and he knew his wife was ready to f*ck his answers. Daemon hummed absently, reflecting that it wasn't an unpleasant way to do it. He lost himself in thought, caressing her hips with his thumbs.

"I was scared."

She tilted her head, making the ruined braid fall over her shoulder. A wrinkle had formed between her pale eyebrows. Daemon stretched out his hand, pulling the ribbon, and with his thumb, began to undo each of the joints. Slowly her hair fell around them. With the tips of his fingers, he combed the ends, brushing her breasts.

Rhaenyra sighed.

"Afraid of what?"

"Losing you." He said, his hands sliding down her hips, rubbing the protruding bones of her pelvis.

Her gaze flickered, and Rhaenyra rippled her hips.

"And your best strategy was to keep me away from you?" She scoffed, reaching out to grab his face as she had done before. He knew he would have at least one scratch when the sun came up, though he wasn't bothered. The scars made by his wife were always his favorites. "Foolish man."

Daemon dared to smile before sliding his thumb between her legs, gently scratching the delicate nerve button with his fingernail. Rhaenyra gasped.

"I never claimed otherwise." He recalled her with a teasing smile, tracing circles with his thumb. Daemon hesitated but didn't stop, looking at her seriously. "But I'm serious, Rhaenyra. I know Agni said we'd have six children, and we're doing everything we can to save them all, but that's not the point," he fumed, his tongue clicking disdainfully. "I can protect you and our children from anything Alicent and her c*nts throw at us. But" and his voice became a faint whisper, "I hadn't realized that this isn't the only thing that can take you away from me, Jorrāeliarza . I can't control what happens in the delivery bed. I can't stop you from dying, from leaving me, from leaving our children."

He watched her look down on him in shock. Daemon grabbed her waist, recording his fingers without caring about the bruises tomorrow. He needed her to understand.

"I can't do it again, love." He said, serious. "I can't put you in there again, I can't see you do it again."

"Daemon..." She whispered.

"I have never denied you anything but let me deny it. We will stay with five. Let's stay with the children we have so I can stay with you, Rhaenyra. Ñuho glaeso ."

"Daemon..." She mumbled, holding his face so she could kiss him. Her thumbs caressed his cheeks, and Daemon met her eyes wide with surprise. "Of course we can, my love. Five is good, it's enough. I promise."

Her face heated up and hurt, and Daemon cursed under his breath burying his face in the crook of her throat. His wife hugged him, letting him do as he pleased. Her nails scratched his scalp affectionately.

"You'll get the moon tea as soon as we get back. Do you understand me, Rhaenyra?" He muttered. "I can't let my seed take root in you again."

"Whatever you say." She promised. Daemon hugged her closer, planting a kiss in the hollow of her throat. He felt that he clung to her as if his life depended on it. And maybe he would.

Rhaenyra was his life.

Without her, he was a dead man walking.

Without her, the world was doomed.

Chapter 24: A Rock and the Wreckes

Chapter Text

10^th Moon of 125 AC

Aemond couldn't sleep, so he didn't try. Instead, he carefully put on his clothes again so as not to wake Daeron, the only one who was asleep. Aegon's bed was as empty as when the servant had introduced them to the room earlier, though Aemond didn't bother to know what his brother had gotten himself into. He found his way out of the wing where his family had been placed, bypassing the Kingsguards at his door without attracting much attention.

High Tide was like a maze to him that had never been at this place, but once Aemond found the Hall of Nine, he quickly found his way out. From a side exit, he followed the path to the dunes to the east of the castle that was slightly covered with a type of grass. The white sand frayed in the wind. Aemond spotted a bunch of dragons there.

They were all resting, and among them, his.

Cannibal opened his reptilian and green eyes as soon as he felt him close. Those eyes still gave him goosebumps, even though he had grown up to somehow tame the dragon. Cannibal raised his head, and Aemond reached out, stroking his snout. His dragon rose into a position that favored Aemond to ride, and grabbing the ropes, he did so, falling over the cell. The dragon beneath him crawled to gain momentum and then launched into the air, spreading its wings with powerful beats.

The wind roared in his ears and his heart rumbled so that his heartbeat echoed off the walls of his skull. So powerful was the freedom that Aemond didn't hear a single thought in his head, nothing that kept him from sleeping in the last few hours. Not on the comfy leather of his saddle, or in the numbing cold; and not when, for the first time in a long time, Aemond didn't have a single worry in the world.

He finally felt relaxed from the disastrous dinner with his family that had preceded this trip to the Seven Hells. He thought could do that, could sleep with Cannibal. But Mother would not like that. She would go crazy if she woke up and thought something had happened to him. She felt paranoid about the well-being of each of them, although most of her energy was focused on Aegon and Helaena, her biggest pieces in the game. Aemond chose to stay out of her way and not become another source of concern for her when he could become an asset when he could help.

His mother always knew she could count on him, for anything and everything. Even with his siblings. He did everything in his power to pressure the two of them to cooperate with her. But Aegon, despite being the oldest, didn't make his work any easier. His brother had made a habit of pretending not to hear or ignore him after taking a look and thinking that what Aemond was doing was not worth it. On the rare occasions that Aegon showed that he had heard his pleas, he simply looked at him with undisguised disdain and did as he pleased. So Aemond had to settle for cleaning up the mess.

And as for Helaena... Aemond was embarrassed to admit it, but he was too weak when it came to her. Helaena was beautiful and had an enchanting charm in her own way. There was something about her innocence, the naivety in her gaze, the lethargic delicacy of her movements, the way she blinked her eyes, the color of her irises rippling into the blonde fuzz of her eyelashes. Aemond hated to be forced to admit that if Helaena said one nonsense or two, he would agree without even thinking. Helaena would tell him anything he would do without question. She had a kind of power over him that was different from the power he gave to his mother willingly. Helaena made his heart beat faster, not from fury like Aegon did, but with something he didn't dare name.

She was never meant to be his. In this game, she has always belonged to Aegon, even if their stupid brother couldn't see the rarity he had in his hands, the great treasure, and took her only at face value.

Aegon was a fool, but that was nothing new.

Aemond knew that Helaena would be stunning once she reached maturity, and she knew that her personality would keep her safe from chancers. And if not, she had him. And if he wasn't enough, then their sister's offspring would at least have to do that. In this, the affection of their half-sister's children for his sister was helpful.

Cannibal rippled over him, piercing the clouds and the chill of the air hurt his face, but Aemond didn't care, spreading his arms as his dragon began a free fall, its tail snapping back in the rear like a whip. Cannibal spread his wings to slow the fall and glided back to the other dragons.

His time of indulgence had run out.

They differed in this.

Where Aemond kept pushing himself to do what the people he loved needed, Cannibal gave only what he wanted. This made their bond unbalanced at times. But there was truth in the words of his half-sister and uncle. A dragon was not a slave to be commanded as he pleased. And Aemond envied this in his dragon. Unlimited freedom.

He did not consider himself a slave to his family, but he could not deny to himself that Aegon and Helaena seemed to experience a kind of freedom that he deprived himself of. Aemond had no one but himself to blame, after all. He gave as much as he wanted because he wanted it.

Cannibal bent down and let him slip out of the saddle. His boots sent a brief blast of sand into the air and the dragon shook as it splashed into his nostrils. Cannibal scrambled and shook himself, his entire black body shuddering and moving to a different place. He did not wish to be bothered again. Aemond didn't feel the need to try to force him, he had more sense than that.

With nothing to do and with the feeling of relief already trickling away from his hands like sand that fell incessantly by an hourglass, Aemond returned to the castle, albeit at a slow pace.

The same entrance he came through was in plain sight, but he found something different. A light. Was it one of the guards? Was it Ser Criston? Was he furious that Aemond had left? Did he warn his mother? How angry was she? His heart beat faster for a reason other than the euphoria of flying. It felt more like the icy fear of having scared her. There was so much to worry about. Aemond didn't need to become another reason. He hated the idea of becoming a burden to her.

Hesitantly, he approached and heard voices that were too young to be from Ser Criston, his mother, or his grandfather. But they were all feminine, he had no doubts.

"Do you think she'll let me get close?" He heard the voice of the girl Velaryon, the eldest. His nephew's fiancée. Aemond wrinkled his nose. "Silverwing doesn't let me get too close. She used to do it when I was a kid, but not so much now."

"Dreamfyre is pretty reasonable." Helaena was saying, her voice sounding thoughtful. He could see her wrinkled nose and the way she twisted her mouth without needing to take a look at his sister. He knew her like the back of his hand. And so Aemond wanted to know what the hell Helaena was doing out of bed with the girl Velaryon? Didn't she have a sense of self-preservation? She would never hear the end of it coming from their mother.

Maybe Helaena could be a little stupid after all. Although he had never thought of her as such. There was, however, always a first time for everything.

Aemond scoffed and thought that he found her quite cunning for flying from King's Landing to Driftmark in her dragoness, to escape the repercussions that the news of the engagement had been for their mother and how it directly affected them. He considered her smart for avoiding their grandfather, whose state of mind that morning when he heard about it had been anything but content. Anything but calm. He was enraged and demanded to know how this could happen. And then he made plans.

And Aemond was in charge of cleaning up the mess.

His face twitched in a disdainful grimace.

"Dreamfyre is a sweetheart." He heard Visenya say.

And there was his chance to prove his worth to mother and grandfather, by cleaning up the mess and being able to make Visenya start harboring feelings for him.

He had set out to try to make her like him and eventually fall in love. If their mother's prediction were correct, neither Aegon nor Helaena would quickly marry their half-sister's precious children. His uncle would never allow Aegon to lay a single finger on his precious daughter, so Aemond’s mother was grateful for Aegon's behavior at least once in her life.

That gave them time to fix things.

And Visenya was the key to all their problems.

If she could come to like him, then the kingdom would have to be bent to her will. She would demand a change of fiancé and if he did his job well enough, he might convince her that Aegon and Helaena were in love with each other, and she might be able to convince the King to let them marry. For though no one denied anything to the children of the Realm’s Delight, no one dared to contradict Visenya.

And she exposed this weakness the instant she told them over dinner that she had chosen Aegon from among the suitors. She chose Aegon, someone Aemond wouldn't recommend to his worst enemy, let alone Helaena. But that was a different story. He wouldn't worry about it until it was time to cross this bridge.

He had time.

But with Visenya, there was never enough and there was no time like now.

He wondered what he should say to get her attention now. What he should do?

"I wish my family had more time to take me on a flight." She said it in a voice that sounded melancholy. Aemond could barely be surprised by the vulnerability in her voice that was so different from the sharp niece he was used to. "I'd like to have my dragon, so I wouldn't need anyone."

Aemond barely paid attention to it because there was his chance.

Filling his chest, he stepped out of the shadows.

"I'll take you for a ride, if you want, Visenya." He said.

The three girls were very close to each other, and all in white nightgowns, startled, taken by surprise. The girl Velaryon blushed, averting her eyes, unlike Visenya and his sister.

Helaena gave him a look that made him uncomfortable, as if she could see through him, and tilted her head in a movement very similar to a dragon. Her pale, lilac eyes stared at him in a piercing manner. He felt a shiver run down his spine and then looked away from her. Aemond found the girl Velaryon spying on him, despite the lingering blush. A wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows, but there was nothing in his expression beyond that.

Visenya, as always, made it more difficult. The girl looked at him with open suspicion and a good deal of hostility. Her indigo eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and her face twitched into an unsympathetic and doubtful expression. Visenya scoffed, in a very good imitation of her father. One that would be able to make the most imposing of men feel less than sh*t under her boot.

That brat.

Aemond struggled to hide his hostility and how unhappy he was at the prospect of spending more time with Visenya so he could put the plan into effect. The idea of flying Cannibal with her almost made him sick. He didn't imagine that his dragon would like it any more than he did. The most likely bet was that Cannibal could eat her. And wouldn't it be lovely? One less problem?

Visenya was an annoying girl.

"I think I'd rather never fly on a dragon again than take a ride with you." She said arrogantly rearing that nose of hers.

Visenya was a f*cking thorn in his side. And honestly, Aemond just wanted to crush her as if she were the spider he'd seen Helaena play with during the funeral.

It was hard to keep his emotions in check, but he did, forcing himself to try to smile.

"And why is that?"

She looked at him as if he were mad. Helaena looked between the two but otherwise did nothing to intervene. His sister blinked like an owl, her pale eyes shining in the torch lights. Helaena winced, craned her neck, and brought her hand to scratch her shoulder. Aemond immediately saw the blush cover her pale skin. His face twitched. She was uncomfortable and tended to hurt herself when this happened.

Aemond wanted to drag his sister away, but he couldn't give up on Visenya so quickly. The Seven knew when he would have a chance again.

Resigned, he turned to her, struggling to remain calm.

"Because we aren't friends." She said, looking him in the eye and daring him to disagree with her.

He couldn't.

"But we could be."

Visenya tilted her head slightly, her chin lifting in the air. She looked at him critically, as if trying to guess his motivations.

Visenya liked all the girly things of which one could think. She was, after his half-sister, the most feminine thing he knew. Visenya liked rouge, eye, and mouth tinctures. She liked silks and velvets and fine and richly colored fabrics or with elaborate weaves. She loved shoes and jewelry. And even when she dressed like him, or any of the Keep boys, that is, with pants and a doublet to practice fencing, Visenya still looked feminine with her rings and ribbons in her hair and still completely flawless. Even the decorative sword she had was quite feminine, with the pommel of a large ruby.

She could spend hours talking about the futilities that girls liked. But Visenya also liked swordsmanship and like her namesake, she was good at it, Aemond would give it grudgingly. Therefore, there was no way in the world to underestimate her by thinking that Visenya didn't know something was behind his sudden intention to befriend her. Especially after not bothering for a lifetime.

He felt rather stupid for not having thought before how much work it would be to find his way to her heart. There wasn't a way in the world for her to make the whole thing easier. He had seriously underestimated her and was now aware of the price to pay.

Great.

Visenya said: "No," she rolled her tongue with a snap, "we couldn't."

He watched Helaena's nails rise to her neck, leaving behind an angry red on her skin. A fist clenched his stomach with a screaming need to protect her. Especially from herself.

Aemond gritted his teeth, cursing the fact that he was caught in an argument with Visenya.

"Why?" He growled.

Visenya chucked disdainfully.

"I could never be friends with someone who is that c*nt's child."

The first trace of blood appeared on Helaena's alabaster skin. His heart raced, and Aemond lost control. Before he knew he was doing so, Aemond cornered Visenya against the wall, causing Helaena to scream. Visenya hit the head, and the eyes get blurred for an instant. The hatred she felt for him, and he felt too, flickered and disappeared as she reoriented. Her guard down for the blink of an eye.

Perhaps he was under more stress than he had thought because Aemond just couldn't pull away before things got worse. It was as if he had reached a limit that he didn't even know he had drawn.

"Take back what you said!" He screamed, and the droplets of saliva splattered Visenya's face and she regained her senses, coming after him with fire and blood.

She fought his grip. "No!"

Visenya hooked her leg to his and knocked him down. The lantern broke as they rolled to Rhaena's side, the girl retreated to escape the mess that was the two of them.

"Helaena!" He heard her call, alarmed.

But Aemond didn't have time to see what was happening to his sister, he was busy with Visenya trying to punch him. Aemond managed to pull away from that wicked hook of hers and gave her one of his own, splitting her lip. Visenya howled in anger and thrust her knee into his ribs, causing him to hiss.

They rolled once more and Aemond stabilized himself on Visenya, trapping her with his legs. His hand tightened down her throat.

"Take what you f*cking said!"

"Over my dead body!" Visenya spat, her eyes shining with a madness similar to her father's. "Why should I?! It's the least she is, that f*cking slu*t!"

"Take it out or I'll kill you!"

Visenya's irises seemed to grow lighter as her eyes and face grew redder as he tightened her throat. Visenya screamed and scratched his face, her fingernails leaving behind a collection of cuts that burned with sweat and sand. But Aemond didn't give up. f*ck the plan. He would kill this little sh*t here and now if she didn't take back what she said!

"You can try," she warned him, smiling wickedly, "but I'll be the one to finish you off and then I'll go after your mother's bitch!"

"ARGH!"

Aemond wasn't thinking, he grabbed the closest thing he had nearby and dropped all the force he could put on Visenya.

The sound of crushing reverberated on the walls of the entrance, and something splattered on his face, on his fingertips.

"Someone! Help, please!" The Velaryon girl called.

"Take it back!" He demanded, raising his arm again.

Visenya tried to spit on him. "No!"

One sickening blow after another unleashed wave after wave of Visenya's blood, which soiled his hand and affected his control over the weapon. She gasped over and over again. Aemond heard the sound of armor approaching and voices rising. But the last thing he had time to notice was the fire in Visenya's dazed gaze, and then she dug her thumb nail into his left eye. He shouted, but Visenya didn't back down. Aemond felt the pressure caused by her nail, followed by a pain so blinding that it overshadowed all other senses. The stone slipped out of his hand, and he fell backward with blood running down his face.

Aemond closed his good eye, but still saw Visenya with a bleeding head, being dragged by one guard while another held him. Helaena was huddled against the wall, staring at him terrified, slapping her hands on her ears as the Velaryon girl tried to get her to stop.

He only had time to think about one thing...

What did I do?

The Kingsguard, along with the High Tide houseguard, rushed them to the Hall of Nine. As the doors opened, he spotted Princess Rhaenys and his second nephew, Viserys. The book between them was quickly forgotten given the chaos that had accompanied them, and in less than a few moments, the hall was filled with the adults. The hosts were, of course, by the side of his sister's children in their parents' absence. His nephew, Viserys, had quickly run to his twin and tried to talk to her, but Visenya looked a little stunned. Aemond had a flash of satisfaction in knowing that he had finally made her shut up.

His mother screamed as she entered the hall and saw him, and any triumph over Visenya was crushed by the guilt of making her worry. Ser Criston took one look at him and another at Visenya and a muscle jumped out on his cheek. But it was his father's reaction that had frightened him. Aemond had never seen the King so angry.

The kids joined Ser Daemion and Lady Laena, followed by the Gifted Grace and the presumptive heir of Driftmark, the twin of the girl Velaryon who ran straight to her mother, burying her face in her mother’s stomach like a small child. There was no shadow of the nannies of Aemond's sister's children, any more than there was the shadow of the parents of his niblings.

In the distance, on the other side of the hall, Viserys' stomach dropped as he saw his sister bleeding and Helaena injured, grabbing and pulling her hair. A glance exchanged between him and Aegon, one he fought with and wished to argue led his brother to stay with Visenya while Viserys approached Helaena, who tolerated his touch better than the touch of most people in the room.

He grabbed her wrists against her chest and hugged her.

Helaena groaned in pain.

"It's okay, aunt." He tried to mumble, as he held her bending and to let go, clearly in agony. "Hush. It's okay, I've got you. Please, I have you. It's okay. Calm down."

His voice was barely above a murmur, as soft and as gentle as it could.

"Vis..." She mumbled, sucking in a dense breath before collapsing against him.

"Helaena!" His grandfather screamed, hurrying with his cane to take a look at her.

Helaena groaned, her head rising and glancing at Aemond. But his gaze fixed on Visenya, pale, bloodied, and weak as Aegon held their sister. High Tide's gieñryi hurried to look at her. Rhaena clung to her father as Laena hovered over Visenya to help as she could. His grandfather took a closer look at Visenya and Viserys saw unbridled fury shine in his eyes.

There would be fire and blood tonight.

And the King was just the beginning.

Aegon felt someone grab the hem of his shirt and looked at little Daenara, who was looking at Visenya in fright. She should have been in bed, just like the other younger children, but she clung to him now that she was here. Courageously, the girl reached out to hold one of Visenya's fingers.

His grandfather's cane crackled darkly on the stone floor, and he turned to the guards responsible for his family's safety. "How could you allow such a thing to happen? I will have answers!"

"The prince and princess were supposed to be abed, my King." Ser Harrold was struggling with the failure, though Aegon was interested to know if he possessed any clues to the matter.

He also wondered where his parents were at a time like this.

They knew that they were left under the supervision of the Velaryons when Princess Rhaenys had warned them to leave the couple alone the first time they asked for their parents. Aegon immediately knew something was wrong. Their parents never left them alone anywhere. He imagined that something must have happened between them. It couldn't have been a romantic getaway, they had no qualms about their displays of affection to apply this kind of deception. If their parents wanted to be... romantic, they simply locked themselves in their room. However, if any of the children needed them, they just had to knock on the door, and it would always open.

This time, they were nowhere to be seen, which means that something happened. He just hoped they hadn't fought. He didn't know what to do with the thought.

His parents were absolute unity.

They rarely argued or quarreled, much less were absent so that no one could find them to take care of matters related to the children, and Aegon did not expect to have a problem the first time it happened.

He had been blissfully ignorant in Jacaerys' room for a few games of board games since Viserys had picked out the poems with Princess Rhaenys in the Hall of Nine while everything was happening to his sister. Aegon couldn't process how fast it had been, when not even half an hour earlier he had heard Lady Laena checking on the girls in the room Rhaena shared with Daenara. He distinctly remembered hearing the girls wish her goodnight when Lady Laena had left to stay with the younger children, her youngest daughter in tow. When and what circ*mstances had led the girls to become involved in this situation was hazy and almost irrelevant to find out how things got to this point.

His uncle Aemond had his eye being sewn by the maester whom the Queen demanded to accompany her on her travels while the gieñryi checked Visenya for damage beyond the cut from which blood flowed. But the light of a single fireplace, and the bustle that gripped the Hall of Nine, Aegon found it difficult for him to obtain an accurate result. He looked at his sister, who seemed a little airy and had trouble concentrating.

"Who had the watch?" His grandfather snapped.

Ser Criston stepped forward.

"The young prince was attacked by his niece, Your Grace."

He had courage.

Or he was a great fool because that was not what the King wanted to know. His grandfather wasn't impressed enough to stop himself from screaming.

"You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!"

Cole barely flinched.

"I'm very sorry, Your Grace. The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princesses, Your Grace."

"That is no answer!"

"It will heal, will it not, maester?" He heard the Queen ask and the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting to know.

Even Visenya reacted to this. She blinked repeatedly but managed to maintain relative focus. Her eyes shone brightly.

"The flesh will heal. But the eye is lost, Your Grace." The maester decreed.

This drew a small smile from Visenya, although Aegon had guessed that only the lethargy caused by her injuries prevented her from reacting better to it.

The Queen turned to her son, Aegon.

"Where were you?!"

"Me?" He looked genuinely confused and the Queen must have mistaken this for drunkenness as in the next heartbeat, the sound of the slap she gave bounced off the walls. Aegon caught a glimpse of the shock that coated his uncle's gaze before his face turned. The scruffy hair covered both his emotions and the slap mark, but not his tone. "Ow! What was that for?"

"That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!"

The heavy doors of the hall opened, attracting attention and Aegon finally saw his parents enter, shock plastered on their faces.

"Visenya!" His mother screamed running to her daughter.

Daemon was one step behind her, with a storm brewing in his expression. Rhaenyra ducked before her daughter, pushing gently Aegon and Daenara to Laena. The gieñryi moved away so she could take a look. Gods be good, there was blood on her little girl's face. Her indigo eyes looked so blurred, but Visenya looked at her mother with something fiery and fierce, satisfied. Rhaenyra looked for Daemon's gaze, finding him with his jaw clenched. His eyes, which had returned to indigo only moments before, had already darkened once more.

And darker this time.

"Show me. Show me." She asked her daughter, who blinked in a daze.

Her husband's voice sounded deceptively soft, a sharp blade hidden under a silken veil, as he demanded to know almost gently. "Who did this?"

Only a fool took his tone or his words at face value. Daemon was about to draw blood. And for the first time, Rhaenyra didn't care who. Someone tried to kill her daughter. She didn't feel sorry for the stupid creature.

"He attacked me," Visenya mumbled in a purr that sounded almost rejoiced as if she knew what her father was going to do. "He had a rock."

"It should be my son telling the tale!" Alicent's voice made her stand up and immediately the gieñryi was next to Visenya, trying to administer a tonic to her and clean the blood.

Rhaenyra felt more than she saw her husband curl up, like a dragon about to attack. Alicent seemed to think the same. Her eyes were wide with dread. Rhaenyra could tell what was on Alicent's mind even if she couldn't read it. It was all in her eyes.

... four children you must have, and each of them must perish.

"He said he was going to kill me," Visenya muttered, barely above a whisper. Her voice was soft as if what she said had almost not become true. A chill ran through Rhaenyra.

Her daughter's eyes flickered, barely opening again.

Rhaenyra met the King's gaze and the bewildered shock on his face was quickly replaced by anger. By fury. He marched with his cane towards the boy.

"Aemond..." Her father gasped at Balerion's strength behind his words, "I will have the truth of what happened. Now."

"What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her daughter is responsible!" Alicent yelled.

The King looked at the Queen, and they seemed to face each other silently. Then...

"Oh, how I wish her mother's sortilege. The Prince would put an end to all this more quickly if he gave her the same mercy that the King granted his wife." Visenya said, drawing the attention of all of them once again. Rhaenyra felt a shiver run down her spine. Daemon's face turned deathly pale. "Everything is in the hands of the Prince, now. And if all goes well, he won't fail." Visenya blinked, one eye at a time, as she looked straight up. "That's what they said."

Rhaenyra looked up in time to watch Alicent turn pale almost immediately. An anxious energy had almost taken hold of her, and guilt seemed to have been written on her forehead.

"This is the highest of treasons, Your Grace," Rhaenyra said, feeling cold to the touch. She grabbed the sleeve of Daemon's doublet, whose skin was warm on her fingertips. He seemed to be burning.

Alicent could do nothing but shiver and gulp.

"You tell me, boy. Where did you learn this idea?" Rhaenyra watched her father lean furiously over the boy.

He was just a child, she knew. A child who tried to kill her daughter, but a child, nonetheless. A boy who had been instructed from an early age to hate her and her family. She could never forgive him for the harm he had caused, but she did not wish his death. Not when what happened tonight was the aftermath of Alicent's actions.

Hadn't Rhaenyra already proved that she had no ill will toward her siblings by caring for Helaena as her own? She had also never encouraged her children to hate their uncles, this was the result created by the rivalry between their parents, or between themselves because they were children. And Rhaenyra was willing to give Aemond a chance if he was sorry if he was willing to tell the truth. But if he wasn't, then his age was of little importance since he had marked her as an enemy.

And it seemed, he did.

"My King..." Alicent dared to beg.

"Aemond... I asked you a question." Although the King did not want to hear the answer.

"Viserys," the Queen called, moaning with fear and eyes full of tears, "he is your son..."

"Which makes it even worse." The King looked over his shoulder, absolutely disgusted, at his wife. "Aemond... look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who taught you this kind of thinking?"

Rhaenyra watched Aemond's good eye spin, passing on his mother.

"It was Aegon."

Aegon, beside the fireplace, had his eyes lit up with anger.

Whatever it was, the King would waste no time in limping up to him.

"And you, boy? Where did you hear such a thing?" But Aegon said nothing. That raw rage and hatred still simmered in his eyes, as met the King's gaze with barely concealed contempt. "Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!"

For a moment it seemed as if he would say something, and then Alicent interrupted him.

"Aemond has been damaged, permanently, my King!"

"I know, Alicent." He growled at her, not taking his eyes off Aegon. "I cannot restore his eye."

"No, because it's been taken."

The King looked at the Queen with narrow eyes.

"What would you have me do?" He looked at her as if daring her to tell him what to do. As if she had room for it after what had been done.

"There is a debt to be paid."