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Chapter Text

116 - Winter

  Rhaenyra's stomach churned as the boat bobbed in the icy waters, the waves hissing and spitting saltwater droplets onto the wooden deck. 

 It was a miserable day, nothing but gloomy grey as far as the eye could see. The bitter wind sent a chill down her spine, and their proud Targaryen sails flapped wildly as if attempting to break free from the masts, while their boat was jostled from left to right by the roaring waves. A storm would be coming soon, she was sure of it. 

 It was not a good day for sailing. Her father had been warned as much, but he was insistent that they not wait any longer to broker an agreement with Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark and father to Rhaenyra's intended. Ser Tyland Lannister, the golden haired Master of Ships, Lyonel Strong, the balding Hand of the King, and Grand Maester Mellos had objected, but Viserys had refused to listen to them and so they set out for Driftmark at his command. Rhaenyra had heard another tale of her father insisting a boat set sail in a storm against the word of more informed men, and she only hoped that theirs did not go the way Mysaria's had. 

 As the weather worsened, King Viserys became more affected than his heir.

 He was leaning over the edge of the ship, staring down at the water below as he tried to fight his latest bout of seasickness. His silver-gold hair had become dishevelled by the wind, and his skin was sour and greenish, no doubt the result of his illness. The King struggled to hold himself upright as men hurried about the deck, pouring buckets of water overboard. His black fur coat was doing little to protect him from the chill, and soon he was shivering, grumbling under his breath to himself.

 Rhaenyra turned away from him, watching as the shape of High Tide, the grand seat of House Velaryon, broke through the mist and became visible in the distance. The Great Harbour of Driftmark was packed with other boats, although Rhaenyra could not make out any of the sigils on the sails as the thunder roared in her ears and the rain began to pour. 

 "Are you quite alright, Your Grace?" inquired Ser Harrold Westerling, the bearded Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. 

"I am fine," Viserys grunted, waving a hand dismissively. "You do not need to fuss."

"As you say, Your Grace," Ser Harrold said gruffly. 

"How - how much longer until we arrive at Driftmark?"

"At least an hour, Your Grace," sighed Lord Lyonel. Viserys shook his head irritably. 

 Despite the ferocious waves that crashed against the boat with enough force to shake it, the tide was not high enough to obstruct the causeway. This came as a relief to Rhaenyra, who was fearing having to ride in a rowing boat to the Velaryons' estate. Instead, they travelled to the castle in horse-drawn carriages, led by Ser Harrold and Ser Criston Cole, Rhaenyra's sworn shield, and tailed by Ser Gerren Goode and Ser Lucos Lansdale, both guardsmen holding Targaryen banners. Rhaenyra and Viserys rode in silence, the King's wheezing coughs being the only sound to drown out the clattering of the horses' hooves. 

 High Tide was a grandiose structure made of pale white stone. It sat atop a steep cliff, the main Keep wrapped in high curtain walls to prevent the sea from seeping in. Lord Corlys' castle boasted of five large towers, each far more sleek and slender than those of the Red Keep, but the middle tower was by far the largest, topped by a rounded dome where Lord Corlys' own chambers were. The lower floor of the fifth tower contained a tunnel system that led down the beach, where the man-built caves Lord Corlys had designed sat, home to the dragons Meleys, Seasmoke, and Vhagar, and atop three of the towers flapped the Velaryon coat of arms, a silver seahorse on aquamarine. The roof was silver, unstained and untouched by its years of storms and sunlight. The castle's courtyard was protected by a heavy wooden door, taken from the trunks of old weirwood trees and branded with iron. They had to clamber up several stone steps to reach it, the path not designed for carriages. 

 "How much further is it?" Viserys oft questioned. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes every time.

"I could not say, Your Grace," replied Ser Harrold. Viserys sighed miserably. 

  Viserys led the party as the gates were heaved open and they were permitted entry inside. He was flanked by a kingsguard on either side of him, and Lord Lyonel was at his heel. Rhaenyra and Ser Criston followed the Hand, Viserys' legion of servants in red and black trailing after them, each carrying boxes and chests and other pieces of luggage. The King was panting, holding a hand to his chest as he wheezed, dragging one foot after the other into the courtyard.

 They saw Ser Laenor first.

 Rhaenyra's cousin was far taller than he had been when they last met, and broader too, his years at war having shaped him into striking young man, although his features were still delicate, like his sister's. He and his sparring partner were clad in blue. The other man was slender and tall, his jaw square and his hair curly and reddish brown. Rhaenyra supposed he was the man Laena had told her about in her letters, one of Laenor's favourites. Laenor and his sparring partner dropped their swords as Viserys trudged past, bowing their heads lowly.

"Where is Lord Corlys?" Lord Lyonel demanded, looking around. "He should be here to receive the King." 

 As if on cue, the doors to the grand castle were opened.

 It was not the Lord of the Tides but his daughter, the Lady Laena, who descended the steps from the Entrance Hall to welcome the King. She was accompanied by one of her cousins, both dressed in silver and midnight blue. Laena was a slender young woman, taller than Rhaenyra despite the two years between them, and her silver hair fell in perfect coils over her shoulders. Her eyes were vibrant, the pale violet of her mother's, and she was not perturbed by Lord Lyonel's harsh tone. She led the King and Hand to the Hall of the Nine, Lord Corlys' vast Throne Room where he was perched on the Driftwood Throne, which she and Rhaenyra were barred from. 

 "He will not make any imprudent demands, if that is what you fear, cousin," Laena told her, as Rhaenyra sat at the little wooden table in Laena's chambers. Laena was still on her feet, pouring each of them a cup of rose tea, and kicking off her boots. "I believe Mother wants to get this over with as quickly as possible."

"She is not the only one," Rhaenyra sighed. "My father is far from eager to drag this out longer than necessary, which I presume is why you were not invited to court."

"I suppose we shall be there to celebrate in due time," Laena smirked, offering Rhaenyra her cup. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes as she accepted it. "Laenor will be a good husband, cousin," Laena told her earnestly. "He is a kind man with a good heart."

Rhaenyra forced a smile. "My father certainly believes that it shall be a good match."

"A better one than he and I would have made," Laena muttered. 

"Oh, I do not know, I think you would have made a fine Queen," Rhaenyra said. Laena laughed. "And it would have spared the court the smugness of Ser Hightower and his pompous brother." 

"I do not think such a match would ever bring me great happiness," Laena shrugged. "And obviously it did not bring the King much joy either, given he refused it. I care not, it is not as insulting as Father suggests. I have always rather dreaded our trips to King's Landing, seeing you and your Syrax were the only things of interest to me, it is a loud, stinking city where crime and rats fester alike, I am much better suited to the beaches here, as, I believe, is Vhagar." 

 Laena smiled as two serving girls appeared with trays of food for them to break their fast. They placed plates of kippers, bacon, pork sausages, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread, and fresh berries, small bowls of apricot preserve, nutmeg, and honey, and a tall jug of grapefruit juice onto the table. Laena immediately began piling food onto her plate, while Rhaenyra just stared at it all, her stomach not entirely soothed after her journey. 

 "Shall he be joining us?" Rhaenyra inquired softly, twirling one of the golden rings on her finger. Laena's eyebrows rose. "Your brother, that is."

"Oh, no," her cousin replied, shaking her head. "Laenor would have broken his fast with Ser Joffrey this morning before they went out to train." 

"And this Ser Joffrey is one of his favourites?" Rhaenyra questioned. 

Laena shifted awkwardly in her seat. "Well... I believe him to be the only favourite at present." Rhaenyra nodded. "Laenor - well, he has never been as driven by ambition the way Father is, but he has learned to navigate and sail at Father's behest for when he is Lord of the Tides, as is his duty. I am sure he will prove himself to be a fine consort, he will not hide away from that duty either." Rhaenyra nodded again, turning her attention to the teacup in front of her. "And I am sure the wedding will be beautiful," Laena said. "Father would accept nothing but the best." 

"Are you excited for your own wedding?" Rhaenyra asked. 

Laena’s face fell. "You have heard of that madness?" she groaned. Rhaenyra nodded sadly. "My father intends to sell me to the Sea-Lord of Braavos’ son." Laena shook her head. "I have met him only once, but he seems a horrid man, obsessed with only money and - and whores . He told my brother of the Braavosi courtesans while sitting across from my mother!"

"And Lord Corlys considers this man a suitable husband?"

"It would appear so," Laena said bitterly. "I do not see why, his father and grandfather might be influential in Braavos, but their name means nothing here, and they hardly have the sort of wealth to impress a man like my father. It is business that motivates him, I would suppose. He wants to control the trade with the Free Cities so Tyland Lannister cannot."

"Do you suppose there is any chance he will not make you marry him?" Rhaenyra wondered. Laena shrugged. 

"Mother is none too pleased by it," she sighed. "But she has hardly been pleased by most of Father’s doing these past few years and he does as he wishes anyway." Laena sipped her tea. "I hope I do not have to go to Braavos with him. Even the Sea Lord’s palace seems meager compared to High Tide, I cannot fathom what his apartments are like."

"Who - who would you rather marry?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"Oh, I do not know," Laena replied. "I care not for marriage in all truth, and I see not why it matters, Father insists it is Laenor’s children who shall inherit Driftmark, not mine own." Laena hummed. "I suppose someone kind. Someone who would listen to me and genuinely care for my input. A dragonrider, ideally, so that we could fly together, although Mother has never seemed bothered by flying alone." Rhaenyra hummed her agreement. "What about you? Who would you marry, ideally?"

"Oh, I do not know," Rhaenyra murmured. 

"Come now, Mother said you went all around the Realm greeting suitors, there must have been someone who piqued your fancy."

"Not on that tour," Rhaenyra sighed. "They were mostly old men, Lords aged enough to recall Alysanne, but the others were not better, pompous and stuck up, leering at me as they tried to convince me to have their children. That is, those who were not children themselves." She shook her head. "It was an unusual form of torture."

"But there is someone, then?" Laena inquired, smirking.

"Pardon?"

"You said there was no one who interested you on that tour ," Laena grinned. "So there is someone? Who?"

"I- no, no there is not," Rhaenyra huffed, flustered. She brushed her hair over her shoulder as Laena rolled her eyes. 

"Come on, cousin, I shall not tell a soul, I swear it."

"There is no one," Rhaenyra insisted. Laena’s eyebrows rose. "Seriously. I would much rather rule Dragonstone alone, then I could choose as husband when I am Queen, one who would have to appeal to me and not my father and his Council." Laena pursed her lips, unconvinced. "Stop looking at me like that," Rhaenyra puffed. 

"Like what?" Laena asked, feigning innocence. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "You would not choose Laenor, then?"

"I would imagine he is not eager to wed me either," Rhaenyra muttered. Laena did not disagree. 

"So, shall you be moving to Dragonstone, then?" she questioned. 

Rhaenyra nodded, "soon, hopefully. The Red Keep is far from agreeable."

"On that I agree," chuckled Laena. "Dragonstone is close by, Mother and I fly there on occasion. We could go flying together once your Syrax is out of that Pit."

"Oh, yes," Rhaenyra said, smiling. She thought of her Syrax, left in King’s Landing, away from her. Her father had insisted on her sailing to Driftmark with him, refusing to allow her to fly ahead. He had also prohibited her from flying on her betrothal tour, although it would have been far more efficient, so Rhaenyra had not seen half as much of her yellow she-dragon as she would have liked as of late. "I am sure Syrax shall like to fly with Vhagar, it has been a while since she has had a friend." Rhaenyra’s heart panged as she thought of Daemon and Caraxes, of their races across the Blackwater, of circling King’s Landing together, of her dreams of flying across the Narrow Sea.

 None of it mattered any more. She hated it, hated that it still hurt her, hated that she could never go back to feeling like Daemon loved her. Hated how he had used her. Hated that she still cared. 

"Are you alright?" Laena whispered. Rhaenyra swallowed, her eyes fixed on her lap as she twirled the rings on her fingers. She nodded, brushing her silver-gold hair from her eyes. Laena did not look convinced.

"How long do you suppose they shall take in there?" Rhaenyra wondered. 

"Oh, I do not know," Laena shrugged. "Father is likely still showing off from his latest expedition to the Summer Isles." Laena chuckled. "For a man who has made the trip umpteen times before he does act like it is a marvel."

"And Laenor sails?"

"Yes, quite well actually," Laena replied. "His swordplay could use some work, but he is very skilled on the water."

"Does his Ser Joffrey sail too?"

"You know, I do not know," Laena replied. "But Ser Joffrey is much more gifted with a lance, or so he claims. I am sure he shall make quite a name for himself in your father’s tourneys."

"Surely Laenor does-" Rhaenyra shook her head. "Is your brother intending on bringing Ser Joffrey to King’s Landing with him?"

"I believe so," Laena replied, as she cut up her sausages. "Mother is trying to convince him to take various manservants and footmen with him so he is not alone, but Laenor is… well, less interested by them than he is Ser Joffrey."

Rhaenyra sighed. "What- what is he like, this Ser Joffrey?"

"He is fine," Laena shrugged. "I do not know him well, but Laenor smiles like he is a different man around him."

"How so?"

"Laenor has always been rather shy or reserved, but Joffrey gives him confidence, makes him more assured in himself," Laena said. "He must be funny, they are always laughing together, and he is a rather terrible dancer when he has had too many cups." Laena laughed. Rhaenyra forced a smile. Laena shook her head. "Laenor is no fool, cousin," she sighed. "He is not happy - nor are you I would imagine- but he knows what is expected of him. He will not do anything to insult you or your House." Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes on her plate. 

 For the rest of their meal, they avoided the topic of Rhaenyra’s betrothal. Instead, Laena told her about the marketplace at the Great Harbour and all the interesting merchants who travelled from across the Known World to trade there. Rhaenyra returned her tales with tired recollections of her betrothal tour, of the dull Lords who wanted her only for her dragon-rider's blood, but the rather interesting castles they resided in. 

  "Where do you think I might find your brother?" Rhaenyra asked, once they had finished eating and the table had been cleared. Laena tapped her chin thoughtfully. 

"He is likely finished with his sparring by now," she replied. "I am not entirely sure where he would go, but it is most likely the caves to see Seasmoke."

"Well, I will take my leave now then, cousin," Rhaenyra sighed. 

"You are going to see him?" Laena puzzled. 

Rhaenyra nodded, "whatever our fathers are discussing shall not consider our own thoughts, but I am interested to hear how he feels about this all."

"That is good of you," Laena said with a smile. 

  As expected, Rhaenyra found Laenor on the beaches, beside the rocky caves that housed the dragons. He was petting Seasmoke’s pale grey snout, the dragon chirping happily, as Rhaenyra approached. She cleared her throat and Laenor turned around. "Cousin," she greeted. 

"Princess," Laenor returned. He drew himself to his full height, his hands snapping to his sides as he studied her. 

"The weather is improving, is it not?" Rhaenyra sighed. The grey clouds continued to gloom overheard, but the rain had ceased, and the wind was not so violent. Laenor shrugged. "I was thinking of going for a walk along the coast." Laenor hummed. "Would you care to join me?"

"Why?" Laenor inquired. Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow at him. "Why not ask Laena?" 

"You tell me," Rhaenyra said loftily. She turned on her heel and began to walk towards the grey-blue waters. 

  "In truth, if it had to be someone, I am glad it is you," Rhaenyra said. It was not entirely a lie, Laenor was certainly one of the more agreeable choices her father could have selected, although that does not mean that she would have chosen him herself. 

Laenor did not say anything, staring out at the sea and the murky horizon.

"I know this union is not what you would choose," Rhaenyra told him gently. Nothing about this was fair, for either of them, and she knew he would be loathing this just as much as she was. 

"I hold nothing against you, cousin," Laenor said gruffly, still not bringing himself to look at her. 

"No, I-" Rhaenyra played with the rings on her finger, trying to formulate a delicate way to discuss Laenor’s situation without embarrassing him "- rather… dare I say it is a matter of taste?"

Laenor cocked his head curiously. 

"I prefer roast duck to goose," Rhaenyra said. She could feel Laenor’s eyes on her now, pale violet and wide. "I cannot say why." She turned to Laenor, whose eyes were narrowed. 

"It is not for a lack of trying," he insisted. His voice was almost as soft as his sister’s, if only slightly deeper. "There are those who like goose very well."

Rhaenyra smiled, "I find it a bit greasy for my taste."

Laenor was unaffected, staring off at the coastline again. 

Rhaenyra inhaled sharply. "I know that whatever agreement is being struck up there will not change your appetites," she said. Laenor frowned. "Nor will it change mine." Rhaenyra turned to look at the caves in the distance, where Meleys’ crimson tail was sticking out from behind a rock. 

Laenor cocked his head. "And what do you propose?" he huffed, as if mocking her. 

Rhaenyra could not blame him. She too saw little hope in their situation. 

She stopped walking and turned to face him. She thought for a moment, considered what was asked of them, what they were being burdened with, for the good of his father’s ambition, for the good of her forebear’s prophecy, if the dream could be believed as such. "That we perform our duty to our fathers and to the Realm," she said, rising her head so she appeared more confident than she felt. "And when it’s done-" She paused. 

 She thought of Ser Harwin, the strapping Captain of the City Watch who had comforted her after Daemon’s sudden and treacherous departure, who had no taste for marriage himself, preferring the streets of King’s Landing to the halls of Harrenhal. 

 She thought of Daemon, of his hands on her, of his cocksure smirk as they ventured deeper into the basement of that brothel, of how his hair fell like molten silver over his face as he told her of the true meaning of marriage for people like them, how she could have much freedom as she desired if she knew the right people and the right places. 

"- each of us dines as we see fit," she said, smiling. 

Laenor stared at her. 

Rhaenyra’s smile faltered for a moment under his gaze, but soon it was returned with a sheepish grin of his own. 

"I suppose that that is the best that we can hope for," he muttered. 

"In these circumstances, I would imagine so," Rhaenyra replied. 

Laenor scoffed. "Circumstances? Do not speak as if it is fate that brought us here, cousin, we know what did-"

A shiver ran down Rhaenyra’s spine. 

Surely there was no way that he knew of what had transpired in King’s Landing?

"- my father’s relentless ambition, and your own’s lack of sense." Laenor let out a bark of a laugh. 

"I will not disagree," Rhaenyra muttered weakly. 

Laenor scoffed again. "You could not, even if you wanted to." Laenor shook his head. "I have no ill-will towards you, cousin, but as I imagine we shall be seeing far too much of each other in the near future, I will take my leave now," he said. He gave a short nod before he turned and marched away from her, back towards the castle. 

 Rhaenyra exhaled shakily. 

 She had expected Laenor to agree to her proposition, it would be of no disadvantage to him if they went into their marriage accepting its fraudulence, and the true nature of his relationship with Ser Joffrey, but that did not make it any easier. 

 Rhaenyra’s rooms were on the floor below Laena’s. The vast bed was covered in a lavish teal bedspread of silk, the feather pillows covered in aquamarine velvet with accents of silver thread, and there was a thick blanket of fur folded on top of the chest at the end of the bed. The bed was wrapped in a sapphire canopy and curtain, hung over the dark wooden bed frame. Her luggage had already been brought up, her trunk placed in front of the window while her bag had been put on the small table in the corner. Rhaenyra had only just crossed the room to open it when two of Princess Rhaenys’ handmaidens arrived to unpack for her, so Rhaenyra left to search for Laena again, who she eventually found with Vhagar outside. 

 Viserys was in no better condition than he had been that morning when he arrived at dinner. He was accompanied by Lord Lyonel, which Lord Corlys clearly thought was odd given the raise of his eyebrows as Lord Lyonel took the seat across from Laenor. Rhaenyra also gave him a curious look as she sat beside him, opposite Laena. 

 Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys were also joined by Lord Corlys’ brother, Ser Vaemond, and two of the Lord’s nephews, Daemion Velaryon, Vaemond’s eldest son, and Ser Rhogar Velaryon. Like Lord Corlys and Laenor, the other Velaryon men wore dark blue and gold, although none was dressed as opulently as the Lord of the Tides. 

 Rhaenyra was quiet for most of their meal, speaking only when asked a question directly. Laenor took a similar approach, glowering at his soups, pies, and various fish dishes as if they had murdered his firstborn. Lord Corlys, however, was cheery enough, offering copious amounts of wine and sweets to everyone, but the King was eager to retire, and politely refused him. Rhaenyra left the Winter Hall - the Velaryon's more intimate dining chamber - shortly after him, plodding up the winding wooden steps towards her borrowed bedchamber. 

 As dusk set in, mist spread across the horizon and the wind roared violently as the waves crashed against the shore. Rhaenyra could hear it as she lay on her bed, staring up at the silky canopy that hung above her. The bed was equally as comfortable as her own in King's Landing, but still she found herself unable to sleep. She rolled around in the silk sheets, feeling as if she was being tossed around like a boat in the waves. Before long, she abandoned her attempt, wrapping the fur blanket around her shoulders and crossing the room to the stone archway that led out to the narrow balcony, which was clearly not designed for more than one person at a time. She leaned against the stone wall, the rain droplets that littered it gleaming in the faint moonlight, and stared out at the beach below. 

 Most of the dragons had retired for the night. She could see Meleys' tail sticking out of her cave in the distance, and a pair of seagulls scorched to ash blocked the entrance to Seasmoke's cave. Despite being the largest of the dragons, Rhaenyra saw no sign of Vhagar, although she supposed she may have to venture to the deepest parts of the caves to seek refuge, as she once had in the Dragon Pit.

 There was, however, a dragon in the distance.

 At first, Rhaenyra struggled to make out the shape of it, watching as the dragon landed on the shore. It was only after he shook his long head and let out a low whistle did Rhaenyra know for sure that it was the Blood Wyrm, the mount of her Uncle, Prince Daemon. 

 Daemon himself was little more than a dot in the distance, dismounting gracefully and patting Caraxes' snout. Caraxes let out a cry, his spindly scarlet tail swishing in the sand like a ginormous snake. From within her cave, Meleys let out a cry, as if warding away the outsider. Caraxes huffed, unperturbed by the Red Queen. Rhaenyra was not surprised; the Blood Wyrm was as fearless as he was ferocious. 

 Rhaenyra’s heart was pounding as if trying to break free from her rib cage. Daemon was here. 

 Although only dressed in a pale blue nightgown, Rhaenyra wrapped herself in her elaborate red and gold coat, and slipped out of her bedchamber. There was a torch on the wall, guiding the way towards the staircase. Rhaenyra clutched it, taking it with her as she descended the wooden staircase. She did not know her way to the great tunnels, so instead she left the castle through the Entrance Hall, and began the steep walk down to the beach. 

 Daemon was still upon the sand, his tall form facing the sea, as Rhaenyra reached the beach. He was clad in all black and the rings on his little fingers were gleaming in the faint moonlight as the wind blew away the thickest of the clouds that covered the sky. Rhaenyra shuddered as the wind blew out her torch. Daemon, however, seemed unaffected by the wind, watching as Caraxes emerged from the water, a fat blue fish in his maw. He chuckled as the Blood Wyrm swallowed it in one gulp. 

 "What are you doing here, Uncle?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

 Daemon's eyebrows rose as he spun around. He ran a hand through his short silver hair and smirked. "Evening, niece," he drawled. Rhaenyra stared at him expectantly. "I must say I am surprised to see you here of all places."

"What are you doing here?" Rhaenyra asked again. "Are you not supposed to be in the Vale?" 

Daemon scoffed. "I come to meet with Lord Corlys, if you must know," he replied stiffly. "Our Kingdom of the Stepstones will not be secure for long, the Triarchy shall rebuild their fleet and will attack once more, not only has their pride been wounded but the Stepstones lay too close to Tyrosh for them to give up on it just yet. A lot of the Bloodstone - that is the biggest of the islands, and the base for our men - was destroyed during the fighting, and if we are to put up a impregnable defence, we must start with rebuilding the fort we lost, and erecting some watchtowers on the main islands. Of course, I can hardly fund this myself."

"So you seek to ask Lord Corlys for coin?" 

"No," Daemon said silkily, "I intend to inform Corlys of the issue at hand and give him my suggestions. The man can put his money where he likes, but if the Stepstones are as grave a concern to him as he claims they are - and as they should be given all the blood we shed in order to gain control of them - the expense should be worth it."

"So why are you not in the Vale?"

"I have no business there."

"Is that not where your wife resides? In Runestone?"

"My wife passed some weeks ago," Daemon scoffed. "While hunting near Storm's End, or so I am told."

"So you are told?" Rhaenyra huffed.

"I was neck deep in the blood of Lyseni sailors on Grey Gallows at the time," Daemon shrugged. "I was hardly going to write to Boremund Baratheon for details. She is dead and I am free, what more do I need to care about?"

"How convenient," Rhaenyra drawled. Daemon shrugged. 

"What of you, Princess?" he inquired. "What brings you to Driftmark at this hour?"

"My father," Rhaenyra sighed bitterly. "He intends to wed me to the son of the Sea Snake."

Daemon frowned. "Is that what you want?" he asked, taking a step closer to her, his purple eyes bearing into hers. 

Rhaenyra scoffed, "I was not aware that what I wanted mattered to you." 

"Laenor is not well suited for you," Daemon snorted. "He is a good man and a fine knight, but he will bore you senseless." 

Rhaenyra stared at him in disbelief. "Marriage is only a political arrangement, I hear," she spat. She could recall the smug look on his face when he had spouted those same words to her. At the time, she had wanted to laugh. Now she wished she had slapped him.

"As I say, I have recently been freed from mine own," Daemon muttered. He glanced up at the castle, where the torches outside burned dying orange flames, and took her hand in his. He pulled her along the beach, and Rhaenyra could feel her heart drumming with every step they took across the wet sand. "Is this what you want?" Daemon asked again, his voice low and his lips close to her ear. 

"I see not why you are so interested, you left me," Rhaenyra flared. "You left me in the Street of Silk -"

"Keep your voice down," Daemon hissed. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, looking around the beach, empty other for the two of them. 

"And you left me in King's Landing, for my father to sign off on this farce, in which I shall forever be forced to keep up appearances to protect the reputation of a man who could not bare speak with me for ten minutes before running off to his favourites!"

Daemon chuckled lowly. Rhaenyra glowered at him. 

"Are you truly surprised?" he asked. "I shall admit, I was certainly not expecting Laenor to be quite so blatant about it on the day his betrothal is signed, does it not make sense to you that you would take it more seriously than he does, Princess, as you shall always have more to lose than he does?" 

"That seems to have been my lot since my father named me his heir," Rhaenyra huffed. 

Daemon chuckled again. 

"Sometimes I wonder if anything is worth the weight of this," Rhaenyra said softly. "The burden is a heavy one." Daemon nodded solemnly. "Must it control every aspect of my life?"

"I am afraid so," Daemon chuckled. "My father became stern after he was named heir, and it was more than the loss of his brother, it was the pressure of it all."

"I fear no matter what I do, it will never be enough to impress my father and his councilmen," Rhaenyra muttered. "They still see me as some foolish girl they do not need to take seriously." 

"You must make them," Daemon said lowly. "As hard as it is, you must bear it as Jaehaerys did, and Aemon and Baelon, for else the Hightowers shall swoop in like vultures to a carcass and take it from you if you cannot. Otto would do anything to anyone to elevate himself."

"Is that not what they say of you?" Rhaenyra puffed. 

Daemon let out a bark of a laugh. "Ah yes, Hightower has his lickspittles convinced I am a threat to my own dynasty. It is him and his whore of a daughter you need be concerned by, niece." 

"Alicent may be judgemental and bitter and enjoying her new-found importance, but she is not Otto's creature, she is not capable of depravity." 

"You think there is any length she shall not go to in order to give her son your throne?" Daemon inquired, raising his eyebrows so far up his forehead they nearly reached his hairline. "You cannot trust her, she will exploit anything she can to turn the ear of King and council against you."

 Rhaenyra swallowed, thinking of Alicent's outburst in the Godswood, how she had taken the liberty to demand answers from Rhaenyra on a matter that did not concern her, hardly the first time she had tried to pull rank on the real blood of the dragon. 

 "But I am supposed to trust you am I?" Rhaenyra demanded. Daemon frowned. "Even after everything?"

"Everything?" he scoffed. 

"Do you not care?" Rhaenyra flared. "Are you truly as callous and heartless as they say you are? Do I truly mean as little to you as Father suspects?" 

Daemon glowered at her. "What is it you wish for me to say?" he hissed. 

 Rhaenyra glared at him, rising her head so her eyes could meet his. 

 There was sadness in them, the usually playful lilac now cold, but also something else, whether it was remorse or jealousy Rhaenyra could not tell. 

"I am alone," she said quietly, stopping in her tracks to stare at him, at how her own face reflected in his eyes, how his lips curved into a frown as he, too, came to a halt. "You abandoned me to what? Play at war in the Stepstones again? Have your fill with another whore? I do not -"

"I spared you," Daemon grunted. 

Rhaenyra scoffed. 

"Had we actually gone through with it that night, there - the risk is too great, you have too much to lose." 

"My father already thinks that we have," Rhaenyra snapped. 

"What I was going to do - what I was going to take I - I was not thinking clearly and I -"

"You do not get to take what is mine to give," Rhaenyra huffed. "Look at what my life has become because of it." Daemon swallowed and nodded. Rhaenyra shook her head and turned from him, but he gripped her arm, refusing to allow her to move further away. 

"And what do you think of my life exactly?" he snarled. "Banished from court at the word of Otto Hightower, left to a shack on an island leagues from anywhere remotely considered home, unwelcome in the seat of my ancestors at the word of a cunt and a glutton."

"Careful, Uncle, that is your King you are speaking of." 

"I am sure he has said worse of me," Daemon spat bitterly. 

 Rhaenyra stared at him. His hand twitched as he released his hold on her, long fingers clenching into a fist as his arms snapped by his sides. 

"You were never happy at court, and still you returned. Why?" 

Daemon laughed. 

"What comfort can King's Landing offer you while in the grasp of the Hightowers? Why not seek refuge on Dragonstone, you resided here for at least half a year, did you not, surely you knew our island was uninhabited?"

"Oh, is it our island now? I had thought you had staked your claim to it?" Daemon drawled.

"You are no threat to me, not anymore," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon smirked. "So, why King's Landing? Why go to the Keep?"

"Curiosity." 

"What were you so curious about?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

Daemon did not respond. Instead, he brushed a loose strand of hair behind one of his ears and clucked his tongue. "So, has your stance on marriage changed since your betrothal?"

"It is a death sentence for women across the Realm," Rhaenyra huffed. Daemon gave a dry chuckle, but he did not disagree. "Alas, there are -" Rhaenyra paused, thinking of the dagger, of Aegon's prophecy, another link in the chain that bound her "- considerations one must make in my position."

"Indeed. Very wise." Daemon cocked his head, smiling at her. 

 Rhaenyra licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling very dry. 

 There he was, right in front of her, and it was just like the brothel again, the heat of his body pressed against hers, his eyes so intently fixed upon her it was as if he was devouring her. Rhaenyra swallowed. 

 Slowly, she reached for him, her arm stroking up the sleeve of his riding leathers and gently brushing over his chest, fingers dancing over the golden clasps in the shape of dragons. 

 She watched him, watched him as he leaned closer to her, turning his head so that he could peer at her face curiously. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. She tilted her head, her hand now running up his scarred neck towards his jaw.

 "Rhaenyra," Daemon said weakly. It was not a protest, but Rhaenyra could not identify what it was. She held her grip on his chin, her thumb smoothing over the faint stubble she found there. He was surprisingly well groomed for a man returning from a barren wasteland. "What do you want?"

 Summoning all the courage she possessed, she leaned in to him, her lips pressing against his. 

 He met her eagerly. 

 With no walls here to push back against as there had been in the brothel, his hands went to her waist, pulling her closer to him, enveloping her in his heat. 

 He tasted of Myrish firewine and plums. His lips were demanding, coaxing her own to open as their tongues crashed together. Her hand roamed through his hair, tugging on the short locks so not to allow him to slip away from her this time. She could feel how he burned, the blood of the dragon roaring under ethereal skin as her thumb brushed against his neck. 

 Behind them, the waves smashed into the sand, spraying waterdrops across scattered seaweed and vibrant seashells. Birds cried out in protest, circling the nearby dock in search of shelter from the wind. Seasmoke chirped, the dragon now slipping into the blue-grey seas in search of food. Rhaenyra cared not for any of it. 

 "I want you," she whispered as they pulled apart. 

 Her hand was on his neck. His hand was on her shoulder. 

 He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, as he had done so many weeks ago. 

 His eyes glanced downcast and she tilted her head, unable to have him give his attention to anything else, not now, not when he was here with her. 

 Before she could speak, his lips were on hers once more, his fingers gliding through her hair. 

 Here, there was no show for them to watch, no groaning men or panting women to distract them. It was only them. There were no curtains to hide behind, no half-discarded disguises and the lingering smell of smoke and the musk from the alleys they and all other patrons had trudged through. There was only them, the scent of her lavender bath oils still clinging to her skin, the earthy essence of Caraxes and the dampness from the rain infused into his clothes. 

 The first growl of thunder roared as they drew away again. 

 She gasped as she felt him nibble her bottom lip. He chuckled against her skin, his lips dropping to press against her jaw. 

 Suddenly, she was cold. He was gone.

 Her eyes snapped open.

 Daemon was now a couple of steps ahead of her, a hand over his eyes as he stared off into the distance. She cocked her head curiously at him. "Not here," was all he said, holding out his hand to her. She considered him a moment before accepting it. 

 Rhaenyra wondered where he was leading her. She pondered if during his stay as he recovered from the Stepstones battles he had found somewhere, would he have been alone or would he had taken company, found a dockside whore or two to keep him warm? 

 Daemon took her to no such place. Instead, they took shelter from the elements and any prying eyes in the wreckage of an old rowing boat, which must have been abandoned for years. Rhaenyra could not think about it for long enough to complain, for soon Daemon's large, warm hands were on her neck, tilting her chin up so their eyes could meet once more, before he kissed her again. Soon enough, her hands ran through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp, before pulling on the short locks to hold him to her, guiding him closer.

 The ties of her nightgown were easily pulled loose, the blue material pooling around her feet like an exquisite puddle of silk. 

 Daemon's lips pressed against her skin as it was revealed to him, his hot breath hitting her shoulder, and then down her arm. His fingers trailed after them, dancing softly over where she was still burning from his touch. She wrapped her arms around herself, attempting to shield what he had already seen before from his view as his head rose and his eyes flickered up and down, studying her form as he exhaled shakily. 

 He nodded. 

 Daemon leaned forward, his forehead pressed against hers as slowly Rhaenyra's hands reached for the clasps of his riding leathers. He shrugged them off his shoulders, the expensive material soon covered in sand. Daemon made quick work of his own undershirt, pulling hurriedly at the laces until he became free of it, throwing it to the ground as Rhaenyra's eyes raced over his well-built physique, large arms and broad chest, lightly marred by the scars of his warfare, one particularly bad burn numbing one of his nipples and disfiguring his shoulder. 

 "You want -"

"You," Rhaenyra whispered. 

 She smirked as her hands reached for his trousers, unbuckling his belt hurriedly as his mouth was attached to her throat, humming against her skin.

"You - you cannot," she protested. Daemon drew away, cocking an eyebrow curiously. "Nowhere anyone can see," Rhaenyra hissed at him. Daemon snorted, turning his ministrations instead to her collarbone. 

 Neither of them had bothered to remove their rings, and Rhaenyra could feel the cold metal of his as one of his hands reached for her waist, holding her tightly against him. 

 He lowered his head further, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, already erect from the cold. She bit down on her lip, hard, desperate not to moan out as he sucked around her. She wrapped her hands around his neck, one hand playing with his hair again, as his teeth grazed against her sensitive skin. He swirled his tongue and she gasped at the new sensation. Daemon smirked against her. 

 Daemon's head moved from one breast to the other, his hair gliding against her sweat-laden skin and tickling her as his breath hit her second nipple. "Did I say something funny?" Daemon asked, frowning as Rhaenyra let out a giggle at the sensation. 

 Rhaenyra's hand slapped to cover her mouth. She shook her head. 

Daemon's eyebrows rose, unconvinced. 

"Tickles," she murmured sheepishly. Daemon grinned, burying his head in her chest so his hair brushed against her once more. She giggled again, pushing at his shoulder to put some space between them, space Daemon immediately invaded by taking her other nipple into his mouth, humming gently around it. 

 As Rhaenyra gasped, he became less gentle, his teeth grazing over it once, twice, before he lightly nibbled on her skin. Rhaenyra gasped as his tongue flicked over where it ached, soothing it as his hands travelled further down her nude form. 

 She tugged on his hair as his hand snaked downward, sliding lower and lower between their embrace. He gripped the flesh of her thigh, his nails biting into her skin, and his warm hand continued down towards her knee. She let out a grunt of protest. He chuckled against the flesh of her stomach. 

 "The Realm's Delight," Daemon chuckled, as he used his knee to push her legs apart. "How many a knight do you think has dreamt of this?"

"Well, only one has been so fortunate as to partake," Rhaenyra retorted. Daemon narrowed his eyes at her. She opened her mouth again, but before she could rile him up any further, his warm fingers were parting her, stroking along her flesh as her desire coated his skin. 

 One look at her was enough to tell any man she was the blood of the dragon, but it burned in her core. She was hotter than any woman Daemon had ever met. She moaned as his first finger slipped into her, his thumb ghosting over the pearl of flesh above her opening, but paying it no further attention. He slipped a second in beside the first, sucking onto the skin above her right breast as he changed his angle, ensuring to hit that place inside of her that made her shiver in his embrace. 

 "Who was this knight of yours?" Daemon hissed. "He cannot have done a good job of it, you still blush like a maiden." 

 Rhaenyra's cheeks flushed scarlet as he stroked her skin with his thumb. Daemon grinned. 

"Such a fiery little dragon, I do not think I have ever seen Caraxes as red as you." 

"Shut up, Uncle," Rhaenyra groaned. 

"I never said that it was a bad thing," Daemon muttered. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at him. 

 His strokes increased in speed, and the obscene sounds of sex flooded Rhaenyra's ears as her desire dripped over his hand. He sucked against her collarbone, fingers slipping all the way in, far deeper than she could go herself. 

 Rhaenyra gasped. Soon, Daemon had no trouble coaxing more and more noises from her with his every thrust, her heat pooling around him as she gripped tightly to his fingers, unwilling to allow him to draw back too much, as she neared her peak. She was panting, slumped against him with her face buried in his neck, one of her own hands trailing down his toned stomach. Daemon jumped as her other hand reached for his arse. Rhaenyra giggled against his skin. 

"Little dragon wants to play?" Daemon grunted. 

"Was it not obvious?" Rhaenyra drawled into his ear. 

 Daemon let out a bark of a laugh as he pushed a third finger into her. She took them all easily, feeling his chest heaving as Daemon struggled not to buck his hips against her like some green boy. She could feel the cold metal of his rings against her thigh, where his smallest finger rested. She own rings dug into the flesh of his arse, and she knew there would be a mark when she finally gave in to mercy and released him from her grasp. 

 Daemon smirked as she clenched ever tighter around him. The wet sounds echoed around him as he pushed in further, his fingertips stroking the most sensitive nerves inside her, his teeth nibbling on her earlobe. 

 "Oh." Rhaenyra bucked into him, her fingernails gnawing into the flesh of his arse so hard he was surprised it did not draw blood. She shivered. "Ah, Dae - oh." Daemon captured her lips in his again as she clenched down hard, her peak rolling over her as she let out a half-sob half-moan which he swallowed around. 

 One of his arms snaked around her middle, pulling him closer to him than she ever believed possible, holding her still as she panted. 

 Her eyes fell shut as Daemon pushed her onto the ground, her back slapping against the heap of clothes they had discarded. Daemon raised one of her legs, holding her knee tightly with one hand as he took his already burning red cock into his other. 

 Droplets of his own milky desire leaked onto the breeches below him, but still he ran himself along her slit, coating himself in her lust. She clenched desperately around nothing, keening into his shoulder as Rhaenyra's arms wrapped around him. 

 One of her own hands, dainty and soft as silk, reached for him, her fingertips dancing over his bulbous head. Daemon groaned. "Needy thing, are you not?" Rhaenyra chuckled. Daemon glowered at her, saying nothing as he rubbed his thumb over her hardened pearl of flesh, and she struggled not to gasp. Everything was so sensitive now, and she was burning hotter than ever. "So desperate," she rasped out, although her composure had long since fallen away. "Have you been lacking the touch of a woman after all those years at war?" she teased. Daemon snorted. 

"Minx," he chastised, his hand slipping upward to slap the flesh of her thigh. She gasped at the unexpected sensation. Daemon smirked knowingly. 

 Without warning, he pressed himself into her, the head slipping in first, but soon followed by more of him. 

 Rhaenyra hissed at the unexpected intrusion.

 Daemon smirked again. 

 His thrusts were quick but deep, all of him disappearing into her before pulling out again. She fluttered around him, trying to clench hard enough to keep him in place, but he pistoned his hips with strength, refusing to allow her any control. 

"Such a feisty dragon, already speechless and cock-drunk for me," Daemon chuckled huskily. Rhaenyra could not think of a retort, so she only frowned. Daemon tapped her nose. She stuck her tongue out at him and he practically giggled, before bending down to suck her earlobe between his teeth once more. "Oh. Maiden or not, you are fucking tight," he growled against her skin, the salt of her sweat burning against his tongue. 

 Unwilling to give in to him yet, Rhaenyra rolled her hips to meet his, eager to keep up but not quite capable of it. Daemon refused to let her interrupt his own rhythm. "Fucking Flames," he growled against her skin. 

"Yes, yes," Rhaenyra moaned, nodding.

"You are so good," Daemon groaned. "So tight."

"So thick," Rhaenyra gasped. 

 He increased his pace as Rhaenyra began to groan, and soon she surrendered, one hand clawing onto his shoulder as she fell limp in the bundle of leathers beneath her. "Fuck," she grunted, clenching around him. Her hand reached up, fingers smoothing over his chin, and he sucked one into his mouth. Rhaenyra chuckled as his tongue flicked against her. 

 With every thrust, her thighs felt damper than they had before, as did his cock. She clung onto him tightly, her hands now wrapped around his neck as his arms held onto her waist. 

 This time, he fell over first, desperate to pull away as he felt something tightening in his stomach, staining her thighs and the sand beneath them with ropes of his seed. Rhaenyra smiled, stroking the side of his face comfortingly as he panted.

 He buried his face in her stomach as he struggled to regain his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. His thumb gently swiped over her flesh, and soon her hips were rolling in tandem with his ministrations, the Princess' second peak hitting her just as suddenly as the first. 

 Rhaenyra felt as though she had melted into a puddle of nothing in his arms. Time was irrelevant there, the only thing keeping score the hum of his heartbeat so close to her and the drumming of the waves against the shore outside. Her nightgown would surely be ruined, as was her hair, but she cared little for it. 

 Daemon rolled onto his back, reaching for his undershirt, which he offered her as the wind blew. Rhaenyra giggled, pulling it over her as she had previously done with her fur blankets, inhaling the metallic and rich scent of him as he flopped onto his back. One of his fingers brushed a lock of hair behind her ears. She fell back onto the ground, turning to stare into his eyes. 

 She did not know how she could pull herself away from his moment.

 Had they been in an actual bed, she would doubt she ever could. Alas, the beach was not as comfortable, nor was it as shielding, and when first light came, so would the fisherman, so she could not allow herself to be lulled to sleep, no matter how tempting the thought was.

 They said very little as they scrambled to make themselves presentable again, one of Rhaenyra's golden earrings lost forever in the sand, while Daemon gave up on finding one of his socks. He cared not for it, using the other to wipe up the remnants of his seed from her, and Rhaenyra snorted as he tucked it into his pocket. She cursed herself for tearing her coat, knowing it was as expensive as it was detailed. Instead she wore his undershirt over her nightgown, a wind-breaker of sorts for her bare arms, as they walked hand in hand along the shoreline. "I never thought much of the Velaryons' love for the sea, you know," Dameon muttered, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. "But there is something hypnotic about it, I believe, when you watch it for too long, almost as if it is designed to give you hope before pulling you in to drown."

"So, you believe in the Merling King?" Rhaenyra quizzed. "That the sea is alive?" Daemon snorted. 

"Perhaps not. It is only a feeling, I suppose." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. 

"Mayhaps the Velaryons know some truth we do not then? Mayhaps the sea is the better ally."

"Over the skies?" Daemon snorted. "Nobody drowns in the skies."

"There is lightning, however."

"Oh, so you believe in the Storm God, is it?" 

"So what if I do," Rhaenyra huffed playfully. Daemon chuckled. "For all the good the skies are, the seas offer an escape to every man. Freedom."

"But every man does not possess dragons as you and I," Daemon shrugged. "Flying can be just as freeing."

"I suppose." Rhaenyra paused for a moment, playing with the rings on her finger. "I do not imagine much freedom will come of my union with Laenor, nor much of anything at all beyond mutual misery." 

Daemon cocked his head. "You could cut your hair shorter -" he gestured to his own hair "- I have received many a compliment from young Ser Laenor about it, and you would greater resemble the stable boys he is so intrigued by, although you are rather a bit softer - " Daemon tapped her waist "- in certain areas." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. 

"I have always wanted to venture across the Narrow Sea, ever since I was a girl," Rhaenyra muttered. 

Daemon scoffed. "Corlys could find you wherever you flew off to," he said. "And I doubt you would leave your Syrax behind. And Viserys, of course, would be irate."

"No... that is not what I meant, only that I - I see the appeal of it, the longing for the seas."

"Good," Daemon said gruffly. "Alas, Corlys Velaryon is a loyal friend, but a proud man. The only way you could find yourself free of such a betrothal now was if one of you were to die."

Rhaenyra stopped, turning to look at him. "Yes," she murmured. "I know."

Daemon nodded solemnly. 

"Or, Lord Corlys would have to think that his son was dead."

"What?" Daemon frowned, cocking his head.

 Rhaenyra stared back at him, her eyes gleaming with a fire she had thought had been extinguished, for now she had had another meeting with freedom, she was not eager to let it go again. 

Chapter Text

 The first amber glows of daybreak were bursting through the thick, grey clouds when Daemon awoke. He had taken quarters in the eastern tower, furthest away from the King's, to aid him in avoiding his brother. There were many reasons as to why he wished to evade suffering the misfortune of Viserys' company, but given the abrupt end to his last visit to King's Landing, Daemon could imagine nothing but icy tension and glares of hatred would follow, and today was not the time to deal with that. 

 Unsurprisingly, he had come to Driftmark with more important things to worry about than his brother. His recent agreement with Rhaenyra had only given him further reason to want to keep his distance. 

 Clad in a doublet of dark grey and scarlet, Daemon strapped Dark Sister to his waist and plodded out of his rooms. The halls were dimly lit by torches hung high above Daemon's head, with no windows to provide any natural light. The fort in the Stepstones was the same, although the winding hallways were made of cheap wood, lacking the fine furnishings of High Tide, and so Daemon's eyes had grown used to it. 

 Most of the castle was still abed. Daemon could hear the muffled voices of servants in the Hall of the Nine as they prepared the Lord's breakfast and lit the fireplace, but he did not meet anyone in the halls. This suited Daemon well, for he had no interest in conversing with any of Corlys' legion of servants. 

 It was still early enough that the courtyard was mostly quiet. There were three guards in steel helms and navy cloaks manning the gates, and only a handful of other knights sparring. The sounds of metal clanking against metal and young men's primitive grunts as they charged at one another, the bags of straw forgotten on the ground, filled the morning as Daemon turned the corner. A Woodwright knight was the tallest of them all, his oaken shield in pieces at his feet, bobbing and weaving to avoid the swift blade of Ser Lonmouth. 

 The Lonmouth boy, third son of his father Lord Ronnet, had filled out since Daemon had seen him last, his face rounder and his hair longer, the harshness of war having faded from his appearance, although he was not out of shape. He did not wear his father's yellow, but instead the teal of House Velaryon, and when he removed his helm Daemon saw that his hair was mostly tied back with teal silk. His usually pale cheeks were flushed pink and he was panting slightly, although this did not stop him from whacking the straw bag in his path thrice before he marched to place his shield amongst the pile that waited to be returned to the armoury. 

 "Do you not want an opponent more up to your speed, Joff?" called Ser Endrew Estermont as he unsheathed his sword. The gangly young knight would one day be Lord of Greenstone, but as his ancient grandfather showed no signs of dying, he had sought glory in Corlys' fleet - and pleasure in its men, if the rumours were to be believed. 

 The Woodwright knight glowered at him.

 Ser Joffrey rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Another time, perhaps," he replied. His voice was hoarse, as if he had been punched in the throat, although Daemon doubted it had anything to do with his sparring. Ser Endrew sighed. Ser Joffrey smiled at him as he sheathed his sword. 

"Tired so soon?" scoffed a Peasebury knight. Ser Joffrey shrugged. He smirked at the guard, who nodded to him and opened the gates, allowing him down to the beach. Daemon wasted no time in trailing after him, nodding in acknowledgement to the knight who held the gates open for him. 

 Ser Joffrey was evidently not expecting anyone to follow him, and frowned as he glanced over his shoulder as if in a sulk. The Lonmouth knight immediately composed himself when he recognised Daemon, his pale green eyes glancing out at the skyline where Seasmoke was circling the beach. "My Prince," he muttered, nodding his head.

"Ser Lonmouth," Daemon returned, smirking. 

"You are out early this morrow," Ser Joffrey said, turning his back to Daemon as he clambered down the grassy mound and onto the beach. Daemon hummed his agreement and followed him. "Is Lord Velaryon's hospitality not to your liking?" Ser Joffrey inquired. Daemon chuckled. 

"It is early, and I cannot stomach Corlys' boasting at such an hour," he drawled. Ser Joffrey grimaced and nodded. "Ser Laenor must be thrilled, the only place half as luxurious as High Tide is of course the Red Keep." Ser Joffrey's jaw tensed, but he did not reply. "And a royal wedding certainly must mean a tourney, I am sure you are both missing the feeling of wielding steel in combat. Yes, yes, much to celebrate." Ser Joffrey tried to smile, but instead he looked like he had a severe toothache. "Are you quite alright?" Daemon asked, cocking his head.

"Of course," Ser Joffrey said, although he was unable to meet Daemon's eye. "Why should I not be?"

Daemon chuckled again. "You know, I recall you from our escapades in the Stepstones. Oh yes, rather quick with a blade you were -" Ser Joffrey grinned proudly "- but with little promise as a sailor." Ser Joffrey's face fell. "It is surprising, really, Corlys typically chooses his men based on their ability to navigate the tides, and you worked so closely with Laenor I had imagined you to have some unnatural gift at it. It does not matter now, I suppose, Corlys can take on as many men as he wishes, skilled or otherwise, he has more or less assured his line to be the continuation of the Royal House - I opposed him on that once before, you know, at the Great Council, many years ago now. It was nothing personal, I had no reason to hold a grudge towards Rhaenys, but the Lords of the Realm bent the knee to the Dragon, not the Seahorse or the Stag, and I was not eager to see my Grandfather's legacy displaced with Corlys'. It was all for naught now, Viserys has just given it to him anyway." Daemon hummed thoughtfully. 

He could feel Ser Joffrey's eyes fixed upon his face intently. 

"No," Daemon sighed. "There is no way out of it now." 

He saw Ser Joffrey swallow out of the corner of his eye. Daemon turned, staring out at the skyline. Seasmoke was bobbing about within the icy waves, a floppy orange fish sticking out of his maw, while Caraxes was breathing hot flames at a pair of crying seagulls. 

"Unless something were to happen to Ser Laenor, that is." 

 Ser Joffrey's eyes grew twice as wide and Daemon could practically see his heart jump to his throat. 

"Tell me, Ser Lonmouth, are there great prospects for the third sons of minor Lords in the Stormlands?" Daemon inquired lowly. "Or anywhere in Westeros, really?" 

 Ser Joffrey gulped, brushing a lock of his reddish hair from where it had fallen in front of his pale face. 

"Do you know that there are places across the Narrow Sea where it does not matter what a man's name is?" Daemon continued. "That any man can bear any name he wishes? All that matters is how much gold he possesses." 

 Daemon took a small pouch from his pocket. It was so full it was about the burst at the seams, and wide enough that he struggled to wrap his hand around it.

 Ser Joffrey stared at him curiously. 

 "What is it you want from me, my Prince?" he asked, cocking his head. 

 Daemon turned from him as Caraxes whistled in the distance, the Blood Wyrm now paddling in the grey-blue sea in search of his own fish, while Seasmoke had returned to lay upon the shore. 

 Vhagar was approaching, her great bronzeish tail batting away nearby birds as she covered her head with one of her aged wings. 

 "Is Ser Laenor as enthused about this match as his bride is?" 

"From what I can tell, both are rather disinterested," Ser Joffrey replied. 

"Do you think he cares much for her, in truth?" Daemon asked. "Does he desire her?" 

Ser Joffrey frowned, "you ask an awful lot of questions, my Prince. For what do you care so much about Ser Laenor's prospects?"

"Can a man not be concerned with the future of his own House?" Daemon drawled. 

"I see." 

"Rhaenyra is Viserys' only true heir, see," Daemon said. "But Corlys, well, he has another option, if Laenor were to be indisposed, his daughter and her line would remain."

"What -"

"Tell me, Ser Lonmouth, does Ser Laenor strike you as the sort of man who concerns himself with the legacy of his father's name? Would he be more content in the Red Keep with the promise of the Throne than he would elsewhere, removed from court and with a nice bottle of brandy?"

"I - what?"

"I recall you from our time in the Stepstones, Ser Lonmouth," Daemon said, smirking. "I am sure it would be in your interest as much as it would be Ser Laenor's if this marriage did not go ahead." Daemon waved the pouch of coins. "But this might be of interest to you both. Something worth thinking about, I would say, if you are not ready to resign yourself to your fates quite yet." 

 Daemon did not say anything else before he took off down the beach, marching towards the caves. He did not need to look back to know that Ser Joffrey was following him. 

____________

 Rhaenyra was woken by the voice of Ser Criston through her door, urging her to rise so that she may meet the King to break her fast. "I - I am not too hungry, Ser," she called in response, turning over in the silk sheets.   

"I am afraid that the King shall still wish to see you, Princess," replied Ser Criston. Rhaenyra groaned into her pillow.

"Alright," she sighed.

"He is in the Hall of the Nine, Princess."

"Thank you, Ser Criston." 

 Rhaenyra tried not to appear like someone who had spent most of the night not sleeping. She tied her hair into a braid down her back, not as neatly as how her ladies did so but nicer than she had expected, and dressed in a pale pink and gold dress that she had not worn since Daemon first returned to court. She clasped her hands in front of her as she followed Ser Criston down the stairs. 

 They were the last to arrive at the Hall of the Nine, where Ser Criston joined Ser Harrold ahead of their table, while Rhaenyra was ushered away from Laena and her cousins to sit between her father and Lord Lyonel. Lord Corlys sat at the head of the table, elaborately dressed in a tunic of navy and gold, the Velaryon crest upon his chest and golden chains around his neck. Princess Rhaenys sat to his left, drinking citrus tea from a floral cup, with Ser Laenor beside her, the Driftmark heir only in his grey undershirt. 

 As Rhaenyra poured herself a cup of tea, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys stared expectantly at their son, but Laenor's eyes never rose from his plate. 

 "Did you sleep well, Princess?" Lord Corlys asked, after a moment of silence. 

 Rhaenyra forced a smile. "Yes, very well, thank you," she replied softly. Lord Corlys nodded.

"It is a shame about the weather," he said. "Our beaches are usually much nicer this time of year, and there is plenty to be seen and done at the Great Harbour." Rhaenyra nodded. "How is King's Landing this time of year?" 

"Wet," Viserys grunted. He was not eating much, and his skin still had a pale green tinge to it. 

"We are all rather busy this time of year," Lord Lyonel said stiffly. 

"Of course," said Lord Corlys, nodding. 

"Are we not all?" sighed Princess Rhaenys. Lord Corlys glanced to Laenor, who was cutting up a duck sausage, not looking at either of his parents. "Are you sure it is for the best you travel today, cousin? There shall be a storm upon us before long." 

"Regrettably, we must," Viserys said gruffly. 

"There is much to do at the Small Council," Lord Lyonel explained. "We have had rather a lot to keep up with since Ser Otto's... departure."

"Are you a keen sailor?" Laena asked. Viserys stared at her incredulously. Rhaenys chuckled. 

"I, for one, prefer dragonback," Rhaenyra said. 

"I must agree with you, cousin," Laena replied. 

  While Rhaenyra had no desire to remain at High Tide, still she dreaded the voyage back to King's Landing more and more with every sluggish footstep, herself and Ser Criston forced to walk behind the King as he shuffled down each step, already out of breath despite the steep trek ahead of them. 

 When they did reach the King's ship, Viserys clutched onto Rhaenyra's forearm tightly so not to fall over, and Rhaenyra felt as though her knees were going to give out, not prepared to take the weight of both of them. She winced as she helped her father walk up to the top deck, where he sat with Lord Lyonel and Ser Harrold, while Rhaenyra stared down at the water below. 

 King's Landing was still some distance away when Rhaenyra heard Ser Criston's footsteps padding up towards her. She had felt his eyes on her for a while, but had assumed little of it, he spent most of his days watching her after all. He had removed his bulky armour, stood in only a loosely tied undershirt and light grey britches that looked hastily made, certainly not something he would have acquired recently while a member of the Kingsguard. The Targaryen flag was flapping wildly in the wind above her, but while the seas were somewhat choppy, the storm was still days away. 

 Ser Criston said nothing as he leaned against the side of the boat, peering down at the water. He was closer to her than Rhaenyra had ever recalled him being, certainly without her leave, as if he hoped his bare forearm would brush against hers. His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips, and Rhaenyra could see the purple bags under his eyes. 

 "Did sleep flee you as well this morning?" she asked him, breaking the uncharacteristically icy silence that sat between the two. Ser Criston was never so solemn, so rigid, but in that moment he looked like a man in mourning. Surely he did not come bearing more bad news? 

Ser Criston swallowed. "I needed to see you, Princess," he muttered. 

 Rhaenyra's brow creased, looking around the boat. Most of the men were busy at work, and her father had disappeared to the Captain's quarters, unable to stomach the remainder of the journey on deck. For the first time in years, she longed for him to summon for her, to will her by his side. She had never seen Ser Criston so tense, and there was a gleam in his eye that she could not quite recognise, but it did not fill her with comfort. 

"You - you did?" she questioned. 

 Ser Criston nodded solemnly, wringing his hands together as one of the cushions on the King's chair behind them fell to the floor. 

"I - I would consider us friends, would you not?" Ser Criston asked hoarsely. Rhaenyra nodded. Ser Criston had been perhaps her only friend in these miserable years that had followed the death of her mother, her father a turncloak and Laena a sea's distance away. "And - and you have confided in me over the years of our acquaintance. I feel that I - forgive me if I am talking out of turn here - but I feel that I know you... a bit ... a bit more than a guardsman would presume to know his liege."

"I -" Rhaenyra swallowed. "Go on."

Ser Criston's eyes widened, turning to stare at her. He was paler than was typical for him, and unable to properly meet her eyes, his dark brown eyes instead fixed upon her lips. "I fear for you," he whispered. "I fear that you are to be married away at the whim of your father, with no thought given to your own heart." 

Rhaenyra hummed, unable to disagree.

"I cannot see such a tragedy happen," Ser Criston said earnestly, taking one of her hands in his own and gripping it so tightly Rhaenyra feared her fingers would break. "Before I came to serve your father, I was a knight in the Stormlands. I have a deep knowledge of the port at Sunspear, where I have seen the ships of Essos setting sail with their hulls full of oranges and cinnamon, and I have long wished to see where they went." 

Rhaenyra frowned, struggling to take in what he was saying when she was distracted by the throbbing in her hand. "Are you asking for leave, Ser?" she questioned. 

Ser Criston chuckled. "I am asking you to come with me," he whispered. Rhaenyra stared at him. "Come away from all of this, from your burdens and indignities-"

"What?" Rhaenyra cried, pulling her hand from his grip. 

"In Essos," Ser Criston said, reaching for her shoulder as she tried to back away. "You could marry me. A proper marriage, a marriage for love." 

"Love?" Rhaenyra repeated, holding her hand to her chest. Ser Criston nodded, his eyes finally meeting her own as he smiled. 

"I have known it, Princess - Rhaenyra," he said. "I have known it for years, when we met, you -"

"When we met I was four and ten," Rhaenyra huffed. "A girl."

"But you did not look like one," Ser Criston muttered. "Nor did you feel like one, did you? You already knew the woman you would become."

"What are you saying, Ser Criston?"

"I have heard the rumours myself, you must have done so too," Ser Criston grunted, reaching for Rhaenyra's hand again. She pulled it away, turning from him, but he tightened his grip on her arm. "He is a beast, an unnatural man, and I can not - shall not see you wed to him. It is too much to bear." Rhaenyra's eyes widened.

"Ser Laenor is -"

"An affront to your honour, a disgrace," spat Ser Criston. "You do not have to defend him to me, I know he was not your choice." He smiled, but it was not like his usual smile, not filled with humour but filled with lust. "You do not have to fear, Princess, I feel it too." 

 Without another word, Ser Criston leaned forward, his hands gripping her chin tightly as his eyes snapped shut and he pressed his lips to Rhaenyra's. 

 Once she recovered from the shock, she pushed him away. 

 Ser Criston's expression darkened. 

 "Have you given leave to your conscious mind, Ser?" Rhaenyra hissed. 

"Do not pretend, Rhaenyra," Ser Criston growled. "Do not pretend that this is not what you -"

"Silence," Rhaenyra snapped. She shook her head at him, her tongue stained by the wine on his lips. 

"You know why you longed to parade me at your side, yes, since you were a child," Ser Criston said lowly. "It was our desire for one another, your desire for me."

"My only desires concerning you, Ser, have been companionship," Rhaenyra huffed. "As you might be aware, I have not been one with a great deal of friends, and yes, I had considered you such." Ser Criston smiled. "But nothing more. Absolutely nothing." Ser Criston's expression darkened, his eyes clouded so much so they appeared cold and black.

"What? You would rather play the whore to a sword-swallower?" he snarled. "Warm the bed of such a man who would -"

"Not another word, Ser Criston, or I shall have my father remove your tongue," Rhaenyra snapped. She shook her head, and turned to walk away. She was stopped by his hand on her wrist. 

"He will never love you, not like I can," Ser Criston declared. "Not like I do. Rhaenyra, you must believe me, I know what is it is that men desire far more than you are aware of, men like him they -" he shook his head "- men with no honour, who-"

"Ser Laenor was knighted at war," Rhaenyra puffed. "Who are you to speak of honour after the words you have spoken to me today? You know not of it."

"You would use me?" Ser Criston gasped. "Play your games with me for years and then laugh in my face when I - all I have known is you! Ever since I came to King's Landing, it is your face that I have seen. At that tourney, I won your favour and then it was you - you who named me to the Kingsguard. How can you not see it? How the Gods have brought us together? It is our purpose, Rhaenyra, and that man he - he spits in the name of all that the Gods have made." 

"I worry you have had too many cups, Ser," Rhaenyra said.

Ser Criston laughed humourlesly. "Insolent child," he snapped, pushing her away from him. Rhaenyra winced, stumbling over her own feet and tripping down the steps. She stared up at him as he glowered down at her, his usually kind face marked with fury. 

"Whatever it is you have heard of Ser Laenor," Rhaenyra huffed, as she shakily returned to her feet. "The Gods did not design for me to abandon my post for a servant. Wipe your tongue when you speak of me, Ser Criston, and control your wits."

"You shall not -"

"You shall never raise a hand to me again," Rhaenyra declared. She could feel the eyes of the men of the ship upon her. "And you best pray to your Gods I do not inform my father of your desires for his children, he may see fit to remove your cloak so you cannot lay hand on my infant sister as well." 

 Ser Criston spat his retort at her, but Rhaenyra cared not for it, turning on her heel and marching towards the door to the quarters. 

 "Princess," whispered Ser Lorent Marbrand, another of her father's Kingsguard, as he tailed after her. "Might I be of any assistance?"

"All is well, Ser," Rhaenyra muttered, pulling open the door. Ser Lorent nodded, although his eyes were fixed upon Ser Criston, who was still upon the upper deck staring out at High Tide in the distance. 

"Very well."

____________

 It was a peculiar feeling to wake up one morrow and know that you were going to die.

 Well, Ser Laenor was not actually going to die, but all that knew him would believe so. 

 Part of him mourned for his life on Driftmark, but he had to agree that it was better to be nameless and free, than stuck here and crushed by the weight of legacy. He knew it would turn him into a cruel man, and a resentful one, and he had no desire to waste his days anticipating his father's demise. 

  "You are up early, brother," Laena greeted him as he arrived at her chambers. 

"Sleep has escaped me this morning," Laenor said, which was not completely a lie, he had laid awake for most of the night, unable to drift off. "I had thought you might like to break our fast together?" 

"Of course," Laena replied. "What would you like to eat?" Laenor shrugged, inviting himself into Laena's room. From her window, he could see the roaring seas below, and the guards that were struggling to stand due to the force of the wind. "The storm is upon us," Laena sighed, shaking her head. "Father fears it shall be a bad season for the island's fishermen, and there is still no sign of spring." 

"How disastrous," Laenor said drily. 

"It is a wonder any shall be willing to sail in this weather."

"Oh, I do not know, the freedom of the seas far supersedes the chains of land, even in tough tides," Laenor said. Laena cocked her head at him and smiled sympathetically. 

"You have not warmed to your recent betrothal, then?" she inquired, stepping away from him to sit at the table. Laenor scoffed as he sat across from her. 

"The seas a man can understand, the relentless ambition of our father is far less clear." Laenor shook his head. "Has there been recent news from Braavos?"

"None," Laena replied. "I do hope that that is a good sign."

"No man would be so foolish as to lose a betrothal to the Sea Snake's daughter," Laenor said darkly. "Think of the riches." 

Laena chuckled. "Mayhaps he is dead then, and I can be done with all this," she said dramatically. 

"Mayhaps." 

"I shall miss you when you go to King's Landing, brother," Laena sighed. Laenor nodded, his eyes unable to meet his sister's. She did not know that he would leave her to go much further than King's Landing, and that he would be doing so far sooner. He reached across the table to take her hand, squeezing it tightly. 

"At least you shall have Vhagar," he whispered, more to himself than to her. 

Laena forced a smile. "Yes. But it is not the same."

"No, I suppose not," Laenor muttered. 

"You shall have Seasmoke with you in King's Landing as well," Laena said. Laenor nodded glumly. 

  Laenor topped his porridge with honey and berries and ate mostly in silence, while outside the storm raged on. Laena drank rose tea and ate her own porridge with so much cinnamon sprinkled on top of it that the oats had turned a pale brown colour. "We should go flying," Laenor said, as Laena reached again for the teapot, his spoon clanking against the side of his bowl. 

"What? Now?" Laena questioned. Laenor nodded. "Have you not looked outside this morrow brother?"

"So?" Laenor shrugged. "The salt of the sea runs through my veins, what do I have to fear for a bit of rain?"

"Well, my hair will not appreciate it," Laena chuckled.

"Neither will mine," Laenor shrugged, laughing to himself as he rose to his feet.

"Can it not wait until tomorrow, brother mine?"

"It cannot," Laenor replied tensely. 

  Dragons were creatures of fire and heat, so Seasmoke was not in the best of moods when Laenor drew him from his cave to take to the stormy skies. Thunder rumbled in the grey clouds overhead and Vhagar let out a roar of displeasure as Laena clambered onto the brown and teal leather saddle. Laenor took flight first, but Vhagar was close behind them, huffing and puffing miserably as they were assaulted by the icy rain and howling wind. Laenor leaned his head back and whooped, letting the rain fall over his face as Seasmoke chirped, his silver-grey tail slapping against the sea below. 

 They circled around the island, Seasmoke clearly in a much better mood than Vhagar, who was puffing out smoke through her nostrils and groaning as the wind grew stronger. Laenor's hair was flapping in the wind, a few loose silver strands falling in front of his face. The few that had bothered to attend the Harbour looked up in awe as the dragons flew over them, circling the nearby Sept as Laenor struggled to make out the shape of the island of Dragonstone through the mist. 

  There was little in life that compared to flying on dragonback. His father would claim that he did not understand their lust for the nothingness of the sky, but Laenor struggled to accept that from a man who once cared for little more than charting untouched waters and crafting a fortune out of going where others could not.  In the skies he had a power that belonged to no other. In the skies he was untouchable, and was that not what it meant to be free?

 "Gevī, Seasmoke," Laenor praised, patting his lower neck. Seasmoke chirped happily, shaking his head. 

 Laenor let out a sigh as Seasmoke landed on the soft sands of the beach once more. Laena and Vhagar were a short distance behind them, Laena brushing her wet hair out of her face as Vhagar roared, scaring away a nearby nest of gulls. 

"You are a madman, brother," Laena laughed. "Ah! I feel I will be stuck in these for a sennight!" She gestured to her black riding leathers, which had become suctioned to her skin. Laenor's own leathers, which were a pearly grey a similar shade to Seasmoke's scales, had also grown uncomfortably tight, and Laenor knew they would be a nightmare to slip out of.

"Where is your sense of adventure, sister?" he called through the wind. "We shall both be chained before long, do you not want to have some fun in the meantime?"

"I do not consider being so drenched much fun," huffed Laena. 

"You could have fooled me," Laenor chuckled. He pulled off his gloves and tapped her nose teasingly. Laena rolled her eyes. 

"There shall be a tourney," Laena said, locking their arms together. Laenor cocked an eyebrow. "When you wed the Princess, that is. Are you going to enter? Crown her your Queen of Love and Beauty?"

"Heavens, no," Laenor laughed. "No, I rather intend to keep my head the shape it is in, dear sister."

"Shall you be watching Ser Joffrey then?" Laena asked, smirking. 

"I shall watch all of the Realm's knights who choose to compete," Laenor shrugged. "If that includes Joff, then yes, I shall watch him as well."

"Let us hope he does not lose then," Laena said. "I could not bear to see you cry." Laenor rolled his eyes. "Do you think there shall be a ball? I would love a ball."

"Since when?" Laenor scoffed.

"Mayhaps I shall find a new suitor, one far kinder than that Braavosi fool," Laena shrugged. "There shall be plenty of Lords and soon-to-be-Lords at a King's ball."

"And you think Father will let you break off your betrothal?" Laenor inquired.

"If I chose the right one, perhaps," Laena shrugged. "And if not then - then we will have to abscond, flee in the night as the Old King and Good Queen did. Vhagar is not as fast as she once was, but she is mighty."

"You would do that?" Laenor chuckled in disbelief. 

"I would for love," Laena said wistfully. She smiled at nothing in the distance, as if she was imagining being at such a ball now. 

"There shall be a week of games, Father tells me, but he said naught about a ball," Laenor told her. 

"Oh." 

"If - if you were to fall in love, would you leave Driftmark to be with them?" 

"I suppose so," Laena shrugged. "They would have to have somewhere to house Vhagar, though, for I could never leave her behind." Laenor nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Seasmoke as his dragon flapped back towards the caves. 

 While Laena rushed up to her rooms to bathe, Laenor exchanged his riding leathers for a loose undershirt and pale blue breeches, tying his hair back as he clambered up the stairs. 

 He found his mother in a small alcove of the library, her eyes fixed on a book Laenor would assume to be older than she was, a pair of candles burning on the table in front of her. Laenor coughed as he entered to announce his presence, but said nothing as he sunk into one of the armchairs ahead of the empty fireplace. He had never spent much time in this library, or in any of the castle's libraries in truth, his efforts much more focused on the seas outside and the maps that the maester recounted to him in the Hall of the Nine. 

 "Laenor," Rhaenys said softly, after some moments of silence had passed. 

"Mother," Laenor returned. Rhaenys chuckled to herself as she shut her book. "When did  you decide you were ready to get married?" he asked. 

"It was not truly my decision, more so my father's," Rhaenys sighed. She had the same look on her face that she always did when she talked of her father, Prince Aemon, somewhere between yearning and remorse. "Your father, however, was my decision."

"Would he have allowed you to have chosen anyone?" Laenor quizzed.

"Heavens no, I was -" she shook her head "- he considered me to be the heir to the Throne, and an heiress cannot be wed to the commonfolk, or lesser nobles, or men without a standing at court."

"So, it was Father's fortune and name that won him over?" 

"Something like that," Rhaenys chuckled. "Corlys was never a present figure at court, but his grand-aunt, Alyssa Velaryon, was of course my grandparents' mother, so Corlys was a known cousin of my father and his siblings. Although, it was actually through my uncle Boremund that we were properly introduced. All my life, we seldom said a word to each other on the rare occasion we were both at court, but he attended a feast Boremund held when I was four and ten or so, and -" Rhaenys did not finish her thought, instead humming to herself. "I was six and ten when we wed, far younger than you."

"But Father was already seven and thirty," Laenor countered. 

"Some men marry far later than you shall, yes," Rhaenys sighed. "Your father was already a Lord, and had been for some time, so there was no one to weigh in on his marital prospects but himself." 

"How fortunate for him."

"In some ways, yes," Rhaenys said. "But he had had a lot fall into his lap when his grandsire died, his priorities were elsewhere." Laenor nodded. "There shall be no better match in the Realm for you." 

"I had thought you of all people would be aware of the burden of it," Laenor muttered. 

"The burden is a heavy one, I cannot disagree," Rhaenys said stiffly. "But this match will also see you secure and contented."

"It will see Father contented," Laenor grunted. Rhaenys smiled sympathetically. 

"Two children is hardly a great ask, for a man," Rhaenys said. "And with the combined force of our dragons, one would have to be a fool to oppose your wife's claim, which is of course why Viserys is doing this."

"And what of me? What have I do gain?"

"Inheritance for your children."

"Children who do not yet - and may never - exist," Laenor grumbled. "I have been promised Father's throne - one given to our ancestors by the Merling King - since birth, to what do I care who sits upon Aegon's seat of swords?"

"You are young," Rhaenys said solemnly. "In time, you may come to understand. It may feel like a great betrayal now, but every man asks the same of his son- or his daughter if he lacks male progeny."

"To sell his soul for the betterment of his father's legacy."

"To do his duty to his House," Rhaenys sniffed. 

"Do you recall when I found Seasmoke in that cave?" 

"Of course."

"I - when I touched him, it was like I felt something new awakened inside of me, something I had never felt before," Laenor muttered. Rhaenys nodded knowingly. "It just felt right. Like we were a perfect match. This - this does not feel like that."

"Nothing else ever shall," Rhaenys sighed.

"How did you choose Meleys?" Laenor asked. "There were other dragons at the Pit, were there not?"

"None quite as glorious as the Red Queen," Rhaenys replied with a smirk. "In truth, there were few to choose from - Vhagar, Vermithor, and Silverwing all had riders, Balerion had certainly seen better days, and Dreamfyre was still rather depressed after Rhaena's death even years later. Meleys was eager to take to the skies again, and she was not so proud she would refuse to fly with the Blood Wyrm, much to my father's pleasure." Rhaenys smiled to herself. "She is less keen on him as of late, although I cannot blame her, Daemon is certainly less preferable than Aemon was." Laenor chuckled. Rhaenys cocked an eyebrow at him. "Your hair is soaked. Surely you have not been out in this weather."

"Mayhaps," Laenor shrugged. "I wish to enjoy the sea air while I still have it." Rhaenys rolled her eyes. 

  After a few hours of training in the courtyard, where Joffrey was struggling to make eye contact with him, Laenor returned to his rooms. Dusk would soon be upon them, but he was not out of the woods yet, he still had dinner to sit through. 

 He bathed with oils of mint and citrus, enjoying the feeling of the warm water washing over his skin, soaking the callouses of his hands and the small cuts on his legs. Once he had finished, he did not call for the servants to empty the tub as he usually did, instead wrapping a linen towel around his waist and stepping out onto his balcony, likely for the last time. He could not see much through the fog, but as he peered out at the empty beach below, he felt himself overcome by a heavy emotion he did not recognise, one his knees struggled to hold up. He held onto the stone wall ahead of him, his other hand covering his face. 

 Laenor turned to look around his room. 

 It was sad to think that this would be his last night here, but it was for the best he go out on his own terms, rather than his father's. 

 He would be able to take very little with him into exile, so to reduce the chances of his parents noticing anything amiss. He would leave behind his silk sheets and the quilts his mother had had made for him when he was a babe, his wooden boats and training swords, armour, Seasmoke's whip, his charcoals and paints and canvases. Gone would be his selection of fine clothes and jewels, the portrait of himself and his sister that his mother had had commissioned for Laena's first name-day, all the stuffed dragons his grandmother had adorned him with in his youth, and any other keepsake that would ever link him to his father's House. He had a small broach from his mother he had thought to take with him, but he supposed it would be better for her to give it away, perhaps to one of Laena's sons one day. Instead, he chose a locket, silver and plain but with a small image of Vhagar and Seasmoke that Laena had painted for him inside. On one hand, he chose a golden ring with a ruby in the centre, for his mother's House, and on the other he wore a band of silver, one that matched the silver of his father's sigil.

 "Ser Laenor - ah!" the serving girl hid her face as she noticed Laenor's state of undress. Hurriedly, Laenor reached for a tunic from the floor.

"What is it?" he inquired.

"Lord Corlys wishes for you to join him in his chambers for dinner."

"Right, yes," Laenor grunted. The woman nodded and sped away, slamming the door shut behind her, while Laenor looked hopelessly around his bedchamber, taking it all in for the last time as he searched for his britches. 

 "- and it will be of silk from Leng, nothing but the best - ah, here he is!" Lord Corlys beamed as Laenor pushed open the door to his rooms. He was the last to arrive, his family already sitting with full goblets and plates. 

"The King-to-be," his cousin, Daemion, smirked as Laenor took his seat. 

"Are you excited, Laenor?" Daeron, Daemion's younger brother, inquired.

"Delighted," Laenor said through gritted teeth. Ser Vaemond and Daemion snorted. Lord Corlys shook his head. Laenor poured himself a goblet of dark wine as Laena offered him a plate of seasoned potatoes. 

"Vaemond was just telling us how Daemion intends to enter the lists," Rhaenys said. Daemion nodded. "Shall you joust this year?"

"No," Laenor grunted. 

"Well, that is that then," chuckled Ser Vaemond. 

"You did earn your knight's spurs, did you not, cousin?" scoffed Daemion.

"I earned them on the battlefield, not in a damn tourney," Laenor huffed. "Are you hoping to finally earn yours, cousin?" Corlys smirked as Daemion's face fell. 

"Father is going to have two new dresses made for me," Laena said, before Daemion could retort. "Will you want for a new shirt?"

"He will want for more than that," laughed Ser Vaemond. Laenor shrugged. 

"I have received a raven from an associate of mine in Myr," Corlys said. "I shall have one of the best artists in the world commission your wedding portrait. It shall certainly be one for the history books." Laenor nodded, piling asparagus onto his plate. 

"Royal weddings always are," Ser Vaemond shrugged. 

"Will you be jealous if another man crowns your wife Queen of Love and Beauty at your wedding tourney?" Daeron asked. Laenor scowled at him. Daemion chuckled. "What? The Princess is the most comely maid in the Realm, she is sure to be chosen." 

"Ought we write to your uncle?" Corlys asked. "I imagine he shall want to be the first to know."

"Viserys has not announced it yet," Rhaenys replied. "I do not think we should spread the word too soon, people may start to speculate that Laenor did something untoward to her." Corlys held his hands up in mock surrender. 

"You must be hungry, brother," Laena chuckled, as Laenor wolfed down his meal.

"I am needed elsewhere," Laenor grunted. 

"Where?" Daeron inquired.

"Far away from this taxing conversation."

"Why do you not wish to discuss your wedding, cousin?" Daemion drawled. 

"Where are you so eager to hurry off to?" Rhaenys sniffed.

"I am teaching Joff - Ser Lonmouth to sail," Laenor muttered. Daemion sniggered.

"No you are not," grunted Corlys. Laenor narrowed his eyes at him. "You shall not be leaving this island." 

"We shall only sail to Dragonstone and back," Laenor groaned.

"Not on this morrow."

"Corlys -" protested Rhaenys. 

"I see not what the issue is, Father, you seem so eager to send me off to King's Landing, now you are chaining me here?" Laenor snapped.

"You are to go to King's Landing with your new bride," Corlys said gruffly. "Once you have an heir or two and have solidified your place - our House's place - at court, then you shall be able to return here to prepare to take your place on the Driftwood Throne." Daemion laughed again. Ser Vaemond kicked him under the table.

"I see not why it should matter, if I am to marry her anyway, why should I have to leave my home?"

"Because it is your duty to your House, to your family to ensure its succession," Corlys snarled. 

"I see not why you bothered having two children if you were just going to put the onus on me to do everything," grunted Laenor. "Laena should be fertile enough by now -" Daemion sniggered "- and she has been betrothed for almost a year, yet you have made no effort to prepare that marriage."

"Brother!" objected Laena.

"Laenor!" snapped Rhaenys. 

"Your sister's marriage is none of your concern," Corlys growled. "Nor is it a Royal wedding. Your union will be the first time a Targaryen weds a dragonrider from another House since the Doom." Corlys' eyes gleamed proudly. "It will certainly be something for the history books, and something we need to get right."

"Of course," Laenor said bitterly. He drained his goblet and marched towards the door.

"Where are you off to, Laenor?" Rhaenys asked.

"As I said, I am taking Ser Lonmouth to-"

"Not in this storm," Corlys insisted. "I would not send my best men out today, let alone a couple of boys."

"He is two and twenty, Father," said Laena. Laenor smirked, nodding. Daeron opened his mouth to speak, but Ser Vaemond shook his head at him.

"Yet he sulks like a child," Corlys grumbled. Laenor's face darkened.

"It is only to Dragonstone," he huffed. "I have made the trip many times before."

"That is irrelevant," Corlys said, waving a hand dismissively. "This is no condition to be sailing in, it would be a death wish." Laenor rolled his eyes. 

"Do not be a fool, cousin," muttered Daeron.

"Fine," snapped Laenor. "Then I shall retire for the night." Laenor kicked his chair before marching towards the door.

"Laenor!" Rhaenys called after him, but he ignored her. 

  Laenor easily found Joffrey in the courtyard, sharpening his sword in the dim light in front of one of the windows. He smiled, but Joffrey was yet to notice him. Laenor hurried his pace, ducking his head in case one of the servants in the Throne room were to see him. "Hello," he whispered, still smiling. Joffrey looked up at him.

"There you are," he said. "I had worried you were not going to show."

"And leave you all alone?" Laenor scoffed, his hand reaching for Joffrey's. Joffrey shrugged. 

"I am not the heir to the greatest fortune in Westeros," he whispered.

"Neither am I," Laenor muttered. "I am nameless, and yours." Joffrey grinned, but before he could reply Laenor covered his lips with his own. The Lonmouth knight tasted of apricot jam and Dornish strongwine, a hot and bitter taste that Laenor had never grown accustomed to, although on Joffrey's lips it was far better than any goblet he had ever sampled. He keened into his mouth as he felt one of Joffrey's hands slip under his tunic to press against the skin of his lower back. 

"We should go," Joffrey whispered as they drew apart. Laenor licked his lips, his eyes still fixed on Joffrey's. The younger knight smirked. "Come along," Joffrey insisted, pushing Laenor's chest lightly. "I think Caraxes landed a short while ago, and Prince Daemon is unlikely to be the sort of man who wishes to be kept waiting." 

"What of the guards?" Laenor murmured. 

"What guards?" Joffrey asked, nodding towards the gates. "I told Ser Theomore you had requested he inspect Seasmoke's chains in the storm."

"You sent him to the dragon caves?" Laenor questioned. "Are you a fool?"

"Calm yourself," Joffrey said. "He should be on his way back by now, and it is dark enough that we shall be able to stay out of his sight once on the beach."

"You had better hope yourself right," grunted Laenor.

"I always am," Joffrey smirked, before he leaned in for another kiss. Laenor welcomed him eagerly, his tongue rising to meet his as he wrapped his arms around Joffrey's shoulders, pushing their bodies together. "Now, come along," Joffrey said again, squeezing Laenor's hand.

"Tease," huffed Laenor. Joffrey rolled his eyes. 

 As Joffrey had expected, Daemon and Caraxes were already waiting for them shortly beyond the caves. The Blood Wyrm growled as they approached, until Daemon hissed something to him in High Valyrian, his hand on the dragon's snout. "You took your time," Daemon scoffed. 

"Blame this one," Joffrey said, jerking his head in Laenor's direction. Laenor rolled his eyes. 

"So, what are we to do, exactly?" he questioned. 

"First, help me with these." Daemon gestured to where two hastily wrapped packages were tied to Caraxes just behind his saddle, one covered in a gold cloak and the other in what looked like a bloodied cape of teal. Joffrey jogged across the sand to help him.

 When Daemon removed the first cloak, he shrieked.

"Shut up," Daemon snarled. 

"Who is that?" Laenor demanded, his eyes wide and upon the body on the ground. Daemon shrugged, throwing away the cape to reveal the second body. 

"Is that one of the Bywater knights?" Joffrey asked, cocking his head. 

"Maybe," Daemon shrugged.

"You do not know?" Laenor demanded.

"I did not ask a corpse for his name, no," Daemon said drily. "These men fell in the Stepstones, they are no use to anyone there, are they? Grieving mothers hardly search the islands for their dead, they say their prayers from the safety of their Septs."

"Are - are they to be us?" Laenor whispered.

"Indeed," Daemon replied, as if it were obvious. "Now, help me get their armour off." 

 Laenor glanced to Joffrey, who looked as sick as he felt, but the pair obliged, removed the bloodied and damaged armour from the corpses, trying to ignore the eye-wateringly putrid smell that they emitted. 

"Get undressed," Daemon demanded.

"Wh-what?" Joffrey questioned. 

"If these are to be you, then they should be in your clothes, should they not?"

"Oh, right, yeah," Joffrey muttered. 

Daemon stared expectantly at them.

Laenor turned around as he began to unbuckle his belt, while Joffrey took a few steps backwards to remove himself from Daemon and Caraxes' eyeline. Caraxes let out a grunt that could easily be mistaken for a chuckle as Joffrey removed his shirt, wincing as he was assaulted by the cold wind. 

"Now what?" Laenor asked, once he was standing in just his smallclothes, the chain around his neck swinging in the wind. 

"You put those on," Daemon replied, gesturing to the undershirts of the dead knights.

"Dead people clothes?" grimaced Joffrey. 

"Would you rather be in just your smallclothes?"

"Right, right," Joffrey said gruffly. 

With a sour expression, Laenor helped Daemon to strip the corpses. Only one had bothered to wear smallclothes, so they were faced with the chafed cock of the other as they removed his britches. Laenor pulled a face. Joffrey laughed at him. "I do not see you helping," Laenor hissed. Joffrey held up his hands in mock surrender. "You know, this feels entirely disrespectful."

"To whom?" Daemon chuckled.

"To them," Laenor said, gesturing to the corpses.

"I doubt they mind." 

"That is besides the point," Laenor snapped. 

 The grey undershirt Laenor was given was stained with the dark blood of the dead man, and far too big for his lithe form. He tied it up as best he could, before pulling on the brown britches, both legs of which were plagued with holes. Joffrey's undershirt was slightly less ill-fitting, although the white made the blood all the more noticeable. 

 They said not a word to each other as they dressed the dead men in their own clothes, the Velaryon sigil proudly upon each of their breasts. Laenor tried to avoid the man's eyes as he buttoned his tunic, grey and unfeeling they reminded him of a cold winter's sky. 

 "Give me your swords," Daemon demanded.

"What?" Laenor questioned. 

"Your swords," Daemon said again.

"Why?"

"They were made by Corlys Velaryon, they will hardly be what two stowaways should be carrying."

"Oh, right." Laenor shook his head as he picked up his swordbelt from where it had been abandoned in the sand. He had thought he would take his sword with him, but he supposed he could always buy another. 

"And that -" Daemon gestured to the belt, so Laenor threw that to him. Daemon rolled his eyes as he caught it. "You -" Daemon pointed to Joffrey "- stay here, do not move and do not be seen." Joffrey gulped and nodded. "You - " Daemon slapped Laenor on the shoulder "- with me, and grab that -" Daemon gestured to the body in Laenor's clothes as Daemon hoisted the other corpse over his shoulder. 

 The imitation of Joffrey had hair too brown and eyes too green. He was taller and plumper, and he was missing a finger, but Laenor supposed he could see the resemblance if he squinted. The 'Laenor' corpse was far less accurate, the man shorter and wider than Laenor, his hair more blond than silver, and his grey eyes nothing like Laenor's own violet irises. 

 "They are likely to sink, or be destroyed," Daemon explained. "Many shipwrecks find few bodies, alive or otherwise, this is just in case something comes to the surface." Laenor nodded, unsure what to say. "Give me your ring," Daemon instructed. Laenor frowned. He was not prepared to part with either of his rings. "We need something to be found, so give it here," Daemon pressed. Sighing, Laenor handed over the golden ring, which Daemon slipped onto the hand of the corpse. He drew a knife from his jacket and hacked away at the man's forearm until the hand and wrist were severed. Laenor winced. 

 Daemon led him down a grassy mound to a small fishing boat, equipped with long oars and a net. "I hope you can sail half as well as your father says," Daemon said, sitting himself in the boat beside the corpse.

"This is a rowing boat, not sailing," Laenor replied. "I actually have to row this thing?"

"It will hardly get in the water itself, will it?" Daemon shrugged. "And we need it far enough away from the shore." 

"And - and the storm?"

"Never fear, he shall be following." Daemon waved a hand dismissively at the sky, where Caraxes was circling them. Laenor inhaled sharply, but nodded, and began to row into the harsh waters, his heart pounding in his chest. 

 They did not have to row very far before Laenor felt himself having to fight the tide. "Can you get us a bit further?" Daemon inquired.

"How - how far?" Laenor grunted, straining as he pulled the oars closer to his chest. 

"Can you make out those rocks there?" Daemon asked. Laenor nodded, knowing where he meant. The rocks were a known hazard to anyone sailing towards Duskendale. "Caraxes can land there if we can get close enough."

"You want to swim in this?" Laenor questioned incredulously.

"Do I want to? No. Shall we? Yes, if we can make it. Or else I would need him to land on the boat, crushing it and ruining everything, which I would hate," Daemon drawled. "For I refuse to actually drown tonight."

"As do I," Laenor bit out irritably. Daemon laughed. He sliced the hand from the knight in Joffrey's clothes and threw both severed hands into the shallow waves, likely to be dragged to shore by morn.

 The water was icy cold and the current strong, so much so that Laenor could feel himself being dragged out as soon as he leapt from the rowing boat. As he was thrown about the waves, he wondered if he was going to sink, and this would all be for naught. Laenor grunted, refusing to allow it to come to that.

 As Daemon has said, Caraxes landed upon the rocks a short distance away from them, and he was whistling, as if trying to guide them to him like a lighthouse. At least, Laenor thought to himself, Daemon looked as miserable as he felt, somewhere between a drowned cat and a man freezing to death. Laenor chuckled to himself, before a wave came and filled his mouth with saltwater. Laenor shook his head, struggling to keep himself above the surface. He could hear the clatter as the boat was knocked against the rocks, and wondered how long it would take for it to sink. He glanced to his left, hearing Daemon's panting beside him, and forced a smile. Daemon nodded to him, quickening his pace. He held out his long, pale fingers, but was unable to reach the rocks before a wave came and knocked him back again. "Are you alright?" Laenor called to the Targaryen. He spun around, unable to see him. "Daemon? DAEMON?"

"Keep your voice down," Daemon hissed hoarsely, now somewhere behind Laenor. Laenor swallowed and nodded as Caraxes whistled again. "Thank fuck," Daemon groaned, as Caraxes held out his long, spindly tail for them to grip on to. Caraxes' scales were so hot that they nearly burned Laenor's hands to touch, but he gripped on with all of his might as the Blood Wyrm pulled them towards the jagged rocks. Laenor cursed as his knee smashed against them. "Are you alright?" Daemon whispered.

"Shut up," Laenor groaned. Daemon chuckled. 

"Gah, I love you," Daemon professed to his dragon, patting his snout affectionately once he had clambered onto the flatest rock. Laenor chuckled, smoothing Caraxes' tail once more before he followed Daemon onto the saddle.

"Where are we going?" he asked. Daemon did not reply, too busy muttering in High Valyrian to the Blood Wyrm, who shrieked. "Shush," Laenor chastised. Caraxes glowered at him. 

 Laenor's queries were soon answered as Caraxes circled Dragonstone castle, landing a short distance down the hill. "Wait here," Daemon told him sternly, throwing off his own damp cloak so that Laenor could wear it. "Do not be seen, do not go away." Laenor nodded and watched as Caraxes took off again, soon becoming a small dot in the distance until he disappeared into the mist. Laenor sat upon the grass, shivering as his wet clothes clung to him. One of his hands reached for the chain around his neck, turning the locket in his hand. 

 The minutes felt like hours as the night ticked on, and Laenor began to worry that Daemon would never come back. 

 His eventual return was punctuated by a shriek from the Blood Wyrm. "He is not very quiet, is he?" Laenor asked.

"Dragons are known to frequent Dragonstone," Daemon shrugged. "You are not." Laenor glanced to Joffrey, who forced an uneasy smile as he dismounted the dragon, although his skin was a sickly green. "Come along," Daemon hissed, beckoning them to follow him towards the castle. Laenor frowned. 

 They did not enter the castle. Instead, Daemon led them around to the stables, where they were met by a short stableboy in brown rags and a tight cap. "Hello, m'lord," the boy greeted, bowing his head. Daemon did not bother to correct him.

"Do you have all that I need?" he asked.

"Yes, m'lord," the boy replied.

"Well, where is it?" Daemon demanded. The boy hurried inside the stable, and soon returned with an armful of clearly old, but dry, clothes. Far from anything Laenor would usually wear, he had to assume they were stolen from servants. Laenor only hoped they were not taken from more corpses, for both his and the boy's sake. Daemon thrust them as Laenor and Joffrey before ushering them towards the bushes to change. "Did anyone see you?" they heard Daemon ask.

"No, m'lord."

"And nobody asked what you were doing?"

"Nobody saw, I swear it," the boy insisted.

"That is good," Daemon sighed. The boy smiled. "Not a word to anyone," Daemon told him warningly, before handing him a pair of silver stags. The boy nodded, beaming. Daemon waved his hand dismissively and the small stableboy dashed away in the direction of the castle, while Laenor and Joffrey emerged from the bushes. 

"I feel ridiculous," Joffrey muttered. 

"You have looked worse," Laenor said, smirking. Joffrey rolled his eyes.

"Turn around," Daemon instructed. Laenor frowned but did as he said.

 Before he had time to react, Daemon had again pulled out his knife and pulled Laenor's hair, slicing through it until the cold steel was brushing against his scalp.

"What the-"

"You cannot be recognised," Daemon hissed. Laenor pouted. "And you."

"What?" protested Joffrey, reaching for his hair. "No. No, no, I -"

Daemon glared at him.

Joffrey hung his head in defeat.

"It will grow," Laenor told him comfortingly. Joffrey shook his head mournfully. "Now what?" Laenor inquired, pulling up the hood of his cloak to protect his bare ears from the cold. 

"Follow this hill down the village," Daemon instructed. "At the pier, you will find an old inn with a gargoyle outside, about this big -" Daemon gestured to his thigh "- you cannot miss him. Tell the innkeep you have a room for Barrett. If asked, you -" Daemon pointed to Joffrey "- say you are Randyll's son, the innkeep does not know him well enough to say otherwise."

"You are leaving us?" Laenor asked.

"You are leaving me," Daemon shrugged. "Keep yourselves hidden and out of sight until the storm passes. There will be enough traders leaving King's Landing to Pentos once the storm clears, and many will stop over here to sell their wares at the port." Laenor and Joffrey nodded. "Well," Daemon said awkwardly. "Farewell then."

"Farewell, my Prince," Joffrey said. He nodded his head before turning on his heel.

"Farewell, cousin," Laenor muttered, holding out his hand. Daemon shook it firmly. "I - I would say that I would write when we find safety, but I suppose it would be for the best I do not."

"No." Daemon shook his head solemnly. 

Laenor swallowed. "Uh, Laena is - she is in a rather unfortunate predicament with a Braavosi suitor." Laenor's eyes flickered down to Dark Sister. "I had wondered if you could sort that out for her."

"Of course," Daemon said gruffly. He clapped Laenor on the shoulder, and then he was gone, marching towards the castle. Laenor inhaled through his nose sharply, taking in the sight of the dragonmont in the distance, before he heard Joffrey calling for him to hurry. 

And so he left. 

Chapter Text

  Rhaenyra had been comfortably asleep in her bed when the door was unceremoniously thrown open and into her bedchamber walked Ser Harrold Westerling. Rhaenyra jolted awake, hugging her sheets to her chin as she eyed the guard towering over her.

 "The King requests your presence in the Small Council chamber, Princess," Ser Harrold said gruffly. Rhaenyra nodded. He smiled apologetically. "I did knock, I promise, but you did not wake, and the King said it was urgent."

 Rhaenyra nodded again, wiping the sleep from her eyes as Ser Harrold bowed and took his leave. 

 Rhaenyra was soon joined by her ladies-in-waiting, Lady Annora Hunter, the only daughter of Lord Godric, Lady Primrose Celtigar, the youngest daughter of Lord Bartimos, and Ladies Celia and Darla Strong, the daughters of Lord Lyonel, her father's Hand. Lady Primrose hurried to fill her tub with bathwater infused with rose, while Lady Annora offered her a cup of tea.

 "What could the Small Council possibly want at this hour?" huffed Lady Darla, the younger of the two Strong sisters, as she brushed Rhaenyra's still slightly damp hair.

"Knowing our Father, something rather dull yet time consuming," sighed Lady Celia, shaking her head irritably. 

"See, perfect," declared Lady Annora. She was the eldest of Rhaenyra's ladies, almost a decade older than the Princess, although she was the shortest. Annora gestured to the bow she had tied at the back of Rhaenyra's red and gold dress. Celia rolled her eyes.

"You rushed it again," she said. Annora scowled. "Look at it, it is so untidy."

"It is not!" flared Annora. "It is fine."

"I am sure it shall do," Rhaenyra sighed. Celia rolled her eyes. "I doubt any of the men at the Small Council could care what I wear."

"You would be surprised," said Darla. "They say Tyland Lannister has quite the taste of foreign laces, and the women that wear them." Celia and Darla giggled. Annora rolled her eyes at them.

"I fathom to think of a woman interested in Tyland Lannister," laughed Celia.

"One without ears, perhaps," suggested Primrose, "so that she cannot hear how oft he talks about himself."

"He is not so bad," Darla shrugged. Rhaenyra and Celia stared at her incredulously. "What? He is not as vain nor as rude as his brother."

"He is not as rich either," Annora said knowingly.

"All the gold at Casterly Rock is not worth wasting a moment in his company," puffed Rhaenyra.

"Of course you would say that, Princess," teased Celia. "You have all the gold anyone could ever want for already." Rhaenyra shook her head at her.

"Well, you are in luck, for they say Lord Jason is going to be wed before the summer," said Annora.

"Really?" inquired Celia. Primrose raised her eyebrows.

"To whom?" Darla quizzed.

"Some Westerling woman," Annora shrugged.

"Well, I pity for her," Rhaenyra said drily.

 While Celia and Darla were almost as tall as their father, Annora was even shorter than Rhaenyra, so she had to strain on the tips of her toes to peer over Rhaenyra's shoulder and into the mirror on the vanity. Rhaenyra cocked her head as she stared back at her own reflection, while Darla continued to brush her hair. "You do have such gorgeous hair, Princess," Darla said, playing with one of her own chestnut ringlets. "Ser Laenor is certainly a lucky man." Celia giggled again. Annora shook her head. "If I were you, I would spend hours at the vanity just brushing it," Darla said wistfully, admiring the traces of gold in Rhaenyra's silver locks.

"You do that enough with your own hair," chuckled Celia. Darla scowled at her.

"I do not suppose I have half the time for that," Rhaenyra said. "Could you hurry? I should have left by now." Darla's face fell as Celia ushered her away, taking her place beside Rhaenyra and tying her hair back into a braid down her back. 

"Do not worry, Princess, I doubt Ser Tyland or Lord Jasper shall be punctual," Celia told her. 

"You know, they say Lord Jasper's third wife has been found dead," Primrose said. "I fear for whoever he takes as his fourth wife."

"You do not suppose he shall think three wives enough?" Annora asked. "He must have an army of children by now."

"Men like that do not know what enough is," huffed Celia. Darla nodded her agreement. 

"Do you fear your father taking a fourth wife?" Primrose asked.

"No," Darla replied. 

"He is married to his work," Celia said loftily, as if impersonating Lord Lyonel. Darla and Primrose chuckled. 

  Rhaenyra finished her tea and sent her ladies away. Over her dress, she wore a thick, black coat with golden buttons, and from her ears hung golden earrings in the shape of diamonds, with sparkling rubies in the centre. She knew what the councilmen would be wearing, dark robes with heavy chains, perhaps a ring or two, and for perhaps the first time in her life she was doing her best not to stand out too much.

 As she arrived at the Small Council chamber, her heart jumped to her throat. 

 Two of the Kingsguard stood outside, to the right of the door was Ser Willis Fell, a tall man with untidy brown hair, and to the left was Ser Criston. 

 Rhaenyra swallowed, unwilling to spare the man a glance as Ser Willis pushed the door open for her. She nodded her appreciation before slipping inside. 

 Viserys and Lord Lyonel were muttering to each other in hushed tones, the Hand not at his seat but lingering behind the King, both of their eyes glued to a piece of parchment Viserys was holding. Grand Maester Mellos was sitting further down the table, tapping his fingers impatiently, against the wood and Septon Eustace was seated at the end of the table, his quill and parchment ready to take notes. Ser Harrold was also stood behind Viserys, and he gave Rhaenyra a small smile as she took her seat to Viserys' right. 

 Lord Lyman Beesbury, the aged Master of Coin, was the next to arrive. He bowed his head as he entered the room, although Viserys did not make any signs of acknowledging him. Lord Lyman took his place beside Mellos, adjusting the golden rings on his bony fingers as they continued to sit in uncomfortable silence. 

 The last to arrive was Ser Tyland Lannister. A tall, golden haired man, he wore not the red and gold of his House but a dark blue, although the chain around his neck was heavy gold. "Forgive me, your Grace," he said, as Ser Willis shut the door behind him. "I had not realised we were meeting at such an hour. I was still abed." Lord Jasper Wylde, the curly haired Master of Laws seated to the King's left, chuckled. Viserys waved a hand dismissively at him, and Ser Tyland took his place across from the King, raising an eyebrow at Septon Eustace and his parchment, which was taking up too much space on the table. 

"You have all been summoned here," declared Lord Lyonel, as he took his place between the Septon and Rhaenyra. "For on this morrow the King as received grave news."

"Good Heavens," muttered Lord Lyman. Mellos raised an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem, your Grace?" asked Ser Tyland. 

"I have received a missive from the Princess Rhaenys," Viserys said gruffly. Lord Jasper cocked his head.

"The Sea Snake's wife?" Ser Tyland inquired. Lord Lyonel shook his head.

Viserys sighed. "Her son, Ser Laenor, is dead."

 Rhaenyra felt her heart hammering in her chest.

 Daemon had done it.

 They had done it.

 She was free.

"Oh dear," Lord Lyman said sadly. 

"I - what?" Rhaenyra questioned, wondering to herself how one ought to behave about the demise of their intended. 

Viserys nodded sadly. "A shipwreck, Princess Rhaenys said," he sighed. "The poor boy likely drowned." 

"Heavens," murmured Mellos.

"I do hope Lord Corlys is alright," said Lord Lyman. "It is an awful thing to lose a child, let alone your only son." Viserys nodded. 

"So, this Ser Laenor is the man recently betrothed to the Princess?" Tyland inquired. Viserys nodded glumly.

"Indeed," replied Lord Lyonel. 

"Are we to plan another betrothal tour?" Tyland questioned. "Perhaps a ball?"

"Or a tourney," suggested Lord Jasper. "Women love a knight." Tyland nodded. Rhaenyra pursed her lips.

Lord Lyonel frowned at them. "The boy has just died," he puffed. "The King's own cousin."

"Yes, but the heir of House Velaryon is hardly this Council's priority," shrugged Lord Jasper. "The Princess' marriage, however, is." 

"Ser Laenor is a member of the extended royal family," Lord Lyonel said angrily. "We cannot just ignore his death."  

"I must write to the Princess," Viserys muttered. "Offer my support." Lord Lyonel nodded his agreement. 

"But... what about the Sea Snake?" asked Tyland. "If I recall correctly, the Sea Snake's son was chosen as the Princess' consort amid growing concerns of his alliance with Braavos through the betrothal of his daughter. If such a match is still to go ahead, how can we be sure of his allegiance to the Crown?"

"Who else would he defy us for?" inquired Lord Jasper. "His son is dead. Surely he would not assume his daughter has a greater claim than the King's?" 

"We could, perhaps, tempt Lord Corlys to break the agreement with a... well, a proposal of our own?" suggested Mellos. 

"What do you mean?" Lord Lyonel asked, frowning.

"Well... Lord Corlys has a daughter and the King has two sons," replied Mellos. "Why not heal the wound of the King's rejection by wedding Lady Laena to Prince Aegon?" Lord Jasper nodded his agreement. 

"I do not think now is the right time to be considering such matters," Rhaenyra said icily. She turned the rings around her fingers, not wanting to consider the possibility of Laena supporting the Hightowers, giving them not only Corlys' fortune but Vhagar as well.

"Precisely," huffed Lord Lyonel. "We must-"

"With respect, Princess, I must disagree," said Lord Jasper. "The Lady Laena is presumably to inherit the seat of Driftmark now the Sea Snake lacks a male heir. With the greatest wealth in the Kingdom about to fall into her lap, she is bound to have many suitors until she is officially wed, and we must ensure that our offer is the first the Sea Snake has to consider." 

"Lady Laena was a contender to marry His Grace," sighed Lord Lyman. "She shall be too old for the Prince Aegon." 

"Lord Corlys is unlikely to wait for the boy to mature to marry his daughter," Septon Eustace agreed. "With his son dead, he is likely to want heirs from her." 

"You are saying he would refuse the match of a royal Prince?" scoffed Tyland.

"A royal Prince, yes, but the boy stands to inherit nothing, hardly an advantageous match for the Sea Snake," said Lord Lyman. Tyland glowered at him. "The Velaryons would be better off with Prince Daemon, he is a dragonrider and of an age when he can sire children." 

"Prince Daemon is not from the King's line," argued Lord Jasper. 

"No, but his standing is more or less equal to the Prince Aegon's," said Septon Eustace, "and as Lord Lyman has said, the Prince has already proven himself a dragonrider, while the Kings sons have not." 

"What does it matter?" scoffed Tyland. "The children are to be raised on Driftmark, not the Red Keep, they shall not be claiming dragons."

"With a Targaryen father, they very likely are," retorted Mellos. "Both of the Princess Rhaenys' children claimed dragons."

"Unless Aegon is unable to do so himself," Rhaenyra said smugly. 

"Well, should we not consider an alliance, then?" suggested Lord Jasper. "Ensure the girl is wed to a House that shall be loyal to the Crown?"

"Such as whom?" inquired Mellos.

"I myself have many sons," shrugged Lord Jasper. Tyland rolled his eyes. "Lord Lyman here has grandsons, and Ser Tyland's brother is as of yet unwed."

"The Warden of the West would be an optimal match," sighed Lord Lyman. "Although, would it be wise to give the progeny of the Sea Snake both the fortunes of Driftmark and Casterly Rock?" 

"Forgive me, Lord Lyman, but did you not wish to give her Prince Daemon and his dragon?" puffed Tyland. 

"Prince Daemon, like yourself, Ser, is an unlanded knight," said Lord Lyman. Tyland glared at him. "There is far less a risk that he can aid Lord Corlys in upsetting the succession if the wounds from the Great Council do remain unhealed."

"Prince Daemon declared himself King of the Narrow Sea!" cried Lord Jasper. "He may very well have his sights set upon the Throne."

"Ser Otto presumed as much for years," Tyland said darkly.

"Yes, and look at where his own ambition got him," said Mellos gravely. 

"Let us not forget that it was the Sea Snake who took it upon himself to crown Prince Daemon," said Tyland. "The two could easily conspire for the Throne."

"What are you suggesting, Ser?" asked Lord Lyonel sharply. 

"I - is it really that far fetched to assume that if the Lady Laena were to birth Prince Daemon a son, House Velaryon would stake his claim for the Throne, as Lord Corlys did for Laenor for so many years?" scoffed Tyland.

"Enough of this," groaned Viserys, slapping his hand against the table. All eyes turned to look at him. "My cousin's son is dead! All conversation of balls and games and matches for Rhaenyra - or any of my children - will not resume until I decide it!" Viserys shook his head. He drained his goblet and dropped his letter onto the table. "I will write to the Princess Rhaenys to offer support. We must prepare ourselves to travel to Driftmark for the boy's funeral."

Rhaenyra exhaled shakily. 

She had time, it seemed, and would not be hastily wed off to whatever Lord was next to concern the King.

"Is - is that wise, your Grace?" asked Mellos. "If the storm could kill an experienced sailor like Ser Laenor, are we not better off remaining here?" Lord Jasper nodded his agreement.

"No," Viserys said firmly. "I shall inform Rhaenys of our intentions to join them for the funeral, but I shall request she wait for the storm to pass." Mellos nodded. "That is all for today," Viserys said, rising from his seat. Lord Lyonel nodded and also rose to his feet. 

____________

 The wind was blowing Rhaenyra's hair into her face as they stood at the docks a sennight later, waiting to board the boat to Driftmark. Again, Viserys had insisted that she must travel alongside him to the Velaryons' island, so she had had to say farewell to Syrax once again that morning. Viserys was stood some distance to Rhaenyra's left, grumbling under his breath to Lord Lyonel, while Celia and Darla stood behind Rhaenyra, both equally unenthused about their trip. 

 Alicent was to Rhaenyra's right, her carriage having arrived shortly before the King's. She held her youngest son, Aemond, a babe of a few moons who she had wrapped tightly in blankets of black and red, while Helaena was being held by one of her maids. Aegon, the eldest of Alicent's children, was standing on his own legs, although he held tightly onto the hand of Lady Mina Redwyne as he babbled to himself, shaking his wooden horse excitedly. Lady Mina was a short woman with bright red hair, a cousin of Alicent's from the Reach who had come to King's Landing to serve as one of her ladies-in-waiting after she had wed Viserys. Alicent herself was dressed in red and white, her cloak trimmed with pale white fur, and she was scrunching her nose in disgust in Rhaenyra's direction, muttering softly to her ladies. She was evidently unimpressed by the scent of dragon that clung to Rhaenyra's clothes, but she cared not for it, pretending not to notice as she watched the servants carry their luggage on board. Rhaenyra knew that it was not the smell of Syrax that really bothered her stepmother, but the reminder of the rocks in her children's cradles, none of which were yet to produce a hatchling, while Rhaenyra and Syrax shared a name-day.

 Helaena began crying as she was carried onto the boat, her little face turning red and kicking her legs so much that one of her white shoes fell off. Her maids did not stop to collect it, nor did any of Alicent's ladies look back, so it remained on the dockside as Rhaenyra and her ladies clambered aboard. "Is this to be a long trip?" Darla asked. "I do not do well on the water."

"Nor does anyone here, so it seems," chuckled Rhaenyra. "Father and most of his Council suffer from seasickness, and Alicent skipped breakfast so her stomach does not become too sickly." 

"Father warned us the crossing is not an easy one," sighed Celia, shaking her head glumly. Like her father, she wore a cloak of grey-blue over her cobalt dress. Her dark brown hair was tied up at the back of her head, and gemstones the same shade of green as her eyes hung from her ears, encased in silver. Darla, meanwhile, wore a velvet cloak of navy, more akin to how her brother Ser Harwin would dress, with her chestnut hair tied into two braids, and her only jewellery being a simple golden chain around her neck. Her dress was mostly a pale green, although she wore a red sash around her middle, both colours of House Strong's sigil. 

"I have never been to a funeral before," she whispered, as Rhaenyra followed Aegon and Lady Mina to the upper deck. "Do you suppose we shall see Ser Laenor's heart?"

"What?" scoffed Celia.

"That is what the Silent Sisters do, is it not?" shrugged Darla. "They put your innards in little vases."

"Well, the Velaryons do not hold funerals like the Seven," Rhaenyra said thoughtfully. "Nor do they burn their dead like we Targaryens, so I do not know what we should expect." 

"How do you suppose they do it in the North?" Celia wondered. "They still keep the Old Gods up there."

"The Starks keep their dead in a crypts," Darla said thoughtfully, "so I do not imagine they remove the organs as the Seven do."

"Why do the Silent Sisters remove the organs at all?" Rhaenyra asked. "Does it not sound undignified to be cut up as such?"

"Sometimes they replace them with herbs and salt," Darla replied. "Sometimes it can take weeks for funerals to be held, and the bodies can start to smell rather foul." Celia nodded her agreement.

"Our Uncle Lyle died in the Dornish Marches, and only his bones were ever brought back to Harrenhal," she said. "They stripped him of his flesh so he did not rot on the journey home." Rhaenyra grimaced. 

"When Targaryens die, what do you do with the ashes?" inquired Darla. 

"It depends," Rhaenyra shrugged. "There is a... well, a crypt of sorts on Dragonstone, but there are no caskets there, only ashes. That is where they interred my mother, and both the Old King and Good Queen. But Princess Rhaena - the Old King's sister - threw her daughter's ashes to the skies when she died, and her own ashes were interred at Harrenhal." Celia raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Where?" 

"I could not say," Rhaenyra sighed. "I have never been myself. I do not know if even my father knows, Daemon said the Good Queen did not speak of her sister oft." 

"Ser Laenor was a dragonrider, was he not?" Darla asked, as a serving girl in red offered them cups of tea, which they readily accepted as the wild blew harshly once more. "Why would he not be burned like the Targaryens?"

"He is a Velaryon," Rhaenyra replied.

"And the heir of House Velaryon," added Celia. "His father will want him remembered as such." She hummed thoughtfully. "What Gods do the Velaryons keep? The Seven?"

"The Merling King," Rhaenyra told her. The Strong sisters frowned, confused. "He is a God of the Narrow Sea, mostly worshipped by sailors, and the First Men." 

"Merling?" quizzed Darla. "Is he like a merman?"

"I would assume so," Rhaenyra replied. Celia continued to frown as she sipped her tea.

  Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond were all shrieking and wailing when the boat docked at the Great Harbour of Driftmark, the Velaryon fleet taking up High Tide's own docks. Lady Mina seemed to panic, looking around for help from Alicent or the maids as Aegon continued to shout, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Alicent had given Aemond to another of the maids, shaking her head as the women tried to soothe him, his bottom lip quivering as the woman smoothed his back. 

  Rhaenyra could still hear Aemond's crying as she followed Viserys into their carriage, Alicent and her children riding behind them with her ladies. Rhaenyra stared out of the windows as they rode past the beach, where the fishermen were dragging nets of silver fish onto the shore. "I cannot imagine how Rhaenys and Lord Corlys are feeling," Viserys said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them as the horses' hooves clattered against the road.

"No," Rhaenyra said softly. She had been trying not to think of how the Velaryons would be affected by Laenor's sudden disappearance and supposed death, knowing how much it had hurt her when she lost her mother. She had not seen Daemon since their night together on Driftmark, so she had had no one to discuss this with, having to force the thought to the back of her mind. 

 Now, she had no choice but to confront them as they neared High Tide, knowing that she would soon be surrounded by mourners, all coming to pay respects to her fallen cousin. 

 Rhaenyra wondered if Laenor had known how many people would be devastated, how many people had cared about him. 

 She wondered if she should have thought about it beforehand, but now it was too late. He was already gone. 

 And they were both free, in their own ways. 

 "I have no doubt that Rhaenys worried for his safety every day fighting in that war of Corlys'," Viserys muttered. "She must have been so relieved for him to have come home, just to lose him a year later." Rhaenyra hummed her agreement. "Your mother was always broken after her failed pregnancies, of course," Viserys sighed, wiping his brow with a pale blue cloth, "but I cannot help but assume it must be even worse after raising that child for twenty years." Viserys shook his head. "Poor boy, so young." 

"He was two and twenty," Rhaenyra murmured. Viserys nodded glumly. 

"And their only son," he sighed. "I cannot imagine the pain of losing our Aegon." Rhaenyra bit her tongue, fighting back the urge to remind him that he had already lost a son, her brother Baelon. "No," Viserys mumbled, shaking his head again. "I would not wish to imagine it." 

"How do you suppose the Good Queen coped, having lost so many children?" Rhaenyra asked, steering the conversation away from Laenor or Alicent's children. 

"I think it broke her every time," Viserys replied. "She was four and twenty when she lost her first daughter, Daenaerys, and the poor girl was only seven. You remind me of the stories of her a lot, she too was considered the Darling of the Realm." Rhaenyra forced a smile. "Poor, poor child. Then, my poor grandmother lost two more babes in the cradle, three daughters within five years, and her eldest son just five years later." Viserys shook his head. "Maegelle died shortly before you were born, and her youngest, Gael, died a few years after, we all thought she had grown sick but later it was revealed the poor girl had drowned herself. She was only nine and ten, as you are now." Viserys wiped his brow with his cloth again. "Dreadful stuff. It is no wonder Old Jaehaerys was as stern as he was, having lost so much." 

 Rhaenyra stared out of the window as the boats bobbed on the sea. She tilted her head as she tried to work out the flapping banners, when she heard a screech overhead. Curiously, she looked up to see the Blood Wyrm soaring over the water, his tail dragging through the waves. He was followed by the great bronzeish form of Vhagar, the mighty mount of Visenya letting out a roar of displeasure as he splashed her underbelly. 

 "What was Vhagar like when you were a boy?" Rhaenyra asked, turning to her father, who had not seemed to notice the dragons. "Was she much smaller?"

"Not massively," Viserys replied with a sad smile. "Although, I was rather small back then too." He chuckled to himself. "No, she was a rather impressive mount even in Baelon's time, but she did not quite rival Balerion as she does now."

"It is not a competition, you know," Rhaenyra told him. Viserys chortled. 

"No, no," he muttered. "And your Syrax is growing big now. Yes." Viserys folded his cloth over his hand and dabbed his brow once more. "Alicent does hope that Aemond's egg shall hatch before long, he is very attached to it, she says." Rhaenyra did not reply. She glanced out of the window again, watching as Vhagar landed on the beach in the distance. "I hate this time of year," Viserys said. "It is always so damp. Do you know, we are still yet to receive anything from the Citadel. I fear Spring is still a distance from us."

"Oh dear," Rhaenyra murmured. "Syrax is not one for the cold either."

"No," Viserys sighed. "Dragons never are."

  Once they arrived at High Tide, they were ushered upstairs to where their rooms had been prepared. Rhaenyra's bedchamber was as it had been on her last stay; spacious, well-kept, and mostly furnished in various shades of blue. A jug of pale wine was left for her on the wooden table, which she poured into a golden goblet as two servants hauled in her luggage. She nodded to them as they left her rooms, sipping her wine as she crossed the room to the window. It overlooked the beach, where she could see a legion of fishing boats in the distance, some so far away that they were no bigger than the gulls. There were small crowds of people on the beach, mostly men who were disembarking their ships, but there was one person who caught Rhaenyra's eye. 

 Daemon was here. 

 He was stood by the caves in riding leathers of black and silver, more ornate than the pair he had worn when she had seen him last. His silver hair had been brushed backwards, not unlike it had been in the gardens when he had first returned to court, and stray strands were blowing in the wind. 

 Daemon was, of course, joined by the Blood Wyrm. Caraxes knocked his snout into Daemon's leg until he got his attention enough that Daemon began to pat his neck. Caraxes whistled contentedly, and soon left Daemon to dive into the sea. 

 The Blood Wyrm and his rider were not alone, however. A short distance behind them lay Vhagar, her great tail slithering in the sand as she attempted to bat the water away from her. Laena was also nearby, laughing as Daemon offered her his hand so that she could more easily dismount from the awkward position Vhagar had landed in. Daemon smiled as she jumped down, leaning on him slightly. She said something, her eyes still on her dragon, and Daemon laughed gleefully, throwing his head back. He released his hold on her as Caraxes huffed, smoke rising from his nostrils. Lifting her pale blue skirts, Laena hurried through the waves, laughing to herself as Caraxes stared at her. Daemon watched her leave for a moment, still shaking his head, before he turned around. Although Laena was striding towards the castle, Daemon remained on the beach, as if admiring the skyline. Rhaenyra watched him for a moment, and when it became apparent he would not move, she slipped out of her bedchamber to pad towards the staircase. 

 She met Laena in the courtyard, her hair windswept and her face dampened with sweat. Her skirts were destroyed by a mixture of wet sand and saltwater, although she was still grinning to herself. "Hello, cousin," Rhaenyra greeted softly. Laena smiled at her, taking one of Rhaenyra's hands in her own. As Rhaenyra glanced at her, she could tell by the bleary look in her eyes that she was drunk, the dark red wine staining her lips. 

"You are here," Laena beamed. "Father will be pleased." Rhaenyra only hummed. 

"Have you tried to go swimming in your clothes, cousin?" she asked. Laena snorted.

"Oh, no," she chuckled. "Daemon and I went flying, but the tides are too close for Vhagar to land anywhere that will not soak one of us. It is nothing to fear, only a bit of water." Rhaenyra tried to brush her hair back behind her ear as the wind blew, while Laena's flapped freely. "It is nothing worse than how we looked last night, certainly," she laughed. "My dress was ruined, Mother will be vexed with me when she finds out." 

Rhaenyra swallowed. She was sure that Laena was not implying what it sounded like. Mostly. Rhaenyra could not help but have her doubts. Had Daemon taken her on the beach, as he had her, unable to keep his appetites to himself until Laenor's funeral passed? Had Laena's clothes been hurriedly discarded upon the sand as her own had been, easily forgotten in a moment of bliss? It should be hard to imagine, that he would betray her so soon. 

 But she had seen them together. 

 Rhaenyra shook her head. 

 If Laena noticed the tension in her, she did not mention it as she hurried back towards the castle, struggling to run in a straight line. Rhaenyra feared that she would fall when advancing the stairs, but she could not bring herself to turn back and help, surely she had plenty of servants for that.

 Instead, Rhaenyra progressed towards the beach, hands clasped in front of her as the roaring waves filled her ears and she was assaulted by sand spiralling in the wind, scratching her face and blurring her vision. Nevertheless, the figure ahead of her was clear. 

 Caraxes whistled as Rhaenyra approached. Daemon spun around, smirking as he saw Rhaenyra walking towards him. "How was your flight?" she asked, her voice dripping with contempt. Daemon frowned. 

"Fine," he muttered. "Is there a problem? Do you not want me here?" 

"Should there be a problem?" Rhaenyra questioned. She felt as if bile was filling her mouth, as she had on that dreadful night in that brothel, all alone while he left her for another. Had that been his intentions all along, to wed Laena now that she would be the heir to the richest House in the Kingdom? Her stomach churned at the thought. 

 Evidently, her uneasiness was plastered on her face, as Daemon cocked his head, one hand reaching for her arm. She batted him away.

"Did you have a nice night here?" she asked him. Daemon's frown deepened. 

"My cousin is grieving the death of her only son," he said bitterly. "Nice is far from the word I would use."

"So you needed a distraction, did you?" She could only wonder how jealous she sounded, but she had seen them together, how comfortably they were, how gleeful he was. Was Laena his prize all along?

No. 

Surely not, they were dragons, and dragons were intended to burn together, like his parents, like the Conqueror and his sisters. 

"Did you fuck her?" Rhaenyra demanded. 

"What?" 

"Did you fuck her here on the beach? In those caves? Or did you fly further afield so not to get caught by Lord Corlys?"

"Who are you talking about?" Daemon puzzled. He reached for her again, but Rhaenyra slapped his hand away.

"Or did you have her in her rooms?" she continued. "I am sure she needed someone to wipe the tears from her eyes."

"Rhaenyra, what are you talking about?" Daemon huffed.

"I am not one willing to be toyed with," Rhaenyra snapped. "Not even by you. I could have a great many number of men if I so chose it. I - I could have Harwin Strong. Yes, he proved especially comforting after you left me in King’s Landing last time, I am sure he would be willing for a repeat performance."

"If you have an accusation to make, do so plainly," Daemon bit out harshly. 

"Do not play the fool!" Rhaenyra cried. Daemon cocked his head. "Laena Velaryon." Rhaenyra crossed her arms over her chest. "My cousin, whom you suddenly seem so fucking close with."

"We fly together is all," Daemon shrugged. 

Rhaenyra scoffed. "And I am supposed to believe that?"

"Yes. I have done naught more with her than talk, nor would I want to," Daemon said, his eyes searching her face as if trying to stare into her soul. "She is comely, yes, but she is not Targaryen, there is far too much Velaryon in her, none of the same fire."

Rhaenyra pointed a finger at his chest, "if you fucked her -"

"Harwin Strong?" Daemon quizzed, interrupting her. "The Hand’s son?"

"Yes," Rhaenyra replied. She swallowed. "What of it?"

"He found you again that night, did he?"

"Yes, when you left me there I found myself rather lost," Rhaenyra muttered. "Ser Harwin helped me find my way back to the Keep… amongst other things."

"Gods above, you have inherited your father’s abysmal taste so it seems," Daemon drawled, shaking his head. "You know, my father was also once the Hand." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. Rhaenyra chuckled. "To a different King, certainly, but I would wager it was the same badge." 

"Oh really?" Rhaenyra inquired, leaning closer to him. 

Daemon chuckled. "You are a funny one, Princess. Have you quite finished with your accusations?" Rhaenyra only nodded, twirling one of the rings on her finger like a scolded child. Daemon smirked again. "Good, for it has been far too long since I have seen you, and that coat is rather uninspired."

"Oh, is it?"

"Entirely, I would much rather see you without it," Daemon replied. "Now, you mention the caves. Would you happen to have any experience with such a thing?"

"Have I - of course not," Rhaenyra spluttered.

"Would you like to?" 

Rhaenyra's heart was drumming in her chest, anxiety now filling her for entirely different reasons as Daemon took her hand and led towards the unoccupied caves that Vhagar had grown too large for. 

 She swallowed, feeling the wind hiss around her ears as Daemon smoothed his warm hand down her neck, his eyes focused on her lips. If it was not so cold, his gaze would be enough to make her shiver alone. She reached for him, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed her. He tasted of cooked meats and odd spices, of bitter strongwine and tart jams. It was a contrast to the smell of dragon and rainwater that clung to his riding leathers, but Rhaenyra was not to complain as his lips ventured down to her jaw, peppering kisses to her skin and along the column of her throat. 

 Her coat was the first to be discarded, thrown atop some rocks nearby. His leathers and undershirt came next, bearing each of his scars to her, some more healed than others, all more ghastly in the daylight than they had been at dusk. Without thinking, Rhaenyra pressed her lips to the burn on his neck, kissing her way down to his nipple. Daemon chuckled, his hand smoothing down her back and towards her arse and she leaned her forehead against him, feeling his heart thumping against her. 

 "Gods, you are something," Daemon sighed. Rhaenyra smiled. 

 Before long, her dress was undone, and Daemon had attached himself to one of her nipples. She writhed against him, her back rubbing against the cave wall but she had not a care in the world at that moment. Soon, her skirts were lifted and his fingers were teasing against her, coated in her own desire. Her nails scraped across his scalp as he pushed them inside her, his mouth sucking on her collarbone, his cock hard and throbbing against her thigh, still trapped within his underbreeches.

 "Yes, fuck," she gasped, heat pooling in her stomach as Daemon fingers moved, not filling her as well as his cock but hitting all the right places. 

 Her hands met his on his underbreeches, pulling on the strings so he could push them down to his knees. Rhaenyra licked her lips at the sight of him, burning red and eager, although soon she was distracted by his mouth again on hers. 

 Daemon peppered kisses across her shoulder as she was pushed onto the heap of clothes, one of his hands on her waist and the other on his own cock. She tilted her head, watching as little gasps escaped through his kiss-swollen lips as he touched himself. She chuckled to herself as she ran a finger down the underside of him, stopping at his balls. Daemon huffed, staring at her with wide eyes. Rhaenyra smirked. "Yes?" he asked, as he positioned himself at her centre. Rhaenyra nodded eagerly, spreading her legs so he could slip between them. His fingers were on her again, working themselves in and out of her as she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding herself to him. 

 Her eyes never left his as he entered her, and he never stopped until his cock was pushed in to the hilt. 

 They gasped in unison, his hot breath against her neck, hers against his chest. 

 "You - yes," Rhaenyra moaned. 

Daemon grinned at her. "It is I, yes," he whispered. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. Daemon tapped her nose, changing the angle of his hips so he could better slide into her, then immediately drawing away. Rhaenyra whined, pulling on his hair. Daemon sniggered. "So needy." 

"What else do you think I keep you around for?" Rhaenyra murmured. 

Daemon laughed, "oh, is that how it is going to be?"

"Mayhaps," Rhaenyra smirked. Daemon shook his head, proving his displeasure with a particularly hard thrust. Rhaenyra groaned, her eyes slamming shut, and soon his lips were on hers again, swallowing down her moans as he offered her his own, his tongue replicating the rhythm of his cock. 

 After days of need, it was not long until she found her pleasure with him, shaking slightly as she clung to him, her nails certainly marking his back as her peak took control of her. Daemon kept his hips at a steady pace throughout, although his lips were mapping out her face, from her forehead, down her nose, and to her chin, drawing away only to groan at random intervals. He yelped as her fingers gripped him hard enough to draw blood, and she pressed her mouth to his, humming her apology into his lips. Her legs locked around him, holding him in place, holding him as close to her as two people could be, but it did not last. 

 Daemon muttered his apologies into her throat as he pulled away, taking his cock into his own hand as he was unable to control himself any longer, soon spilling himself onto the rock below. He threw his head backwards, his lips parted as he panted, and Rhaenyra chuckled, drawing her knees up to her chest as she watched him. 

 When he opened his eyes again, he rolled them at her, pouting. 

 Rhaenyra only laughed. 

 "Gods," she exhaled, leaning so her head was on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, pressing her to him for a moment, his lips grazing over her head. 

 "No!" she whined, as Daemon moved to stand up. He shook his head regrettably.

"Come along," he instructed. "We both shall need to clean up before dinner."

"I do not wish to dine with Lord Corlys," Rhaenyra huffed, brushing her hair out of her face.

"Who would? But alas, it is the fate we shall have to resign ourselves to for a few days." 

"You are rather frustrating you know," Rhaenyra grumbled, pushing down her skirts. Daemon only winked, hurriedly putting his clothes back in place. She had much more difficulty than he did, her hair awry and she found herself unable to lace her dress up properly, eventually having to enlist his help. He sniggered as he did so, joking that he was not one of her maids, but he punctuated his efforts with a soft kiss to the back of her neck, before she threw her messy braid back over her shoulder. 

"Just you, Princess," he whispered, leaning his head against hers. "Nobody else."

"No one," Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon smiled. 

 If her face was too flushed and her coat too stained for a typical walk on the beach, her ladies did not say anything as Rhaenyra had them prepare her bath and a new set of clothes once she had returned to her rooms. "I do wish I could have brought Syrax," Rhaenyra sighed, laying back in the warm water. "The caves have more than enough room for her."

"You shall see her before long," Celia said sympathetically. "There is an old cat at Harrenhal, I have not seen her in years." 

"There used to be two, but one died," piped up Darla from within the bedchamber. Celia nodded sadly, offering Rhaenyra a teal washcloth. Rhaenyra scrubbed the sand from her legs as Celia whistled to herself. "I do not know how you can go out in this, Princess," sighed Darla. "It is far too cold for me." 

"In truth, it was much colder than I had expected," Rhaenyra sighed. 

"Did you see the Lady Laena out there?" Darla wondered.

"Yes."

"Did she look... alright?" Celia inquired. "Penny thinks she has been drinking far too much since Ser Laenor's passing, her face is looking blotchy and her eyes too red." Rhaenyra did not really care what Driftmark's handmaidens had to say about her cousin, so she shrugged noncommittally, regretting that she could not let herself sleep in the tub. 

"I do not know how I would react if one of my brothers were to die," Darla said, leaning against the doorframe.

"It would have to depend on which brother," Celia said. "I do not know if I would care all too much if it was Larys."

"No," Darla agreed, "if Larys were to die suddenly, he would probably have deserved it. Although, Harwin might be strong but he is not the brightest, he too could cause his own demise." 

"I would certainly weep for Harwin, though," Celia said. "Or you. Or Father. Larys, I doubt it."

"Has Larys always been so... discomforting?" Rhaenyra wondered.

"Certainly," Darla replied. "He seems to make it his life's mission to make everyone uneasy around him, and yet he wonders why no one trusts him." 

"Whenever I see him, he always seems to be skulking around, as if he is watching me," Rhaenyra said, shaking her head. "I do not like it."

"He was the same, even as a boy," Celia said. "He would sit by the kitchen windows and spy on what the cooks were doing for hours. I suppose, with his clubfoot and all, he had nothing else to do, given he could not train or ride with the other boys." Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"I am glad he is not here," Darla said. "Given he does not know how to converse with someone at a wedding, I cannot imagine how painful his presence would be at a funeral."

"Gods, yes," sighed Celia, shaking her head. "He would make everything worse for the mourners." 

"What does he do with his days?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Nothing, really," Celia replied.

"In truth, we do not know why Father bothered to bring him to court, he is not a knight, nor is he likely to be one, so he cannot join the City Watch like Harwin," said Darla. "He is too noble to be a footman, but not skilled enough to train with arms."

"I suppose Father must have hoped he would learn to integrate himself," Celia shrugged. "But instead, he just sticks out like a sore thumb. I do not think he even wants to be liked, he just wants people to tell him things."

"Why?" 

"So he can feel included, I would imagine," Celia replied. "He has always been a bit removed from everyone else." Rhaenyra shrugged, remembering the way he had loitered in the shrubbery when Daemon had returned to court, not eating or drinking or talking, just watching, his dark eyes sunken into his sullen face, and he had leered at her when he caught her looking. Rhaenyra shook her head.

"I need to dress," she declared. Celia nodded. 

 If Viserys took issue with Daemon's presence at dinner, he did not voice it. The King was seated to Lord Corlys' left, with only Alicent between them, while Daemon sat to his right, between Laena and Vaemond, and across from the King. Viserys seemed to be acting as if his brother was not there, while Rhaenyra was unable to ignore the half-brother that sat beside her, kicking her chair and whining that he was not hungry, until food was brought out and he snatched the bread from Ser Rhogar's plate. Even Alicent, who made excuses for him at the worst of his tantrums, seemed embarrassed by Aegon's behaviour. Ser Rhogar and Ser Malentine had the misfortune of sitting at the end of their side of the table, with the young Prince, while Daemion and Daeron sat across from them, with their father. Vaemond also appeared to be in a foul mood, likely because he had been pushed further down the table by Daemon. He was across from Rhaenyra, and scowling at her eel stew as if it had threatened his firstborn. 

 Princess Rhaenys was absent. Lord Corlys had told them that she was unwell and unable to attend, and Rhaenyra felt her stomach churn at the thought of the emotional torment the poor woman must have been going through. She turned to Laena, who was sipping through her second goblet of palm wine, and wondered if perhaps there had been some truth to what the handmaids had told her ladies. 

 Dinner was a mostly silent affair, other than the occasional outburst from Aegon, demanding cake or other sweets, or just crying for his mother. Eventually, Alicent had his maids collect him before the dessert courses had even begun to leave the kitchens. 

____________

 The morning of Laenor's funeral was dry but grey, the waves so calm that the beach became eerily quiet without the usual roaring. Rhaenyra wore a plain black dress similar to the one she had worn at her mother's funeral, although while the inside of that cloak had been red, this one was grey, as were the cuffs. She wore no jewellery other than two plain gold rings on one finger, and she had tied her hair into a simple braid. She followed Viserys down to the Seat of the Sea, the rocky platform that the Velaryons had built from which they conducted their funeral rites. 

 Despite the sea of mourners, all equally clad in black, few were permitted down to the water's edge, where Laenor's coffin lay, the casket engraved with the image of his face. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys stood in the centre of the platform, the Lord's head bowed as the seagulls cried out overhead. Princess Rhaenys' face was mostly concealed by a dark veil, and she was clutching on tightly to Laena's hand. Rhaenyra stood beside her cousin, Lady Laena now looking hollow and lifeless, as if this were her own funeral. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to reach out for her other hand, offering her a sympathetic smile as Viserys coughed into his elbow beside her. Beside her father stood Alicent and Daemon, both refusing to acknowledge the other. At Princess Rhaenys' request, Alicent's young children had not been brought to the funeral, and Alicent was evidently bitter about it given her pursed lips in the grieving woman's direction. Behind them stood the Kingsguard, Ser Harrold with the King, Ser Lorent with Rhaenyra, and Ser Rickard Thorne beside Alicent, the only one with his visor lowered.

 On Lord Corlys' other side stood his brother, Ser Vaemond, and his sons, and Lord Boremund Baratheon, the greying Lord of Storm's End, and the Princess Rhaenys' uncle. Given he was the half-brother of Viserys' grandfather, he was also the King's grand-uncle, but he had never cared for the Targaryen line as he had Jocelyn's. Rhaenyra could not truly blame him, given her distaste for her own half-siblings.

 As the four Velaryon knights began to pull on the ropes, leading the casket towards the edge, Rhaenyra could not help but wonder what it was that lay inside. Without a body, were they simply burying the image of Laenor, or had they crafted such an intricate casket for the severed hand alone? 

 Rhaenyra banished such a thought as Ser Maldon Velaryon, Lord Corlys' cousin, began to speak, his Valyrian slow and not quite clear, but Rhaenyra could make out most of what he was trying to say. "And it is here," he declared, holding his arms out, "upon the seat of our ancestors, that we commit Ser Laenor of Houses Velaryon and Targaryen to the eternal waters of the dominion of the Merling King." Ser Maldon swallowed, his eyes drawn to one of the torches that burned on either side of him. "He shall guard our beloved Laenor from this day and for all the days that shall come." 

 Tears streamed down Laena's face as he spoke, and even through the veil Rhaenyra could see that Rhaenys was teary-eyed. Laena sniffed as she glanced at the casket, and Rhaenyra felt as though her insides had shrivelled up.

 Laenor had wanted this, Rhaenyra reminded herself. He knew what he was doing. 

 The words seemed empty to her as teardrops leaked from Daeron's eyes and ran down his nose, and even grumpy Ser Vaemond bowed his head solemnly. 

 "While he sets to sea for this, his final voyage," continued Ser Maldon. "Ser Laenor leaves upon the shore his parents and dear sister, who are not to forget the man that he was, even though his days shall not be spent among this mortal coil." 

 Rhaenyra glanced at Daemon, who, like most, was standing with his head bowed. She wondered what he was thinking, if it was eating away at him too, or if he was apathetic to the scene around him. 

"Though Ser Laenor shall not return from this, his last voyage, we shall hope that he is as successful in this one as he was in his many others. For we Velaryons are of the sea, salt courses through our blood and we turn only with the tides. Our words have long been 'the Old, the True, the Brave' and while Ser Laenor was certainly the truest of men and the bravest of knights, it is forever a loss that he never got to achieve them all." Ser Maldon bowed his head as one of the knights threw salt over the casket, the others pulling on the ropes to move it closer to the ledge. "Dear, young cousin," Ser Maldon sighed. "I hope the Merling King finds you in good graces, and you find strong winds and calm seas, to heal your spirit and fill your nets with all that you could desire. We are an old people, one who once bore no name and name from a land vanquished by the Doom, but it is in the sea that we found our refuge, by the grace of the Merling King. It is from the sea that we came, and to the sea we shall return." Ser Maldon turned to watch as Laenor's casket was dropped, falling beneath the water's surface and sinking to the depths below. 

 Laena wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak, her eyes glancing to her mother, who was shaking slightly. Lord Corlys looked no better, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes pink, as though he had not slept in a week. Rhaenyra turned again to Daemon, who flashed her a smirk when he caught her looking before bowing his head again. Rhaenyra shook her head and turned away. 

 A pair of large tents had been set up in the courtyard to cover the guests as they ate cheeses and drank wines after the funeral. Viserys was seated in the corner, guarded by three of his kingsguards - Ser Harrold, Ser Willis and Ser Tommen Costayne - and Rhaenyra sat beside him, a golden cup in her hand although she had little interest in the amber wine she had been offered. Princess Rhaenys and Laena were sat in front of them, neither of them saying anything as they heard Meleys roar from the caves below. As Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder, she saw Daemon leaning against the wall behind her, his eyes on the greenish sea. Alicent was at the other end of the courtyard, ahead of the steps to the Entrance Hall, holding Helaena's hand as she followed a spider across each of the paving stones. Rhaenyra could hear Aegon giggling nearby, but she did not care enough to look for him. 

 The children did not play for long before their maids took them back inside again, and Alicent joined them in the tent. "How is the wine?" she asked. 

"Uh... fine," Rhaenyra replied. Alicent nodded and poured herself a goblet from the jug on Viserys' table. 

"We are so sorry for your loss, Princess," Alicent muttered as she took her seat. Viserys nodded his agreement. 

"Of course," Princess Rhaenys murmured. Laena forced a smile, but it did not last for very long. 

"It is such a shame, really," Viserys sighed. "We should be planning the wedding, not all here like this." Princess Rhaenys stared at him, pursing her lips. Alicent shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Viserys, oblivious to the tension he had caused, dabbed his brow with a grey cloth. "I saw Meleys this morn, she is looking mighty big."

"Indeed," Princess Rhaenys sniffed. "Although, I fear she is missing Seasmoke. He left shortly after Laenor passed, and I have not the foggiest where he went."

"No?"

"There is a missing dragon?" Alicent inquired sharply. "How does that happen?"

"Do not worry yourself," Viserys shrugged. "Vhagar left us when my father died. Without a rider, dragons oft keep to themselves."

"Yes, but they have to nest somewhere," Rhaenys huffed. "He is not in the caves nor the Dragonmont."

"Vhagar was not for years," Viserys replied. "I am sure Seasmoke will find somewhere to keep warm." 

"Is that not a danger to people?" Alicent asked. 

"No, not unless he is provoked," Viserys told her. 

"I think the dragon should be found and chained up," Alicent puffed.

"Good luck with that, your Grace," Laena said icily. "Although, I would imagine any dragon would see that as provocation." The colour in Alicent's face drained. 

"Then what are we to do?"

"Leave it alone, Alicent," Viserys said sternly. "The dragon shall be found when he is ready for a new rider. It is out of our control." Princess Rhaenys nodded her agreement. Alicent did not look reassured. 

  Viserys was one of the first to retire, and Rhaenyra was at his heels, eager to change out of her funeral attire and remove herself from the doleful scene. She could feel Daemon's eyes on her as she left, and felt a chill run down her neck as Ser Criston glowered at her.

____________

  Daemon found something inherently uncomfortable about funerals. Mayhaps it was because he had been to so many in his youth, his mother dying when he was so young and many of his other relatives dying before he came of age. The smell of his father's rotting flesh still haunted him, as it was he who had to walk Jaehaerys to the pyre, the man insisting that it must be he and not Vhagar who lit it. They did not allow the Andals to touch their dead in those days, nor wrap them, so Daemon stood and watched as his father's body melted to tar, his unseeing eyes staring into his soul. 

 There was also something unsettling in seeing Rhaenys cry. Mayhaps it was because she had done so very rarely in their youth, his older cousin holding her head unwaveringly high even when her lip was split by a wooden sword, or perhaps it was because as she aged she looked far too similar to Alysanne, especially clad in such attire, and Daemon needed no further reminders of his mother's funeral, nor Rhaenys' own father's. 

 Or maybe, a small voice in his head told him, it was because he was the one causing her that pain. 

 Daemon vanquished that voice, gulping down the contents of his goblet - some shitty palm wine from Pentos - and left it upon the wall. He had had quite enough of the drunken seafarers he had hoped to have left behind in the Stepstones, and the weeping Velaryons, many of whom Daemon could not name. He glanced over the wall at the beach one last time, watching as Caraxes coiled around himself, sunbathing in the few rays that burst through the clouds. Daemon scoffed. His mount did not look like a mighty war beast at present, although he supposed every soldier deserved their rest. 

 Daemon forced a smile and nodded as he felt Vaemond's wife staring at him as he walked towards the Entrance Hall. Rhaenys was still sitting alone, nursing a goblet of strongwine, while Corlys was stood amongst his cousins, his head bowed and his hands shaking as he raised a piece of cheese to his lips, Laena resting her head on his shoulder beside him. He kept his eyes down as he passed them, not that Corlys bothered to look in his direction.

 He did not truly know where he was going. His rooms, he supposed, although he was not quite ready to retire. He hoped he would find a servant on route, have some proper food prepared, none of the fish that Corlys was forcing down his gullet, but the halls seemed deserted as he padded through the castle. He turned right at the large wedding portrait, his eyes flickering over the stern look on Rhaenys' face, not one for sitting and posing. He wondered how elaborate the one Corlys had intended for Laenor would have been. It did not matter, it would have been a waste of coin anyway. 

 As Daemon padded towards the library, hoping to find one of the servants there lighting the fire, he was stopped by an irritable voice calling after him.

 "You had no right in coming here."

Daemon spun around, his brow creased. He knew that voice. "No right?" he scoffed. "Who are you to decide that?"

"You knew my family would be here!" Viserys declared angrily. His brother looked worse than he had the last time he had seen him, the colour of his face pale and greenish, one of his eyes bloodshot, and his hands shook in his gloves.

"Unless it slipped your notice, Rhaenys is my cousin too, and I know Corlys and Laenor far better than you can claim to," Daemon drawled. "If anything, you ought to have known that I would be here. Laenor and I fought wars together after all, on dragonback, whilst you were sitting at feasts with Ser Hightower between fucking some spares into his daughter."

"Hold your tongue," Viserys snarled. 

"Or what?" Daemon leered. His shadow against the floorboards shifted as he raised himself to his full height, one hand resting on the pommel of Dark Sister. What reason did he have to fear Viserys? The man could strut around like a peacock all he wanted in King's Landing, but his show would get him nowhere amongst real men of battle. "Are you going to set more of your green guards on me? Men who have done nothing but watch you grow stouter while I have been slicing through the Triarchy one head at a time?"

"I am your King!" barked Viserys.

 Of course, Daemon wanted to laugh, for that was all Viserys had, was it not?

"Mayhaps," Daemon shrugged. "But I have seen who you truly are, Viserys, and you are no dragon. Did Balerion burn out the flame in you when he died, or are you truly so pathetic that it was never there at all? Might you have been more use to the Realm locked in the Citadel, like the dragonless?" 

"You are truly a bastard of a man," Viserys spat. "You insult our father with every word you speak."

Daemon laughed. "That is rich indeed, coming from you of all people," he drawled. "Were it not an insult to my dear mother, I would have assumed you to be a bastard; it makes no sense for a man declared 'the Brave' to have sired such a spineless son."

"Oh, I am spineless?" scoffed Viserys. "Was it not you who fled the Vale?" 

Daemon laughed again. "The bitch is dead," he said. "What would you rather I have done? Burned them all just to get a plot of land I was going to sell anyway? No. There are other ways for me to fill my pockets without risking an uprising."

"Well, I cannot blame the Arryns for wanting naught to do with you."

"Why would they? I am kin of the man that butchered their cousin, after all."

"Why, you little -"

"What? Did you not tell Mellos to drive that knife into her?" Daemon drawled. "To finally cede your feckless ambition for a son that came to you in a fucking dream? No, you were so relentless in your search for it that you have sullied our father's line with fucking Hightowers."

"Alicent-"

"I mean 'Aegon Targaryen'? Must you insult our brother, the babe our mother died for, in such a way?" Daemon shook his head. "You know who the Hightowers are just as well as I do, your Grace, as Baelon did, and nothing Otto has convinced you to be true of me or Rhaenys can erase that. You know what they say of us, what they said of our father, of how they feared his rise, like the rest of the fear-mongering, Seven-spouting fools, all sick to their stomachs at the thought of a proper Targaryen King."

"Oh, like you, I presume?" huffed Viserys.

Daemon smirked, "why do you think he cared so much about having me disinherited? It is hardly affection for Rhaenyra, the man tried so hard to sully her in your eyes too."

"At least that is all he did," snapped Viserys. "No amount of talent with a blade can make you an honourable man, and no amount of heads chopped off would make our father proud of you."

Daemon cocked his head. "Tell me, is there honour in destroying your family's hundred year dynasty to fuck Otto's daughter? In sitting on your fat arse while your own men are butchered, their daughters raped and enslaved?"

"I have already congratulated you and Lord Corlys on your victories, I shall not do so again."

"You miss the point, your Grace, although I should not be surprised, whatever it is you did inherit from Baelon was certainly not his mind."

"If Baelon was still breathing he would have smacked that smirk off you long ago," Viserys snapped. 

"If Baelon was still breathing, he would have sent Otto Hightower from court with his tail between his legs and his good name would never have to stomach the embarrassments you and your Andals have created. If you think he would be proud of you simply because you wear the Crown, you are mistaken, if anything he - like the rest of our ancestors - would be cursing the Gods for not making you the thirdborn son."

"You fucking -"

"Baelon burnt the Myrish for his brother," Daemon said pointedly "Aemon was already dead, but still he would not see him unavenged. You, on the other hand, turn your vipers in the direction of your own kin, punishing Rhaenys and I for popularity and the words of your lickspittles, so that you may better hide your own incompetence. You are not here to mourn the boy, are you, for you did not know him, you only wish to mourn the idea that he could fuck some political stability into your daughter before -"

 Suddenly, Viserys lunged for him, reaching for his throat, one hand on the dagger at his waist.

 Daemon laughed, effortlessly knocking the King to the floor, pressing his boot to the older man's chest. 

"When I stood at that Council upon Father's death, I was ready to burn the Kingdom down from both ends to win you that Throne, no matter what it cost me, for that was the legacy our - my - father deserved," Daemon puffed. "I might as well have spat on his grave for all the good you have done since donning that crown." 

"You care not for him," Viserys growled. "You never have. You care not for no one. You care only for yourself."

"Forget Baelon then, what of Alyssa? For I think you know as well as I that she would be sick to her stomach seeing the woman you have married," Daemon puffed. "Again, you know what women like that say about us, our heritage, our customs, our tongue, and yet you allow them to call us abominations so long as they smile at you when you feed them." Daemon shook his head. "And, honestly, how do you think Alyssa would take to your treatment of her favourite son?" Daemon turned on his heel, laughing to himself as he walked down the corridor, no longer in search of his rooms and instead in search of the kitchens. 

 On the floor, Viserys groaned, rubbing his chest with his good hand. 

____________

  Rhaenyra did not see Daemon again for nearly another fortnight. Her routine had remained the same since returning to King's Landing, and while her father held court she would take Syrax to the skies. Sometimes, she would fly to Dragonstone and just sit beyond the Dragonmont, hoping that Caraxes would soon appear. Sometimes, she could convince Syrax to fly further afield, to Driftmark, but there was no sign of Caraxes in those caves either. She was beginning to give up hope, fearing that something had happened to her uncle that she had not heard of.

 Until, on a pleasant morn, she heard the familiar screech of the Blood Wyrm flying over the castle. Syrax chirped happily in response, shaking her yellow head as Caraxes soared towards them. Rhaenyra frowned as she dismounted. The Blood Wyrm's rider was not with him. He let out a shrill whistle, and Syrax chirped again, her green eyes flickering from Caraxes to Rhaenyra. "Where is Daemon?" she asked, as if expecting Caraxes to tell her. Caraxes whistled again, shaking his head, before he and Syrax set off over the volcano and into the skies. Rhaenyra sighed, removing her gloves and tucking them into her pocket as she marched down the grassy hillside. If Caraxes was here, she could not imagine Daemon was too far away. 

 By the time she reached the castle, sweat was running down her face as the sun burned overhead. Syrax and Caraxes were still circling the island, every so often one of them letting out a satisfied chirp, while Rhaenyra brushed her hair out of her face. She walked towards the steps to the entrance, when she heard a whistle behind her. Curiously, she spun around. 

 Daemon was marching towards her, his tunic thrown over his shoulder. His hair was soaked, some plastered to his forehead, and his bare chest was gleaming in the sunlight. His breeches were rolled up to his knees, also damp, and he was carrying his boots. "Why hello," he greeted, smirking as she rushed towards him.

"You are here," she said, smiling. Daemon nodded. "I - where have you been? I have been coming here every day in hopes of seeing you."

"Ah," Daemon said awkwardly. "I had to return to the Stepstones, burn some Lyseni pirates now Laenor cannot." He shrugged. "It is no great effort for Caraxes and I, although I see he has already replaced me." Daemon glanced up at where the dragons were flapping around the Dragonmont. Rhaenyra grinned.

"How truly horrible for you," she said drily. "Why are you all wet?"

"I went swimming," Daemon shrugged. "When not giving my coin to the alehouses or other establishments at the docks, there is little to do around here." Rhaenyra frowned at him. "What, do you have some means of entertaining yourself?" Daemon inquired gruffly. Rhaenyra smiled. "Anyway, come along, I need to change out of this, and I believe I am yet to show you my rooms."

"Why ever would I need to see those?" Rhaenyra asked innocently, cocking her head at him. Daemon laughed and offered her his hand. She supposed she could have reminded him that as it was her castle, all of its rooms were hers, but as he beamed as she took his hand in his, all objections melted away, allowing herself to be pulled towards the castle.

Chapter Text

116 - Spring

 Pale pink blossoms and ripe berries spread across the gardens. A gentle breeze blew through her hair, rising towards the puffy white clouds that swayed in the blue sky. The warmth of the sun was not enough to burn, but its golden rays banished the last remaining drops of dew and warmed the green ground. The leaves of the shrubbery whistled as they danced in the wind, and fallen petals cascaded to the floor from the scarlet tulips and bright purple hyacinths that stood out amongst the greenery. She could hear the bleating of sheep and their lambs in the distance, and occasionally the thumping of their hooves. The birdsong was not that of the shrieking gulls that roamed the beach, but melodic and jovial, welcoming as Rhaenyra sat upon the bench.

 On Dragonstone, this was always the best time of year, Daemon had told her. 

 As they walked around Aegon's Garden, he picked wild berries, offering her what was edible, before she found a spot to sit. Not for the first time that week, they had brought their luncheon with them, plates of cold meats and breads and cheeses, basking in the warmth of the blossoming spring. 

"I hope it is always like this," Rhaenyra sighed, sipping her amber wine. 

"I doubt it," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra frowned. "Life is never this harmonious. The Old King's marriage was tumultuous at best, and yet the singers still sing of their love, and the poets still write his praises."

"Well, I do hope you have no intention to send my daughters off to freeze in the North," Rhaenyra said. Daemon chuckled, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. "But that is still your intention, then? To marry me?" Daemon cocked his head curiously at her. "It has been moons, Daemon, and you have not said a word about it."

"When you were intended for the son of the Sea Snake,  a few moons is not enough," Daemon said gruffly. "Do you not recall how important it was that Viserys wait six before he remarried?"

"I was not married to Laenor," Rhaenyra huffed. 

"To Corlys' pride, you might as well have been," Daemon shrugged, "and we do not want to turn the Sea Snake against us."

"I thought you were friends?" 

"Have you not met Corlys?" Daemon scoffed. "He tried to wed his twelve year old to the grieving King, nothing is more important to him than the amount of history books his can spread his name across." Rhaenyra shook her head. "How fares King's Landing?" 

"It is the same as it always is," Rhaenyra sighed. "Alicent and her children remain insufferable, court continues to plot and whisper, and the Councilmen treat me like a child." 

"What do you suppose the court is plotting, then?"

"Something about my marriage, I would imagine," Rhaenyra replied stiffly. Daemon smiled sympathetically, tapping her shoulder as he leaned over to take a piece of ham from her plate. She scowled at him. "Do you truly think Father shall agree to this?"

"Mayhaps," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra sighed. "A sensible man would see the benefit to making myself, my name, and my children your assets, as opposed to whatever potential threat Viserys sees me as being. Alas, Viserys has never been very good at using his blood as allies, I think the wounds of the Great Council cut him deeper than he is willing to admit. Corlys and I were about to kill each other after all." 

"On his behalf," Rhaenyra sniffed.

"Yes, well, if his cousin can turn against him, it was clearly not hard for Hightower to convince him a brother would too," Daemon said bitterly. 

"But - but what if he says no?"

"Since when does Viserys have his own opinions?" scoffed Daemon. "I shall take it to the Council. Lord Strong does not like me, but he at least values the stability of the Kingdom, and our House. I am the only man alive who could give your children the Targaryen name, and very few Lords worth marrying with are going to be willing to allow their son's heirs to take their mother's, if any. Laenor having the Velaryon name counted against Rhaenys, we need to ensure the same thing does not happen to your heirs." Rhaenyra nodded. "Besides, if they are concerned about my loyalties, and that of my dragon, then they can be assured I would never turn against my own son." 

"And if we have a daughter?" Rhaenyra teased.

"For the sake of stability, we ought to hope for a son first," Daemon shrugged. "One woman can be tolerated, two will not be." 

Rhaenyra scowled. "What are you trying to say?"

"Rhaena was refused by her own mother. She was the firstborn child, and her own daughters heirs of Aegon the Uncrowned, but still they crowned Jaehaerys, the thirdborn son, a child, unwed and without heirs of his own. Your father may profess your firstborn to be your successor, but the men of the Realm will take much more favourably to it if you are to be followed by a man." 

"And what if I do not care what they consider favourable?" Rhaenyra snapped.

"Then you would be a fool," Daemon said gravely. "Men shall not want to be supplanted by their sisters. They may be convinced that one she-dragon is better than bending the knee to the Hightowers, but they will not welcome much change. Which is why you must choose your consort far more carefully than Viserys suggests, you do not want to marry into a family who will try to supplant our dynasty with their own."  

"And the Velaryons would not?"

"Old age has mellowed Corlys somewhat, it would seem," Daemon laughed. "If he was willing to accept that your child would ascend with the Targaryen name, that is better than naught. Men expect their heirs to carry after themselves, that is typically the order of things."

"When I am Queen, I will create a new order," Rhaenyra declared. 

"Just be aware that some may not thank you for it," Daemon muttered. 

"I do not care for their opinions," Rhaenyra huffed. Daemon cocked an eyebrow. "Any complaints can be delivered to Syrax, she can handle it better than I." Daemon laughed. 

"How fares the Hightower eggs?"

"Still as useless as rocks," Rhaenyra said gleefully. "Alicent has accepted that Aegon's will never hatch, but he refuses to allow her to get rid of it." 

"And the other?" 

"Neither Helaena nor Aemond's seem any closer to hatching."

"There are three of them now?" Daemon quizzed, frowning.

"There have been three of them for some time, Uncle," Rhaenyra laughed. Daemon shrugged, biting into his bread. 

"Does Viserys seem to care?"

"About the eggs?" inquired Rhaenyra. Daemon nodded. "Not really. He said most of them do not hatch."

"Does he expect them to claim other dragons?"

"Probably," Rhaenyra sighed, "although he has not mentioned it." Daemon nodded again. "What - what of a child of our own? Would you not wish to give them an egg?"

"It depends what we care about... or what we want people to think we care about, at least," Daemon replied. "An egg hatching may be seen as a sign from the Gods, but a larger dragon may show strength and power in its own right. If they were to claim Vermithor, for example, then they would be compared to the Conciliator, as if his soul chose them. The courtiers could not get over themselves when Viserys claimed Balerion, they spoke as if he were to be the Conqueror reborn, although he could not get the old thing as far as Dragonstone. If they were to claim an unflown hatchling, however, as my mother did with Meleys, the advantage is very little." 

"I think I would like to give them an egg," Rhaenyra said thoughtfully. "So they may have their own mount, unblemished by history." 

"All of them, or just the first?" Daemon wondered. Rhaenyra frowned.

"What?"

"Jaehaerys only gave his first son, Aemon, an egg," Daemon shrugged. "As he was his heir, most likely, or perhaps he became embarrassed when it did not hatch and did not want to risk the same of Baelon's. Whatever the reason, only one got an egg."

"No," Rhaenyra huffed. "No, I would give them to all my children."

"All? How many do you intend to have?" Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow. Rhaenyra stared down at her plate. The birds cried out from their trees a short distance away, singing a sweet song of springtime, as Syrax chirped over head, following Caraxes towards the dragonmont. 

"I do wonder where Seasmoke went," she said.

"Who knows?" Daemon sighed. "I had expected him to remain in the caves, but mayhaps he is grumpy Laenor left him behind." Rhaenyra nodded, and could not help but wonder if the dragon had gone looking for his rider. She did not voice this to Daemon, for Seasmoke would be sure to give Laenor away, and ruin everything. 

"Where is it he went?" she whispered.

"Essos," Daemon muttered, reverting to their native tongue in case they were overheard. "First to Pentos, but I advised his friend to go further afield. I do not know where they would have decided on, but I can only hope that they shall be smart about it." Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. "You have an awful lot of questions today," Daemon said softly, returning to the Common Tongue. "Are you having regrets?" 

"Me? Not at all," Rhaenyra replied. "Are you?"

"None." Daemon's lilac eyes burned into her face as she swallowed her wine. She nodded, her eyes flickering up to meet his. He did not say anything else, one of his hands cupping her chin as his fingers stroked over her lip.

"Maybe we ought to go inside?" Rhaenyra suggested. 

Daemon cocked an eyebrow. "Why?" 

"I do not know," Rhaenyra whispered, tilting her head to better look at him. She smiled. "I am sure you can figure it out."

Daemon laughed, "and what if I were wanting to have you under the trees?"

Rhaenyra chuckled, rising to her feet. "Then you shall have to wait until we are wed," she retorted, leaving him upon the bench as she marched towards an apple tree. Daemon chortled to himself, picking up a final cube of cheese. 

  Rhaenyra had hardly seen anything as beautiful as the sunset from Daemon's balcony. Wrapped in only one of his gold cloaks, she leaned against the stone wall to stare out at the golden rays that rippled in the blue-green waves of the sea that washed upon the golden sands. The castle sat upon a grassy hill, and the green blades glowed in the sunlight as two red squirrels raced across the dirt-track path that had been carved up towards the dragonmont. Rhaenyra could hear Daemon's footsteps behind her as he crossed the room from the bed to the little table to pour himself a goblet of strongwine. Rhaenyra licked her lips as she watched the fluffy clouds, turned pink by the sun rays, drifted across the light violet sky. 

 "Nothing looks like this in King's Landing," she said wistfully, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. Daemon chuckled somewhere in the room behind her. "Everything is so peaceful here, so perfect..."

"Yes, it is," Daemon whispered. His bare feet padded against the stone flooring as he shuffled behind her, leaning his chin against her shoulder as he, too, stared out at the horizon. He was clad in a pair of pale brown breeches, and he had put the ring on his little finger back into place. 

"It must be gorgeous in the morning," Rhaenyra whispered. Daemon hummed noncommittally, his hand stroking down Rhaenyra's thigh. "I can hardly imagine it." She giggled softly as Daemon's lips grazed against the back of her neck. Then, his warmth was gone, and he trudged back towards the Conqueror's bed. Rhaenyra took a final glance at the setting sun before she followed him, wrapping the cloak tighter around her as the chilly evening wind blew. 

"Do you want something to eat?" Daemon asked, peering grumpily into his empty goblet. Rhaenyra shook her head.

"I ought to be going soon," she sighed, her eyes falling to her discarded leathers on the floor. "Father is insisting I have dinner with him and Alicent." She rolled her eyes. 

"A chilling thought," Daemon said drily. He picked a grey undershirt up from the floor and tugged it over his shoulders, not bothering to lace it up. 

"Truly," Rhaenyra muttered bitterly. Daemon brushed his hair out of his face as Rhaenyra began to redress, buckling up her riding leathers as he studied the stubble on his upper lip in the vanity. 

"I have to go away on the morrow," Daemon told her. Rhaenyra frowned.

"What? Why?"

"Only for a few days," Daemon shrugged. "I have to meet an old friend of mine in Pentos, and then if all goes well I must see another in Volantis."

"No," Rhaenyra groaned. "That is so far away." Daemon chuckled. 

"As I say, it shall not be for long, perhaps a sennight." 

"And you are only telling me now?"

"Would you have rather I ruined our luncheon?" Daemon cocked his head, smirking. Rhaenyra pursed her lips, but said nothing else as she buckled her boots. "I will write to you upon my return, I swear it," Daemon whispered. Rhaenyra nodded. He reached for her, his hand grazing over hers, but she drew away, offering him another short nod before she slipped out of his bedchamber.

  Syrax cried out as they landed outside the Dragon Pit, immediately met by three of the dragonkeepers in brown and red robes, two of them wielding knobbly wooden staffs. An elaborate carriage drawn by four black horses had been sent to collect her, the inside furnished with pale green and scarlet cushions. Rhaenyra peered out of the window as they rode back to the Keep, watching the crowded streets and marketplaces that they passed. 

 She wore a dress of black and red to her father's chambers, her necklace of Valyrian steel around her neck and rings decorated with dragons on each of her fingers. Her stepmother had come in in a gown of rouge with golden thread along the collar and sleeves, with red and gold earrings and a heavy necklace, also made of gold. Viserys had not made half the effort, his silver-gold hair appearing unkempt and windswept, half of his black collar tucked into his tunic, and his gloves were stained with wine. 

  Rhaenyra mostly ate in silence, not interested in hearing Alicent recount her day with her children to Viserys. "And, how was Dragonstone?" Viserys asked, as Alicent finally drew breath. Rhaenyra shrugged. Viserys continued to stare expectantly at her.

"Fine," she replied stiffly. 

"Good." Viserys forced a smile. "Have - have you - have you had much contact with your cousin, the Lady Laena?"

"No." 

"Oh."

"Why?"

"No reason." Viserys forced a chuckle. Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow. "Only, the Council is interested in whether her match with the Braavosi Sea-Lord's son is still to go ahead."

"Right." 

"You do not suppose you could write to her, do you?" Viserys asked uncomfortably. 

"Why do you not write to Princess Rhaenys?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"I... well, I do not think that Lord Corlys would take kindly to my interest," Viserys muttered. 

"And you think they would feel better about mine?" Rhaenyra frowned.

"Well, I - I would not assume that Laena would tell her parents the details of all her correspondences," Viserys said awkwardly. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Fine," she sighed. "I shall write to her." Viserys smiled. 

"You know, Aegon and Helaena's maids are saying they are to visit the gardens every morning, now that the weather is nice," he said. "Perhaps you ought to join them?"

"I shall stick to Dragonstone," Rhaenyra replied. Viserys sighed. 

"I always find a morning stroll to be relaxing," piped up Alicent, "and it balances the humours, they say." Viserys nodded.

"I find flying works just as well," Rhaenyra muttered. Alicent forced a smile.

____________

  Rhaenyra sighed as she sunk into the soapy bathwater. On that morning, the water was infused with drops of lavender oil, and hot enough that her ladies were weary to touch it. "You have a letter, Princess," said Annora, as she strode through Rhaenyra's bedchamber to the washroom.

 Rhaenyra smiled. Over the past sennight, she had begun a rather continuous communication with her cousin, Laena, on Driftmark. She had found that not only was Lord Corlys trying to break Laena's betrothal to the Braavosi heir, but that the man's father had died and he had squandered away all of his riches and influence. Instead, Lord Corlys seemed intent on wedding Laena to one of his Velaryon nephews, although Laena feared he would choose Daemion, the eldest son of his brother, Ser Vaemond, whom Laena found rude and self-important. However, after the loss of her brother, she was not eager to disappoint her parents, so she did not voice her concerns, instead raving to Vhagar about it on their daily flights around the island. When not on Vhagar, one of Laena's other keen interests was perusing the docks and the many foreign tradespeople who came there, who she would detail in her letters. Rhaenyra was always rather intrigued by the well-dressed Lyseni nobles, or the Summer Islanders in their cloaks of feathers.

 "Oh, good," Rhaenyra said, although when she accepted the letter she found it was not from Laena, but from Daemon. 

 Rhaenyra beamed. 

 She had been trying not to think of his absence too much over the past sennight, but it was hard to ignore her concerns over his lack of communication.

 "Tea, Princess?" Primrose offered, holding a cup of citrus tea.

"Oh, no thank you," Rhaenyra sighed, frowning. "Just the smell of it is enough to churn my stomach."

"Under the weather again, Princess?" Celia asked. Rhaenyra nodded glumly. 

"How many days is that now? Three? Four?" puzzled Darla. "I fear you may need to seek out Maester Mellos." Rhaenyra groaned.

"What is wrong with you?" quizzed Primrose. 

"I feel queasy, and cannot keep down my food," Rhaenyra said bitterly. "And I am tired all the time. I can barely take Syrax around King's Landing before needing to come back and rest, and last night I had the most terrible pain in my stomach. I am starting to think I have been poisoned." Primrose gasped. Annora and Darla chuckled. 

"Relax, Princess," Celia told her gently. "There is no need to panic. You are just pregnant." 

Annora and Darla laughed again.

"WHAT?" Rhaenyra cried, sitting up, her eyes wide on her ladies in the doorway. 

Primrose snorted.

"Calm yourself, Princess, she is just teasing you," Annora said, twirling her hazel hair around her finger. "Maidens cannot get pregnant." Rhaenyra felt her cheeks flush as Annora cocked her head. "You do know how that works, do you not?"

"Of course she does, she is not a child," huffed Darla.

"I was only asking," shrugged Annora. 

"Yes," Rhaenyra bit out grumpily. Primrose giggled. Rhaenyra leaned back against the tub, her hands clasped over her stomach. "Is - is that how women know they are pregnant? They get ill?" 

"Sometimes," Celia replied. 

"There is more to it than that," argued Darla. Celia rolled her eyes. 

"I am sure they have to be examined by maesters," said Annora.

"But what about the commonfolk?" Rhaenyra inquired. "They do not have maesters, so how would they know?"

"How do they know anything?" Darla asked. "They are not taught as we are. I imagine somebody would tell them, like a mother or grandmother."

"Yes," Primrose agreed. 

"There are more obvious signs, though," Annora said, struggling to suppress a giggle. "Like - like your moon blood does not arrive," she whispered. "And - and you find yourself urinating a lot." Darla and Primrose giggled. Rhaenyra swallowed. It had been a while since she had last noticed her bloods, and she had found herself using the privy more frequently. "But, that is nothing for you to worry about until you are wed," Annora teased, smiling. Rhaenyra nodded. "You are likely right, it is probably just food poisoning."

"I was thinking of a more malicious form of poison, but yours makes more sense," Rhaenyra sighed.

"Depending on how much you think Alicent hates you," laughed Darla. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

"Maybe you should go to Mellos, Princess?" suggested Celia. "In case something is really wrong?" Rhaenyra shook her head. 

"I would rather not be poked and prodded by that old man." 

  Rhaenyra dressed again in a dress of red before leaving her rooms. Celia and Darla followed her, but they progressed towards their own apartments in the Tower of the Hand, while Rhaenyra turned right towards the Small Council chambers. She caught sight of Lord Lyman slipping in through the door shortly before she arrived, and adjusted the golden necklace that gleamed atop of her gown, before nodding to Ser Willis, who opened the door for her. 

 Lord Lyman was one of the first to arrive, as Lord Lyonel and Maester Mellos were the only others seated at the table as Rhaenyra followed him. Lord Lyman shuffled to the corner, where the wine just sat atop a rickety wooden table, hidden from Rhaenyra's view behind eight golden goblets. Rhaenyra nodded to Lord Lyonel as she took her place beside him, but he was too engrossed with his notes to notice her. Maester Mellos, meanwhile, was tapping his fingers against the table, staring out of the window as a flock of black birds flew by. 

  "We have at last received word from the Citadel, your Grace," Mellos announced, as Viserys and Ser Harrold finally marched into the room. They were the last to arrive, and Ser Tyland had been looking as bored as Rhaenyra felt for some time. 

"The Citadel?" Viserys questioned, rolling his orb into place. His was the only made of gold, while the Hand's was the bronze of his badge, Rhaenyra's was as dark as dragonglass, Ser Tyland's was red, Lord Lyman's was a warm amber, like honey, and both Lord Jasper and Mellos' were grey. 

"Indeed, your Grace," Mellos replied, nodding. "They have sent a white raven."

"Oh, good," Ser Tyland said, smiling. "Some good news then?"

"Indeed, Ser," Mellos said. "They expect that summer shall soon be upon us."

"Do they say how long summer is going to last?" Lord Lyonel asked sharply.

Mellos shook his head. "Oh no, my Lord, they could not say yet."

"How soon?" Viserys wondered. "A moon? Two?"

"No more than that, your Grace," Mellos returned. Viserys smiled. 

"Ah, Lord Lyman, did you wish to go over the wine tax again?" he asked.

"Indeed, your Grace," Lord Lyman replied. Ser Tyland rolled his eyes. "The imports from Myr and Lys, given Lord Corlys' -"

"If it pleases you, your Grace," interjected Lord Lyonel. "There are other pressing matters we need to discuss."

"Oh?" Viserys cocked his head. "Pray tell, what might they be?"

"Prince Daemon," grunted Ser Tyland. Viserys frowned. 

"Daemon?" Rhaenyra questioned, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. Lord Lyonel nodded gravely. 

"What about him?" Viserys sighed, slapping his hand to his forehead. 

"The Prince - and his dragon - have returned to Driftmark," Lord Lyonel said. 

"And this is a pressing matter?"

"You might recall that the Sea-Lord of Braavos passed last moon?" grunted Ser Tyland.

"Of course."

"Well, his son has already wasted an awful lot of his inheritance, and arrived at Driftmark to push the Sea Snake into hurrying up his wedding to his daughter."

"And this relates to Daemon how?" Viserys inquired. 

"Prince Daemon and the Braavosi got into a... disagreement," Ser Tyland replied uncomfortably. Viserys' frown deepened.

"He sliced his neck in two," barked Lord Lyonel darkly. 

"Seven Heavens!" exclaimed Lord Lyman. Mellos scowled.

 Rhaenyra's eyes widened. She swallowed, feeling her stomach churn as she sat there, sweat pooling on her brow. She was uncomfortably hot, and she did not want to think of Daemon freeing Laena from her unwanted betrothal at present. 

"What?" Viserys hissed angrily. 

"The man challenged him to a duel," Lord Lyonel said. "He - the Prince, that is - was obviously winning, but did not allow the man to yield, and continued until he was dead."

"Good Heavens," muttered Lord Lyman.

"What does Lord Corlys say on the matter?" Viserys demanded. 

"He - he is taking the Prince's side, your Grace," replied Ser Tyland. "He feels the Braavosi was severely out of line and the Prince acted as within his right, both as a man and as a knight."

"Seven above," sighed Mellos, shaking his head. 

"So - so Daemon has not angered the Sea Snake?" Viserys quizzed. 

"No, your Grace," Ser Tyland responded. 

"And - and what of Braavos?"

"They have asked for his remains to be returned to his mother, but the man made himself many enemies in his last few weeks - many even accuse him of murdering his own father in hopes of getting his position - so there are few to rush to his defence," Ser Tyland replied. 

"So - so we are not at risk of war?" Viserys asked hopefully.

"It does not seem so, your Grace," Lord Lyonel said.

"Thank the Seven," sighed Mellos. Viserys nodded his agreement. 

"And Daemon? Where is he now?"

"His dragon has been sighted both on Driftmark and Dragonstone, your Grace," Ser Tyland said. "So, it is unclear where he is staying." Viserys shook his head. 

"Has Lord Corlys agreed to return the man to Braavos?" he inquired.

"He did not say, your grace," returned Lord Lyonel.

"Find out," Viserys said. "I do not need to risk angering the greatest navy in the Free Cities." Lord Lyonel nodded.

"Well, if that business is settled," sighed Lord Lyman, "might we not return to -"

"Settled?" frowned Lord Lyonel. "Prince Daemon killed a man!" 

Viserys frowned again, "did you not describe it yourself as a duel, Lord Hand?" 

"And one that this Braavosi initiated," added Rhaenyra, playing with the rings on her right hand. 

"Your Grace," Lord Lyonel puffed. "The Prince cannot be allowed to take off heads whenever he sees fit, we saw this under his command of the City Watch, did we not? His incessant ruthlessness in the name of only his own advantage."

"If Lord Corlys wished to end the betrothal, it seems multiple parties benefited here," said Lord Jasper. 

"What are you saying?" Lord Lyonel inquired. Viserys also turned to the Master of Laws, raising an eyebrow. 

"Well, if Lord Corlys is still looking for an advantageous match for his daughter, did we not agree that he may find Prince Daemon to be one of the best suited for her?" Lord Jasper shrugged. "These two men conspired to take the Stepstones for their own, I would hardly call it far-fetched to assume they could have agreed upon this." 

"Lord Corlys wishes for his daughter to marry one of his Velaryon nephews," Rhaenyra said stiffly. 

"Does he?" asked Lord Jasper. "Did he know a Targaryen Prince was available at the time? Interested, even?"

"My Lord, I see no evidence for this theory," sighed Lord Lyonel. "We cannot know why Lord Corlys changed his mind about the match without hearing it from the Lord himself, but what we do know is how Prince Daemon killed a man, and a Braavosi noble at that." 

"In a duel, my Lord," shrugged Ser Tyland. "He hardly slit his throat in his sleep."

Lord Lyonel frowned, "were you not also concerned by this?"

"I could not care for how many heads Prince Daemon cuts, so long as it is not my own," Ser Tyland said drily. "What I do find concerning is whatever the Sea Snake is planning, now that his daughter is free to wed whomever he wishes her to. Without the marriage pact between Ser Laenor and the Princess, we have little reason to believe that the Sea Snake shall remain loyal to us." 

"Lord Corlys is no fool," argued Lord Lyonel. "Without a son, his arguments have no leg to stand on. Besides, it has been fifteen years since the Great Council, even the Princess' most ardent supporters have learned to hold their tongue."

"Except for her husband and Lord Baratheon, that is," said Lord Jasper, clucking his tongue. "Her most influential and wealthy supporters." 

"The Stormlands will not turn against the Crown for the sake of a girl," scoffed Lord Lyonel. 

"Why?" inquired Lord Jasper. "If the King can make his daughter heir, why would Princess Rhaenys not wish to stake her own daughter's claim?"

"Enough of this," grunted Viserys, shaking his head. 

"The King has sons, my Lord," shrugged Ser Tyland. "Lord Corlys does not."

"But Lord Boremund does as well," added Lord Lyman.

"That fool?" laughed Lord Jasper. "Boremund clearly cares for not hide nor hair of him, the man is illiterate and spends all his days in the woods, when he is not chasing after Dornishmen."

"Could a marriage alliance be formed between the two?" asked Ser Tyland.

"No," replied Lord Jasper. "Ser Borros wed Lord Caron's daughter two years passed." 

"And do they have a son?" asked Lord Lyonel.

Lord Jasper shook his head, "a daughter." 

"So there is nothing to fear?" sighed Viserys. Lord Jasper shrugged. "If Lord Corlys intends to marry his daughter to one of his nephews, then he shall only make an alliance with himself, so I see not why that threatens us." 

"He has other nephews," muttered Lord Jasper.

"Tarths, Estermonts, and Masseys," Lord Lyonel scoffed. "The Tarths and the Estermonts would follow Baratheon on Rhaenys' behalf as is, and the Masseys are loyal to the Crown, and have too few sons to risk losing the few that they have." Lord Jasper clucked his tongue, unconvinced. 

"If we are quite done with that business," Viserys said uncomfortably. 

"Yes, your Grace," said Lord Lyman.

"What is to be done of Prince Daemon?" Lord Lyonel demanded. "Surely, if it were to get out that he was murdering foreign noblemen, then-" 

Rhaenyra's stomach churned. 

"It was hardly what I would call murder," laughed Ser Tyland.

"No," agreed Lord Lyman, "the Prince is in his rights to defend himself."

"What is it you want from me, Lord Strong?" Viserys sighed. "Am I to forbid him from participating in any duels? From being challenged by what sounds like a belligerent fool?" 

"I -"

"That is enough of that," Viserys said, pressing his hand against the table. "Now, Lord Lyman? The taxes?"

"Yes, your Grace." 

  When the meeting came to its end, Rhaenyra was quick to rise to her feet to return to her rooms. Viserys sighed, slipping his orb back into the pocket of his cloak as he, too, rose from his chair. "Are you quite alright?" he asked her, frowning. Rhaenyra nodded. Viserys gestured to his own cheeks, "you look flushed. Are you unwell?" Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"I - I just need rest," she said. Viserys nodded. 

"Mayhaps some fresh air will do you good. I am going to meet Alicent and Aemond in the gardens if you would like to join us?"

"I think I best lie down," Rhaenyra replied. Viserys nodded again and Rhaenyra followed Lord Lyonel out of the room.

  As Rhaenyra marched to her chambers, she walked with her head down, feeling her eyes welling up with tears. The words of Lady Annora kept coming back to her, and in her head she was rethinking every time she had been sickly, or hot, or in pain. She was warm and uncomfortable, her back aching and she could feel her cheeks flushing scarlet. 

 She tried to brush the thought from her head. Celia had only been joking after all. But, her ladies were not to know that the unwed Princess was not in fact a maiden, and that her being with child was not such an outrageous suggestion. 

 Rhaenyra wanted to cry. She sat at her vanity, peering into her mirror at the blotchiness of her face, when her eyes were drawn to something on the table. Her letter. Still unopened, Daemon's seal stared back at her. He was back by now, was he not? 

 She wasted no time in changing into her riding leathers and having a carriage take her to the Pit. Syrax, who had just been served her lamb, was unimpressed, but did not refuse her when Rhaenyra had her taken outside. Syrax's mood improved when Rhaenyra took her to the skies, and the she-dragon realised that they were not only circling King's Landing today, but soaring across Blackwater Bay to Dragonstone. She chirped happily as they flew towards the castle, and the Blood Wyrm let out a shrill cry from beyond the castle as he heard her. 

 As Rhaenyra approached the castle, she spotted Daemon leaning against the wooden shed that served as the armoury. Rhaenyra smiled, hurrying her pace to rush towards him. He wore an opulent doublet of pale gold and purple, richly detailed with lilac and a darker gold, something akin to how the Old King would dress in the portraits of him that hung in the Keep from his youth, and his trousers were a soft yellow. His hair had now grown long enough to cover his eyebrows, and he had a dark purple bruise on his jaw. Small cuts littered his calloused hands, and when he brushed his hair out of his face Rhaenyra saw that there was a large cut across his forehead. "Hello, you," she greeted, reaching for one of his hands.

"You are late," Daemon said, brow creased. Rhaenyra cocked her head.

"Ah - what?"

"I invited you to luncheon at noon did I not? I did send you a letter."

"Oh," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. She smiled. "I - I did not actually get to read your letter, I was busy with the Council." Daemon rolled his eyes dramatically. 

"Come with me," Daemon murmured. Rhaenyra nodded, glancing over her shoulder to watch Syrax and Caraxes take flight, before following Daemon into the castle. 

  When they arrived at his bedchamber, he called for a servant to bring them some hot tea and cold foods, while he sunk into the armchair ahead of the roaring fire and kicked away his boots. "How have you been?" he asked softly, as Rhaenyra lowered herself onto the chair across from him. This one was aged and made of wood, not half as luxurious as Daemon's, but she was still close enough to feel the heat of the fire. Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"You were on Driftmark, so I hear?" 

"Yes." Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. "Let us not discuss that now."

"But, you had to have known that -"

"I have something for you," Daemon said, rising from his seat once more. He crossed the room to the large bed, and opened the wooden chest at the foot of it, from which he pulled out a package tied with thin red rope. Rhaenyra cocked her head curiously, accepting it from him, before he opened the door to allow the servants in with their luncheon. 

"What is it?" Rhaenyra inquired. Daemon raised an eyebrow at her, refusing to answer as he poured their tea into cups. Rhaenyra smiled at him and tore the brown packaging, revealing a perfectly smooth pale wood box. She pulled it out and reached for the bronze clasp. 

 The inside of the box was furnished with velvet of violet, soft to the touch and clearly expensive. Sitting upon the velvet was one of the most beautiful things Rhaenyra had ever seen. It was a tiara made from white-gold, encrusted with jade gemstones interwoven with gold fashioned into the shape leaves. Her jaw dropped as she lifted it from the box. It was lighter than most pieces that she owned, despite the obvious cost of it. 

"I - it is amazing," she gasped.

"They say it was made for the Empress of Leng," Daemon told her. 

"That I can believe," Rhaenyra murmured. It was certainly fit for a woman declared a Goddess by her people. "How did you get this?"

"I have my sources," Daemon chuckled. "So, you like it?"

"Very much so," Rhaenyra replied. "Thank you, Uncle." Daemon smirked. 

"I am glad," he said lowly, approaching her. As Rhaenyra accepted the teacup from him, Daemon's thumb ran over her bottom lip, sending a shiver down her spine. She watched as he gripped onto the arm of her chair, flexing his fingers one at a time against the wood, before he leaned down and covered her lips with his. 

  It was a kiss like none they had shared before, a mixture of sweetness and passion that said a thousand 'I've missed yous' and returned it with a hundred promises to stay. An ever-bright flame burned inside her, the heat thundering through her veins as he tilted his head, encouraging her to move with him. She could feel the heat burning in her cheeks, in her neck, as the blush spread downward. One of his hands was in her hair, his nails dragging across her scalp as their noses bumped together.

 Suddenly, the heat grew too much for her, there ahead of the roaring flames, and she felt her stomach turn, queasiness overtaking the ardour. 

 Rhaenyra urged him away, shaking her head as he reached for the clasps of her riding leathers. 

 Daemon frowned, one of his fingers stroking down her reddened cheek.

 "Is everything quite alright with you, Princess?" he questioned. Rhaenyra swallowed. 

"I - I need some air," she whispered. Daemon nodded, gesturing towards the balcony. He allowed Rhaenyra to lead the way, although he was only a pace behind her. As she leaned against the stone wall, she could feel his breath on her neck. "I - I need to talk to you," she mumbled. Daemon nodded his head. 

"Go on." 

"I - Gods, I - I have been - been quite unwell as of late," Rhaenyra whispered. 

"You do not want luncheon?" Daemon inquired. "For I can send it away." Rhaenyra shook her head. "Is it -" Daemon swallowed.

"I am pregnant," Rhaenrya blurted out, unable to look at his face. 

"I - what?" 

 Rhaenyra shook her head, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again.

"I - I have felt ill, very ill, and hot and sore," she moaned. "My - my bloods have not come in moons and - and I cannot eat without fearing I shall be sick." 

"I - Gods, shit," Daemon exclaimed. He rubbed his chin, pacing back and forth as Rhaenyra heard the cogs turning in his head. "Alright," he said more to himself than to her, "alright, alright." He turned back to her, placing one hand on each of her arms and pulling her closer to him. Rhaenyra gulped, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared up at his face, even paler than usual. "It will be alright," he said. Rhaenyra nodded, although she did not feel as if it ever could be, not now, not when she had been so careless. "I shall have the maesters make you the tea - well, not you, but I shall have them prepare it for me," Daemon said. 

"I - I fear it may be too late for that," Rhaenyra whispered. "I - some moons have passed since my last blood, I - I thought nothing of it at first, but - but now I realise it, I - I fear there is no other explanation." Daemon shook his head, tapping his temple as he lowered his eyes to his sock-clad feet. 

"Fuck," he groaned. Rhaenyra chuckled wetly. 

"What - what will happen to me?" she asked softly. Daemon frowned. "I - I cannot have a bastard, if the court finds -"

"You shall not," Daemon said firmly. He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and forced a smile. "I - Gods, there is another tea, a stronger one, said to terminate pregnancies - they have it in the Free Cities, I am sure I could get a hold of some if need be - but Gods is it painful."

"More - more so than childbirth?" Rhaenyra asked weakly. Daemon just stared at her. 

"I could not claim to know," he said eventually, after a long pause. Rhaenyra sighed.

"I - I am sorry," she murmured.

"No," Daemon said firmly. "No, this - this is not your fault." He shook his head, before pecking her forehead gently. Rhaenyra almost giggled at the feather-light touch, but she was too overcome with every other emotion she was feeling. "It is not your fault," he said again. "I should have been more careful - I thought I was being careful." Rhaenyra nodded. 

"So, this - this tea?" she inquired tearfully.

"You want it?" 

"I - I suppose I shall have to," Rhaenyra whispered.

"No," Daemon said. "Do not think like that, the choice is yours and yours alone."

Rhaenyra let out a dry chuckle. "What sort of choice is it?" she sighed. "The pain of this or the pain of the humiliation of being supplanted?"

"There are other risks," Daemon said gravely. "Risks of never having children again, of - of damaging things, it - it is not widely used for good reason." Rhaenyra sighed.

"I cannot have a bastard," she whispered. 

"You will not," Daemon replied. He lifted her chin so she had no choice but to stare into his eyes. "Marry me?" Rhaenyra gasped. "We made this together, let us do this together." 

"But - I - the Velaryons-"

"Fuck them," Daemon growled. "They are not important." Rhaenyra wiped her eyes, staring at the rolling waves. "How long have you known?"

"Only today," Rhaenyra murmured. "I - I have been unwell for a little while, but my ladies said something this morn and it - it made sense." Daemon nodded. He pressed a kiss to her forehead again and sighed. 

"How do you feel?"

"Exhausted."

"Do you want to sleep? We do not want you falling off Syrax on your return."

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "must I leave already?"

"Well, even if you do not, I must," Daemon replied. "There is much to arrange for our wedding."

"Our wedding? I do not recall agreeing yet."

"Oh, really?" Daemon crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "So, you do not want to then?"

"You are the one who is insistent on waiting six moons!"

"You are ridiculous," Daemon sighed, shaking his head. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

"And you are not?"

"Go home," Daemon told her. "I will write to you when I have everything prepared. Come at nightfall, and do not let Viserys see you, he shall only try to stop us." Rhaenyra nodded. 

____________

 Rhaenyra broke her fast in her chambers, as she always did. She did not eat much, only stomaching a few mouthfuls of porridge before she felt her stomach turn. She read through her letters - an invitation to the wedding of her second cousin the Vale, another letter from Laena, and an offer from a Myrish painter to visit her, although none were from Daemon. 

  She called her ladies to have her bath prepared, again refusing the tea that Annora had had called for. "Ser Gerren is missing again this morn," Primrose said, smirking. 

"Oh, really?" Darla inquired. 

"And Lady Alerie is supposedly unwell again," Primrose added, smiling.

"Lady who?" quizzed Annora.

"Lady Alerie Bulwer," replied Celia. "She serves the Queen, although she is far from fond of the Princelings."

"But she is interested in Ser Gerren," chuckled Primrose. "Who is spending much less time at the castle gates than he ought to."

"Really?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"Certainly," Darla said, "but Lady Alerie has been promised to some Northern boy since she was five."

"So young," Rhaenyra muttered, shaking her head. Celia sighed and nodded. 

"How tragic for them," said Annora. Darla nodded. 

"I doubt it was ever to last," shrugged Primrose. "Everyone knows Ser Gerren intends to join the Kingsguard, and therefore he would be unable to take a wife." 

"Ser Gerren?" Rhaenyra scoffed. "Have you seen him hold a lance? His young brother would be more use."

"Glendon?" laughed Celia. Rhaenyra nodded.

"Let us hope Ser Gerren does not ask for your favour at the next tourney then, Princess," chuckled Annora.  

"Gods," groaned Rhaenyra. "I do not know if I could stop myself from laughing, and then we would have another Fool Frey."

"Oh dear," giggled Celia.

"Fool Frey?" questioned Primrose. 

"Ser Forrest is the third son of Lord Florian Frey," explained Darla, "but he has been dubbed 'Fool' for proposing to the Princess at a ball when she was five and ten."

"In front of the King, no less," added Celia.

"I could not stop myself from laughing," Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. "He was so earnest, but I have no interest in him."

"He is not bad looking," shrugged Darla. 

"No, he is rather handsome," agreed her sister. "A shame he is promised to a Vypren, really, although I suppose he does have four brothers." 

"Well, I would not like to marry Hoster Frey," sighed Darla. 

"He is a despicable man who enjoys hurting small cats and smells of old cheese," explained Celia. Darla nodded.

"My father intended to wed me to one of Lord Baratheon's nephews," Annora said, shaking her head. "He was a brute, and a stupid brute at that. Fortunately, he got killed on a hunt before the wedding."

"What happened to him?" inquired Primrose.

"Shot himself," Annora said, rolling her eyes. Darla snorted. "He really was an idiot."

"So is Lord Boremund's heir, they say," Rhaenyra muttered.

"Oh, indeed," Annora agreed. "The man is actually illiterate, he has to have a maester read everything to him." 

"What?" quizzed Darla. "But Lord Boremund is so rich? How was his son never taught. He must have a maester." 

"How am I to know?" Annora asked. Darla shrugged.

  There was no Council meeting to sit through that morning, for the King was instead holding court in the Throne Room. As a girl, Rhaenyra would oft sit upon the steps, with her father asking her about some of the cases they heard. Now, he still urged her to join them, but she was instead placed in the crowd with the Council, never doing more than watching as the King made his decrees. Rhaenyra found it to be incredibly dull, and she could always feel Ser Tyland's eyes burning into the back of her skull from where he stood behind her. 

  Rhaenyra ate her luncheon out in the gardens, joined by Celia and Darla, who were equally unimpressed by the hours it took for Viserys and Lord Lyonel to receive each of the supplicants. Unfortunately, they were not the only ones who decided to dine outside, for Alicent was sat with Aegon and her ladies under the weirwood tree, the young boy giggling, shouting, or screaming the entire time. "Does he never tire of his attention seeking?" groaned Darla, clucking her tongue disapprovingly.

"No," Rhaenyra sighed. "He cannot stand it if he is not the centre of attention, he bit my father last week while he was checking on Aemond and his egg." Rhaenyra shook her head, watching as Aegon pulled the braids of Lady Alla Cuy, who shrieked in surprise and batted the boy away. 

"No, Aegon," Alicent chastised, but Aegon paid her no heed, reaching for the young woman's hair again. "Aegon," Alicent snapped, reaching for his hand. She pulled him towards her, but he began to scream, his little face turning red. 

"Come now, Prince Aegon," exasperated Lady Mina. "Are you not hungry?" Aegon shook his head, pushing away the plate of cheeses and grapes she tried to offer him. 

"I do hope any children of yours are better behaved, Princess," Celia muttered. "I do not need to spend my days being attacked by small Princelings." Darla nodded her agreement. Rhaenyra forced a smile. 

  Alicent kept her head bowed as she and her ladies marched back towards the castle, Aegon still shrieking in Lady Mina's arms. Rhaenyra watched as the boy hit the poor woman's back, and she winced, almost dropping him. "Gods, some children truly are horrid," said Darla, shaking her head. "I could not imagine having to raise such a little beast."

"Mayhaps you shall not have children at all?" Celia suggested. Darla shrugged. 

"I - there must be ways to ensure your children are... well, nicer than Aegon," Rhaenyra murmured. 

"Are there?" Darla inquired. 

"He was nice enough a year or so ago," Rhaenyra murmured. 

"Has Aemond not been trouble since birth?" Celia asked, cocking her head. 

Darla nodded her agreement, "you said so yourself, Princess."

Rhaenyra sighed. They were not wrong, young Aemond had been shrieking and kicking since the day of his birth, and now he was teething he had become even more miserable, and therefore miserable to be around. 

"Well, Helaena seems sweet enough, when she is not scared," Rhaenyra said. 

"Mayhaps it is a boy thing, then?" suggested Celia.

"That would make sense," Darla replied. "Harwin and Larys were always far worse than us." Celia nodded. 

"Harwin?" Rhaenyra questioned. "I - I thought he was rather nice."

"Oh, he is chivalrous enough to you Princess," Darla said. Celia giggled. "But as a boy he could throw a tantrum like any other. Once he decided to run away from home because father would not let him squire for our uncle in the Marches."

"And good thing, too, or else he likely would have died there," Celia said darkly. "And then Harrenhall would fall to Larys." Darla shivered at the thought. Rhaenyra laughed. 

"Mayhaps you shall be lucky then, Princess, and only have girls?" sighed Darla.

"My father wants for sons," Rhaenyra muttered. "For the succession. He told Laenor and I as much." Darla rolled her eyes. 

"I - I am sure any child of yours would be nicer than the Queen's sons," Celia said gently, although she did not sound convinced. Rhaenyra nodded.  

  The hour of the owl was upon King's Landing when Rhaenyra was woken in her bed by the soft rapping of knuckles against the door. Frowning, she wrapped her silver robe around herself and pulled it open. 

 Staring up at her was a stable boy, clad in brown clothes with mud on his face. In one hand he held a package and in the other he held out a small scroll tied with string. "I - I was told to - to - to give this to - to you, m'lady," the boy stammered. Rhaenyra took both items from him, feeling the weight of the package in her hand as she did so. 

"Who sent you?" she inquired. 

The boy's eyes doubled inside. "I - I - I c - c- can't say," he replied. "But - but it - it's urgent." 

"Alright then," Rhaenyra sighed. The boy nodded and scurried away. Rhaenyra shut the door and unwrapped the package, revealing a weathered cloak that had certainly been taken from one of the servants. She frowned, rolling out the note, although she knew who it was from. The words were written in dark red ink, the small scrawl etched in High Valyrian;

Meet me on Dragonstone.

Come alone. Do not be seen. 

Rhaenyra gulped, her heart pounding in her chest as she threw the letter into the burning fireplace. This was it.

This was the point of no return. 

  She swapped her shift for a simple dress of pale yellow, not wanting to be on Dragonstone with nothing to wear, but not wanting to stick out amongst the crowd. There was little in her room that she could take with her without giving herself away, so she pulled on the old cloak, wincing at the pungent odour that clung to the coarse material, and stuffed her rings and necklaces into the pockets. She looked around her bedchamber once more, unsure when it would be that she would be returning to it. She inhaled sharply through her nose, and summoned as much courage as she could muster, before pulling the hood over her face, ensuring her hair was covered from view. 

 Bracing herself for the hot, crowded, and dirty streets of King's Landing, Rhaenyra took off into the night. 

Chapter Text

  The darkness was thick and inescapable, trapping them in like binds of rope as she struggled to navigate the hot, crowded and dirty streets of King's Landing. Even on dragonback, the unfamiliar blackness made Rhaenyra doubt her route, despite the journey being one she had made hundreds of times before. At long last, the dragonmont called to her like a beacon in the distance as they soared over the Bay, the flames of Vermithor lighting their way as Syrax circled the island. 

 "You came," Daemon said softly, grinning at her as Rhaenyra jumped down from Syrax's back. Rhaenyra smiled sheepishly, brushing her hair from her face as she approached him. 

"You are here," she returned, equally as elated. Daemon's smile widened, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. Rhaenyra swallowed. "And - and we are to be wed."

"Indeed," Daemon said. "The priest shall be ready for us at first light." Rhaenyra inhaled sharply through her nose and nodded.

"Where is the Sept on Dragonstone?" she asked.

"No Sept," Daemon replied. "Well, there is one in the town, but that is not where we are headed."

"No?" Rhaenyra questioned, frowning slightly. "But we -"

"We are the blood of Old Valyria," Daemon said, releasing her to begin walking towards the castle. "We shall bind our blood like the Conqueror and his sisters."

"Oh." Rhaenyra trudged after him, glancing over her shoulder as Syrax let out a cry before she flew into the dragonmont. 

"Oh?" Daemon repeated, raising an eyebrow. Rhaenyra shrugged. "You disapprove?" Rhaenyra shook her head. "Good, because it was rather arduous, finding a priest to officiate us." Rhaenyra nodded and forced a smile, nausea hitting her at his words. It all felt so real now. Here she was, alone with him, King's Landing but a dot in the distance. "You travel light, Princess," Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra nodded wordlessly again. 

  Daemon had stationed two men of the City Watch outside the castle, and a further two within the Entrance Hall. Two knights of Dragonstone's own garrison roamed the halls of Sea Dragon Tower, where Daemon locked hands with Rhaenyra and led her to the top floor. 

 She had expected to be taken to Daemon's chambers again, but instead he pushed open the door to the adjacent rooms, where the fire was roaring in the hearth and a pair of servants were setting up a small meal on the square wooden table in the corner. "I had presumed you wanted Visenya's bedchambers," Daemon said, "but, Rhaenys' are much more preferable to me." He winked as he pulled open the double doors that led to his - their - washroom. Rhaenyra nodded. She threw her necklace and rings onto the bed, before dropping the dirty cloak to the floor, which Daemon kicked into the fire. It burst into flames and one of the serving girls shrieked. 

"Where are Visenya's, then?" Rhaenyra inquired, as Daemon gestured for her to sit at the table.

"Across the hallway," he shrugged. "Although little of her memory has been preserved, not that I can blame my grandmother for being haunted by her, I suppose." 

"Your grandmother loathed Visenya?" Rhaenyra asked, as the serving girls bowed their heads and took their leave.

"It was Visenya who usurped her brother and crowned Maegor," Daemon replied darkly. "And Visenya who held them hostage for years. Many speculate she even went as far as to kill Alysanne's father, poor Aenys, although I am not sure if I can believe that."

"How awful," Rhaenyra muttered.

"The House of the Dragon can commit terrors when divided," Daemon said gravely. "Jaehaerys knew it well. I do not doubt that his boyhood influenced his decision to call for the Great Council, rather than see Rhaenys and I tear each other apart with our dragons, as his brother had been killed." 

"Aegon the Uncrowned?"

"The very same. Dragon had not fought dragon since the days of Old Valyria until young Aegon flew his dragon at Balerion." Daemon let out a dry chuckle. "Poor, foolish boy," he sighed. "Although, what choice did he have?" Daemon shook his head. "Do you know what Aenys did wrong?"

"Aenys?"

"Indeed."

"I -" Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. There was little of the reign of Aenys that was spoken of admirably, but Daemon spoke as if he was guilty of only one offence. 

"He did not listen to people," Daemon said. "Visenya wanted Maegor on the Throne, she was very determined about it, but while he put distance between himself and Maegor, he did not do the same with her. The Faith considered our practices abominations, but still he wed son to daughter and sent them on a progress as if expecting the commonfolk to cheer for them. Things are not so different now - Rhaenys and Corlys want the Targaryen line to come from their blood, not ours, and Oldtown still wishes to make our heritage obsolete, including the family Viserys has chosen to invite into his bed."

"So what are we to do about it?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"Not ignore it, for one," Daemon said gruffly. "Otto Hightower showed his true colours more than once, but Viserys was loath to act."

"As he always is," Rhaenyra grumbled. "The only time he has seemed eager to act was when taking a new wife."

"Yes, he was awfully quick to move on from Aemma."

"I doubt he waited six moons," Rhaenyra huffed.

"I hear he did not wait one," Daemon scoffed. Rhaenyra's eyes widened.

"What?"

"You have not heard this?" Daemon cocked his head. "Well, servants talk, as ever, and I have it on good authority that Viserys was having his dinner delivered in his rooms in the company of Lady Alicent as little as a sennight after Aemma's passing." 

"What?" Rhaenyra questioned again. 

 That could not be. 

 For months, Viserys had locked himself away, hardly saying a word to Rhaenyra he was so riddled with grief. Why would he have summoned Rhaenyra's lady-in-waiting of all people to him? Why would he have allowed her in if she had come calling but not his own daughter? Why turn away his councilmen if he would welcome the daughter of his Hand? He was loath to discuss having a new wife when it was raised by the Council, when propositioned by Lord Corlys, but had it not been love for Aemma that drove him away from Laena but his attachment to Alicent?

 Alicent. Rhaenyra did not know what to think. She recalled her at the time, of their discussions together under the cover of darkness in Rhaenyra's rooms, when strolling in the gardens, or by candlelight at the Sept. Alicent had spoken as if they were two kindred spirits, united not by blood or station but by grief, grief Alicent had seemingly exploited to latch her claws into her father, as Rhaenyra had fallen for her kind words as well. 

 She would always make it about herself, a little voice in Rhaenyra's head told her, always looking for an excuse to talk about her own dead mother, but seldom offering sympathy for yours.

 Rhaenyra had spoken to Alicent about Viserys, about his absence and coldness and cruelty, and she had tried to convince Rhaenyra that she knew what Viserys was doing better than she ever could. 

 Mayhaps she was right all along. Mayhaps she did know your father's wishes better than you.

 Rhaenyra stared at her stew. 

 She did not have an appetite. 

 "I - I think I would like - would like to rest now," Rhaenyra said, dropping her spoon into the bowl. 

Daemon frowned. 

"What?" Rhaenyra quizzed. "It is late."

"I suppose," Daemon sighed, rising from his chair. "I had hoped to find you more joyous mere hours before we are wed." 

Rhaenyra forced a smile. "I am overjoyed to be marrying you, but I still need sleep." 

"If you insist." Daemon leaned down to kiss her forehead lightly, before he turned towards her door.

"Uh... Uncle?" Rhaenyra called after him. Daemon cocked an eyebrow. "About the wedding. I - well, I have nothing suitable to wear. No dress, no shoes, no-"

"I will have the appropriate attire delivered to you, never fear, dear Princess," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra stared curiously at him, but he did not elaborate. 

  The bed in Rhaenyra's bedchamber was far larger than the one she had in the Red Keep, and carved from luxurious dark wood. The sheets were a greyish-black silk, and it was decorated with pillows of silver and gold. There were no posters, or canopy, or curtains shielding her from the rest of the room, and only a few thin, stone pillars blocked her from the balcony. An empty candelabra sat upon the low, granite table to the left, and the torch hung up on the wall to the right was also unlit. A large dragon was carved into the wall behind the bed, smooth stones placed to look like scales throughout the body and tail, and a decorative chaise was a short distance away. 

  Rhaenyra felt as though she had only just dozed off when the doors were thrown open and in walked the two serving girls again, this time with her ceremonial garments. The robes were a pale gold, with splatters of red cascading down her shoulders and legs, pooling at the bottom where there was no gold at all, giving the image that she was on fire. Her hair was left flowing down her back, and she wore no jewellery, other than a headpiece that she wore like a crown. 

  She met Daemon outside upon the rocks. He was not alone, with a priestess with long, silver-gold hair in robes of gold and grey standing beside him, and Caraxes a short distance behind them. He offered Rhaenyra a comforting smile as she joined in in the ring of candles, some red, some orange, some yellow, but all burning brightly, the smoke spiralling up towards the pale orange sky as the first rays of sunlight spread across the island. "Hello," he greeted her softly, his eyes scanning her face. 

"Hello," she replied, returning his smile as he reached for one of her hands. 

 There was so much around her that Rhaenyra did not know how to take it all in. 

 One of the rocks was clearly used as a table of sorts, holding a wooden jug of some description with a long, thin handle, engraved with symbols of High Valyrian. Banners of gold and scarlet were strung up with silk, the symbols of the Valyrian Gods etched into them, some Rhaenyra could not recognise, but she did note that Syrax's was held high above her and smiled. 

 Between her and her uncle sat an unlit fire pit, held up on a stone pedestal, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen carved into the neck.

"Ready?" Daemon asked. Rhaenyra gave a short nod. Daemon released her hand and took a step backwards, glancing at the priestess, who also nodded. 

 Rhaenyra watched the flames reflecting in Daemon's lilac eyes as Caraxes let out a roar, burning the coals until they were searing red, and smoke was blurring her vision. Daemon murmured something and the Blood Wyrm took off, soaring low to ward off any birds as he sped towards the dragonmont to return to his cave once more. 

 In one of the priestess' hands was a blade of dragonglass, long and jagged and alarmingly sharp. 

 Rhaenyra knew little of their ancient ritual, the last having been performed by Visenya for Maegor and his second wife, Lady Alys Harroway, some seventy years ago, but she had known it to involve fire and blood. 

 The priestess took her place between them, her blue eyes glowing in the reflection of the flames, and she held out her hand. Rhaenyra's eyes flickered to Daemon, who nodded encouragingly, so she offered her her hand. 

 Rhaenyra winced as the dragonglass cut through her palm. 

 She had wanted to scream, but did her best to remain composed as her own blood stained her pale skin and rushed down towards her wrist.

 Daemon, however, did not react when the priestess cut his flesh. 

 He looked expectantly at Rhaenyra, raising his hand, and Rhaenyra reached out to grab it, the heat of the flames beneath them enough to burn. The priestess wrapped their joined hands in a strip of velvet, crimson red embroidered with gold, but it did not stop their blood from leaking into the fire. 

 "Blood of two," she recited, speaking High Valyrian with ease, "joined as one." 

 Daemon took the blade from her, slicing his own lip with ease. He wiped some of the blood away with his thumb, and drew a short line between Rhaenyra's eyebrows. 

 He offered her the dragonglass.

 With a shaking hand, Rhaenyra gripped it, and raised it to her own lip. As he had done, she cut her bottom lip down the middle, refusing to cry out as the priestess raised her grey hood and poured a black liquid from the jug into a chalice of dragonglass. 

"Ghostly flame and song of shadows," she said.

 Rhaenyra gripped the blade tightly with her fingers while her thumb swiped through the blood spurting out of her lip, dribbling down her chin like a child who had bitten into a blackberry. Daemon glanced upwards, as if nodding to the symbol that hung above his head, and Rhaenyra copied it, marring his forehead with two lines that connected together at a point. 

 "Two hearts as embers."

 The priestess placed the chalice into the flames, clasping their hands together as she tightened the wrapping, allowing no more blood to escape. 

 "Forged in the fourteen fires." 

 Blood was staining Rhaenyra's robes, dripping down her sleeve and towards her undershirt, and the pain in her hand grew hard to ignore.

 Daemon was still, infuriatingly, unaffected, his eyes never straying from her face as she struggled to hide her agony. 

 "A future promised in glass." As she spoke, the priestess offered the chalice to Rhaenyra. 

 Again, her eyes searched Daemon's face for a reaction. He smiled encouragingly, watching as Rhaenyra accepted it and raised it to her lips. It smelt like nothing she had ever known before, like fire and ash and heat in a cup, but still she swallowed it, feeling it slide down her throat like a the worst of medicines, the taste never leaving her mouth. 

 She gave the chalice to Daemon, who was far less hesitant at raising it to his lips. Unlike with the dragonglass, he was unable to hide the disgust on his face as he gulped down the sludge-like liquid, and Rhaenyra struggled not to laugh at his displeasure.

"The stars stand witness," declared the priestess, releasing their joined hands from her grip. "The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light." 

Daemon returned the chalice to the woman, who dropped it onto the rock beside her. He smiled again at Rhaenyra, his eyes searching her face for any doubt, before he leaned down, covering her lips with his own.

 The metallic taste of his blood clung to her tongue as Rhaenyra allowed him to deepen the kiss. His fingers flexed against hers, as if desperate to claw out of the velvet wrappings, while his other hand cupped her cheek. Her fingers ghosted over his chin, before she tugged on his hair, holding him closer to her, as eager to touch him as he was her.

 When their hands were at last untied, Daemon crashed their mouths together again, his blood staining Rhaenyra's hair as he ran his hand through it, their noses bumping together as Rhaenyra's blood dripped down his neck, her fingernails swiping across his skin. She tugged on his collar, eager to remove the robes from his person, before the cold wind reminded her that they were still outside. 

 It was his rooms that they rushed to, but Rhaenyra was not complaining. They had barely managed to close the door before his mouth was on hers again, his hands, bloodied with a mixture of his blood and her own, lifted her robes to the side so he could grip onto the flesh of her thigh. She moaned into his mouth, pulling on the golden belt of his robes to free him from them as he pushed her backwards towards the bed. 

 "Hello," she whispered against his lips as they finally drew breath. "Husband."

"Hello, wife," he returned, smirking. "How are you finding married life?"

"Very agreeable, so far," Rhaenyra giggled. The pain in her hand had not yet ceased, and she could feel her lip throbbing, but she could not focus on anything that was not Daemon's teeth grazing against the skin of her throat. "My husband," she sighed, one hand threading itself in his hair.

"My Valyrian bride," he whispered back, smirking against her collarbone. 

  Rhaenyra sighed back against the pillows as Daemon lifted up her underskirts and tore away her smallclothes, his nimble fingers travelling down her legs as his tongue licked a trail from her knee to the top of her thigh. "Daemon, what -" she gasped, as she felt his mouth against her, tongue flickering over her swollen flesh and down to her core. He hummed against her, his hands holding her thighs in place so she could not move away as he drove his tongue deeper into her. She groaned and panted, gripping so tightly on his hair that she was sure it must have hurt him, although Daemon showed no signs of displeasure. 

  Before she could reach her peak, Daemon drew away. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at him, watching as he discarded his robes on the floor and pushed away his underbreeches. He replaced his tongue with his finger, and then another, while his bloodied hand stroked his own cock. Rhaenyra swallowed, watching as pinkish pearls of precum dripped down the length of him, his blood mixing with the fluid as his hand slipped along himself. 

 He guided himself to her entrance with one hand, his other pulling at her robes and underclothes hurriedly to reveal her breasts. He flicked one nipple playfully as his cock pushed into her, his hips moving at a pace so slow it was torturous for his bride, unbearable even. 

 Rhaenyra felt heat pool at her stomach as Daemon buried himself inside of her. Her eyes snapped shut as his mouth covered hers, their lips sliding together as his hands roamed up and down her thighs. He rocked his hips eagerly, and she rolled hers upwards to meet him, tracing her jawline with a finger. 

 She was panting as he began to increase his pace, bucking faster and faster into her as one of his hands slipped between them, his fingers reaching for the sensitive nerves above her opening. Rhaenyra moaned, forcing her eyes open so she could look at Daemon's face as they broke their kiss, but before long Daemon's lips were attached to her throat. Rhaenyra moaned again. 

 Unable to meet his thrusts any more as Daemon increased his speed yet again, Rhaenyra could do no more than grip onto his shoulders and let the waves of pleasure consume her, her peak sending shockwaves throughout her body that had her gasping sounds she had never heard herself make before.

 Daemon was not far behind her, grunting and groaning against her skin until she felt his release along her thighs, his teeth grazing the flesh of her shoulder as he panted against her. 

 He rolled onto the bed beside her as he recovered, lilac eyes fixed upon her face as his chest heaved and sweat rolled down his forehead. After a short pause, he laughed, smiling at her. Rhaenrya returned his grin. "Ah," he sighed, running a finger across her lower lip. "My wife." 

"Indeed," Rhaenyra said, smiling as she turned to face him. Blood was smeared across most of the lower half of his face, and had she not known the cause she imagined it would look quite horrifying. 

"You seem tired."

"I am," Rhaenyra replied. "But we ought to clean up before we sleep." The day was still young, and they would have hours before most of the island was due to wake. Daemon rolled his eyes. Rhaenyra stared at him. 

 Although grumbling, Daemon tucked himself back into his underbritches and helped Rhaenyra redress - although he left his own robes in a pile on the floor - before summoning for Dragonstone's maester. Maester Gerardys was a short man with thick black hair and bushy eyebrows, his chain including links of copper for his knowledge in the histories, gold for his knowledge in the study of money and accounts, and Valyrian steel for his knowledge in the higher mysteries, although it was the healing arts that he was most known for, represented on his chain by a link of silver. 

 Maester Gerardys said little as he stitched up Rhaenyra's hand, wiping away as much of the blood as he could without reopening it. Daemon leaned against the wall beside the bed, watching as the man gently wiped at her face with a damp cloth, before he stitched up her lower lip. "There you are, Princess," he said. "That should heal in a few days." Rhaenyra nodded. "My Prince?" Daemon scoffed. Rhaenyra stared expectantly at him, so he sat beside her on the bed and allowed the maester to examine and stitch up his own cuts. 

 As Maester Gerardys worked, two serving girls filled their tub with bathwater hot enough to satisfy two Targaryens. As Daemon showed the maester out, Rhaenyra began to shed her robes and underclothes, sinking into the water as she heard him pad into the room. "That was far more fuss than necessary," he grumbled, shaking his head. "It is only a small cut." Rhaenyra clucked her tongue, but she was too tired to argue with him, her muscles feeling sore and her own tiredness catching up with her. Daemon sat across from her in the tub once he had undressed, his feet close to her head, and she stared at them with such a look of displeasure that it made Daemon burst out with laughter.

 Usually, Rhaenyra liked to bask in the waters, but at present all she could think of was how much she longed to return to Daemon's bed, and so she scrubbed the blood and sweat and seed from her person, and immediately reached for a linen sheet to dry herself with. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Daemon inquired, frowning as he reached for her hand. 

"Bed," Rhaenyra replied, tapping his head as she passed. Daemon laughed again. It was a warm sound, his laughter, one that sat in her chest and made her heart thump with joy. 

"I shall join you, then," he sighed.

"Not until you have cleaned yourself thoroughly," Rhaenyra told him sternly. She could practically hear him rolling his eyes, but he did not argue. 

 Daemon's sheets were a scarlet silk that reminded Rhaenyra of Caraxes' scales. His bed had only two pillows, both decorated with dark red and black, and the headboard was lined with dark furs over the costly wood that was more black than brown. Rhaenyra sat on the bed, holding the linen sheet tightly around herself as she heard Daemon pad into the room, her new husband not bothering to cover himself. "Do you - have you kept a lot of your things here?" Rhaenyra wondered. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "Like clothes?"

"Yes."

"Might - might I have a tunic of yours to sleep in, then?"

"Really?" Daemon inquired. Rhaenyra nodded. "Are you not fine as you are?"

"No, I am not," Rhaenyra puffed, feeling her cheeks flush. "I do not sleep - sleep without my shift." Daemon chuckled. Nevertheless, he obliged her, offering her a long grey and red tunic that she had never seen before, the buttons silver squared engraved with dragon heads and the cuffs trimmed with gold. It was far too big for her, so she had to roll the sleeves up multiple times to make use of her arms, but the material was soft and comfortable. 

"Tell me," Daemon sighed, as Rhaenyra climbed into bed beside him. "How fares the future King of Westeros?" Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow curiously at him. As if in explanation, Daemon's hand fell to rest on her stomach.

"Oh," Rhaenyra whispered. "Well, we cannot know for certain that - you do know that the child could be a girl?" Daemon shrugged. 

"We shall have the maester inspect y-you be-before long," he said, through a yawn. "Confirm your suspicions... or not, I suppose." Rhaenyra nodded. 

"In the meantime, I wish to sleep," she sighed. Daemon did not reply. 

  The next time Rhaenyra woke, it was clearly past noon. Daylight spread across the chamber, glistening off the black stone flooring and spreading an orange glow across the sheets. Daemon was still asleep beside her, the silk lowered enough for her to see his chest and the scars etched across it. She leaned her head on her hand, reaching out to stroke her hand down his bicep. His skin was hot, dragon blood burning in his veins, and it was roughened by his scars from where he had been impaled by an arrow. 

  Rhaenyra pulled the sheets up to her chin as the doors were opened and the serving girls arrived with plates of bacon, eggs, fried mushrooms, fresh berries, and sweet figs, served with a jug of heated spiced wine. The girls giggled as they glanced at the bed, Daemon's bare chest on display for them, the shorter of the girls blushing as they hurried out of the bedchamber. Rhaenyra looked across the room, but the food was not quite enough to tempt her from the bed. 

 It was only after Daemon woke did Rhaenyra inspect the contents of the table. The wine had cooled down, and the bacon was close to cold, but the figs were as sweet as honey and reminded her of the trays her mother would have served to her on the morns she felt particularly ill as a means of cheering herself up. Rhaenyra sipped her wine, watching as Daemon pulled on a pair of pale brown breeches. As he did, Rhaenyra could see the jagged cut across his hand, which looked so much longer and darker than her own. Absentmindedly, her finger ran down the slit in her own lip, feeling it throbbing under her skin at the touch. It hurt, but not agonisingly so, and it was certainly worth it. 

 They ate mostly in silence, their bare feet rubbing against each other under the table. Once they had dressed, they walked down to the beach, watching the clear waves roll against the shore as the gulls cried out overhead. Rhaenyra wore the same yellow dress she had travelled in, not bothering with any of her jewellery, while Daemon wore a richly detailed burgundy and black tunic, the buttons gleaming in the sunlight as his boots slapped against the sand. "Should we have made a pie?" Rhaenyra wondered. Daemon cocked an eyebrow. "Father had a large pie of live pigeons to cut at his wedding."

"They are common," Daemon shrugged. "I am sure the validity of our union will not be questioned without it." 

"No." She sighed. "But - but it shall be questioned, will it not?" 

"Most likely," Daemon replied. 

"Are you not worried?"

"Why would I be? They cannot tear us apart now."

"No, no I suppose not." Rhaenyra swallowed. "Father will be vexed with us." Although she could not pretend her father would be anything less than furious at the news of their union, with the sea breeze in her hair and the sunlight on her face, basking in the company of her new husband, her father's rage felt insignificant, like King's Landing was another lifetime entirely. Daemon nodded. "And he shall not be the only one."

"No," Daemon agreed. "Many men across the Realm are sure to be dismayed they could not have you for themselves." 

"Please," Rhaenyra scoffed. "They were only interested in my Valyrian looks and dragonriding blood."

"Oh." Daemon chuckled. "And what makes you think I am any different?" Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. Daemon laughed again, locking her hand in his.

____________

 The first few days of marriage, Rhaenyra had to describe as bliss; they spent their mornings in bed, ate their luncheon on the balcony, and spent the rest of their days admiring the beaches, gardens, and hillsides of Dragonstone, more oft than not on dragonback. On one occasion, Daemon took her to the local marketplace, which was cramped and smelt horribly of fish, but he had bought her a gorgeous silver necklace decorated with rubies from the Summer Isles. Rhaenyra had grown more than accustomed to the company of her new husband, sharing almost every moment with him, and it only made her more aware of how lonely she had been before. Daemon seemed equally as enthused by her company, showing her his favourite spots on the island and recounting stories of his youth.

  It was not lost on her, however, that one day her bubble would burst and she would have to deal with her father's reaction. Her absence from the Keep would not go unnoticed forever, and she did not doubt that her lack of appearances at the Small Council would have already been noted by Viserys. 

 As much as the fallout would undoubtedly trouble her, Rhaenyra resolved to be the one to inform her father of her recent union, deciding it best to come from her. Daemon advised against it, telling her that word would soon reach King's Landing, and it would be better if it was less clear when they wed so rumours of their child's conception were less likely to spread. Rhaenyra knew her father would never accept the shame of her birthing a bastard, and would not inflict that pain onto their House, but he would respond far less kindly to the information if he had to receive it from one of his councillors. 

  She scripted her letter while on Daemon's balcony, while sat upon a cushion of pale blue embroidered with roses of red and yellow. Daemon sat beside her, a book on the old dragon roads of the Valyrian Freehold in his lap. As she wrote, she could feel him prodding her knee with his foot. "What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Are you not hungry yet?" he inquired. "You have been staring at that for close to two hours now, and you are yet to eat a morsel." Rhaenyra shook her head. 

"I am not quite done," she sighed. "I - how do you end a letter like this? I do not want to apologise - I am not sorry - but a simple 'farewell' does not feel adequate." Daemon shrugged. "I know he shall feel slighted."

"I am sure his anger will not be directed at you," Daemon replied. "Now, lunch?"

"Let me finish this," Rhaenyra insisted. Daemon rolled his eyes. "Read your book." Daemon rolled his eyes again. 

  Once Rhaenyra had finished her letter, she drafted another to her ladies, urging them to join her on Dragonstone, and preferably bringing some of her other dresses and nightgowns with them. Only after she had sealed them and given the letters to Maester Gerardys did she agree to Daemon calling the servants to bring them their luncheon. 

____________

 Rhaenyra woke to the sound of hushes voices. It was still dark out and she doubted that she could have been sleeping for very long. "Daemon?" she called out. The door slammed shut and he marched towards the bed, his silver silk robe tied loosely around himself. He looked tired, with bags forming around his eyes and his brow creased. "What is it?" Rhaenyra sat up, cocking her head as he sighed. 

"Your father has arrived," he bit out angrily. "He demands to see us in the Throne Room."

Rhaenyra frowned. "Not at this hour, surely?" Daemon nodded. "You - you do not think he shall force me back to King's Landing with him, do you?" 

"I do not know what he is here for," Daemon grunted. "But I doubt it is anything in our favour." 

"I will not be parted from you," Rhaenyra declared. "You are my husband, we -"

"We shall not be," Daemon said firmly, taking her hand in his. "Whatever it is he wants, we shall not be separated. You are mine." He winked.

"And you are mine," Rhaenyra returned. "I would want for no other." Daemon nodded shortly. "Could you keep him entertained whilst I dress?"

"If I must," Daemon grumbled reluctantly. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

  It took Daemon no time to lace up his breeches and throw on a loose undershirt, not bothering to touch his hair at all, while Rhaenyra spent some time lacing up her dress, smoothing out the creases on her skirts and tying her hair into as best a braid as she could fashion. 

  When she arrived at Dragonstone's Throne Room, she was met by an eerie silence. Viserys was clad in all black, rubbing his gloved hands together as he paced back and forth. His face was shining with sweat and saltwater, his skin plagued with a pale green tinge and his boots drenched. Behind him stood Lord Lyonel, who looked angrier than Rhaenyra had ever seen him before. On the other side of the room was Daemon and Maester Gerardys. Daemon simply appeared bored, staring at the Hand with a look of disinterest, while Maester Gerardys was somewhat nervous. There were two guards in red cloaks standing at the door, accompanied by Ser Harrold, and a further two guards followed Rhaenyra into the room. 

   "Princess Rhaenyra," Maester Gerardys greeted her with a short nod of his head. Viserys froze in place when he saw her, his glare darkening and his nostrils flared. He waved a hand dismissively. 

"Leave us," he demanded. Lord Lyonel stared at him for a moment, unimpressed, but did as he was commanded. Maester Gerardys bowed his head again and ushered Rhaenyra's guardsmen out of the room. Daemon cocked an eyebrow. "Have you lost your conscious mind?" Viserys hissed, waving a glove-covered finger as he marched towards his daughter. Daemon crossed the room towards her as well, his eyes never leaving the King as Viserys reached for one of her hands. "I had told you that your courtship was at an end, did I not?"

"You did," Rhaenyra murmured. 

"And so what is this?" Viserys snapped. He took Rhaenyra's letter out of his pocket and waved it under her nose. 

"We are not courting," she huffed. "We are wed." Daemon smirked.

"Nonsense," Viserys spat. Rhaenyra frowned. "I - " Viserys turned, glowering at Daemon "- I blame you for this!"

"Go ahead," the younger brother drawled. "It changes nothing." 

"Bring me the Septon that agreed to perform this union and I will have his tongue," growled Viserys.

"There was no Septon," sniffed Rhaenyra. "We joined in fire and blood, like our ancestors." She turned her hand, showing him the slice in her palm. Daemon nodded his agreement.

"It cannot be undone by the word of any man," he added gruffly. 

"You are my heir!" Viserys cried, wagging a finger in her face. "How could you be so foolish? Did you not think of the scandal? The insult?"

"The insult?" scoffed Rhaenyra. "An insult was you taking the daughter of an unlanded knight to be Queen over the daughter of a Princess." 

"Laena was too young!"

"What? Would it have killed you to wait two years?" Daemon scoffed.

"This is none of your concern," Viserys hissed. "My marriage is-"

"More insulting than my own," snapped Rhaenyra. Viserys shook his head.

"Think of all those Lords and their heirs on your betrothal tour," he said. "One of them expected to be selected."

"Those men cared not for me," Rhaenyra said coolly. "They did not even know me! They care only for my blood and my title, and besides, Ser Laenor was not a suitor on my tour either and still you chose him."

"Ser Laenor was approved by the Council! A worthy match!"

"As was Lady Laena," hissed Rhaenyra. 

"WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING MY MARRIAGE!" 

"You told Lord Corlys that dragons would rule the Kingdoms for another generation," Rhaenyra said. "Now you can be assured that they will. With Ser Laenor dead, there was no better consort, no man in the Kingdom with better breeding nor a dragonrider." Daemon nodded again, his eyes never leaving Viserys' face as the King grew redder.

"That is not your decision to make. You are but a child, but -"

"I am a woman grown," puffed Rhaenyra.

"Wedded and bedded," added Daemon softly. Viserys glared at him. 

"He -" Viserys wagged his finger in Daemon's direction "- was already dismissed as a match for you. He is too unruly, and -" 

Daemon whacked the King's hand out of his face. "And black-hearted and selfish and diabolical, yes, yes, we have been hearing it from Hightower for years," he said drily. "Are you also to call my parents abominations? For the Hightowers have said that as well." Viserys frowned. 

"Stop talking, Daemon," he demanded. "I have heard more than enough from you to last a lifetime."

"The feeling is mutual," Daemon shrugged. Viserys groaned, the anger receding as he dropped his head into his hands. He looked exhausted, as if he had not slept in days, and older than Rhaenyra had ever seen him before. 

"Think of what the Council shall say when they hear of this," he grunted.

"You have not told them?" Daemon inquired, the surprise clear in his voice.

"No," scoffed Viserys. "The fewer people that know about this - this momentary madness of my daughter's, the better."

"Madness?" Rhaenyra repeated. Viserys nodded.

"I am sure they said the same thing of the Conciliator," Daemon shrugged. "His mother was none too pleased with his marriage either." Rhaenyra smiled at him. "Might your Hand also threaten us? I would warn you I have seen war far more recently than he, so you may need another yet again."

"There shall be no need for that," Viserys hissed. "Lord Lyonel will not lay a hand on you, he knows better than that." Daemon smirked. Viserys turned to Rhaenyra. "You will accompany me back to King's Landing, and -"

"No," she objected, backing away from him. 

"Yes," the King said gruffly. "We shall return to King's Landing and discuss this with the Councilmen."

"I shall not," Rhaenyra huffed. 

"No? I see not why, if you are so certain that he is the best match for you, why not let the Council discuss it?" 

"Daemon is the best match," Rhaenyra insisted. "He is a Targaryen Prince, he is no stranger to me or to governance, he is popular with the people, and he is a good husband, but I do not expect your -"

"Husband? You have not been wed a sennight? You cannot decide that yet."

"Oh, but you can? You who has never been a woman?" scoffed Rhaenyra. "Ever since I flowered I have heard from my Septa of how my husband would rape me - perhaps even in my sleep - and that it was simply part of my 'duty' to my family to accept it. So many men in the Kingdom would use me in such a way, but he has not. Daemon has always treated me well, offering me compliments and - and gifts and kindness, but your Council shall care for none of that, for they are all men. Men who want power, and will see Daemon as a threat to that." 

"The Council serve the King," Viserys grunted.

"But the King does not serve in his House's best interest," Daemon said. "You allow your Hightower wife to make demands of you, allow Lannisters, Strongs and other Andal filth to pretend that they are on our level. If you wish the Realm to be ruled by dragons, then be a fucking dragon." 

"Be like you, you mean?"

"Like Baelon," Daemon replied. Viserys stared at him. He shook his head, turning his gaze back to Rhaenyra. 

"Ready your things," he told her.

"No," she said again. "I am not leaving."

"Yes, you are," Viserys growled. "If the Council sees it as such, then we shall call for Daemon and you can have a proper ceremony in a Sept, with witnesses, and -"

"We are not Andals," scoffed Daemon. "We have no need for all of that."

"She is the heir to the Throne!" exclaimed Viserys. "Her wedding should have been one greater than Aemon and Jocelyn's, and instead you stole her out here and - and-"

"What does it matter how costly the wedding is if my husband is someone foul?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"Why do you have so little faith in me?" Viserys sighed. "Laenor was a good match, and I am sure that-"

"Some of the 'suitors' you had me meet were older than my great-grandmother," Rhaenyra scoffed. "One man recalled Maegor! Maegor!" Daemon narrowed his eyes at Viserys. "Maegor died practically fifty years before I was born, Father. And another was little more than a babe at his mother's breast."

"I doubt that matters to him, his own wife had not flowered when they wed," Daemon whispered. 

"Enough of that!" flared Viserys. "Alicent had certainly -"

"I was talking about Aemma," Daemon said silkily. Viserys' face fell. 

"She was young," Viserys sighed, shaking his head. "Too young. She suffered too much."

"On that we can agree," Rhaenyra said icily. Viserys shook his head again. 

"Then let us end this conversation here," he said sharply. "Let us go, Lord Lyonel will write to you -" Viserys turned to glare at Daemon "- when we have reached our decision."

"There is no decision to be made," flared Rhaenyra. "He is my husband, and he is to be my consort."

"Rhaenyra, you cannot -"

"I could be pregnant," she said softly. Viserys' eyes widened. "Surely you cannot bring into question the validity of my marriage if it means - well, you know what it would mean for my child." Daemon nodded.

"This is your fault," Viserys snarled, wagging his finger at Daemon again. 

"It is natural for man and wife," Daemon shrugged. Viserys groaned. 

"You shall remain here until - until we can confirm you are not with child," he said.

"And if she is?" Daemon cocked an eyebrow.

"Then we can consider announcing the match," Viserys relented.

"Is that not suspicious?"

"Do not test me," Viserys snarled.

"Oh, I would find no joy in that," Daemon said drily. Viserys shook his head.

"Write to me when you have news," he demanded. Rhaenyra nodded. Viserys shook his head again, but tapped Rhaenyra's hand gently before he marched out of the room. Rhaenyra glanced back to Daemon, who smirked at her. 

"I fear we have not heard the end of this," she muttered.

"Heavens, no," Daemon laughed. "We shall likely be hearing about this until the end of our days - or the end of his, whichever comes first." Rhaenyra sighed. "It is a price I am willing to pay."

"And I," she agreed. "Although I do wish he had not been so disagreeable." Daemon shrugged.

"It is still dark out -" he offered her his arm "- might we return to bed?" 

"I think we must," Rhaenyra sighed, accepting it. Daemon smiled, but it was forced. "What is wrong?" she asked, as they too left the Throne Room.

Daemon's brow creased, "are you sure you would not have preferred the spectacle? A  proper wedding with a feast and tourney and all of the sorts?"

"I would have liked it," Rhaenyra shrugged. "I may have been fun, but I would not prefer it, no. All I need is you." Daemon beamed.

Chapter Text

 It had been some days since King Viserys, the First of His Name, had last found sleep. The hour of the nightingale was upon them, the night having barely left its blackest hour, as his carriage trotted towards the Keep. He could feel his stomach churn, his body still rocking as if still trapped within the cabin of his ship. His Hand sat across from him, Lord Lyonel visibly as affected by their uneasy travels as the King himself. Viserys knew that it would be a long night, and far from a pleasant one.

 Lord Lyonel cleared his throat. The King turned from peering out of the window to face him. "Are we to return to Dragonstone, then?" he asked. "I am sure Ser Harrold can gather us enough of the guards by first light to ensure we can -"

"No," Viserys grunted. 

"If it is Prince Daemon's dragon that is the -"

"No," Viserys said again. "We shall not be returning to Dragonstone." 

Lord Lyonel frowned, "why? You are not truly going to allow Prince Daemon to get away with this, are you? It is a clear insult to yourself, your Grace. It is treason, surely. You could have him executed for this." 

"If he were another man, mayhaps," Viserys sighed. "But I shall do no harm to my brother." 

"The Gods would understand, your Grace. Your daughter is -"

"I care not for the Gods," Viserys chuckled drily. "Think of the shame on my father." The King shook his head.

"But, the Princess -"

"The - the marriage was consummated," Viserys grumbled, wiping his brow with a pale cloth. "If he has gotten her with child, throwing the marriage out now shall ruin her." Lord Lyonel sighed. 

"Are you to send Maester Mellos to her?" he inquired. 

"I do not know," Viserys sighed. He wiped his brow again. "Is it still too early to know?"

"I would presume so, your Grace," Lord Lyonel replied uncomfortably. Viserys shook his head again. Lord Lyonel swallowed. "If - if her becoming with child is what you wish to avoid, would it not be - be for the best if you were to keep them separated?" 

"I wish to keep this as quiet as possible," Viserys grunted. "The less people who know before I am able to decide how to proceed, the better."

Lord Lyonel's frown deepened. "You do not think the Princess' absence from court shall be noticed?" 

"Perhaps," Viserys admitted. "But Dragonstone is her seat, she has cause to be there, and when Rhaenyra is in a foul mood, all the Keep shall know of it, such has always been the case." He shook his head, chuckling to himself. His eldest had always been a precocious child, but curious children often found themselves in places that they should not, and Rhaenyra certainly knew how to sulk when she was returned to her maids, or her rather violent Valyrian storybooks were taken from her, or she was unable to visit her mother in her chambers. He had hoped that since she had come of age, such brooding would cease, but it seemed she was always vexed with him for something or other. He could not recall having such a tiresome relationship with his own father, although he supposed Baelon was oft too busy with squashing rebellions and ruling the Kingdom to notice much of what he was doing, not that he had been doing much as a young Prince.

"Should - should her ladies go to her? And servants?" pondered Lord Lyonel. "Her visit may seem more... official or ... authoritative if she were to have her royal household."

"Uh... yes," Viserys muttered, waving a hand dismissively. Lord Lyonel nodded. 

"I am sure that my daughters would inform me if anything were to transpire that could cause us further issue."

"Good, good," Viserys sighed.

 Once they returned to the Red Keep, Viserys bid farewell to Lord Lyonel, who began the laborious ascent of the steps of the Tower of the Hand, while he returned to his own chambers in Maegor's Holdfast. He left Ser Harrold outside his door without a word, letting it slam behind him as he stared out of the window at the still city below. 

 He had known since naming Rhaenyra his heir that she would one day take off to Dragonstone. Although he had not visited once during his short tenure as heir to the Throne, more than content to let Daemon play as castellan while he and Aemma remained at the Capital, Rhaenyra was not like him. She did not enjoy the busyness of the Keep, nor the crowded city. She had always preferred her time on dragonback, high up in the clouds where no one else could reach her. Viserys had always feared isolation, but Rhaenyra seemed to gravitate towards it. He worried for her, worried that she would distance herself from her family and courtiers too much in her anger and frustration at the world, and at him. 

 He had never anticipated her leaving to go like this, for her to abscond in the night, leaving behind her life, her family, her duties, to rush to her uncle. When Baelon had spoken of his parents' wedding, there was something romantic in his tone as he recalled how the two young lovers had fled on dragonback in the middle of the night, unwilling to watch as the other was wed to another. Never as a boy had Viserys bothered to worry for dowager Queen Alyssa's feelings, how she had lost her two remaining children in one blow, Rhaena the other side of the continent and Aegon, Viserys and Vaella already in their graves. In Baelon's retellings, she had been the villain, Alyssa and her Baratheon husband, but now, even now some sixty years after the Exceptionalism had passed, Viserys too feared for the the Realm's reaction, especially if it got out how they had fled together without his leave. 

  Lord Baratheon had supposedly sent maids to seduce Jaehaerys to drive him from his sister's chaste bed, although his plan was unsuccessful. For a moment, Viserys thought about it, of sending Lyseni whores to serve the castle, and to serve his brother. He could not do it, however. If they were to succeed, Rhaenyra may shun Daemon, but she would be heartbroken, and it would do nothing to help the babe that may be growing in her stomach. 

 Viserys knew Jaehaerys would rage at her, for young Kings may choose their brides, but he would never allow a Princess to leave as she did. Alysanne was good, she would have forgiven her, but even she would have been reluctant to let the marriage stand. Baelon... Baelon would have blamed Daemon, but he too would have forgiven it. Daemon and Rhaenyra were the blood of the dragon; reckless, impulsive, passionate. His father would have laughed at Viserys for not seeing it coming. 

 Perhaps even more than his brother, Viserys cursed himself. He had had a chance to master this before, be the one holding the reins. Rhaenyra had chosen Daemon over every man in the Kingdom, and Viserys had sent him away. Daemon had always brought out the worst in him - as a boy it was jealousy, as a man it was fear, must he now incite guilt as well? Will it never be enough for his petulant little brother? They had wed in fire and blood, Rhaenyra had declared it. His mother, Alyssa, had wanted the same for her union, but Jaehaerys had refused her, the Valyrian ceremony too closely tied to Maegor and Visenya. Viserys feared for it too, that the Faith would shun them, the High Septon in an uproar for their blood magic, his daughter the scapegoat for another uprising.

 Sleep did not come to the Young King that night. He lay on his bed and cursed his uncle Aemon for dying too soon, or his grandsire for not dying soon enough. As a young man, he had wanted to be a good King, now he resented being King at all. 

 He rose when the maids came in to prepare his rooms for breakfast. He changed behind a sheet, two manservants hurrying in to pass him an ornate red and gold shirt, and a black coat with a red dragon across his chest. Eddard, the tallest of the servants, presented him with his Crown atop a purple cushion, which Viserys placed on his own head. "Your Grace," Eddard muttered, bowing his head before he took his leave.

"Your Grace," murmured Lothor, the shorter man, following Eddard out of the chamber. Viserys waved a hand dismissively at them, pushing open the sheet to cross the room to where the serving girls were preparing the table just beyond his stone sculpture. 

"Your Grace," one of them greeted, as all three bowed lowly. Viserys forced a smile and nodded, taking his place at the table. "Wine, your Grace?" the girl offered, holding out a jug. Viserys shook his head. 

"Tea, your Grace?" another asked. Viserys waved a hand at her, so she leaned over the table to pour the tea into a cup. 

 It was not long before Alicent arrived at his chambers, young Helaena in her arms while her maids trailed after them, one of them holding a grumpy Aegon. Alicent had already dressed for the day, her dress mostly pink with black sleeves and collar, while the children were still in their white nightwear. Viserys nodded to her as Alicent took her place to his right at the circular table, Helaena being seated beside her and Aegon next to his sister. "Good morning," Alicent greeted softly, as the children's maids sat in the corner of the room, a short distance behind them. Viserys grunted his response, raising his teacup to his lips. Alicent also called for a cup of tea, while the children had water with lemon juice. "Did you not sleep well?" Alicent inquired. 

"Not especially," sighed the King, rubbing his temple with two fingers as Aegon banged his fist on the table angrily. 

"Aegon," Alicent hissed. 

"Now, now, now," Aegon chanted, ignoring her. Viserys' brow creased, cocking his head at the boy. "Now, now, now," he continued, banging his fist again. Helaena shook her head disapprovingly at him. Aegon poked his tongue out at her. 

"Aegon," Alicent snapped again, leaning over Helaena to glare at her son. Aegon continued ignoring her, shaking his head as he continued his chant. 

"Not now, Aegon," Viserys groaned. Aegon stared at him for a moment, but then resumed hitting the table. 

"Egg," Helaena giggled. Aegon frowned at her. 

  Trays of sausages and bacon, fried mushroom and tomatoes, warm bread and cold fruits were soon placed on the table. As the serving girls walked in, Aegon cheered excitedly, his hands immediately reaching for a sausage, but Alicent shook her head at him, instructing him to leave the serving girl to place some on his plate for him. She also called for Viserys' teacup to be refilled, and for cups of warm milk to be brought for the children. "Are you to meet with the Small Council today?" Alicent questioned. 

"Indeed," Viserys replied. 

"Mayhaps someone will have heard something of Rhaenyra?" Alicent suggested, tapping Viserys' hand encouragingly. Viserys grunted, actually hoping the opposite, that his council had not heard of Rhaenyra's recent doings.

"Cherries!" Aegon said happily, dipping a cherry in a pot of honey before raising it to his lips. 

"Come now, Aegon," Alicent sighed, as one of the serving girls brought in a bowl of porridge for Helaena. "Eat your food properly." Aegon shook his head, ignoring his sausages to reach for another cherry. "Here, take that," Alicent said, picking up the honey and holding it out for one of the maids to remove from the table. Aegon scowled. 

"No!" he shouted. "Mine! Mine! Mine!" He reached after the maid, and Alicent leaned over Helaena to bat his hands down.

"Come now, young Aegon," Viserys exasperated. "What is the means of all this fuss? Have your breakfast like a good lad, now." Aegon scowled at him. 

"Help him with that," instructed Alicent, and one of the maids hurried to the table to cut up Aegon's sausages. Aegon screamed at her, pulling the woman's dark hair. The woman shrieked in shock. "Aegon," sighed Alicent, shaking her head.

"No," Helaena said to him. "No." 

"Quiet!" Aegon snapped, slapping his hand against the table. Helaena pouted. 

"Here, sweetling," Alicent sighed, brushing Helaena's hair as she helped her spoon her porridge towards her mouth. 

"Would you like some porridge, Aegon?" Viserys asked.

"No." 

"Would you like some eggs?" 

"No." 

"He is fine, husband," Alicent muttered. Viserys held his hands up in surrender, before raising his teacup again, letting the aromatic liquid wash over his mouth. His head was pounding, and Aegon's tantrum was doing him no good. He did not know how he was to sit through this breakfast, let alone any of the other meetings and hearings he had to attend. 

"No," Helaena said again, as Aegon dipped his fingers into her porridge. 

"Aegon," Alicent sighed, reaching for his hand. Aegon giggled, gripping the porridge and throwing it across the table. Viserys sighed, shaking his head as he wiped it from the side of his plate. "Aegon!" Alicent snapped. Aegon only giggled, grabbing Helaena's bowl and pulling it from her.

"Egg!" Helaena exclaimed unhappily. She tried to pull her bowl back, but Aegon kept hitting her hands.

"Mine, mine, mine," Aegon chanted angrily. 

"Aegon, enough," puffed Viserys, wagging a finger at him. Aegon ignored him, throwing the porridge onto the floor. Helaena began to wail, her hands reaching for the bowl sadly as it rolled away from her. Two of their maids rushed to clean up the mess, while Helaena continued to sob. "Mayhaps Prince Aegon should be taken to clean up?" Viserys suggested. Alicent frowned, but did not disagree, and one of the maids picked Aegon up out of his chair and carried him out of the room while he screamed defiantly. 

____________

  The waves roared as they rolled away from the shore, leaving behind a trail of darkened sand and bright purple seaweed, its sulphurous odour mixing with the salt in the air. 

  Rhaenyra raised a sweet strawberry to her lips. Her hair was blowing in her face and gooseflesh ran up her arms, but she was otherwise content, sat upon a blanket of black and red, watching Syrax and Caraxes flying in the distance. "They look so happy," she said, leaning back on her elbows so that she could better peruse the dragons' dance. Daemon hummed his agreement, popping a couple of grapes into his mouth. "I have never seen Syrax so content."

"She shall not be missing the Dragon Pit, of that I am sure," Daemon chuckled. 

"No," Rhaenyra agreed. "Do you suppose Dreamfyre loathes it there?" 

"I could not say," Daemon sighed. "Every dragon is different. It is doing her no good, being chained down there and away from the world, unable to hunt and fly for herself, but she may like life as a castle dragon, and it has been so long since Rhaena passed."

"She is so pretty," Rhaenyra said thoughtfully. Daemon shrugged. "When I was a girl, I would beg my mother to fly her." Daemon chuckled. "She would oft dress in pale blue when she first came to King's Landing, she had told me, as it reminded her of her home in the Vale. Though, your grandmother disliked it so and so she would instead wear pinks and rouges and red as she insisted. In her own rooms, however, her nightgown had always been blue. I thought Dreamfyre would suit her well."

"Aemma had a terrible fear of heights," Daemon told her. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. "I thought she was going to cry when she learned my father took you up on Vhagar and she was damn near close to having me castrated the first time Caraxes and I took you to Dragonstone." Rhaenyra giggled.

"Well, I am certainly glad she did not," she said. Daemon winked at her and she could feel herself blushing. "Is the Vale truly terrible?" Rhaenyra inquired, as Daemon bit into an orange slice, the juice dripping down his crimson tunic. Rhaenyra chuckled. He frowned at her. 

"It is alright to fly over," Daemon shrugged. "Alyssa's tears is rather beautiful, and the Eyrie is quite impressive. It is the people that are cunts, old, frigid Andals who think being old Andals is of note." Daemon scoffed, shaking his head. 

"I have never been," Rhaenyra sighed. "Mother always said she would like to take me, but Father never permitted it, he was never eager to leave the Capital." 

"It is of no great loss," Daemon said stiffly. Rhaenyra frowned. "The Valeman are not overly fond of Aemma, the Arryns never thought highly of your grandmother and expected Aemma to be as plain and simple as she was."

"Oh." 

"Your half-aunts were always rather terrible to poor Daella," Daemon sighed, shaking his head. "Alysanne was most unimpressed when she visited. It is a shame, too, my father said Daella always wanted to be a mother, more so than anything else, and she was overjoyed to marry Rodrik and have stepchildren to raise." 

"Did you know her, my grandmother?" Rhaenyra quizzed. 

"No," Daemon replied. "She moved to the Vale before I was born. My father recalled her fondly, and she was certainly my mother's favourite sister, although she always supposed Daella was a little scared of her."

"Did - did you know Saera?" Rhaenyra wondered. 

"No, I was a babe when she left," Daemon said. "She was never fond of your grandmother, though. She would tease Daella to no end, and once she put bees in her chamber pot." 

"Oh dear." Rhaenyra looked up as Syrax chirped overhead, the two dragons now soaring towards the dragonmont. She glanced at Daemon, who was watching the sea in the distance where Silverwing was rolling in the waves. "Was Dragonstone like this when you were a boy?" Rhaenyra asked.

"How do you mean?"

"Peaceful," Rhaenyra shrugged. "Free." 

"Dragonstone has always been less invasive than King's Landing," Daemon replied. "In the Capital, it feels as though everyone is trying to suffocate you, they are watching you all the time, whispering, conspiring, following. Here, you can truly be alone." Daemon scratching his chin. "It was quite like this when I was a young boy. As I grew up, and Alysanne took the seat as her own, more and more tradesfolk and lesser nobles would flock to the island, hoping to meet with the Good Queen. The small fishing village became more of a town, and the farmers grew richer with more sheep and more land to farm. Now, they flock to Driftmark, but their paintings and grocers and vineyards remain." Daemon sighed. "It will change again soon, you know."

"How so?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"When you take Dragonstone as your seat, the nobles will congregate here to meet you," Daemon said. "We will not have vast days to do as we please, your duties shall come with you." Rhaenyra nodded knowingly. "The castle is a nice distance away from it all, but the people would love it if we - you - were to walk and dine among them, as Jaehaerys did in his regency." 

"Dine with the commoners?" Rhaenyra questioned, scrunching up her nose. Daemon nodded.

"They have taverns and bakers and such in the town," he replied. "Or inns where we could stay, or fishmongers to visit. The more you are seen there, the more likely it shall be that people shall come for you." 

"I do not much like the sound of sleeping in a commoner's bed," Rhaenyra muttered. 

"It is not so awful," Daemon chuckled. "Some of the inns are rather nice, and the wine is far cheaper here than in King's Landing." 

"How brilliant," Rhaenyra said drily. Daemon chortled, sounding more like Viserys than he ever had before. 

"I used to go into the village as a boy," Daemon said. "My father and my aunt and uncle would take Rhaenys and I, and we would eat little pies by the docks and watch the ships come in." 

"Laena does the same on Driftmark."

"I do not blame her." 

"What else would you do on your visits as a boy?" Rhaenyra inquired, reaching for his hand. Daemon smirked at her. 

"We would mostly come in the summers, when Jaehaerys was preoccupied with feasts and tourneys and hunts so my uncle Aemon could escape the court," he replied. "Jocelyn was never fond of the Capital - nor it of her - and so she and Rhaenys would remain here for most of the year while he was serving as Master of Laws. We would hunt, we would hawk, we would swim. Baelon would teach me how to fight and Aemon would teach me how to shoot, not that I ever have had much of a love for archery. In the night, after it got dark, Aemon would take us out and we would watch from the hills in hopes of catching a glimpse of the wild dragons. Baelon and I were never successful, but Rhaenys insists she once saw one upon the beach." 

"Did my father not go with you?" 

"He came to Dragonstone, of course, but he was never one for the dark. He preferred to stay in the castle and sample all the sweets that Jocelyn would allow him."

"Are there still wild dragons?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Certainly. I could not say how many, I do not think even the dragonkeepers know, but the Cannibal is certainly still roaming the hills, and another has been sighted along the coast."

"The Cannibal?" Rhaenyra repeated, frowning. 

"Has no one told you of him?" inquired Daemon. Rhaenyra shook her head. "The Cannibal has supposedly roamed this island since before the Conquest," Daemon explained. "He is a dangerous dragon, one who hates people having never been ridden before, and will eat whatever he can find, including the eggs and hatchlings of other dragons, hence his name. He seldom goes near us or the castle, not eager to pick fights with other dragons, but he is sometimes close to the mount in hopes of stealing the eggs."

"Oh."

"Some say he is larger than Vhagar, others say no bigger than Silverwing," Daemon continued. "But his scales are as black as coal, so he can sneak up on you in the night. He is yet to kill any dragonriders, but a the smallfolk are known to blame him if their children go missing."

"How terrible," Rhaenyra gasped. She swallowed, watching as Syrax disappeared in the distance. "You do not think he shall take Syrax's eggs, do you?"

"Has Syrax laid a clutch?"

"Well, no, but she may do one day."

"The hatcheries are well protected," Daemon replied. "The eggs are kept in iron chambers. It is once the eggs hatch that the hatchlings are truly in danger, or if the dragons lay their eggs without the keepers knowing and are left for another to find." Rhaenyra nodded. She reached for another strawberry, but dropped it in fright as she heard a low roar. 

 A flash of bronze flickered through the sky as Vermithor soared above them. He roared again as he circled the beach, soon diving downward to join Silverwing in the blue-green sea. Daemon laughed, watching as Silverwing reemerged, a big, black cod in her maw, while Vermithor's tail slapped against the water's surface. 

"You did not have an egg, did you?" Rhaenyra asked.

"No," Daemon replied.

"Did you always know you wanted Caraxes as your mount?" 

Daemon exhaled slowly. "I always admired him," he said. "But no, he was my uncle's mount, I did not always know we were destined for one another."

"Destined?" Rhaenyra asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What else could it be?" Daemon sighed. "I do not much care for Gods or fate, but our bond runs deep in our blood, there was no other dragon I could have claimed."

"Like our blood is joined?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"I would not claim to have wed my dragon," Daemon snorted. "But something similar, yes." Rhaenyra chuckled. "When I was a boy, I had wanted Balerion. He was the oldest and the largest, a piece of the Conquest like my father's mount, but it was Viserys who got there first. For a short while, I had hoped for Meleys, my mother's dragon, but it was Rhaenys that she chose."

"You think Meleys chose her?"

"Indeed," Daemon replied, nodding. "She would seldom be touched after my mother's death, not by me or Baelon or the keepers, but when Rhaenys came, it was as if she was with my mother again, new life was birthed from her sadness, and all she longed for was the skies. When Aemon died, I knew Caraxes was meant for me, but it took a few years for me to find him on Tarth, as a boy I only left the Capital to serve as Baelon's squires in tourneys, it took until an upset in the Dornish Marches for us to be anywhere near him."

"He had found a cave, had he not?" Rhaenyra asked, having heard the story many times before, not that she tired of it.

"Yes. He was hidden behind a waterfall and it was awfully difficult to get up there. I had to bribe him out with pieces of mutton before I could take him to the skies. I beat my father and his men back to King's Landing and he was awfully impressed, although Viserys was weary to have the Blood Wyrm back in the Capital." 

"Sometimes I wonder how such a man ever claimed the Black Dread," Rhaenyra whispered. Daemon laughed, releasing his hold on her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders as the cold wind blew. "Which dragon do you think is meant for our babe?"

"Who knows?" Daemon shrugged. "Mayhaps he shall be like you and hatch one of his own?"

"I hope so," Rhaenyra murmured. "Claiming one sounds awfully dangerous."

"Not when the dragon is in chains," Daemon muttered. "Although, Vermithor and Silverwing will need riders." 

"Did you ever want for them?"

"Once," Daemon sighed, "a long time ago. People spoke oft of my grandsire as if he was a dying man, and I had once thought of taking Vermithor once he was gone. The old man took too long to die, though, and I was impatient." Rhaenyra giggled again. Daemon smiled down at her, a content expression flashing across his face before he could contort it into his usual smirk. Still, Rhaenyra caught it, if only for a moment, and it only made her smile wider. 

"What do you suppose makes a good King?" Rhaenyra asked, as Silverwing threw herself onto the shore, swallowing two blue fish whole. 

"What?" 

"If our child is to follow me on the Throne, then we shall have to raise a good ruler, shall we not?" 

"I suppose." 

"What made your grandfather so beloved?"

"He was not Maegor," Daemon said drily.

"There must be more to it than that."

"He was a conciliator, a pacifer, willing to acquiesce both the rich and the poor, the Faith and the court. He became more legend than man." Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. "He was charismatic, he was courageous, and he was chivalrous," Daemon continued. "He was easy to like in his youth and people wanted him to like them. He was learned and he did not act on impulse. He knew his power and ensured that others were aware of it, yes, but he would never outright threaten anyone, he was too clever for that. He would hold feasts and balls and receive his supplicants directly. People like to feel involved, to feel listened to and important." Daemon sighed. "Of course, that was all before my time. The man I recall had lost most of his wits and looks, and spent most of his days in his chambers, reading the same old scrolls or confined to his bed. He grew quick to anger if his wife or children defied him, and was not one for second chances." 

"Sometimes, forgiveness cannot be earned," Rhaenyra declared, thinking of her stepmother. 

"I shall keep that in mind for when you rule," Daemon muttered. Rhaenyra laughed. 

"Our son must also be chivalrous and courageous," she said. Daemon nodded. "A fierce knight and - and a regal Prince."

"Indeed."

"Must - must he not also be kind? Was Jaehaerys not kind?"

"Jaehaerys was better than that, he was smart," Daemon replied. "He knew who and when to impress and when to force others to impress him."

"Father donates food to the poor after our feasts."

"He does. But does he truly care for them, or does he want people to think he is kind?" Daemon cocked an eyebrow. 

"He does care!" Rhaenyra insisted. "So did your grandmother."

"Alysanne was good," Daemon agreed. "She gave the commonfolk clean drinking water, she urged Jaehaerys to abolish the First Night, she held her women's courts across the Realm. She was renowned for her charity and love of both the high and lowborn subjects."

"Indeed."

"But, she was a consort, not a ruler."

"So?"

"So, being a ruler often means making terrible, difficult decisions," Daemon replied. "Your father knows not of this for he lets his Council do most of it for him, but when things go wrong, the King - or Queen, in your case - shall always be blamed. None will ever achieve in making everyone like you, not Jaehaerys, not Viserys, not you and not our son, but you can be level headed, able to listen to advice and weigh up the best option even if it means hurting a few to protect the many. If you wish to raise a good ruler, you shall have to prepare them for the times that the Realm hates them as well as the times they are beloved." Rhaenyra nodded wordlessly. "Jaehaerys loved to travel," Daemon continued. "He lived amongst the people - yes, sometimes in poor, dockside inns. Viserys never leaves the Capital, and so his focus is always on the Capital. If you mean to lead all the Seven Kingdoms, you must know all the Seven Kingdoms." Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. 

"Have you been to them all?" she asked.

"Never the North," Daemon replied.

"We should go there, some day," Rhaenyra told him, leaning her head against his shoulder. He hummed into her hair, his lips grazing against her forehead. She took his hand in hers and placed it on her stomach. "We shall raise the best King, you and I," she declared. Daemon hummed his agreement. 

____________

  Viserys stared out of the window. He could hear Ser Harrold shuffling behind him as the door to the Small Council chamber opened and the councilmen began to file in. Viserys watched the Dragon Pit in the distance, but of course the dome never opened, and no dragons came or went. Instead, flocks of pigeons soared over the redbrick buildings of the city through the grey clouds of smoke that rose from the fire pits that warmed the commonfolk. 

"Your Grace," greeted Lord Lyman as he took his place at the table. Lord Lyonel and Grand Maester Mellos were already seated, their orbs already in place. Ser Harrold had placed the King's orb in place for him, but Viserys was yet to join the table.

"I did not know we were to meet today," murmured Ser Tyland, following Septon Eustace into the chamber. 

"It is at the King's request," the Septon replied lowly. 

  Viserys sighed as he walked to the table, standing behind his chair as he rolled his orb in his hand. Ser Harrold lingered behind him, while the others turned to look at him, Lord Jasper the last to take his place.

"With respect, your Grace, might you agree to meet with Lord Stokeworth?" Lord Lyman asked. "He is rather concerned about the wool tax and nothing I say seems to be enough for him." Lord Jasper and Ser Tyland glared at him.

"I - right, Lord Lyonel, might you make a note of that?" Viserys muttered. Lord Lyonel nodded. 

"I can have his letter sent to you if you wish, your Grace?" Lord Lyman offered. 

"Yes, yes," Viserys sighed. "We have spent much of the past two years discussing my daughter's marriage, but that has finally come to an end." Viserys inhaled sharply. He had been giving too much time to dreading this that he did not think about how he was going to say it. "I - well, the Princess of Dragonstone has wed her uncle, Prince Daemon. I suggest we assume Lord Corlys shall again take poorly to this news and that -"

"Forgive me, your Grace," interjected Ser Tyland. Viserys internally groaned, but forced a smile. Lord Lyonel hung his head. "But - but when you say the Princess has married ah... h-has? Not will?"

"Indeed."

"Oh dear," murmured Lord Lyman. 

"Prince Daemon?" questioned Lord Jasper angrily. Viserys nodded. 

"We did not give him leave to marry her," Septon Eustace said, frowning. "Which Septon was fool enough to perform this union?"

"Yes, quite," huffed Maester Mellos. 

"No Septon," Viserys sighed. The Grand Maester raised an eyebrow. "They - the marriage was performed through a Valyrian ceremony." 

"Like Maegor?" hissed Lord Lyman.

"Like the Conqueror," countered Viserys. Septon Eustace shook his head. 

"Well, where is he?" demanded Lord Jasper. "Where is Prince Daemon? Is he with the Princess?"

"Yes," Viserys sighed, falling into his seat. "They are on Dragonstone." 

"The Council did not permit this," Lord Jasper said, scowling. "We must apprehend Prince Daemon immediately."

"It is an insult," Ser Tyland concurred. "Prince Daemon must be swiftly dealt with before he can cause any more trouble." He slapped his hand against the table.

"If you wish to go to Dragonstone to face Prince Daemon, by all means do," grunted Lord Lyonel. "I would warn you, however, his dragon is rather ferocious." Ser Tyland swallowed and shook his head. 

"This is lunacy," huffed Lord Jasper. "The Council must choose the heir's consort, was this not decided with Ser Laenor?" 

"It is not unheard of," Lord Lyman shrugged. "King Jaehaerys and Queen Aly-"

"Yes, yes, they ran off together to lay chastely on Dragonstone," puffed Ser Tyland.

"There is nothing chaste about Daemon Targaryen," snarled Lord Jasper. Maester Mellos shook his head. 

"If we are to talk about the Old King, do we not recall Princess Saera?" sighed Ser Tyland. Lord Lyonel frowned.

Maester Mellos gasped, "Ser, you cannot be suggesting that -"

"When Saera was ruined, King Jaehaerys killed Braxton Beesbury himself," Ser Tyland explained. Lord Lyman sighed. Viserys had never before thought to ask if he had known the man whom Saera had bedded, given he was two or so decades younger than the Lord, Viserys had to imagine he had been a nephew of his. 

"Are you suggesting his Grace duel Prince Daemon?" scoffed Lord Lyonel.

"Princess Rhaenyra has not been ruined by a suitor, she wed Prince Daemon," snapped Ser Harrold. Lord Jasper rolled his eyes at him. 

"Your Grace!" exclaimed Septon Eustace. "You cannot truly consider drawing up arms against your own brother, the Gods -"

"This treachery is on Prince Daemon's head, not the King's," declared Lord Jasper. "His sins are -"

"There is no sin more egregious than to slay one's own kin," huffed Septon Eustace. "If the King -"

"The King shall not be so foolish," sighed Lord Lyman. 

"Meaning what, my Lord?" scoffed Lord Jasper. "The Prince has more than deserved -"

"Prince Daemon shall not lose a trial by combat to his Grace, my Lord," Lord Lyman said stiffly. "He was one of the greatest knights King Jaehaerys had ever seen by five and ten, his Grace has never so much as competed in a tourney."

"Nor do I intend to," said Viserys, shaking his head. 

"Your Grace, to slay your own brother would leave you forever condemned in the eyes of the Gods!" exclaimed Septon Eustace. Viserys held his hand up to him, but he kept talking. "None is as cursed as the kinslayer, and if we are to pray for peace and prosperity, then we cannot allow the Gods to think that we should accept such -"

"Nor do I have any intention on duelling my brother, Septon," Viserys sighed. Septon Eustace swallowed and nodded. "I find myself resigned to admit that Daemon is no Jaehaerys, and that the marriage has indeed been consummated. Given this, if the Princess is with -"

"What else can you do if he has put a bastard in her?" sniffed Lord Jasper, scowling. 

"Her husband's child would not be a bastard, my Lord," snapped Ser Harrold. "He would be a royal Prince." 

"Speaking of Princes, what of the Prince Aegon?" sighed Ser Tyland. "Why waste our time worrying about the Princess' marriage, when we can arrange a suitable match for him if he is declared Prince of Dragonstone?" Viserys frowned. 

"And why would he be declared as such?" he demanded heatedly. 

"You intend to allow the Princess to retain her title even if she is carrying your brother's bastard?" inquired Lord Jasper. 

"The child is no bastard," snarled Viserys, slamming his fist against the table. 

"This marriage is not legitimate under the eyes of the Seven," scoffed Ser Tyland.

"Neither are those performed under the weirwood trees, but are you to accuse every Stark and Bolton of being illegitimate?" quizzed Ser Harrold.

"Quite right," Viserys agreed, nodding. Ser Tyland sunk back in his chair.

"Your Grace, the heir to the Throne must be wed in the eyes of the Seven," insisted Septon Eustace. "There are many young maidens across the Kingdom we could consider for Prince Aegon, those who are more agreeable than your brother."

"I struggle to see why Prince Daemon is so disadvantageous," huffed Lord Lyman. "He is a Targaryen! The King's own brother! Who else has such royal lineage? He is praised by the high and lowborn alike for his time in the Stepstones and the City Watch, and he is the only man beside the King whose children may take the name Targaryen, wedding him to a Targaryen Princess makes sense, does it not?"

"Wed him to the Princess Helaena then," barked Lord Jasper. "So he has no aspirations for the Throne."

"Yes," Ser Tyland said darkly. "We all know what Ser Otto said of him."

"And where is Ser Otto now, Ser?" demanded Maester Mellos. "I hardly think his opinion on Prince Daemon relevant any longer." Viserys nodded his agreement. "But your Grace -" Mellos turned to face him "- if the fear she is with child is what is stopping you from acting, I struggle to see why. Moon tea can be prepared for her, to rid her of any unwanted consequences of her uncle's actions." Ser Tyland grunted his agreement. 

"And what if it turns her barren?" inquired Septon Eustace. "I have heard horrors of this tea, your Grace." The Septon shook his head. "You should not allow it." 

"Many noblewomen use it," countered Maester Mellos. "Few have such issues."

"No," Viserys said. "I agree with the Lord Commander, if she is with child, her child is to be a royal Prince and second in line to the Throne."

"Prince Daemon's son?" gasped Lord Jasper. 

"Indeed," sighed Lord Lyonel. 

"If - if the King wishes to - to give the Princess' marriage his blessing," muttered Septon Eustace uncomfortably. "Your Grace, you must ensure that she is wed in the eyes of the Seven, or - or else the... well... the -"

"Spit it out," snarled Ser Harrold.

"Blood magic, Lord Commander!" exclaimed the Septon. "That is what they used in Valyria!" Viserys hung his head.

"They used blood magic to ride dragons, or so your lot would claim, and yet the dragonriders are yet to be condemned for it," snapped Ser Harrold.

"The Seven may not punish you for the sins of your ancestors, but if the Princess and Prince have performed this - this ungodly ritual then they are -"

"Be careful, Septon," Viserys said gravely. "These are the traditions of my House you speak of." 

Septon Eustace nodded. "I only mean that - that the Princess, as - as future Queen as you insist -" Lord Jasper rolled his eyes "- should be wed in the eyes of the Seven, your Grace. King Jaehaerys himself ensured he and Queen Alysanne were wed in a Sept." Viserys sighed again.

  Little more productive was said after that, and soon the King dismissed the councilmen from the chamber. He sat with his head in his hands, the sight of anger on Daemon's face as the King had approached him emblazened in his mind. He should have insisted Rhaenyra return with him, have her present her marriage to the men of the Council and spare himself the responsibility of it. 

 Although, Viserys supposed humiliating her like that would gain very little. The Council would be divided either way, as would his court, as would the Kingdoms. Viserys exhaled slowly, shaking his head. He wondered if Daemon had planned for this, this indignity and contempt, but then he supposed that Daemon was too impulsive for that, that he likely thought of little more than ensuring his place in his daughter's bed. 

 Viserys rose from his place at the table and began the slow return to his chambers, flanked by Ser Harrold and Ser Willis. He tried to take his mind off it, to think of nothing more than the scrolls and goblet of wine that would be waiting for him in his rooms, but all he could think of was Rhaenyra. Was she afraid too? Did she fear being lambasted by his Lords? Or was she too engrossed with her marriage to think of much else? 

 The King said nothing as he marched into his rooms, placing his crown upon its cushion and draining his sweet wine in one gulp. He perused his sculpture of old Valyria. For a long time, the intimate scrolls from Dragonstone's library had been his closest connection to their roots, and his greatest piece of inheritance from his grandsire. His own sire had barely glanced at them, Jaehaerys keeping them hidden away from prying eyes in his chambers, but now Viserys had them all to study at his will. Now, Viserys looked at Blackfyre, the Conqueror's sword he kept within its case upon the wall beside his bed. He had hardly spared it a glance since he rose to his Throne, and had never wielded it at another man. As boys, Daemon had longed for that sword, the one he would later be knighted with. Baelon never touched that sword. Viserys could have it on his hip every day if he so wished.

 For what did any of these symbols matter? Jaehaerys was a pious man, his love and fear for the Seven greater than his eclectic hobby of studying their family's past. Rhaenyra had wed Daemon in the tradition of their House, but it meant nothing to a Realm who saw them as outsiders. Was it all destined to burn out, their history wiped out like Valyria itself the only way for survival? Was this what Daemon had feared all along? 

 "Your Grace?" 

 Ser Harrold pushed the door open, peering inside as the King turned on his heel. 

"What is it?" Viserys asked. 

 At some point, it had grown dark outside, the sun barely a dot behind the hillsides in the distance, and a shadow was cast over the room, Viserys' silhouette darkening the sword he was admiring. 

"Queen Alicent wishes to invite you to dine with her and the young Prince in his rooms," Ser Harrold replied. 

"I - ah - no," Viserys said gruffly. "Not - not tonight." 

"Yes, your Grace," Ser Harrold said, nodding. 

"Call - call Lord Lyonel," Viserys instructed. "And - and for some pie."

"Yes, your Grace."

"Steak and kidney pie."

"Yes, your Grace."

"And pigeon sausages."

"Of course, your Grace." Ser Harrold nodded again and excused himself from the room. 

 Viserys poured himself another goblet of wine as the trays of pies and sausages were brought to his rooms. Lord Lyonel sat across from him, the Hand taking little interest in the bowls of chicken soup they had previously been served, but his eyes lit up at the sight of the golden crusted pies. 

As the serving girls left his chambers, Viserys sighed. "I must confess to you, I am at a loss for what to do."

"Your Grace?" quizzed Lord Lyonel. 

"About Rhaenyra," the King explained. "I - well, I had not expected a... I knew Rhaenyra's choice in husband would be opposed, I opposed the match myself once, but - but to suggest disinheriting her over - Daemon is hardly a common boy she gave her maidenhead to and ran off with."

"No, your Grace."

"I - perhaps it would be for the best to keep this quiet and have her wed to another, before the Seven," Viserys sighed. "But if he has put a child in her, it would do her a great humiliation if I refuse to recognise their union."

"Indeed, your Grace," Lord Lyonel replied. "It is a... difficult and ... delicate matter. Not one you need to decide in haste."

"No, no, I suppose not." Viserys shook her head. "But if the marriage stands, why, I may have just given the Iron Throne to my brother, as I am sure he intended."

"Did he?" questioned Lord Lyonel.

"Pardon?"

"Well, forgive me, your Grace....while Prince Daemon's sins are many, are you quite sure that it is the Throne that he seeks to claim?"

Viserys frowned. "What else would it be?"

"Well, I - I would not say we have seen much evidence of him showing much interest in the succession since you named Princess Rhaenyra your heir, if any at all, but he has - he has-" Lord Lyonel swallowed uncomfortable "- shown certain interest in the Princess herself, has he not?" Viserys shrugged. "I would assume that, if it were the Throne he wanted, he would be more incessant in returning to King's Landing, but instead both would rather remain on Dragonstone and... in each other's company."

"Right," Viserys said gruffly.

"You said once before, your Grace, that Prince Daemon lacks ambition for the Throne, that he had no patience for it," Lord Lyonel said. "I, myself, would consider that a rather adept characterisation of your brother. He has ambitions, yes, but he had years of being the most accomplished dragonrider alive, and yet he did nothing against you. He could have wed the Lady Laena and added Vhagar and Meleys to his cause, but he did not. Rather foolish, one would think, if making himself the King was his goal. I, for one, do not doubt Lord Corlys' ambition to see his grandchild crowned. If anything, the union to Prince Daemon only legitimises the Princess' claim."

"And further divides my House," Viserys snapped.

"With respect, your Grace, since the death of Ser Laenor, there was no match that would please Lord Corlys and the Princess Rhaenys. If... well, if you do wish to mend those bridges, we shall have to find another way."

"Of course," huffed Viserys.

"And the match will not make Prince Daemon a King, only her consort," Lord Lyonel shrugged.

"King-consort," hissed Viserys. "Alicent is not -"

"King-consort is the title we assured the Velaryons for Ser Laenor," Lord Lyonel said. "No such meeting occurred to discuss the terms of the Princess' union with Prince Daemon. Styling him as her royal-consort or Prince-consort will be enough."

"Indeed." Viserys shook his head. "He declared himself a King though, once, did he not?"

"And how oft has he returned to his Kingdom?" snorted Lord Lyonel. "The marriage to the heir and the assured inheritance of his children should be enough to sate his ambitions."

"And his restlessness? His impulsiveness? His temper?" 

"I - well, marriage has been known to mellow a man, as can fatherhood."

"Daemon has been wed before," spat Viserys. "You recall how he treated the Lady Rhea, yes?" 

"With respect, my King, the lack of respect your brother held for the Lady Rhea is unlikely to apply with the Princess, she is of course of great lineage and - well, there can be no question of her beauty, or that of any sheep surpassing her," Lord Lyonel replied uncomfortably. Viserys sighed. "Prince Daemon... he and the Princess Rhaenyra should not have done this, to wed the heir without your leave, why it could be condemned as treason, but I do not think the match itself is what is questionable here... it is the circumstances of the match." 

"Rhaenyra is young, naive, and -"

"Your Grace, while I - I could not presume to know how well Ser Otto knew the Princess, I would continue to disagree with this characterisation of her," Lord Lyonel said. "She is more than aware of her position in the Realm, and - and of what threatens it. I do not consider this or the... well, ill-advised ending of her suitor's tour to be a result of her unable to understand the weight of the decision, but more so the impact of that weight and the knowledge of how it will impact her life."

"You think the tour was ill-advised?" sighed Viserys. 

"Indeed I do, my King. I hardly have my daughters meet with three suitors in one night, let alone twenty. It is an impossible decision, knowing how many are waiting for an answer. What of those Lords you offend? What if they opposed her rise? The decision should have always been with the Small Council."

"Why would they oppose her?" Viserys frowned. 

"With respect, your Grace," sighed Lord Lyonel. "But I remember the words of Lord Lannister and Lord Hightower, amongst others, to yourself at the Prince's second name-day. They Lords were anticipating Aegon's rise, and I do not doubt that the Princess is aware of that, because she is not naive or - or gullible, and she is aware of the Great Council and its rulings, it was discussed many times whilst she was present in the Council chambers." 

"Are you too to advise me to disinherit her?" Viserys exasperated.

"I - I advise what I consider to be the best for the stability of the Realm, your Grace, nothing more or less," replied Lord Lyonel. Viserys nodded. "We are in an... unprecedented situation, in more ways than one. You have declared your daughter Princess of Dragonstone, continuing to do so after your wife birthed two healthy sons."

"Indeed." 

"But, your House has been... marrying brother to sister, cousin to cousin for generations. Even the Prince Aemon's marriage to the Lady Jocelyn was through her kinship to King Jaehaerys, not a union between her father's House, Baratheon."

"Indeed," Viserys said again. 

"So, in that regard, it is your marriage to Queen Alicent that is unheard of," Lord Lyonel muttered. "The only other Hightower-Targaryen marriage was that of Prince Maegor and Lady Ceryse, which many would consider a disaster for both Houses, and the Conqueror did not seem to be anticipating Maegor's rise. Yes, your son shall inherit the allies of House Hightower, but he may also inherit their foes, while Princess Rhaenyra's union to Prince Daemon follows the very tradition your parents were wed in. If you do consider your brother so ill-advised as a consort, you may wish to transfer the titles to the young Prince, but I would warn that there are many in the Realm who would resent having to break their oaths and swear anew, it would be a stain on their honour."

"I see."

"However, that does not negate the many Lords who would still argue a son must come before a daughter." 

"Right."

"Disinheriting her will likely lead to speculation, suspicions that she had done something out of line," Lord Lyonel continued. Viserys shook his head. "There will always be both those in support of Princess Rhaenyra and those in support of Prince Aegon. We may hope that if - if the Princess births a son, the succession may be more secure. Prince Aegon would have to wait many years to sire heirs of his own."

"So what are you saying? You do believe Rhaenyra should retain her position?" Viserys sighed.

"I believe you shall endure hardships either way, your Grace. I would certainly not propose rewarding Prince Daemon for his actions, but since the deaths of both Lady Rhea and Ser Laenor, I imagine his name would have come up as a suitor."

"It was not hatred for my brother that had me name Rhaenyra in his stead," Viserys muttered. "It was not a decision I made on a whim, as a retort to some insult. I truly believed - believe - that Rhaenyra would be a more suited successor than him."

"Of course, your Grace." 

"My opinions have not changed since the birth of my sons for I do not see either of them as more capable than her."

"This argument shall forever go round in circles," Lord Lyonel exasperated. "For Aegon there is precedent, for Rhaenyra there is blood. Ultimately, the Realm and its court serves you, your Grace, and your decision is final."

"But if you speak of my marriage drawing the foes of House Hightower to me, what of those who oppose Daemon?" sighed Viserys. "Are they to turn their swords to my daughter? To their children?"

"It seems we may have to find out sooner rather than later, your Grace," muttered Lord Lyonel, cutting into his pie. Viserys shook his head.

"Queen Aemma was sweet," he said, as Lord Lyonel ate his pie. "And kind and attentive. She was a natural mother, naturally nurturing and intrigued by all Rhaenyra did." Lord Lyonel nodded. "But - but she knew how to be firm. Children are children and tantrums will happen, but Aemma she tried to prepare Rhaenyra for the world, to teach her to be a Lady even if she did not want to be. Alicent, I see none of that in her, I always have to be the one to enforce order or any sort of punishment. Daemon hardly cried as a boy, but if he were to hit or punch, my father would never allow it. Alicent just watches, as if she is scared of the boy herself. I fear for the Realm if their King is to be as over-indulged as Aegon is." Viserys hummed thoughtfully to himself.

"The pie is very good," said Lord Lyonel.

"Indeed."

____________

  "I cannot believe you do not like lamprey," Rhaenyra declared, narrowing her eyes at her husband. Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra cut into the pie, licking her lips at the perfectly golden crust, while Daemon poured gravy over a pile of ham, potatoes and minted carrots on his own plate. He had changed from his crimson tunic into a more formal doublet of black and silver, and he had combed his hair back as he had done when he first arrived at King's Landing those many moons ago. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, wore the same yellow dress she had been living in since arriving at Dragonstone, and thought the colour was getting rather tiresome. 

"What would you like to do on the morrow?" Daemon asked her, pouring them each a goblet of Arbor gold. 

"Do not change the subject," Rhaenyra told him. Daemon laughed. "I am being serious. I have adored lamprey since I was a girl, how can you refuse it?"

"I care not for the foul creatures that are dragged from the sea," Daemon replied. "Corlys' taste I can understand, his life has been little more than one plate of fish after the other, but I struggle to see what you could find so appetising about it. They do still serve chicken at the Keep, do they not? And brisket? And ham and pork and duck?" 

"They do, and they all pale in comparison to lamprey," Rhaenyra said. Daemon shook his head. "Lamprey does not taste like fish, uncle, they are not the same."

"No, but it does taste awfully like squid." Daemon pulled a face of disgust and Rhaenyra could not help but laugh at him. "I will keep to my ham, thanks." Rhaenyra shook her head at him.

"You do not know what you are missing out on," she insisted. She cut off the corner of her pie and offered the fork to Daemon. He pulled a face, batting it away from her. "No, go on," she urged him. Daemon stuck his tongue out and shook his head, much like a child would. Rhaenyra giggled and Daemon smirked at her. 

"So, tomorrow," Daemon said, raising his goblet. "What are we to do?" 

"What would you like to be doing?" Rhaenyra inquired, as Daemon drained half his wine in one long gulp. 

"I do think it is about time we venture into town," he replied. 

"Oh, I do not know," Rhaenyra sighed. "It is so peaceful here, it being just us, is it not?" 

"I am hardly wishing to invite the townsfolk to our castle," Daemon scoffed.

"Our castle?" Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow. Daemon rolled his eyes at her. 

"What would you rather, then?" he asked. 

"I do not know," she said again. "We could always go to the beach again."

"We could," Daemon agreed. "Or, perhaps it is time to fly further than the island. Would you like to see the markets of Driftmark?"

"Is Driftmark the best idea?" Rhaenyra wondered. "I cannot imagine the Velaryons to be best pleased with us, if they know of our marriage yet." 

"Corlys does not spend all his days wandering the docks," Daemon laughed. Rhaenyra shrugged. "There are islands in Blackwater Bay we could fly to, where no one shall find us."

"Sounds rather bleak," Rhaenyra replied, raising her fork to her mouth. 

"We could go down to some of the smaller caves?" Daemon suggested. "Some have springs and pools inside." 

"Why would we not just go to the sea?" Rhaenyra quizzed.

"These waters are far hotter, much more enjoyable."

"I see."

"And more secluded." Daemon winked. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. 

  The desserts were as gorgeous as their main courses; the cakes perfectly risen, the tarts topped with strawberries dusted in sugar, the pears drizzled in shining golden honey, and yet Daemon ate none of it. Rhaenyra took some of everything, cocking her head at him as he poured himself a goblet of wine. "How are you not hungry?" she inquired. "Look at it all."

"I have eaten enough," Daemon chuckled. "More than enough, and I have never had your father's sweet tooth." He placed the wine jug back onto the table. Rhaenyra bit into a strawberry as she went to reach for it, but nearly knocked over the tray of cherry cakes. 

"Will you pass that to me?" she asked. Daemon pretended not to hear her, raising his goblet to his lips. Rhaenyra frowned at him, rising from her seat to grab the jug. As she did, Daemon chuckled, pulling her onto his lap. She shrieked in surprise as his hands slipped around her waist, one inching towards the hem of her dress, while his lips attached themselves to her neck. "Stop it," she hissed. Daemon laughed against her skin.

"You want wine?" he asked, raising his own goblet.

"Yes," Rhaenyra huffed. She went to take the goblet from him, but he raised it to his lips. Before she could react, his lips were against hers, and the sour taste of the Dornish strongwine washed over her tongue. "Very funny," she said drily, as they drew away.

"If you say so," Daemon shrugged, smirking at her. He took a strawberry from one of the tarts and offered it to her. She acquiesced him, biting into it as he tightened his hold on her thigh. Daemon took a second strawberry and dipped it into the honey before pressing it against her lips. He pecked the back of her neck as she ate, and soon accepted the slice of plum cake she cut for him. 

  Rhaenyra soon lost her appetite for their feast, instead yearning for something else. She remained in Daemon's lap as the servants returned to clear the table, her cheeks flushing as they glanced at them, although Daemon was shameless as he continued to run his hand up and down her leg. "Stop that," she chastised him, although there was no heat to her words. Daemon only raised an eyebrow, his warm hand sliding further up her skirts until his fingers reached her smallclothes. 

"Never, ñuha jorrāelagon," he whispered, sucking her earlobe into his mouth. Rhaenyra could not help but smile at his words.

"Your - your bed is right there," she hissed, indicating to the vast bed hardly half the room away from them. Daemon chuckled against her skin. 

"I do not need it," he replied, lifting her from his lap and onto the table, positioning himself between her legs and crashing their lips together before she could protest. 

"Daemon!" Rhaenyra cried, once he drew back for breath. Daemon smirked at her. He brought their lips together once more, his fingers ghosting over her cheek while his other hand pulled up the skirts of her dress. He pushed her smallclothes to her ankles and lowered his mouth to press wet kisses along her jawline as she threaded her fingers in her hair. "Why?" she whined. Daemon chuckled. "The be- this is not what tables are for!" 

"This is what everything in my room is for," Daemon retorted. "Everything in this damned castle is." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "Are you truly complaining?" Daemon whispered, his lips soon finding their way to her throat again. Rhaenyra did not respond, instead tugging harder on his hair to drag his lips up to her own. 

 Rhaenyra shrieked as Daemon tore the fabric of her dress, revealing her chest to him. He swiped his tongue across one of her nipples as his hands ventured down her torso and towards her centre. He ran two fingers along her swollen flesh, tormenting her into keening for him, before pushing them inside. 

 "Fuck," she gasped. Daemon turned his mouth to her other nipple, swirling his tongue over it before sucking it into his mouth as it hardened, his fingers now thrusting in and out of her at a pace Rhaenyra's hips could not match. 

"Sȳz riña," he murmured. Rhaenyra felt a shiver run down her spine. Daemon swiped his thumb over her pearl and she threw her head back, heat rising to her cheeks as Daemon's mouth again crashed into her own. Her tongue moved leisurely along his, tasting the sour wine and smoked ham that he had previously consumed. 

"Bed," Rhaenyra groaned, as Daemon drew away. He chuckled, pulling back enough to unlace himself. He pulled out his thick cock, stroking himself in his hand as beads of liquid dripped down the red head. Confidently, Rhaenyra reached out to grab him, moving her hand in time with Daemon's own, her thumb swiping down the velvety skin of the underside of his length. Daemon let out a breathy moan. She smirked. 

"Gods, Princess," Daemon grunted. Rhaenyra pushed her hands against his chest, trying to break free towards the bed, but Daemon held her in place. As their lips met once more, Daemon lined himself up with her and slipped inside. "Gods, how are you always so incredibly tight?" he groaned. He bucked into her at a torturously slow pace, burying inch after inch of him into her warmth. Rhaenyra threw her head back, opening her mouth although no sound came out, as he pushed the rest of him inside of her. She was being impossible stretched around him, and she clenched down like a velvety vice as she grew used to the intrusion. "Fuck," he cursed. Rhaenyra ran her foot up and down his thigh, teasing him. 

"This was your design, was it not?" she asked. Daemon glared at her. Rhaenyra giggled, gripping hold of his hair again to pull his lips back down to hers. 

  His pace became brutal, bucking into her roughly, pushing inside until he was so deep she could feel his pelvis against her arse, and pulling away until only his head remained, their mixed desire plastering her thighs. Rhaenyra held onto his shoulders, feeling herself bounced on his cock as his hips continued to drive it in and out of her. The sound of her own moans and the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filled her ears as Daemon pressed his lips to her forehead. 

 "Seven fucking Hells," he grunted. He leaned over her, forcing her backwards until she was flat against the table, her legs lifted around his waist. The head of his cock rocked against the nerves inside her that blurred her vision, and her pleasure was coming out in mewling pants that she could not control. 

"Dae - oh, Gods, Daemon," she moaned. Heat bubbled in her stomach as Daemon continued to push himself deeper inside of her, far deeper than she thought was possible. 

"Yes," Daemon murmured, catching her bottom lip between his teeth. As he nipped it, her fingernails grazed against his scalp, and her own lips began to suck against the skin of where his neck met his collarbone. He hissed and Rhaenyra giggled. 

 Still gripping onto her hips, Daemon slid back into his chair, hauling Rhaenyra onto his lap. He peppered kissed down her throat, his teeth getting more involved as he approached her collarbone, while she rocked herself against him, his cock still nestled inside of her. She felt him shudder beneath him as she tightened her hold on him, hands slipped around her neck as she clenched around his cock. "Ñuha zaldrīzes," she moaned. 

"Aōha zaldrīzes," Daemon smirked. "Se iksā ñuhon." Rhaenyra did not respond, lowering her mouth to meet his lips as she slid up and down his length, her fingernails biting into the bottom of his neck as he bucked his hips eagerly. 

 She shuddered as she felt him peak, filling her with his release while he bit onto her shoulder, tongue soon lapping at the wound to soothe her. "Fuck," he growled. His hand slipped between their bodies, fingers grazing over her sensitive pearl until she was coming undone above him, her forehead resting against his as he tightened his grip on her hips, so much so that it was sure to bruise come morning. 

 Rhaenyra slumped against him as she struggled to compose herself, her chest heaving and lungs still desperate for air as Daemon's lips covered her own. She bit back at him, feeling his blood dripping onto her tongue, and he winced into her mouth. She smirked against his lips, feeling his hands through her hair, and soon pulled away, burying her face in his neck as her she felt her cheeks burning scarlet. 

 "Some dessert," Daemon chuckled lowly. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. "You are unimpressed? Still?" Daemon ran his thumb across her bottom lip where his blood stained her. "Never fear, I will give you a proper taste of me before long," he whispered. Rhaenyra shivered. Daemon smirked. 

 He took her hand in his as they finally walked to his bed, Rhaenyra already feeling stiffness in her hips. "Was I too rough?" Daemon murmured. "Are you in pain?"

"No," Rhaenyra sighed, pulling off her dress. As she inspected it, she scowled. "Look at what you have done!" she flared. Daemon snorted.

"I can buy you another."

"Another? When?" Rhaenyra demanded. Daemon laughed again. "Daemon! This is all I had to wear."

"You can wear my clothes," Daemon shrugged, kicking away his breeches as he dropped onto the bed. "Or better yet, nothing at all." Rhaenyra glowered at him. "What? That is how my wife should be in my bedchamber, do you not think?"

"No, I do not," Rhaenyra puffed, despite her smile. Daemon winked at her. "I need to bathe," she sighed.

"Do so on the morrow," Daemon said, throwing her dress to the floor and pulling her towards him. Rhaenyra reached for the tunic she had hidden between their pillows, the one she had been using as a nightgown since her arrival, while Daemon kissed the mark he had left on her shoulder. 

"I should bathe now," she said. "I feel sweaty and disgusting."

"Really? You look a marvel."

"Oh, be quiet," Rhaenyra muttered, although she smiled nonetheless. She pulled the tunic over her head and clambered under the covers, pulling them up to her chin while Daemon remained above them, tracing her nose with his finger. She giggled. "I spoke with Gerardys today," she said.

"The maester?" Daemon quizzed, yawning. 

"Indeed. I - well, it was rather unpleasant really, I had to - I had to give him my urine," Rhaenyra recalled, blushing.

"Whatever for?" Daemon asked, his brow creased and eyes narrowed.

"I - he confirmed it for me," Rhaenyra whispered. "I - I am pregnant." Daemon stared at her with wide eyes. 

"When did he tell you this?" he demanded.

"A few hours ago."

"And you are only now telling me?" Daemon raised an eyebrow.

"You were the one who wanted to lecture me on Valyrian tomes," Rhaenyra retorted. Daemon shook his head, a grin breaking across his face. 

"You," Daemon whispered emphatically, "shall be an amazing mother." 

"You - you really think so?" Rhaenyra asked. Daemon nodded. "I - Gods, I - I spent days not knowing, but now I do all - all I can really think about is my own mother and - and -"

"Do not fear," Daemon said, shaking his head. He took one of her hands in his and raised it to his lips. "You cannot - we cannot - live our lives in fear." Rhaenyra swallowed and nodded determinedly. Daemon laughed and kissed her again. 

  Rhaenyra did not recall which of them fell asleep first once Daemon finally slipped under the covers beside her, but he was still snoring softly beside her when she woke, the melodic birdsong and gentle breeze of the spring morn blowing in from the balcony. She clutched the sheets around herself as the serving girls arrived with their morning meal of cooked meats, porridge, and fresh fruit, although she did not move from the bed. Instead, she turned on her side to watch her husband sleep, the constant rising and falling of his bare chest and the single strand of hair that blew in the wind. He was often so serious when he was awake, but now he was peaceful and still. 

 When Daemon did rise, he stared at her for a minute, before he collected his clothes breeches from the floor and took a bowl of porridge out to the balcony. Rhaenyra joined him, sitting herself on his lap to lean against the warmth of his chest as they stared out at the sea below. "Good morning," she murmured.

"Good morning," Daemon returned, his lips ghosting over the back of her neck before he turned his attention back to his oats. He had sprinkled only a bit of cinnamon over his bowl, while Rhaenyra's had been drizzled in honey and sugar. 

"Do - do you suppose we could go up to the dragonmont today?" she suggested. Daemon cocked his head.

"You wish to fly?"

"I - well, I am not opposed," she replied. "But I would like to visit the hatcheries. I have not been before and - and I would like an egg for our babe." Daemon hummed his agreement, nodding. "How many do you suppose there are?" she wondered.

"Dragons?"

"Eggs?"

"Oh, I could not say," Daemon shrugged. He turned his head as they heard the door open, and a serving girl rushed in.

"A - a raven has c-come, your - your Graces," the girl stammered. Daemon beckoned her forward with two fingers, and she offered him the scroll, which he in turn passed to Rhaenyra while instructing the girl to return with a teapot. She bowed and hurried away.

"It is from my father," Rhaenyra muttered, running her finger over the seal. She felt a tightness in her chest that she had not since she had been sitting in that box overlooking the tourney grounds, her hands shaking as panic spread over them, not needing to hear the words from Princess Rhaenys to know what had happened. Dread washed over her like a wave, and her hands again shook as she tore it open. Surely, two days was not enough for him to have thrown them both aside, was it? She sighed.

"What is it?" Daemon inquired, frowning.

"I - " Rhaenyra's eyes scanned over her father's small scrawl, written in his own hand. "We are to return to King's Landing, immediately." 

"Why?"

"He - he has said nothing more," Rhaenyra whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. Daemon stared at her. 

Chapter Text

 Red and yellow flashed in and out of the sky, the dragons bobbing between the greyish clouds as they soared towards the Dragon Pit. Syrax let out a satisfied chirp as they weaved around each other, Caraxes' eyes following her as she swerved around his tail. Daemon urged the Blood Wyrm forward, bursting through the clouds and into the blue sky. He could still hear the flap of Syrax's wings below them, but her scales were out of sight.

 With a low cry, Caraxes dived through the clouds, his wings beating hurriedly as Daemon steered him around the Pit before finally descending through the dome. He was laughing as they landed, patting the base of Caraxes' neck with his glove-clad hand. "Well done, old boy," he praised, stuffing his gloves into his pocket as he dismounted. Caraxes let out a whistle as yellow appeared above them, Syrax soon joining them in the Pit. "I win," Daemon smirked. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. She patted Syrax's side before she slid down her back and to the floor, side-stepping the dragonkeepers that rushed towards them. "Are you not going to congratulate me?" Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Come along," Rhaenyra huffed. "We do not want to be late, do we?" She pulled off her gloves as she walked towards the door. Daemon shook his head.

"Come now," he tutted. "Nobody likes a sore loser."  

"I do not know what you mean," Rhaenyra said, brushing her hair over her shoulder. Daemon sighed, shaking his head again. Rhaenyra chuckled, but did not turn back, striding towards the carriage that Viserys had sent to collect them. 

  The streets filled as crowds hurried to greet them, shouting and cheering as their carriage rode from Rhaneys' Hill to the Red Keep. Rhaenyra forced a smile as she waved to them. Daemon played a long, feeling like a marionette as he indulged them in this mummer's farce, barely catching a glimpse of the people that were swarming them as they rode past. The dragons he could understand the spectacle of, but surely these people were accustomed to carriages, even royal ones? The greys and blacks of Viserys' were nothing like the golden carriages of Jaehaerys' day and were hardly worthy of such a reaction.

 But his niece. 

 For her he could understand waiting for hours just to gaze upon her for a few seconds. She was ethereal, her dark purple eyes, her silver-gold hair, her porcelain skin unmarred by the sun. Even in her riding leathers, there was not a man alive who would not swoon at the sight of her, and when she was dresses as elaborately as she pleased, that he could understand wasting an age to catch a glimpse of. But why her beauty was a sight to behold by many, it was only he who could hold her.

 He reached for her other hand as the carriage turned a corner, the Red Keep appearing in the near distance as the crowds grew thinner and more and more of the City Watch men lined the roads. She raised an eyebrow at him. His only response was a wink.

 They were received by a congregation of courtiers and councilmen, Alicent Hightower amongst them with her ladies. Rhaenyra frowned as she scanned the crowd, noticing that Viserys was not nowhere to be seen. "Welcome, Princess," boomed Lord Lyonel Strong, although his expression was far less gracious than that of the commonfolk. Rhaenyra did not acknowledge him, her eyes fixed on the doors to the Entrance Hall, while Lord Lyonel bowed his head shortly. "My Prince."

"Lord Strong," Daemon drawled. 

"My Prince." 

 Daemon turned to look at Alicent Hightower where she stood in a dress of gold and rouge, like some sort of Lannister. Her lips were drawn into a thin, forced smile, and she clasped her hands in front of her, showcasing the silver ring on her finger in which sat an emerald. If she expected Daemon to offer to kiss her hand, she was sorely mistaken. 

 "Princess Rhaenyra." 

"Where is my father?" Rhaenyra asked, ignoring her stepmother. Alicent pursed her lips.

"The King shall meet you in the Small Council chamber," Lord Lyonel replied. 

"What?" Daemon questioned. 

"I shall take you to him," said the Hand. 

"I am sure we recall where it is," Daemon said stiffly. 

"Well, come along then," Lord Lyonel said. "We should be going."

"Now?" Rhaenyra quizzed.

"Indeed, Princess."

"Can we not first change out of our riding gear?" 

"I am afraid not," Lord Lyonel replied. "The King was very clear that you should be brought to him immediately. Now, come along."

  Viserys was sitting alone once they reached the Small Council chamber, a goblet of wine to his left and a roll of parchment in front of him. He did not look up when Daemon followed Lord Lyonel inside, Ser Harrold announcing them before retreating to his place beside the door. "Your Grace," said Lord Lyonel, bowing his head before taking his seat to the King's right. Viserys grunted his acknowledgement, adjusting the angle of his crown. Daemon glanced at Rhaenyra beside him, her tension palpable as she played with the rings on her fingers. She must have felt him looking, for she turned her head and their eyes met for a moment. Daemon flashed her a small smile, but she did not return it, turning back to stare at her father. 

"Your Grace," Rhaenyra greeted stiffly, when Viserys still said nothing. 

 Viserys sighed, finally acknowledging them. "Rhaenyra, Daemon, sit down," he said, gesturing to the table. "We have rather a lot to discuss." Lord Lyonel rubbed his temple with two fingers. 

 Daemon again glanced to Rhaenyra, but this time she did not look back at him, cocking her head at her father, who had already averted his gaze to the parchment ahead of him again. Daemon squeezed her hand gently before he took the vacant seat across from the King, where the Master of Ships usually sat. Rhaenyra considered the table, looking at the seat beside the Hand for a moment, before deciding against it and taking the vacant seat of the Master of Coin, to Daemon's right. 

"Where is the rest of the Council?" Daemon inquired. 

"They are - are not needed for this proceeding," Viserys replied. 

"Proceeding?" Daemon raised an eyebrow. Rhaenyra frowned. 

"I am sure you can imagine the trouble that your... predicament has caused us," Viserys sighed. 

"It is hardly the trouble your marriage caused," Daemon drawled, leaning back in his chair. 

"We are not talking about my marriage right now," hissed Viserys, jabbing a finger in the air in Daemon's direction. Lord Lyonel shook his head. 

"What is it you have summoned us here for?" Rhaenyra asked. 

Viserys glared at her. Rhaenyra held her head high, refusing to break her gaze until Viserys himself looked away. 

"You wed without my leave," Viserys snapped. "If you wish for me to uphold this union of yours, then your - then Daemon is going to give the same decency as any other man in the Kingdoms and we are going to have a contract drawn up before the ceremony."

"What?" Rhaenyra questioned.

"Ceremony?" Daemon repeated, frowning. 

"Yes," Viserys sighed. "Surely you do not expect the Faith to -"

"I do not care what the Faith thinks," Daemon spat. 

"Well, you have no choice," Viserys said angrily. "Rhaenyra is the heir to the Throne, and it is her duty - my duty - to protect and defend the values of the Faith."

"Not everyone bothers with a Sept."

"You absconded in the middle of the night," Viserys puffed. "No contract, no Septon, no witnesses, nothing legitimising this at all other than your word."

"And that is not good enough for you?" huffed Rhaenyra. 

"It is not about my opinion," the King said. "It is about our people and - "

"And what?"

"And your claim, and that of any of your children," Viserys replied. "If the legitimacy of your marriage is questioned, it can bring about all sorts of trouble. Jaehaerys knew it, he and Alysanne had a second ceremony with witnesses." Viserys turned to Daemon. "I had agreements with Corlys Velaryon that need not apply here."

"No?" Daemon questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Your children will obviously take the name Targaryen," Viserys said. "So we need have no discussion about that, and you have no lands or holdings in need of an heir yourself." Daemon frowned. "But, there are other things we need to discuss."

"I have no need of a dowry," Daemon smirked. Viserys scowled at him. 

"I should think not," huffed Lord Lyonel. Daemon frowned at him. 

"So, you are not going to consider our marriage legitimate until we have a ceremony with a Septon?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"No," Viserys sighed. "If you are with child, I will have no question of their legitimacy. Your marriage will stand, but for the good of the Crown's relationship with the Faith, you must have another ceremony, and yes, with a Septon." 

"Why is your Septon's words any more legitimate than the priestess'?" Daemon scoffed.

"A woman?" questioned Lord Lyonel. Daemon rolled his eyes. 

"In marrying you," Viserys said, ignoring them, "Daemon became your royal consort."

"Indeed," Rhaenyra replied stiffly.  

"Upon my death, my lands and titles will pass to you, and you will ascend as Queen," Viserys said. "But he will only retain the title Prince, he will not be known as King." Daemon shrugged.

"But Laenor Velaryon was going to be?" Rhaenyra asked, frowning. Daemon also frowned. He supposed he should not have been surprised that Corlys would have insisted his son be ranked above all others. 

"Ser Laenor was of House Velaryon, Princess," said Lord Lyonel. "Prince Daemon is of House Targaryen, and a Targaryen King may risk the stability of your rule in the eyes of the Realm." Viserys nodded. 

"Right," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon could tell that she was not thoroughly satisfied with that answer, but unable to dispute it. 

"I imagine you are to take Dragonstone as your seat?" Viserys asked.

"Yes," Rhaenyra replied stiffly. 

"As is her right," said Daemon, narrowing his eyes at his brother. Where else would the heir reside? Aemon had spent most of his tenure there before being appointed to the Council, and even then his daughter and wife remained on the island. 

"Well, yes, but I would rather you have the ceremony here, rather than the Sept on Dragonstone," Viserys replied. "I do not think Dragonstone equipped to hold many guests and -"

"What guests?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"And who said anything about a damned Sept?" Daemon growled. 

"Guests for the wedding," Viserys replied. "And it must be held in a Sept, for legitimacy."

"You can drag a Septon anywhere and have him say the words," Daemon grunted. 

"Rhaenyra is the heir to the Throne, this is to be a Royal Wedding and I need you to behave accordingly," Viserys said sternly. "You have not given us much time to plan if you are indeed - well, regardless, there are sure to be plenty of people who wish to attend, and we will have a feast to plan." 

"Do we really need all of that?" Rhaenyra asked. Viserys frowned. "We are already wed, if we must do so under the Faith as well, will the Council witnessing it not be enough?"

"It is a Royal Wedding, it is supposed to be celebrated," Viserys said.

"I assure you we have celebrated enough," Daemon replied. Lord Lyonel shook his head.

Viserys glowered at him, "I meant with the people, and I think you know that!" 

"Why not wait until the anniversary?" Daemon suggested. "Throw your tourney then."

"There shall be no tourney," Viserys puffed. "As I said, you have not given us much time to plan before it may become evident you are - are with child, so we shall have to abandon our initial plans for the wedding to Ser Laenor."

"How devastating," Daemon said drily. Rhaenyra chuckled.

"Do shut up, Daemon," Viserys snapped. He turned to his daughter. "I shall need a list of courses you want served at the feasts, I think I know most of -"

"Feasts?" Rhaenyra repeated.

"Yes, the feasts," Viserys said. "There shall be one the day before the wedding, one the day of, and the following breakfast. The sooner, the better, for I shall need to have the cooks informed." 

"And when do you expect this lavish celebration to be exactly?" Daemon inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Within a moon or so," Viserys replied. "I shall need to allow time for our guests to arrive - the Arryns of course will need three weeks to reach us from the Eyrie, the Baratheons will need at least two, and -"

"Have you already invited people?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"What? No. No, of course not. Now, the dressmaker we were talking to about your wedding with Laenor is still available if you are interested, but I do not know what Daemon plans to wear. It is a bit late for a fitting, although I am sure -"

"I own clothes, Viserys," Daemon interjected stiffly. 

"Yes, but this is your wedding," Viserys huffed. "Now, shut up, will you? We do not have much time." Daemon rolled his eyes. "The Sept should sit -"

"We are not marrying in a Sept," Daemon growled. 

"You are." 

"I am no Andal, if we must play along with this mummer's-"

"You -" Viserys pointed his finger at him "- absconded with my daughter in the middle of the night and wed her without my leave. If you wish for me to uphold this union of yours, then you shall abide by my terms. The Faith must be acquiesced." 

"The Septon is acquiescing them, a Sept is just ridiculous." 

"I do not see why, every Targaryen marriage since Aenys' has been conducted in a Sept," Viserys sniffed.

"Maegor's was not."

"And do you not think people compare you to Maegor enough?"

"If by 'people' you mean Otto Hightower, then yes I certainly do, but that is not something you ever cared to reduce," Daemon shrugged. Viserys shook his head at him.

"It is not my responsibility to salvage your reputation!"

"Can you imagine if anyone had said the sort about me to Jaehaerys' face?" Daemon demanded. "He would never have allowed it. He knew who Maegor was."

"Ah, my Prince, your parents wed in the King's Sept, did they not?" asked Lord Lyonel. Viserys nodded.

"Indeed they did," he said. 

"Jaehaerys insisted," Daemon puffed. "My mother would have rather-"

"It is happening in the Sept, Daemon! With a Septon!"

"Is it really that important?" Rhaenyra asked, glancing uncertainly at Daemon, who frowned. "You would declare my child a bastard over where the vows are spoken?"

"You would not birth a bastard," Viserys said.

"Right, but then -"

"There are ways to prevent it," Viserys said coolly. Rhaenyra stared at him with wide eyes. Daemon glowered. 

"Meaning what, exactly?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"You would not birth a bastard," Viserys replied. "The ramifications are too great." He shook his head. Rhaenyra inhaled through her teeth, still staring at him. "I do not want to go down this route any more than you do, and if Daemon behaves we shall not have to." Daemon clenched his hands into fists under the table. 

"How long is this list of terms exactly?" Daemon demanded. Viserys frowned at him. 

"One thing at a time," he snapped.

"I rather think I ought to know what I will be agreeing to, you know, to ensure you do not kill our child," Daemon snarled. "Torturing your daughter in the process." Viserys hung his head and sighed. 

"It is not an option I favour either," he muttered. "I hope you do not leave me with no choice." Daemon laughed humourlessly. 

"We would call for the High Septon," Lord Lyonel said uncomfortably. "But Oldtown is three hundred leagues away, and we cannot wait for him to make the journey. Septon Eustace is more than capable enough, however." 

"Of course," Rhaenyra muttered. 

"Good," Viserys said, offering her a smile. She did not return it, her gaze still fixed upon the Hand. "As I was saying, the Sept should comfortably seat -"

"Will you stuff it with the bleeding Sept?" Daemon growled. "Seven Hells, it is like listening to Alysanne prattle on all over again. The vows mean the same no matter where they are fucking said." 

"And you are sulking like a child again," Viserys scoffed. "It was immature enough at four and ten, now it is beyond ridiculous." 

"Might I ask what your objection with this is, Prince Daemon?" sighed Lord Lyonel.

"I was dragged into a Sept once, I will not allow it again," Daemon hissed. 

"You are being childish," Viserys groaned. "Jaehaerys himself -"

"Jaehaerys wed in front of the Iron Throne," Rhaenyra said. "The second time he wed Alysanne, that is. Why do we not do that? The Great Hall shall surely seat enough if you wish to have an abundance of witnesses." Daemon smirked at her. 

"Fine," Viserys relented. "And you shall remain here until the wedding and celebrations are over." 

Rhaenyra frowned, "but we -"

"He -" Viserys pointed at Daemon "- will return to Dragonstone."

"What?" Rhaenyra quizzed. Daemon laughed. 

"Really?" 

"Yes," Viserys puffed. 

"I am the Princess of Dragonstone," Rhaenyra said indignantly. "Dragonstone is my seat, you -"

"You are my daughter," Viserys interjected. "And I am the King. You may return to Dragonstone once this business has been dealt with. Until then, Daemon can rule it in your absence, and you can continue to attend the Council meetings with me, most of it will be preparations for the wedding I fear." 

"We are already wed," Daemon said. "I do not know what you hope to achieve with this." 

"Your Ladies will accompany you upon your return, of course," Viserys said to Rhaenyra, ignoring him. "And we shall ensure the Dragonstone garrison is properly equipped. If not, I can send one of my Kingsguard with you." Daemon rolled his eyes. 

"She does not need one of your eunuchs, I am more than capable myself," he huffed. 

"Yes, well, I imagine you cannot be with her always. Besides, the more well-armed men you have, the safer your castle will be."

"The closer to the dragons we are the safer we shall be," Daemon said. 

"You are being ridiculous," Rhaenyra said. "My place is on Dragonstone, where -"

"It shall be for less than two moons," Viserys said stiffly. 

"Is there anything else?" Rhaenyra demanded. 

"As my heir, it is expected of you to have a presence on my Council. I shall not command you to return, but an occasional appearance will be expected."

"Fine."

"Daemon has a habit of wandering off -" Daemon frowned "- to Lys, to Pentos, to the Stepstones, and so I will remind you I still expect you to ask my leave for excessive travel," Viserys said. "To Driftmark or anywhere else that you may reach in a day or two is unnecessary, but anything further than that I would like to know where you are going and why." 

"And why can the ladies and knights you are sending to spy on us not tell you?" Daemon grunted. 

"The Princess' ladies and guards will be sent to fulfil their duty to her household and nothing else," said Lord Lyonel. Daemon raised an eyebrow.

"Sure... but if one of them tries to touch me, I am blaming you." Rhaenyra frowned. He smirked at her. 

"Nothing of the sort will be happening," Viserys snapped. 

"Anything else?" Rhaenyra sighed. 

"When you do leave - and when that is can be up to you - my household and I shall travel to Dragonstone with you."

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded. 

"Yes," Viserys shrugged. "It is important for the court to see you fulfilling your duties as heir, and your siblings -"

"Half-siblings."

"- have never seen the castle before."

"Why would they?" Rhaenyra sniffed, narrowing her eyes at her father. "It is my seat."

Viserys sighed. "It is still the seat of their ancestors," he said. Daemon scoffed. 

"You and your Council may visit if you wish," Rhaenyra said stiffly. "But your wife and her children are not welcome." 

"Rhaenyra -" 

"If they are so interested in their heritage, take them to Oldtown." 

"There is no need for that," the King groaned. "Alicent is my wife, and -"

"And Daemon is my husband, yet you see fit to send him from me," Rhaenyra snapped. "I may have to tolerate her here, but I will not have her in my own castle as well." 

"I know that you are -"

"I will not," Rhaenyra hissed. Viserys hung his head.

"We shall revisit this later."

"My mind will not change."

"We shall revisit this later," the King said again. "Daemon, I shall need you to take some of Dreamfyre's eggs to Dragonstone with you, we have run out of room in the Pit for them, and they shall be safer in the hatcheries." Daemon grunted. 

"So, is that it then?" Rhaenyra quizzed, moving to get up from the table.

"Not quite, Princess," said Lord Lyonel. 

"I would like for, when he comes of age, my son Prince Aegon to be your squire, Daemon," Viserys said. 

"No." 

Viserys sighed. "You have hardly met the boy, you cannot -"

"I do not need the flesh of Otto Hightower stalking me around the training yard," Daemon shrugged. "I choose my own squires." 

"Well, you ought to consider it, he is your nephew."

"And I may be soon to have a son of my own," Daemon said. "Two with any luck."

"Why two?" puzzled Lord Lyonel.

"One for Blackfyre and one for Dark Sister," Daemon replied. "That sword is wasted on that one." He jerked his head in the direction of his brother, who frowned. 

"I told you," Viserys said, turning to Rhaenyra. "That your eldest child, regardless of their sex, shall follow you on the Throne."

"Indeed."

"I do intend to uphold that."

"Right."

"And I wish to properly ensure that they are prepared to rule, of course," Viserys said. Rhaenyra cocked her head curiously. "So, upon their eighth name-day, I shall have them come and live here at the Keep."

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded.

"They will be given the best education available, of course," Viserys said. "Served by the best master-of-arms, ride the best horses, hunt with the best weapons, and, most importantly, they shall be my cupbearer when holding court or with the Council, as you once were."

"Do you not have enough children of your own for that?" Daemon grunted.

"My other children will not rule," Viserys replied. "Your firstborn shall."

"You - you wish to take my child from me?" Rhaenyra asked, her hand dropping to her stomach.

Viserys frowned, "it is hardly irregular, many children are fostered with other households. You may have a place on my Council yourself at the time, but if not and you are still ruling Dragonstone, you may of course visit whenever you wish." 

"Is this your ploy?" Daemon snarled. "To keep her here?" 

"No." Viserys' frown deepened. "As I said, I wish to prepare my grandchild for the Throne and for what that entails. Such skills will be wasted on my own children, unless you are interested in betrothing them to yours?"

"We are not," Daemon snarled.

"As I thought," Viserys sighed. "Nevertheless, it is hardly a senseless demand. They will be safe and well-educated and -"

"And away from their mother?" Rhaenyra hissed.

"Well, yes, but Jaehaerys appointed both Aemon and Baelon to his Council," Viserys said. "I do intend to have you rule with me some day." 

"Why can I not have my child hold court with me on Dragonstone?" 

"That is hardly the same thing, my child," Viserys replied. 

"Eight is far too young to be away from home."

"Plenty of children do it," Viserys shrugged. "Daemon was hardly any older when he was squiring for my father."

"Yes, for your father," puffed Rhaenyra. "You intend to take my child from his parents."

"Dragonstone is a short distance from here," Viserys said softly. "And, as I say, you may visit whenever."

"And if we do not agree to this, you shall not agree to uphold our marriage?" Daemon drawled. Rhaenyra frowned. 

"Ensuring the ability of our future King or Queen is of the interest of all our subjects, and the Council," Viserys replied. 

"I do not recall much preparation happening when you were a boy," Daemon retorted.

"I was five and ten before Father was named heir," Viserys shrugged. "Your firstborn will have their entire lives to prepare for the Throne, and we should take advantage of that." 

"Why can I not prepare them myself?" Rhaenyra huffed. "Why do they have to come here, away from their parents and with - with your wife, when -"

"This is nothing to do with Alicent," Viserys flared. 

"Just so we are clear," Daemon groaned, rubbing his temple with his fingers. "For you to uphold our already legitimate union, we have to have a second wedding with a Septon in King's Landing that you have control of and are not able to see each other until said wedding, when we do get to leave we have to house you and your court, we cannot travel without your say so, and you want our firstborn?" 

"And he will not allow you to be my King-consort," Rhaenyra added.

"For very clear reasons," huffed Viserys. "I see not what your objection is, you hardly put much effort into planning your first marriage and Rhaenyra is the heir, she has duties, as will your firstborn." 

"If this is a negotiation for a wedding contract, what about our demands?" Daemon drawled. 

"Such as?" inquired Lord Lyonel. Daemon scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"I do not want a bedding," Rhaenyra said. Lord Lyonel frowned. "We are already wed and it has - it has already been consummated, there is no reason for us to be gawked at." 

"Are you sure?" Viserys asked, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "It is tradition."

"I am certain."

"Very well," the King sighed. The Hand scribbled it down hurriedly. 

"You must tell us whenever you wish to visit Dragonstone," Daemon said. "No just turning up and expecting hospitality." Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. Viserys huffed indignantly, but did not disagree. Again, Lord Lyonel began to write. "No small children at the wedding, including yours." Rhaenyra smiled.

"What?" Viserys demanded, frowning. "They are your nephews and niece, Rhaenyra's own siblings." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

"They will only cry and cause a fuss," Daemon shrugged. "I wish for this to be as painless as possible. Do not sit the Lannisters near us, the Arryns I will stomach on my wife's behalf -" Viserys frowned "- but not them."

"I do not want to see Lord Jason either," said Rhaenyra. 

"It would take Lord Jason too long to travel from Casterly Rock," said Lord Lyonel.

"Good," said Rhaenyra. Viserys shook his head.

"And you might be married to a Hightower, but I do not want any others at the wedding," Daemon said. Viserys frowned again.

"They would not be able to make the journey from Oldtown anyway," Lord Lyonel said.

"Right, fine," Viserys muttered. "I do not see why you get to make demands, this is your fault."

"Corlys made demands did he not?"

"I arranged for Rhaenyra to marry Lord Corlys' son," Viserys said gruffly. "You were dismissed as a suitor." Daemon rolled his eyes. 

"Are we done here?" Rhaenyra asked stiffly. 

"If you have nothing further to add, Princess, we should be," Lord Lyonel replied. Rhaenyra glanced at Daemon before nodding. Viserys also nodded. 

  Daemon said nothing as he watched his brother sign the contract, his handwriting just as scruffy as it had been as a boy no matter how oft their maester had screamed at him. He glanced over his shoulder at Rhaenyra, trying to gauge how she was feeling, but she would not meet his eye. There was a frown of disapproval on Viserys' face, so Daemon signed it in equal silence before he could bark at him to hurry up. He left the quill on the table. 

  "I shall have a carriage take you back to the Dragon Pit," Viserys said gruffly, while Lord Lyonel rolled up the parchment.

"Now?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"Well, yes, it is for -"

"Can we not even have a luncheon? We have done naught but fly and sit here today," she interjected. 

"I - very well," the King relented. Rhaenyra nodded to him before she turned to leave the room, not checking if Daemon was following or not. With nothing left to say to his brother, Daemon crossed the room and padded out as well, soon finding her in the doorway of the Great Hall. 

"What is it?" he asked, keeping his voice low as the Kingsguard were still close enough to hear them. 

"I - does this not feel... oh, I do not know," Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. "A bit... overwhelming to you? He wants so much. And why? Why?" 

"I am sure he thinks it is for the best," Daemon said stiffly. It was not a complete lie, Viserys probably did think he was helping her in some way, even if he was undermining their already legitimate union. But, Daemon also knew that his brother was likely doing this to spite him, to wield that power that he had as King over the one person who would only ever see him as a man.

 He remembered all too well what had happened with Mysaria. He knew Viserys would too. 

 "Of course," Rhaenyra muttered. "But why does he think that? Because his Council told him, I am sure."

"I will not disagree," Daemon replied, "but at least that is over now, or it will be soon enough."

"No," Rhaenyra said. "I think you were right before, we shall be hearing of this for the rest of our days." Daemon chuckled. "We are to wed here, again."

"Indeed," Daemon agreed, his arm snaking around her waist, pulling her closer to him. "And one day you will sit up there and rule the Kingdoms."

"Do - are you resentful that it shall not be you?"

"No." 

"In truth, Daemon," Rhaenyra pressed.

"In truth, I have nothing to resent," Daemon shrugged. "You shall be Queen, and I shall be your King in all but name. You can rule the people, I can lead the armies."

"You should not be given a lesser title," Rhaenyra murmured. Daemon shrugged. 

"They had a -"

"They only do it because I am a woman," Rhaenyra huffed. "A man can make any old hag his Queen - Alicent Hightower, daughter of a landless knight gets to declare herself one - but what, my husband is too royal to be considered my King-consort? What does that say about my marriage? What does that say about my claim?"

"It says that the Realm is still ruled by its Lords," Daemon grunted, "as Jaehaerys allowed when he called that Council. There is a clear status quo that a Queen is ruled by her King, and Viserys will not allow you to be seen as ruled by me."

"Laenor -"

"Please, none would believe Laenor capable of ruling a lot of squires, certainly not of taming a dragon," Daemon scoffed. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but she still smiled at him. 

"You deserve a greater title than that of Alicent Hightower's son," Rhaenyra whispered. 

"Our babe will be Prince of Dragonstone, like my father," Daemon shrugged. "That is enough for me." He glanced over his shoulder as he heard Lord Lyonel's booming laughter down the hallway. Viserys did not look as amused, but Ser Harrold and Ser Lorent looked as if they too were holding back a laugh. 

  "I cannot believe that we have to be parted again," Rhaenyra grumbled. They were eating their luncheon in his rooms, Daemon sat on his bed with a small stick in his hand, speared through a grape and a cube of cheese. Rhaenyra was laying with her head in his lap, and one of his hands was smoothing through her hair while she ate grapes and strawberries from a bowl beside his knee one at a time. 

"At least we know it shall be for a short while this time," Daemon shrugged. "Typically my exiles are rather indefinite." Rhaenyra shook her head.

"It is not short enough," she groaned.

"Four to five weeks is manageable, my sweet," Daemon chuckled. "And we can exchange letters."

"That is not the same, husband," Rhaenyra huffed. 

"We could always fly together," Daemon suggested, biting his cheese off the stick. 

"I suppose," Rhaenyra sighed. She shook her head. "I do not want to be here again, certainly not without you. Being with my father and Alicent will make a month last a year." Daemon laughed.

"I do not envy you," he said. 

"I hate him for this," Rhaenyra puffed. "How can he send you away from me again?" 

"I am not happy about it either," Daemon sighed. Rhaenyra sat up, frowning.

"But you do not seem all that bothered about it either."

"I am," Daemon said. "But I am also relieved, I suppose."

"Relieved?" Rhaenyra scoffed incredulously. 

"He is the King, and his Council has no love for me," Daemon shrugged. "They could have demanded far worse. I am not happy, but I believe him when he says he is prioritising your claim and our child's future. The Fourteen knows Jaehaerys would have done far worse to me if you were his daughter." Daemon sighed. "I do not want to be away from you now, especially not with the babe." Rhaenyra leaned backwards, her head on his chest, and took one of his hands to rest it on her stomach. "Shall we give the happy news to Viserys?" 

"I will," Rhaenyra said uncomfortably. "But - but not yet. I wish to get this ordeal over with first." Daemon nodded, pressing his lips to her temple. "I do not want you to go," she whispered. 

"I do not wish to leave you either," Daemon murmured. "But the King has left us with no choice."

Rhaenyra shook her head, "let us not think about him now."

 Daemon was caught off guard when she pressed her lips to his, but soon made up for it, his lips crashing against hers while his hands found their way to her neck, smoothing down the skin available to him before ghosting down to hold her waist, keeping her on top of him. When she pulled away to breathe, Daemon peppered kisses along her jaw and chin, listening to her giggle at the light sensation. He smiled against her skin. She ran her hands through his hair, pulling him closer to her as if they were not already touching, her teeth tugging on the lobe of his ear as he hoisted up the skirts of the pale yellow gown she had swapped her leathers for. 

 When she grew tired of his pecks, she gripped his chin and pulled his lips to hers again. She moaned into his mouth, her tongue chasing his own greedily, while Daemon happily obliged. He rolled them over so he was atop of her, pushing her legs apart to accommodate him. He hiked up her skirts to her stomach, his thumb teasing along her hipbone as she whined against his lips, before he pulled down her smallclothes.  

 He caressed her hair as his fingers ghosted over her pearl of flesh. She was clearly desperate for it, bucking her hips at nothingness as Daemon sucked her earlobe into his mouth. She was gasping, and Daemon could not help but wonder what she had been doing while in the bath, supposedly to wash the scent of dragon from her skin. Still, she was seldom ever as beautiful as she was when she peaked, and Daemon felt like rewarding them both for their hardships. 

 Rhaenyra opened her legs wider as Daemon increased the pressure on his strokes, gently massaging the bud of nerves with two fingers while he sucked against the column of her neck, although not enough to leave a mark no matter how tempting. She was already his, and when his seed quickened, there would be none who could doubt it. He gasped against her when her fingers reached for the ties of his breeches. He cocked an eyebrow, and she only smirked, pushing the material away. He groaned as she took him in hand, stroking him up and down. He paid her back in kind, one long finger spreading her lower lips as he massaged her swollen flesh, his hand already glistening with her desire. 

 When she brushed her thumb over his tip, he practically whimpered. Rhaenyra smirked, repeating the motion as precum dripped from the pink head. He groaned, his head rolling back. She took the opportunity to lean forward and lick a stripe up the column of his throat. He cocked an eyebrow at her, but she only laughed. It was a refreshing sound to him. His chest was heaving, but unburdened by the weight of many of these performances, for by now she knew him as he knew her, and the need to impress was overridden by the desire for pleasure, which only made it all the sweeter.

 He threw away his tunic, baring his chest as a guttural moan escaped past his lips, Rhaenyra's fingers teasing along the vein on the underside of his throbbing cock. 

 "Daemon," she whimpered, as his first finger breached her opening, sliding inside the hot warmth of her. His cock twitched in envy. "Fuck, yes."

"You are desperate for it," Daemon chuckled, his lips soon against her own before she had a chance to respond. She nipped at him, no doubt the price of his remark, but soon she was distracted. Her hand released her hold on him, instead gripping onto his back, her nails certainly marring the already scarred skin, as his second finger accompanied the first, the two thrusting in, in, and out of her and a steady but unforgiving pace. When they drew apart, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, whining into his skin. "Let me hear you properly, my wife," Daemon whispered against her ear. Rhaenyra keened.

 Her hips rocked to meet him. Her hair was thrashing against the crimson pillows, and her cheeks were flushed a similar shade of red. She moaned as his thumb returned to her pearl, his lips more interested in the base of her neck while her hips continued to buck desperately, unable to match his increasing pace as his fingers crooked against the blinding nerves inside of her.

 He could tell when she was close. He always could. 

 He had her on the precipice, her mouth agape and her eyes shut close, beads of sweat painting her forehead and some running down her cheeks. 

 Without warning, he slipped a third finger inside of her, his cock burning with need against her thigh as she moaned against him, writhing in the silk sheets. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, yes, beautiful." Rhaenyra whimpered. 

 "Daemon," she hissed again, her back arching so much he wondered if her breasts may pop out of her dress on their own. 

 They did not, and she was soon flat against the sheets again, gasping and moaning as her peak finally hit her. A shudder fell over her and his name followed a string of curses on her swollen lips. He did not stop the circling of his fingers, or the ruthless assault of his thumb over her bud. 

 As she calmed and her mouth closed, Daemon lay beside her, taking himself in hand. He ran his fingers down his burning length, stroking once, twice, thrice, while she watched, her eyes darker than usual and wide with amusement. He did not mind the audience, not when it was her.

"I - will you teach me, kepus?" Rhaenyra whispered, her hand covering his. He frowned. "How - how to -"

"What?" he whispered. 

"How to... help you with my - my mouth."

"Your mouth?" Daemon smirked, licking his own lips as his eyes dropped to hers, soft and wet and pillow-plump. Rhaenyra swallowed and nodded.

"I - well, I have heard of it before and -" 

 If she was crimson before, she was now a burning scarlet, the blush following from her ears to her collarbone. Daemon snorted. "There need be no shame with me, wife," he whispered, taking her hand from his cock and raising it to his lips. "Where would you like it?" 

"I - Pardon?"

"Well, on the floor would be customary, but I imagine the stone to be unforgiving to one's knees," Daemon replied, grinning. Rhaenyra licked her lips.

"N- no, that - that will be fine."

"Oh, really?" Daemon grinned. He helped her put her skirts to right before rolling off her and sitting at the edge of the bed, spreading his legs so that she might crouch between them. "Here." He took her hand in his and pulled it up and down his length, setting the rhythm before letting her take the lead. Her purple eyes were fixed upon their hands, her tongue darting out to lick her lower lip as more beads of precum dripped from his slit. He reached down to cup her chin, his thumb brushing over the jagged line down her lip, the cut he had left there, the mark of their union. "Mine," he growled.

"And you are mine," Rhaenyra returned, smiling. Daemon nodded. 

  She was gentle when she first took him into her mouth, letting him rest on her tongue as she grew accustomed to the weight of it. Daemon could feel himself throbbing. He could feel the desire building up in him, but resisted the urge to bury himself in her throat.

 At long last, she grew confident enough to take more of him down, bobbing on his thick length until she felt she could take no more. She explored him with her tongue, swiping over the head and licking along the underside. His head rolled backwards, his moan like a chorus to her ears as she drew back slightly, her tongue massaging him once more. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, the sight of his wife with her lovely lips around his cock a sight he would not dare miss, and he snaked one hand through her already tangled hair. 

 Again he found himself questioning his resolve, for usually he would struggle not to drive her along his length with her hair to guide her, but instead he just watched. 

 Rhaenyra gagged when she took too much of him, his head breaching her throat. He smoothed her cheek comfortingly as she pulled away from a moment, her eyes glistening with tears, but he said nothing. 

 Soon, her lips were cushioning his head again, swallowing down the precum he leaked, a curious expression on her face. She suckled around him, repeating the tongue swipes and moans that elicited noticeable reactions from him. His hips began to buck weakly into her, pushing his cock further and further into that delicious heat, although not enough to startle her. His chest was heaving, his breaths little more than sharp pants. He tugged lightly on her hair, urging her tongue back to his head. His stomach turned as she looked up at him through long, wet lashes, and he knew he was gone.

 He grunted as she swallowed once around him, and his peak blinded him like the first flash of lightning when flying in a storm. 

 "Rhae- " he panted, his seed spilling from his cock and down her throat. She swallowed as much as she could, no doubt startled by his sudden release, but it pooled out of the sides of her mouth with her own saliva, dripping down her chin. Daemon wiped it up with his thumb, pushing it into her mouth alongside his cock as she drained him for what he had, moaning around his length once more. More dripped out when he removed his thumb. That he ignored, running a hand through his own sweaty hair as she licked him up to clean him, her tongue soon darting out of her mouth to lick up what was left. "Damn," Daemon exhaled. Rhaenyra giggled, flushing. 

 Daemon scooped her onto the bed and rolled over so they were side by side, one of his hands playing with her hair while she stroked a finger down his cheek. "You are amazing," he muttered. "My dragon." Rhaenyra giggled. 

"And you have to go now, do you not?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, wow," Daemon scoffed. "How kind of you, Princess."

"What, am I wrong?" Rhaenyra teased. Daemon shook his head. "I need a bath again, and I would rather you not be here when I do it."

"You are going to wash here, without me?" Daemon quizzed. Rhaenyra nodded. He frowned. "You are going to be naked in my rooms without me?"

"Indeed," Rhaenyra smirked. Daemon shook his head. 

"Seven Hells," he cursed. Rhaenyra laughed. She kissed him once more, both slower and tamer but with no less passion, before rising from the bed in search of her slippers. Daemon followed soon after, lacing up his breeches and draining the goblet on his bedside table, already formulating ways to have her sneak off to Dragonstone during his temporary banishment.

Chapter Text

  Cold air hit the Princess' face as Syrax burst through the thick clouds. The morning sun was still low, and Rhaenyra squinted as the bright rays momentarily blinded her. It was still early, most of the castle was yet to rise when Rhaenyra had left, but she knew she would have another long day of hearing other people's opinions about what her wedding should be. She also seldom had a moment without her father popping up over her shoulder, insisting she join him for some meeting or meal or other, and so the skies were the only place she had to be alone. 

 Not that she was entirely alone. Syrax chirped, shaking her yellow head as a flock of birds let out terrified screeches as they soared through the clouds to escape her. Rhaenyra laughed. Syrax shrieked. Rhaenyra patted her at the base of her neck, urging her forward to distract her from chasing the birds. 

 It was deathly quiet up there, with no other signs of life. While Rhaenyra enjoyed her time with Syrax, she could tell that Syrax was missing her races with Caraxes, and Rhaenyra longed for her husband too. She knew that it would be less than a month before she saw him again, but Rhaenyra did not know how much longer she could take it. Everything had seemed so good on Dragonstone, and now she was back with the vipers and vultures of King's Landing, just as alone as before, if not more so, for now there was no hoping that Daemon would come to save her. She had spent many mornings before, when he had been away in the Stepstones, dreaming that that would be the day when he returned, but now she woke every morn knowing that it would not be.

 She was pulled from her thoughts as Syrax let out a shriek, shaking her head as they neared the Dragon Pit and heard Dreamfyre grumble below. Queen Rhaena's mount had been in an increasingly foul mood for some time now. Rhaenyra had suggested having her moved to the dragonmont with Vermithor and Silverwing, but Viserys had refused it. 

 As Rhaenyra said goodbye to Syrax, the dragon keepers hurried to keep her content with pieces of mutton. Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder as she swallowed, before she padded outside to the carriage that had been waiting for her. "Morning, Ser," Rhaenyra greeted Ser Lorent Marbrand, who had taken over Ser Criston's role as her sworn shield. Ser Lorent nodded and whistled for the carriage to begin to move while Rhaenyra removed her gloves. 

"Good morning, Princess," Ser Lorent replied. His hand rested on the sword on his belt and his eyes on the window. 

"Are you sure you would not rather wait in the Dragon Pit?"

"No, no," Ser Lorent replied, shaking his head. "I am fine here." Rhaenyra chuckled. 

 When they returned to the Red Keep, Rhaenyra took to crossing through the gardens instead of following the growing crowd of courtiers through the main entrance. It was still early, and so she was not expecting to find anyone else there. 

 Unfortunately, she had not even passed the weirwood tree when she heard someone calling for her.

"Princess! Princess Rhaenyra!" 

Inhaling sharply through her teeth, Rhaenyra spun around to see Alicent Hightower marching towards her, her hands clasped in front of her pink and gold gown.

"Rhaenyra, wait," she insisted, frowning. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to roll her eyes, clasping her hands behind her as she glanced sideways to Ser Lorent. Alicent also stared at the night. "Leave us, Ser," Alicent told him. Ser Lorent frowned. Alicent waved a hand at him.

"He is sworn to me," Rhaenyra sniffed. 

"He is sworn to the King, my husband," Alicent said stiffly. "Leave us, Ser." 

Ser Lorent glanced apologetically to Rhaenyra, before nodding his head and marching down the path towards the castle. "I am happy to discuss this with the King later," Rhaenyra said icily. "I am sure, as heir to the Throne, he shall be interested to hear you are undermining my security." 

"Do you expect to be attacked in these gardens?"

"I will not pretend to know what your intentions are." 

"Mine?" scoffed Alicent. "Tell me, what of you? First you claim that Daemon abandoned you, and now I find you are wed to him? Without the King's leave?" 

"I see not what concern it is of yours," huffed Rhaenyra. 

"I am the Queen! This household -"

"Daemon and I are not a part of your household, I am to run my own on Dragonstone." 

Alicent pursed her lips. "So was this your intention all along? To besmirch my father's name and run amok with your uncle like -"

"Besmirch him?" Rhaenyra repeated incredulously. "Your saintly father was having me spied on to bring about my ruin, and passing off his own assumptions as fact. I do not know how many times I shall have to profess it because of you Hightowers, but nothing happened that night."

"And yet you are wed to him?"

"Yes, I am," Rhaenyra puffed. "And I do not know who you think you are to question me, you are not the King."

"I am the Queen, I -"

"Queen?" Rhaenyra scoffed. "Please, you are nothing by an over-indulged harlot -"

"You do not have the right -"

"- who slipped her way into my father's private chambers the night my mother died," Rhaenyra hissed.

"- to say such things to me!" Alicent flared. Her face fell as she registered Rhaenyra's words. "Rhaenyra, no -"

"How dare you!" Rhaenyra cried. "How dare you sit there and watch me weep for my mother before your Gods when you knew you had been insulting her memory since the very eve her soul left us!"

"Rhaenyra -"

"How dare you sit there and listen to me cry of my father's absence, when you knew he did not care to dine with me because he was preoccupied with entertaining you!"

"Rhaenyra, please -"

"How dare you pretend that we were two of the same, our fathers a similar kind, unknowing how to speak with girls, when your father plotted my downfall while you seduced your way into my mother's place," Rhaenyra snarled. "And now you wish to pretend that we are sisters? That this mess you have made of my life could ever be considered a family?"

"No, Rhaenyra, please. None of this - none of it at all - was by my design -" Alicent reached out for her hand, grasping it tightly "- I swear it to you."

"I care not for your empty words," Rhaenyra hissed as she tore her hand away. "You are just as bad as your father, intent on ruining the little that remains of my life so you can accommodate for your own rise. Did you never think that I need people like Daemon to protect me from you?"

"Please, Rhaenyra - Princess - I - I cannot pretend to know what my father's design was, he never spoke of things like this with me, but - but I swear on my mother I had naught to do with it. But I am - I am confused. You said he left you, and then you come back to court married to him, and not you or your father have said a word to me on the matter."

"Because it is not your concern," Rhaenyra sniffed. 

"In the absence of my father, my husband's House - my children's House - it is all I have. Please, Rhaenyra, we can be a family again."

"Again?" Rhaenyra repeated incredulously. "We were never a family."

"But it does not have to be this way. I - I did not seduce him," Alicent insisted. "I did not ask for this, to become Queen Alicent and for this - this burden. This was not my plot, it is - it is just my life now."

"Truly?" Rhaenyra scoffed. "Then whose was it, pray tell?"

"Your father's."

"What?"

"Indeed. I - I only sought to offer him comfort in his grief, but - but he was the one who kept calling for me, inviting me back, and I could hardly refuse him," Alicent whispered. Rhaenyra scoffed. "Trust me, it is true. I could not refuse him. He could have chosen any woman in the Kingdoms mai-maiden or otherwise to marry, and yet he chose me. He made me his Queen and my children Princes. He chose this for all of us."

"And I am sure you and your father were up in arms," Rhaenyra said drily. 

"My father did not tell me his opinions. I had not planned to - I would never have thought - I mean, Laena Velaryon..." Alicent trailed off, shaking her head. "My father would never have predicted the King to turn on him as he did, to remove him so unceremoniously, as I do not doubt you wished for."

"Your father's own actions had him dismissed from court," Rhaenyra retorted, "in his efforts to ruin my name and reputation, which I do not doubt you had hoped the outcome to be also." 

"No," Alicent said quickly. "No, I had wanted to help you Rhaenyra, in truth, what I heard was not favourable and if it had reached the court - well, Viserys and I had tried to hard to find you a good match, it would all be for naught."

"Heard?" Rhaenyra repeated. 

Alicent nodded, "I had heard my father inform the King of - of the rumour, and -"

"So he did not even tell you directly?" Rhaenyra snapped. "You overheard a conversation and still took it upon yourself to interrogate me?"

Alicent chewed on her bottom lip. "As - as I had said, I had wanted -"

"Please, I know what you wanted," Rhaenyra hissed. 

"No, Rhaenyra, please, I - I had hoped that it was not true, that he had been misinformed, misled, but I - I could not help but worry that -"

"It was not your place to do so." 

"I could hardly have done nothing."

"You did a right bit more than nothing," Rhaenyra huffed. "You cannot help it, can you? Everything has to be about you all the time."

"No." Alicent frowned. "No, that is not -"

"My mother's death has to be about you, my father's grief has to be about you, my name-days, my marriage, my House, my husband, my succession, why does it always have to be about you in your mind? It's always about your mother, your father, your grief, your children, your pregnancy, your marriage, your titles, your Faith, you always have to make it about yourself!"

"I was trying to help - am trying to help," Alicent replied. "I am just trying to help. Why will you never let me help? Why must you be at my throat all the time? Why - why must you forever see the worst in me?"

"Because I know you," Rhaenyra spat. "As I knew your father."

"No, you do not," Alicent retorted. "I want us to be a family, Rhaenyra. I know your father does too, but it is you that is resisting us all the time. And now you run off with Daemon and - and we are concerned." 

"Now Laenor is dead, Daemon is the obvious choice," Rhaenyra sniffed. "He has the Targaryen name, he is a dragonrider, he is beloved by the people of this city and further afar, he has battle experience and experience in ruling - he ruled Dragonstone for my father and his own for many years."

"You can pretend it is a political match all you like, but we both know it is not," snarled Alicent.

"I like him," Rhaenyra shrugged. "He has always been kind to me, and -"

"When you were a girl," said Alicent. "Daemon Targaryen hardly has a reputation for being kind to women."

"He is kind to me," Rhaenyra snapped. "Unlike a great deal of Andal Lords who see me only as a means to better their Houses."

"I am sure Prince Daemon sees a great betterment to his station being wed to you."

"The luxuries of royalty were already owed to him," Rhaenyra said coolly, her voice laced with the cold reminder that Alicent's exotic fruits and luxurious jewels were only owed to her because of her marriage. "He is grandson to the Old King."

"He - he treats you well, then?" Alicent asked. Rhaenyra nodded. "He was - was not barbaric during the bedding?" 

"He is kind to me," Rhaenyra said again, not interested in discussing her wedding night with Alicent of all people. 

"You should be grateful for the privacy of it," Alicent said. "My own bedding was hardly so - so intimate. The men of the court were savages throughout mine, I could hear them laughing and shrieking through the door even after it had closed."

"I recall," Rhaenyra said stiffly. She was not interested in discussing her own wedding, certainly not Alicent's to her father. 

"I do not know if your father told you, but - but my father wished for you to marry Aegon," Alicent said, shaking her head. Rhaenyra pulled a face.

"Why am I not surprised?" 

Alicent frowned, "my father is a man of the Faith, incest is not -"

"Your father would sink to any level if only to better Aegon's position and therefore his own," Rhaenyra sniffed. 

"Is it - is it not odd, being - being married to your Uncle?"

"No." 

"I could not stomach such a thought."

"You are not Valyrian."

"No," Alicent sighed, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "My cousin, Lyonel, he is but a year older than Helaena and his father is already considering who to betroth him to. When I told your father this, he was not surprised, he himself has - has considered betrothing my Helaena to Aegon or to Aemond." Alicent shook her head. "I do not understand it. Why would she wed her own brothers?" 

"My father's parents were brother and sister," Rhaenyra replied. "As were their parents. It may be queer to you, but it is common for us."

"Why?"

"Dragonrider's blood," Rhaenyra shrugged. "Although, that may not apply to your children. We shall see, I suppose." Alicent nodded. 

"I do hope he can reconsider. The Faith, they - incest is frowned upon."

"Your Faith frowns upon a lot."

"The world is filled with sin," Alicent replied. "Are you to come to breakfast?"

"No, I must bathe and change," Rhaenyra said. 

"Really? You so oft smell of dragon and sweat I am surprised that it still bothers you," said Alicent. 

"I would sooner that to hippocras and self-pity," Rhaenyra returned coolly. 

  Rhaenyra's rooms smelt of jasmine and lemon. It was strong enough to make her feel queasy as she pushed open the door, her stomach churning before she even reached the washroom, where the scented bathwater was simmering in the tub under the candlelight. 

 "You are back late, Princess," remarked Darla. She was seated at the table ahead of the window with her sister, although Celia's eyes were only on the book in her lap. Primrose was still in the washroom, drying her hands on a linen sheet, and Rhaenyra could hear her humming to herself. 

"Do not ask," Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. 

"Was there a problem with the dragons?" 

"Not at all," Rhaenyra replied. "But the leeches that roam these halls are another matter." Darla laughed. "My stepmother, a woman who was consorting with my father alone in his chambers for moons unattended, feels she can question my marriage." 

"Does she not have enough to concern herself with?" Darla asked. "She has three menaces for children does she not?"

"Indeed," Rhaenyra huffed, releasing her hair from its braid. 

"Oh, hello Princess," Primrose greeted as she padded out of the washroom. "How fares Syrax?"

"She is well," Rhaenyra replied. 

"Do you need a hand with that?" Primrose quizzed, as Rhaenyra began to undo the clasps of her riding leathers. Rhaenyra shook her head. "A letter has come for you."

"From Dragonstone?" Rhaenyra asked hopefully.

"From Driftmark," Primrose replied. Rhaenyra nodded, smiling. It had been some time since she last heard from Laena. "Do you think Lord Corlys shall come to your wedding?" 

"I do not know," Rhaenyra sighed. "His son is dead, he would eventually have to accept that someone else would become my Prince consort. But, he is a proud man, and it is a bit soon."

"A bit?" Primrose scoffed. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at her. Darla giggled. "Did you hear about Lady Elinor Stokeworth's husband, Princess?" Primrose asked, as Rhaenyra strolled into the washroom. She winced as the smell of the bath oils hit her again, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. Darla and Primrose stared at her. 

"I - no, what?" Rhaenyra murmured, wiping her hair from her face.

"Is everything alright?" Darla asked, frowning. 

"I - Gods above, I - I feel sick," Rhaenyra replied.

"What is it?" Celia inquired, putting her book down and crossing the room towards her. 

"I - I cannot - the lemon - I - oh no." Rhaenyra shook her head, her hands on her stomach as she felt it churn again. 

"Let me prepare you a new bath then," Darla said, as Celia helped Rhaenyra walk back towards her bed.

"Are you ill?" Primrose inquired, frowning. 

"I - fuck - somewhat."

"Somewhat?" repeated Darla, scooping the bathwater into a wooden bucket. Rhaenyra exhaled slowly, leaning against her pillows as Celia helped her unlace her boots. 

"I -" Rhaenyra swallowed "- you must swear that this does not leave this room."

"Of course," Primrose said solemnly. Celia cocked her head.

"I swear it," Darla said.

"Gods, I - I am pregnant," Rhaenyra whispered.

"No!" gasped Primrose. 

"Are you serious?" Celia questioned. Rhaenyra nodded. 

"Fuck me, that was quick," Darla laughed. 

"No wonder your father is so eager to rush the wedding," Celia said. "I had thought he was just offended you wed without his leave." Rhaenyra shook her head. 

"I pray your babe is more tolerable than the Queen's," said Darla. 

"As do I," muttered Celia. Rhaenyra shook her head, letting her eyes fall closed as she heard the water sloshing as Darla shuffled through the room.

"What - what happened to Lady Elinor?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Lady Elinor is fine," Primrose replied. "It is her husband, Ser Qarlton Massey. He is dead."

"Dead?" Rhaenyra frowned.

"Whatever happened to him?" Celia quizzed.

"He threw himself off a tower," Primrose replied. 

"What?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"Or he was pushed," Primrose said. "But he was found dead beneath his window and he had clearly fallen from a great height. Lady Elinor is heartbroken, and Lord Gormon has locked himself in his apartments for the past fortnight." 

"Who would push him?" Celia wondered. 

"Who knows?" Primrose shrugged. "He was Lord Gormon's only son, any of his cousins may want his inheritance."

"But to push him from his own window for it? Is that not too much?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"I would hope so," Primrose muttered. 

"We have fresh water, Princess," announced Darla, dragging in a second bucket into the chambers. Celia hurried over to help her lift it while Primrose moved Rhaenyra's boots out of the way. 

"Is the King excited to be a grandsire?" Primrose asked. 

"He - he does not know yet," Rhaenyra muttered. Primrose frowned. "He knows there is a chance that I might be pregnant, but I have not yet confirmed it to him." Darla laughed. Celia shook her head at her. 

"Does Daemon know?" she questioned. 

"Yes," Rhaenyra replied. 

"Do you want some lemon water?" Primrose asked. "My stepmother drank lots of lemon water when she was pregnant."

"No thank you," Rhaenyra said. "The smell of lemon alone is making me feel queasy."

"Oh dear," said Celia. "How will you cope with all the wedding feasts?" Rhaenyra only shook her head.

____________

 "And what does Lord Bracken have to say on the matter?" inquired Lord Lyman, frowning. 

"He professes the innocence of his son and nephews," Lord Jasper replied stiffly. "He claims not one of them could have been involved."

"And little Lord Blackwood disputes this, I imagine?" sighed Ser Tyland, rolling his orb in his hand. 

"Yes," replied Lord Jasper. "Lord Blackwood's uncle insists that it was the Brackens who were responsible for the fire." 

"Were there witnesses?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"No, Princess," Lord Jasper said.

"Was anyone hurt?" inquired the King, raising his goblet to his lips. 

"Six were found dead, your Grace," replied Lord Lyonel. Viserys bowed his head.

"Dear me," muttered Mellos. 

"So, there were no witnesses to recount the attack?" asked Ser Tyland. "Little Lord Blackwood has simply accused the Brackens unprovoked?" 

"A stable boy of House Tully saw Lord Bracken's second son and his cousins en route to Stone Hedge in the early hours of the next morning," said Lord Lyonel. "They were coming from the direction of Raventree Hall, but none saw them there."

"The boys could have been coming from anywhere then," scoffed Ser Tyland. Lord Lyonel nodded.

"Lord Bracken insists that his son was abed that night," added Lord Jasper.

"So he is lying," declared Lord Lyman. 

"Or, the stable boy is," shrugged Ser Tyland, rising from his seat to reach for the wine jug in the corner of the room. "Everyone knows of the feud between the two Houses." 

"No, no," said Lord Lyman. "Lord Grover would box his ear if he lied to his Lord." 

"Or, Lord Bracken may not have known his son was out that night," suggested Mellos. "The Lord likely does not accompany the boy everywhere."

"Is Lord Blackwood himself not a child?" Viserys asked.

"Indeed, your Grace," replied Lord Lyonel. "He is twelve, so his uncle oversees much of the running of Raventree Hall." 

"Did the Blackwoods do anything to provoke this?" asked Mellos.

"Lord Blackwood slayed Lord Bracken's heir under his own roof," Lord Jasper said darkly. 

"Of course the man wants reparations," Ser Tyland said as he returned to his seat. 

"Killing innocents is not reparations," hissed Lord Lyman. 

"I, for one," said Septon Eustace, "struggle to see what the Tullys expect his Grace to do from King's Landing, and he can hardly go to Stone Hedge himself, he has a Royal Wedding to prepare for." 

"The Tullys fear the Blackwoods will retaliate if no action is taken," said Lord Lyonel. 

"But how can action be taken against the Bracken boys if none can prove it was them?" shrugged Ser Tyland. 

"You would rather it go unpunished?" inquired Lord Lyman. 

"If we do not know who the perpetrator is, I see not what we can do." 

"This should not be your concern, my King," said Septon Eustace. "It is Lord Grover's responsibility." 

"Lord Grover's fears are not unfounded, Septon," said Rhaenyra. "The Blackwoods are likely to retaliate, they shall be eager to spill Bracken blood whether provoked or not."

"Indeed," agreed Lord Lyonel. "Ser Ryger, Lord Blackwood's uncle, has his own feud with Lord Humfrey." The King shook his head. 

"The Blackwoods should be focused on building stronger walls," scoffed Ser Tyland. "How were these boys able to set their land alight?" 

"You are blaming Lord Blackwood for the Bracken's fire?" inquired Mellos. Ser Tyland raised his goblet to his lips and shrugged. 

"In my opinion, your Grace, it is down to the Tullys to handle this," said Lord Jasper. 

"They shall find no further information if there are no witnesses," sighed Rhaenyra, shaking her head. Lord Jasper shrugged.

"And the word of a stable boy is not much to go on," said Ser Tyland.

"Is there no way to prevent violence without detaining the Bracken boy for a crime he may not have committed?" Rhaenyra questioned. "Can the Crown not decree no arms are to be drawn?" 

"The King's word would likely not be enough, Princess," shrugged Lord Jasper. "Raventree Hall is easily a three week ride from here, the Blackwoods would have time to prepare before the King's men could get involved."

"If we need insurance, how old are these Bracken boys?" Rhaenyra asked. "Surely both Houses must have boys of age to be pages or squires that can be sent to Riverrun?" 

"It is likely, yes," said Lord Lyonel. 

"Very well," sighed Viserys. "I will write to Lords Blackwood and Bracken. No more blood is to be spilled over this matter." He wiped his forehead with a teal cloth. "I do hope Lord Blackwood can find out who is responsible." 

"As do I, your Grace," said Mellos solemnly. 

"Is that all for today?" Viserys asked. 

"No, your Grace," replied Lord Jasper. "Ser Burton Marbrand of the City Watch fears he does not have enough men. The City is soon to be filled with highborn guests for the Princess' wedding and they are struggling to manage at present." 

"And what does this Ser Marbrand expect me to do about that?" sighed the King. 

"The City Watch requires more funds," said Lord Jasper, "so that they might hire more men." 

"What is wrong with the men they already have?"

"They spend more time in the whorehouses than they do patrolling," scoffed Ser Tyland. Lord Lyman shook his head. 

"Well then, Ser Marbrand better deal with that," said Viserys, rubbing his hands together. Lord Jasper nodded. 

"The fruits from the Reach are to arrive today, your Grace," said Lord Lyonel. "After which, we are only waiting on the pumpkins from the Vale and the fish from Dragonstone."

"Good, good," Viserys said, smiling. "I think that is enough for today, do you not?" 

"Very well, your Grace," said Ser Tyland, eager to rise from his seat and leave the room. Septon Eustace and Lord Jasper followed quickly after him while Rhaenyra pushed her chair back under the table.

"Rhaenyra," Viserys called after her, as she turned to walk towards the door. She stopped in place, bowing her head. She had hoped to return to the Dragon Pit for the afternoon, but now that seemed unlikely. Lord Lyonel shuffled past her as she heard Viserys' chair drag against the floor. "I am to take my luncheon with Alicent today," he said as he approached her. "You should come too."

Rhaenyra forced a smile," thank you, but I am not hungry."

"No?" Viserys frowned. "We have been here for hours."

"I had quite a lot for breakfast," she lied. 

"Come now, you must try this salted ham we have," Viserys said. "I wish to serve it at your wedding."

"You wish to serve a lot at the wedding," Rhaenyra replied, as Lord Lyman and Mellos padded out of the room. 

"Indeed," Viserys chuckled. "Alicent and I are thinking fifty courses, what say you?" 

"Fifty is fine," Rhaenyra said. Viserys nodded. 

"Does Daemon truly only want to eat brisket?" 

"He certainly enjoys it," Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"Well, come along, this ham is supposed to be mouth watering," Viserys said. 

"I really am not hungry," Rhaenyra protested. Viserys stared at her. 

"I can call for some of that brandy you like then," he said. "Come along." Rhaenyra sighed. 

  They found Alicent already seated at the table in Viserys' chambers, a goblet of grape juice beside her and a copy of the Seven Pointed Star in her lap. She closed her book and nodded her head as Viserys entered, taking his place at the head of the table. Rhaenyra reluctantly took the place to his left, across from Alicent, as the King poured them each a goblet of water. "Afternoon," Viserys greeted her, as a group of serving girls began to bring in trays of food - buttered shrimps, lamb in saffron, salted ham, duck sausages, and bowls of exotic fruits. Viserys immediately reached for the ham, while Alicent had a serving boy cut her a slice of lamb. "Here, try this," Viserys insisted, placing some onto Rhaenyra's plate before she could respond. "I have heard only good things from the cooks." Rhaenyra nodded. 

"Do you not think you have enough courses prepared for the feast now?" Alicent asked. 

"Perhaps, perhaps not," shrugged Viserys. "We must have the best." 

Alicent turned to Rhaenyra, "are you truly not going to have the ceremony in a Sept?"

"Yes," she replied. 

"But - but the Sept is the place of worship, where the Gods' voices are heard and honoured. You -"

"The pledge will be before the Seven," Rhaenyra shrugged. "And it will be conducted by a Septon." 

"Marriages are supposed to be conducted in a Sept," Alicent insisted. Viserys shook his head at her.

"I see not what the issue is," Rhaenyra sighed. "My great-grandparents, Jaehaerys and Alysanne, also wed in front of the Iron Throne." 

"Indeed," sighed Viserys. "Why do you not try some of this ham, Alicent? It is very good." Alicent shook her head, pursing her lips. 

"What other courses do you have planned for the wedding?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"Oh, lots," Viserys replied. "Brisket - at Daemon's request - steak and kidney pies, cheese pies, lamfrey pies, salmon, lamb, pork ribs, chicken, goose, sausages, and venison. And cakes, lots of cakes, and tarts too. The cooks have been working tirelessly on it, which they shall have to of course since we have not given them much time." 

"I am sure it will be excellent, Father," Rhaenyra said, for she was yet to taste food better than that that was served at the Red Keep. 

"I do hope so." 

"Will you not visit the Sept after the wedding?" Alicent inquired. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "Or before, to at least say a prayer before the ceremony?" 

"The Septon's prayers shall be to the Seven," Rhaenyra said. 

"Yes, but marriage it - it is supposed to be a promise to the Gods, to bind your soul in their eyes," Alicent said. "It is not supposed to be for the Throne, or political."

"If it were not for politics, I would not be having this wedding at all," Rhaenyra said stiffly. "Daemon and I are already wed in the way of our ancestors, this is only to appease those who follow the traditions of yours." 

Alicent frowned, "these words are sacred, you cannot just - just -"

"Enough, Alicent," Viserys said firmly. "The proceedings of Rhaenyra's ceremony have been decided by the Council, we do not need to go over them again."

"The Seven will not take kindly to it, husband," Alicent insisted. "These oaths are meant to be -"

"Countless people are made to speak the oaths when they do not need them," Viserys shrugged. "Surely you do not assume that every marriage in Westeros is a happy one?" Alicent shook her head. 

"Surely you want the Seven to bless your marriage, Princess?" she asked. 

"Leave it, Alicent," said Viserys gruffly, as he stabbed his ham with his fork.

"But, Viserys," his wife objected. "This is not Valyria, it is the Seven that looks over these lands and Rhaenyra should not wish to make a mockery of them. The Princess and Prince Daemon should be following your example and marrying properly, in the Sept."

"I said leave it, Alicent." 

  Alicent stewed silently for the remainder of the meal, not eating a morsel, and an icy tension fell over the room. Viserys seemed unbothered, eagerly eating a helping of everything as the servants came in with warm broths and spiced goose. He insisted that Rhaenyra eat as well, although she would have preferred to wolf down her ham and come up with a reason to leave.  

 ____________

  He heard his footsteps echo through the foyer as he plodded down the steps. His forehead still gleamed with sweat from a morning in the training yard, and he had only re-dressed in breeches and a loose undershirt. Daemon caught sight of his reflection in one of the silver shields mounted on the wall, and found he did not look half as dishevelled as he felt. 

 He found the maester in the Throne Room. Maester Gerardys was in his usual grey robes, using a long quill to write on a ream of parchment. "You say he is the best?" Daemon asked him lowly, as the merchant was introduced. 

"That is what I have been told, my Prince," the maester replied, equally as hushed.

"Really?" Daemon raised an eyebrow as the little man walked in, dressed in plain garments of brown and dark green, a bushy moustache of ashy grey staining his upper lip. 

"Hello, my Prince," the merchant said. He gave Daemon a low bow, so much so Daemon was surprised his feathered hat did not fall to the floor. "Hello, hello." 

"You are the toymaker?" Daemon demanded. 

"Indeed, my Prince," the merchant replied. 

"You work a lot in Westeros?"

"Yes, yes my Prince," the merchant said. "I am from Myr, but I make the dolls for Lord Baratheon's granddaughters, and those of Lord Dondarrion, and I have made a few for the daughter of your cousin, the Princess Rhaenys." 

"And do you make toys meant for boys as well?" 

"Oh yes," the merchant replied. "I make many knights and horses and swords as well. Or - or marionettes, or boats." 

"And you make these on request?"

"Yes, yes," the man said, his eyes gleaming excitedly. 

 ____________

The wind blew her hair into her face as she sat beneath the shade of a tree. Rhaenyra felt like a girl of five and ten again, hiding herself nose-deep in a book to avoid the troubles that plagued her at the Red Keep. She supposed that that was what she was doing. 

 The book was a gift from Daemon, one her mother had rolled her eyes at many years ago. It was filled with Old Valyrian folk stories, something he had found deep within the libraries of Dragonstone after recalling Alysanne mentioning it to him once. This particular one was about a merchant who failed to trick a sphinx and was eaten whole for his troubles. It was a much more fearsome story in her youth, although she supposed she was less accustomed to horrors and treachery as a small girl, when her great-grandsire still ruled and her mother brushed her hair for her every morn. Rhaenyra did not know what about that morning made her think of this book, she had not so much as glanced at it in years, but there was a familiar sort of comfort in its words, ones she could recount without needing to see them on the page if she wished. It was written in black ink that had faded to grey, penned by an old Lord of Dragonstone, although Daemon had not known which. 

 Her father had been equally as impressed with it once. Not much of Valyria survived the Doom, he had said, but our ancestors' stories of it shall. When he ascended as King, he became almost as obsessed with the tomes of Old that Jaehaerys had had locked away in the King's chambers as the Old King himself, although Viserys was always more interested in replicating the infrastructure than learning the ways of their people. Rhaenyra had begged for many a years to read the scriptures herself, but Viserys had always refused her, claiming the tomes were too old to be touched and it was not worth risking damage to them. Rhaenyra did not believe him. She knew his ploy, she was a dragon herself, and her father was an old, tired one, who wanted to hoard his wares for himself. 

 She sat on a blanket of purple and gold, another she had held onto since her youth. It was really too small for her now, but she could still use it to shield her skirts from the dirt. As she turned the ancient pages, letting time slip by her, she could feel the eyes of those who walked the gardens upon her. Rhaenyra tried to convince herself that she did not care, that their glances were of no consequence to her, but that was not as easy as it had once been. It had been years now since she had been able to come and go as she pleased without the lashing tongues of every courtier poised to thrash in her direction. 

 She would protect her own child from it for as long as she could, that she was sure of. 

 As the sun rose and the breeze warmed, Rhaenyra took herself to her chambers for her luncheon. Again, she sat at the table alone, staring at the eggs and cheeses she had called for as she poured herself a goblet of sweet plum brandy. She knew that she could call for her ladies if she wanted to, so that she would not spend the hour alone, but Rhaenyra was not feeling overly talkative. She ripped through the letters that had been brought up with her meal, smiling to herself as she recognised Daemon's seal. 

  The sun was low and the seas were dark as Syrax's yellow scales flashed through the sky. She was lower than she would usually be, so Rhaenyra's eyes could scan the many rocky islands that sat in the waters of Blackwater Bay, although they still looked little more than plates in a tub from such a height. Rhaenyra was about to resign herself to inspecting each of the islands one by one, unable to see any inhabitants from such a distance, when a red tail as dark as blood burst through the water's surface. The Blood Wyrm let out a low cry, followed by a high whistle that caught Syrax's attention. She chirped as she dived through the sky. The Blood Wyrm flapped his wings, soaring into the air to greet them as he swallowed the orange fish in his maw. 

 Syrax swooped after the great scarlet dragon, her tail splashing through the waves as they soared above the jagged rocks below. Caraxes exhaled in such a way that could easily be mistaken for a laugh as he opened his mouth, bright orange flames emerging to burn a flock of gulls in the near distance. Syrax chirped again, diving lower to catch one in her own mouth before they could fall into the sea. "You have just eaten, you silly dragon," Rhaenyra told her, smoothing the scales at the base of her neck. "How are you still hungry after three cows?" Syrax screeched her impatient response, looking up at Caraxes as he whistled, urging them forward once more. 

  Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief when Syrax finally landed on one of the little islands. Caraxes did not follow suit, instead diving into the water. Syrax chirped impatiently, and Rhaenyra rolled her eyes as she dismounted. Syrax wasted no time in taking flight, not even giving Rhaenyra time to pat her scales before she was gone. Rhaenyra shook her head, watching as Caraxes followed her up to the sky. She remained on the ground, her eyes scanning for Daemon. 

 It was not long before she heard the water sloshing as he swam towards her island. Rhaenyra giggled at him as he clambered onto the rocks, wiping his wet hair out of his face. As he walked towards her, Rhaenyra could not ignore his nakedness and she felt her cheeks burning scarlet. "Evening," Daemon greeted lowly, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. She smiled, keeping her eyes glued to his face as water droplets dripped down his chin and towards his bare chest. 

"You said you would write to me," she said accusingly.

"And I did, did I not?"

"One letter in four days," Rhaenyra scoffed. Daemon laughed.

"I have been busy," he replied. "But you have not left my thoughts for even a moment, my precious Princess." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes dramatically. Daemon chuckled, wiping some water from his face with the back of his hand. 

"So, why here?" 

"I do not trust the servants Viserys sent to serve on Dragonstone," Daemon shrugged. "They would tell him if you came there."

"Yes, that I can believe, but why here?" Rhaenyra gestured to the barrenness of the island, which was barely anything more than a large rock. 

"It is accessible, is it not? And few would think to look for us here if they were to grow suspicious." 

"Where are your clothes?" Rhaenyra asked, reaching up to brush a piece of broken leaf from one of Daemon's shoulders. He winked at her as Caraxes whistled above them. 

"Over there." He waved a hand dismissively in the direction of the chain of small islands behind them. "Tell me, how fares King's Landing?"

"No," Rhaenyra said. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "I have suffered the Keep too much." Daemon laughed. "You tell me of Dragonstone." 

"There is not much to say," Daemon shrugged. 

"What have you been so busy with, then?"

"Preparing for Viserys' ceremony."

"Our ceremony, you mean."

"The one we are being forced to have which undermines the very real wedding we already had? Yes, that one," Daemon puffed. "I need new clothes and boots. War changes a man in more ways than one, and I am quite a bit slimmer than I was before I left, none of my fitted doublets quite fit anymore." 

"Sounds rather dull."

"Indeed. I do not enjoy tailors measuring every inch of me, but, needs must. I spent time doing other things too, training and swimming and flying and such." 

"Well, between all that I would wish for you to write more," Rhaenyra sighed.

"Really?" Daemon asked, cocking his head. He stepped closer to her, his fingers rubbing over her chin. "And what is it you would want me to say?"

"I do not care," Rhaenyra replied. "I simply want to hear from you. I feel so alone when we are parted and a month feels like an age on my lonesome." 

"I am hardly content about this either," Daemon insisted. 

"You do not have a flock of vultures and Alicent Hightower snapping at your heels."

"No, but I do have that bleeding maester."

"Gerardys? I rather liked him."

"And any and every of the damn servants could be a spy. I feel as though I am going insane."

"Why? What are you trying to hide?" Rhaenyra inquired. Daemon snorted. 

"From your father? Most things." 

"How mysterious."

"Quite the contrary. To you, Princess, I am an open book." Daemon smirked before lowering his head, and in seconds his lips were upon hers. Rhaenyra moaned into the kiss, her hands threading through his hair as his tongue flicked its way into her mouth. 

"You should put your clothes back on," Rhaenyra whispered as they drew away. 

"Why? Am I too tempting to you?" Daemon winked at her. 

"No," Rhaenyra said, although she could feel her cheeks burning up again. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "It is... peculiar for you to be in such state of undress while I am not."

"Then why not join me?"

"Absolutely not," Rhaenyra flared, crossing her arms over her chest. Daemon laughed.

"Why?"

"Any fisherman could see us," Rhaenyra said, although as she gestured to the Bay there were no boats around. "And - and it is cold and uncomfortable and the water looks dirty." Daemon rolled his eyes.

"It will be fun, my beloved."

"I cannot return to the castle wet," Rhaenyra insisted. "There shall be no reason for me to get wet while atop Syrax without rain." Daemon sighed. "I hope you did not invite me here just to try and get me naked?" 

"Of course not," Daemon said. Rhaenyra cocked her head, not convinced. "I did miss you, my wife." 

"I missed you too," Rhaenyra told him, smiling. "All of you." Daemon laughed. He ran a hand through his damp hair again before turning to look at the dragons who had now coiled together on an island in the near distance. 

"Well, even if you shall not accompany me, I intend to swim," he declared, before he jumped from the rocks into the water. Rhaenyra shrieked as she was splashed with cold water droplets, wiping them from her face with the sleeve of her riding leathers.

"Daemon!" she screeched. Daemon chortled from the water. 

  As Syrax and Caraxes circled each other in the skies, Rhaenyra sat at the water's edge. Daemon had given up on his swimming, instead laying in the water as it washed over his bare chest, his eyes staring up at the darkening sky as the sun set over the horizon. "A moon's turn seems so long," Rhaenyra said. Daemon hummed his agreement. "I see not why you cannot stay at the Keep also." 

"Viserys," Daemon grunted. Rhaenyra nodded. 

"I do not know what he thinks he is achieving with this."

"Nothing that will matter," Daemon shrugged. "We are still wed, and one day our son shall be King."

"Yes," Rhaenyra said thoughtfully, one of her hands falling to rest on her stomach. "It is a strange thought, is it not?"

"Is it?" 

"I think so. Our babe is not even here yet, and we already have his life planned for him."

"I suppose, for us," Daemon sighed. "For most firstborn sons that is considered normal."

"But we are not firstborn sons," Rhaenyra muttered.

"No, we are not." Daemon let his eyes fall shut. 

"Do you think he shall truly take our child from us?"

"What?" Daemon's eyes snapped open again as he frowned. 

"My father," Rhaenyra explained. "He wanted our babe."

"He wants - wants the baby?"

"No. Upon his eighth name-day, do you not recall?"

"As a ward," Daemon shrugged, "not a hostage." 

"I do not want my children to suffer as I have, their lives to be torn apart at the whim of my father and his wife." 

"I do not disagree," Daemon muttered. "I do not like the thought of the Hightower girl having access to him either, but what is the alternative? Relocate to the Keep with him and leave the maester to run Dragonstone?" 

"I hope my father shall change his mind."

"He might," Daemon shrugged. "But do not be surprised if he does not. He is a fool, but he can be a stubborn one." Rhaenyra sighed. "He has not even been born yet, my beloved, we have more than eight years before this comes to fruition."

"But it shall, and I dread it," Rhaenyra said, shaking her head. "I want all of our babes with us."

"All of them?" Daemon questioned, wagging his eyebrows.

"Did you not say you wanted two sons?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"I might have done."

"Well, I - I might also wish for a daughter."

"The future King and future Queen?"

"Mayhaps," Rhaenyra murmured. Daemon laughed. "I - you know, I think you should reconsider Father's offer."

"Meaning?"

"About Aegon."

"No."

"You shall need squires anyway."

"But him? No." 

"I do not trust Alicent, Daemon, not at all," Rhaenyra huffed. "I know she does not believe me when I say nothing came to pass between us that night in the City." This time, Daemon was the one who flushed. Rhaenyra smirked, but did not mention it to him. "She is already trying to make demands of my father regarding our wedding and -"

"What?" Daemon frowned.

"She is trying to insist it be held in a Sept."

"Bitch." 

"Father tried to put an end to it, but she is persistent," Rhaenyra said. "I do not think she is as cold as her father, but I fear they may have the same objective."

"Killing me?" Daemon quizzed drily.

"Displacing me," Rhaenyra replied. Daemon hummed thoughtfully. "Aegon shall be her greatest power against us." 

"And you want him carrying my shields and dirty boots for what? It shall not lessen his standing, all highborn knights were once squires, myself included." 

"No, but it will keep him from her, an entire sea away," Rhaenyra declared. Daemon groaned. 

"You want to be stuck on an island with that little brat to spite the Hightowers?" 

"Certainly not at present, but mayhaps he shall become more tolerable by the time he is old enough. You should think about it."

"And you should spend less time thinking about Alicent Hightower," Daemon grunted. Rhaenyra frowned.

"How so?" 

"She is a bitch, yes, but she is Viserys' consort," Daemon replied coolly. "She has no real power. It is the vipers of the Council who shall seek to turn Viserys towards naming his son in your stead that you should be concerning yourself with, Tyland Lannister no doubt amongst them. His brother only has daughters after all, and I am sure he would love to get his fingers in the pot of gold under Casterly Rock." 

"Tyland Lannister is a problem, yes, but I fear you underestimate Alicent, uncle," Rhaenyra said stiffly. 

"Or you overestimate her. Yes, she may use her position as your stepmother to cause you misery, but if it is your Throne you wish to protect, she shall be of little concern, she becomes naught when Viserys dies. It is a shame we cannot ship her off to Oldtown with her father." 

"With any luck she shall choose to leave," Rhaenyra said. "Although I fear I lack such a thing." Daemon laughed. 

"When you are Queen, what shall you do with those dastardly half-Hightowers of your father's?" 

"You know, I have not thought of it much."

"Really?" Daemon scoffed.

"Indeed, uncle, it is highly a priority of mine. I would not be surprised if Alicent sent Helaena and Aemond to the Faith, their eggs have not hatched and she is almost as pious as she is self-involved."

"That would certainly help things."

"She seems repulsed by the idea of Helaena marrying one of her brothers, so I would not be surprised if Alicent has her sent away to avoid it." 

"She married into the wrong family then," Daemon snorted. Rhaenyra did not disagree. 

"What would you wish for me to do with them?" she asked.

"I care not," Daemon shrugged. "I would like to have them shipped to Oldtown where they belong, but so long as they do not bother me I care not where they are." 

  It soon grew darker and colder, the wind blowing fiercer and the water becoming icier. Daemon had located his clothes to slip on his breeches and coat, and the couple watched their dragons fishing in the waves. "I do hope to see you before long," Rhaenyra murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. "And to hear from you before that." Daemon rolled his eyes dramatically, but nodded, watching their hands as she laced their fingers together. "I am afraid I shall have to depart soon, I cannot leave Ser Lorent waiting for much longer -" Daemon scoffed "- and my ladies must have run me a bath by now, I do not wish for it to get cold. I do wish that you could come with me -"

"As do I, Princess."

"- but I fear my father may notice Caraxes flying over the City."

"Yes," Daemon snorted. "He might."

Rhaenyra squeezed his hand tighter. "Farewell, husband, I do hope we shall not be apart for long."

"Farewell, wife -" Daemon pecked her forehead "- it is a less than a month now."

"Yes," Rhaenyra muttered. She whistled for Syrax to approach her as she felt Daemon's eyes watching her. She found herself again hoping that their month apart would pass quickly. 

Chapter Text

116 - Summer

 The days passed by slowly. 

 Viserys' insistence on dining together was not as easy to avoid. Rhaenyra visited Syrax most mornings giving her a reasonable excuse to avoid breakfast, but Viserys became relentless, following Rhaenyra out of council meetings or sending Ser Harrold to her rooms to ensure she attended at least one meal in his rooms.

 Whatever Viserys' intentions were with this torture, but she doubted it was having the desired effect. Hours of watching Aegon fight with his maids and hearing Aemond scream ceaselessly did not endear her to her half-siblings, and she was no more interested in her father and stepmother than she had been before. If anything, it just reminded Rhaenyra of what she no longer had, that she was an outsider in her father's new family, and she would have much preferred to be left alone. 

 Although the Citadel had declared summer's arrival, the skies were grey and lightning flashed above the horizon on the morning that Daemon returned to the city. Rhaenyra stood to her father's right as they waited to receive him beside Lord Lyonel. Alicent stood to Viserys' left, her hair held up in the fashion of the Capital, while Aegon clung onto her hand. Her other children were still with their maids a short distance behind them, Aemond's face already stained with tears. 

 Daemon's hair blew in the wind, shining like beaten silver. He was clad in a tunic of a grey so dark it was almost black, and silver. His boots were a reddish leather, perfectly polished with golden clasps, and he bore Dark Sister on his hip, the hilt gleaming in what sunlight they had. He said nothing as he marched down the steps from his carriage, his eyes scanning the congregation that had come to meet him.

 "Ah, Daemon."

 Surprisingly, Viserys greeted him with an embrace, albeit a short one. Daemon seemed rather uncomfortable with it, cocking his head curiously as Viserys drew away, but Viserys seemed not to notice, gesturing to his young children behind him. Aegon gave a small wave, and Helaena grinned at him. Daemon did not acknowledge them, his eyes already fixed on Rhaenyra. She smiled back at him, playing with the rings on her fingers as Daemon ran a hand through his hair. 

 "Prince Daemon." 

 Daemon ignored Alicent, instead approaching Rhaenyra and reaching for her hand. Alicent pursed her lips, but said nothing as Viserys urged them to follow him inside. Two serving boys in red and black hurried to the carriage to collect Daemon's luggage sack, while two guards held open the doors to the Entrance Hall. 

 "We have everything mostly prepared," Viserys was saying as Rhaenyra hurried to keep up with him. Alicent and her children were also trailing behind, Rhaenyra's stepmother muttering with the maids grumpily. "The cooks have been working tirelessly to perfect each dish, but we are still yet to receive the pumpkins for the soup." 

"Is pumpkin soup that important?" Daemon asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 

"To Rhaenyra it is," Alicent said loftily. "We could all do without."

"It was a favourite of my mother's," Rhaenyra replied, frowning. "The pumpkins are from the Vale." 

"They grow perfectly good pumpkins in the Reach that could have been here a week ago," said Alicent. 

"Come now," said Viserys, "none could compare the pumpkins found in the Vale to that of the Reach -" Alicent frowned "- or anywhere really. Everybody knows that they are the best, and I will have only the best for my daughter and her guests."

"Father is planning a hundred courses," Rhaenyra said. Daemon raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, it shall be one hundred and three," Viserys declared. 

"Do any of us really need to eat that much?" Daemon chuckled. Viserys frowned. "There are people out there starving and here we are fattening ourselves like geese."

"It is a celebration," Viserys said stiffly. 

"As you keep saying," Daemon muttered, shaking his head as they approached the Throne Room. 

  The room no longer looked as it did while her father was holding court. On every wall and every pillar was a great banner taller than Rhaenyra was, each bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Baskets of flowers, most red and purple but others blue or, rarely, black, hung from the ceiling, as did several chandeliers, all currently unlit. The first of the great tables had already been set in place, and servants were hurrying to smooth out the creases on the crimson tablecloth as the King walked in. Another group of manservants had begun to build the platform - or at least the steps to it - where the High Table would be placed, overlooking all else in the Hall. 

 "We hope to be finished the day after tomorrow," Viserys told them. "It is rather vibrant now, is it not? Far more exciting than it was yesterday." 

"Of course," Alicent said stiffly. Aegon clapped his chubby hands. A servant in dark red dropped a candle holder onto the floor and Aemond began to sob in his maid's arms. "Oh dear, my boy," Alicent murmured to him. Aemond continued to scream, his face quickly growing red despite his maid's soothing words. 

"There, there, Prince Aemond," the maid shushed, rocking him gently in her arms. It did no good, the Prince continuing to shriek with a fierceness Rhaenyra would not have expected for a boy of his size. Her hand dropped to her stomach, rubbing her hand over where the maesters told her that her own child was growing, no larger than the size of a grapefruit at present. 

"Mayhaps he should be taken to his wet nurse?" Viserys suggested, scratching the side of his cheek uncomfortably. 

"I am sure he shall calm in a minute, husband," Alicent said quickly. The maids did not look as though they agreed with her, but none voiced their disagreements. 

"Shut up," Aegon shouted at his small brother, his plump lips forming a pout. Helaena also looked miserable, her hands covering her ears as she scowled at the babe. "Ma, Ma make him be quiet," Aegon demanded, pulling on Alicent's sleeve. Alicent batted his hand away. "Make him be quiet." 

"Hush now, Aegon," snapped Viserys. Aegon scowled at him.

"You hush," he retorted. Viserys chuckled, shaking his head at the boy. 

"I think it for the best if Aemond is taken upstairs," Viserys told the maids sternly. Alicent pursed her lips.  

"Yes, your Grace," said the maid. She bowed her head and began to leave the room. 

"Well, no matter, I am sure the Prince has plenty of unpacking to be getting on with," she said stiffly. 

"That can wait," Viserys said, waving a hand dismissively. "I must show you the gardens, while this is taken apart to prepare for the ceremony we shall be dining there after all."

"I am sure the Prince has seen the gardens enough," Alicent chuckled, her eyes coldly fixed on Daemon. 

"You do not need to come with us, if it is not of any interest to you," Rhaenyra told her coolly. "Mayhaps you should join your son in the nursery instead?" Alicent frowned. 

"We should go to the Dragon Pit," piped up Aegon. 

"No, not today, Aegon," Viserys replied. "Now, come along, let us see the garden." Rhaenyra nodded, but nobody else looked enthused. 

  It was after Viserys had shown them the banners and flowers that now decorated the trees and outer walls of the castle that Rhaenyra was finally left to speak with her husband. While Viserys agreed to take his luncheon with Alicent, Aegon and Helaena in Aegon's nursery, Rhaenyra followed Daemon up to his chambers on the King's floor. His sack had been brought up for him, abandoned in front of the recently lit fireplace. Daemon shook his head, kicking it out of the way so that the leather did not burn, before he reached for the wine jug atop the mantelpiece.

  "How was Dragonstone?" Rhaenyra inquired, as she lowered herself onto one of the dark red velvet armchairs. 

"As it always is," Daemon shrugged, pouring the dark wine into a golden goblet. "Although, it was rather lonesome without you." 

"I have missed you too," Rhaenyra confessed, accepting the goblet from him after he had drained half of it in one gulp. "As I am sure you could tell from my letters."

"Yes." Daemon smiled. "While I am never pleased to hear you are unhappy, I was rather content to hear I was not alone in my misery. I would simply hate for you to be having fun without me."

"Of course," Rhaenyra chuckled. She sipped the wine, wincing slightly as the sour liquid sloshed against the back of her teeth. Daemon had always liked his wines stronger and more bitter than she or her father had, and Rhaenyra had not had any in weeks. "Well, I am glad that our time apart is at an end," she said. 

"As am I, my wife," Daemon smirked. He fell onto the armchair across from her, brushing his hair from his face. "And once your father's feasting has concluded, we shall be left to ourselves." 

"At least he is no longer angry with us," Rhaenyra sighed. "Well, not as angry with us. The feast has given him something else to focus on." 

"I see not why it matters," Daemon grunted. "He will only find something else to complain about." 

"You do not seem happy to be here," Rhaenyra muttered, sipping her wine again. 

"When am I ever?" Daemon scoffed. "I care not for Viserys' lickspittles and their feasts."

"It is still a celebration for us."

"Not truly," Daemon said gruffly. "We are already wed. This is their victory more than ours, they have forced our hand and now we must comply with the rules of their Faith."

"I do not like it either, but when our ancestors came to this land, they swore to uphold the rules of their Gods," Rhaenyra replied. 

Daemon snorted, "Ancestors? What has Viserys been telling you?" Rhaenyra frowned. "Do you think that if Aegon had made such an oath, his grandchildren would wed brother to sister? No, of course not. He respected the Faith for political purposes, but it was Jaehaerys, my grandfather, who made such a promise - a promise he sought to break shortly after so he could wed his sister." 

"It will still be fun, will it not? And we will not have to hide it any longer."

"Do you wish you had this?" Daemon asked, crossing the room to pour the wine into a second goblet. "The first time, that is. Was our wedding not grandiose enough to your liking?"

"I told you before," Rhaenyra said, "I would have liked to have had such a celebration, but I would marry you anywhere in any state so long as it was proper." Daemon nodded, although he did not look convinced. "I only - I do appreciate the effort my father has put in for all of this, and I - to have control over it, to be the one to make decisions and not Alicent for a change has been satisfying."

"Oh, I am sure," Daemon smirked. "How are the rats of the Council?"

"As painfully boring and self-serving as ever," Rhaenyra sighed. "But, with everything we have been planning, they have had to listen to my father refer to be as the future Queen at least a dozen times, although somehow I fail to believe they will get the message." She shook her head. 

"With any luck, none of them shall be here for long," Daemon muttered. "Although, I suppose our House has not had much luck as of late." Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"Do you have something to wear for the ceremony?" she asked. "Father worries you have not and shall come to the Throne Room in your armour."

Daemon chuckled lowly, "now I want to turn up in my armour just to see the look on his face."

"Do not," Rhaenyra told him sternly, wagging a finger in his direction. Daemon laughed again. 

"While we are on the topic of the ceremony," he sighed, placing his goblet atop the mantel again. "I have something to show you." Rhaenyra cocked her head, watching as Daemon padded towards his luggage. She was accustomed to him bringing things for her, but she did not know what he would have that he meant to show her, especially in regards to the ceremony she knew he did not want. 

  After rummaging through the sack for some time, he brought out a package wrapped in brown paper, which he placed on the dark wooden table beside Rhaenyra's armchair. He untied the rope around it to reveal a cloak of a red so dark it was almost black, embroidered with the scarlet three headed dragon of their House and the edges trimmed with a more vibrant red. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. 

 "My cloak," Daemon told her. 

"Oh."

"It is the same one my father used when he wed my mother," Daemon explained, his hand running down the aged material. "The same one Jaehaerys used to wed Alysanne, and Aemon used to wed Jocelyn as well. It has been hidden away on Dragonstone for some time now, but I had some servants dig it out for us." Rhaenyra smiled. 

"I had my maiden cloak finished recently," she said. 

"You had a new one made?" Daemon quizzed.

"Indeed. Father had wanted me to use his, the one he cloaked my mother in, but he then used it for Alicent and I did not want such a thing."

"Ah, I see."

"He was rather unhappy about it, but I managed to convince him to have a new one commissioned," Rhaenyra sighed. "It is rather nice." 

"With your expensive tastes, Princess, I am sure it is," Daemon replied, falling into the armchair across from her again. 

"Are you hungry?" Rhaenyra asked. "We should call for a lunch." 

"I am sure there are better things we could be doing," Daemon retorted, winking. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. 

____________

When Rhaenyra woke, Daemon was smiling down at her. 

 He was leaning against the headboard, the sheets pooled around his waist, showing off his bare chest, and he had a teacup in his hand. His hair had grown longer, now long enough to fall in front of his eyes as he cocked his head at her. 

 She smiled back as she looked up at him, her eyes still bleary and not quite sure where she was yet. Daemon laughed down at her, brushing a lock of hair from her face so he could better see the irises of her eyes. "Morning," he said lowly, his voice rougher than she had heard it before. She laughed. Rhaenyra looked around the room, recognising the dark posters of the bed and the bright red canopy that they held up. She could not recall the last time she had woken up in his bed. "Your father wants us to join him for breakfast," Daemon told her as she sat up. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. Daemon smirked. "He was rather unimpressed to find you here." 

"He came himself?" Rhaenyra wondered, accustomed to having various members of the Kingsguard knocking on her door whenever her father wanted to meet with her.

"You were not in your room, he was concerned," Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra groaned into the pillow. 

"It is too early," she grumbled. 

"Do you even know what time it is?" Daemon laughed.

"Too early for my father and his brood whatever the time is." 

"Well, if you have no intention of joining them," Daemon said as he rose from the bed, leaving his teacup on the bedside table, "I am not going to sit around here all day."

"Why not?" Rhaenyra groaned. 

Daemon laughed again, "what a waste of a morning that would be." Rhaenyra frowned.

"Where are you off to, then?"

"First, the training yard," Daemon replied. "Then I might go down to the barracks, check in on the Gold Cloaks." 

"Will you return for luncheon?" she asked. "I fear I may sleep through breakfast." Daemon laughed again, but agreed. 

 When Rhaenyra was roused again, Daemon had only a linen sheet wrapped around his waist. His hair was wet and water droplets were dripping down his back as he rummaged through his drawers for some clothes. She yawned as she sat up, watching him as he swapped his sheet for a pair of grey breeches, lacing them hurriedly. "Morning," she sighed. 

"I think you mean afternoon," Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra shrugged, holding the sheets around herself as she sat up. 

"Have you already eaten?"

"Yes."

"And you did not wake me?"

"You are peaceful when you sleep."

"As opposed to when I am awake and I am what, exactly?"

"Considerably less so," Daemon replied, smirking. He leaned over the foot of the bed to reach for her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "Shall I call for some tea? Cakes? Figs? You do seem to like those."

"Tea would be nice," Rhaenyra sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "But nothing with lemon, it turns my stomach."

"Is that because of the... you know?"

"The babe? I think so." 

"You know, my father always said my mother went mad for melons when she was pregnant with my brother," Daemon told her. "She would have it with everything." 

"My mother never ate much when she was pregnant," Rhaenyra muttered, playing with a loose thread she found on the sleeve of her nightgown. "She would drink only milk and sit in the bath for hours on end." 

"I recall," Daemon sighed, shaking his head. 

 Daemon called for not only tea but a platter of fruits, cold meats, and cheeses. Rhaenyra had a small slice of cheese as she joined Daemon in the lower room ahead of the fireplace, still dressed in her nightwear while he had covered himself with a black tunic. Daemon did not bother with the tea, instead pouring himself a goblet of Dornish strongwine while Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. He chuckled, raising the goblet to his lips. "How do you feel?" he asked. 

"I have been worse," Rhaenyra shrugged. "But I am tired, I feel ill most morns. I will be happy when this wedding is over and behind us." Daemon scoffed. "You disagree?"

"I care not for this so-called 'wedding', we are already wed," Daemon said. "It is a farce of a ceremony, and a waste of both coin and time if you ask me." 

"Well, I hope you do not intend to show your disapproval to our guests," Rhaenyra huffed. "We are expected to be jovial hosts." Daemon rolled his eyes. "It is important! And, as my consort, you should get used to hosting such events."

"Oh, should I?" Daemon said drily. Rhaenyra nodded.

"I see not why you are complaining, Jaehaerys and Alysanne saw fit to have a second ceremony, did they not? If it was good enough for them, it should be for us also."

"Yes, but that was their choice, this is something we are being forced into because the rites of our ancestors are not respected in this land, and the King refuses to uphold them without acquiescing the Faith. It is hardly the same thing."

"I have told my father that it is our actual wedding date we shall celebrate our anniversaries on," Rhaenyra told him. Daemon nodded. 

"Good." He sipped his wine again. "Does Viserys know about the babe yet?" 

Rhaenyra sighed. "No," she replied. "I... I think it would be better to wait until after the ceremony." 

"Oh?"

"I think he shall feel better about it if there is no question of the legitimacy of our child."

"Right, right," Daemon muttered glumly. "Because our actual wedding does not count to him."

"You are too grumpy," Rhaenyra told him. "Just think of it as a three-day feast in our honour." Daemon rolled his eyes again. "Is this what you have been doing on Dragonstone all this time? Sitting around and sulking?"

"I do not like to be disrespected," Daemon shrugged. 

"You do not like doing what you are told," Rhaenyra countered, reaching for another piece of cheese. Daemon snorted. 

  Once Rhaenyra grew tired of the heat of Daemon's rooms, they took to wandering the gardens, accompanied by her ladies much to Daemon's disapproval. Celia and Darla wore dark blue cloaks over their shoulders, while Primrose was dressed in pale pink. They were far from the only ones in the garden, passing Lady Harte and Lady Fell beside the flowerbeds and Lord and Lady Turnberry watching the birds soar over the weirwood tree, amongst others following the path back towards the castle. The garden was also decorated for the wedding, with streamers hanging from each tree and a floral display of red and yellow roses vaguely in the shape of their dragons on the grass beyond the tables already set up for them, which impressed Rhaenyra far more than it did Daemon. 

  "How many guests are you expecting to come?" Primrose asked. 

"Father supposes anywhere between six and eight hundred," Rhaenyra replied. She held Daemon's hand as they walked, while Celia and Darla were walking arm in arm and Primrose clasped her hands in front of her. 

"I believe our father wishes to betroth me to the heir of Darry," Celia said. "He insisted that the King invite him and Lady Della to the wedding." 

"Do you not want to marry him?" Primrose inquired. 

"I do not know him," Celia replied. "I mean, I saw him at a tourney once and he is not not handsome, but for all I know he could be a brute." 

"Is he not more interested in finding a wife for your brother?" Primrose asked. "He is his heir, is he not?" 

"No," Celia sighed. "Father seems rather uninterested in Harwin's marriage."

"Or lack thereof," scoffed Darla. 

"Is he not older than you?"

"Indeed," Darla replied. "He shall be thirty before the year's end." 

"It hardly matters," Daemon shrugged. Darla frowned at him. "Men do not have to rush to father children, they can continue to do so into their seventies. Women are not so fortunate." 

"Father does not seem to care much about heirs or grandchildren," said Celia. 

"And your brother?" Daemon quizzed. Celia and Darla giggled.

"He is certainly interested in the act of making children," muttered Darla. Rhaenyra felt her face growing hot at the recollection of it. "Marriage, less so." Celia and Darla giggled again. Daemon shook his head at them. 

"What is that supposed to be?" Primrose wondered, cocking her head at the banner hung around the trunk of one of the trees. 

"It is supposed to be a three-headed dragon," Rhaenyra explained.

"Really?" Daemon scoffed. "It looks like a deformed chicken." Primrose and Darla laughed. 

"Shall we find somewhere to sit?" Primrose suggested. 

  They took to the benches not far from the Entrance Hall, Rhaenyra and Daemon sitting ahead of a pear tree while her ladies sat a short distance away. Daemon took a pear from one of the lower branches and began to peel it with a knife as Rhaenyra heard the giggling of a child. She looked over her shoulder to see Helaena rushing towards them, Viserys and Ser Harrold only a short distance behind her. She waved to the courtiers that she passed, still giggling as she ran on her little legs. 

 "Aha, Rhaenyra," Viserys said as he spotted her, leaving Ser Harrold to trail after Helaena as she spotted the floral arrangement. The King glanced at Daemon, shaking his head. "We missed you at breakfast." 

"I overslept," Rhaenyra said shortly. 

"He could have woken you," Viserys puffed. Daemon shrugged. "It is no matter, anyway, we can have you for dinner instead." 

"Really?" Rhaenyra questioned.

"Yes," Viserys insisted. 

"Most of our week shall be spent feasting, I was not intending to tonight as well."

"We are about to spend the week surrounded by guests, also," Viserys said. "I would like an evening with our family." 

"I would rather have an evening with my husband, given you have kept him from me for the past moon," Rhaenyra said irritably. Viserys shook his head. 

"It is only dinner," he said. "As you have barred your siblings -"

"Half-siblings."

"- from your wedding celebrations, you can at least share dinner with them," Viserys said. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I doubt anyone will mourn the loss of the presence of babes at the wedding, not even the children themselves," Daemon drawled. Viserys shook his head again.

"When you have children, you will understand," he told him. He glanced over at where Helaena was reaching for the roses that made up Caraxes' tail, and Ser Harrold had to shoo her away from it. 

  Rhaenyra and Daemon had both dressed in black and crimson for dinner that evening. Daemon was dragging his feet glumly as they plodded down the stairs towards the children's nursery. "What if I pretended to fall down here?" Daemon suggested, gesturing to the row of steps. Rhaenyra laughed, but shook her head. "You could actually push me down? That might make it more believable."

"What? So your foot is broken for our wedding?" Rhaenyra asked. Daemon shrugged. 

"We could get some porridge and throw it on the floor here, tell them you have been sick?" he suggested.

"Where would we get porridge from?" Rhaenyra laughed. Daemon shrugged again. "Stop it," she told him. "Do you suppose there is any chance he has not invited Alicent?" Daemon laughed and shook his head. 

  The small, circular table in the nursery was not enough to accommodate them all, so a second had been placed beside it. Viserys sat at one end with Helaena to his left and Rhaenyra to his right. Alicent sat across from him, wearing a fur coat of a grey similar to how her father, Ser Otto, would dress, with Daemon sat between her and Rhaenyra, and Aegon between her and Helaena. Rhaenyra could hear Aemond whimpering in the conjoined bedchamber, but nobody mentioned it. 

 The nursery was larger than the one Rhaenyra recalled from her youth. Aegon and Helaena's wooden toys and stuffed dolls were littered across the floor. A portrait of Viserys and Alicent with Aegon as a babe was hung above the door, and there was a model of Balerion on the bookshelf. 

 "Hello," Viserys greeted them cheerily, pouring Rhaenyra a goblet of mulled wine. 

"Hello," Aegon repeated, waving. He wore an elaborately detailed shirt of gold and red with a frilly, white collar and a heavy, golden buckle on his brown belt. Rhaenyra gave him a small, forced smile as she accepted the wine from her father. 

"You should have come to the Council with me this morning," Viserys told her. "We shall not meet again until after the wedding festivities have ended." 

"I have attended the Council everyday for a fortnight," Rhaenyra said stiffly. "I am sure you can spare me one day."  Alicent pursed her lips. Viserys sighed but did not disagree, instead turning his attention to his brother.

"Daemon, Lord Jasper wonders if you are to return to the City Watch now you are to be Rhaenyra's consort?"

"Decidedly not," Daemon replied silkily. 

"No?" Viserys questioned, frowning. "I had thought you were rather effective during your time there."

"I was," Daemon said. "But I would much sooner the halls of Dragonstone to the slums of King's Landing." Viserys shook his head. 

"Dragons!" Aegon exclaimed excitedly, smiling at Daemon's mention of Dragonstone. Viserys smiled at him. Helaena looked around fearfully as if she expected one to materialise in front of them. 

"I have been telling them of father's Vhagar," Viserys said. "Aegon is very interested in dragons of late." Aegon nodded his agreement. 

"You cannot blame the boy, husband," Alicent chuckled weakly, "he is surrounded by images of the beasts all day." 

"That is true enough."

"Dragon," Aegon said, flapping his hands like they were wings. Viserys chortled. 

  Silence fell over them as serving girls in red and brown arrived with trays of blood sausages, ribs cooked in garlic and herbs, honeyed mutton served on a bed of leek and cloves, pies of steak and kidney, cheese and cod, and lamprey, and fresh bread. Others brought bowls of greens cooked in mint, roasted onions and carrots, and mushrooms coated in a thick, brown sauce. A further jug of mulled wine was added to the table, and a jug of gravy. 

 Viserys watched it all with a grin on his face, eyeing up each item as Aegon made a grab for the sausages. Alicent shook her head at him, but he ignored her, wincing as he gripped onto two with his chubby hands and realised how hot they were.

 "My father has written," Alicent said softly. Rhaenyra frowned as Viserys piled some cabbage, peas, and sprouts onto her plate for her. 

"Has he?" Daemon inquired, his face darkening. Viserys stared at him, his brow creasing. 

"He was hoping, after the festivities of the Princess' wedding have concluded, to make a visit to the Capital to see the children," Alicent said. Rhaenyra's frown worsened. Otto Hightower returning to King's Landing under any circumstances was not a welcome thought. Viserys must have noticed this as he glanced to her, and shook his head.

"No," he said. Alicent's face fell. "I do not think that that is a good idea." Daemon smirked. 

"But he has not seen the children in so long," Alicent protested. 

"Five moons, it is hardly an age," Viserys replied.

"That is most of Aemond's life!" 

"It is not long enough for me to welcome him back," Viserys insisted. "Here, Daemon, you must try one of these pies -" he pushed the tray of steak and kidney pies towards his brother while Alicent batted Aegon's hands away from them. 

"No," he groaned, as Daemon pushed one onto his plate. "Mine!"

"Have a sausage, Aegon," Alicent said, snapping her fingers for one of the maids to fill his plate with sausages and carrots. Aegon continued to pout. 

"Do you eat much mutton, Daemon?" Viserys asked, ignoring his son. 

"No," Daemon replied. "Too grassy for my tastes, I shall stick to proper lamb." 

"If you say so," Viserys sighed, slicing himself some of the mutton. 

"Mine!" Aegon cried again, reaching across the table for the leeks that surrounded the mutton. "Pa, mine! Mine!" 

"Calm yourself, Aegon," Viserys told him sternly. Aegon did not do as he was instructed, instead pulling the tray closer to himself. Alicent slapped his hands away again, and he screamed at her. Daemon frowned at the boy across from him as he cut his pie. 

"Mine!" Aegon shouted, this time reaching for the pie on Daemon's plate. Daemon fought him off with his fork, scowling at Viserys as if he expected him to do something. Viserys, however, was distracted with his own meal. 

"No," Helaena said, as Aegon reached for the pie Viserys had put on her plate. 

"You will not like it, my son," Alicent told him. "Have a sausage instead."

"No, Ma!" Aegon protested. He stuck his hand in the bowl of vegetables as he tried to stand up on his chair so to better reach the tray of pies that Viserys was now inspecting again. 

"What is the matter with him?" Daemon demanded of his brother, scowling.

Viserys sighed, "I do hope you intend to be more accommodating when your guests arrive tomorrow." Daemon only smirked. "Aegon, enough of this," Viserys said, wagging a finger at him. "Get off the table and sit properly. We are supposed to be celebrating your sister's marriage, not fighting over pastry." 

"But it's MINE!" Aegon shrieked. Helaena covered her ears, dropping her gravy-covered knife onto her little dress of pink and silver. Viserys took it from her and placed it on her plate again. Rhaenyra cut up her lamprey pie, aware that Aegon's eyes were fixed upon it, preemptively shielding it with her knife. 

"Do you like carrots, Aegon?" Viserys asked him. "Have one of those carrots maybe." He gestured to the carrots piled on his plate. Aegon stuck his tongue out in disgust. 

"Is he always like this?" Daemon asked lowly.

"More or less," Rhaenyra muttered. "His brother is worse." 

"How?" Daemon puzzled. Rhaenyra snorted. Alicent scowled at them. 

"Oh no," she said, as Helaena began feeding herself the minted peas with her hand, her cutlery forgotten on the tablecloth. Both her hands and her face were now smothered in gravy, but she was smiling. Viserys chuckled at her. 

"I want cake, Pa," Aegon said, sitting back in his chair as he perused the table. 

"You will be very fortunate to have any dessert at all after that display," Alicent hissed. 

"No," Aegon frowned. "I want cake now!" 

"Did you want some mutton, Alicent?" Viserys asked, ignoring his son. Alicent shook her head. "There shall be boar tomorrow, so I am told," Viserys said. "The cooks are very impressed with it. There will be more ribs tomorrow as well, you ought to try some." He pushed the tray towards Rhaenyra and Daemon as Helaena picked up her fork again, stabbing her pie with it. 

  Helaena was close to falling asleep when the desserts were brought in, but Aegon was still sulking, although his eyes lit up at the sight of the lemon cakes. Daemon, however, was uninterested in them, instead calling for Arbour red, while Viserys summoned a hippocras and gingerbread. Rhaenyra watched in disgust as Aegon's sticky fingers ran over each square of cake, lifting a few up before he decided on the best slice. Instead, she reached for a blueberry tart, cutting it up into little pieces as the serving girls hurried away to retrieve their drinks. 

 "We had lots of blueberry tarts served at my wedding," Viserys told her, smiling. "Aemma was awfully fond of the things. We had blueberry pies as well, and blueberry and peach cakes." Alicent pursed her lips. "At our wedding, of course, we also had peaches," Viserys said. "And plums. Such things are very popular in the Reach."

"You shall not find better fruit anywhere in the Known World," Alicent boasted.

Daemon shook his head, "if you want plums, you go to Dorne." Alicent frowned. "Lemons and blood oranges also. The Martells are cunts but their orchards are immaculate." 

"It is a matter of opinion, I suppose," shrugged Viserys. Neither Daemon or Alicent looked impressed. 

"That is enough cake, Aegon," Alicent told him, as he reached for his third piece. Aegon stuck his tongue out at her. Daemon accepted the jug as the serving girl offered it to him, while Viserys raised his hippocras to his lips. 

  When Aegon began to screech again, Rhaenyra had to hold her tongue to stop herself from shouting at him. Daemon groaned, shaking his head as he drained his goblet. "Well, that is enough for one evening I think," he said, rising from his seat. Viserys frowned. Rhaenyra glanced at Alicent, surprised to find that she looked relieved. Rhaenyra finished her tart and rose to her feet as well.

"We shall see you on the morrow, Father," she told him. Daemon nodded.

"Bye - bye," Aegon shouted after them, as Daemon reached for the door, before returning to crying at his mother for moving the cakes away from him. Daemon rolled his eyes. 

____________

 Somehow, being sat atop the golden platform made the Throne Room appear bigger than it had before. The aisles between each of the long tables appeared longer than they had otherwise, and the door seemed so far away. Rhaenyra sat beside her father, trying not to toy with her rings whenever she felt every eye in the Hall upon her, a red flower in her hair and a ruby necklace around her neck. Her dress was a pale violet gown, and her skirts were trimmed with lace of silver and pearlescent white. She wore her jade tiara on her head, and two jade rings on her right hand that she had had made to match it.

  The King was dressed in gold and red, the Conciliator's crown on his head and his heavy chain around his neck. He raised his goblet to his lips as Alicent took her place to his left. She dressed in similar colours to her husband, but with her own emerald and silver tiara balancing atop her reddish brown hair, which had been tied up in the fashion of the Capital, while Rhaenyra's own hair was braided in the style of the warrior Queen Visenya. 

 It was mostly Houses from the Crownlands that arrived first, although that did not surprise Rhaenyra. Lord and Lady Hayford arrived in garments of dark green and gold, neither particularly talkative as they approached the King. Lord Rosby and his brother sported silver and scarlet, each with a chain around his neck with rubies almost as elaborate as Rhaenyra's. Lord Jaspor bowed his head lowly while his brothers' eyes did not leave Rhaenyra. They were followed by Lord Arneld Stokeworth, his tunic emblazened with the lamb and goblet of his House on his breast, and Lord Bryen Buckwell of the Antlers, his doublet a rich cobalt and pale gold. 

 It was as Lord Bartimos Celtigar of Claw Isle, tailed by his three sons, approached the High Table that Daemon finally appeared. Rhaenyra's husband wore a doublet of mostly silver with sleeves of dark grey that could easily be mistaken for black, its big, golden buttons gleaming in the candlelight. His breeches were a red as dark as blood and he wore the simple golden circlet of his father upon his head, something he had not done in years. 

 "You are late," Rhaenyra hissed at him, feeling Viserys' disapproving gaze upon them as he spoke with Lord Bartimos. 

"Hardly," Daemon replied, raising his bejewelled goblet to his lips. 

"Why were you late?" Rhaenyra demanded.

"My bloody cloak broke," Daemon scowled miserably. "Tried to do the clasp up and it tore the thing right off. I liked that one too." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, forcing a smile as Lord Gormon Massey of Stonedance and his daughters approached them. 

 Lord Gormon was followed by Lord and Lady Bar Emmon of Sharp Point, an aged couple who wore blue and silver, Lord Simon Staunton of Rook's Rest in an elaborate silver cloak, and Lord Robin Crabb in mud-red leather. Rhaenyra greeted each of them graciously, smiling at their jokes and nodding at their compliments, while Daemon only smiled at them over the rim of his goblet. Alicent was equally unenthused, if not more so, looking as though someone had just slapped her in the face whenever the Lords praised the Princess of Dragonstone. 

 It was not long before Rhaenyra began to recognise the names of courtiers as they filed in, the Byrchs, Fells, Turnberrys, and Caswells, followed by the Hartes, Butterwells, Ryswells and Merryweathers. Rhaenyra smiled as Lord Lyman Beesbury and his elderly wife approached the table, both sporting pendants in the shape of bees. He was followed by Lords Swann, Caron, and Errol of the Stormlands, the latter of whom was tailed by the aged Lord and Lady Mooton of Maidenpool. While the Stormlanders had been quick in their approach, Lord Mooton spoke of his own daughter's wedding for so long that Lady Della Darry had to clear her throat loudly behind him to hurry the pair along. 

 Rhaenyra's eyes flickered to each of the Darry sons as Lady Della bowed to her father, trying to guess which of the pair to be her heir. Both were tall, with narrow faces and wispy moustaches, one with hazel hair that curled over his eyes, and the other's straight and long enough to reach his shoulders. Both young men were dressed in black, like their mother, and sported silver chains. Rhaenyra watched as they walked away, the Darry brothers muttering to each other, the longer haired one with a smug look on his face. 

 "You honour me and my House, your Grace."

 Rhaenyra turned as Lord Jasper Wylde and his wife reached the High Table. 

 "We offer our sincere congratulations, Princess," Lord Jasper drawled. "My Prince." 

"Thank you, Lord Jasper," Rhaenyra returned, although she did not consider such a rodent capable of sincerity. 

"To the future of the Realm." Lord Jasper bowed his head again before he and his wife took their places at the table a short distance from them. Viserys was smiling cheerily, reaching for his own goblet, while Daemon looked as unimpressed as Rhaenyra felt. 

 Lord Jasper was followed by more Riverlanders, the Hawicks of the Saltpans, Lord Androw's tunic adorned with the image of a seagull, the Smallwoods of Acorn Hall, and Lord Colmar Lychester in a blue pointed hat from which protruded a long, green feather.

 "When are we actually going to eat?" Daemon grumbled beside her, as Lord Narbert Dondarrion of Blackhaven and his sons were announced by Ser Harrold, marching into the room in purple and black.

"Father's wedding took thrice as long as this for the first course to be served," Rhaenyra whispered. Daemon frowned as he poured himself another goblet of sour Dornish wine. "Will you not pay attention to our guests?"

"They are not here for me."

"What? Of course they are, this is -"

"They are here for you, the heir, and the King," Daemon shrugged. "No point in lickspittling to the second son. They hardly notice I am here." Rhaenyra patted his hand. Daemon snorted. "I take no offence to it, in fact I rather prefer it to having to play along with the murmurer's farce of pretending these fools are interesting." Rhaenyra struggled to suppress a giggle, earning her a strange look from Lord Narbert. 

 Alicent smiled as Lord Meryn Peake of Starpike approached, dressed in a vibrant orange cloak, but the Reachman Lord paid her no notice, complimenting the Princess on her necklace before thanking the King for the invitation. Viserys smiled at him, nodding at his recollection of the past tourneys he attended, before Lord Meryn walked away. Alicent's face fell as he was soon replaced with Lord Lyonel Strong, flanked by his sons, Ser Harwin and Larys, both in cobalt like the Lord, and his daughters, Ladies Celia and Darla, both with cloaks of pale green. 

 "You just missed Lady Darry," Rhaenyra told them, as Lord Lyonel took his place at the High Table, beside Daemon. The Prince looked as though he was going to protest his inclusion, but ultimately held his tongue.

"Congratulations, Princess."

 Rhaenyra looked up to see Ser Harwin smiling at her, his chestnut hair tied behind his head and the specks of honey in his eyes alight in the warm flames of the candle. 

"You look splendid tonight."

"Thank you, Ser," Rhaenyra replied, feeling a flush run up her neck. 

"Congratulations," Larys parroted, his eyes flickering to Alicent, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. 

"Thank you," Rhaenyra said again. 

"Shall you be dancing later, Princess?" Ser Harwin asked. 

"Perhaps," Rhaenyra replied. She glanced at Daemon, whose lilac eyes were narrowed on the broad knight. "Can you dance?"

"Of course," Ser Harwin grinned. His sisters sniggered.

"Not well," piped up Darla. Celia nodded her agreement. Larys smirked at his brother's fallen face. Ser Harwin opened his mouth to speak again, but noticed Lord Lyonel glowering at him, so instead he bowed his head and took his leave, leading his siblings to their table. 

"Will you be dancing tonight?" Daemon asked her. 

"Why? Shall you?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"You shall not be dancing with him," Daemon hissed.

"What does it matter?" Rhaenyra asked. "He is kind, and we are married."

"You know why it matters," Daemon said stiffly. Rhaenyra flushed again, but said nothing as Ser Tyland Lannister reached the High Table, dressed identically to how he would in the Small Council chamber. 

"Congratulations, Princess, my Prince," he said, smiling. "My brother, Lord Jason, offers his apologies that he could not be here, but we cannot all travel on dragonback." Rhaenyra forced a chuckle. "It is an honour to celebrate the future of Westeros with you in his name."

"Indeed," Daemon said lowly. 

"Thank you, Ser," Rhaenyra told him. Ser Tyland puffed out his chest proudly. 

 Next to their table was Lord Donald Tarly of Horn Hill, a grey haired man tailed by his two sons, both at least a decade Rhaenyra's senior. His heir, Ser Alan, was a thin man with bright red hair and a long chin, while the second son of House Tarly was broader with hair closer to copper and eyes a bottle green. It was him who caught Daemon's attention, his gold cloak falling down his back and a gleam of pride in his eye as Daemon recognised him from his own tenure in the City Watch. Rhaenyra did not doubt that her father disapproved of their rather gory conversation, for while still nodding along to Lord Donald's tale of their journey from the Reach, he was glaring at Daemon, who seemed not to notice him. "They scream worse than boars, at times," Rhaenyra heard Ser Eden say, shaking his head. 

"I am sure the women they attacked would scream worse," Daemon said darkly, raising his goblet to his lips.

"Oh, Seven Heavens they do," muttered Ser Eden. "Tully and I caught this one cunt in the Street of Silver, and let me tell you the damage he did to this poor woman's face." Ser Eden shook his head. "And she was some Lord's niece, too, she was not a common whore, but this one was nasty work, everyone was a whore to him." Ser Alan glowered at him, and so the knight fell silent.

 "Are you not hungry, husband?" Rhaenyra heard Alicent ask, as old Lord Petyr Piper of Pinkmaiden dragged himself across the hall towards them. Viserys frowned at her.

"The food shall not be served until the celebrations have been officially opened," he whispered. Alicent pursed her lips.

"My King," Lord Petyr greeted, bowing his head. "It is an honour, a great honour, to be with you tonight." 

"Thank you, Lord Piper, I hope your journey was not too taxing?" Viserys returned pleasantly. 

"Ah, your Grace, much is taxing at my age, but a Royal Wedding is certainly worth the trip."

"Yes, of course," Viserys beamed. "Why, you must remember my parents'."

"Of course," Lord Petyr said. "I was young back then, hardly twenty, but I recall it well. I was two - yes, two years your father's senior, although he was always taller than me. He fought well, too, he beat my cousins and my uncle in Maidenpool one year." Daemon and Viserys chuckled. 

 Lord Petyr was not the last of the aged Lords to reach them, for after the Fossoways of Cider Hall and the Serretts of Silverhil, Ser Harrold announced the arrival of old Lord Grover Tully and his sons, Sers Eros, Sam, and Gonzo. Rhaenyra had visited Lord Grover at the beginning of the year while on her suitor's tour, but she had not seen the weathered Lord as he had been confined to his chambers due to illness. He did not look much better now, a shockingly thin man who had to clutch onto a knobbly wooden cane to help him walk. His face was unshaven, his wiry white beard giving him the appearance of whiskers, and the remaining hair to him was equally untamed. His clothes were richly detailed, his tunic navy and his breeches a dark red, but they were comically large on his small frame. 

  "Congratulations, your Grace," Lord Grover panted, the journey across the room enough to exhaust him. "Another - another fine match for House Targaryen." Viserys smiled at him. Alicent just stared dead ahead as if she was pretending to be somewhere else. 

"Thank you, my Lord," Rhaenyra replied. She squeezed Daemon's hand on the table. "I could think of no one better." Daemon smiled at her. 

"Yes, thank you, Lord Grover," Viserys said, glancing sideways to them. "We are glad you could make it." 

"As am I, your Grace," Lord Grover replied, ignoring Rhaenyra. She tried not to show her displeasure on her face as she reached for her goblet. "I must say, if all of this is just the welcome feast, I cannot imagine what you have prepared for the wedding." 

"My daughter is the future Queen," Viserys said, again smiling at her. "This celebration is to be one for the histories." Rhaenyra smiled as Daemon squeezed her hand as he raised his goblet to his lips. 

"Very well." Lord Grover bowed his head before beckoning his sons to follow him towards their table. Ser Eros, Ser Sam, and Ser Gonzo each bowed their heads in turn as they passed. 

 The Baratheons of Storm's End were soon marching towards the table, grey Lord Boremund leading the way. He had dressed in the yellow and black of his House, a stag displayed proudly on his chest, and a feathered hat sat upon his head. "Congratulations, Princess," Lord Boremund drawled, his eyes fixed on Rhaenyra, refusing to glance to his grand-nephews on either side of her. 

"Thank you, my Lord," Rhaenyra replied. "We are thrilled you could join us."

"Yes." Lord Boremund shook his head. "It is a shame about my grand-nephew, of course. Laenor was a good knight." Viserys struggled to hide his frown. 

"I grieve for my cousin as well," Rhaenyra said, nodding. Lord Boremund forced a smile.

"Of course." He looked around the room. "Quite a celebration you prepared, Princess, but the Princess Rhaenys is not celebrating with us?" Rhaenyra glanced at her father, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

"No," Rhaenyra confessed. "I am afraid we have received no correspondences from House Velaryon. I - I am sure they are still grieving." 

"Of course they are," Lord Boremund said gruffly. "It has hardly been half a year." 

"Brilliant to see you, as always, Boremund," Daemon said drily. Lord Boremund scowled at him before marching away, his son, Ser Borros, at his heel. "Why did we bother inviting that prick?" Daemon asked lowly, leaning over Rhaenyra to glare at his brother. Viserys did not respond, forcing a smile as Lady Marbrand of Ashemark approached them.

 Rhaenyra watched as Lord Boremund took his place alongside the Swanns and the Carons. A belligerent man and one as unmoving as stone, for him the wounds of the Great Council had never healed, instead being left to fester for a decade and a half, growing sorer with every reminder. It had been her uncle who had travelled to Harrenhal to garner support for her father's claim once he had heard of Lord Corlys and Lord Boremund's intentions to speak for Princess Rhaenys, and so Daemon was no stranger to the man's disdain.

 "Is Corlys really not coming?" Daemon asked. 

"As Rhaenyra said, we have received no raven from them," Viserys replied stiffly, as Lady Marbrand took her leave. 

Daemon laughed. "Proud cunt," he scoffed to himself, although he seemed more amused than angry. 

"I do hope that Lord Corlys and the Princess do not take offence to the Princess' sudden change of suitor," Alicent said in a falsely sweet tone. Viserys shook his head. 

"Their son is dead, shame as it is," he muttered. "Lord Corlys would have taken insult no matter whom she married, unless perhaps we asked for a nephew of his." 

"Why did you not?" Alicent inquired. Viserys scoffed. 

"The son of the second son of Driftmark becoming King-consort? What sort of match would that be?" Viserys shook his head again as he reached for his own goblet. Rhaenyra thought it was a shame he did not feel the same about elevating the daughter of the second son of the Hightower to Queen consort as well. 

  The Lords and Ladies of the Vale travelled together, arriving at the Great Hall one after the other. Rhaenyra's cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn, reached the High Table first, dressed in a gown of blue and silver, her dark hair coiled around her head in a tight braid. She had a ring on every finger, each gleaming with sapphires, and walked with her head held high. Lady Jeyne was a young woman, only three years Rhaenyra's senior, but she walked with a such a sense of authority that Rhaenyra pondered how any of her cousins had dared to contest her claim. She was tailed by Lord Godric Hunter of Longbow Hall, father to Lady Annora, Lord Triston Redfort and his daughter, Lady Jessamyn, both Redforts tall and thin with bright red hair, and Lord Grance Corbray of Heart's Home, followed by his wife and two sons. Rhaenyra was not surprised that the new Lord Royce was not amongst them. 

 She glanced at Daemon as the Valemen took their place a short distance from them, Rhaenyra insisting that the Arryns take precedence over other guests as they were her mother's kin. Their hands were still joined on the table, and squeezed onto his tightly, while he reached for the wine jug to top up his goblet once more. Viserys was also watching him, unimpressed. "Would you tell your uncle to control himself?" he whispered. "This is a Royal Wedding, we cannot have him drunk before the first course." Alicent scoffed. Viserys glared at her. 

"Daemon," Rhaenyra muttered. He turned to her, cocking an eyebrow as he drank his wine. "Could you - have you not had enough?"

"Enough?" Daemon snorted. "The night has just begun." 

"Father is concerned you are drinking too much," Rhaenyra hissed. Daemon rolled his eyes, but placed his goblet back on the table. 

"One thing that was fucking enjoyable, even that he has to take," he grumbled, shaking his head. 

"Will you at least pretend to be having a good time?" Rhaenyra exasperated. "The eyes of the Realm are on us, and at present it is looking as though you do not wish to marry me." 

"My disagreements with this farce does not mean I care for you any less," Daemon whispered, tapping her hand.

"That is not what it looks like," Rhaenyra retorted. Daemon rolled his eyes again, but forced an expression that looked mostly like a smirk and slightly like he had terrible toothache. Rhaenyra forced the urge to laugh and nodded. "Thank you." She looked around to the band in the far corner of the room. "What music do you suppose Father has chosen? So many are about gory battles, are they not? I do not think any of those are quite appropriate." 

"No?"

"No, of course not. Who wants to dance to that?"

"If you like dancing so much, perhaps we should have our own feast when we return to Dragonstone?" Daemon suggested.

"Really?" Rhaenyra asked, beaming. Dragonstone had always seemed like such a lonely, still castle, never bursting with life the way the Red Keep was. She could imagine it, however, the Great Hall filled with music and dancers and the smell of roasting meats, of the dragons carved of stone surrounded by bright candles and curtains of rich fabrics, red and blues and purples, to cover the arched windows. And in her castle, she would not be forced to serve the mutton from the Reach, nor Alicent's tart brandies, or host her father's wife at all. 

Daemon nodded, "if you wish it, my wife." 

"I do - oh, but, what of the babe?" she whispered, dropping her voice even lower so her father could not hear her over the noise of the hall. 

"After the babe comes then," Daemon shrugged. He reached for his goblet, before remembering, his hand closing over nothing as he let out a sigh. 

"I do wish Laena had come," Rhaenyra said thoughtfully. 

"It is for the best, Boremund is bad enough without having Corlys and his bruised ego here also."

"How do you suppose we shall have to make it up to them?" Rhaenyra wondered.

Daemon snorted, "there is nothing to forgive. Their son is dead remember? You were always going to have to marry someone else." Rhaenyra nodded. 

  The room fell silent, the slow beat of the drum and soft plucking of the harp coming to halt, as the King rose to his feet. His hands were covered with leather gloves to hide the absence of his fingers, although they were visibly ill-fitting. "Be welcome, all," Viserys declared, as he smiled at the hall, from the Tullys to the right and the Marbrands on the left. "As we join together in this celebration. Tonight, it is only the beginning. We shall honour the future of the Crown with this, the union of my daughter, my heir, your future Queen, and the Prince Daemon, who come the morrow shall be wed on both Dragonstone and King's Landing, like the Wise King and Good Queen before them." Viserys gestured to Rhaenyra beside him, who smiled at Daemon. He smiled back at her as the room burst into applause. "With the bonds of our House ever stronger," the King continued. "I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons, greater than ever seen before in Westeros." 

 The room broke out into applause again, while Daemon only knocked his fist against the table. Lord Lyonel took a similar approach, hitting his palm against the wood, while Alicent clapped only once before reaching for her goblet. 

 Rhaenyra stared out at the room, spotting Lady Jeyne in conversation with Lady Jessamyn, both politely clapping, and Ser Harwin on the other side of the room, listening to something Larys was muttering, although his eyes were on Rhaenyra. She smiled at him, before turning her attention to the serving girl that was bringing her a goblet of Tyroshi pear brandy. 

 As Viserys returned to his seat, the music again began to play. Servers in black and red hurried from the kitchens, bringing bowls of creamy mushroom soup, a dark broth containing thick chunks of lamb and onions, a carrot and chestnut soup which Rhaenyra was told to be a favourite of her half-siblings, and a dark rabbit stew that Rhaenyra would have only touched if she was ill. She favoured the mushroom soup, dipping a slice of fresh bread into it, while Daemon touched none of it, tapping his fingers against the table as the music picked up and some of their guests began to dance. "I thought you were hungry?" Rhaenyra asked him. 

"For proper food," Daemon grunted. "Not this." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes dramatically at him. He snorted. Viserys stared disapprovingly at him, before turning his attention back to his broth. 

"You must try this," the King said, tapping Rhaenyra's hand. "The lamb is very good." Rhaenyra nodded, but continued with her soup. 

"Are you not even going to try this?" she asked, filling her spoon with soup and offering it to him.

"No," Daemon replied, holding up his hand to refuse her. 

"Go on, it is good."

"I will take your word for it." 

"Go on," Rhaenyra urged. "I would not recommend it if it was bad."

"Yes, but you also think terribly highly of lampreys, so I think it fair to assume we do not have the same tastes, my beloved," Daemon said, winking at her. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes again. Daemon laughed. 

  To Rhaenyra's delight, lamprey pie seasoned with black pepper was served with the main courses. There was also beef brisket, served with gravy and cloves as Daemon liked it, trout in a crust of garlic and herbs, summer greens in a buttery sauce, a large boar served with cabbage and pumpkin slices, ribs cooked in mint, and crab and cheese pies. Rhaenyra and Viserys took a helping of everything, while Daemon avoided any fish dishes, and Alicent only sampled the trout. 

 "Are you content now, Princess?" Daemon asked, as he cut himself a second helping of beef. 

"Very much so," Rhaenyra replied. "Although, I must know, are you intending to dance with me tonight?"

"No," Daemon said. 

"I do not see why not," Rhaenyra sulked. "You shall have to dance with me on the morrow."

"Mayhaps," Daemon sighed glumly.

"I have never been much of a dancer myself," Rhaenyra told him. "But it should be fun, shall it not?" Daemon shrugged.

"Have you tried to boar?" he quizzed.

"Yes. Rather dry for my tastes but not bad," Rhaenyra replied.

"You do not like it?" interjected Viserys, frowning. 

"Boar has never been my favourite, Father," Rhaenyra shrugged. "I am sure you will like it."

"I do," Viserys agreed, nodding. "Might you have your uncle pass the gravy over?"

"Will you pass Father the gravy?" Rhaenyra asked. Daemon rolled his eyes, but slid the jug down the table. Viserys nodded as he received it, offering some to Alicent, but she declined. 

  Despite his refusal to dance, it was Daemon who left the table first, patting Rhaenyra's hand again before he crossed the hall to join a group of men in golden cloaks in the corner. Rhaenyra tried not to be too put off by his departure, cutting herself a second slice of lamprey pie. Alicent soon left the table as well, joining her Ladies, Alerie Bulwer and Mina Redwyne at their table. Rhaenyra noticed her looking at Daemon with a dark look in her eye as Lady Mina spoke with her. 

  "Are you enjoying the festivities?" Viserys asked, after he called for another jug of Arbour gold to be brought to the table. 

"Of course, Father," Rhaenyra replied, sipping her brandy. "Are you? You look unwell."

"I am fine," Viserys replied, tapping her hand gently. "I do hope your uncle is not causing trouble." 

"I am sure he is just keen to see his friends again," Rhaenyra shrugged. "If this is just the welcome feast, I cannot fathom what you have prepared for tomorrow."

"Oh," Viserys chuckled. "Yes, well, we have a hundred and fifteen courses prepared, so-"

"Fifteen?" Rhaenyra puzzled. "I had thought it was one hundred and three?"

"It was, but the chefs and I added some more."

"However will we get through all that?"

"I am sure we shall manage," Viserys replied. 

"We should donate the leftovers, Father," Rhaenyra said thoughtfully. "As you and Mother used to do." Viserys smiled. "I cannot imagine anyone needing to eat that much." 

"Mayhaps we should," Viserys agreed. "Would you like some of this wine? It is very good."

"No thank you," Rhaenyra said. "I think I will find my Ladies." Viserys rolled his eyes but nodded, and so Rhaenyra excused herself from the table. 

  The music slowed down again as the band played a ballad dedicated to Jaehaerys and Alysanne. Rhaenyra stood beside a pillar wrapped in ivy, Celia on one side of her in a summer gown of azure with a ruby sash around her waist, and Darla on her right in a dress of garnet red, her sash a dark cobalt blue, while Annora and Primrose were with their respective parents. "Will you ask Ser Darry to dance?" Darla asked. 

"I do not think so," Celia replied, brushing her braid over her shoulder as she watched the Darry heir dancing with one of Lord Jasper's daughters. "Is the Prince going to dance with you?"

"He does not seem very interested in it," Rhaenyra sighed, glancing over her shoulder. Daemon and the City Watch men were laughing, each holding a silver goblet, some much more well dressed than others. "Are you going to dance?"

"I have not anyone to dance with," Darla replied. 

"I think you are just supposed to join in," Celia shrugged. They clapped as the song came to an end, and a jaunty tune said to be composed for Prince Aemon and Lady Jocelyn's wedding day began to play. "Come on." Celia grabbed each of their wrists and led them towards the dance floor. She soon found herself dancing with the elder of the Corbray brothers, a dark haired man with a thick neck and pale eyes. 

 Rhaenyra soon lost Darla in the crowd, her own hand being taken by Ser Glendon Crabb, a man only slightly taller than her with blond hair and pale green eyes whom Rhaenyra had met on her suitor's tour. His belt was thick, with a gleaming silver buckle in the centre, and he boasted a large red crab on his right breast. "Princess." He bowed his head as he pressed a kiss to her hand.

"Ser Crabb," Rhaenyra returned. 

"An honour," Ser Glendon said, smirking as they raised their arms. Rhaenyra turned as she walked away from him, hearing his footsteps behind her as the drum beat grew ever louder. She turned again, facing Ser Glendon once more, unable to ignore the scent of dark beer on his breath. 

  As the next song began, Rhaenyra found herself faced with Ser Bonifer Lonmouth, one of the elder brothers of Ser Joffrey and steward to House Baratheon. He was a taller man with a round nose and long, copper hair. Rhaenyra quickly found him to be a better partner than Ser Glendon, not loitering in her personal space as if fearful she would walk away, and his movements were more in unison with her own when they circled each other. She could hear Celia giggling in the crowd somewhere, now partnered with Clement Celtigar, Lord Bartimos' heir. Ser Bonifer removed his hat and bowed his head as the song ended. 

 Once Rhaenyra was spotted on the dance floor, she found herself surrounded by men vying for her hand. Ser Eldric Hunter, Lady Annora's brother, was one of the first, followed by Ser Joseth Smallwood, the heir to Acorn Hall, Ser Gonzo Tully, Ser Samwyle Stokeworth, a man older than her father who walked with a limp, Caspor Wylde, Lord Jasper's heir, Ser Leowyn Corbray, Ser Jasper Redfort, heir to the Redfort, Ser Androw Piper, Ser Amory Marbrand, and, eventually, Ser Harwin Strong. 

 "Spare me a dance, Princess?" he asked, smiling at her.

"Of course, Ser Harwin," Rhaenyra replied.

  The desserts had begun to pour from the kitchens now, trays of lemon cakes, honeycakes, and cherry cakes, blueberry pies, apple pies, and lemon pies, and candied orange slices lining each table, all smelling delicious enough to make her mouth water, but she would wait another dance to indulge. She could see Celia and Darla had already returned to their own table, sitting with Larys, who appeared rather bored. 

 "Are you much of a dancer, Ser?" Rhaenyra asked, as she felt his hands on her shoulders. 

"Not the best, but I will not crush your toes if that is what you fear."

"I am not much of a dancer myself, I must admit," Rhaenyra told him. Ser Harwin shrugged, spinning her around in time with the lute. "Hey!" they shouted along with the hall, turning once more so that they were stood side by side. As Rhaenyra reached her arms out at her sides, she was dwarfed by Ser Harwin's large frame. Rhaenyra raised her other hand, walking forwards so she was leaving Ser Harwin behind her, Ser Joseth again in front of her. "Hey!" she shouted again. She looked up at the High Table, seeing Viserys struggling to cut into his pie while Alicent was glowering at the dance floor, like a child in a sulk. "Hey!" Rhaenyra shouted once more, turning as she saw Primrose pass her, swaying her arms ahead of one of the Fossoway knights. 

  Rhaenyra grinned as she was reunited with Ser Harwin, thankful for a friendly face again in the vast crowd. His hands were warm against hers, and he smiled as they turned. "Congratulations on the wedding, Princess," he said lowly. 

"Thank you, Ser," Rhaenyra replied. "Your sisters tell me you have no sights on marriage yourself, yet?"

"No," Ser Harwin chuckled. "Not for me." 

"Hey!" they shouted along again, their hands joining in the air above them. 

"Are you to return to Dragonstone?" Ser Harwin asked. 

"Indeed," Rhaenyra replied. 

"King's Landing will not be the same without you, Princess."

"You are very kind, Ser, but I am sure you shall hardly know I am gone."

"Impossible," Ser Harwin replied softly. "Not a day goes by I do not think of you, Princess."

"Oh, I -"

"May I, Ser Harwin?" 

 Rhaenyra turned around to see Daemon looming behind them, his hand on Ser Harwin's shoulder.

 "Of course, my Prince," Ser Harwin muttered, his face falling as he turned to walk away from them.

 Rhaenyra grinned up at her husband. "Finally decided to join me, have you?" she asked him, offering him her hand. Daemon took her hand in his, but instead of spinning her around, he dragged her through the crowd, so that they were out of sight of Ser Harwin, and the High Table. "Where are we going?" she wondered.

"What are you doing?" Daemon demanded, reverting to the language of their ancestors as he frowned at her. 

"I - I beg your pardon?" Rhaenyra scowled. "I was dancing, in case that was not obvious."

"With him?" Daemon hissed. 

"With many people. Why is it him you are so objectional to?"

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Princess, or is Ser Strong the only of the knights you danced with tonight who you have fucked?" Daemon snarled. Rhaenyra's frown deepened. "You gave your maidenhead to him, no less, and here you are, at our celebration -"

"Oh, now you care for this celebration? You have been sulking like a petulant boy whenever I mention it." 

"I care that you are spending our celebration laughing and dancing with the man you let fuck you." 

"Spare me your bitter jealousy, it meant nothing," Rhaenyra huffed. "I would have been happier to dance with you, but you refused me all night, and now you are throwing a strop akin to my half-brother because I touched his hand? While you have sequestered yourself all night with who knows who?" 

"I have not fucked any of the men of the City Watch, nor their wives."

"You speak as if my night with Ser Harwin was an insult to yourself. You left me, if you do not recall. There was no reason for which I could not have found someone else."

"No, then there was not, but now, here, with everyone watching?"

"Nobody cares. I danced with half a dozen men, if not more, tonight. I am hosting. It is nothing more."

"You are my wife," Daemon puffed. "I do not want him touching you again, or I shall cut off his fucking hand."

"You shall do no such thing," Rhaenyra hissed.

"Oh, will I not?" Daemon scoffed. "Maybe then I should have to cut off more?"

"You will leave Ser Harwin alone, he has done naught to you. If you do not wish to dance with me, I do not see why he cannot. Am I just to sit around all night because you have a stick up your arse?"

"You may dance with whomever you please, Princess, just not with the man who took your maidenhead under your husband's nose," Daemon snarled. 

"Fine," Rhaenyra puffed. "I was tiring anyway. Let us return to the table before you cause a scene."

"No - " Daemon tightened his hold on her "- we are done here."

"You wish to leave our celebration so soon?" Rhaenyra scoffed. "The music is still playing, drinks are still being served, and you wish to sulk like a brat because -"

"Sulking is the furthest thing from my mind," Daemon said slowly, his eyes dropping to her lips as she licked them. "Now, come along, I thought you said you were tired?" Rhaenyra chewed her bottom lip to prevent herself from giggling. 

"Father would never forgive us," she whispered. Daemon shrugged, pulling her towards the door. "This does not mean I forgive you for your outburst," Rhaenyra hissed, as they nodded to the Kingsguard at the door. Daemon only laughed, his other arm moving to hold the small of her back as he steered her towards the staircase. 

Chapter Text

Clad in black and silver with a circlet of yellow-gold upon his head, Daemon marched into the Great Hall. He felt every eye in the room watching him as he descended the steps and swiftly crossed the Hall. 

It had been nothing like this for his first marriage, although Daemon dreaded even to recall it. Ser Ryam Redwyne had had to practically drag him into the Sept by the hood of his cloak while his father sat with his head in his hands, unable to look at the shambles before him. Rhea had been red in the face with embarrassment, and Daemon had been red in the face with fury. He had soon swapped her company for that of a Celtigar girl to dance with during the following feast. Neither had said a word to each other once forced into Daemon’s bedchamber, with him leaving in only a cloak and smallclothes without an attempt at consummating the unwanted union, instead in search of a Lyseni whore. He never found out what she did with the night. He did not care.

 Now, Daemon strode with purpose, his eyes upon the portly Septon and the Iron Throne behind him. His son’s birthright. 

 It was an odd thought. He was the second son, like his father before him, and yet his son would be owed the greatest seat in the land, not that Daemon would ever see him sit it. He hoped he would not see such a day, for that would mean he would be left with days without Rhaenyra, and he could not bear such a thought. 

 For a man so convinced he would die in battle, he thought he would find an equally fitting demise in the arms of his wife, sharing their last breaths together. But, he was over a decade older than his Rhaenyra, so the thought of her outliving him was not unlikely. That he could accept, but for him to live days without her was too horrid a thought to contemplate, not now he had had a taste of life by her side. 

 He stood in silence upon the golden platform before the Throne as he waited for his wife’s arrival. It was at Viserys’ insistence that they arrive separately- as per tradition- although they had spent the night abed together. Rhaenyra had been dragged to the Royal Sept with Viserys and Alicent for morning prayers, while Daemon and Caraxes had completed a lap of the city to thunderous applause before returning to the Keep. 

 When they heard Syrax's cry outside, all heads turned to the door expectantly.  The women, mostly in floral garments with their hair tied up as was deemed fashionable in the Capital, and the men, many of whom wore cold greys or pale yellows, the richest of Lords donning feathered caps and golden chains. Alicent and her ladies were hurried in first, joining Lady Arryn in the front row across the aisle from Daemon. Alicent's dress was a dark blue, something akin to how her miserable mother had once dressed, with a black cape over her shoulders. She wore the same necklace she had on the morn of Daemon's return, a simple golden chain joined either side of a ruby cut into a flat oval. 

 Daemon inhaled sharply as the doors to the Great Hall opened again, and Viserys and Rhaenyra appeared upon the steps. Viserys was wearing a long black coat, the hems and cuffs traced in gold, and an intricate gold and red dragon sewn on each of his shoulders, under which he wore a dark red shirt. The golden crown of Jaehaerys sat upon his head, glistening in the light of the chandelier, and he wore a golden chain containing at least a dozen thick rubies around his neck. 

 Rhaenyra's wedding gown was made of a magnificent ivory silk. The skirts were trimmed with soft Myrish lace of a bright white colour, while her silver-gold hair was coiled into an complex braid atop her head, a dozen or so small rubies gleaming between the locks. Her maiden cloak, as black as night and scarlet ran down her back, but interestingly where Daemon's own sigil bore a chain of gold, Rhaenyra's was one of pale blue and silver. Daemon reasoned that this connection to her mother was why Viserys had agreed to have a whole new cloak commissioned in such a short time, for it surely had been for no small cost. 

 Daemon watched as they ascended the steps and began the walk towards the Throne. The Septon drew himself to his full height as the King approached. Whispers filled the room as the courtiers discussed her beauty, the very image of the Maiden in the flesh, whilst Daemon cut the picture of the Warrior with Dark Sister on his hip. 

 Viserys left Rhaenyra at the steps to the platform. He pressed a brief kiss to her cheek and whispered something that Daemon could not hear as he removed her cloak. Rhaenyra nodded, smiling at him before she ascended the platform towards her husband. "Hello," Daemon murmured. 

"Hello," Rhaenyra returned, brushing a lock of hair from his face. Daemon chuckled.

"Shall we get this over with?" Daemon asked, offering her his arm. Rhaenyra's grin faltered for a moment, but she accepted it, and walked with him towards the balding Septon. 

 "My Lords," Septon Eustace said, "Ladies, your Grace, and other members of the court, we are gathered here today to join together the souls of Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen and Prince Daemon of House Targaryen in the sight of the Seven Above." Daemon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "May the Father Above give them wisdom. May the Smith give them strength. May the Warrior protect them. May the Mother Above bless them with many healthy children. May the Crone guide them through dark times. May the Maiden keep them pure and loyal to one another." Daemon raised an eyebrow and he could see Rhaenyra was struggling to stop herself from giggling. "And may the Stranger stay clear from their path for many years to come." 

 Daemon wrapped Rhaenyra's shoulders in his father's cloak, smirking to himself as he felt her still under his touch. 

 Rhaenyra smiled at him as they placed their hands together, hers lying flat atop of his, so that the Septon could tie them together with ceremonial ribbon. It was a useless piece of fabric really, a metaphor for the tying of their souls as if the words were not imaginative enough. He muttered hurried prayers Daemon struggled to hear, so he doubted anyone else was even aware the man was speaking.

 "Please join hands and say the words," instructed Septon Eustace, as he unlaced it again. The couple did as they were bid, Daemon taking her hands in his own as he turned to face her. Rhaenyra's cheeks were flushed, likely the result of knowing every eye in the room was upon them in that moment. He smiled down at her. She returned it, but her own smile did not quite meet her eyes. 

 "In the name of the Seven," Daemon recited, trying his best to keep his boredom out of his voice. "I am hers and she is mine, from this day for the rest of my days."

"In the name of the Seven Above," Rhaenyra returned. "I am his and he is mine, from this day for the rest of my days." 

"Let it be known that Rhaenyra of House Targaryen and Daemon of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul," Septon Eustace declared. "Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." He looked expectantly at Daemon.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," he said, his hand cupping Rhaenyra's cheek. His wife flushed as he leaned in. While the kiss was not passionless, Daemon remained vigilant of the many eyes upon them as the hall burst into applause. Rhaenyra's lips slid against his effortlessly, despite her having to lift herself onto her toe slightly to reach him. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, Daemon could see Viserys' creased brow as they pulled apart. His brother stood between Alicent and Lord Lyonel, his eyes never leaving Daemon as he drew away from his wife. Rhaenyra brushed the fallen lock of hair from his face again, and Daemon gave her another kiss, this one just on her forehead. Rhaenyra laughed as they turned to face their audience, while the Septon murmured the prayers of the Mother. The clapping grew somehow louder as Daemon led Rhaenyra down the steps and out of the Hall. 

 They took their dragons to the skies once more, soaring above the castle grounds before lapping around the city to the sound of the people's screams of glee, the smallfolk rushing to the streets to shout out for the Prince of the City and the Realm's delight. Caraxes whistled as Syrax followed him above Flea Bottom and around Rhaenys' Hill. Syrax chirped happily as they dived, her tail almost low enough to brush against the roof of the Sept as they circled it before again returning to the Dragon Pit.

 As the wedding had been held in the Great Hall, the feast that followed was held in the gardens, where the long tables and benches had been moved. The Royal Table had been set up upon a dais, Viserys sitting upon a grand seat topped with three golden dragon heads usually reserved for the royal box in the tourney arena, now dressed in rich garments of purple and violet and his dark, black cloak. Daemon and Rhaenyra had also changed for the evening festivities, Daemon wearing a doublet of black and red, his breeches the same scarlet as the Blood Wyrm's scales, while Rhaenyra wore an extravagant gown of gold with silver and white detailing, the sleeves made of pale yellow lace, and on her head sat the jade tiara Daemon had gifted her.

 The Lords and Ladies of the Realm rose to their feet to clap for them as the bride and groom arrived, walking arm in arm down the narrow aisle between the tables to take their places to the left of the King. Alicent sat on his right, drinking pale wine from a bejewelled goblet. "Sit, sit," Viserys urged them, pulling out Rhaenyra's chair for her. She smiled and thanked her father, while Daemon fell into his own seat, his eyes surveying the many heads turned to face them. Boremund Baratheon was easy to spot, he and his good-daughter dressed in vibrant yellow while his son, Ser Borros, wore something closer to orange. Lady Arryn was seated nearby again, in pale blue and silver as ever, her hair tied up at the back of her head as if she were forty years older than Daemon knew her to be. She was deep in conversation with Lady Redfort and a woman Daemon knew to be one of the Waynwood daughters. "How was your flight?" Viserys asked. 

"It was pleasant," Rhaenyra replied. "Although, I do fear for the inhabitants of Flea Bottom, you could smell the sewage even from such a height." Viserys laughed. 

"It is the heat," he said. "This time of year is always plagued with such foul odours." He shook his head. "But enough of that, we are meant to be celebrating." 

"Indeed." Rhaenyra laced her fingers together with Daemon's. He smiled at her before raising his goblet to his lips. 

"You did not visit the Sept with us this morning, Prince Daemon," Alicent said, leaning across Viserys to stare at him.

"No, I did not," Daemon agreed. 

"Did you not wish to ask the Father for guidance on your marriage?"

"My father has been dead for quite a while, actually," Daemon replied. Viserys frowned.

"I meant the Father Above," Alicent huffed. 

"Did the Septon not say enough prayers for your liking?" Daemon inquired. 

"Do you not wish to pray for your souls yourself?" Alicent sniffed. 

"Daemon could not visit the Sept with us," Rhaenyra said. "Father insisted we arrive separately."

"That is true," Viserys said. 

"Did you not think to visit the Sept after the ceremony then?" 

"No, we did not," Daemon droned. "Were your Gods not involved enough?" 

"Marriage vows are sacred," Alicent insisted. "It is not something to be mocked, or taken as glib. The Gods will know if your soul is not -"

"How is it that you became the wife of a King and not a fucking Septa?" Daemon asked. Alicent pursed her lips. Viserys shook his head at him. "It is the Septon's duty to honour your Gods, not mine. If you have an issue with the proceedings, bring it up with Septon Eustace." 

"There is no issue," puffed Viserys. 

"I mean no offence, Viserys," Alicent said. "But if your brother means to desecrate all that the Gods hold meaningful, it is a disrespect to not only the Seven Above but to all else who have said those vows with true meaning."

"Alicent, I have told you before," Viserys groaned. "There are many in the Kingdoms who are pushed into marriages they do not want, and recite words in a Sept they do not mean. Now, might we please leave this alone so I can open the feast?" Alicent did not reply. 

 After Viserys' hurried and mercifully short opening speech, the first courses began to arrive. The feast began with a creamy potato and leek soup, served with loaves of warm bread and salads topped with pieces of apricot. None of it greatly appealed to Daemon, but Viserys ordered himself a second helping before most had finished their first. Rhaenyra did not look overly impressed with it either, but perked up as trays of crab cakes arrived at the table. "Are you just going to sulk all day again?" Rhaenyra huffed, as Daemon poured himself another goblet of wine. 

"I am not sulking," Daemon replied. "I just do not want to eat crab."

"You look like you are sulking," Rhaenyra said, gesturing to how he was leaned back in his chair with his arms now crossed over his chest. Daemon shook his head. "Try some," Rhaenyra urged, forcing her fork towards his mouth. Daemon laughed, acquiescing her as the spiced crab meat touched his lips. "Good?"

"I have had worse," Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. 

"You are rather irritating, you know?"

"You are the one who married me," Daemon teased. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him again. 

"Aegon would have loved these," Alicent declared, as she finished the last of the crab cakes.

"The spices are a bit strong for a boy of his age, do you not think?" frowned Viserys.

"Not at all," Alicent replied. Viserys did not look convinced.

"Would you like some of mine?" Daemon offered, gesturing to his plate as Rhaenyra turned to him. Her face brightened as she nodded, and Daemon fed her from his fork as Viserys's frown deepened. 

 Goblets of wines both pale and red, ciders, brandies, and dark beer were sent to the High Table as boiled goose eggs, monkfish served on warm bread, and Rhaenyra's requested rich pumpkin soup left the kitchens. "This is simply gorgeous, Father," Rhaenyra praised after her first mouthful of soup. Viserys beamed.

"Good, good," he replied. "I am most glad." 

"You can tell when it is made with the best pumpkins," Rhaenyra said. "Only from the Vale are they like this, or else the soup becomes too sweet." Daemon nodded as Alicent pursed her lips. Viserys, meanwhile, swayed his head in time with the fervid love songs played by the band across the gardens. 

"Your tastes seem rather demanding, Princess," Daemon said. "I pity for the cooks of Dragonstone." Rhaenyra laughed, sipping the sweetest cider while Daemon cracked open his egg. 

"Do you intend to return to Dragonstone shortly, then?" Alicent asked. 

"Of course," Rhaenyra replied, not looking at her as she cut a slice of bread to dip into her soup. Alicent nodded. 

"Really?" Viserys inquired, frowning.

"Is it not awfully lonely, so far from home?" Alicent questioned.

"Dragonstone is my seat," Rhaenyra replied stiffly. "Where else would my home be?" Daemon hummed his agreement as trays of figs stuffed with walnuts and bowls of oxtail soup arrived. 

"But Dragonstone is cold, is it not?" Viserys quizzed. "A fortress like that cannot be comforting." 

"You should see the view from the balcony at sunrise, Father, there is nothing like it," Rhaenyra said, smiling. "And the smell of the sea, the birdsong at noon, there is plenty around to feel joyful for." 

"My grandmother was always partial to figs," Viserys said, changing the subject as he piled his plate with them. 

"Yes, figs and honey, was it not?" Daemon recalled. Viserys nodded. 

"Yes. I do not think Jaehaerys shared her taste for it." 

"Jaehaerys did not have a love for much that others enjoyed," Daemon snorted. "He was not quite the lover of laughter and song that you are as a King, brother."

"No, I suppose not," Viserys shrugged. "What do you think of this soup, Rhaenyra? It is a favourite of mine." 

"Yes, very nice," Rhaenyra agreed. Daemon would not disagree, the oxtail was tender while the broth was rich and velvety, although not something he would usually have during the summer. As Daemon stabbed his fork into another chunk of ox, Rhaenyra dipped her bread into his bowl. He raised an eyebrow at her. She laughed at the indignant look on his face. "I do hope you intend to dance with me today," she said, as the band began to play a sweet tune dedicated to the Good Queen. 

"It is tradition," Daemon replied.

"It is," Rhaenyra said, nodding. "So we ought to adhere to it." 

"I suppose we must."

"I hope you know I shall hold you to it," Rhaenyra said, waving a finger at him. Daemon laughed.

 As bowls of crab stew with black pepper and salads of summer greens and plums upon plates were brought to the table, Daemon found that it was actually rather easy to enjoy himself. While Viserys was now deep in conversation with Alicent, Daemon was still talking with Rhaenyra, sharing drinks and laughing as if they were the only two people in the room. Daemon found himself sitting with his arm leaning against the back of Rhaenyra's chair, able to smell the strawberry oils in Rhaenyra's hair from her scented baths. She was a very beautiful woman, his wife, and he could not take his eyes from her even as she praised the Valeman and their overprized candles. 

 "Are these plums from the Reach too, husband?" Alicent asked loudly, interrupting whatever Viserys had been saying about his horses. 

"Yes, indeed," Viserys replied. "From Highgarden, a gift from Lord Tyrell to make up for his absence here." 

"They are gorgeous," Alicent praised. "So sweet and juicy." 

"Yes, perfectly ripened," Viserys agreed. Alicent smiled. Rhaenyra met his words with a sour expression, not touching the salad and instead turning her attention to the carrots swimming in the stew, hot enough to turn some of the courtiers' faces red. 

 More soups were soon to follow, mushroom, pea, and onion, none of which Daemon found particularly enjoyable, then lemon and crab, pickle, barley and mutton, and salmon and lentils, all of which he ignored entirely. He did not dislike the chestnut and celery, which reminded him of the winters of his youth, and found the chicken and red pepper to be one of his favourite courses, while Rhaenyra favoured tomato and garlic, and Viserys was greatly pleased by the black cod and leek. The final bowl was carrot and coriander, which Daemon did not touch, but Viserys and Rhaenyra wolfed down eagerly. 

  Viserys clapped his hands for silence, rising to his feet as the tables were cleared of empty bowls and the goblets filled with wine once more. "As many of you know, my daughter, the Princess, the Realm's Delight, is known for her sweet nature," Viserys declared. "And my brother, proclaimed the Prince of the City, is known well for his time here in our City Watch, working tirelessly to protect those of both low and noble birth. It should therefore come of no shock to you that they have declared - and I whole-heartedly agree - that the leftovers of our feast here tonight be taken to the commoners beyond our walls so they too can share in the celebrations of their marriage." 

 Daemon clapped along as the gardens erupted again into applause, every Lord and Lady cheering for the generosity of the future Queen. Rhaenyra beamed at her father as he returned to his seat, calling for the main courses to be brought out, while Daemon turned to her. "Did you know of this?" he inquired, his voice little more than a whisper. "He did not tell me that."

"I suggested it to him last night," Rhaenyra replied, equally as quietly. "I would have told you, but it slipped my mind. Do you object?"

"Of course not," Daemon said. "I am simply surprised is all."

"Were you not the one who told me the opinion of the commoners shall be important if I wish to rule them?" Rhaenyra quizzed, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I?" Daemon stroked his chin. "I am a smart man, I should not be surprised."

"What are you two muttering about over there?" puffed Viserys, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Your daughter is very charitable, Viserys," Daemon drawled. "I am sure such generosity shall continue on Dragonstone when meeting with her supplicants. Alysanne's always did, after all." 

"Yes," Viserys said, although his face fell at the mention of his daughter's leaving. "Alysanne was well-known for her love of all people, both high and lowborn." 

"Alysanne also absconded to marry on Dragonstone, did she not?" Alicent asked. Viserys frowned. "The young King and Queen laying chastely in their bed is the stuff of songs, although I do not think that applies here." Alicent giggled to herself. Viserys' frown deepened. 

"Is your wife drunk, brother?" Daemon inquired, raising an eyebrow at her. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

"I am perfectly well, Prince Daemon," Alicent said. Viserys shook his head. 

 His brother's mood was soon lifted as the first of the main courses began to reach their table - plates of salted ham Rhaenyra said they had sampled before, venison steaks served with mustard, salmon cooked in a crust of herbs and cheeses, and beef brisket drenched in onion gravy. Bowls of peas, carrots, and cabbage also joined the platter before them, and potatoes roasted in rosemary. "You must try this ham, Daemon," Viserys insisted. "It is one of the best things I have sampled in many years." 

"High praise from you, given how many feasts you have thrown," Daemon said drily, but he held out his plate for Viserys to push some ham onto. He also served himself a portion of potatoes simply because he could see Alicent eyeing them, but they were not bad. "What is your favourite then, my beloved?" he asked. Rhaenyra grinned, as she often did at his terms of endearment. 

"So far, this ham," she replied. "Although my father did promise there would be both lamprey pie and roasted duck, so I may be yet to make my decision. And yours?"

"The brisket is gorgeous," Daemon said. "But this is probably the best venison I have ever had." 

"I have never been fond of it," said his wife. "It is a bit dry for my tastes." 

"It is not for everyone," Daemon shrugged. 

  Viserys demanded an applause for the cooks as a whole pig was brought out, its skin cooked to a crisp and a red apple in its mouth, followed by a peppered boar, on a plate of leaves and pineapple slices. Rhaenyra's lamprey pie came next, the pastry golden and crisp, the lamprey flavourful and rich, along with plates of lamb in thick gravy and pork ribs in a crust of mustard and crushed nuts. Daemon allowed Rhaenyra to feed him a forkful of her pie, but his own sights were set on the slices of hog that Viserys was having sent their way. "Only the best cuts for you, my daughter," Viserys told her, covering her hand with his. Rhaenyra smiled. 

"We should send some of this up for Aegon, my love," Alicent said, gesturing to the boar. "There is far too much here for us." 

"When was the last time you left the Keep, Viserys?" Daemon questioned.

"Pardon?" his brother frowned, turning from his wife. 

"I know you have never been one for sailing, and you and your wife lack dragons as the Old King had, but have you never been on a progress?" 

"No, I suppose I have not," Viserys shrugged. "My Lords come to me if they have need of anything, or they write, and as you say I have thrown more feasts and tourneys for them to indulge in than our grandparents did." 

"There is more to ruling than fighting and travelling," Alicent said. "The King has much to concern himself with." 

"Yes, thank you, Lady Hightower," Daemon scoffed. "As the daughter of the second son of Oldtown, I am sure you have had plenty of experience." Rhaenyra laughed. 

"Come now, Daemon, you do not need to be so rude to her," she said. "Her father's standing - or lack thereof - is hardly her fault. Her position in the nursery of Princelings every day is already leagues closer to ruling than any of her brothers."

"Enough, all of you," huffed Viserys, shaking his head. Daemon smirked. 

  As plates of roast chicken served with onions and parsnips cooked in honey, steak and kidney pies, quail eggs, and capon drizzled in a cheesy sauce, bowls of a spicy fish broth, and trays of sausages and sweetcorn reached their table, so did the Lords and Ladies who appeared from their own benches to present the royal couple with their wedding gifts. 

 Lady Arryn approached first, in another gown of blue and silver, long silver earrings hanging from her pale ears. She was flanked with a lady on either side of her, and none of them spared a glance at Daemon. "Blessings to you and your marriage, cousin," she said, offering them a basket of candles scented with nutmeg and cinnamon. "Though your lady-mother is no longer with us, I do hope that the bonds between our Houses remain strong." 

"As do I, cousin," Rhaenyra replied, smiling sweetly. "We appreciate your kindness." Daemon nodded his agreement, not that Lady Arryn cared. 

"I hope we see each other again soon," she said. 

"I do as well," Rhaenyra agreed. "I have never been to the Eyrie before, but I have heard it is a wonder."

"Yes, you must come sometime," Lady Arryn said. She bowed her head shortly, before leading her ladies back to her table. Daemon only had time for a mouthful of capon before Ser Tyland Lannister reached the High Table.

 "Princess, my Prince," he greeted them.

"Lord Tyland," Rhaenyra replied, offering him the honourable title he was permitted as Master of Ships, although he was not truly a Lord.

"On behalf of my brother, Lord Jason, and our House, we humbly offer you a token as a blessing to your marriage." Of course, nothing Ser Tyland had brought was from the goldsmiths of Lannisport. Instead, he gave them half a dozen bottles of honeyed wine, which Viserys immediately ordered be taken to the kitchens.

"We thank you and your brother both," Rhaenyra said.

"Yes, how kind," Daemon said. Ser Tyland nodded his head before walking away. "Honeyed wine?" he whispered to Rhaenyra in disbelief. "Does he think we are twelve?"

"I would not trust anything he gives me anyway," Rhaenyra muttered. "It is no secret the Lannisters are no friends of mine, but were rather fond of Otto when he was Hand." 

"Really?" Daemon murmured, watching as Ser Tyland joined Lord Jasper upon the bench.

"Indeed," Rhaenyra said, nodding. "They were always in agreement during the council meetings, especially when it meant disparaging your efforts in the Stepstones." Daemon snorted. "And they were very close on Aegon's name-day hunt. Lord Jason was certainly in the circle expecting him to be proclaimed heir that week, he said so to my father."

"That is certainly worth knowing," Daemon said, glancing to Viserys, finding it odd that he had continued to extend an invitation to a House known to oppose his views on his own succession. Then again, the same man did marry into the Hightowers, so dealing with adversaries was clearly far from his strengths in life. Rhaenyra nodded, smiling smugly to herself at the opportunity to teach him something. 

"You could try engaging with the guests more, Daemon," Viserys said, leaning across Rhaenyra to wag a finger at him. "You sit there as if you wish you were wanting to tell them to go away and leave you to your cups."

"I have no love for the Arryns or Lannisters," Daemon shrugged. 

"You do not need to love them, but respect goes both ways," Viserys hissed. 

  As a golden goose, stuffed and cooked with lemon juice, a round eel pie, oysters cooked in garlic and parsley, and boiled lobster claws reached the High Table, so did Lord Lyman Beesbury and his wife. "Congratulations, Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon," the aged Lord said.

"Seven Blessings to you and your marriage," Lady Beesbury said. 

"Thank you, my Lord, my Lady," Rhaenyra returned. "We are honoured to have you with us." Daemon nodded, doing his best to feign interest as Lord Lyman produced a book for them. 

"Dragons, of course, they spend a lot of time in the skies," Lord Lyman said. "In rain or storm, summer or winter, high where the birds can fly and the - what was I saying?"

"The book," his wife whispered.

"Ah yes, well, there is more to the sky at night than there is in the day, for the rest of us at least," Lord Lyman chuckled. "I had thought it might be of interest to you, Princess, your father always did say you were an avid reader, such a curious mind." Daemon hummed his agreement.

"Thank you again, my Lord," Rhaenyra said, inspecting the book. Kingdoms of the Sky, written by some archmaester who claimed to know the truth of the stars. 

"Yes, thank you, Lord Lyman," Daemon said. Lord Lyman bowed his head and took his leave. 

"You must try this goose," Viserys insisted. "Ooh, look at that." Viserys inspected the book, while Daemon cut himself a slice of the goose. When he offered one to Rhaenyra, she refused him.

"I do not like goose," she told him. "Far too dry for my liking." Daemon shrugged and added the slice to his plate, while servants brought a triple layered salmon pie and duck eggs to them. 

"How many courses did you say this was?" Daemon asked his brother. 

"One hundred and fifteen, exactly," Viserys replied. "I wanted everything to be the best for my daughter's wedding." Daemon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

 Rhaenyra's eyes lit up as duck basted in honey and dried cherries was placed ahead of her, clams cooked in saffron and garlic, a rack of lamb served with mashed turnips and swede, and trout cooked in a crust of crushed almonds and mint also being added to the table. Daemon took something of everything except the trout, while all Alicent touched was the fish, and she pulled a face at the thick crust. "You should have insisted Aegon and Helaena be included, husband," sighed Alicent. "There is so much food here, and they would have enjoyed it greatly." 

"I do not think so," Viserys said. "The feast is long, and the music is loud. They would only get restless and bored." 

"Half of the feast, then," Alicent relented. "I see not why they should have been excluded entirely."

"Because this is not about you," Daemon grunted. 

"Enough, Daemon, she was speaking with me," sighed Viserys.

"You cannot tell me I am wrong, Viserys," Daemon said. "I see not why she is so eager to embarrass herself anyway, she cannot control them when alone, why she would want all the Lords of the Realm to see her son's tantrums I do not understand." Alicent's cheeks flushed at his words. Rhaenyra chuckled into her goblet. Viserys glared at her.

"Aegon and Helaena are still too young for such activities," he said. "But there is no need to be so rude. Aegon is still a very young boy, and Helaena and Aemond are still babes." Daemon raised an eyebrow. Alicent did not react, her eyes on her plate. 

 Trays of blood sausages with olives, duck sausages and mushrooms, and scallops in butter left the kitchens.

 Daemon and Rhaenyra were also gifted raw wool by Lord Arneld Stokeworth, a deer head hoisted on a rack and painted black and red from Lord Bryen Buckwell, wolf pelts from Lord Ryswell, a barrel of cider from Lord Fossoway, pomegranates from Oldtown from Lord Meryn Peake, what was supposed to be two dragons carved from wood from Lord Petyr Piper, a copy of Wonders Made By Man from Lord Gormon Massey, a knitted blanket for "when the Mother blessed them with children" from Lord and Lady Bar Emmon, a barrel of tart wine from Lord Jonah Mooton, and a copy of Rubies and Iron from Lady Darry, a book named for the warrior women of Essos.

 "Congratulations, Princess, my Prince."

 Daemon looked up from his stuffed chicken in mulberry sauce as Lord Lyonel approached the table, fortunately tailed by his daughters but not his sons. 

"Lord Lyonel," Rhaenyra greeted with a smile. "Lady Celia, Lady Darla." 

"I am sure the people are very happy to see the heir wed at last," Lord Lyonel said. Rhaenyra nodded. "You may have already read this one, but I thought it might be of interest to you." Lord Lyonel tapped the cover of the book as he placed it on the table. Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History by Septon Barth, a book Daemon had read a couple of times before, filled with misinformation about Valyria and the birth of dragons, although still a rather amusing read.

"Thank you, my Lord," Rhaenyra said. "I know my father has a copy somewhere, but he has never allowed me to touch it." Lord Lyonel laughed. Daemon was not surprised. Viserys had surely inherited the copy Septon Barth had gifted Jaehaerys, one of the first and written in the Septon's own hand, which he was unlikely to share with others, like Jaehaerys himself.

"Yes, thank you, Lord Hand," Daemon grunted. 

"You are familiar with his work, I imagine?"

"Barth's?" Daemon quizzed. "Of course, he served my grandparents for years." He had still been a boy when the Septon had died, but not young enough that he did not remember him. 

"I had thought so," Lord Lyonel replied, nodding. "Still, mayhaps when you have children they may enjoy it." 

"Mayhaps," Daemon agreed. 

"Are you enjoying the feast, my Lord?" Rhaenyra asked him.

"Most certainly, Princess," Lord Lyonel said. "We are very fortunate with our cooks, as ever. And what a splendid idea to serve it to the commonfolk, the poorest in our city will be most grateful for your kind-heartedness." 

"Well, there is so much to go around, it would be a shame to waste it all," Rhaenyra said. Lord Lyonel nodded his agreement. 

 As the Hand shuffled away, plates of rabbit and asparagus, gammon steaks, beef cooked in a crust of onion and ale, and fresh squids fried whole left the kitchen. Servants came around offering goblets of plum brandy and Arbour red, although Viserys insisted something sweeter be poured for him and Alicent. 

 "Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, congratulations," greeted Lord Donald Swann as he approached the table. His gift was a hat for Rhaenyra decorated with bright white feathers.

 Lord Donald Tarly came next, followed by his sons, Ser Alan and Ser Eden, offering Daemon a bow of ebony, the wood as black as night and the bowstring made of silk fibres. Their gift to Rhaenyra was an aged bottle of peach brandy, which initially pleased her until she found the peaches were from Oldtown. 

 "You seem content now," Rhaenyra muttered, as Daemon admired his bow. "Do you even like archery?"

"Archery? No, such a bore," Daemon replied. "I am a rather keen hunter however."

"Really?" Rhaenyra puzzled. Daemon nodded.

"You seem surprised?"

"You have never mentioned it before. If anything you have seemed rather enthused by the prospect whenever my father invited you on his hunts."

Daemon laughed, "yes, that is because it is Viserys, my sweet. I do not know any man who would truly wish to hunt with your father, he is rather squeamish and far from well-practised with sword or bow. And as for discussions, it is the sort of conversation reserved amongst men and knights, you must understand, hardly the topic for women, they typically find it rather dull, or too gory."

"My father's hunts are dull," Rhaenyra huffed. Daemon did not disagree. "Although, mayhaps we could go on a hunt together?"

"Perhaps we should," Daemon replied. "Or we could go hawking?" Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. 

"You will love this one, my dearest daughter," Viserys said, as plates of roast capon and radishes, pork seared to a crisp drizzled in juices of lemon and lime, honeyed chicken cooked in cloves and breadcrumbs, and a pie of pigeon and cinnamon. Alicent frowned at his words. 

"I do delight in capon, and honey," Rhaenyra said. "But I fear I am growing rather full already." 

"Heavens," Viserys laughed. "You cannot be yet, here, try the pork." Daemon frowned as Rhaenyra pulled a face. 

"Are you quite alright?" he asked. 

"The lemon makes my stomach turn," Rhaenyra whispered. Daemon took the pork from her plate onto his, offering her his capon in return. Rhaenyra smiled. 

 More pies soon left the kitchens, bacon and cheese, a favourite of Daemon's, pork and egg, venison and vegetable, chicken and leek, cheese and onion, fresh pike that Rhaenyra loathed the smell of, duck and peppers, salted trout, and capon and currants, the description of which made Rhaenyra pull a face of disgust. Viserys welcomed each one eagerly, while Daemon rose from his seat, his eyes scanning the busy gardens. "What are you doing?" Rhaenyra asked. "Do you want to dance?"

"Not now," Daemon replied. "I am going to find the men of the City Watch, I have been sitting around for too long." 

"Oh." Rhaenyra brushed her hair out of her face. "Can I not come with you? We can greet our guests together?" 

"I suppose we could," Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra smiled, draining her goblet of cider before following him off the dais and across the lawn towards the benches. 

 Rhaenyra was soon surrounded by ladies asking her about her dress and the tiara she wore. Daemon stood beside her, their arms locked together, trying not to look like he was struggling to stay awake as Rhaenyra explained the types of silk that had been used in her wedding dress. "This is marvellous, Princess," said Lady Primrose Celtigar, smoothing the sleeve of Rhaenyra's golden gown. "I cannot imagine how expensive it must have been."

"Do not speak of such things, girl," chastised Lady Smallwood. Primrose frowned.

"Did you fly to Leng, Prince Daemon?" asked one of Lord Dondarrion's daughters. "For the Princess' tiara?"

"Oh, no," Daemon replied. "But I have my sources and I can assure you, I know where he gets his goods from, and this piece was once worn by the Empress herself." Lady Dondarrion and her cousin beside her giggled excitedly. 

"You should wear gold more often, Princess," said Lady Celia. "It certainly suits you."

"Thank you," Rhaenyra replied, "but I favour my own colours more so, red and black." 

"We know," chuckled Lady Darla. Lady Smallwood and Lady Caswell frowned at her. 

"What are you going to wear to the wedding breakfast tomorrow, Princess?" one of Lord Jasper's daughters asked. 

"I have had a dress of lovely purple silk made," Rhaenyra replied. "Father had it imported from Naath, it is supposed to be the finest man can buy." 

"I imagine it will be," said Lady Caswell. "The King has always had a taste for luxury." 

"Will you wear your tiara again?" Lady Celia asked. 

"Not this one," Rhaenyra replied. "I have another to wear tomorrow." 

  As the women continued to talk, warm bowls of stew began to appear from the kitchens, some filled with seafood, lobster, crab and pickle, white fish and coriander, and crayfish, others with meat, beef and summer vegetables, veal and onions, rabbit and black pepper, pigeon, beef and exotic spices, and one with chunks of raw meat. Daemon did not mourn as he watched them pass him to the High Table. 

 Once Rhaenyra had lost her crowd, many of them dancing to the sweet tune dedicated to the love of Jonquil and Florian the Fool, Daemon was free to march over to where the men of the City Watch were lingering under a pear tree. Amongst them Ser Luthor Largent, a towering man almost seven feet tall, with a thick neck and a mane of dirty blond hair, the lower half of his face mostly covered by a wildly untameable beard, Ser Randyll Barrett, a broad man only slightly shorter than Daemon with a round face and patches of grey in his otherwise brown curly beard and wavy hair, Ser Garth the Harelip, a weedy man with a bald head and a cleft in his upper lip, and Ser Eros Tully, a short man with copper hair in a mud red tunic. "Ah, the Dragon Prince," smirked Ser Randyll as he approached. "We see you at last." 

"Well, I have been rather busy," Daemon chuckled, gesturing to Rhaenyra, who was trailing behind him, her eyes on the dancers as they spun around. 

"I imagine you have been," laughed Ser Luthor. 

"What is this about there being no bedding then?" asked Ser Eros. 

"Rhaenyra's request, although I am no more eager to get my arse out to the court than she is," Daemon shrugged. "We are already wed, there is no need to consummate it again."

"Not that that will stop you," laughed Ser Randyll. Daemon winked at him. Sers Randyll and Eros laughed. 

"What of us then?" Ser Eros demanded, his eyes on Rhaenyra hungrily. "Are we all to be deprived of seeing the Realm's Delight?"

"Indeed you are," Daemon replied. "And you shall receive no pity from me."

"You are a cruel man," Ser Eros said.

"If you want to take off someone's clothes, bother your own wives," Daemon grumbled. 

"I would much rather look at yours," drawled Ser Garth, smirking as Rhaenyra reached them. Daemon snaked his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him as she nodded to his companions.

"Good evening, Sers," Rhaenyra greeted them. Ser Eros smiled around the rim of his goblet as he raised it to his lips. "I hope you are enjoying the festivities?" 

"Of course, my Lady," grunted Ser Luthor. 

"She is a Princess, not a Lady," said Ser Eros. Ser Luthor did not respond. 

"Is there no patrol tonight then?" Daemon smirked.

"There might be," Ser Randyll shrugged. "This seemed like a better use of our time." Daemon laughed. 

"Yes, we simply delight in watching you prance about like a show mare," chortled Ser Garth.

"Why is there no tourney?" Ser Luthor puzzled. "I thought these big royal events came with tourneys for us all to win some coin?" 

"Not that you have ever won," grunted Ser Garth, smirking. Ser Luthor scowled at him.

"Viserys said there was not enough time to arrange one," Daemon replied. "It is rather expensive you know." Ser Luthor laughed. 

"Would you not rather a tourney to all this feasting?" Ser Eros asked.

"It was not my decision," Daemon shrugged. "My brother has always liked his feasting, as you might have guessed by looking at him." Ser Luthor and Ser Randyll laughed, and Ser Eros was definitely struggling to hold back a laugh, but Rhaenyra shook her head. 

"The feast is better for morale," she said.

"Is it?" Daemon inquired, cocking an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Tourneys pit everyone against each other, everyone here is united in our celebration."

"Everyone loves a bit of healthy competition," Daemon said.

"Shattering someone's face with a war hammer is hardly healthy in my opinion," Rhaenyra countered. Ser Randyll snorted. Daemon also laughed. 

"Do you not enjoy a tourney, my la- my Princess?" Ser Luthor asked. 

"I quite like the joust," Rhaenyra replied. "The melee can get a bit bloody for my liking. Our last saw too many cracked skulls."

"The Leygood squire was sick on his uncle's corpse," chortled Ser Eros. Ser Garth laughed. 

"Well good evening to you." 

 Daemon turned around to see Ser Eden Tarly walking towards them, his gold cloak hung over his shoulder. He clapped Daemon's shoulder as he approached, before taking a goblet from a serving girl's tray as she passed. 

 "Good evening Princess." 

 Ser Eden was tailed by the cobalt figure of Ser Harwin Strong, his hair tied back into a bun and his own cloak one of dark red, although Daemon did know him to be a Captain of the City Watch. 

 "Congratulations," Ser Harwin drawled, smiling at the couple. Daemon nodded at him, clicking his fingers for the serving girl to bring him a goblet while Ser Harwin raised Rhaenyra's hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly as his eyes searched her face hungrily. 

"Have you seen Marbrand tonight, Strong?" Ser Randyll asked. Ser Harwin shook his head.

"Is he here?" he asked.

"I should hope not," scoffed Ser Eden. 

"Ser Burton Marbrand is their Lord Commander," Daemon explained. "A fat and rather useless man, he is known to have quite the temper." 

"He beat a steward to death for bringing him the wrong wine," Ser Harwin said darkly. Rhaenyra's eyes widened. 

"In Ashemark, not here," Ser Eros added.

"He should be on patrol tonight by the Gate of the Gods, but I am sure we are not the only ones to have rushed off to this instead," muttered Ser Randyll. Ser Harwin and Ser Luthor laughed. Daemon frowned around the rim of his goblet. 

"Should we fear for the cityfolk then?" Rhaenyra asked. The City Watchmen laughed. 

"While your good nature should be applauded, Princess, the people shall be fine," Ser Harwin said. "You need not worry for them, even if three dozen men are here, there shall still be enough men at the Gates." Rhaenyra nodded. 

"And in the alehouses," laughed Ser Eden. "And the whorehouses. And the gambling dens."

"Yes, our men really know where to go to spot trouble," scoffed Ser Garth. 

"Must you discuss such things in front of the Princess?" scowled Ser Harwin. Ser Garth snorted. 

"Ooh, are you going to lecture us on chastity and purity now, Strong?" laughed Ser Eden. "She is not going to fuck you, lad." Rhaenyra's cheeks flushed red. 

"I think we should return to our table now," Daemon said. Ser Harwin's brow furrowed. Rhaenyra nodded, removing his hand from her waist but locking their fingers together as they made their way through the dancers, back to their places.

"I do not know how much I like your friends," she whispered. Daemon only laughed. "I am still expecting you to dance with me tonight, you know," Rhaenyra said, as Daemon filled his goblet once more. 

  They were soon graced with plates of venison with carrots and turnips roasted in honey, roasted lobster tails, salted crayfish served on a bed of leeks, and cuttlefish served with dark beets. Viserys insisted they sampled mulled wine from Lannisport, leading the guests in a toast to the Princess' health, before calling for some more cooked onions to go with his fish. "Here, you will like this," Daemon said, offering Rhaenyra a forkful of cuttlefish. She giggled, her cheeks flushed pink with the heat of the wine, opening her mouth so that he could feed it to her. "Good?"

"Rather salty, but not bad," Rhaenyra replied. "It weirdly reminds me of melon." Daemon chuckled. "I thought you did not like fish?"

"But you do not like venison," Daemon shrugged, cutting up his own. 

"Indeed," Rhaenyra said. 

"How long do you suppose this shall go on for?" Daemon asked lowly, while Viserys was distracted with another jug of wine. 

"Father has not called for the desserts yet," Rhaenyra replied. "And then we have to cut the pie." Daemon resisted the urge to groan, reaching for his goblet.

"I do not see how someone can enjoy this," he grumbled.

"It certainly has gone on a while," Rhaenyra sighed. "He first told me it would only be fifty courses, now he has more than doubled it." Daemon rolled his eyes.

 The last of the main courses was pheasant drenched in a greasy sauce which reminded Daemon of the sort of thing sold on sticks on Driftmark. Still, the meat was tender and the sauce could be ignored if covered in enough gravy. He glanced at his wife, who was more interested in sharing another goblet of mulled wine with Viserys than her food, although she blocked him with her fork when he tried to steal from her plate. "We should have pheasant more often," Daemon said thoughtfully. "It is much better than mutton."

"You can call for some more if you wish it, husband, but this is mine," Rhaenyra puffed, raising an eyebrow at him. Daemon laughed. He did not bother calling for more food, instead wiping up the last of his gravy with the remaining turnips. 

"How are you today, anyway?" Daemon asked lowly. "You were awfully pale this morning." 

"My stomach is more settled than before," Rhaenyra replied. "I will be thankful for when all this stress is over, however." Daemon nodded his agreement. Rhaenyra relented, cutting up her pheasant and offering him a piece from her fork. Daemon smirked.

 "Do you think we should call for the pie now?" Alicent asked.

"What is the hurry?" Viserys puzzled, still eating his pheasant. 

"I only fear night shall soon be upon us," Alicent replied. "Our guests shall not have to wait all night for them."

"Everyone seems to be having a merry time, do you not think?" Viserys frowned, gesturing to the garden, where everyone was drinking and eating and dancing the evening away. Alicent pursed her lips. 

"We can call for the pie now, Father," Rhaenyra said, smiling sweetly at Alicent, whose face only darkened. "I am rather interested in seeing what you have had made."

"Fine," Viserys sighed, dropping his fork onto his plate. "It is truly a masterpiece, this." Viserys tapped Rhaenyra's hand, before he rose to his feet, hitting his goblet with a fork to demand the attention and silence of the gardens. Rhaenyra reached for Daemon's hand, covering it with her own as the nobles' heads turned to face them. 

  Viserys was not wrong, the great pie the cooks had created was truly a masterpiece. It had to be carried out by eight servants the weight of it was so much, a towering golden structure taller than Daemon himself. The nobles burst out into applause as it reached the High Table, Viserys clapping gleefully along with them. The top layer was decorated with the shape of two dragons, one larger and darker than the other in the vague shape of Caraxes, while Syrax was perfectly golden like the pastry beneath it. Each of the lower layers was decorated with the images of much smaller dragons and roses, which Rhaenyra admired as they waited for the applause to die down. 

 A second cheer erupted as Daemon pulled Dark Sister from her sheath. It felt like a waste in some regard, that his blade of Valyrian steel, forged by his ancestors for one purpose, who in battle sung with a thirst for human blood was reduced to a pastry knife, but Rhaenyra had insisted, as Viserys had used Blackfyre to cut the pie during his wedding with Alicent. 

 The pastry melted like butter as Dark Sister sliced through it. Daemon stepped away as at least a dozen white doves flew out from within, soaring above their heads, some shrieking as they fled. Rhaenyra clapped along with the nobles as the music again began to play. Daemon returned Dark Sister to her place on his hip before he reached for her, kissing her softly as the pie was distributed amongst the courtiers. 

 "I like this song," Rhaenyra whispered as she drew away, her eyes not yet leaving his lips. 

"It is not bad," Daemon replied. It was one he had heard many times before, one dedicated to the great love of Aegon and Rhaenys, the beautiful wife taken from him too soon, she and her dragon shot down by the Dornish twats. 

"Will you not dance with me at last?" Rhaenyra asked, offering him her arm.

"Do you not want to enjoy this pie first?" Daemon questioned. "The cooks have worked so hard." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

"It can wait," she replied. "Come along." Daemon did not have it in him to argue, lacing their arms together as she pulled him down the steps of the dais towards the dancers. 

  It was not a hard dance to master, Daemon found. They walked together, and then apart, and then together again, and then they switched sides, her toes growing ever closer to his own but never actually trampling on him. They turned so they were back to back, and Daemon could feel the warmth of her radiating through the material of his tunic. It was a wonder he did not grab her hand and pull her up to his rooms then, but he knew they could not disappear twice in a row. 

 Rhaenyra smiled at him as he took her hands in his, together swaying side to side in time with the slow beat of the drum. "We are better at this than I had thought," Rhaenyra whispered.

"Why do you think so lowly of me?" Daemon asked drily. Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow. He laughed. She laughed with him, releasing her grip on him to turn. Again, they walked in tandem, Daemon's hands lowering to hold her waist as they swayed again. "I did not think you said you knew how to dance?"

"I have never been much good at it in truth," Rhaenyra shrugged as they locked their arms together again, turning once more. 

"You seem to be enjoying yourself enough."

"It is fun when it is you," Rhaenyra whispered. They swapped arms, now spinning together in the other direction. Daemon could feel Viserys' eyes burning into the back of his neck as they moved. 

"You are too kind," Daemon murmured. They moved to hold hands again, Daemon's hands dwarfing Rhaenyra's as his thumbs covered hers and she chuckled. "You are by far my best partner as well," Daemon said. Rhaenyra beamed. 

  Rhaenyra was not content with just the one dance, insisting they remain for another song as the ballad of Two Hearts That Beat As One began to play. Daemon caught sight of many nobles watching them, but his eyes fell only upon Harwin Strong. The knight was supposedly dancing with one of Lord Jonah Mooton's daughters, but his eyes were never on her, instead watching the Princess twirl ahead of him, reaching for Daemon's shoulders as the song reached its end. 

 Daemon paid little attention as other desserts and sweets began to be served, pears in thick honey, a selection of fresh fruits - mixed berries, sliced apples, sour cherries, and blood melons - and gingerbread biscuits in the shape of dragons the first to leave the kitchens. Then there were cakes - lemon cakes, carrot cakes, almond cakes, honey cakes, cherry cakes, plum cakes, pear cakes, and strawberry cakes - and tarts - blueberry tarts, apricot tarts, pear tarts, mulberry tarts, sugar tarts, orange tarts, mixed berry tarts, lemon and lime tarts, custard tarts topped with peaches, and coconut tarts with healthy portions of pineapple jam - soon to follow.

  Daemon heard Alicent boasting that the plums and pears had come from the Reach, although what claim to Highgarden she had he did not know. 

 The servants brought more pies - apple pies, blackberry pies, lemon pies, strawberry pies, blueberry pies, and walnut pies - and candied slices of oranges, candied almonds, candied plums, and candied ginger pieces. There were also bowls of roasted chestnuts sprinkled with salt, and pieces of honeycomb so small Daemon would have assumed they were meant for children. 

 As the next song began to play, Daemon urged Rhaenyra back to the High Table so that they could finish their slices of the wedding pie before the servants took it away again. It was slightly dry, although Daemon would not fault the cooks for that when there was so much wine being poured to pair with it. Rhaenyra refused the spiced wine Viserys offered her, instead accepting a weak cider. Alicent had left the table, joining her ladies under a tree, one of them narrowly avoiding the flames behind her with her hair. Lit torches had been hung up on the exterior walls of the castle, and candles of red and yellow had been added to every table.

 "Are you enjoying yourselves?" Viserys asked, more to Rhaenyra than to Daemon, although he did not mind that, more interested in watching Ser Eden drunkenly sway across the dance floor as if the tree beside him was a woman. 

"We are, Father," Rhaenyra replied. "The cooks are always excellent."

"Yes, yes." Viserys smiled. "They have certainly outdone themselves tonight, and with not quite enough time either." He shook his head. 

"I... I have been speaking with the maester," Rhaenyra said, brushing a lock of her hair over her shoulder. "I - I am pregnant," she almost whispered. 

For a moment, Viserys did not respond. He dabbed his brow with a cloth of black and silver before reaching for his bejewelled goblet, draining it of all the mulled wine it had had left. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, nodding to himself. "It is a good thing that we did not wait another moon to plan a tourney, then," he eventually said. 

"I suppose," Rhaenyra sniffed, not impressed with his response. 

"Yes, very good." Viserys filled his goblet again and drained it once more. "Are you well, child?"

"Better than I had expected," Rhaenyra replied. "Although I fear it shall get worse from here." She chuckled drily to herself, although Daemon knew there was real fear there. 

"Well, let us hope for all the Lords that the babe is healthy, and a boy. He will be a fine Prince, I am sure." Viserys reached for a bowl of chestnuts, offering one to her, but she refused. 

"I am feeling rather hot," Rhaenyra said, turning to Daemon. "Will you walk with me?" Daemon hummed his agreement, draining his own goblet of the pale wine too sweet for his liking and following her across the gardens to the shade of a tree that overlooked the floral display in the likeness of their dragons.

  As the night grew cold and dark, their candles dying out and the food disappearing, the tables became emptier, many of their guests excusing themselves to their quarters. Daemon was eager to do the same, and once the jaunty music had been replaced with slower, melancholy pieces, he found Rhaenyra to be in agreement with him. They returned to the High Table briefly, not wanting to disappear without a word again, giving word of their leave to Viserys. He waved a hand dismissively at them, agreeing that he would retire before long as well. 

  "Do you think it is too late to call for the maids?" Rhaenyra wondered, as Daemon held open the door of his chambers for her to walk past him.

"Whatever for?"

"I am in dire need of a bath," Rhaenyra sighed. "Will you help me with this?" She spun around, gesturing to the ties at the back of her dress. Daemon agreed, letting the door slam shut behind him, feeling her jump slightly under his touch. 

"Forget the maids," Daemon grunted. "You can bath in the morn."

"No, I cannot," Rhaenyra moaned. "We have the wedding breakfast to attend."

"Indeed, but is tonight not our wedding night?" Daemon drawled, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. 

"You are the one who has been insisting today means nothing," Rhaenyra replied. "Now I am tired."

"You are my wife," Daemon growled, wrapping his arms around her waist. Rhaenyra groaned, leaning her head against his shoulder, her hands coming to hold onto his. "Will you not let me take you to bed?" Daemon whispered. Rhaenyra did not reply. She kissed his neck, tightening her hold on his hands. Daemon chuckled. 

  "Your skin is so soft," Daemon murmured, as he pushed her onto the bed. Her dress had been discarded on the floor, a short distance away from his boots and breeches. His hands held onto her thighs, his thumbs hooking onto her smallclothes to pull them down. Rhaenyra shivered. "You truly are the Realm's Delight."

Rhaenyra snorted, "now you are just being ridiculous."

"How dare you," Daemon said drily. "I am being entirely sincere." He threw her smallclothes to the floor, leaning forward so he could pepper kisses to the gentle skin of her stomach. He kissed both of her hands, before she pulled them away from him to tug on his hair. "Never has a woman been so delightful."

"And never has a man been so infuriating," Rhaenyra groaned. Daemon laughed. He pulled away, his hands running up her legs and towards her knees, drinking in the image of her entirely on display for him, while all he had was a loose undershirt. 

"You want me now, ñuha ābrazȳrys?" Daemon growled. 

"If you do not have me now, I am going to throw you from my rooms."

"Your rooms?" Daemon scoffed. "I think you find yourself mistaken, for these are my rooms, ñuha dōna." Rhaenyra shrugged. 

  Daemon took his cock into his hand. He moved his fingers from where they had been teasing Rhaenyra's swollen flesh, lining himself up with her. Rhaenyra gasped, her head leaning against the pillows behind her as she reached for him. She laced their fingers together as she felt his warm head breach her.

 Daemon groaned as he pushed inside of her. Rhaenyra chuckled lightly, and all he could do was smile back, overcome by the feeling of her, hot and pulsing around him. She was exquisite, covering him like an exotic silk that man could only experience once in his life. He pulled her closer to him, her legs wrapping themselves around his hips as if trying to pull him further into her than was possible as his thrusts gained rhythm. Daemon gasped. He kissed along her neck, feeling the salt and sweat that clung to it, nipping at her collarbone while she released his hand to grip onto her shoulder. 

 Rhaenyra whimpered into his mouth as Daemon captured her lips in his, their noses bumping together slightly as his thrusts began to gain speed. He nipped at her tongue so he did not groan out as he felt her muscles tighten around him, lapping at it with his own in apology. 

 While his wife whined as he pulled away, Daemon stared down at her. Her eyes were shut, her lips parted slightly, and she had given up on rolling her hips to meet his. One of his hands snaked between them, reaching for the nerves above her opening, knowing that he would not last much longer himself. 

 "Daemon, ñuha jorrāelagon," Rhaenyra gasped.

"Rhaenyra," he moaned back, tightening his hold on her waist as he pushed himself in to the hilt once more. He could feel her spasm around him as he hit the nerves inside of her in time with the ministrations of his thumb. 

"Gods," Rhaenyra groaned. 

 He brought their lips together once more as her peak washed over her, one of her legs shaking so much he had to lower them back onto the bed. He swallowed down her moans, her teeth grazing against his lips so fiercely at one point she drew blood. Daemon struggled not to cry out and she smoothed his shoulder as if to comfort him. Daemon rolled his hips again, dropping his forehead to hers as he felt his own peak growing. 

 He could not recall what he said as he thrust into her for a final time, filling her entirely with his cock and his seed as she ran her hands through his hair. His chest was heaving, his lungs gasping for breath as he kissed across her chest and towards her neck, before she tugged his head up to hungrily meet his lips with hers. 

 She buried her face in his neck as she rolled onto the bed beside her. Daemon welcomed it, his heart still pounding, breathing still embarrassingly quick as he enveloped her in his arms, his cock twitching against her thigh at the feeling of her hot skin pressed against his.

 Silence fell over the room. All he could hear was his own breathing. 

 Daemon did not know how much time had passed. For a moment, he wondered if Rhaenyra had perhaps fallen asleep, but he could feel her fingers tracing patterns against the skin of his chest. 

 "Now I truly need a bath," she said, although she made no effort to untangle herself from him. 

"It can wait until the morning," Daemon replied, smoothing her arm. Rhaenyra hummed. 

"Do you - do you think of the babe oft?" she asked, pulling his hand to join hers atop her stomach, one that would soon swell with the child, their child, made of both of them.

"I have found myself with little else to think about as of late," Daemon confessed into her hair. "You and this babe may have consumed my every though."

"In truth?"

"I am being truthful. These weeks apart have not been easy for me."

"Nor have I enjoyed them either," Rhaenyra muttered. "But it is over now."

Daemon hummed. "After tomorrow, it shall be." Rhaenyra frowned. "There is still that damned breakfast." Rhaenyra nodded, struggling to hold back a yawn. 

"You should bathe with me, on the morrow," she whispered. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "It shall be - shall be quicker." Daemon laughed. 

____________

  Daemon woke to one of his brother's Kingsguard pounding on his door. He left Rhaenyra in the bed as she too came to, padding down to the lower room to pull open the door. "What?" he demanded. 

"The Queen wishes to know if you shall be attending breakfast soon?" questioned Ser Willis Fell silkily. He had a short moustache atop his upper lip, and his dark hair was tousled as if he had recently been in strong winds. 

"Is that so?"

"They have been waiting quite a while," Ser Willis said stiffly. 

Daemon clucked his tongue, "good for them." Ser Willis frowned. "Well, the Princess of Dragonstone is not yet ready, so no, we shall not be there yet."

"The Princess?" Willis repeated, eyeing Daemon's bare chest through his open shirt.

Daemon smirked, "indeed." He pushed the door closed with his foot and marched back to his bedchamber, where Rhaenyra was sitting up, the covers held to her chest as she raised an eyebrow at him. 

"What is it?" she puzzled. 

"Your father's miserable wife wishes to hurry down to breakfast," Daemon replied, peering into the mirror to brush his hair behind his ears. Rhaenyra groaned.

"Is it that time already?"

"I am afraid it must be," Daemon sighed. Rhaenyra shook her head.

"Might you have someone summon my maids? I need to dress," she said. 

  The Great Hall had been put back to its previously decorated state that morn, the tables returned and the large Targaryen banners covering the walls once more. The King and his wife were already seated at the High Table atop the golden platform, Alicent looking very bored as the doors opened and Ser Harrold announced Daemon and Rhaenyra's arrival. Viserys, on the other hand, beamed, raising his goblet to them as they approached. Despite Daemon's clear instruction not to bring his children, between Viserys and Alicent sat Aegon. The small boy was dressed in another shirt with a long, frilly collar, and his plump cheeks were stained with tears. Rhaenyra was also displeased by this, pursing her lips at the boy as she took her place on her father's left. "Good morning," Viserys greeted her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

"Morning, Father," she returned sweetly. "I hope you have not been waiting too long? We rose later this morning." Alicent scoffed.

"It does not matter," Viserys said, waving a hand dismissively. "You are here now."

"Hurrah," Daemon said drily, pouring himself a goblet of water from the jug beside Rhaenyra's elbow. Viserys rolled his eyes at him. 

"Could you not have at least found a new shirt, Daemon?" he asked, nodding to the doublet, which he had worn the night before. "I am sure you have plenty." Daemon only shrugged. Viserys called for a servant to fill Daemon and Rhaenyra's plates as Alicent called for a second serving girl to cut up Aegon's bacon for him. "Aegon is very interested in tales of Vhagar as of late," Viserys said, as Daemon began to cut up his blood sausages. He did not react. "I am sure you must have more tales than me, brother, perhaps you should tell him them some time?"

"I am a Prince and a knight, not a wet nurse," Daemon grunted. Viserys' face fell. "Surely you have enough maids to handle him?"

"I am sure Father would have wanted his grandson to learn of his travels."

"Oh, and you of all people suddenly care about what Baelon would have wanted, do you?" Daemon sneered. Viserys scowled. "Your Hightower children are your business, do not try to make them mine." 

"They are not Hightowers," Viserys puffed. Rhaenyra scoffed. Viserys frowned at her. 

"Gimme!" Aegon cried, reaching for the kippers on his mother's plate. Alicent hissed something at him that Daemon could not quite hear, but it was not enough to dissuade him.

"Must you be so immature?" Viserys grumbled. "He is your nephew, our father's blood."

"As you keep wasting your breath by reminding me," Daemon scoffed, frowning. "Are you going to spend all of this supposed celebration prattling on at me?" Viserys sighed, but did not push the matter. Daemon smirked, raising a sausage to his lips as Aegon successfully caught a kipper, dragging it to his face as Alicent failed to fight it out of his grip. 

"Stop that," she demanded of him. The boy only giggled. 

"Every time I am here, I cannot fathom why any Lord would care to be," Daemon muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Neither can I," Rhaenyra sighed. 

"Why the long face?" Viserys asked her, ignoring his son, who was hitting the table with the side of his fist. "You have barely touched your food. Eat up, you are eating for two now."

"I am not hungry," Rhaenyra replied, reaching for her water. 

"I am," piped up Aegon. "Very, very hungry." Rhaenyra nodded at him. 

"What do you say to a flight over the Bay after this?" Daemon whispered. 

"Any time away from the Keep is a yes from me," Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon laughed. 

"I shall keep that in mind for our stay."

"You should."

____________

  Despite their shared desire to leave the city along with their guests as the festivities came to an end, Daemon knew better than to flee from the Capital immediately, and so they lingered no matter how miserably for a further sennight and a half. They would have made it a fortnight, but Aegon throwing around kippers, milk and apricot jam during a tantrum one morning, the latter finding its way into Rhaenyra's hair, was more than enough for her to insist they leave the following morn, and Daemon saw no reason to refuse her. 

 Scales of scarlet and yellow flashed through the sky as Caraxes and Syrax flew through the clouds above the city, Caraxes crying out every so often to ensure the yellow beast was still following him.  Daemon stared at King's Landing behind them, watching the dome of the Dragon Pit slowly shut as it grew smaller and smaller until the dreadful place that had once been home to them both was just a dot upon the horizon, and the gargoyles of Dragonstone came into view.

Chapter Text

117 - Winter

 Rhaenyra felt colour rising in her cheeks as she stared at the burning flames.

 The fire hissed and crackled as Daemon threw in another log, spitting embers angrily at him. It was one of the more violent flames he had lit, but the only source of light in their otherwise dark and cold rooms.

  Rhaenyra had been living in the apartments of Visenya for some time now, but the vast rooms were much slower to heat up than Rhaenys', and lacked the soft furnishings. While the carving on the wall was a similar shape - a large dragon made of flat grey and black stones - the bed was higher, covering two of the feet. There was a torch, currently unlit, ahead of the dragon's mouth, and a black chaise beneath its tail. The bed sat somewhere between them, adorned with many feather pillows of gold, silver, and red silk. There were a pair of chairs and a square table cut from marble in the far corner of the room, a short distance ahead of the door, and a desk of wood ahead of the pillars that separated the rooms from the high balcony, from which sunlight could be cast over the bed at noon. There was a second unlit torch hung up on the wall above the desk, and a candelabra sat atop a marble chest of drawers behind the small table. The room lacked the coloured rugs and decorative tapestries of the Keep, where Rhaenyra's rooms had seemed warm and mostly golden, giving them a colder, emptier look, although that could not be further from the truth; Rhaenyra basked in her new space, in the vastness of it, and how it was hers, not simply decorated for how a Princess' room should be. 

 As Daemon placed a pot of chestnuts upon the flames, watching as they roasted, Rhaenyra's eyes turned to the bed. Ahead of it, carved out of a wood so dark it looked like dragonglass, furnished with blankets of red silk, was the cradle Daemon had had made for their babe. It was a beautiful piece of woodwork, an image of two dragons coiled around one another on the headboard, and a little hatchling was carved into the side where the feet would lay. 

 "How fares you?" Daemon asked. His face was glowing orange in the light of the fire. Rhaenyra shrugged. "You look a thousand leagues away." 

"I am fine," Rhaenyra replied. She stared into the flames, watching as they danced, while Daemon inspected the chestnuts. 

"Is the babe hurting you?"

"Not at present," Rhaenyra sighed. Her hands reached for her stomach, where it felt like she was keeping a melon under her dress.

"Not long now," Daemon said.

"Yes. I - I spend most of my days in discomfort, and am ready for him to come," she replied. "But, well, then I think of how he shall arrive, and I am hoping he waits a while." 

"You shall be fine," Daemon said.

"You cannot know that," Rhaenyra muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"The midwives you had me called for -"

"I will not be left with any maester."

"- have assured us that everything is normal with you and the babe and that it should be a relatively simple birth."

"I am sure that is reassuring from where you are sitting, but that means nothing to me," Rhaenyra huffed. 

"It seems nothing shall put your mind at ease," Daemon sighed. "But, when our son is sitting here with us and I have been proven right, I do swear not to gloat about it... too much." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes dramatically at him. 

"I was raised to think that this -" Rhaenyra gestured to her stomach "- was all I was good for. Just a means to give my husband an heir, but -"

"That is not what this is," Daemon said softly.

"No," Rhaenyra agreed, "but - but it is still odd. I was three and ten when I flowered, and when the Septas told me of childbirth and coupling, I would have rather thrown myself from the rooftops than go through any of it."

"What the fuck do Septas know?" Daemon scoffed. "They have only been touched by their Gods, if that, they know naught of carnal pleasures." 

"What did they tell you of it, when you were a boy?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"Nothing," Daemon shrugged.

"Nothing?" Rhaenyra repeated.

"My grandmother asked if I knew how the act was carried out before I was wed, I told her I was four and ten and not an idiot," Daemon replied. "It is more expected for young men to know of these things than noble girls. What of you? What horrors did the Septas ingrain in you?"

"I would rather not dwell on it," Rhaenyra said stiffly, holding out her hand for a chestnut. Daemon obliged, and she winced at the heat of it on her bare palm.

"Go on," Daemon insisted. "Humour me."

"Nothing good," Rhaenyra sniffed. Daemon rolled his eyes. "Nothing worth discussing." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles as she watched Daemon put the chestnuts back into the flames. "You tell me something."

"Such as?"

"Oh, I do not know, something interesting."

"Like wh- what?" Daemon asked, through a yawn. Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"Tell me... what is your oldest memory?"

"Pardon?" Daemon tilted his head.

"When you think back, what is the first thing you remember?" Rhaenyra questioned.

 Daemon sighed, stroking his chin. "Fire."

"Fire?"

"Fire," Daemon said again. "I was... Gods, two? Three? I must have been in my parents' rooms, I can vaguely recall my father's voice, but I mostly remember just staring at the fireplace, watching the flames die out. What of you?"

"Syrax, I think," Rhaenyra replied. "I do not know how old I must have been, but I can remember the heat of her breath, of feeling her long tail in my hand." Daemon nodded. He brought the pot back out of the flames and placed it between them. "What - what if our babe's egg does not hatch?"

"There are other ways to claim a dragon," Daemon shrugged. 

"But, our child shall be a Targaryen - purely a Targaryen - do you not fear they shall consider him no better than Alicent's spawn with no hatchling and a rock in his cradle?" 

"Who cares?" Daemon quizzed. "We know our child shall be leagues above anything from the line of that Hightower whore, why does it matter if it takes a few years for them to fly?" 

"I do not want my child to feel bad about themselves."

"Are you having second thoughts about the egg?" Daemon asked. "We do not have to give them one, you know, I never had one."

"No," Rhaenyra said quickly, her mind rushing to Syrax and the little hatchling she had once been, able to sit atop her head and make her giggle for hours on end. "We shall need to choose an egg for them." Daemon nodded. 

  It was a cold night, and Rhaenyra wrapped herself tightly within the sheets. She was grateful for Daemon beside her, somehow still burning hot throughout the night, heating the bed beside her as she lay with her head on his shoulder. She often struggled to find sleep, even when laying on her side her stomach still causing her discomfort, feeling as if her child was pressing against her ribs, squishing her lungs so that it became hard to breathe. Daemon was unaffected, his chest rising and falling in his slumber, blissfully unaware of Rhaenyra's malaise. 

  They broke their fast ahead of the fireplace, Daemon having dragged the marble table across the room for them. Daemon was served fried bacon, duck's eggs, blood sausages, and freshly baked bread, which he washed down with a strong ale that Rhaenyra would never have touched. Her own meal consisted of oat cakes and apple slices, accompanied by goat's milk mixed with honey, not that she found herself in the condition to eat much of it. 

 "Should you not be eating more?" Daemon asked her, cracking his first egg with a spoon. Rhaenyra scowled at him. "You are supposed to be eating for two, right?"

"Do you want me to be sick over your bacon?" Rhaenyra puffed. Daemon laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "My stomach can hardly handle this as is." She gestured to the small plate ahead of her. Daemon cut up his bacon as she reached for her milk, glancing at the balcony as they heard a gull cry out. 

"Bloody birds," Daemon scoffed, shaking his head. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

"Here, this one is for you," she said, pushing one of the letters that had been brought up with their trays of food towards him. She had three letters of her own, and she could only recognise one of the seals, that one being her father's, which she was not overly eager to open. She had not seen her father since leaving King's Landing some moons ago, and in the handful of letters she had received from him, the topic of conversation always fell to her stepmother. Rhaenyra had received two letters from Alicent since leaving, but had not bothered to open either of them. 

"Rhaenys," Daemon hummed, inspecting the seal on his letter. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "That is unexpected." 

"It is," Rhaenyra agreed. They had heard nothing from the Princess Rhaenys or Lord Corlys since Laenor's funeral. Daemon had taken Rhaenyra to the markets of Driftmark's Great Harbour twice, and she doubted there was any chance that the Velaryons had not heard of the two dragons visiting their island, but they had not acknowledged them. 

"Do you think I should be worried?" Daemon chuckled drily.

"She is your cousin," Rhaenyra replied. "I imagine you would know her better than I do." Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra broke the seal of the first letter, while Daemon returned his attention back to his eggs. 

"Anything interesting?" he inquired.

"No," Rhaenyra sighed. "Just somebody else claiming to be the 'greatest toymaker in Westeros'. This one typically serves the Tyrells, but is willing to make the trip to Dragonstone for us." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. They had had several of such offers since her pregnancy was announced, all from merchants hoping to make some money from them. 

 Her second letter was not any more interesting, being sent from a Myrish painter who claimed to have previously worked for both Lord Corlys and Lord Boremund Baratheon, offering to have a portrait made of their babe when he arrives. Rhaenyra had no interest in inviting odd foreigners to gawk at her child, and left that letter with the other on the tray. 

 "Viserys again?" Daemon puzzled, as Rhaenyra cracked the seal of her father's letter. She nodded. 

"He wishes for us to return to King's Landing," she sighed. "For the babe's birth." She frowned, dropping the letter on the table again.

"It is worth considering," Daemon muttered. Rhaenyra's frown darkened. "Kings are born in King's Landing," Daemon shrugged. "Have been for generations now, and the quicker we have him proclaimed your successor above the children of Alicent Hightower, the better, is it not?"

"The Conqueror was born on Dragonstone, and so shall my babe," Rhaenyra huffed. "Since when do you want to go back to King's Landing anyway?"

"I never said I wanted to," Daemon replied. "Only that it makes sense that he would ask."

"Well, the answer is no," Rhaenyra puffed. "I do not need that stress in this condition."

"Perfectly understandable," Daemon said, sipping his ale. "Did he say anything else?"

"Nothing of note," Rhaenyra replied. "Aegon's name-day went well - they went hunting in the King's wood again - but he was not interested in anything other than the pie." Daemon scoffed. "They shall have a feast at the end of the week for Helaena's name-day, but he did not mention who was attending."

"Does he never tire of his constant feasting and entertaining?" Daemon exasperated. "Then again, if the alternative is only his own company, I can see why he is so eager to avoid it. I am fine on my lonesome, but being alone with Viserys? I shudder at the thought." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him.

"You are so rude," she said. Daemon winked. "What did Rhaenys say?"

"Let us find out," Daemon muttered, cracking open the seal. His face gave nothing away as he skimmed through the letter, Princess Rhaenys' handwriting much smaller and tidier than the King's. "She does not give much away," he said. He pushed the letter across the table so Rhaenyra could read it for herself. "She has invited me to Driftmark for luncheon on the morrow." 

"She did not say why?" Rhaenyra puzzled. Daemon shook his head. "It would be worse for us if you refused her, would it not?" 

"I would imagine they are unlikely to take it well," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra sighed. 

"I suppose you should go then."

"Are you sure?" Daemon inquired. Rhaenyra nodded.

"We do not wish to turn Lord Corlys into an enemy."

"And you shall be fine without me?"

"I am pregnant, Daemon, not dying," Rhaenyra huffed. 

"You can hardly get out of bed without assistance," Daemon said pointedly.

"And I shall still have my ladies here, and Maester Gerardys, and the midwives," Rhaenyra told him. "Whatever it is the Princess wants from you, there shall be a reason as to why she did not write it." Daemon hummed, unable to disagree.

"I do not like having to answer to Corlys," Daemon grumbled. "His arrogance is far from easy to stomach."

"He could probably say the same about you," teased Rhaenyra. 

"There is a difference between arrogance and pride," Daemon puffed. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

____________

  The Blood Wyrm let out a cry as he circled the great structure of High Tide's highest towers. He whistled as Daemon urged him to land, stopping in the courtyard as Corlys' knights rushed away fearfully, not wanting to be crushed by one of his large, clawed feet.

 Daemon brushed his fringe out of his eyes as he dismounted. He patted Caraxes' neck before shooing him away. Caraxes whistled again, spreading his wings before taking flight, while Daemon was met by a Woodwright knight who led him inside. 

 "Ah, Daemon."

 Rhaenys greeted him stiffly as she rose from the Driftwood Throne. The door slammed somewhere behind him, but Daemon did not react, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of the Velaryon Lord, but it seemed that he and his cousin were alone.

 "Rhaenys," he returned, nodding to her. 

"You shall have to forgive me, it seems our invitation to your wedding was misplaced," she said drily. 

"Such a shame," Daemon drawled.

"Yes, truly." Rhaenys sipped from her bronze goblet, before placing it on the mantel above the unlit fireplace. "I shall not waste either of our time." Daemon raised an eyebrow. "Since your brother was installed as King in place of myself, he has rejected my daughter's hand in favour of the daughter of a second son, again robbing my blood of my father's birthright, wrongly dismissed my husband from his court in place of the second son of House Lannister, and now my son's memory has been trampled on by you. To anyone else, you would think us not the blood of Jaehaerys himself."

"Well, that is certainly news to me. I had thought your husband to be the blood of Jaehaerys' uncle," Daemon replied silkily. "As for you and your daughter, you are also the blood of Rogar Baratheon, are you not? Have you tried seeking a place at Boremund's court?" 

 Rhaenys clucked her tongue, again reaching for her goblet.

 "I am afraid, cousin," Daemon continued. "That Jaehaerys' line is hardly worth boasting of as of late, you may have noticed how Viserys has sullied it so."

"Ah yes, the Hightower whelps," Rhaenys muttered. "The King has at last sired a trueborn son, and one named for the Conqueror no less."

"There are peasants who call their sons 'Aegon'," Daemon scoffed. "Well, they do not know how to spell it, but it is the same thing in spirit." 

"Peasants lack the Targaryen look, and our dragons."

"As does that Reachman boy."

"Corlys has considered offering the boy Laena's hand, you know," Rhaenys sniffed, tapping her fingers against the side of her goblet. "He saw your union with the Princess to be an insult to our son, given it was so soon after his death." 

Daemon frowned, "would you not at least want a babe from the main Hightower line? Hobert's sons will at least inherit some coin. Viserys' are due naught."

"I had thought you of all people would recall what happened the last time the Realm had to choose between a rightful female claimant and a Prince," huffed Rhaenys.

"Is there a point to this? Or did you just wish to give me a lesson on our House's history, which I shall have to pass on, I am afraid."

"For Rhaenyra to succeed, she shall need allies," Rhaenys said icily. "Far more of them and far more powerful than that of her brother's, than that of which I had. None rival the fleet and wealth of my husband's House."

"Congratulations." 

Rhaenys clucked her tongue again. "Corlys intends to wed Laena to one of his nephews."

"Not the Hightower babe then?" Daemon quizzed. "Good for you, I doubt he even knows how to use his cock to piss yet, let alone anything else of use."

"Any child from this union," she pressed, ignoring him, "shall be from two Velaryon lines, with the blood of the dragon in their veins." Daemon nodded. "You shall find no finer consort in all of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Pardon?"

"I was passed over for your brother, my daughter and any heirs she might have had were passed over for the Hightower girl," Rhaenys sniffed. "But, a granddaughter of mine and a son of yours could rule together, finally uniting the lines of Aemon and Baelon upon the Iron Throne." 

Daemon frowned. "You wish for me to betroth my unborn child to a daughter of your daughter who is not yet married, let alone with a child at her breast?"

"Who else?" boomed the voice of Corlys Velaryon. 

 Daemon glanced over his shoulder as the man marched into the room, the heavy doors again slamming behind him. He was dressed opulently in garments of teal and gold, a ring on each finger and two heavy chains around his neck. He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the mantel, his eyes narrowed upon the Prince.

 "Glad you asked," Daemon smirked. "You know, I do consider myself capable of making both sons and daughters, so why bother involving other Houses?"

Corlys shook his head. "I do not understand you Targaryens and your proclivity for wedding brother to sister."

"Did you not marry your cousin's daughter?"

"Yes, cousin," Corlys hissed. "Cousins are not siblings."

"No, cousins can come with unwanted baggage, like Baratheons," Daemon replied. Rhaenys pursed her lips. 

"You may well make sons and daughters," Corlys sighed. "As shall Laena, I am sure of it. Wed a daughter of hers to your wife's heir, and we shall wed a daughter of hers to my grandson, my heir." Rhaenys nodded her agreement. 

"Do you not think this place is too damp for a Princess?" Daemon scoffed. Rhaenys rolled her eyes. "I cannot imagine Rhaenyra wanting her children anywhere but the height of luxury." 

"She shall be spoiled with more than enough luxury," barled Corlys. "I can acquire for her anything coin can buy, the Seven Heavens know I have enough of it." He tapped his fingers against the mantel. "Your line would continue through both the Iron Throne and the Driftwood Throne, and the wounds of Jaehaerys' poor decisions shall finally be healed. Everybody wins, do they not?" 

"Are you sure this is not just a ploy to ensure more Velaryons are permitted dragons?"

"It can be two things." 

"And you are aware, as you invite me here to insult my House and our practices, that your influence and therefore position in the Realm is steadily decreasing, while mine only grows?" Daemon drawled. Corlys narrowed his eyes at him. "For generations, House Velaryon was the second House of the Realm, but now a Hightower bitch sits in your place. The Strongs rule the court, the Hightowers rule the King, and where is Lord Velaryon? Here, on Driftmark, alone. You built your wealth in the span of a generation, but who is to say your good-son shall not throw it all away? Your own grandsire lost it all once, did he not? You were in ruins when you first ascended to your seat." Daemon jerked his head in the direction of the Driftwood Throne. 

"You talk a lot for a second son with nothing," Corlys spat. 

"I only have concerns," Daemon said, raising an eyebrow. "As the father of the future King, how can I be sure I am not giving him to just another minor House that once had a great history? I could call upon the Celtigars if I wanted -"

"I will not suffer this insult in my own home!"

"Nor shall I suffer insult from you, my Lord," Daemon replied. "I took the head of that Braavosi at your request, but I am not some dog for you to command. Be cautious of whom you are speaking to." Daemon smirked as Caraxes roared in the distance. Corlys shifted uncomfortably.

"We are the only remaining pillars of Old Valyria," Rhaenys said stiffly. "You could wed brother to sister, but you shall certainly be stronger with us than on your own. No matter where Corlys sits within your brother's ranks, his fleet still remains uncontested."

"I shall discuss it with the Princess of Dragonstone," Daemon said icily. 

"You have come all this way not to give us an answer?" frowned Corlys.

"Ah, you said it yourself, I am but a second son, and I doubt the Princess shall thank me for making such a decision without her," Daemon replied. "Now, perchance could I have a drink? I believe I was promised a luncheon but a good ale will do me fine."

"Fine," Corlys grunted. He gestured for the Prince to follow him out of the room. 

 Corlys' rooms were kept at the top of the highest tower, which could only be reached after climbing an enormous set of serpentine stairs. The fireplace was lit, meaning the chambers were much warmer than the Throne Room, and food had already been brought up for them.

 Daemon found nothing to grumble about where Corlys' ale was concerned, but the meal itself was rather lacklustre - salted kippers, duck eggs, small fried fishes, crab cakes, olives and warm bread. Daemon cracked open a couple of eggs while Corlys wolfed everything down hungrily, neither saying much. 

 Before he left the island, Daemon strode down the winding steps to the seafront. There was a cold chill in the air, and the tide was close, the waves spitting at him as they slapped against the sea. The Citadel had claimed there would be an early Spring that year, but as the third moon neared them, Daemon doubted their assumptions. He watched as more waves roared towards him, dragging purple seaweed along with it.

 He wondered where Laenor had gotten to. He hoped that the young man and his companion had made it safely to Pentos. He could not help but puzzle what they were doing now, when Saera had fled she had ended up in a brothel, although Daemon supposed the two young men would find it easier to find positions as labourers or with other skills than she had. 

 "I never considered you a pensive man."

 Daemon turned around to see Rhaenys walking towards him, her hands clasped behind her back.

 "I never thought you a great lover of the sea," Daemon returned.

"I would not say so either," Rhaenys sighed. "In many ways, she has stolen my husband, and then she snatched my son from me." Rhaenys shook her head. "But what can I do when it is all Corlys has known, all my children ever knew, but endure it?" Rhaenys shook her head. 

"Is your daughter as drawn to it as her father?"

"No," Rhaenys sighed. "But that is little comfort. She has certainly inherited his need for adventure. I would not be surprised if one day she took to the skies and never came back." Daemon hummed. He was sure his father had through the same of him at eight and ten. "Were you thinking of anything in particular?"

"Not especially," Daemon lied. Rhaenys pursed her lips, unconvinced. "You did not join us for luncheon?" 

"I already ate," Rhaenys replied. Daemon did not believe her, but he saw no point in arguing. Rhaenys shook her head. "The last time I saw my son whole was in that room," she muttered. Daemon cocked an eyebrow. "We were having dinner. It was supposed to be a celebration of his betrothal, but -" She trailed off, shaking her head. 

"I did not mean my marriage to be an insult to your son, Rhaenys," Daemon muttered.  

Rhaenys waved a hand dismissively, "that hardly matters now. I do not doubt that, given your more recent news, it was a necessity for you." Daemon hummed, feeling no need to confirm her thoughts. "Corlys will not see it that way, of course. He will not take kindly to you not waiting six moons, even if the betrothal was never announced." Daemon nodded. 

 The waves hissed as they splashed against the sand, spitting droplets onto their legs. 

 "Are you prepared for fatherhood?" Rhaenys asked suddenly. 

"As much as I can be," Daemon grunted. Rhaenys nodded. 

"Good," she said. "I would worry if you were too confident." Daemon laughed. "How is the Princess?" 

"As well as one could hope for," Daemon replied. "After Aemma she - well, this is not something that is easy for her."

"No," Rhaenys sighed. "My mother was terrified when I grew pregnant with Laenor, given what had happened to her own mother it is rather understandable." Daemon nodded. "But, this is the final hurdle, I suppose. If Rhaenyra can do this - and she and the babe survive it - that shall be the end of the Hightowers' claim, shall it not?"

"You truly believe that?" Daemon scoffed.

"No," Rhaenys replied. "Of course not. But, I will not pretend that that is not a shame. Were she a man, any child born to her would erase any dreams Otto had of his grandson sitting the Throne. Alas, things shall not be so easy for her - a daughter may weaken her claim in the eyes of the Lords, and a son may prove further threat, the Lords wishing to supplant her with her own progeny." Rhaenys shook her head. 

"Viserys will still declare the child next in line," Daemon said. "It is better than any of Hightower's whelps." Rhaenys nodded. 

"Will you name him for your father?"

"I have considered it," Daemon said stiffly. 

"You know, sometimes you and your brother are not so different."

"That is the most insulting thing I have heard all day," Daemon said drily. Rhaenys chuckled. 

"I never got to name my babes," she said after a pause. "That was Corlys' doing." 

"I suppose Corlys told you, but this is not the first time I was expecting to be a father," Daemon murmured. Rhaenys nodded.

"The Lyseni woman, was it not?" she asked. "You got a bastard on her?" 

Daemon nodded, "yes. I - I was so sure of it that time, but now I cannot help but fear that something will go wrong." 

"You must put that thought from your mind," Rhaenys said firmly. "You cannot give in to that." Daemon swallowed and nodded. "How fares your brother? Is he excited?"

"From what I gather, he is," Daemon shrugged. "He wants Rhaenyra to have the babe in King's Landing, but of course she shall not agree to that."

"No," Rhaenys sighed. "Probably for the best." Daemon nodded again. "I am sure he shall take to being a grandfather, your father did."

"It is a shame yours could not," Daemon murmured. Rhaenys nodded, turning from him to stare out at the sea. Daemon wondered what she would think if she knew the truth of what happened to her son, that he had sailed across a sea to escape them, but was still breathing. He supposed it did not matter, she could never know. Corlys could never know. "You are yet to find your daughter a new husband then?"

"Do not ask," Rhaenys sniffed, shaking her head. Daemon chuckled. "Corlys seems to be going through each of his nephews one by one, but not one is yet to catch Laena's eye. I do not know what she expected for her husband, but she is rather unimpressed." 

"Poor girl," Daemon sighed. "And Corlys is unlikely to let her look further afield?"

"Of course not," Rhaenys huffed. "He insists the babe must have the name Velaryon, and therefore needs a Velaryon father." She exhaled through her teeth. "You will always have the Hightowers opposing you, you would do well to ensure Corlys does not also."

"Corlys is an old man, cousin," Daemon replied. Rhaenys sniffed. "Who is to say his daughter and good-son shall inherit his lust for legacy?" 

"Our Houses have been uniting by marriage for centuries."

"Indeed. And while a return to the powers of Valyria is certainly ideal after whatever it is Viserys has turned the Capital into, I cannot assume Rhaenyra will be so eager to sign our child's life away to your husband just yet." 

"He is old, as you say," Rhaenys said stiffly. "He shall want to secure his blood in the royal line before he goes." 

"Is that why he married you?" Daemon raised an eyebrow. Rhaenys tensed, but did not reply. 

  The wind was cold and the clouds were grey when the Blood Wyrm returned to Dragonstone. Syrax cried out to greet him as he circled the castle, raising her head from where she had been resting in the courtyard. Caraxes whistled as he landed, his long tail swishing dangerously close to the guardsmen outside. Daemon patted his snout before marching through the courtyard towards the castle's entrance. 

 When he arrived at Rhaenyra's rooms, he found her bedchamber to be empty. He was surprised by this, as if she were in the gardens he would assume her to have heard Caraxes' return. He frowned, scratching his chin as he stared into the empty fireplace. His mind was soon put at ease when he heard women's giggling from the washroom. 

 Daemon leaned against the doorframe as he peered inside, finding his wife in the tub, surrounded by her ladies. Lady Annora Hunter, the oldest and shortest of them, was in a dress of silver and pale blue, a brown sash around her waist to represent the colours of her House. She was sat at the end of the tub, a linen sheet folded in her lap, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter. Lady Primrose Celtigar was also laughing, her own gown one of silver and scarlet. The Celtigars also finding their roots in old Valyria, Primrose was certainly more beautiful than many of the maidens of the Kingdoms, although her hair was somewhere between silver and grey without a trace of gold and her eyes were a dazzling blue, but certainly not purple. She was only slightly taller than Rhaenyra, her teeth slightly crooked and her ears too large for her heart-shaped face. She was using a washcloth to help Rhaenyra wash her back while one of the Strong daughters - Lady Darla - untied her braids for her. The eldest of Lord Lyonel's daughters, Lady Celia, wore a dress of azure with pale blue sleeves, while Lady Darla wore something somewhere between rouge and crimson. Both Strongs had dark hair, although while Darla tied hers up, Celia's fell down her back. Darla was also chuckling, while Celia was less amused. 

  "Hello," Daemon greeted, interrupting whatever they had been giggling about.

"My Prince," Annora greeted him.

"Afternoon, Prince Daemon," said Celia, bowing her head. Darla and Primrose only nodded. 

Rhaenyra smiled at him, "you are back, then?"

"It would certainly appear that way." Daemon stroked his chin. "A moment with my wife please, Ladies?" Rhaenyra frowned. Annora nodded, bowing her head lowly before hurrying out of the room, Primrose at her heel. Celia and Darla were more reluctant, glancing back at Rhaenyra, who shrugged. Daemon frowned as the Strong sisters padded out of the room, Darla glancing back at him.

"Why did you do that?" Rhaenyra demanded, as Daemon slammed the door behind them. 

"Do you not wish to see me?" 

"I wish to have a bath," Rhaenyra grumbled. "I am sweaty, and I reek of dragon."

"Surely you have not been flying in that condition?"

"No," Rhaenyra huffed. "But I have been out to see Syrax. We lunched in the gardens, too."

"Was it not too cold?" Daemon inquired.

"It was fine."

"I meant for the babe."

"The babe is fine," Rhaenyra sighed. She reached for the washcloth Primrose had abandoned on the side of the tub, but Daemon batted her hand away.

"Let me fuss with that," he said lowly, rolling up his sleeves and he knelt beside the tub. Rhaenyra smiled at him, leaning her head against the tub as Daemon ran the washcloth down her arms. "Rose?" he questioned, as the scent of the bath oils hit him.

"Rose and strawberry," Rhaenyra replied. "How was Driftmark?" Daemon only hummed as he dipped the washcloth under the water before shifting to the other side of her to continue washing her back. "Was Princess Rhaenys cross with us?"

"No more than we had expected," Daemon replied. "Corlys remains as arrogant and demanding as ever."

Rhaenyra hummed, "what did they want?"

"They wish to betroth our son - who has not yet been born - to a daughter of Laena, who is not yet married let alone with child," Daemon sighed. Rhaenyra frowned. "We should not be shocked, he was the man who tried to wed his recently flowered daughter to the King. He saw your hand as his way to the Throne, and now he has lost it. He is desperate. And angry. Rhaenys said he considered making an offer between Laena and Aegon."

"He never would," Rhaenyra scoffed. "Laena already told me she is being made to wed one of her Velaryon cousins."

"I agree," Daemon replied. "He is too proud to allow the son of a Targaryen to inherit Driftmark, but it does not bode well for us if the House with Meleys and Vhagar turns against us." 

"You wish for us to agree to the match?" 

"It is worth considering," Daemon said. "But, you are the heir to the Throne, and so it must be on your terms, not Lord Corlys'." Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow. "The Crown cannot be seen to be controlled by the Velaryons." 

Rhaenyra sighed. "And how do you propose we achieve that?"

"You are friends with the Lady Laena are you not?" Daemon shrugged. "I am sure the two of you could come to some sort of agreement, when the time is right." 

"Alright," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon hummed, moving his arm to wash across her chest. 

"How are you feeling today?" he asked. 

"Fine," Rhaenyra replied. She smirked before splashing water at him with her foot, soaking his dark grey tunic.

Daemon scowled.

Rhaenyra laughed. Daemon shook his head at her. "Do you think Father shall write again before the babe comes?"

"I would imagine so," Daemon said. He dipped the washcloth into the water again. He lifted one of her legs to wipe it down.

"We should - we should go to the Dragonmont later," Rhaenyra said, cocking her head as she watched Daemon. 

"Why?"

"We are still yet to choose an egg for the babe," Rhaenyra replied. 

"Do you not want to wait until the babe is here?" Daemon asked. "I hardly think it the best idea in your condition." 

"No," Rhaenyra protested. "I want to have the egg before the babe is here, so we can give it to them when they are born."

"Alright, alright," Daemon sighed, rolling his eyes. Rhaenyra laughed again. 

"Are you truly just going to crawl around there and wash me?" she asked.

"Indeed," Daemon replied. "I sent your ladies away, did I not? You still need to bathe."

"There are easier ways to do that, you know?" Rhaenyra said, her hand reaching to smooth his hair.

"Are there?" Daemon puzzled innocently. 

"You could just get in the bath with me, you know?"

"Oh, could I?" Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra nodded. She smiled at him, before she splashed him again. Daemon hissed, staring at the dampness spreading to his breeches. Rhaenyra laughed. 

____________

 The wind threw leaves and twigs at him as the King raised a piece of cheese to his lips. Alicent wore a black cape with grey furs around the shoulders, which she hugged closer to herself. She refused him when he offered her a goblet of mulled wine and some cheese and olives from his plate. Viserys was surprised, but did not press it. 

 Viserys watched as his children hurried around the garden. Aegon, a boy of four, was racing around with a wooden dragon in each of his fists, shouting to himself wildly. Helaena was toddling after him, the girl just days away from her second name-day. Her white skirts were already stained with grass and mud, but Alicent and her maids were yet to notice, preoccupied with soothing Aemond, the boy not quite one but with the lungs of a much larger child. 

 Viserys chuckled to himself as Aegon toppled over, one of his dragons landing a short distance away from him. The boy let out a whimper, his eyes flickering to his parents for a moment, but when they did not react he hopped to his feet and began reaching for it. The creature had once belonged to Rhaenyra, a perfect model of Meraxes, the mount of the Conqueror-Queen Rhaenys, but the silver paint had since peeled off, leaving behind just the brown wood. Aegon seemed not to mind, happily babbling to himself as he waved his second dragon, an almost perfect replica of Caraxes. 

 "Ser Medger has arrived, your Grace."

 Viserys glanced over his shoulder to see Ser Willis marching towards him.

 "Good, good," Viserys said, through a mouthful of cheese. He wiped his hands on his coat as he rose to his feet, looking around for Ser Harrold, who was lingering under a tree nearby. "I shall see you all later, then."

"Shall you supper with us tonight, husband?" Alicent asked, smiling sweetly at him. 

"Pa?" Helaena questioned, cocking her head. Viserys chuckled.

"We shall see," he sighed. "I have an awful lot to go through." Alicent nodded, still smiling, although it was more forced now.

"Of course," she said. "The King must always be busy."

"Indeed he shall," Viserys muttered. Alicent forced a smile again as she took Aemond from the maids, smoothing his white-silver hair. Viserys nodded back at her and gestured for Ser Harrold to follow him back into the castle, leaving Alicent and the children with Ser Tommen.

"Bye Pa," Helaena called after him. 

"Bye - bye!" Aegon shouted. Viserys gave them a short wave. 

  Ser Medger the Merry was a plump man with a red face and rotund stomach. His greying brown hair was pushed back and his eyes were amber, like a cat's. He was once a talented tourney knight, but now he had set up shop in King's Landing, carving things out of wood, toys mostly, and other little trinkets. 

 He drew himself to his full height as Viserys marched into the Throne Room, his golden crown on his head and his hands clasped in front of him. He glanced at the Throne behind him, but those steps were ever so tiresome, and he had hoped that this would not take up too much of his time. 

 "Your Grace." Ser Medger bowed lowly, as the King stood in front of him. "It is an honour to be called before you again."

"Yes, yes," said Viserys. "And thank you for coming at such short notice, Ser."

"It is no trouble at all, your Grace," said Ser Medger. "Is the Princess Helaena in need of a new doll? Perhaps some toy knights for the little Princes?"

"I - what, no." Viserys shook his head. "I have called you here because my daughter is soon expecting her first child, and I wish to have the best toys made for my grandson." 

"An honour it is, your Grace," Ser Medger said jovially. "So, what shall it be? Some knights and horses? Ships? Puppets?"

"Why, dragons of course," Viserys declared. Ser Medger bowed his head. 

"An excellent choice, your Grace," he said. Viserys grinned. 

"How soon do you think you can make me some?" he asked. "Princess Rhaenyra is due to give birth before the fourth moon greets us."

"I - I see," Ser Medger said, stroking his chin. "Well, it is possible to be done by then, but I cannot be sure of it, your Grace." Viserys sighed. 

"One dragon?"

"I - I would - I could not promise it."

"I see." Viserys scratched his head. "Well, get on with it, and come back to me as soon as you can."

"Yes, your Grace." Ser Medger bowed again. 

 Viserys returned to his rooms for the first time since he had risen that morn. The Small Council meeting had run on far longer than he had hoped for, with Ser Tyland and Lord Lyman unable to agree on an appropriate amount to raise the tax on foreign wines now that winter was due to end and their own vineyards would be prospering again. He sat at his table as Eddard, the youngest of his personal servants, poured him a goblet of wine. "Have there been any ravens?" he asked. 

"No, your Grace," Eddard replied. Viserys frowned, stroking his chin.

"Are you quite sure?"

"Indeed, your Grace. Were... you expecting anything?"

"No, well, I... only I wrote to Rhaenyra this morning, I had hoped to have heard back from her today."

"There have been no ravens since breakfast, I am afraid, your Grace," Eddard said. Viserys nodded, raising the goblet to his lips. 

"Well, if anything does come, ensure to have it brought straight to me."

"Yes, your Grace." 

____________

  "Is it not the most perfect thing you have ever seen?" Rhaenyra asked, grinning. Daemon shrugged, falling onto the armchair behind her. 

 In her hands, Rhaenyra cradled a dragon egg, its colouring somewhere between gold and yellow, swirls of silver and black on various scales as if forming a pattern. It was larger than any of the eggs Rhaenyra had seen in the Dragon Pit, certainly larger than the one she had intended to give her brother Baelon, and as Rhaenyra pressed her hand against the scales, it was as if she could feel something pulsing inside, like it had a little heartbeat of its own. 

 "You disagree?" she asked of her husband. 

"No," Daemon replied. "It is fine. A perfectly good egg." 

"Our boy is going to love it," Rhaenyra declared, pressing her hand to her stomach. Daemon hummed his agreement, rising to his feet once more. Rhaenyra handed the egg to him, watching as he gently placed it in the cradle where their babe would soon rest. She cocked her head as she watched him smooth his thumb over one of the silver swirls, neither of them able to resist a smile. "Whose do you suppose it is?" Rhaenyra asked.

"With that colouring, I would say Silverwing," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra hummed her agreement, turning her attention to the flames as they roared in the fireplace. She again pressed a hand to her stomach, and smiled to herself as she felt the faintest of kicks, not enough to hurt but enough for her to know that their babe was there. 

 She glanced over her shoulder as she felt her husband's gaze upon her. He offered her a smile, which she did not hesitate in returning, feeling a warmth spread down her spine as her cheeks flushed. "You still blush like a maiden," Daemon teased her. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, uncaring if it was true or not. She could hear the wind blowing outside as Syrax let out a shriek of displeasure, but for once Rhaenyra could not find herself in agreement with her dragon, for now she found little to grumble for. 

Chapter Text

117 - Spring

 Her father's seal stared up at her from the tray as Rhaenyra took her place at the table. She was not surprised, he had been writing every day for the past fortnight. What Rhaenyra did not understand was what he expected in response, she had already replied to at least half of his letters despite her days remaining monotonous and uninteresting. It was not as if his letters were vastly different, all he seemed interested in was when the babe would arrive, and since the babe was not yet here, she had little to report. 

 Daemon was equally as unenthused by any correspondence from his brother, leaving Rhaenyra to open them while he ate his breakfast. On this morning, he had eggs, sausages, tomatoes, and freshly fried bacon brought to him. They also had a platter of fruits sent to them from Highgarden now that the spring trees were in season, but neither of them touched any of it, Daemon finding it too sweet and Rhaenyra finding the smell sickly enough. 

 "Gerardys will hear from petitioners today," Rhaenyra said, sipping iced milk from a copper cup. Daemon hummed. "I would like if you were to be with him."

"What?" Daemon scoffed. Rhaenyra nodded. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I can no longer attend myself," Rhaenyra huffed. "I would like you to represent me."

"Is the Maester not doing that?" Daemon grumbled. 

"This is important," Rhaenyra insisted. 

"Anyone can sit there and listen to peasants complain," Daemon grunted. "I have better things to do." 

"Listen, Gerardys knows what to do, he will guide you and keep a record on anything, but the judgements need to come from us."

"I have run an island before, Princess," Daemon puffed indignantly. "This fucking island to be precise."

"So, what is the problem? It is only until I have healed from the babe," Rhaenyra said. Daemon groaned. 

"That could be moons!"

"You only need to meet with them once a fortnight," Rhaenyra said. "Last time, Gerardys kept notes and gave it to me, but not all of the townsfolk are literate so I cannot send them missives of my judgement, and summoning them back is not always easy. Please? There are far fewer petitioners here than in King's Landing, it shall only take you an hour or two." Daemon grumbled under his breath, but offered no further complaints. Rhaenyra smiled at him. 

 Daemon turned his attention back to his bacon as Rhaenyra felt the babe kick. Daemon glanced at her as she winced, but she waved a hand dismissively, her other rubbing circles around her stomach. She was bigger than she ever thought was possible. It was not just her stomach that was swollen either, her breasts and feet had also become affected, so much so that it hurt for her to walk down the steps. She now understood why her mother had spent so much time in the bath, it was the only thing that seemed to ease the pain in her back and ankles. She looked more like her mother now, Rhaenyra thought, although there was a sadness in how her mother had spent most of Rhaenyra's life pregnant, more oft than not with children who were never born. 

 It did not affect her father so much, he was soon to turn his attentions elsewhere. 

 "Daemon," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon turned to look at her as he raised his goblet of ale to his lips. "You know how Gerardys mentioned that I am too far along now for us to... cause too much excitement." Her cheeks flushed as she spoke. 

Daemon chuckled lightly. "Indeed," he replied, nodding. 

"Well, Gerardys - and the midwives - they - they said that that will extend to after the babe is born too, that it will be a while before we can... before we can couple again."

"Indeed," Daemon said again, smirking as her cheeks burned scarlet. 

Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortable, her eyes unable to meet his. "You know that that will be a while, yes?"

"Of course," Daemon replied, his face giving nothing away. 

"You do not intend to... to find other means - other women to entertain yourself, do you?"

"Why would you ask that?" Daemon demanded, dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter as his face darkened. Rhaenyra did not say anything. "Why would you ask that?" Daemon pressed again.  "Do you have an accusation to make? If so, say it now, Princess." 

"No, no of course not," Rhaenyra said hurriedly. She had known Daemon to be in her rooms every night since she moved into Visenya's chambers, and before that they had been active enough for her to have had no concerns.

"Of course not?" Daemon scoffed. "Then what are you fucking -"

"It has already been a month," Rhaenyra sighed. "It may be another two or three before I can - before we can entertain one another."

"You are my wife," Daemon said stiffly.

"You have been married before," Rhaenyra shrugged. Daemon laughed, a bitter bark of a noise that Rhaenyra did not like the sound of falling from his lips. 

"That bitch meant nothing to me and you know it," he said coldly. "You must know you mean far more to me than she ever could." 

"It is not uncommon for men to - to - to be unfaithful to their wives," Rhaenyra said uncomfortably. "In the wake of what happened with Alicent, I cannot trust my own father's loyalty to my mother, I only -"

"I am not him, Rhaenyra," Daemon sighed, shaking his head. "I have no interest in finding some Andal bitch to fuck."

"And what of the Valyrian ones?" Rhaenyra inquired. "King's Landing and its Lyseni whores are a short distance from here, as are the dockside pleasurehouses of Driftmark." 

"I have not taken a whore since long before we wed," Daemon said gruffly. "I do not intend to do so now. Can you imagine the scandal if I was caught there?" 

Rhaenyra frowned, "the scandal?"

Daemon hummed, "yes, you are the future Queen of course, imagine what they would say if you could not be presumed to rule your own husband." Daemon shook his head. "And Viserys would likely have my balls for it." 

"So, you do not care about the pain it would cause me?" Rhaenyra puffed. "Just what people would say?" 

"What?" Daemon frowned. Rhaenyra stared at him. "I - this is not something I am considering, or have been considering," Daemon hissed. "Not once, not once since we wed. I would rather lay chastely in your bed like a Septon until you are ready to fuck me again than be abed with some whore." 

"Good," Rhaenyra said, her eyes on her cup. 

"Good?" Daemon repeated incredulously. 

"What else do you want me to say?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"Have you finished with you ridiculous accusations?"

"It was not an accusation," Rhaenyra said. "I just wanted - need to know that you would not - are not growing tired of - of not ..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I could never grow tired of you," Daemon said gruffly. Rhaenyra forced a smile. "Are you alright?" 

"No," Rhaenyra confessed miserably. Daemon took one of her hands in his, raising it to his lips. She chuckled, although she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. "I feel huge and - and just awful, all the time." She shook her head. "The babe could come any day now and - and while I want him to come, I also - I cannot help but think that something will go wrong."

"It shall not," Daemon said firmly. Rhaenyra sighed. She knew that he knew that they could not be sure of it, why bother spelling it out again? 

 As Daemon poured himself another goblet of ale, Rhaenyra finally reached for the pile of letters on the table. She pushed her father's to the side, first reading the one from Lord Bartimos Celtigar, who wished to set up a meeting with her to discuss the fishing trade. The next was from Lord Rycherd Darklyn, who had invited them to a feast that Rhaenyra definitely could not attend, and another invitation from Lady Redwyne for her upcoming tourney. "Honestly, it is as if they do not know I am pregnant," she grumbled. "How on earth do they expect me to get to Duskendale in this condition, let alone the Arbor?" Daemon laughed. 

 Rhaenyra bit her bottom lip as she tore through her father's seal. She hummed to herself as she read, while Daemon left the table to swap his undershirt for a velvet doublet. "Father says the new nursery in the Red Keep is finished," she read. Daemon hummed his acknowledgement. "He still has not said where it is, so I do hope it is not beside Alicent's children," Rhaenyra muttered. 

"Surely even he is not that stupid?" Daemon scoffed. 

"I would not be so sure," Rhaenyra said. Daemon chuckled. "They have had more pumpkins delivered from the Vale, he is offering to send some to us."

"How nice," Daemon said drily. 

"And - what?" Rhaenyra frowned, watching the letter drop onto the table.

"What?" Daemon repeated, turning around to stare at her with narrowed eyes. 

"Alicent she - she is pregnant," Rhaenyra said. "Again!" 

"What do they need another one for?" Daemon laughed. "The commoners shall not be happy, another royal mouth for their taxes to feed." 

"And fifth in line too," Rhaenyra puffed. "Or will it be sixth? Does Helaena come before Aemond?"

"Does it matter?" Daemon scoffed.

"No, I suppose not," Rhaenyra sighed. Rhaenyra pursed her lips. "She has done it for attention, most likely."

"Who?"

"Alicent," Rhaenyra said. "She probably hates all the attention we are getting because of the babe."

"I do not see why having a fourth child in line to inherit nothing will help there," Daemon smirked. "Our babe will be King." Rhaenyra smiled. 

____________

  Although her rooms were warm and comfortable, Rhaenyra was growing restless being cooped up. Dragons are not chickens, she thought to herself, they need to stretch their wings and soar. So, Rhaenyra decided after nearly a fortnight of life stuck in Visenya's apartments to have Daemon escort her down to Aegon's Garden. 

 They were tailed by Ser Lorent Marbrand, who had come to Dragonstone to serve as Rhaenyra's sworn shield. They had been offered the service of Ser Rickard Thorne as well, but Daemon insisted he did not need a sworn guard when Dark Sister served him.

 "Are you sure you should be out here?" Daemon asked for the umpteenth time since they had left her rooms.

"Ask me that again I am going to push you down the stairs," Rhaenyra puffed, shaking her head. Daemon laughed.

"Do you want to sit down?" 

"Wait until we get to the bench by the cranberry bush," she said. Daemon rolled his eyes, tightening his hold on her arm. 

"I do not know how you can eat cranberries," Daemon scoffed. "Dreadfully bitter things. Rhaenys was the same when we were children, she would eat them until she made herself sick." He shook his head. 

Rhaenyra cocked her head thoughtfully, "I cannot imagine you as a child."

"No?" Daemon chuckled. "Well, I was not much different than I am now, only smaller."

"That, I doubt," Rhaenyra replied. She hummed. "What do you suppose the babe shall look like?" 

"Small." 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "I mean, do you think he shall look more like you or me?"

"Somewhere in between I suppose," Daemon shrugged. 

"That is not very descriptive," Rhaenyra said, sinking onto the bench as they reached it. 

Daemon laughed, "what is it you want to hear?"

"I do not know," Rhaenyra sighed. "Do you think they shall have your eyes or mine?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well... no, but it is fun to think about, is it not?"

"Is it?" Daemon asked. Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow. Daemon sighed. "My eyes," he said. "But we should hope for his sake that he has your ears, I did not grow into mine until I was eight and ten." Rhaenyra giggled. "The court shall be delighted by him."

"Of course they shall," Rhaenyra said. "He is to be their future King." She smiled, placing her hand on her swollen stomach.

"Have you thought much about returning to King's Landing?" Daemon asked.

"Why would I do that?"

"The babe shall need to be presented at court sometime," Daemon shrugged. 

"I suppose," Rhaenyra muttered. She was not eager to walk willingly into the viper's nest. 

"It would be for the best if we do so before the next Hightower whelp arrives, yes?" 

"Yes," Rhaenyra agreed. She certainly did not want to be in King's Landing while everyone was fawning over Alicent. How the daughter of a second son with nothing to his name could garner so much attention, Rhaenyra did not understand. "How - do you think the court was bothered by my mother being half-Arryn?" 

"No," Daemon replied. "She was Lord Arryn's daughter, she was not a Targaryen Princess, why would they care?"

"She was a Targaryen Queen," Rhaenyra said. Daemon nodded. 

"They did not care much for Rhaenys and poor Jocelyn," he said. "Few wanted to see Aemon succeed with a Baratheon Queen."

"But they will tolerate a Hightower?" Rhaenyra scoffed.

"Times change, as do people," Daemon said glumly. "Of course, Orys Baratheon was supposedly a bastard, so that did not help much. The Hightowers have been connected to the Faith for generations, people shall not want to make an enemy of them." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "I do not know what your father expects to gain for having another Princeling with her," Daemon said. "Does he truly want to risk giving the Andals four dragons?" 

"None of the other eggs have hatched," Rhaenyra shrugged.

"That does not mean they cannot claim their mounts."

"What dragon would choose to be ridden by a Hightower?" Rhaenyra laughed. 

"They are still the sons and daughter of a King," Daemon said. "It would make sense for him to want them to have them even if his days in the skies are no more."

"Alicent will not, she is terrified of them."

"Alicent will have to allow it, for legitimacy. Who wants to follow a half-Hightower who has never flown a dragon? At least Viserys was of impeccable lineage and the last rider of Balerion." 

"Then let us hope she does not," Rhaenyra said. "Do you think our babe's egg shall hatch?"

"I do not think there is anyway of knowing," Daemon sighed.

"But if you were to guess, uncle?"

"Sure," Daemon shrugged. 

"Do you think it shall look like its egg?"

"Syrax did," Daemon replied.

"What was Syrax's egg like?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Not as interesting as this one, I must say," Daemon replied. "It was big and yellow, and hotter than the others." 

"Syrax is yellow," Rhaenyra hummed. "Do you think this dragon will be gold? Or silver, like the little markings?"

"Either. Both, mayhaps."

"Both?"

"Meleys is red and pink, Dreamfyre is blue and silver," Daemon shrugged. "Dragons can have more colouring than just the one." Rhaenyra nodded. 

"I hope it hatches soon," she said. "I would love to see the look on Alicent's face when we take the future King to King's Landing with his dragon." Daemon laughed. 

"Anything from Viserys today?"

"Surprisingly not," Rhaenyra replied. "Hopefully he has realised writing about it shall not make the babe come sooner." Daemon laughed again. 

"When do you think the babe shall come?" he asked.

"The maester said any day now," Rhaenyra said. "Although he has been saying that for nearly a fortnight." 

"And does that - does that worry you?" 

"It did, but the midwives said first pregnancies are most likely to be all over the place," Rhaenyra replied. "They often come sooner or later than expected, and more so than later pregnancies." 

"How are you getting on with the midwives?"

"Well enough," Rhaenyra shrugged. "They are here to help me give birth, not be my friends, but they are certainly more comforting than the maesters." Daemon nodded. 

"Well, it should be over with soon, right?"

"Yes, I do hope so." Rhaenyra rubbed her hand over her stomach. The discomfort was growing almost unbearable, and she was desperate enough for it to end that she forgot her fears. Daemon's hand joined hers, pressing over her stomach as if searching for signs of life. "I think he is sleeping now," Rhaenyra told him. "He has been still for some time." Daemon nodded. 

"Does he move a lot?"

"Not as much as he used to."

"Does it hurt?"

"Only when he kicks. He is a strong one, I know that." 

"Well, let us hope he is as good at wielding a sword as he is kicking his mother," Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra nodded. "If he is anything like his father, he shall be better than the Hightower whelps at any rate," he said proudly. Rhaenyra smiled.

"Of course he shall." 

____________

 Daemon had always been an early riser. As a boy, he had squires drills to run while the knights were training in the courtyard, so if he wanted to use any of the weapons before the blunted he had to be there at practically first light, and he supposed he had never grown out of it, the only exception being mornings when he was too hungover to move, in which case he would spend half the day abed. Generally, Daemon saw spending too much time in bed as a waste of one's life. When he had told Rhaenyra this after they first wed, of course she had not agreed. 

 Daemon did his best not to disturb her when he woke each morning, walking so softly he was practically tip-toeing like a child trying not to get caught misbehaving as he dressed himself and collected Dark Sister before leaving. Rhaenyra did not move an inch, still wrapped in the many sheets and furs she had insisted on having 

 Most mornings, he could walk the entire distance to the training yard without running into a single person. On this morning, however, Daemon had only just reached the staircase when he almost walked into Maester Gerardys, Dragonstone's short maester with thick, dark hair. "My Prince," he greeted, bowing his head.

"Maester," Daemon said, shifting so he could pass him.

"My Prince," the man said again, urgency rising in his voice. Daemon rolled his eyes, stopping in his tracks and turning to glare at the man now a couple of steps above him.

"What?"

"The King -"

"He has sent another raven?" Daemon groaned. 

"No, my Prince, he is here, and -"

"What?" Daemon demanded, narrowing his eyes at the small man. 

"He is in the Throne Room, my Prince, he wishes to meet with you or the Princess,"  Gerardys said hurriedly.

"Me or the - he expects Rhaenyra to receive him in her condition?" Daemon scoffed.

"I did try to explain to him, my Prince," Gerardys muttered. "But he insists." Daemon rolled his eyes.

"Do not bother Rhaenyra with this," he said, raising a hand, "especially not at this hour. I will see to the fool we are forced to call a King, you just ensure she is being kept comfortable."

"Yes, my Prince." 

  The Throne Room of Dragonstone was usually a cold room of stone, but the hearths had been lit with orange flames to add light and warmth. Three rows of stone steps between platforms designed to look like dragon scales led up to the old stone throne. Behind the throne was a large triangular window that looked over the dark, smoky dragonmont, decorated with bars of dark black iron arranged into Valyrian symbols, most meaning 'fire' and 'blood'. Viserys was stood in the doorway, with Ser Harrold to his right. The King was clad in all black, including his leather gloves, with the Conqueror's dagger on his hip, although the buckle of his belt was a heavy gold, and the inside of his cloak was a dark red. He was pointing to the Throne, showing the dragonmont in the distance to Aegon. Viserys' son was dressed in a black tunic with silver detailing, with a red collar and cuffs, covered in a grey cloak. In one hand, he held a wooden dragon, and in the other he had a small wooden sword with a blunted end. 

 "Ah, Daemon," Viserys greeted jovially as he heard his brother march into the room. He turned from Aegon, holding his arms out widely. "You are looking well."

"You are not," Daemon returned. His brother's face had a greenish tinge to it, as if he was going to be or had been sick, and his eyes appeared bloodshot. 

"He is so rude to me, your uncle, is he not?" Viserys said, waving a hand in Daemon's direction, although his eyes were on Aegon. The small boy giggled, waving his sword around. 

"Why are you here, Viserys?" Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow. Viserys' smile faltered. "Rhaenyra is pregnant and -"

"You think I do not know that?" Viserys chuckled. "We know Rhaenyra is going to have a babe, do we not?"

"Babe," Aegon agreed, nodding his head. 

"Why are you here?" Daemon asked again, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"My daughter is going to have a babe, I wanted to be here," Viserys said, frowning. "Why is that a problem for you? I am her father. I want to meet my grandchild." 

"Do you truly not understand why your being here may make this already stressful experience even worse?"

"Oh, this is my fault is it?" Viserys scoffed. "You - " he wagged his finger at Daemon "- are the one who put - who did that with my daughter." 

"Did what?" Aegon asked, frowning. Daemon smirked. 

"Not now, Aegon," Viserys puffed. He wiped his brow with a red cloth. Aegon pouted. "Where is Rhaenyra?"

"She is in bed," Daemon drawled, "in her apartments, at the top of Sea Dragon Tower and she shall not be making herself walk down here for you."

"We shall go to see her then."

"You will let her rest." 

Viserys sighed. "Fine, fine. We shall see her later, then."

"Is it just the two of you?" Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed, just Aegon and I," Viserys replied. "Alicent is expecting too, you know."

"Rhaenyra told me, yes."

"Our Aegon here -" Viserys placed his hand on Aegon's shoulder "- is going to choose an egg to put the cradle of his new little brother or sister."

Aegon nodded, "I will get a dragon egg." 

"Of course, because you have had so much luck with the last three," Daemon said drily. Viserys frowned at him. 

"I hope you intend to be more encouraging with your own children," he said. Daemon shrugged. 

"Rhaenyra will not be up for some time yet, would you like to break your fast, or are you off to the dragonmont?"

"The dragonmont?" Viserys puzzled, his frown deepening. "Why- why would I be going up there?"

"Where else would you find an egg for your next Hightower spawn?" 

"Daemon," Viserys snarled. Daemon raised his eyebrows. Viserys shook his head at him. 

"Why are you cross, Pa?" Aegon questioned. 

"I - I am not cross, Aegon," Viserys said, forcing a smile. "I fear the dragonmont will be a bit too much for him -" Viserys gestured to his son "- would you have the dragonkeepers bring some eggs here - only three or so - and he can choose his favourite?" 

"You have legs, ask them yourself," Daemon said. Viserys frowned. "I have better things to do with my time." 

"Please, Daemon, Aegon and I can hardly go all that way," Viserys said. "And I am sure the bigger dragons may frighten him."

"No," Aegon protested, waving his sword around. "I am not scared." 

"I will have someone bring some eggs out to the courtyard for you," Daemon sighed. Viserys smiled. Aegon clapped, dropping his toys onto the floor with a clatter. 

  After Daemon had sent a pair of squires up to the dragonmont, he finally reached the training yard. Most of his usual sparring partners had finished for the day, so Daemon had to deal with the more sluggish members of the garrison, those who were older or slower to rise in the mornings, while breakfast was sent to the Great Hall for Viserys and his son. 

 Rhaenyra was still asleep when Daemon returned to her bedchamber. Not wanting to disturb her, he had the maids prepare him a bath in his own chambers across the hall. When he returned, clad in a long black tunic and dark red breeches, she had only just begun to stir. "Hello," he greeted her, running his hand over the egg in the cradle. Rhaenyra turned to look at him, her head not rising from her pillow.

"You - you look nice," she said through a yawn. Daemon chuckled. 

"As do you," he returned. Rhaenyra scoffed, shaking her head. "Are you hungry?"

"Not truly."

"I think you should eat."

"If you insist," Rhaenyra said weakly. Daemon nodded and marched out of the room to call for breakfast. Ser Lorent had appeared, taking his place outside his wife's door although Daemon had insisted it was unnecessary while he was there. Ser Lorent nodded to him as he passed, but Daemon ignored him. 

 Breakfast that morning was rather lacklustre, although Daemon could hardly blame the cooks after being surprised with the appearance of the King. Rhaenyra had a bowl of porridge, sweetened with honey and nutmeg although still she was reluctant to eat, while he had duck sausages, quail eggs, fried mushrooms, and blood oranges from Dorne, with a weak red wine from Pentos to wash it down. "How fares you this morning?" Daemon asked of his wife. 

Rhaenyra let out a weak chuckle, "well, I have certainly felt better, but I am to bathe soon so I hope that will ease some of the discomfort. I am growing rather sick of this." She gestured to her swollen stomach. Daemon leaned over to place a hand on it. There was no movement from the child this time, but during the previous evening he had felt him kick twice while they sat in front of the fireplace. 

"It is weird to think that these little meals of ours shall soon be accompanied by the shrieking of a babe," he chuckled.

"No," Rhaenyra said, frowning. "Our child will be better behaved than that."

Daemon laughed. "All babes cry, Rhaenyra, if they do not then there is something wrong."

"Not every morning all through breakfast."

"Well, no, I should hope not," Daemon said. Rhaenyra nodded. "Have you thought much of names?" Rhaenyra cocked her head. "I know you said you wanted to wait for the babe to be here to choose, but you must have some idea."

"I have been reading old tomes of Valyrian history," she replied. Daemon nodded.

"I think Alysanne did the same, or perhaps she just knew the histories by the time her sons were born, she and Jaehaerys spent a lot of the first year of their marriage here." 

"They had a son called Aegon first, did they not?"

"Indeed, but he died in the cradle." 

"Oh dear." Rhaenyra raised her cup of sweetened milk to her mouth. "Did they name him for the Conqueror or their dead brother?"

Daemon shrugged, "you know, I never asked. I would presume both." 

"You have a dead brother called Aegon too," Rhaenyra said pointedly.

"Indeed." Daemon shook his head. It had been close to thirty years since his brother had been found cold and blue in his crib, and Daemon now struggled to recall what the boy had looked like. "That was before the Hightowers tarnished the name of course," he said. Rhaenyra scoffed. Daemon glanced over his shoulder as there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" he called. 

"Forgive me, my Prince, but the dragonkeepers are here," Ser Lorent said, sticking his head around the door. Daemon nodded, waving a hand dismissively at the man. Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow.

"Dragonkeepers?" she questioned. "What do you want with them?"

"Would you like some news on your brother Aegon?" Daemon asked.

"Half-brother," Rhaenyra said coolly. "And not really."

"No?"

"Go on then."

"He is here."

"What?" Rhaenyra puffed, leaning back in her chair to glower at him. 

"Yes," Daemon sighed. "Your father thought it wise to come here to see you and the babe, and he brought that little brat with him." Rhaenyra groaned, covering her face with her hands. "They want an egg for the one Hightower is carrying, but Viserys did not actually want to take his son to the dragonmont, so he has had some eggs brought here to choose from. He thinks the boy will be scared of Vermithor."

"I do not care what he is scared of, this is my castle and we told him he could not just turn up uninvited and expect hospitality," Rhaenyra groaned. Daemon finished the last of his sausages. 

"I shall see to them, my beloved," he said. 

"Good, and keep that brat away from me!" 

"I will, I will." Daemon rose from his seat, leaning across to press a kiss to her cheek. "Feel free to have one of these eggs, I will not eat them," he said, gesturing to his plate. Rhaenyra shook her head. 

  The Great Hall was a vast stone room carved into the shape of a dragon with never enough flames to make it feel warm. The doors were a dark red, in the shape of the dragon's mouth. The walls were adorned with Targaryen banners and statues stood in the far corners, one of Aegon the Dragon and the other his mount, Balerion, and the furthest wall to the left was decorated in rich tapestries displaying the greatest battles of the Conquest. The wooden table was held upon a great wooden dais, where Viserys and Aegon were seated, Viserys enjoying a bowl of candied plums while Aegon was bashing two wooden knights together. 

 "Ah, Daemon." Viserys smiled warmly as Daemon approached them, marching up the wooden steps, past Ser Harrold. 

"Your eggs have arrived from the hatcheries," he said. Aegon squealed with delight. 

"Good, good," Viserys said, rubbing his hands together. He had removed his gloves to eat and Daemon could see the swelling on his hand, unaffected by the removal of his two fingers. Viserys stared at the doorway. "And - and where is Rhaenyra?" he inquired after a pause. Daemon scoffed.

"As I have said, she is in her apartments, and will not be trekking down those steps in her condition," he said coldly. 

"Right, yes, yes," Viserys muttered. "We can see her later. Come on Aegon, eggs."

"Dragon eggs!" Aegon exclaimed happily, bounding from his seat and down the wooden steps. Viserys followed at a much more sluggish pace, trying to force his gloves into place as he walked. 

"You are both enjoying Dragonstone, then?" Viserys asked, as Daemon reached the last of the steps. "One has to assume that you are, you have not visited the Capital once since you left."

"Yes, we are very happy here," Daemon said stiffly. Viserys nodded, forcing a smile. 

"Good, good."

"Why did you not write ahead?" Daemon asked, frowning. "You know we told you not to turn up without leave."

"I - I have been writing," Viserys grunted. "And Rhaenyra seldom responds. Which is - which is understandable given her condition, but I felt it best to just -"

"You could have written to the maester, then," Daemon said coolly. 

"I could have, yes, but -"

"But you did not. Instead you decided to just turn up at our castle with Alicent Hightower's son when Rhaenyra could go into labour any day," Daemon drawled.

"He is my son, too," Viserys puffed. "Your nephew." Daemon scoffed. 

"Why him?"

"What?"

"Why not bring the others?"

"Oh, Aemond is far too small," Viserys said. "Far too small, and Alicent refused to allow Helaena to come, she is scared of the dragonmont herself." 

"And your wife?"

"I did not imagine Rhaenyra would take to her presence well," Viserys sighed. "Alicent did wish to come, but... it is for the best she did not, I imagine."

"And yet you assumed Rhaenyra would take to your sudden appearance kindly?" Daemon snorted. 

"She is my daughter."

"She is a woman-grown, my wife."

"You do not understand," Viserys hissed. "You do not have children... yet. Rhaenyra, I - I worry for her."

"How kind."

"You know what happened to Aemma, Daemon," Viserys snapped, his voice raised. 

"Yes, yes," Daemon said, his eyes narrowing at the King. "But never fear, luckily for Rhaenyra her husband is not willing to risk her life for something that came to him in a bloody dream." Daemon shook his head. Viserys' face turned very sad as he bowed his head, his eyes on the floor. Daemon pretended not to notice as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. 

"Do - do you think Rhaenyra knows?" he choked.

"Of course," Daemon replied.

"You did not -"

"I did not have to," Daemon shrugged. "I do not know how she knows, but she has for some time." Viserys groaned. "Interestingly, she also knows how quickly your attentions turned to the Lady Hightower."

Viserys scoffed, "six moons is a perfectly respectable amount of time to -"

"Oh, so she did not enter your chambers alone the very night Aemma passed?" Daemon inquired hotly, raising an eyebrow. Viserys sighed. "Tell me, did you think Jaehaerys would be proud of you when you drove that knife into his granddaughter?" Daemon hissed. "Would Baelon? You named the child for him after all." Viserys wiped his eyes again. 

"You do not know of which you speak," he said glumly. "The pressure I was under was -" he shook his head. "I hope for Rhaenyra's sake you give her a son before she ascends." 

"Eggs, Pa!" Aegon shouted. He had rushed out of the room, but now he hurried back in, glaring at his father impatiently. 

"You are right, I do not know," Daemon chuckled. "Because I would never allow the words of a Hightower and Strong to take such precedence in my life."

"No, you would discard it entirely," Viserys puffed.

"I would," Daemon agreed. "And I am sure Rhaenyra will thank me for it." Viserys hung his head again. 

  The dragon eggs had been taken to the courtyard, carried in cases of steel. As they were opened, puffs of smoke hit the crisp morning air and the eggs themselves appeared to hiss. Aegon giggled, clapping his hands excitedly, his toys now in the hands of Ser Harrold. "Which one is most to your liking, Aegon?" Viserys asked him. Aegon hurried forward, peering down at each of the eggs in turn. 

 The first egg was smaller than the others, its scales a pale blue with a white spiral in the centre. The second was larger, its green scales gleaming like jagged pieces of emerald. The third was by far the largest, a pale pink with jet black tiger stripes. The fourth was a dull copper colour no larger than the second. The fifth and last of the eggs was mostly black with strips of pale blue. It was smaller than the third and fourth, but bigger than the second. 

 Aegon took his time selecting the egg, frowning whenever the dragonkeeper used his staff to block the boy's hands from their hot scales. His paid attention to the pink egg for a while, but eventually he decided upon the egg of black and blue. He clapped as the dragonkeeper took it from the case, holding it out to Viserys, who waved a hand at him. Instead, Ser Harrold took the egg, tucking it under his arm as they walked back towards the castle. "Be careful," Aegon told him. "That is the best egg."

"I will, Prince Aegon," Ser Harrold replied. "Do not worry."

"Good." 

"When is the babe due?" Daemon asked, as they turned back towards the Entrance Hall. 

"Oh, not for at least six months," Viserys said. 

"Why not wait for Dreamfyre to bring a clutch then?" 

"Aegon has never been to Dragonstone before," Viserys shrugged.

"Why does he need to?" Daemon asked, frowning. "He is not the Prince of Dragonstone, nor shall he be." 

"No, he is not, but he is still a Targaryen," Viserys said. "This is still the seat of his ancestors." Daemon scoffed. Viserys shook his head. "You are too unkind." 

"I am a Targaryen Prince," Daemon snapped, inhaling sharply through his teeth. "Son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, grandson of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, I will not be insulted by the spawn of a Hightower masquerading as one of mine own. Your little wife is not even the daughter of a Lord. It is embarrassing." Viserys stared at him. He swallowed, shaking his head, but did not say anything. Daemon walked away. 

  "What is for luncheon?" Viserys asked, once they reached the Entrance Hall. He was no longer even forcing a smile. Daemon turned on him, his brow creased.

"Luncheon?" he repeated.

"Yes," Viserys replied icily. "Are you unfamiliar with it? The meal you have around noon, between breaking your fast and dinner." 

"Can you not eat upon your return to the Keep?" Daemon asked. "You have retrieved your egg now, have you not?" 

"We hardly came all this way just for that," Viserys scoffed. "No, no, we shall stay until the babe is born and Rhaenyra is well again." 

"Until... are you insane? That could be moons," Daemon protested. 

"Why is that a problem?" Viserys asked. 

Daemon felt his eyes would bulge out of his head. "Why is that a problem?" he repeated incredulously. "You cannot just turn up at our castle and expect to be housed here for moons. Take your Hightower brat and piss off back to the Capital, Viserys. Rhaenyra is stressed enough as is." 

"While your concern for my daughter is gallant," Viserys drawled, his voice dripping with loathing, "I am still your King." 

"You are a pain in my arse," Daemon grumbled. "Do you not have a Council to run? Petitions to attend to?"

"Lord Lyonel is more than capable of doing so in my absence."

"Brilliant," Daemon scoffed, shaking his head. "Just brilliant." Viserys glared at him. "So we have a Hightower playing at Queen and a Strong playing at King." 

"Hold your tongue," Viserys snarled. Daemon rolled his eyes. "Aegon is a growing boy, he needs food, so go and have your -"

"I am not your fucking manservant," Daemon hissed.

"Perhaps not, but you are a poor host," Viserys puffed.

"My wife is heavily pregnant and I am trying to run this damn island while she is abed, making you feel welcome is far from my priority. If you want food, go to the fucking hall again, there are usually servants there." 

"And our rooms?"

"You can be housed in Stone Drum."

"Splendid," Viserys replied. Daemon did not say anything more before marching away. "And Daemon?" the King called after him. Daemon cursed under his breath. "Do see how Rhaenyra is doing, will you? I would like to see her." 

  The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the washroom, and a light breeze blew in through the gap under the window. "Until I have recovered?" Rhaenyra repeated, dropping her head into her hands. Daemon nodded, throwing his boots to the floor. "I do not want them here at all, but certainly not for that long."

"King's Landing shall not miss them," Daemon said coldly. Still, Rhaenyra groaned. "He wants to come up and see you."

"Certainly not," Rhaenyra sniffed. "They took an egg, then?"

"Yes," Daemon replied. "Rather unremarkable thing, mostly coal black but with some faint blue lines. Smaller than most and not especially warm." 

"Do you suspect it shall hatch?"

"Only time shall tell." 

"I suppose," Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"Are you hungry, Princess?" Darla asked, as she and Celia returned to the washroom. 

"No," Rhaenyra replied. 

"Is the water not too cold?" Daemon asked, dipping his hand into it. It was still warm, but not as hot as Rhaenyra would have liked it. 

"It will suffice," Rhaenyra sighed. 

"If you say so," Daemon said, shaking the droplets from his hand. 

  Viserys had at least had the decency to wait until after dinner to force his way into Rhaenyra's rooms. Daemon had been hoping that the man would take the hint and leave them be for the day, but that was too much to ask for. "King Viserys Targaryen," Ser Lorent announced, as Daemon poured Dornish strongwine into a goblet. He offered the wine jug to Rhaenyra, but she shook her head. The Princess of Dragonstone pursed her lips as she turned her head, watching as Viserys marched towards them.

"Rhaenyra," Viserys greeted warmly, holding out his arms. "How good it is to see you."

"Father," Rhaenyra replied stiffly. Viserys' smile faltered. "What are you doing here?"

"Did - did Daemon not tell you? I wanted to see you, and the babe." Viserys stroked his chin. 

"And why would you do that?" Rhaenyra asked. Daemon sipped his wine. 

"I have not seen you in moons, my daughter," Viserys replied. "And I wanted to be the first to meet my first grandchild." He smiled warmly at her, but Rhaenyra did not return the gesture. 

"And you could not wait until we presented him in King's Landing?" she sniffed. "Or until he is born at the very least?"

"I had wanted to see how you were doing." 

"Were your incessant letters not enough?" Rhaenyra scoffed. Viserys frowned. 

"I only worry for you," he said. "You know - your mother, she was not -"

"You should not have come," Rhaenyra told him coldly. Viserys' face fell. Daemon thought he looked rather like a child who had been sent to bed without sweets rather than a man who had seen forty name-days. 

"I worried for you," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. "I wanted to help, to -"

"Your worries are not my concern," Rhaenyra snapped. "Do you think I do not have enough of my own at present?"

"You - you and Daemon both have never done this before, I have," Viserys said. "I can -"

"Yes, and your interference went so well for my mother, did it not?" Rhaenyra spat. Viserys hung his head. "If I had wanted you here, Father, I would have invited you, but I did not, and I certainly do not need Alicent Hightower's son here. Are you truly such a fool you are unaware of how this looks?"

"Pray tell, how does it look?" Viserys sighed.

"It looks -" Rhaenyra swallowed, shaking her head. "It looks as though you are waiting for me to die," she whispered. Viserys' eyes widened. "So that you may give my seat to Aegon." 

"You truly think I would want that?" Viserys asked, frowning. 

"The truth does not matter, Father, only perception," Rhaenyra said coldly. "Is that not what you declared? My womanhood has always been my weakness, as admitted by yourself, and here you are bringing your firstborn son to Dragonstone whilst I am awaiting childbirth. How else can that be perceived?" 

"Aegon came only to choose an egg," Viserys said, his voice little more than a whisper. "Alicent is with child again, and there were no eggs in the Pit that the dragonkeepers considered likely to hatch."

"It could have waited," Rhaenyra puffed. 

"The babe is not due until the end of the year," Daemon added. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

"I have upset you," Viserys sighed. 

"Yes, you have," Rhaenyra agreed. 

"Your mother would have wanted to be with you."

"Well, she cannot," Rhaenyra sniffed. "Because she is dead." 

"Well, I am not dead, and I want to be here to meet the future King or Queen." 

"You shall keep your son away from me," Rhaenyra said. Viserys frowned. "I do not need to deal with his tantrums in this condition."

"Fine," Viserys relented. "How are you, anyway? I did not come to argue." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. Viserys crossed the distance between them, reaching over Daemon's shoulder to take a cherry from the bowl on the table. "Is all well with you and the babe?"

"As I have told you in many letters, all is well as far as the midwives can tell," Rhaenyra replied, taking a cherry herself. 

"This is nice," Viserys said, gesturing to the egg in the cradle. "Has Syrax laid a clutch?"

"No," Daemon replied. "We believe it to be Silverwing's." Viserys nodded.

"Helaena drew something for you." Viserys took a folded up piece of parchment from his pocket and offered it to Rhaenyra. When she unfolded it, Daemon saw what he supposed to be a yellow flower with a long, green stem. "She said yellow would be your favourite, like Syrax," Viserys explained. Rhaenyra hummed. "How is Syrax?"

"She and Caraxes have taken to the island well," Rhaenyra muttered, evidently still annoyed. 

"I imagine she has grown," Viserys said.

"Indeed."

"Are you interested in visiting our grandparents' mounts?" Daemon asked. Viserys laughed. "One may take a liking to you."

"As dinner, perhaps," Viserys chuckled. "No, my riding days are behind me, on a dragon or anything else." 

"You never know, Vermithor has been the mount of a King before, mayhaps he misses it."

"Then perhaps he may take a liking to your son," Viserys replied. "But not I, I am done with such business." He shook his head as he reached for another cherry. Rhaenyra batted his hand away. He frowned. 

"I am eating those," she huffed. Viserys nodded, crossing his arms over his chest like a child in a sulk. Daemon smirked. "How is Stone Drum?"

"As I remembered it," Viserys replied. "Aemon and Jocelyn used to keep their rooms there, as did my father, I recall it well. It is a cold castle, not bursting with life and luxury like the Red Keep, Dragonstone was always meant to be a fortress." 

"A fortified castle is not a bad thing," Rhaenyra said. 

"No," Viserys relented. "But it is still awfully cold."

"Did you bring maids for your son?"

"No," Viserys replied. "But, Ser Harrold is with us, and Ser Steffon, so he shall be safe." Daemon snorted. "What?"

"Your men of the Kingsguard are not trained as wet nurses, Viserys."

"Aegon is too old for that, he is four, Daemon." 

"Who is to care for him while you are here then?" Rhaenyra questioned.

Viserys frowned, "he is my son, I shall."

"You shall -" Rhaenyra shook her head. "If you say so. He was pleased with the eggs, then?"

"Very much so," Viserys replied, nodding. 

"With respect, I would like to bathe now," Rhaenyra told him. "If you would not mind -"

"Yes, yes," Viserys said. "I shall take my leave for the night. I shall hope to see you tomorrow." Rhaenyra did not reply, reaching for a cherry, while Daemon watched the King leave. 

"Bugger for poor Ser Harrold then," he muttered. Rhaenyra laughed. 

____________

  "Breathe, Princess, breathe," urged one of the midwives. 

 Daemon bowed his head. 

 He could hear Rhaenyra straining from where he was standing in the doorway. She was hidden from him by a white curtain that now wrapped around her bed, which only her midwives had been permitted to breach. The midwives had tried to remove him at least half a dozen times already, but he was unrelenting. He could not leave her, not now.

 Her breaths were laboured, and Daemon's heart pounded in time with them, the sound echoing in his ears as if his head was being beaten like a drum. For close to ten hours he had been standing out there, and he had grown tired of drinking and pacing, now leaning against the wall and waiting. 

 He hated waiting. 

 "Daemon," he heard her cry out, her voice hoarse. 

"Rhaenyra?" he called in response, his head peering around the door frame. 

"And push now, Princess," one of the midwives instructed. Rhaenyra wailed. 

"Rhaenyra?" he called again. 

Rhaenyra only groaned, which soon turned into wailing. The sound pierced through Daemon's heart worse than an arrow, making him weak in the knees. He placed one hand on the wall for balance, his eyes searching the curtain for sign of movement, but he could see nothing. 

"And again," instructed the midwife. 

"Come on, Princess," urged Celia Strong. 

"I... I... I cannot," Rhaenyra croaked. 

"Push," urged another of the midwives. Rhaenyra cried out. 

"Water, Princess?" offered Primrose Celtigar.

"Not now," snapped the first midwife. "Push, Princess, push." 

 Daemon shook his head, his hand stroking his jaw as he heard Rhaenyra wail again. He was clad in only a pair of pale gold breeches and an undershirt he had never bothered to tie, his movements hurried when Rhaenyra had first started her labours, although she insisted he could not address the midwives in just his smallclothes. 

 "How is she, my Prince?"

 Daemon turned to see Maester Gerardys marching up towards him, the maester almost as peeved to be barred from the room as Daemon was. Daemon only gestured to the room, where Rhaenyra's crying and heaving breaths could be heard.

 "Everything is moving nicely, then?"

"If you say so," Daemon grunted. His voice did not sound like his own, raspy and hoarse as if he was a man who had crawled through the heat of a desert.

"If my assistance is required, I shall be in my rooms," the maester said. "The Princess knows where they are."

"Right," Daemon muttered, nodding, having no intention of calling for the grey rat. Maester Gerardys gave him a comforting smile before walking away again.

 "Push," the first midwife demanded again.

"Come on, Princess," urged Celia. Rhaenyra roared, her voice lower than it had been before, as if she intended to tear her throat apart. Daemon shivered, a chill running down his spine as he thought of his own mother, and the nightmares he had had of such sounds. 

"The head," one of the midwives gasped, although Daemon could hardly hear her over the thundering of his own heart. Rhaenyra wailed again. Daemon felt like banging his own head into the wall so he did not have to hear it any longer. 

"And again," instructed another. "Push." 

"Ah!" Rhaenyra cried out. 

 In an instant, her shrieks were accompanied by the wailing of a babe, and Daemon felt as though he would faint. He leaned against the doorway, his own chest heaving as he listened as best as he could to what the midwives were saying, although they spoke so softly he could not hear most of it. "Praise the Mother!" one midwife exclaimed. 

"Seven blessings to you both," said another. 

"Water, Princess?" Primrose offered again.

"Not now, girl," a midwife chastised her. "We still have the afterbirth to deal with."

 Daemon shivered as the babe - his babe - continued to cry out.

 "Watch it," chuckled one of the midwives. "This one kicks like a goat." Daemon heard Rhaenyra whisper something, but could not hear the words themselves. "Perfectly healthy," the midwife told her. 

"Very red though," said Primrose. Daemon heard a thump as someone - Rhaenyra, most likely - threw a pillow at her. 

 Soon, the midwives and ladies began to emerge from behind the sheet. Two of the midwives carried the babe, still covered in blood and whimpering slightly, into the washroom, while Primrose hurried past Daemon in search of a pot of tea, and Celia at last pulled back the curtain. 

 Rhaenyra looked better than Daemon had been expecting. 

 Her face was plastered with sweat, which one of the midwives was wiping away with a damp cloth, and she was paler than usual. Her silver-gold hair lay free from any braids, stray strands falling in front of her face, and her chest was still heaving. She wore only a white shift, which was stained with blood. 

 Daemon stumbled into the room as if there was some heavy weight on his back. He opened his mouth to call for her, but no sound came out. He licked his lips, finding his mouth incredibly dry. As he neared the bed, he could hear the sound of water sloshing, presumably the midwives cleansing the blood from his child's skin. 

 His child.

 Even the thought was hard for him to digest. After so many years, he finally had himself an heir. 

 "Rhaenyra," he whispered, turning to look at her. She opened her eyes, staring up at him. He smiled, reaching for her hand, squeezing it tightly. Rhaenyra clutched onto his tightly, her hands stained with blood from having their child in her arms. 

 Daemon practically fell onto his knees before the bed. He wiped her hair from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead as Primrose returned with a teapot, Darla Strong and Annora Hunter in tow. "How are you, Princess?" Darla asked. Rhaenyra only groaned. 

"You did perfectly," Daemon told her, reverting to their mother tongue. Rhaenyra smiled at him, but did not reply. He squeezed her hand again. "Are you in a dreadful deal of pain?"

"Yes," Rhaenyra gasped out in the Common Tongue. 

"Someone get her milk of the poppy," Daemon demanded. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. "How fares the babe?" 

"Healthy, my Prince," one of the midwives replied, before Rhaenyra had a chance to. Again, she nodded. 

"Ah, here we are." A second midwife brought out the babe, now swaddled in wrappings of black and red. Rhaenyra sighed, holding out her arms so she could hold the child close to her, resting her head atop of the thin layer of soft hair. 

"Milk of the poppy, Princess," another midwife offered her. Rhaenyra sat up so she could accept the cup, which she drained instantly. Primrose placed a cup of tea for her on the bedside table, stealing a glance at the child's face. They were peaceful now, no longer shrieking. 

"So sweet," Rhaenyra praised, stroking a lock of hair with the side of her finger. 

"You shall need to bathe too, Princess," one of the midwives said. 

"We shall fetch some clean water," offered Annora. Darla nodded her agreement. Neither of the women had been eager to be in the birthing chamber at all, claiming to be squeamish at the smell of blood, which still lingered throughout the room. 

"May I?" Daemon asked. Rhaenyra glanced at the babe's serene face, before nodding, and lowering the child into Daemon's awaiting arms. While the Princess of Dragonstone reached for her tea, Daemon rocked the child gently. 

"Is he not the most perfect thing?" Rhaenyra sighed, cocking her head as she drank in the sight of the two of them.

"He?" Daemon repeated. Rhaenyra nodded.

"Indeed," she said. "In your arms you hold the future King of Westeros." Daemon hummed, smoothing his son's hair. It was a brilliant shade of silver, but already he could see the traces of gold, so alike Rhaenyra's. 

"He is a big thing," he chuckled.

"Small but robust, the - the midwife said," Rhaenyra replied through a yawn. Daemon nodded. Rhaenyra scowled as they heard someone drop something in the washroom. 

"What are you doing?" demanded one of the midwives.

"Only changing the water," Darla retorted defensively. Daemon snorted. 

"Can you tell your friends to piss off?" Daemon asked, glancing at Celia on the other side of the bed.

"Daemon-" Rhaenyra protested. He waved a hand dismissively at her. 

"We shall call for you when the Princess is ready to bathe," Daemon said. Celia nodded, jerking her head in the direction of the washroom so that Primrose would follow her. 

  Returning the babe - his son - to Rhaenyra's arms, Daemon next shooed the midwives out of the bedchamber, all four older women in garments of red and cream. They were still flapping about like geese, trying to get their hands on the babe again, but Daemon shut the door on them. 

 "He looks like you," Daemon said, sinking onto the bed beside his wife as he returned to her. Rhaenyra chuckled.

"You do not think it a bit early to tell?"

"Not at all." 

"If you say so," Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon watched as their son wriggled in her arms, his little feet kicking at the blankets surrounding him. "He has a strong kick to him, they tell me."

"We knew that," Daemon chuckled, thinking of all the times Rhaenyra complained about him hitting against her ribs. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "He shall be a fine warrior." 

"You shall make sure of it, I know," Rhaenyra said. Daemon smirked. 

"And an even better dragonrider."

"I do hope so." Rhaenyra glanced at the cradle, where the egg still lay. 

"So, have you thought of a name for the future King yet?" Daemon asked. "I am willing to offer suggestions."

"Aemon," Rhaenyra said, tracing his nose with her finger. "Aemon Targaryen."

"Aemon?" Daemon repeated, frowning.

"Yes," Rhaenyra replied stiffly, sensing his displeasure. "For my mother, Aemma." 

"It is a lovely idea, but -"

"But?" Rhaenyra scoffed. "You are going to disagree with the name of my son. The son I just spent hours birthing you?"

"Rhaenyra, you have to listen to me," Daemon sighed. "He is perfect and I will never be able to repay you, truly, but - but we cannot call the future King Aemon, not when -"

"When what?" his wife demanded. 

"Are you unaware that that was the name of Rhaenys' father?" Daemon asked.

"So?"

"So, Aemon was Prince of Dragonstone, and he would have been King had he not died when he did," Daemon replied. "Rhaenys could easily take offence to us naming our son - the future Prince of Dragonstone - for her father without her leave."

"He is not named for her father," Rhaenyra sniffed. "He is named for my mother." 

"Aemon only died when I was a boy, Rhaenyra, people will assume he was named for him, the Velaryons amongst them." 

"What do I care what the Velaryons makes of my son's name?" Rhaenyra demanded. 

"You know the precarious position we hold with the House Velaryon at present," Daemon replied. "We cannot risk doing something so to insult them and turn them to Alicent's side, they already have the Lannisters. Perhaps we shall have other children you can name for Aemma -" Daemon noticed her frown - "or perhaps not, but -"

"You have made your point," Rhaenyra snapped. 

"I would still like to call him Baelon, for my father," Daemon muttered.

"No," Rhaenyra said, shaking her head. "It was not so long ago my mother birthed a babe named Baelon, father may be hurt by the suggestion, especially given - well, you know." Daemon nodded glumly. 

"What of Gaemon then?" he suggested. "That is similar to Aemon, is it not?"

"Awfully similar to Daemon too," Rhaenyra retorted. "You do not want people questioning your ego too much, uncle." Daemon laughed. Rhaenyra cocked her head as she stared down at their child, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Aerys," she whispered.

"Pardon?"

"Aerys Targaryen," Rhaenyra declared. 

"Is that not too similar to Viserys?" Daemon asked, scrunching his nose in disgust. Rhaenyra shook her head. "What of Aenar, for -"

"No." 

"Or Valerion?" Daemon suggested. Rhaenyra laughed.

"Like Balerion?"

"I - I suppose," Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra laughed again. "My grandmother had a son called Valerion, he did not -"

"Oh, what?" Rhaenyra asked. "I am sorry, I assumed you had made that one up. It is rather ridiculous."

"No," Daemon snorted. "Aenar is also somewhat like Aemma, you know?"

"Somewhat," Rhaenyra sighed, raising an eyebrow. "As is Aerys." 

"What of Aerion?" Daemon suggested. "He was the father of the Conqueror." 

"No," Rhaenyra replied. "You can object to Aemon, but you cannot object to them all. His name shall be Aerys." 

"Why?" Daemon puzzled.

"It suits him," Rhaenyra shrugged. Daemon tilted his head to better look at the babe's face. His eyes were open now, staring up at his mother. They were a dark shade of violet, somewhere between Rhaenyra's true purple and the pale lilac of Daemon's own irises. 

"Aerys," Daemon repeated. Rhaenyra nodded. "It sounds like you just combined the names of your parents, and -"

"There was an Aerys Targaryen on Dragonstone, in the days of -"

"Yes, yes, I know," Daemon puffed. "He was the son of the first Aegon, before the Conqueror." Rhaenyra nodded.

"Would you like to hold Prince Aerys?" she asked. Daemon clucked his tongue, but agreed, holding his arms out again. Immediately, the boy kicked his chest, trying to break free of his wrappings. Daemon hissed at him as one would while trying to soothe a horse. Rhaenyra laughed. "Maybe you should put him in his cradle?" she suggested.

"If you insist," Daemon said. He tickled under the boy's chin as he carried him towards the end of the bed. He placed him gently beside the egg, which the babe stared at with wide eyes. 

"Call my ladies back for my bath, please," Rhaenyra sighed.

"Do you not wish to rest first?"

"I feel disgusting, Daemon, look at me."

"Well, I did not want to say anything, but -"

"Oh, fuck you," Rhaenyra laughed, throwing a pillow at him. Daemon chuckled. 

  Daemon returned to his own chambers, the Conqueror's own, to bathe and change. He could see Caraxes and Syrax sunbathing from his window, Syrax resting her head on the base of Caraxes' neck, while the dark figure of Vhagar flew in the distance. Daemon pondered if they would be getting news of Laena Velaryon's wedding any time soon. 

 When he returned to Rhaenyra, he found that Viserys had already beaten him there. The King was dressed in a long robe of purple velvet over a shirt that was mostly black, but with gold around the cuffs and golden buttons down the middle. He had a bowl of candied orange slices in one of his gloved hands, the other resting on the table behind him. "Ah, Daemon," he greeted, smiling. Four days into his visit, neither Daemon or Rhaenyra had warmed to his or his son's presence, and so Daemon only nodded to him. 

"Hello," Rhaenyra said, smiling. She had returned to her bed, but she was now dressed in a nightgown of pale pink, wrapped in a silvery robe, and her hair had been tied in a loose braid.

"How are you?" Daemon asked. 

"As well as I could hope for," Rhaenyra replied.

"You look better than your mother ever did," Viserys told her. Rhaenyra scowled at him. Viserys turned to look at the fireplace behind him. "Are you not too warm?"

"No." 

"Oh, well... good. You should be comfortable." Viserys glanced at the doorway. "Will my grandson be here soon?"

"I do not know," Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon frowned, his eyes suddenly drawn to the empty cradle. "He has been taken to the wet nurse," Rhaenyra explained, noticing his confusion. "He has never seen her before, so I do not know how long he shall take." 

"Are you quite sure Aegon cannot come up and meet him?" Viserys asked.

"Where is your boy?" Daemon pondered.

"Ser Steffon took him to see the stables," Viserys replied. He turned his attention back to Rhaenyra, staring at her expectantly. 

"I am sure," Rhaenyra said. "I am not well enough for his tantrums."

"He has been very well behaved since coming to Dragonstone," Viserys insisted. Daemon scoffed. Viserys glared at him.

"He threw mashed turnips at poor Ser Robert yesterday," Daemon said. Ser Robert Quince was one of the oldest members of their household, serving them since Alysanne had lived there, and one of the fattest. He was not one of the most gifted knights, or the smartest of men, but he was as loyal as they came. 

"Poor man," Rhaenyra said. 

"That was just a - just a jest," Viserys said. "He was bored. It was not a tantrum."

"Right," Rhaenyra said, not convinced. "Well, please keep your son from assaulting any more of my guards with vegetables." Viserys chuckled, but nodded when she did not laugh along. 

  They did not have to wait long before one of the maids returned with Aerys in her arms. "Aha," Viserys declared, jumping to his feet from the armchair he had taken ahead of the fire. "There he is." Rhaenyra forced a smile, accepting her son into her arms. The maid bowed her head before taking her leave. 

"Bring the Princess more tea," Daemon demanded before she reached the door.

"Yes, my Prince," the maid replied. Daemon nodded to her. 

"Hello there," Rhaenyra whispered to the babe as he opened his eyes, staring up at her. One of his little hands latched onto her finger, gripping it tightly. 

"Let me get a look at him," Viserys said, crossing the room to the bed. Rhaenyra did not look enthused by the notion of giving up her son, but she relented, allowing Viserys to pick him up. Aerys also appeared reluctant, holding onto his mother's finger for as long as he could before being pulled away. 

"Be careful with him," Rhaenyra said.

"Of course," Viserys replied, patting Aerys' hand with two fingers. "Look at you, boy. Are you not the most wonderful thing?" Aerys stared up at him with wide eyes, opening his mouth to show off his gums. Viserys chuckled. "He looks so much like you, my girl," he said.

"That is what I said," Daemon muttered. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. 

"I have never seen such a wonderful boy," Viserys praised. Rhaenyra beamed. Daemon knew that that was because her father was praising her son above Alicent's, and Daemon could not blame his brother; their boy was not tainted by Hightowers. Viserys' glee was slightly deflated when Aerys closed his eyes, obviously intent on going to sleep.

"Would you put him in his cradle, Father?" Rhaenyra asked. Viserys nodded glumly, murmuring softly to the babe as he lowered him into the cradle.

"Ah, look at that, my boy," Viserys said, tapping the egg. "Perhaps it shall hatch for you one day?" Aerys made no signs of acknowledging him. Viserys was not bothered, staring at him as the boy fell asleep. "You already have a wet nurse, then?"

"Yes, she has been here for about a sennight," Rhaenyra replied, resting her hands on her still swollen stomach. "Ser Alfred found her, a local woman from the village." Ser Alfred Broome was another aged member of the household, now more interested in running the castle than training with lance or sword. 

"You were much bigger than Aerys when you were born," Viserys said thoughtfully. "So was our Aegon. And Helaena."

"The midwives said he is perfectly healthy," Rhaenyra said stiffly. "A fine weight for a fine Prince."

"Of course, I would not worry about it," Viserys replied. "Our Aemond was small too. Now, would anyone care for some supper?" Rhaenyra glanced pleadingly at Daemon, and so he agreed to lead his brother down to the Great Hall in search of food as she mouthed her appreciation when Viserys was not looking.

____________

  When Daemon first woke, he did not know what had disturbed his slumber.

 He turned to Rhaenyra, who was also still bleary-eyed as if she had just woken herself. "What - what was that?" she asked, frowning. Daemon shrugged. 

 As he closed his eyes again, he heard a noise.

 It was like the sharp cry of a bird, but louder than that, and much, much closer than any bird had the right to be. He shot up, sitting up straight with a hand reaching for Dark Sister's pommel as he looked around the room. 

 Rhaenyra frowned beside him, clutching the covers to her chest as she watched him stare out at the balcony. There were no birds.

 Daemon swallowed as they heard the cry again. This time, accompanied by small puffs of smoke. 

 Curiously, Daemon rose from the bed, leaving Dark Sister upon the chair as he shuffled towards the cradle. He peered inside.

 "Rytsas konīr zaldrītsos," he whispered. He glanced at his son, but the boy was fast asleep, undisturbed by the creature at his feet. 

 Daemon removed the broken fragments of egg shell first, throwing them into the fireplace behind him. Then, he opened the palm of his hand, allowing the small hatchling to crawl onto it.

 "You should really put some clothes on," Rhaenyra told him, "now that Aerys is sharing our chambers with us, you cannot be in such a state of undress."

"I am sure he does not care," Daemon shrugged, sitting on the bed beside her. Rhaenyra leaned forward. "Here -" Daemon offered her. Rhaenyra held out her hands, accepting the small beast from him.

  The hatchling's eyes were the same bright gold that its egg had been, as was its crest. It was yet to sprout any horns, but Daemon was sure that they too would be golden. The rest of the dragon's scales were a pearlescent white, while its tongue was a very pale grey. 

 Rhaenyra beamed. "Our son has a dragon," she said, cocking her head as she stroked the dragon's crest with two fingers. 

"Do you think he shall beat your record?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The youngest dragonrider in known history," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra smirked. "Do you think he shall take to the skies before seven?" 

"Who knows?" Rhaenyra sighed. "I cannot wait to show Father his dragon."

"I wonder why that is," Daemon said, clucking his tongue. Rhaenyra laughed. As she did, the dragon cried out again, letting out puffs of smoke through its nostrils. 

"I think it wants something," Rhaenyra mused.

"If dragons are anything like us, it is likely hungry," Daemon replied. "Aerys certainly was after being born." Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. So, Daemon hurried around in search of clothes, before walking out of the chamber in search of some meat, with his son's dragon perched atop his shoulder. 

Chapter Text

 There was a chill in the air as the doors to the Entrance Hall opened and Daemon stepped outside. He could see the smoke rising from the dragonmont behind the castle, and hear the chirping of Syrax somewhere in the distance. On a better morning, Daemon would be marching up to the dragonmont himself, but on this day he was walking down the dirt path towards the castle's Sept. 

 He walked with Aerys in his arms. The young prince was swaddled in wrappings of black and gold, his violet eyes open and staring up at his father. His face bore a sad expression, as if he was displeased to be taken from the warmth of their rooms out into the cold, but he did not cry. 

 Ahead of the Princes walked Ser Steffon Darklyn of the Kingsguard, who Viserys had assigned to them so that Ser Lorent could remain outside Rhaenyra's door. Daemon could not fathom what Viserys was expecting to happen that would require a guard on such a short journey, but the King had refused to hear any protests. 

 Viserys met them outside the Sept, accompanied by Aegon and Ser Harrold. Viserys was dressed mostly in black, while Aegon wore red and white, and was pulling on his frilly collar in discomfort. "Aha, Daemon," Viserys greeted them joyfully. Aerys let out a small whimper at the volume of his voice. "And there is my grandson, look at you, Prince Aerys." Viserys smiled as he stared down at the boy's face. 

"Where is the dragon?" Aegon demanded, straining on his tip-toes as if expecting to see the hatchling flying behind Daemon.

"Oh, the little dragon will not be here," Viserys replied. Aegon pouted.

"I want to see the DRAGON!" Aegon roared.

"Not now, lad," sighed Viserys.

 Viserys was not the only one who had travelled to the Sept to witness the Prince receive his blessing. A crowd of smallfolk and lesser nobles had gathered outside, Daemon could hear them clapping and cheering for their future King, and the nobles from the Houses that surrounded Blackwater Bay had joined them inside, lined up in the pews, including the Celtigars of Claw Isle, the Bar Emmons of Sharp Point, and the Stauntons of Rook's Rest. All eyes turned to them as Daemon walked inside, holding his son close to his chest as he walked up the aisle to where the septon was waiting for them. 

  Septon Lum was a short man with a round stomach and straw-like hair. He wore the white, ceremonial robes akin to what Septon Eustace had worn for Daemon's wedding, and a long, golden chain, from which hung a heavy, bejewlled seven-pointed star. Septon Lum did not say anything to Daemon or Aerys as they reached him, holding out his arms as he addressed the congregation. "We are gathered here today, Your Grace, Lords and Ladies, to welcome our beloved Prince into the holy light of the Seven Above," he declared. Daemon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Here, in this holy place, we turn to the Seven to ask them to send us their light and their warmth, their healing and, most of all on this occasion, their blessing onto Prince Aerys Targaryen, son of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Princess Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, grandson of his Grace King Viserys Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." 

  Daemon stood silently as the septon said a prayer for Aerys, his eyes scanning the hall. Viserys was beaming proudly from the front row, while Aegon was bashing two wooden knights together. The Celtigars were whispering between themselves, while the Bar Emmons had their heads bowed in silent prayer. 

 Daemon was reluctant to hand over his son when it was time to anoint him, but he knew better than to protest. Septon Lum took the boy into his arms with no particular care, no sense of gentleness or delicacy as the positioned the boy best for him to see his face. 

 "May the Warrior give him courage." 

 Septon Lum dipped his fingers into the holy oil and dragged it across Aerys' forehead. The boy scrunched up his face in displeasure, but he did not make a sound. 

 "May the Smith give him strength to wield sword and shield." 

 Septon Lum repeated the motion. This time, Aerys did let out a whimper. 

 The septon was unaffected. "May the Father give him wisdom." Another line in oil was drawn across the small boy's forehead. Aerys opened his eyes again, curiously watching the septon. "May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light the way for him." He swiped his thumb across the boy's forehead this time. "May the Mother watch over him." 

 Aegon dropped one of his knights onto the floor with a clatter. Daemon glanced at him, watching as Viserys stilled the boy from retrieving it. Aegon stuck out his bottom lip, whining to his father that he needed it, but Viserys only told him to sit quietly. 

 They could still hear the crowd outside, waiting for them to leave the sept so that they could catch a glimpse of their King-to-be on their way to the castle.

 "May the Maiden keep him from the cold clutches of depravity and sin." 

 Another swipe across the Prince's forehead. Aerys was growing irritated, letting out a cry. 

 "And May the Stranger stay clear from his path for many years yet." 

 Aerys' face had gone red he was sobbing so much by the time he was returned to Daemon. He tried rocking the boy in hopes of comforting him, but it proved unsuccessful, and Aerys continued to cry. Daemon held him close to his chest, letting him bury his face in his doublet, while the septon said another prayer for him. 

 Septon Lum ended the service with a prayer to the Mother, thanking her for delivering their beloved Prince safely and asking her to deliver many more Princelings to House Targaryen. Daemon thought that that was enough, but then Septon Lum prayed for the Mother to aid Alicent in her birth also, which Viserys probably appreciated, but Daemon did not. 

 As Daemon walked through the sept, the Lords and nobles that were present were eager to offer their congratulations on the birth of Prince Aerys, both to Daemon and to his brother. Viserys was more interested in stopping to talk, beaming as he gripped Daemon's arm to prevent him from walking away, showing off Aerys to as many people as he could. While pride swelled in Daemon's chest at their praises and proclamations of him as the future King, he did not wish to stand around the sept all day. 

 "Look at your nephew, Aegon," Viserys said, as Aerys yawned. Aegon was not interested, instead bashing his knights together again. 

"Our future King," Lord Bar Emmon declared. Viserys chuckled, smoothing Aerys' hair with a gloved hand, ignoring the babe's pout. 

"Well, perhaps not yours, Lord Steffon, but your grandsons' certainly," laughed Lord Bartimos Celtigar.

"You are one to talk," scoffed Lord Bar Emmon.

"He is small," said Lord Simon Staunton. His wife glared at him. 

"Never matter, he shall grow," Viserys replied cheerily. 

"I hear he already has a dragon?" pondered Lord Bar Emmon. Daemon nodded. 

"Born the night of his birth," he replied, smirking. 

"Dragon?" Aegon asked, glancing from Daemon to his father. 

"Not now, Aegon," Viserys said. Aegon sulked.

"Can we go, Pa? I am bored," he huffed. For once, Daemon was inclined to agree with him. Viserys, however, frowned at his impertinence. 

 Daemon waved to the commonfolk that flocked to them as they left the sept. They cheered out for him and Aerys, and also Viserys and Rhaenyra, but Daemon did not linger, more eager to return Aerys to his mother than he was to surround himself with peasants. 

 Rhaenyra was still abed. 

 Her face was pale from the loss of blood in the birth, and her hair was tied into a messy braid. Celia and Darla were sat on one side of the bed, both sipping tea from cups decorated with the image of silver and bronze dragons chasing each other around it. A plate of cooked meats and olives was on the bedside table for Rhaenyra, but it looked untouched, as was her cup of iced milk. 

 "His Grace, the Prince Aerys," Daemon announced as he returned to their bedchamber. Rhaenyra smiled, holding out her arms to take their son from him. Celia and Darla smiled as he opened his eyes, showing off his gums to his mother. Rhaenyra cooed at him, tickling under his chin.

"Hello, my boy," Rhaenyra murmured, smoothing his hair. Daemon kicked off his boots and joined her on the bed, brushing his hair from his eyes. "How are you today?" Aerys let out a yawn and Rhaenyra smiled at him again.

"Your half-brother is never well behaved, is he?" Daemon asked.

"Aegon? No, never," Rhaenyra replied. "Was he causing problems for Father in the sept?" 

"More so when leaving." 

Rhaenyra shook her head, "I still do not know why Father felt the need to bring him."

"I have given up on trying to understand that man," Daemon sighed. Rhaenyra laughed. 

"And what of our Prince? Was he well behaved?"

"Of course," Daemon replied. "He did not seem to enjoy the anointing, but the Septon was hardly gentle." Rhaenyra shook her head, before cooing at the babe again. "Have you eaten much today?"

"Not really."

"You should eat," Daemon told her. "Meats, they said, red meat and lots of it." 

"I know." Rhaenyra pulled a face of disgust. "The midwives have told the cooks to feed me a stew of pepper and liver for dinner tonight." Daemon laughed. 

"Liver?" repeated Darla, frowning.

"Indeed," Rhaenyra grumbled. 

"Well, if you want more bad news, your father wants to bring his son to meet Aerys' dragon later," Daemon told her. Rhaenyra groaned, falling back against the pillows behind her.

"Just one day of peace," she muttered, shaking her head. "Is that really too much?" Aerys let out a sound that was very similar to a sigh and the Strong sisters laughed. 

"I do not think Prince Aerys much likes the sound of that either," Darla said. 

"Smart boy," Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra kissed Aerys' forehead. 

 Before Rhaenyra's liver stew could arrive that evening, Ser Lorent threw open the door to their rooms, bowing his head. "King Viserys Targaryen," he announced. "And the Prince Aegon Targaryen." Aegon gave a small wave as he followed his father into the room.

"Rhaenyra," Viserys greeted, holding out his hands. Rhaenyra sat up, forcing another pillow behind her to keep her elevated.

"Viserys," Daemon said, from where he was now seated on the table ahead of the roaring fireplace. 

 Aerys had been returned to his cradle, wrapped under a red fleece, alongside his pearly white hatchling. 

"Daemon," Viserys returned, his hand on Aegon's shoulder. He turned his attention back to Rhaenyra. "We thought we would come and see you and my grandson." 

"And the dragon!" added Aegon excitedly. Viserys sighed, shaking his head. 

"And that, I suppose." 

"Where is the dragon?" Aegon asked, looking around the room. 

"Here he is, lad," Viserys said, gesturing to the cradle. "But do you not want to see your nephew first?" Aegon shrugged, hurrying out of his father's grip to peer down over the hatchling. He frowned.

"It is small."

"Of course it is," Viserys laughed. "It has only just hatched." Aegon shrugged, reaching in to try and stroke its tail. The hatchling hissed at him, backing away. Aegon jumped in fright. "Careful, lad," Viserys told him. Aegon scowled. "Now, what is that face for? You do not want it to bite your fingers off, do you?" Aegon shook his head. 

"Maybe it does not like you," Daemon said, leaning back in his chair. 

"No," Aegon pouted. "It does." 

"Really?"

"Stop it, Daemon," Viserys exasperated. Daemon chuckled to himself. He rose from his chair and closed the distance, peering over the cradle to smooth Aerys' hair. The boy stared back at him with bleary eyes, as if he was about to fall asleep. "Are you not going to say hello to your nephew, Aegon?" Viserys asked.

"Hullo," Aegon muttered, standing on his tip-toes so that he could look into the cradle, although his eyes were still on the hatchling. He reached his hand out again, but the hatchling did not react. Aegon scowled once more. "Come here," Aegon demanded. The hatchling closed its eyes. "Come HERE!" Aegon puffed, stamping one of his feet. The hatchling hissed at him. Aerys let out a whimper.

"Calm yourself," Daemon told the boy sternly, glancing to Viserys as if expecting some sort of assistance. Viserys, however, was now approaching Rhaenyra. 

"No," Aegon grumbled. "Make it come to me." 

"No." 

"Why not?" Aegon growled. "Do it! Do it now! My father is King, you have to do what I say!" 

"Oh, do I now?" Daemon scoffed, shaking his head. 

"Aegon, stop this," Viserys said, after some prompting from Rhaenyra. Aegon stuck his tongue out at him.

"As nice as it is to see you both," Rhaenyra said stiffly, "I think Aerys and I need to rest now." Viserys stared at her sadly for a moment, before nodding.

"Right, right, yes," he sighed. "Come along, Aegon, let us leave your sister to sleep." When Aegon refused to move, he placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the door, although the boy was still reaching for the cradle. 

"I do not know how much longer I can take of this," Rhaenyra said, once the door was shut behind them. Daemon hummed his agreement. 

____________

 The moon turned slowly, but eventually, the fourth month began. After a fortnight of incessant pleading from Viserys, Rhaenyra agreed to fly back to King's Landing to have Aerys presented before the court. 

 "Are you sure you are well enough?" Daemon asked, for the umpteenth time since her agreement. 

"Quite sure," Rhaenyra huffed. 

"You have not flown in moons."

"Gerardys agrees I am well enough," Rhaenyra shrugged. "I have been making the trip from King's Landing to Dragonstone and back for years I shall be fine."

"Yes, but never in those years had you just given birth," Daemon said. "Mayhaps we should wait until the moon turns, until -"

"Until Father's anniversary?" Rhaenyra huffed. "You think I want to be there when they are all celebrating her and her rise to power?" She shook her head. "And Father and Alicent's son shall not leave until we do. It is for the best that we get it all over with now." 

"If you say so," Daemon sighed, clearly unconvinced. Rhaenyra smiled at him, leaning her head against his shoulder. It was late for him to still be in bed, but he was spending more time in her apartments since Aerys had arrived, and Rhaenyra was certainly not complaining. "Mayhaps we should have a practice flight?"

"Practice flight?" Rhaenyra repeated.

Daemon nodded, "once or twice around the island so you know you are up to it."

"Alright then," Rhaenyra said. "We can go flying after noon, I have letters to answer this morn." Daemon rolled his eyes. 

  Rhaenyra had not seen Syrax since before giving birth, spending the last few weeks of her pregnancy trapped in her rooms and then the last month still enclosed for the good of her recovery. The yellow she-dragon rose from her spot upon the rocks immediately, spreading her wings and flapping towards her, while Daemon had to march over to where Caraxes was burning some gulls for his entertainment. "Hello, girl," Rhaenyra whispered, smoothing her hand across the scales of Syrax's neck. Syrax chirped, knocking her snout into Rhaenyra's thigh. "I do not see what you are complaining about, I was the one locked inside all this time, you could still fly," Rhaenyra chuckled, shaking her head. Syrax chirped impatiently. Rhaenyra patted her neck again. 

  The wind blew her hair into her face as they flew over the sea, low enough that Caraxes' tail could drag in the water. The Blood Wyrm did not seem bothered with this, swishing his tail about to make waves, but Syrax let out a shriek when the cold water splashed her wing. "Easy," Rhaenyra murmured, smoothing the base of her neck. Syrax shrieked again. "It is nothing," Rhaenyra soothed in the tongue of her ancestors. Syrax shook her head. Rhaenyra could hear Daemon laughing from atop Caraxes' back and she shook her head at him, but that only made him laugh harder. 

"You need to lighten up," he called to her. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. 

"Can we get away from here? I am sick of this wind," she declared. Daemon shrugged, urging Caraxes forward. 

 They circled the dragonmont twice, hearing Vermithor's roar from within, before they landed. Syrax and Caraxes, however, had no interest in the land, and took off to the skies once more as soon as their riders dismounted. Daemon shielded his eyes with his hand as he watched them go, crossing over the sun as Caraxes whistled. 

 "They are happy here," Rhaenyra said, walking closer to him so that she could lock their hands together. Daemon nodded.

"Are you not?"

"Of course I am," Rhaenyra said. "I only meant that I do not expect them to enjoy returning to the Pit after many moons here."

"No, neither do I," Daemon muttered, shaking his head. "Pity for the dragonkeeper who has to chain Caraxes, he may likely end up losing a hand, or worse. So, how was that?"

"As I said, I am fine," Rhaenyra insisted. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "Fine enough to fly. Your own mother was flying after days of giving birth if I recall correctly, was she not?"

"Well, yes," Daemon said, "but that was a much shorter distance." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. 

"It will be fine," she told him. Daemon still looked unconvinced. 

____________

  Rhaenyra flew to King's Landing with Aerys strapped to her chest. He had let out a whimper when they first took off, but he spent most of the flight in silence. Caraxes flew ahead of them, with Aerys' hatchling perched on Daemon's shoulder. The dragon was still no larger than Daemon's fist, and its golden crest was gleaming in the sunlight. Rhaenyra's chest swelled with pride at the sight of her son's future mount, the creature hatched the night of his birth, evidence that above all other Princelings he was undoubtedly a true Targaryen. 

  Viserys had sent a carriage to meet them at the Dragon Pit, which was pulled by four brown mares. As Ser Lorent was still on the ship with Rhaenyra's ladies and Aerys' maids, Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard had been sent to ride with them. Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder as Syrax was ushered down the ramp by the dragonkeepers, screeching unhappily. Aerys let out a cry, and her attention was brought back to him, rocking him gently. 

 Her father had returned to the Capital a week prior, insisting he needed time to prepare for his grandson's arrival, but when they arrived at the Red Keep, the King was not there to receive them. 

 It was the Hand, Lord Lyonel Strong, who led the congregation that crowded the courtyard, all eager for a glimpse of the new Prince. His tunic was somewhere between seaweed green and black, with a stripe of red and blue on either side of the centre, and circling the cuffs. He bore the bronze pin on the Hand proudly on his right breast, along with a heavy golden chain around his neck. He kept his brown hair long, although his hairline was receding rapidly, and his beard was frizzy and untrimmed. He clapped his hands, covered by reddish brown gloves, as Ser Harrold shouted their arrival. 

  Lord Lyonel was accompanied by the other members of the Small Council, Grand Maester Mellos in his usual grey robes, Ser Tyland Lannister in a tunic of pale red, the golden clasps in the shape of lion's heads, Lord Jasper Wylde in a doublet of dark blue with a gold and silver chain around his neck, and Lord Lyman Beesbury, who wore a cloak of dark green and gold over a black tunic, the buttons pearl and his chain in the shape of beehives, the clasps little bees on black squares. 

  Also at the front of the crowd stood Alicent Hightower, covered in a cloak of grey with fur trimmings. Her children were with her, Aemond being held by his maids behind them, and Aegon and Helaena stood to her right, Aegon dressed in red and gold while Helaena was in a dress of pale pink. She could see Aegon pointing to the hatchling on Daemon's shoulder. 

  "Good to see you again, Princess," Lord Lyonel said, bowing his head. "I hope your journey was pleasant." 

"Thank you, Lord Hand," Rhaenyra returned, forcing a smile. "I hope you are well as well?" Lord Lyonel nodded. 

"My Prince." He bowed his head again as he greeted Daemon.

"Lord Strong," Daemon drawled. 

"Welcome back to the Capital, Princess," Alicent said, striding to join Lord Lyonel. She was resting her hands on her stomach. "I thank the Mother for your health, and that of your son." 

"How kind," Rhaenyra said stiffly. "How fares your sons? And Helaena?"

"They are well," Alicent replied, smiling. "Aegon is very proud of the egg he has chosen for his new sibling." Rhaenyra forced a smile. 

 As the hatchling on Daemon's shoulder let out a shriek, the heads of the courtiers turned to look at it. Rhaenyra's eyes were drawn to them, and she felt her cheeks growing hot as she saw the dark eyes of Ser Harwin Strong fall upon her, his hair held back in a bun and his gold cloak flowing down his back.

  Rhaenyra did not have time to change from her riding leathers before she was ushered into the Throne Room to meet the King. Rhaenyra and Daemon were both in dark black, Rhaenyra's in the style of dragon scales, while Aerys was swaddled in wrappings of black and scarlet. Rhaenyra would have liked to have been in more ornate garments, and not smelling of dragon and her own sweat, when she approached the Iron Throne, but she tried not to let that show on her face. 

  Viserys was stood on the bottom step of the Iron Throne, in an elaborate coat of black, red and gold that Rhaenyra feared only emphasised how under-dressed she was. Scarlet dragons curled around his shoulders, and gold lined the collar and cuffs. His doublet was maroon, the buttons also gold, and detailed with black and silver thread. His boots were of a dark red leather, as were his gloves. The crown of Jaehaerys sat on his head, covering most of his bald spot but not enough to hide how thin his hair was. 

  Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena were now to the right of the Throne, Alicent holding Helaena's hand in one of hers, while Aegon stood ahead of Ser Criston Cole. Most of his face was obstructed by his helmet, but Rhaenyra could still see his frown and his cold, dark eyes. She felt a shiver run down her spine, remembering the feeling of his hand gripping her wrist, holding her in place, before he pushed her away. She turned her eyes away from him, shaking her head, before she stared down at her son. Aerys' violet eyes were wide open, staring back up at her, a small smile on his lips. 

 Viserys smiled at them fondly, holding open his arms as Rhaenyra and Daemon reached him. "Rhaenyra," he greeted. "My beloved daughter, so good to see you again. And you, of course, Daemon."

"Father," Rhaenyra said, bowing her head stiffly. Daemon did not bother bowing as they stopped, clasping his hands behind his back. 

"Your flight was pleasant, I do hope?" 

"Of course," Rhaenyra replied.

Viserys nodded, his eyes dropping to his grandson, "and what a pleasure it is to see you, my boy." 

"It is an honour to bring our son and heir to your court, Father," Rhaenyra said silkily. She could see Alicent pursing her lips in the corner of her eye. Beside her, Daemon puffed his chest proudly, a smirk on his mouth. "Your grandson, Prince Aerys Targaryen." 

"Come here, my grandson," Viserys said happily, taking the boy into his arms. Aerys let out a squeak of protest as he was met with his grandfather's face in his, and Rhaenyra smoothed his hair to comfort him. "Ah, look at you," Viserys said. Rhaenyra smiled as Viserys cooed at her son, feeling the eyes of the court glued to them.  

  The men of the Small Council were a short distance behind them, and she could hear Ser Tyland and Lord Jason muttering to one another, but she could not hear what they were saying. Daemon seemed unaffected. Rhaenyra tried to keep her face unbothered, her eyes on her son as his eyes fell closed. 

 "You are growing well, my lad," Viserys doted on him. "Yes, you shall grow tall and strong, and be a fine knight, I am sure of it, and a strong King too, yes indeed. Look here, Aerys -" Viserys introduced Helaena to the boy, and told him of Aemond who had been taken upstairs, but Aerys did not open his eyes. Helaena strained on her tip-toes, trying to get a look at the boy's face, but Aegon beside her seemed bored. "May the Gods bless you my sweet grandson," Viserys said. "May they give you strength and wisdom and guide you to be a great and just man, for one day you shall sit here, my boy, and rule the Kingdoms as I do, as King Aerys Targaryen, the First of His Name." 

 The courtiers clapped as Aerys was returned to Rhaenyra's arms. Daemon beamed beside her, smiling down at their son, while Rhaenyra adjusted the wrappings around him. 

 King Aerys Targaryen. 

 It was a bittersweet thought. Her son would rule after her one day, upon the Throne of their ancestors, but she would not be here to see it. 

 She shook her head. Now, he was just a babe in her arms, and the Throne Room was applauding him, his birth and his birthright declared to them all. It would do her no good to dwell on the inevitable. 

 Viserys ushered them out to the gardens, where wine was poured and cooked meats were served, and Viserys could be heard laughing jovially with his councilmen. By now, Rhaenyra's ladies had arrived, and they joined her on a bench between two blossoming apple trees, Aerys still in her arms. Aerys' pearly hatchling, meanwhile, was curled up on the grass underneath them, its face covered by a wing. "Father says there is to be a feast tonight," said Celia, sipping sweet brandy from her goblet. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement.

"Yes," she replied. "My father has spent most of the sennight planning it."

"Is it not odd to throw a feast for a babe?" Darla asked. "He can hardly eat any of it." Primrose giggled. 

"It is in celebration of his birth," Rhaenyra shrugged. "The courtiers will drink and toast and feast in his name." 

"And will you attend that in your riding leathers too, Princess?" Celia asked. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at her.

"I had not a chance to change," she huffed. "Father wished to receive Aerys immediately, and so I have not seen our rooms since I got here." 

"You have not seen this new nursery he was so proud of then?" Annora inquired.

"No," Rhaenyra replied. "In fact, he has not mentioned it." 

"Aerys is handling the excitement well," chuckled Darla, nodding to where the young Prince had fallen asleep in his mother's arms. Rhaenyra and the other Ladies laughed.

"Where is the Prince?" Primrose asked, looking around the garden.

"He is here, of course."

"No, your husband," Primrose said. Celia and Darla laughed. 

"Oh, Daemon is... somewhere," Rhaenyra said, waving a hand at the crowd. Annora raised an eyebrow. "He went to speak with the men of the City Watch, and to find some good wine, my father's is not to his liking." 

"Mine own father has written," Primrose sighed. "He wishes to see me married soon." 

"Why so glum?" Celia asked. 

"My sister has already been betrothed," Primrose replied. "I cannot say I find my father's taste in men very appealing. All of her suitors were lack-wit Lordlings." 

"The suitors on my tour were hardly any better," Rhaenyra said. "Mayhaps you will find someone to your own liking? The Keep is always filled with tourneys and balls and feasts, plenty of Lords bring their heirs and sons."

"And each of them is the same," Primrose said sadly. "All they care for is showing off about their swordplay and fathering sons, with few kind words for the women forced to birth them." 

"Not all suitors are so awful," Rhaenyra told her. "Some will shower you with gifts and praises for your hand." Celia scoffed. Rhaenyra frowned. "You disagree?"

"Well... somewhat, Princess," Celia said gently. "You may have men barter for your hand with sweet words and beautiful jewels, but you are a Princess, and most are not so lucky." 

Primrose nodded, "my sister is to be the bride of Lord Byrch's second son. She cares not for him, nor him her, but Lord Byrch never forgave my father for refusing the betrothal of my brother to his eldest daughter, and so this is to appease him." 

"You are beautiful, Primrose," Rhaenyra said. Primrose flushed. "Any man would be honoured to dance with you, or wear your favour in the matches. I am sure you shall find someone from a noble House worthy of you." 

"Besides, you Celtigars still look Valyrian a bit," chuckled Darla. "You could always find one of the many suitors heartbroken the Princess did not marry them." 

"Oh yes, they were all so in love with me," Rhaenyra said drily. "With my title and my dragonrider's blood, perhaps." 

"And what is Prince Daemon so in love with?" Annora asked. The Strong sisters frowned at her, but Primrose laughed. Rhaenyra's expression also darkened. "What? You do know that in the Vale, they say the same as the Hightowers, that he lusts more for the crown you shall give his son than you?"

"I think I know the state of my marriage better than some Valeman I have never met," Rhaenyra replied icily. Annora shrugged. 

"I think my father plans to marry me to a Tully," Celia sighed.

"What happened to Ser Darry?" Rhaenyra wondered.

"That was before Ser Eros' wife died," Celia replied. 

"Ser Eros?" Primrose repeated, frowning.

"Indeed," Celia said. "He is heir to Riverrun after all, even if he does already have sons and grandsons of his own." 

"I would not want to marry someone with children, certainly not grandchildren," Primrose said stiffly. Darla shook her head. 

"Most men have children," she shrugged. "Most likely bastards that they do not tell their wives about." Primrose frowned. 

"Does Prince Daemon have bastards?" she whispered. 

"He did, once," Annora replied. "With a whore. Would you have still married him if the child lived, Princess?" 

 Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. She had not given Mysaria or her child any thought for years. She could not imagine Daemon with a little child, scrawny and skinny like the peasants were, following him everywhere, clad in peasants' garb or something silky and Lyseni. She wondered if Mysaria's child would have the Targaryen look to them, like Alicent Hightower's chiidren, or if they would look like the Lyseni merchants she had seen visit Driftmark. 

 She could not imagine such a child interfering with Daemon's pursuit of her hand. Although, she had to wonder where such a child would live. They would certainly have no home in the Red Keep, her father had made that clear, and she could not imagine Daemon abandoning a child of his own flesh to the docks of Lys or the streets of Flea Bottom. Rhaenyra did not know how she felt about the thought of a little bastard child with Daemon's look running around Dragonstone, especially as Aerys grew up. 

  But did being a bastard really make a child unworthy of a home?

 "I see not why it matters," Darla said. "Alys has always lived at Harrenhal, and Father had three wives."

"Who is Alys?" puzzled Primrose.

"Alys Rivers," Celia explained. "She is a bastard of our House who has served as our cousins' wet nurse for some time now. She is older than Harwin, and nobody knows who her mother is, but everyone says she is Father's daughter. Why else would she be under his roof?" Darla nodded her agreement.

"But he did not bring her to King's Landing with him?" pondered Annora.

"Well, no," Darla replied. "She already has a place at Harrenhal, as a wet nurse, what more would she expect from life at court? It is surprise enough that he brought Larys, we doubt he shall find a place in the King's guards."

"Or a bride," laughed Celia. "Not that he seems fond of talk of children or marriage anyway." 

"Who would want to marry him?" Primrose asked. 

"Nobody I know," Darla scoffed. "Nor anyone Father knows either." Celia shook her head. 

"Will he have Harwin married soon?" Primrose asked. 

"I do not know," Celia replied. "Men are seldom forced into it as much as women are."

"Daemon was forced into his first marriage," Rhaenyra said.

"But he is only a second son, Princess," Celia said. 

"And Lady Rhea was an heiress," added Annora. 

"Daemon was still a royal Prince," Rhaenyra huffed. 

"Father does not seem eager to have Harwin marry anyway," sighed Darla. 

"And what of Ser Harwin himself?" Rhaenyra asked. "Have none of our women at court caught his eye?" Celia and Darla giggled. 

"I would say him lucky the King did not decide to throw a tourney in your son's honour," Darla said. "Lest he would embarrass himself, or worse, by asking for your favour in front of the Prince." Celia shook her head. 

"He shall not be the only one, I dare barter," murmured Primrose. Rhaenyra's cheeks flushed. 

"My brother Eldric is the same," Annora sighed. "He is already thirty, but he has no designs for marriage or heirs. He would rather stick to his whores." She shook her head disapprovingly. 

"Speaking of whores," Primrose whispered. "Did you hear of Lord Wylde's son? He was caught with two in his chambers yesterday morn. Quite the insult to his wife, who is abed, pregnant with their third child."

"Wife?" Rhaenyra questioned. "He was vying for my hand last summer."

"No, no," Primrose said. "That was Lord Wylde's heir, Ser Caspor. I speak of Raymont, his second son who was wed some summers ago."

"After a similar scandal involving him and an unwed maiden at hunt thrown by the Baratheons, so I hear," murmured Annora. 

"Is Lord Jasper aware of his son's guests?" asked Celia, her cheeks flushing. 

"I believe he has," Primrose whispered, nodding to where Ser Jasper was standing with Ser Tyland and Ser Caspor. "Raymont was not in attendance at the Prince's presentation, and nor was his wife."

"If he has any sense, he will send him back to Rain House," said Darla.

"You cannot expect the woman to travel in such condition," countered Annora. "They shall have to wait for the babe first." 

"How horrible," muttered Celia, shaking her head. 

  Rhaenyra soon grew bored of sitting on their bench, and left in search of something to drink. She soon found Daemon, goblet in hand, encouraging a servant to pile slices of beef onto his plate. He was accompanied by the Princess Rhaenys, dressed in a gown of teal and silver, her hair parted into four braids, with a goblet of sweet wine in her own hand. "Congratulations, Princess," Rhaenys greeted as Rhaenyra approached. "I am glad to see you and our future King are well." Rhaenys nodded her head, her eyes falling to Aerys, still in Rhaenyra's arms. 

"Thank you, Princess," Rhaenyra returned. "It is a pleasure to see you at court again, it has been so long." 

"Indeed," Rhaenys replied stiffly. Behind her, Daemon smirked. Rhaenys finished her goblet and placed it back onto the table. "If you will excuse me, I shall need to find my husband."

"Of course." Rhaenyra forced a smile as Rhaenys disappeared into the crowd. "This is where you have been hiding, then?" she asked, cocking her head at Daemon. 

"Hiding?" he chuckled. Rhaenyra took a grape from his plate and popped it into her mouth as he leaned over to peck her forehead. He smiled down at Aerys, smoothing his silver hair. He frowned at her as Rhaenyra reached for a second grape. She laughed. 

"Did Princess Rhaenys have much to say?"

"She is happy you and the babe are both alive and well," Daemon shrugged. "And she warned me Corlys is likely to propose a union between our boy and his yet-to-be grandchild again tonight." 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, "did they bring the Lady Laena with them?"

"No," Daemon replied. "She has remained on Driftmark, with Corlys' cousin and his sons."

"Such a shame," Rhaenyra sighed. "It would have been nice to see her again." 

"I am not especially amused with those on the guest list either," Daemon grunted. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

  Soon, they took their leave and found their way up to Daemon's chambers. Rhaenyra called for the maids to prepare her a bath, while Daemon coaxed her into releasing Aerys from her arms, giving him to her Ladies to take down to the nursery Viserys had prepared for the young Prince. Daemon himself followed Rhaenyra into the washroom, shooing away her maids as she began to undress. "I had the bath run for me, you know," Rhaenyra smirked, watching him through the reflection of the mirror as he removed his leather coat and undershirt. Daemon only wagged his eyebrows. "I am still sore from our flight, and I have much to do to prepare for the feast this eve," Rhaenyra continued. Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. "Do not be like that, it is in our son's honour, you know." 

"It is still just a farce for lickspittles and fools," Daemon shrugged, pulling his belt from his waistband and throwing it to the floor. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "Although, if Viserys continues to keep them - and himself - as fat as geese, they may be pleasant enough to cease their scheming for once." He snorted. 

"Are you not the one who insists we need allies at court?" Rhaenyra inquired, raising an eyebrow. "And yet you belittle them all so?" Daemon shrugged.

"You have the word of the King on your side, occupation of Dragonstone, and dragons, three at the very least, all the Hightowers shall have is some whispers at court," he replied. "If you can reduce the power of their words, keep as many of the courtiers on your side - our House's side - then the Hightowers shall have little to fall back on when Viserys does pass. Nevertheless, that does not change that the lickspittles that chase after my brother like a flock of old hens are lack-wits, fools, and self-serving twats." 

"And this is for me to do alone, is it?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"You are the heir," Daemon said. "While it should be Viserys' duty to ensure your succession, fighting for the good of his House has never been one of his strengths." His boots landed with a thud on the floor, soon joined by his socks and breeches. Having forgone smallclothes, Daemon slipped into the bath, sighing as the hot water and steam washed over him. 

"They all see me as just some foolish girl," Rhaenyra puffed, letting her own coat fall to her feet. "The councilmen treat me as though I am still a cupbearer, and most of the courtiers speak to me as though I am still a child holding my father's hand."

"You must not allow them to do so," Daemon said. 

"You say that like it is easy," Rhaenyra said irritably. 

"No," Daemon said, "I say it like it is necessary, which it is. You are a dragonrider and the heir to the Throne, you must command their respect." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, pulling off the last of her clothes. She shivered at the coldness of the room before sinking into the scalding waters of the tub. 

"That is not easy for me like it is for you," Rhaenyra said. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "You are a Prince, a knight, a man, you carry a sword on your hip and you can shed enough blood to earn anyone's respect. It is not like that for us, for women. Everything they shall want me to be directly contradicts the sort of respect you expect me to command."

"What do you mean?" Daemon asked, frowning.

"For a woman, being respected is not the same as a man," Rhaenyra sighed. "My title may allow me more than others, but if I am seen to be - to be wilful, not dutiful and - and controlled, then they shall look down at me, but what sort of ruler is ruled by their consort? Who would respect a King ruled by his Queen? Whatever they want for a woman, they shall not allow for a sovereign." 

"They do not bend the knee to us because they like us," Daemon said, brushing a lock of Rhaenyra's hair over her shoulder. "They do not allow us to command them and tax them and spend their coin on grand statues of ourselves to decorate our Throne Room-" Rhaenyra chuckled "-because they like us. No matter how many agreements Jaehaerys signed, how many marriage pacts Alysanne designed, how many feasts and balls your father may throw, we are only the first House in the Realm because of our dragons." 

"Without them, we are like everybody else," Rhaenyra hummed.

"No," Daemon scoffed. "Without them, we are nothing - a people without a home in a land that does not want us. These people - Andals, First Men, Rhoynar - they do not wish to serve us, but we keep them under our boots because they prefer a life of fealty to a foreigner than burning to death with each of their sons and brothers. You are not some Andal bitch. Visenya brought the Vale to their knees because she was a dragon, you can do the same to the lickspittles of your father's court." Rhaenyra smiled.

  Daemon said nothing as he washed Rhaenyra's skin, taking a soft washcloth to her face, then her arms and her chest. She sat against him, leaning her head against his shoulder, her back against his chest. She moaned softly as his hands fell further downward, smoothing over her stomach and down to her thighs. His breath was hot against her earlobe, and she could feel it hitch as her own hand journeyed down his side, towards his own thigh.

 Rhaenyra gasped as Daemon flipped them. She turned under him so that she could stare up at his face, her chest heaving as it was pressed against his own. He pecked her forehead as her hand reached for his cock, large and throbbing as she wrapped her fingers around it, tugging on him gently. Daemon groaned, his lips still against her skin. 

 He batted her hand away, taking himself into his own fist as he pushed her thighs apart with his knee. His thumb massaged her swollen flesh, brushing over the pearl that sat above her opening before parting her folds for him. "Gods," Rhaenyra moaned. Daemon smirked. She smiled back at him, but her smile faltered as he replaced his thumb with his cock. 

 His lips covered hers, sliding against each other as their bodies rocked together. Rhaenyra's hands tugged on his hair, her tongue chasing his until they were breathless. Daemon smirked again, moving his hips so that he could better line himself up with her once more. "I -" Rhaenyra squeaked. 

 "Relax," Daemon murmured, stroking the inside of her thigh. A shiver ran down her spine at his touch. 

"We have not -" Rhaenyra gasped. It had been moons since they had coupled last, before Aerys, and Rhaenyra did not even know if she was healed enough.

"I will be gentle," Daemon whispered. He pressed a kiss to her forehead again before pushing himself inside. Rhaenyra grasped onto his shoulders, and she felt him gasp against her shoulder as he buried himself inside, stretching her more so than she remembered. "Fucking Hells," he groaned. Rhaenyra chuckled, her fingers running through his hair again. Daemon moaned into the flesh of her shoulder. "Do not do that if you expect this to last much longer," he grunted.

"Do what?" Rhaenyra laughed.

"That," Daemon hissed. Rhaenyra chuckled again and he pinched her thigh. She rolled her eyes. 

 Rhaenyra's head rolled back, leaning against the tub, as Daemon found his rhythm, thrusting into her with short but deliberate movements, his head jutting against the nerves inside of her that had her moaning uncontrollably with every couple of thrusts. She tried to turn her hips along with his, rocking her body closer to his, but she could not keep up. 

 "How are you always so tight?" Daemon grunted. Rhaenyra only groaned in response as he buried all of his length inside of her, murmuring sweet words she could not properly hear into her hair. 

 She tugged on his hair, pulling his face to hers as she felt the simmering heat of her peak burst to the surface, fire scorching through her veins as she whimpered into his mouth. 

 He was not long after her, still rolling his hips as best he could as she clenched around him, her nails digging into the back of his neck as he groaned against her lips. 

 "Fuck me," he groaned, his chest still heaving as he removed himself from her. "Alright?" he whispered, as she let out a whimper. 

"Yes," Rhaenyra returned. "But, you - it is bigger than I remember."

"Really?" Daemon smirked. 

"And what of me? Was I how you recalled?"

"Better than my wildest dreams," Daemon returned, still smirking. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. 

  He continued to kiss her softly, tracing every inch of her skin with his lips, as he returned to brushing the washcloth over her. Once he had decided they were done, he would not let her call for her ladies, wrapping her in a linen sheet, his hands on her hips through the thin material. "I hope you are not expecting anything more," Rhaenyra told him, staring at their reflection through the mirror. Daemon chuckled, shaking his head as his hands played with Rhaenyra's hair. She batted him away. "Can I call for my ladies now, or shall you insist on dressing me yourself too?"

 When Rhaenyra's ladies did arrive, Daemon followed them up to the bedchamber, lounging on the bed with only a linen sheet wrapped around his waist for modesty. "Do you not have to ready yourself?" Rhaenyra asked, as Primrose and Celia helped her with her underskirts. It was a soft gown of purple and silver she would wear tonight, one made of the silk of Lys and bejewelled with amethysts of Leng. 

"It shall not take me half as long as it shall you," Daemon shrugged. 

"Well, go and see Aerys, then. Tell me what Father's new nursery is like," Rhaenyra huffed.

"Am I no longer welcome in my own bedchamber?" Daemon asked. 

"Not if you are just going to gawk at me," Rhaenyra insisted. Daemon rolled his eyes. 

  The music was already playing and wine had begun to pour when they arrived at the Throne Room that evening. Daemon wore a doublet of black and silver, rings of silver and pearl on each of his little fingers, while Rhaenyra wore rubies around her neck and amethysts hung in golden diamonds from her ears. The hall stood to their feet, heads bowed and hands clasped behind them as the Royal couple passed.

 "Ah, my daughter." Viserys rose from his seat as they approached. Lord Lyonel bowed his head, but Alicent did not react, her eyes blankly staring at the empty plate ahead of her. The table was decorated with a tablecloth of gold, and the golden buttons on the King's mostly black coat gleamed in the candlelight. The King's grand chair was ahead of the Iron Throne, his crown upon his head and a grin on his face as he ushered Rhaenyra to her seat beside him. He nodded his head to Daemon, still smiling, and Daemon returned the gesture shortly. Behind them, Rhaenyra's ladies approached the High Table, also bowing their heads before finding their own table. 

 Viserys was quick to open the feast, praising the cooks and calling for a toast in Aerys' honour as more sweet wine was poured. Daemon toasted along with them, draining his goblet in one short gulp, while Rhaenyra only sipped the wine, and Alicent did not touch hers at all. 

  As bowls of soup and plates of fresh bread left the kitchens, the music began to pick up in earnest, jaunty songs of praise and contentment. Rhaenyra finished her goblet and glanced at Daemon, who was not eating anything, even as bowls of tomato and garlic soup arrived. "Will you dance with me?" she asked, as Lords and Ladies rose from their tables and began to take to the floor to dance. 

"Now?" Daemon asked, frowning. Rhaenyra nodded. "The feast has just begun." 

"So has the dancing," Rhaenyra replied. "Please? I do not want to sit here all night, and the best courses will not be out for a while." Daemon drained his goblet.

"Alright then," he sighed. Rhaenyra beamed, taking his hand in hers and leading him down to the steps of the platform and towards the other dancers. She could feel Viserys' eyes glaring daggers into her back as Daemon's hand reached for her waist. "Viserys does not look amused," Daemon whispered, evidently noticing him as well. 

"No, he does not," Rhaenyra replied, smiling. Daemon laughed, tightening his hold on her as the music picked up and they began to sway. "Everyone is watching us," Rhaenyra whispered, turning to the tongue of their ancestors.

"When are they not?" Daemon shrugged. "And I thought you said you could endure the staring so long as you were spared their requests for your hand?"

"Sometimes I would rather have neither."

"You are just fine, my beloved, just look at me." 

"Jealous already?" Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow. Daemon laughed. 

  They twirled around the Hall again for another song, Rhaenyra's foot narrowly missing Daemon's toes twice, and although he did not mention it she knew better than to hope he did not notice. When the next melody became slow and mournful, Daemon decided he had had enough, taking a goblet from a nearby server's tray and joining his group of city watchmen in the corner. His place was soon taken by Clement Celtigar, brother to Primrose and heir to Claw Isle, who was a much more skilful dancer than Rhaenyra was expecting. 

  Rhaenyra had other dance partners; Ser Gunthor Darklyn, Ser Steffon's broad nephew, Jared Piper, the youngest son of Lord Petyr Piper, and Lord Jaspor Rosby. She was ready to return to the table as pies of beef and mutton, racks of lamb ribs cooked in clovers and butter, roasted lobster claws, and small fishes fried in garlic left the kitchens, but Ser Gonzo Tully soon approached her. As she turned around, their arms interlocked, she could see Ser Harwin Strong watching her from his table as he raised some lamb to his lips. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, and averted her eyes before he caught her looking. 

  Her eyes soon found Daemon, still drinking with three men in Gold Cloaks, but they were no longer alone. Lords and knights from across the room flocked to him, congratulating him on the birth of their son. "It is an honour to meet our future King," declared Lord Joffrey Smallwood. "You must be so proud." 

"Of course," Rhaenyra heard Daemon reply, smirking over the rim of his goblet. 

"Another King for the Targaryen dynasty," praised Lord Androw Hawick, offering Daemon a goblet. Daemon accepted, leaving his empty goblet on the table behind him, and nodded to the short Lord. "We were most enthused to hear the news." 

"To the health of the young Prince, my Prince," toasted Ser Alan Mallister, raising his goblet. "And congratulations to yourself on your son and heir. The future of House Targaryen is secure." Daemon forced a smile as he sipped his wine. 

"Allow me to offer you my sincere congratulations, my Prince," Rhaenyra heard Ser Tyland say as Daemon tried to pull himself away from the group. Rhaenyra forced a smile as Ser Gonzo twirled her around. "We are all delighted by the announcement of your son and heir."

"Delighted?" Rhaenyra heard Daemon repeat.

"Indeed," said Lord Jasper Wylde. "Such splendid news for House Targaryen, and for the Realm. Shall you and the future King be in the Capital for long?" 

"We shall see," Daemon muttered. 

"An honour, Princess," Ser Gonzo said, kissing her hand as the song came to an end. She forced a smile and nodded to him, before pulling herself away from the dancers.

 Daemon was quick to follow her, shuffling through the crowd of dancers, but while she had been met with men smiling and bowing their heads to her, complimenting her gown or her beauty, Daemon was offered goblets of wine as men slapped his shoulder, praising his son - their son - as if Rhaenyra had had naught to do with his birth at all.

 Plates of stuffed goose, honeyed ham, pies of crab and leek, and grilled trout on a bed of asparagus were brought to the table as Daemon returned to his seat. "You do not look pleased," he muttered, as Viserys had the servants serve Rhaenyra the first of the ham. Rhaenyra shrugged. "Do you tire of feasting so soon? Did the dancing wear you out?"

"I tire of all of this," Rhaenyra grumbled, reaching for her wine. Daemon chuckled into his own goblet. 

"You should try some of this," Viserys said, leaning over Rhaenyra to offer Daemon a goblet of golden wine. Daemon accepted it, but pulled a face as the liquid washed over his tongue. 

"Blah - orange?" he grunted. 

"You do not like it?" Viserys puzzled, his brow creased. 

"No," Daemon scoffed. "Far too sweet for my tastes. Here -" he offered the goblet to Rhaenyra, who lifted it to her lips. She hummed. The orange wine was far sweeter than anything Daemon would order, but she did not find it disagreeable. 

"Well?" Viserys asked.

"It is good," Rhaenyra said. He beamed. "But Daemon is not wrong, it is sweet." Viserys shrugged. 

  As more wine filled their goblets, some Lords gained the courage to approach the High Table. They toasted to the birth of Prince Aerys, congratulating Viserys on the new heir to his House. Viserys drank and laughed along, but Rhaenyra struggled not to look as miserable as Alicent was. She knew that this was her father’s feast, and that as the King the Lords would always seek out Viserys’ approval, but she could not help but feel insulted, as if they were deliberately ignoring her own efforts in bringing Aerys into the world. After all, he was her heir, and he would only rule after her. The courtiers, however, seemed content to overlook that fact, ignoring Rhaenyra in favour of her father and son and husband, as if Daemon himself was not now sixth in line. 

 "Can we leave?" Rhaenyra whispered, as Lord Costayne approached the table.

"Are you unwell?" Daemon asked, cocking his head. Rhaenyra shook her head. "It is rather early, is it not? They have not yet finished with the pies, I doubt the desserts shall be served for some time." Rhaenyra shrugged. "I thought you were the one who did not want to insult the Lords with noticeable absences?"

"They care not for me this eve, this is my father’s celebration," Rhaenyra replied stiffly. "Are you wanting to stay?"

"No," Daemon replied. He continued to frown at his wife, but when she offered no further explanation, he drained his goblet and rose to his feet. Rhaenyra copied him.

 Try as she might, Rhaenyra could not find sleep that night, her mind plagued with thoughts of the commoners and their plays, mocking her for her lack of a cock and praising Alicent for her ability to produce a babe with one, of the Lords of her betrothal tour, watching her like a lamb for the slaughter, an object on display for their amusement, the words of the Princess Rhaenys ringing in her ears like a siren; the men of the Realm will expect him to be heir, not you. That is the order of things.

 She had once been so sure she could change it. 

 Even Alysanne, the Good Queen, could not sway Jaehaerys. 

 Even her own fair mother had not been able to escape her father's dreams.

 Would she, too, forever be trapped in the cycle of the demands of the men around her? Overlooked and unwanted, like a foolish child with the notion of changing the world?

 But when Daenys had dreamed, her father had listened. What had made her word more momentous than the words of the Lords of Valyria? 

____________

 It was early when Rhaenyra arose, although not so early that Daemon still lay beside her. The bed was still warm, so it could not have been long since he left, and she could hear the fire crackling in the lower room. Although she had had barely two hours of sleep, she thought she had little hope of finding it again, so she rose from the comfort of the bed. 

 The Princess called for her ladies to dress her, saying very little while Primrose and Celia speculated who of the courts maidens would be next to announce their betrothal, Celia guessing Lady Mylenda Fell, daughter of the Lady of Felwood, while Primrose suggested Lady Alla Cuy, the youngest of Alicent's ladies. She wore a plain gown of pale violet, light and usually reserved for the summer, and a thick, ornate coat of black and red. 

  Rhaenyra left her ladies to break their fast without her, instead venturing down the hallway, with Ser Lorent a few paces behind her. It was still odd for her to wake on this floor, instead of the one below it, where she had spent so many morns before her marriage to Daemon. Daemon's rooms were upon the King's floor, and as Rhaenyra passed the library, her father's door came into view. 

 Sers Rickard Throne and Tommen Costayne bowed their heads as the Princess of Dragonstone approached. It was Ser Rickard who announced her to the King, who was still in his tatty robe of burgundy over pale nightwear, his crown missing from his head and his face unshaven. He looked up from his oats as Rhaenyra walked into the room. "Rhaenyra?" he repeated, dropping his spoon. "Well this is a surprise... but a welcome one." The door slammed shut behind the Kingsguard as he returned to his post.

"I need to speak with you," Rhaenyra muttered, turning the rings on her fingers.

"Yes, yes," Viserys said, smiling. "Come on in, come sit with me. Have you eaten? There is plenty of porridge, and sausages, and I shall have bacon coming soon." Rhaenyra nodded, crossing the room to join him at the wooden table in front of the window. "You did not bring your Aerys with you then?" 

"Uh... no," Rhaenyra replied. "He is likely with his wet nurse at present." Viserys shook his head, before raising a spoonful of porridge to his lips. 

"We missed you at the feast last night," he said, as Rhaenyra poured herself a goblet of grape juice. "You left too soon." 

"We were tired, from the journey," Rhaenyra lied. Viserys hummed. 

"There was a lamprey pie, I had it served because I know you like it," he said after a pause. "And there were some splendid strawberry tarts, Alicent agreed you would have liked them." 

"Next time," Rhaenyra murmured, frowning at the mention of her stepmother. Viserys, however, smiled as a pair of serving girls came in with trays of blood sausages and fried bacon. 

"Next time," he agreed. He glanced at the door. "Is Daemon to accompany us?"

"No," Rhaenyra replied. Viserys' brow creased curiously. "He shall be in the training yard at this hour." 

"Are things... well, with you?" the King asked, pouring honey into his oats. "He is not being ungallant, I hope? You just had a child after all." 

"Everything is fine, Father," Rhaenyra sighed. 

Viserys shook his head, "something troubles you, child, what is it?" 

"I am a woman-grown and a mother, not a child," Rhaenyra sniffed.

"Yes, I suppose," Viserys chuckled. "But, alas, you shall always be my child. Now, what is troubling you?" 

Rhaenyra sighed. "You told - you told me before of the prophecy, of the Song of Ice and Fire." 

Viserys hummed his agreement, "Aegon's Dream." 

"The Prince to unite the Realm."

"Against a common foe, yes. Why?" 

"You told me that it was a burden, this knowledge," Rhaenyra said. Viserys nodded. "But, before that, you had told me you thought - that my mother thought - I had the makings of a good ruler, that I had to promise to carry the secret and that -"

"Yes, yes indeed," Viserys interjected. "Your mother knew not of the true burdens of the Crown, of the knowledge we must carry, but I do believe she thought you more than capable." 

"From my blood comes the Prince that was promised," Rhaenyra recited. Viserys nodded again. "Jaehaerys told you?"

"Indeed," the King replied. "He could not tell me much, the state he was in was not a good, one, he became confused and he misremembered things, but he left me his tomes, the ones from Dragonstone, and I do believe that he expected it sooner than later." 

"You said that the Realm needs a strong King or Queen to unite them against the cold and dark," Rhaenyra said. Viserys nodded again. "You also said that Daemon was unfit to wear the Crown, why?" 

"Pardon?" Viserys frowned. 

"Daemon is your brother, he is of your blood, of Jaehaerys'," Rhaenyra said. "You told me once that I was your only heir, but that was never true, you have always had us both. So, why me? Why me and not him when he is the one that has the respect of the Lords of the Realm? The one who is applauded and awed, the image of the Conqueror himself while I am looked down upon like a foolish child?"

"I do not understand," Viserys said, his frown darkening. "No one believes Daemon to be my heir, no one -"

"Please, half of them expect him to rule me, and therefore the Kingdoms," Rhaenyra scoffed. Viserys scowled. 

"He shall not, he is only -"

"I know that," Rhaenyra said stiffly. "As does Daemon, but the - I believe your courtiers would rather Daemon hold the reins than have to accept a ruling Queen." 

"It is not up to them," Viserys said firmly. "You are my heir."

"But - but why?" Rhaenyra asked. "Why have you done this to - to all of us?"

"Pardon?" Viserys cocked his head, dropping his spoon into his bowl. "I do not understand."

"You had two heirs," Rhaenyra insisted. "You did not need to marry again, you had Daemon and you had I, and if you had annulled his marriage and betrothed us then, then your blood - mine and Daemon's line - would wear the Crown without question. But, you did not do that. You did not choose Daemon, you chose me, when every precedent set by even our own House since the Conquest suggested otherwise. Why?"

"He was, as I have said before, unfit," Viserys replied.

"But he is your brother, the blood of your mother and father." 

"Indeed." 

"So, why not him?" Rhaenyra puzzled. "Was it your Council? Was the word of Otto Hightower enough for you to turn from the wishes of Jaehaerys?" 

Viserys sighed, "I have told you before, I love my brother, I do, but he is not fit to wear the Crown, for the burden of the Throne and all that it brings. He is a warrior, and a strong one at that, but he lacks Jaehaerys' mercy and temperament."

"When Daenys dreamed, the other Lords of Valyria laughed at our House," Rhaenyra said softly. Viserys nodded his agreement. "But, Aenar listened, and they sailed to Dragonstone for safety. Every other dragonlord mocked them, but Aenar trusted his daughter's word." 

"You would not?" Viserys puzzled. "Had your son said the same to you, would you also laugh in his face and continue your days amongst the dragonlords?"

"I - no," Rhaenyra said, shaking her head. "If he had seen it - truly seen it, as Aegon did, the end of our days, I would do all I could to protect him." Viserys hummed. 

"Daemon, see, would not."

"Pardon?" 

"Daemon would mock him, as all others would," Viserys replied. "He cares not for the true powers of dreams, for dreams do not bring victories as fire and blood." Viserys chuckled to himself.

"I wish my mother had laughed at your dreams," Rhaenyra muttered. Viserys' face fell. 

"I regret that I became so obsessed with it, I do," he said softly. "I must have seen wrong, or perhaps it was our Aerys I saw." He smiled to himself. "Your mother would be proud of him, your son." 

"Last night, at the feast, your Lords spoke of Aerys as Daemon's accomplishment," Rhaenyra said stiffly. 

"He is his son," Viserys shrugged.

"He is my son too, but none seemed to care," Rhaenyra muttered. "His claim comes through me, but it was Daemon they all saw, Daemon and you. It was like I was invisible." 

Viserys frowned, "Daemon shall only ever be a Prince, but you shall be their Queen."

"An unnecessary interval between yourself and my son I am sure," Rhaenyra sniffed.

"No," Viserys pressed. "You have the strength to hold them together some day, I know it."

"And what of you?" 

"What of me?" 

"Will you hold together the divisions in your court?"

"In my court?" Viserys frowned.

"You are not a fool, Father, not truly," Rhaenyra sighed. "You must see how Alicent's lickspittles -"

"Rhaenyra, Alicent has done nothing wro-"

"They want Aegon to be your heir, Father," Rhaenyra insisted. "He is the King's firstborn son, that I shall never, never be. You say you want me to hold the Realm together, but it is already beginning to crack, and there is naught that I can do but hope that you see it too, and you do not." 

"You are my heir," Viserys said. "The Lords of the Realm shall remember this, whether they like it or not is not my concern, nor should it be yours. They have sworn oaths, to me and to you, and they cannot break them now, nor shall I be willing to free them from such bonds. You shall succeed me, and Aerys shall succeed you, and nothing anyone says shall be enough to change that. Now, bacon?" Rhaenyra waved a hand dismissively, but he piled some onto a plate for her anyway, along with a selection of sausages, blood, pork, and duck.

 Rhaenyra's eyes fell to the model of Valyria behind them. Still, they did not know what had caused the collapse of such an empire, and would be unlikely to learn it now. She only hoped her father had not seen the Doom's second coming, overlooked by his lust for a son.

Chapter Text

  Aerys' violet eyes stared up at her from the gold and black wrappings he was swaddled within.

 It was a fine day, the sky was a clear blue and the sun was bright and warm. It was still early, the castle still enough that the sound of birdsong could be heard as Rhaenyra reached the gardens, not yet filled with the usual bustling of hundreds of courtiers and servants hurrying to and fro. Rhaenyra wore a light dress of lilac, the sleeves a pale yellow and bodice trimmed with lace, and around her neck was a necklace of gold from which hung a white-gold pendant in the shape of a dragon, a gift from Daemon following the births of their son and his hatchling. 

 Aerys clutched tightly onto his mother's finger as they walked through the trees, blooming with cherry blossoms and the first signs of fruit, the sound of rushing water growing louder and louder as Rhaenyra could make out the shape of the marble fountain through the branches. She could hear very little else, no muttering or giggling or footsteps, but still she could not shake the feeling that she was being watched.

 "Good morning, Princess." 

 Rhaenyra spun around to see the gaunt face of Larys Strong leering at her with his cold, dark eyes. He was not following the path around and instead standing within the shrubbery, as if inspecting the leaves of the rose bushes. 

 "Good morning, Lord Larys," Rhaenyra returned politely, tightening her hold on Aerys in her arms. Larys gave her a smile, but it was chilling and stiff, although Rhaenyra could not say that it was forced. Still, she could feel her heart hammering as his eyes danced over her, lingering on Aerys' little face for too long. "It looks to be a pleasant day, does it not?"

"Indeed, Princess," Larys replied. He licked his lips, slowly, in a way that reminded Rhaenyra of a snake. "Are you here alone? I had thought you were supposed to be accompanied by ladies... or guards."

"Yes." Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably. "I imagine your sisters are still abed at present, and I am quite capable of walking the gardens alone." Larys nodded, averting his eyes to the ground as he forced a chuckle.

"Of course." 

  Rhaenyra did not linger for long, soon bidding farewell to Larys and continuing down the path. As she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Larys staring intently at a pair of servant girls rolling barrels towards the castle, and felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something so steely and uninviting to his gaze, like a dead man lurking around a corner, and she could not help but wonder how much of his time was spent watching people who did know know he was there. Rhaenyra was glad not to have him on Dragonstone. 

  Aerys gave her a little gummy smile as they wandered down the path past the weirwood tree. The leaves were a vibrant red that caught Aerys' attention. Rhaenyra smiled down at him, tickling under his chin. Aerys' eyes turned back to her and he let out a little sound that was almost a laugh. 

 Rhaenyra was so absorbed in her son that she did not hear the footsteps marching towards her as she neared the castle, until it was too late. When she looked up, the stern face of Ser Criston Cole was glowering at her. He was a stiff man, walking with his hands clasped behind himself and a grim expression on his lips. He had drawn himself to his full height, almost a full head taller than her, and stopped a short distance ahead of her, blocking her path. 

 At first, Rhaenyra ignored him. She kept her eyes on her boots as she tried to reach the doorway, but she found there was no way to pass him, so she gave in and glared back. "Did you want something, Ser Criston?" Rhaenyra asked stiffly. The knight scoffed. 

"I should not be surprised to find you out here parading about."

"Excuse me?" 

"Do you truly think nobody sees through your facade? You are far from the image of the Maiden you fool the court into seeing you for, and you are a far cry from the Mother." 

 Rhaenyra shook her head. 

 It was hardly her doing that the courtiers whispered amongst themselves of her beauty, of her perceived youthfulness and chastity, even now as a mother. It was not by her design that they saw her as an image of something more than any of them, something to be guarded and treasured, revered as if she was a portrait in a golden frame, and not a person the same as them, who needed to breathe. It had been flattering once, when she was four and ten and freshly flowered, so unaccustomed to being seen as a maiden and as desirable, not yet aware of what men wanted from her - what Ser Criston wanted from her. 

 "And I suppose you consider yourself to be the image of the Warrior, do you?" she puffed. "Does it take much courage to gaze upon a girl of five and ten with lust in your eyes?" 

 Cole let out a low grunt from the depths of his throat.

 "Does it take much strength to corner a mother and her babe alone? You are armed and I am not, Ser, what is it you seek to prove?" 

"Do not speak to me with such accusations, whore," Cole spat. "Does your husband know you have sullied your honour?"

"What?" Rhaenyra frowned, confused.

Cole let out a humourless laugh. "Yes, I can only imagine what Daemon Targaryen would do if he knew the babe you presented as his firstborn son was nothing more than a bastard."

"Hold your tongue before you speak such untruths to me again," Rhaenyra snapped. 

"I tell no lies," Cole leered. "You are not pure as the Septon claims. You let that - that degenerate have his way with you. I know it to be true, on Driftmark."

"Excuse me?"

"That is why you defended him so, was it not? The betrothal contract was yet to be signed and you had already gifted Ser Laenor your maidenhead," growled Cole. Rhaenyra glared at him.

"Say no more," she huffed. "This is absurd, Ser Laenor and I-"

"Did he have a man at the other end while he defiled you?" Cole hissed. 

"Nothing of the sort occurred," Rhaenyra insisted. "I defended Ser Laenor's good name from your vicious attacks -" Cole scoffed "- because he was my cousin and a member of the Royal House who did not deserve to be treated so." 

"You cannot deceive me. You and your bastard are unworthy of the titles your father foolishly gives you." 

"My son is no such thing," Rhaenyra huffed. "And I see not why you, as the mere son of a steward, feel you can run my father's House better than he can, seeing as he is the King."

"The King is blinded by his love for his daughter. It is a shame she is such a whore."

"If you are so interested in my husband, Ser, I wonder what he would do if he knew you were to say such things to me, around his son as well," Rhaenyra said coolly. "Mayhaps I should summon for him and we can find out?"

"You will do no such thing," Cole snarled, reaching for her arm, but Rhaenyra side-stepped him, evading his grasp. She hugged Aerys closer to her chest, wrapping one arm around him tightly. 

"Stay away from us!" she cried. Cole narrowed his eyes at her, looking around, although there was nobody there to see them. 

"I do hope I am there the day Daemon Targaryen finally sees through your deceptions," he scoffed. "I doubt your bastard would survive it."

"Say such things again I will have my father pull out your tongue," Rhaenyra snapped.

"Who do you think you are fooling? If it were not for my honour, I would spit on the little -" 

 Cole trailed off as they heard a familiar laugh, accompanied by a gruff voice as the sound of footsteps against stone grew louder and louder. Cole froze as the King appeared in the doorway, his crown upon his head and the Conqueror's dagger at his hip. He was accompanied by Ser Harrold, the Lord Commander's beard longer and whiter than Rhaenyra recalled. 

 Viserys beamed when he spotted her, veering off the path to march towards her. "Rhaenyra," he greeted warmly. "And my grandson. May I?" Rhaenyra tried to ignore how her hands were trembling slightly as she offered Aerys to her father. Viserys did not seem to notice it, already cooing at Aerys. 

 Ser Harrold, meanwhile, was frowning. "What a surprise to see you here, Ser Criston. It is early, is it not?"

"I was headed to the training yard, Ser," Cole replied stiffly. 

"You were? Are you not now?"

"No. I shall take my leave now Ser, Princess, your Grace." Cole bowed his head before stepping past Rhaenyra and up the path, but Viserys did not seem to notice. Rhaenyra watched him leave, twirling the rings on her fingers as he disappeared from view. 

"I hope he was not causing you any bother, Princess," Ser Harrold said, as Viserys pointed out the weirwood tree to Aerys. 

"N-no," Rhaenyra replied, shaking her head. She did not wish to relive the anger she had felt upon the boat so many moons ago, and how her once friend had turned on her, the cruelty of his words, especially towards her son, something she did not think she could repeat. 

Ser Harrold did not look convinced. He glanced at the King, who was walking away from them, pointing to a mostly olive-grey bird with a dark black crest, which had landed upon the weirwood's branches. "Are you sure you are alright, Princess?" he inquired, his voice low and soft, as it had been when she was a child and him her sworn shield, in the years before Cole's appointment. "You appear... uneasy."

"I am fine, Ser, you need not worry," Rhaenyra replied, playing with the rings on her fingers again. 

"Right," Ser Harrold said slowly, nodding. Rhaenyra had presumed that to be the end of it, and turned on her heel to approach her father, but before she walked away, the Lord Commander continued, "only, Ser Lorent did mention once that there had perhaps been an incident between Ser Criston and yourself before? Maybe your decision to remove him from your service was not as amicable as you initially stated?" 

"You need not worry, Ser Harrold," Rhaenyra told him again. "Ser Criston he is... not a problem."

 It was not a lie, she told herself. Ser Criston Cole was only one man. As she had said, just the son of the steward of Blackhaven, already risen above his station and much more, higher above any Cole before. He had no friends or allies at court, no powerful relatives to intervene on his behalf and seek to sway the courtiers. Surely none would be foolish enough to believe his absurd notions if he were to whisper them to another ear, the stories of Laenor's interests were hardly the best kept secret, and her son was every inch a Targaryen Prince. 

 "Your safety, Princess, is of the utmost importance," Ser Harrold said gruffly. "No member of the Kingsguard should be undermining that."

"I fear the Kingsguard greatly prioritise the King's safety more than mine," Rhaenyra chuckled weakly.

"You fear he may harm the King?"

"Not at all, Ser, Heavens no," Rhaenyra said quickly. Ser Harrold raised an eyebrow. "If I appear uneasy at all, it is because Ser Criston and I exchanged - we exchanged unpleasant words, but nothing more, I assure you."

"Did he threaten you, Princess?" Ser Harrold murmured, taking a step closer to her, his hand now resting upon her shoulder. Rhaenyra shook her head, a lock of hair falling into her face. She wondered where Larys had gotten to, if he was still lurking somewhere, listening in. She only hoped he was not. 

"I - I do not wish to speak to him again, Ser," Rhaenyra whispered. Ser Harrold nodded. "I - I do not wish for him to be allowed near my son. Could - could that be arranged, Ser Harrold? Could he be kept away from us?"

"Of course, Princess," Ser Harrold replied kindly, although his grey-blue eyes were clouded with fury. Rhaenyra gave him a smile and a nod before approaching her father, retrieving her son from him so that they could return to her rooms. 

____________

  King's Landing was crowded with smallfolk, all eager to catch a glimpse of the royal carriage as it rode through the streets, flanked by knights carrying Targaryen banners. Rhaenyra sat in a dress of black and red with Daemon beside her, having left Aerys in the nursery so as not to overwhelm him, and so he remained close to his wet nurse. On Daemon's other side sat Aegon, the young Prince dressed in red and gold, like his mother. Alicent sat across from them, with Viserys on one side and Helaena on the other, having also left Aemond in the castle with his maids. 

  The carriage halted only once they reached the market square in the centre of the city, overlooked by a statue of a black stone dragon atop a white marble pedestal. Aegon pointed to it from the window excitedly, as the Kingsguard dismounted their horses and approached them. Viserys had insisted on having no less than four of his guards accompany them, and, much to Rhaenyra's displeasure, Alicent had selected Ser Criston as her children's protector.

 "Are you alright?" Daemon asked quietly, noticing how her face darkened at the sight of him outside the window with Ser Harrold. She nodded stiffly, playing with rings on her fingers. Daemon clucked his tongue, unconvinced. He reached for one of her hands, squeezing it in his, as they followed Viserys and Helaena out of the carriage. "Has the Lord Commander offended you in some manner?" Daemon inquired. 

"Not him," Rhaenyra muttered.

"One of the other eunuchs then?"

Rhaenyra scoffed, "it is nothing." Daemon raised an eyebrow. His eyes scanned over Ser Criston, Ser Steffon, and Ser Willis as if looking for some sort of clue. When he  drew a blank, he stared at her again, but Rhaenyra tightened her hold on his hand, dragging him towards the market stalls.

"I am your husband," Daemon said lowly, so they could not be overheard. "You are supposed to tell me things." 

"I am not incapable of dealing with things myself, Daemon," Rhaenyra puffed. She already felt helpless, knowing that if it were taken to the King it would be considered her word against his, and the last thing she wanted was for any of his accusations against her son to get out. She also did not see things ending well if Daemon were to learn of Cole's words of their son, as a Prince killing a member of the Kingsguard was unlikely to be received well. Ser Criston had never been a favoured member of the guards, not by the King or Lord Commander, and if he were to cause trouble, Rhaenyra knew the Small Council would only blame her for selecting him for the post in the first place. 

 Daemon shook his head, displeased, but he did not press the matter further. Rhaenyra smiled at him, squeezing his hand again as she pulled him towards the stalls of lace and jewels, hearing Ser Steffon plodding behind them. 

 While Rhaenyra enjoyed looking at the items on display, listening to the vendors tell her of their origins while they praised her beauty and told her which of their gemstones suited her best, Daemon was soon bored. He dragged his feet behind him like a petulant child in a sulk, his eyes wandering in the direction of the alehouses that lined the way to the Fishmonger's Square. "Look at these," she told him, drawing his attention to a pair of earrings. "Sea-pearls." 

"Splendid," Daemon grunted. 

"You do not like it?"

"You are no Velaryon," Daemon shrugged. "Rubies and garnets have always suited you the best." Rhaenyra smiled.

"That may be true, but there is nothing of the sort here," she replied. Daemon rolled his eyes. "What do you think of this?" Rhaenyra gestured to a bracelet of gold and sapphires, each shard slightly bigger than the last. Daemon shrugged. 

"What was the point of his again?" he grumbled, his fingers tapping against the hilt of Dark Sister impatiently. 

"Father thinks it is good to be amongst the people," Rhaenyra replied. "And they certainly like to see us. Besides, everything here is much more interesting than another day shut up in the Keep." Daemon hummed but did not disagree. 

 They spent a little over an hour walking from stall to stall, Daemon only finding interest in a pair of leather gloves he eventually decided against purchasing, while Rhaenyra insisted they buy her a belt from the man, one of reddish brown leather and encrusted with shards of pale purple diamonds. They were surrounded by crowds all the while, kept from them only by half a dozen household guards in red helms, many screaming and cheering Rhaenyra's name, significantly more so than for her father or Alicent, she noted. Viserys, Alicent and their children were not far behind them, but enough of a distance that Rhaenyra had not heard Alicent or Ser Criston all morning. As noon neared, Viserys insisted that they accompanied him and Ser Harrold to the Street of Flour, where many fine bakeries were located and the smell of fresh bread wafted down the street. 

 This time, it was Daemon who was in his element, buying meat pies and tankards of ale from one of the stalls, the shopkeep greeting him fondly while other patrons stared in awe at the Targaryen Prince. Rhaenyra ate the pie that he offered her, but she refused to touch the ale. Viserys also looked unimpressed by the lack of sweet liqueurs, and Alicent refused to touch anything. 

 "Do you not think we should just return to the Red Keep?" she asked, scrunching her nose in disgust as Daemon licked the gravy from his lips. 

"Why?" Viserys puzzled, scratching the side of his head as he inspected the display of the stall beside the one Daemon visited. 

"Do you really think any of this is suitable for the children?" Alicent hissed, keeping her voice low so she could not be overheard. Viserys shrugged. 

"It shall not kill them, I am sure," he chuckled. Alicent pursed her lips. "Do you like chicken, Aegon?"

"No," Aegon snapped, shaking his head, his fringe flopping in front of his face. 

"What about pork, then?" Viserys suggested. 

"I do not know," Aegon mumbled.

"Pie?" Helaena quizzed, cocking her head. 

"There are pies, yes," Viserys told her. 

"Not to seem like I am agreeing with Alicent, but I am rather ready to return also," Rhaenyra whispered. Daemon cocked an eyebrow. 

"I thought you were enjoying spending your father's coin?" he chuckled. 

"Well, yes, but I have rather grown tired of the stench of the city," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon laughed. "And I am missing Aerys, are you not?" 

"I am quite enjoying my pie," Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. "What? You were happy enough perusing your silks and gems, were you not?" Rhaenyra scoffed, but she could not argue with him. Daemon smirked at her. 

"No!" Aegon suddenly cried, throwing his pie to the ground. Alicent smoothed his hair comfortingly, while Viserys let out a laboured sigh, bowing his head. 

"Come now, Aegon," he grumbled. 

"I told you, husband, he is not used to these... well, these foods," Alicent said in a falsely-sweet tone. Viserys shook his head. 

"It would not hurt him to try," he puffed. He handed Ser Harrold a few pennies, which bought Aegon a second pie, this one more similar to the one Daemon had. 

"Is there anything sweet to be had here?" Rhaenyra wondered.

"I am afraid not, Princess," Daemon replied. He offered her the last of his ale, but she declined, her eyes flickering to where Ser Criston was standing behind Alicent, his expression as hard as stone. "What did he do to you?" Daemon hissed, noticing her gaze. 

Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably, "let it be." 

"I shall not," Daemon snapped. "Did he hurt you, for I shall cut him balls to -"

"You shall do no such thing," Rhaenyra huffed. 

Daemon glowered at her, "if he -"

"Daemon," Viserys said. "Tell Aegon how good the beef is."

"Yes, very good," Daemon said drily. Alicent frowned at him. Aegon did not look convinced, staring at the pie in his hand with contempt. 

"See, Aegon?" Viserys sighed. 

"You eat it then," Aegon puffed, thrusting it at his father. 

"I could, but then you shall have nothing for lunch," Viserys told him. Aegon pouted, but lifted the pie to his lips. He pulled a face of distaste, but that did not prevent him from taking a second bite. Daemon chuckled.

  Daemon's mood soured again after they spent nearly two hours wandering stalls of fruits, flowers, and candles from across the Narrow Sea, the Vale, and the Reach. Alicent was most interested in the bouquets of moonbloom, pale white flowers that were native of Oldtown, while Viserys was more interested in the smokeberries, which were used to make a brown, acidic wine that Rhaenyra refused to touch. Aegon and Helaena were also growing grouchy, Helaena crying when Alicent put her down to walk by herself, and Aegon grumbling at everything Viserys tried to show him. 

 The young Prince perked up again once they reached a toy stall. 

 "Look at these," Rhaenyra said, pointing through the collection of dolls and wooden boats to a collection of knights, all in red helms, like the guardsmen of the Keep. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "For Aerys, obviously," Rhaenyra added.

"He is a bit young for that, do you not think?" 

"Well, yes, now he is," Rhaenyra replied. "But one day he shall not be." Daemon chuckled. "Do you not like it?"

"I am sure we could wait a few years before buying him knights and wooden swords," Daemon said. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

"What do you think, Aegon?" 

 Rhaenyra turned around as she heard her father approach them, Aegon toddling after him, a stuffed horse in one hand and a toy knight in the other, this one in armour of all black. 

 Viserys was gesturing to a display of children's shoes, specifically a pair of leather boots that made Aegon shake his head. 

 "Oh," Viserys said, dejected. "You do not like it?"

"No," Aegon declared. "No." 

"Oh," Viserys said again. Aegon waved his knight in his face, screaming as he did so. Viserys knocked his hand away, shaking his head. Aegon giggled and sped off towards his mother. "Ah, Rhaenyra." Viserys' face brightened as he approached, which made Daemon raise an eyebrow. "I am thinking of having something made for our young Aerys. What would he like?" Daemon snorted. Viserys glared at him.

"He is a babe, brother," Daemon said drily. "All he likes is milk and sleep." 

"He is also rather fond of his dragon," Rhaenyra said, loudly enough that she knew Alicent would hear her. Viserys smiled.

"Dragons it is, of course," he said. Daemon rolled his eyes. 

 Whatever Viserys had ordered for her son, it was not ready to take with them, and so Rhaenyra followed the King back to the carriage with only a pair of wooden knights, each in helms so similar to that of Daemon's tourney armour that she could not resist them, her other purchases being taken back for her already. Daemon walked a few paces behind them, forcing a smile as he nodded to the crowd that continued to cheer for them, their voices growing louder and louder as they neared the carriage.

"Your Grace!" they cried out. "Your Grace!"

"All hail King Viserys!" 

"Princess! Princess Rhaenyra! The Realm's Delight!"

"Seven blessings, your Grace, and to the Princess!" 

"Prince Daemon! The Prince of the City!"

"Seven blessings to your son, Princess!" 

"Your Grace!" 

"The Realm's Delight!" 

"The Princess of Dragonstone!"

"The Prince of the City!" 

"All hail the King!"

 Rhaenyra followed her father's lead and waved to the onlookers before they clambered up the steps and into the carriage. Still, their shouts did not cease, children continuing to wave toy dragons and swords so that they might catch their attention. 

 Rhaenyra noted that Alicent had a peevish expression on her face as she and her children followed Daemon into the carriage, likely because as the cries for Rhaenyra and Viserys continued, there were far fewer for Aegon, and none that Rhaenyra could hear for her and her daughter. Alicent pursed her lips, seating her children beside her while Viserys squeezed onto the bench beside Daemon, and the horses began to move. 

 When they returned to the Keep, Rhaenyra instructed the servants to take all of their purchases to her rooms, while she took herself up to the nursery. 

 It was a vast room, the walls richly decorated with Valyrian tapestries, the shelves filled with books and plants of gold, and on the far side of the room was a large dresser filled with clothes for the young Prince. In the centre of the room sat a low marble table, topped with a bowl of sweet figs, a jug of red wine, a golden candle, and a small statue of a dragon, around which sat two chaises, each adorned with pillows of red and gold. There was a wooden rocking horse in the corner, equipped with a small wooden sword and sheath, and each of the windows behind it were covered by a curtain of purple lace. Aerys' cradle lay a short distance from the roaring fireplace, behind one of the chaises, and there was already a crib beside it for when he grew. Rhaenyra could see why her father was so proud of it, the room was unrecognisable for what it once was, although part of her mourned for the space that had once been used by her mother, this the very chamber she had died in, and now all that had been hers was erased, since her rooms had already been given to Alicent upon her marriage to the King. She pondered if Daemon would want for them when she ascended, although she could not imagine him wishing to leave his rooms to put himself further away from her. 

 Rhaenyra found Aerys with his wet nurse on a chair in the far corner, close enough to the fire that they could feel the heat, but not so much so that it stifled them. Aerys' hatchling was curled around itself on one of the chaises, and opened one golden eye as Rhaenyra approached. 

 "Afternoon, your Grace," the wet nurse, Kella, greeted her. "He is an eager one today." 

"I hope he is behaving himself," Rhaenyra said, her thoughts falling on Aemond's screaming whenever he was hungry. 

"Of course, Princess," Kella replied. "He is a very sweet one." Rhaenyra smiled proudly. She reached for one of Aerys' little hands, stroking it with one finger. His eyes flickered to look at her, and Rhaenyra grinned at him. 

 Kella had left, and the servants had appeared to replace the figs with a bowl of candied orange slices and to relight the fire, when Daemon arrived. At first, Rhaenyra did not notice him, too interested in the hatchling, who was attempting to fly from the table up to the cradle, until she heard him chuckle. His hair was wet and plastered to his forehead, and he had changed from his dark tunic to one of pale gold. "He looks peaceful," Daemon said, nodding to Aerys, who was asleep in Rhaenyra's arms. She nodded, smiling as she brushed her hand over his wisps of hair, so soft like an expensive silk. "Should you be alone in here?" Daemon muttered, crossing the room to join her on the chaise. 

"Pardon?" 

"I do not like the two of you being here without guards," Daemon said stiffly. Rhaenyra let out a humourless laugh. Daemon frowned.

"Are you not the one always sending our guardsmen away?" Rhaenyra scoffed. 

"That is different."

"How?"

"This is not Dragonstone. Besides, when I am with you I know that I can protect you."

"And what should I need protecting from?" Rhaenyra huffed.

"You tell me," Daemon said, staring at her. Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I have not a clue what you are implying," she sniffed. 

"Yes, you do." 

"Have you come here to see our son, or are you just here to jape at me?" 

"It is no jape," Daemon said. "I care more for your safety - and his - than I can express. I do not need my child and his mother alone and unprotected here." 

"It is only a nursery." 

"King's Landing is not the home it once was," Daemon said. 

"Indeed," Rhaenyra sighed.

"The people in it are not as comforting a presence as they once were to you, I do not doubt."

"Perhaps." 

"Is it all of the guard you seek to avoid, or just that Cole dog?" 

"I told you to leave the matter alone!" Rhaenyra flared. Aerys let out a whimper in his sleep, but did not wake. Rhaenyra cooed at him softly. 

"I am your husband," Daemon growled. "If he has done something, then I -"

"I am the Princess of Dragonstone," Rhaenyra puffed. "I am perfectly capable of dealing with one knight without your interference." 

"It does not look as if he has been dealt with," Daemon retorted. "It looks as though he still bothers you greatly, and I only wish to know why. You were once rather close to him, were you not? Alarmingly so, one might say - and they did." 

"He was a friend," Rhaenyra muttered, averting her gaze to her son once more. "Nothing more."

"And now he is not?" 

"No." 

"Why?" Daemon pressed. 

"That - that is my business alone." 

"When you married me, you made it my business also," Daemon grunted. He waved a hand dismissively as a pair of servants came in with wine, and so they turned on their heels and left. 

"Is that the cost of marriage, then? That I cannot have a single thought to myself." 

"If it concerns your safety, then no, you cannot," Daemon snapped. "I am trying to help you, will you not be helped?"

"Now you sound like your brother," Rhaenyra spat. Daemon scowled. "Believe it or not, I do not need him, or you, or anyone else for that matter to save me all the time. I am capable of protecting myself - and of protecting my son on my own." Rhaenyra shook her head, her blood boiling at the recollection of his words, of his dismissal of her poor babe. 

"Did he threaten the safety of our son?" Daemon demanded. 

"It is me his grievances are with, not him," Rhaenyra puffed. "Nor you." Daemon sighed.

"You do not wish to speak of it, fine," he said. "But, you should know that if he touched you, as your husband it is my duty to -"

"He -" Rhaenyra shook her head, feeling tears well in her eyes but unwilling to show it. Daemon cocked his head. When Rhaenyra said nothing more, he sighed again. 

"Fine," he said. "But if you are going to be evasive, at least ensure you and our son are accompanied by - well, if not a guard, someone with a sword you can trust." 

"Why do you not stay with us?" Rhaenyra asked. 

Daemon frowned, taken aback, "would you wish me to?" Rhaenyra nodded. 

 The sky had already begun to blacken when they finally left Aerys to his slumber, walking arm in arm up the steps towards Daemon's chambers. They could hear wailing as they approached, likely Aegon pouting as he was removed from Viserys' rooms, and Daemon shook his head disapprovingly. 

 Their dinner was a small meal of crab cakes, smoked meats, and quails drenched in a buttery sauce. "We should return home soon," Daemon said, pouring himself a third goblet of Arbour Red. 

"I agree," Rhaenyra replied. "But I fear Father shall wish for us to stay until after the festivities for his anniversary. They have been rather expensive, so he tells me." Daemon rolled his eyes.

"And we care about that why exactly?" 

"Would you not rather be there than have it look like we were removed from the Capital so that they could celebrate my father and Alicent?" Rhaenyra inquired. Daemon grunted, but could not disagree. "I, too, shall be happier once we are back on Dragonstone," Rhaenyra muttered. "I am sure Syrax would agree." Daemon chuckled. 

____________

  Rhaenyra's name-day came as the fourth moon neared its end. Having spent her last on her betrothal tour, she had hoped to throw a feast of her own at her own castle this year, but instead she found herself woken at her father's leisure so that they could break their fast with him. 

 Her dress was red, with a low neckline that showed off her shoulders, and had split sleeves that bared most of her arms. The bodice was decorated with golden detailing, as was the hem of the skirts, and her belt was also one of gold, the buckle shaped like the head of a dragon. Her earrings, like the rings on her fingers, were bejewelled with rubies, and around her neck she wore two chains of gold, from one hanging a dragon pendant decorated with citrines to imitate Syrax, and from the other a silver falcon to represent her mother's House.

 Daemon's tunic was also one of red, although his was a far darker shade, like the colour of the strongwines he favoured. The sleeves and collar were a bright crimson, and the clasps were a silver-grey, all in the shape of dragons. His boots were as black as the night, and he wore a silver ring engraved with the Targaryen sigil on his left hand. Around his shoulders he wore one of his gold cloaks, fastened around his chest with a black leather buckle. 

 Viserys was already joined by Alicent and their children when they arrived at his rooms. Viserys was sat at the head of the table, and a large candleabra that held eight handles was placed in its centre. Rhaenyra took the chair across from him, with Daemon to her right, while Aegon sat to her left. Beside him was Helaena, her back to the corner of Viserys' growing model of Valyria, and Alicent sat beside the King. Aemond sat on the King's other side, leaving a vacant chair between himself and Daemon, slobbering over one of his chubby fists.

 "Good morning, my dear daughter," Viserys greeted, sipping tea from a copper cup. Rhaenyra nodded at him as she filled her own cup. "And Daemon, too. You - you did not bring my grandson?" 

"No, Father, it is early for him," Rhaenyra replied. "He shall still be with his wet nurse." Viserys frowned.

"It is probably for the best," Alicent said, before he could say anything. "Children that young shall only fuss." 

"Nonsense," Viserys replied, waving a hand dismissively at him. "He should be here. I have something for him." Alicent frowned. 

"We can visit him later, I am sure," Rhaenyra said. Daemon nodded his agreement. Viserys did not look pleased, but he did not press the issue as servants arrived with their meal- jugs of iced milk for the children, bowls of porridge and pots of honey, fruit tarts and warm bread, pork sausages, fried bacon, and eggs. 

 Aemond had already been fed by his wet nurse, so he was in one of his more agreeable moods, picking blueberries from the tarts and nibbling them in small bites, but his brother was less pleasant. Unlike Helaena and Aemond, who had been dressed in white, Aegon wore a shirt of red and silver, which he soon spoiled by spilling his porridge onto, refusing to put any in his mouth no matter how much cinnamon or honey was stirred into it. Viserys then tried to tempt him with a tart, but Aegon only crushed it in his fist to throw at his brother, who Viserys had turned his attention to. 

"No," Helaena told him sternly, as the boy's chubby hand reached for her own porridge bowl. Aegon stuck his tongue out at her before slapping the bowl away, fortunately landing on the floor right side up, but her spoon still ended up spraying oats across the floor. Helaena's mouth formed an 'O' as she could do nothing but watch in horror. Aegon giggled. Aemond laughed with him. 

"Stop that," Alicent told her eldest, frowning over Helaena's head at him. "We shall get you some more, sweetling," Alicent assured her daughter, while Daemon piled bacon and eggs onto Rhaenyra's plate for her, before Aegon's hands could reach them. 

"Is he always like this?" Daemon asked, glancing between the boy and his father. Viserys sighed. 

"More often than not," he replied. 

"He is young," Alicent said defensively. 

"But old enough to know better," Viserys sighed. "Helaena does." 

Alicent let out a high-pitched laugh, "they oft say girls mature far quicker than boys, husband, that is not unusual." Viserys shook his head, unconvinced. 

"Then we should hope for another girl, then," he said. Alicent pursed her lips but did not reply, just snapping her fingers for a serving girl to prepare Helaena another bowl of porridge. 

"No," argued Aegon. "Girls are stupid." 

"No," said Helaena, shaking her head. 

"Yes," Aegon insisted. 

"Aegon, do not be rude," Viserys told him. "We are supposed to be celebrating your sister's name-day, and if you wish to join us for dinner later and not be sent to bed without supper, you shall behave." Aegon hung his head. Aemond giggled again. Viserys smiled at him. 

"Pa," Aemond said happily. 

"He is speaking now?" Daemon inquired.

"Oh yes," Alicent said proudly. 

"He can say 'Pa', 'Ma', 'bye' and 'no'," Viserys said. "He is already far more talkative than Helaena was, are you not?"

"No," Aemond said. Viserys chuckled. 

"So, there shall be a dinner as well?" Daemon asked. 

"Yes," Viserys replied, frowning. "Why would there not be? It is my daughter's name-day." 

"Yes, but we are having breakfast with you."

"It is a lot, Viserys," Alicent said. 

"It is not a great ask," Viserys said firmly. "Besides, I have had a menu prepared filled with Rhaenyra's favourites." 

"And are the children to like any of this?" Alicent asked. "Perhaps it would be better if the Princess -"

"No," Viserys said. Alicent sipped her tea. 

"How is Aemond's egg these days?" Rhaenyra wondered. Alicent glowered at her.

"Oh, nothing is new there," Viserys chuckled, shaking his head. 

"No dragon," agreed Aegon. 

"But we have hopes for that egg you chose, do we not?" Viserys asked. Aegon nodded. 

"For the babe," he said knowingly, before reaching across the table for a slice of bacon. Viserys shook his head at him, but did not intervene. 

  Now he was not being forced to endure porridge, Aegon ate a healthy portion of bacon, eggs and sausages, before whining as their plates were cleared and the remnants of their meal taken away. "I will insist on dining alone if our son is anything like this," Daemon whispered into Rhaenyra's ear as Aegon hit the table with his fist.

"He shall not be," she murmured back. "And I loath that you would even entertain such a notion." Daemon chuckled. 

"Is it not a bit early, Prince Daemon?" Alicent asked, pursing her lips as he reached for his goblet of wine.

"Not at all," Daemon said merrily. He raised his goblet as if toasting to her. Alicent seemed to be resisting the urge to roll her eyes, but Viserys chuckled, amused.

"I do hope your husband has been using the many free hours in his day to spoil you, my daughter," he said, as he rose to his feet. Daemon did roll his eyes, but that only made Viserys smile wider. "But, I shall not be outdone by him." He clapped his hands for the servants to appear, to manservants carrying a wooden chest between them, while a serving girl carried a much smaller box. They were presented on the table before Rhaenyra, who glanced up at Viserys, the King nodding to her. 

 Inside the chest were three dresses made from expensive scarlet silk, one decorated with amethystes and another with rubies. There was also a pair of black boots, the shaft decorated to look like it was made of scales, like her riding leathers, the buckle a dark gold. On the top of the pile was a woollen blanket. "That is for Aerys," Viserys explained, as Rhaenyra picked it up to inspect it. Daemon hummed, but offered no further opinion, while Rhaenyra opened the smaller box.

 Inside lay a pair of bracelets, one of pale gold, a ruby shining in the centre, and the other of pearls. There was also a small pair of pearl earrings to match it, which Viserys boasted was from Lys and rather costly. 

 "For me?" Aegon asked, looking at the door expectantly.

Viserys laughed, "you have already had your name-day, lad." Aegon pouted. 

"Not fair," he puffed, but Viserys ignored him.

"Now," he said, rubbing his hands together, "we must go and pay my grandson a visit, I do want to see him before court." Daemon drained his goblet. 

"And the dragon, Pa," Aegon said. "The little dragon is with the little babe." Helaena nodded her agreement. Aegon turned to Rhaenyra. "I want to see the dragon," he told her. "Bring the dragon here."

"Ya," Aemond said, nodding. 

"I do not think that that is wise," Alicent said, smoothing Aegon's hair. 

"I think the dragon should stay where he is," Rhaenyra said. Aegon scowled.

"No, I want to see the dragon," he groaned.

"No," Aemond said, shaking his head. He babbled something that could vaguely be understood to mean 'dragon', although it was unclear and he could have been trying to say 'bacon'. 

"It is time for you to see your maester, lad," Viserys told his eldest son. Aegon pouted again. 

  Aerys had been placed in his cradle and was staring at his hatchling with wide eyes when they reached his nursery. Rhaenyra hurried to him immediately, Viserys at her heels, while Daemon threw some more wood into the fire. "Look at you, lad," Viserys praised, taking the babe into his arms. Aerys let out a displeased gurgle, until Rhaenyra grasped onto one of his hands soothingly. He beamed at his mother, letting out a sound that was almost a laugh, although the maids insisted he was still far too young for that. 

"Good morning, my son," Rhaenyra murmured, kissing the top of his head as Viserys tickled under the boy's chin. 

"He looks so much like you," the King noted.

"Do you think so?" Rhaenyra cocked her head. "I think he looks far more like Daemon."

"Like me?" Daemon scoffed. "No, no, he certainly takes after you, just look at that hair."

"I concur," Viserys said proudly. 

"Just look at his nose," Rhaenyra protested. "Mine was never that big, surely." Daemon laughed. 

"He has your lips, always pouting about something," he teased her. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. 

"You do not need to be rude, Daemon," Viserys told him, his forehead creased. Daemon held up his hands in mock surrender. 

"He was just jesting, Father," Rhaenyra said lightly. Viserys sighed, unconvinced, but he smiled as Aerys stared up at him. 

"He has beautiful eyes," Viserys murmured. "Like your mother's."

"Do you think so?" Rhaenyra asked, cocking her head. Viserys nodded. 

"Certainly." 

  At Viserys' insistence, after Aerys had been put down for his nap, Rhaenyra accompanied him to the Throne Room, where he would hold court for the morning. None of the supplicants were particularly interesting, mostly traders who were complaining about the tax to cross the Stepstones that Lord Corlys had raised, or commonfolk arguing about stolen pigs and horses. 

 When the proceedings drew to a close Rhaenyra was still not free to luncheon, or peruse the gardens, or visit Syrax, or do anything at her own will as her father then insisted that she join him in the Small Council chamber, an endeavour she had sought to avoid throughout their trip. Unfortunately, Viserys would accept none of her excuses, brushing off her insistence that she visit her son, and demanded she make haste so that they were not late. 

  Rhaenyra took her place between Lord Lyonel and her father before most of the council had arrived. Lord Lyonel poured them each a goblet of wine, which Viserys drained in two gulps, while Lord Lyman tapped his fingers against the table as he read through his notes. "Is there ah... is there much to discuss today?" Viserys asked, wiping his brow with a golden cloth. 

"Enough," shrugged Lord Lyonel. "Lord Beesbury wishes to raise the issue of the summer wine tax again, and Lord Wylde has had multiple complaints from the City Watch about their need for more funding to buy new equipment."

"Do we not give them enough of our money?" grumbled Viserys.

"Lord Wylde would say otherwise, your Grace," sighed Lord Lyonel. Viserys shook his head. 

"There is also, ah... the - the matter of the Stepstones."

"Not again," groaned the King. "Whatever is it now? And why can Lord Corlys not see to it?"

"Well, I - Lord Corlys, your Grace, appears to be the problem," Lord Lyonel replied. "He has risen the taxes on tradeable goods thrice since winter ended, and our merchants can barely afford to get home."

"Why - why has he done that?" Viserys groaned, as Lord Jasper and Maester Mellos slipped into the room. They bowed their heads to the King, but Viserys did not notice, dabbing his forehead with his cloth again. 

"Pirates," Lord Lyonel said darkly. "Or so he claims." 

"Pirates?" repeated Mellos, frowning. 

"Lord Velaryon insists that the new infestation of pirates is costing him too much to fight, and so to ensure he can continue to rebuild what is damaged and pay men to stand guard he must tax our sailors for their travels." 

"Could he not tax the foreigners instead?" suggested Lord Jasper. "That would certainly save us the trouble." 

"Many of the foreign tradesmen do business in Driftmark," Lord Lyonel replied, "so it appears Lord Velaryon is not keen to... frustrate them. It is traders en route to King's Landing, Gulltown, and Oldtown who are suffering the most, and since Westerosi tradesmen are the ones who come back with the greatest loots, it is their coin that is filling Lord Velaryon's pockets." Lord Jasper shook his head. 

"We must - we must summon for Lord Corlys, then," said Lord Lyman. Lord Jasper nodded his agreement. 

"For what purpose?" sighed the King. 

"We must enforce a limit on his taxes," Lord Lyman insisted. "Come to an agreement as to how much is too much. It is all well and good lowering the cost during winter, but if people are going to be paying for that for the rest of the year, they shall be beggared regardless." 

"Well, where is Prince Daemon?" Lord Jasper asked, looking around the room.

"Prince Daemon?" Viserys puzzled. "Whatever could you want with him?"

"He is the one to have declared himself King of the place, is he not?" 

"Prince Daemon surrendered his crown to the King," Lord Lyonel said. 

Lord Jasper groaned, "so this has become our problem, then?" 

"What is?" asked Ser Tyland, as he shuffled into the chamber, the door slamming behind him.

"The blasted Stepstones again," explained Lord Jasper.

Ser Tyland shook his head, "you know, they say that Lord Velaryon is becoming something of a tyrant. My brother is oft bombarded with displeased tradesmen." 

"If Prince Daemon surrendered the islands to the King, then why is Lord Corlys the one to set the rate of the tax?" wondered Mellos.

"The Stepstones is a barren wasteland," grunted Viserys, shaking his head. "It would cost us far too much to maintain, and is situated perfectly to cause trouble from both Dorne and the Free Cities, and I am not about to fund a war over disgruntled traders." Ser Tyland nodded his agreement. 

"Are these pirates a serious threat, Lord Hand?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"Lord Corlys certainly thinks so, Princess," replied Lord Lyonel. 

Lord Jasper scoffed, "well, he would say that, would he not?" 

"Has he given any evidence for this?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"He says he has lost over a hundred men," Lord Lyonel said. "And at least two ships."

"A rabble of pirates killed a hundred of his men?" snorted Ser Tyland. "Who exactly does he have fighting for him?" 

"Lord Velaryon has more than enough money, Princess," Lord Jasper said stiffly. "Even if he did lose two ships, he could afford to rebuild them without taking coin from our people. Does he even have the authority to do that?"

"The Stepstones are his territory," Lord Lyman said. "He may tax those who sail through the same as the rest of us tax men on horseback." Lord Jasper shook his head. 

"Are the Stepstones not the territory of Prince Daemon, and therefore House Targaryen?" Ser Tyland asked. Lord Lyonel frowned. "If the King refused them from Prince Daemon, then he remains their King, does he not? And did Lord Corlys not crown the Prince himself? He, of all people, should recognise his authority there." 

"What are you saying, Ser?" asked Lord Lyonel. 

"Well... if the Kingdoms of Westeros has not claimed jurisdiction over the Stepstones," Ser Tyland said, "should we not have the supposed 'King of the Stepstones' sort this problem out for us?"

"I do not think Daemon has returned to the Stepstones since his war there," Viserys said.

"The Prince cannot be blamed for the actions of Lord Corlys," said Lord Lyman. 

"I only mean that Lord Corlys shall not take kindly to being told what he can and cannot charge the traders," Ser Tyland said stiffly. "The man has more coin than there is gold at Casterly Rock, and yet he is taking pennies from commoners because he feels slighted the King did not fund his war for him. If we summon him before the Council, he shall only remind us that the King does not control the Stepstones and therefore, the territory need not abide by his laws. But, Prince Daemon is the proclaimed King of said islands. If he were to invoke a limit on the tax collected, then Lord Velaryon would have to oblige."

"Or, he would abandon the islands entirely," Rhaenyra sniffed.

"You say that like it is a bad thing?" laughed Viserys.

"Is it not?" Rhaenyra cocked her head. "Lord Corlys is surely leagues more preferable than another Myrish tyrant, or a Lyseni slave-trader, is he not?" Viserys grunted. 

"Surely we have other issues than Lord Corlys?" he sighed. 

"Indeed, your Grace," said Lord Lyman, rising to his feet. "Might I, yet again, suggest we re-evaluate our own tax on the shipment of foreign wines throughout the summer. When the vineyards of the Arbor, or Highgarden, or Quiet Isle, or Lannisport, or even Dorne are prosperous, do we really need to be making accommodations for sailors coming from the Summer Islands or further afield?" Ser Tyland shrugged. Rhaenyra sipped her own wine.

  Viserys took little interest in Lord Lyman's tax proposal, or Lord Jasper's request for greater funding for the City Watch, or the upcoming tourney Lord Jason had invited him to at Casterly Rock. He let Rhaenyra and the councilmen discuss amongst themselves for a while, before he called off the meeting for luncheon. Rhaenyra was quick to leave, giving him a short nod before hurrying after Ser Tyland so she could get to Aerys' nursery before her father dragged her along to something else. 

 She saw her father again for dinner that evening, which was again held in his rooms. This time, Aemond was not present, the boy having already been put to bed, but Aegon and Helaena were already sat with their parents when Rhaenyra and Daemon arrived. This time, Helaena wore a dress of pale pink silk, her hair tied into a braid down her back, while Aegon wore a dark blue tunic that was almost black, which only made his silver hair shine more. Aegon was playing with a pair of wooden horses on the table, even as servants placed the first courses onto the table. 

 She would have no feast this year, as the preparations for the King's anniversary were too costly and time-consuming, but given the recent festivities for Aerys' presentation at court, Rhaenyra did not have the heart to grumble, nor the will to spend any more time being swarmed by Lords and their sons. 

 "Hello, hello," Viserys greeted them eagerly, ushering Rhaenyra to take her place to his left, across from Alicent, who on this occasion wore a long gown of dark blue. Helaena sat beside beside her, with Aegon on her right, while Daemon sat on Rhaenyra's left, across from the little Princess.

"Good evening," Rhaenyra returned, nodding as a serving girl offered to pour her some wine. 

"How is our Aerys?" Viserys questioned.

"He is well," Daemon grunted.

 The first courses were mostly soups, mushroom, tomato, and pea, none of which Rhaenyra touched. Her father insisted on her trying the hippocras that had been sent from Highgarden, and she found it to be delightfully sweet, although Daemon pulled a pained expression when she offered him a sip. 

 "Have some of this," Daemon offered her, pouring himself a goblet of strongwine as salads filled with sweetgrass and plums from the Reach were brought out, alongside a tray of crab cakes small enough Aegon could fit one in his fist, and onions and carrots roasted in honey and cloves. Rhaenyra accepted it, but coughed as the liquid burned the back of her throat. Daemon smirked. 

"Aegon is going to see the eggs in the Pit on the morn," Viserys said, as he spooned some carrots onto his plate. "Shall you be heading out to see Syrax as well?"

"Dragon?" Aegon asked, cocking his head. 

"No," Rhaenyra replied. "Daemon spends his mornings in the training yard, and I stay with Aerys in his nursery." 

"Well, why not bring our Aerys with you?" Viserys suggested. 

"I do not think he would appreciate the journey much." 

"Aegon is far too young for that," Alicent said stiffly. "Syrax is... well.. she is not small, is she?" 

"Dragons are not small," Aegon huffed. 

"Very big," Helaena agreed, nodding. 

"They are dangerous, Aegon," Alicent snapped. "You cannot control one as you do your pony." Aegon pulled a face.

"Big, big, big," Helaena said to herself. 

"Is he already riding?" Daemon questioned.

"Oh yes," Alicent said proudly. "He is very keen on his pony, are you not, my boy?" Aegon shrugged, stabbing a carrot with his fork aggressively but making no effort in eating it. 

 As promised, Viserys had had the cooks prepare all of Rhaenyra's favourites for their dinner - a rich pumpkin soup, lamprey pie, lamb chops served in a sweet gravy-like sauce, beef cooked in a broth of wine and onions, a fish stew served with peppers and cooked in cinnamon, peppered boar, and an entire hog roasted whole, served with an apple in its mouth and many greens to furnish the tray. To Rhaenyra's surprise, Daemon sampled each dish without protest, although he only had one bite of the pie and left most of his stew. 

  The desserts were equally as delightful - trays of lemon and cherry cakes, each cut into little squares, orange tarts, coconut tarts topped with blackberry jam, pears drenched in hot honey, and fresh fruit, oranges, plums, and cherries, amongst those more exotic from Dorne or even further afield. 

 "I want plum cake, Pa," Aegon pouted, as the servants left the room and shut the door behind them, signalling that there were no more trays to be brought out. 

"It is not your name-day, my boy," Viserys chuckled. Aegon frowned. 

"Name-day," Helaena said suddenly, leaning across the table to offer Rhaenyra a small, purple flower that she must have been sitting on. 

"Oh, thank you," Rhaenyra said, forcing a smile as she placed it beside her plate. Helaena beamed. 

"Pretty," she said. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. 

"I want cake," Aegon declared loudly.

"Here, Aegon, try one of these," Alicent told him, pushing a tray of cherry cakes towards him. Aegon stuck out his tongue and shook his head. 

"Is it all to your liking?" Viserys asked. 

"Good," Helaena said, nodding, although he had clearly been speaking to Rhaenyra. Viserys chuckled. The little girl's hands were covered in juices from the blood melons she had been eating, drips forming a path on the collar of her dress that made Alicent frown. 

"It is all very good, Father, yes," Rhaenyra replied. "The cooks have out done themselves again." 

"Indeed," Viserys said cheerily. Helaena yawned.

"Is it not late for them?" Daemon asked.

"Oh, no, they shall manage," Viserys replied. Alicent did not look as though she agreed. 

  The final course was a pie Viserys had had made for her in the shape of a dragon's head, likely supposed to be a copy of Syrax. The crust was a beautiful shade of golden brown, both crisp and buttery as Rhaenyra liked it, and it was filled with blackcurrants, blueberries, and apple pieces. "Dragon!" Aegon exclaimed excitedly, as Daemon cut the pie. Helaena also beamed eagerly, although she was more interested in the pie itself than its shape. 

"This is wonderful, Father," Rhaenyra praised, licking her lips. Daemon hummed his agreement. 

"I am glad," Viserys said, smiling. 

"Shall you be competing in the games, Prince Daemon?" Alicent asked.

"Games?" Daemon puzzled.

Alicent giggled, "for our wedding anniversary, the King is holding a grand tournament." Viserys nodded. "My brother is looking forward to competing again."

"Even after last time?" Daemon smirked. Alicent's expression darkened. 

"Yes," she retorted stiffly.

"Then I shall look forward to seeing him in the lists, then," Daemon said. 

"Ah - ya!" Aegon shouted, knocking his two wooden horses into each other. Viserys shook his head at him. 

"Do you take much interest in the games?" Daemon inquired. 

"At times," Alicent shrugged. "I am sure some day Aegon shall be a great knight." Aegon nodded.

"And our Aerys," added Viserys. 

"Daemon would have it no other way," Rhaenyra said. Daemon smirked again.

Viserys laughed, "that does not surprise me." 

"He shall have to be a bloody good knight to wield Blackfyre properly," Daemon said. "It is rather a shame she has been relegated to an ornament on your wall, brother." Alicent glared at him, but Viserys did not look insulted. 

"Yes, well, I cannot imagine Rhaenyra will get much use of it either," he chuckled. 

"All the more reason to get Aerys ready to use it."

"What of your sword, then?" Alicent asked. "Will you not give that to him?"

"Mayhaps," Daemon shrugged. "Although I do not think it is unfair to hope for more children yet." He smirked at Rhaenyra, who rolled her eyes at him. "Of course, my grandfather gave her to me and not my father nor either of my uncles, so perhaps I shall give her to a grandson of mine own." 

"I want a sword," Aegon declared, brandishing his knife like one.

"You have one," Viserys laughed. "He has this wooden shortsword one of Alicent's brothers gifted him for his name-day. Certainly heavier than it looks, but he can use it well enough if he uses both hands."

"Is he training already?" Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, no," Viserys chuckled. "He is certainly too young for that, but he likes to hit his toys with it." 

"So, your brothers are knights then?" Daemon asked.

"Yes," Alicent replied. "Well, two of them are, they serve at my uncle's court in Oldtown. Ottyn is a trader and Quenton is still a squire." 

"Quenton is the same age as the Lady Laena," Rhaenyra said, hiding a smile with the rim of her goblet. Daemon chuckled into his own wine. Alicent's cheeks flushed.

"I am sure it is no great shame, many men are squires at far older than that. We cannot all be knights at five and ten," Daemon drawled.  "And of course, being the - what, fifth? no, fourth son of a second son - a knighthood is the most he could aspire to anyway." Alicent glowered at him. 

  Rhaenyra was more than glad when it was finally time to vacate her father's chambers and return to Daemon's. The fire had already been lit for them, and her ladies in waiting were preparing the bath for her as she kicked away her shoes. As she fell onto one of the armchairs, Daemon offered her a goblet of wine. "To you, my beloved," he said, raising his goblet in a toast. Rhaenyra chuckled and drank with him, although she feared she had already drank too much to feel well on the morn. "You look as though you are about to fall asleep there," Daemon said, cocking his head at her.

"Mayhaps I am," Rhaenyra sighed, leaning her head back. 

"Well, you cannot," Daemon said. "Not yet, at least. You must accompany me to the bedchamber."

"Must I, now?" Rhaenyra pressed. "And why might that be?"

"Do you not want your name-day gifts, wife?" Daemon teased. Rhaenyra smiled. If there was something Daemon was good at, it was buying her presents. 

 She took his arm and allowed him to lead her up to the bedchamber, soon shooing Primrose and Annora away, the Strong sisters having dined with their father in the Tower of the Hand that night. Rhaenyra sat at the foot of the bed, taking off her earrings as Daemon opened the chest in front of her. 

 "Which should I open first?" Rhaenyra asked, once all four boxes had been presented to her. Daemon shrugged. She chose the smallest to begin with, opening the box to find a bracelet of a pale gold, decorated with yellow diamonds and red garnets, the colours of their dragons. "It is gorgeous," she told him, holding it up to admire each gemstone. Daemon smiled smugly. 

"One of a kind," he explained. "I had an associate of mine in Pentos craft it for you."

"Well, it is lovely," Rhaenyra said, turning her hand so she could see the jewels glimmer in the candlelight. "Thank you, my Prince." She continued to smile as she returned it to the box.

  Daemon sipped his wine as Rhaenyra reached for the second box, in which she found two bottles of sweet perfumes, which Daemon told her had come from Lys, although he had bought them at the Great Harbour on Driftmark. 

 The third box contained a tiara, albeit this one was not quite as extravagant as the one from Leng. It was mostly silver, with three points like a crown, only in the shape of flowers, each with a dark ruby in the centre, and the middle of them had two more at the top. It was heavier than any other tiara Rhaenyra owned, and likely more expensive than even what her father had gifted her over the years. 

 The last box was by far the largest, something Rhaenyra would have struggled to carry herself if tasked to. She glanced at Daemon as she opened it, but his face gave nothing away. Inside, she found a beautiful portrait of herself astride Syrax, her image dressed in the black and red of her House instead of her riding leathers, and Syrax was without her saddle. In the background was the dark figure of Dragonstone castle and the dragonmont on one side, and the deep sea of Blackwater Bay on the other. 

 Rhaenyra beamed.

 "It is marvellous," she declared. Daemon winked.

"I knew you would think so," he said.

 Usually, Rhaenyra would roll her eyes at him, but she was too in awe with the piece before her, how she could see the traces of gold in her silver hair, how her purple eyes shone brightly, and how even her Valyrian steel necklace was recognisable. She could not fathom the amount of time such a thing would have taken to make, nor how much it must have cost her husband.

 "When I was a boy, painters would offer Jaehaerys portraits of himself with Vermithor as a way to win his favour," Daemon said. "I thought you deserved something of Syrax in all her glory also."

"Thank you," Rhaenyra said, grinning. The only other portraits of herself she had seen were the ones her father had demanded, one for his coronation, one for his tenth anniversary with her mother, and another for his wedding to Alicent, and in none did she feel she looked like herself, her image just as easily representing any Targaryen Princess that came before her. But this painter, whom she had never met and certainly had not sat for, had captured her likeness so well that it was impossible not to recognise her, and Syrax too. "Thank you for all of it," Rhaenyra said. "I love it." She gently placed the portrait back in the box and turned to hug him, resting her head on his shoulder as she felt him smoothing her back. 

"I am glad," he said softly. "I like to see you happy." Rhaenyra beamed against his tunic. 

"I appreciate that," she murmured. "I - I feel as though nobody else cares, and now - now Aerys is here they do not see me anymore, I am just the future King's mother." She shook her head. "I like to see you happy too." 

"I shall be the happiest when we are back on Dragonstone," Daemon sighed, as they drew apart. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement, brushing her hair from her face as she studied the bracelet in its box again. She sat on the bed, removing her rings and placing them into the box with it. She raised an eyebrow as she heard Daemon shuffle towards her, kneeling in front of the bed so their eyes were almost level. "Something still troubles you. I would like to know what."

"I am just a bit tired," Rhaenyra shrugged. "I probably drank too much, and I need a bath to -"

"The Kingsguard," Daemon said gruffly. 

"I do not want to talk about him now." 

"You do not want to talk about him at all," Daemon said. Rhaenyra sighed, twirling one of her rings between her thumb and her forefinger. "You said that he did not touch you, but -"

"It is nothing of concern," Rhaenyra sniffed.

"I know that that is not true." Daemon frowned. "Why does this bother you so much? You shall tell me of everything Viserys does, or Alicent, or any number of self-important nobles or supplicants, but -"

"Because this is my fault," Rhaenyra said, her voice small and timid, like a child's. 

"I do not believe that," Daemon said firmly.

"Believe what you like," Rhaenyra muttered. "It is still the truth." Daemon shook his head. 

"How so?" he pressed. 

"He was my friend," Rhaenyra whispered. "I trusted him, for years, and even before that it was I who convinced Ser Harrold to name him to the Kingsguard. He was the only of the eligible men with real experience in combat, and that was all I cared about. I had expected him to protect my father, but he was named my own sworn shield and - and I needed a friend, after my father and Alicent and - and you were gone, and Laenor was gone, and Laena was never here but - but -" 

"But what?" Daemon inquired, taking one of her hands and squeezing it in his. 

"He wanted more," Rhaenyra said, unable to meet his eye. Daemon frowned. "And - and he thought that I wanted something more from him as well." 

"But you did not?"

"Of course not!" Rhaenyra flared. "He was my friend! I was a child! He - he claims to have loved me since we met, when I was four and ten, and that he knows I loved him too." She shook her head. 

"But he did not touch you?" Daemon asked, his voice dangerously low.

"He asked me to run away with him, instead of marrying Laenor," Rhaenyra whispered. "I refused. He has loathed me ever since. And now - now that Aerys is here, he has convinced himself that I - I gave my maidenhead to Laenor, and that Aerys is his bastard."

Daemon snorted. "What is wrong with him?"

"Hurt pride?" Rhaenyra suggested. "A man's ego is a fragile thing, so I hear." Daemon laughed drily. "I could never have imagined so much anger in him. He was my friend, my only friend. And now he is so foul towards my son, a babe of not even two moons who has done naught to him, naught to anyone! I do not understand it - I cannot understand it." She shook her head again. "I thought I knew him." 

"It seems that you knew him as much as he wanted you to," Daemon said gently. "He wanted you to see him as your protector, as someone to trust and support you as a girl, so that when you were ready to be a wife, it would be him you chose." Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon squeezed her hand again. "But this is not your fault." 

"I chose him," Rhaenyra said miserably. "I gave him my confidence. Everyone told me not to. My father, Ser Harrold, even fucking Otto Hightower saw that it was a bad idea, but still I -"

"Otto would have only said so to have you name whoever he wished as guardsman," Daemon interjected. "A son or nephew of his, and if not then one of his brother's bannermen. It was not a poor choice for a girl of four and ten -"

"Five and ten."

"- to choose the man with the most experience, while there is more to being a Kingsguard that is a reasonable expectation. Unfortunately, the cost of peace oft involves our knights being out of practice."

"I had never even heard of House Cole," Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon chuckled. "I should have known he was only using me."

"You did not know him," Daemon shrugged. "You did not know who he was, nor how he would treat you. You cannot let him bother you like this, Rhaenyra, it is not your fault." 

"What if he tells someone else?" Rhaenyra whispered. "What if he goes to one of Alicent's lickspittles and tells them Aerys is not yours?"

"Why would they believe him?" Daemon scoffed. "Besides, Laenor's preferences were hardly a well-kept secret." Rhaenyra nodded. "Let me speak to Viserys, I shall ensure the prick is kept away from our son."

"No," Rhaenyra protested. "If you do that, then Father shall only remind me how it is my fault he is in the Kingsguard at all. He has never liked him." Daemon sighed. "I feel like such a fool."

"You are not a fool," Daemon retorted. "Just perhaps a bit careless with whom you offer your trust to."

"You think I do not know that? You think I do not know that I gave too much of myself away to Cole, or to Alicent, or to - to you?"

"I see not why I should be included amongst the vermin," Daemon said stiffly. 

"You left me!" Rhaenyra declared.

"I came back, did I not?"

"I did not know that then," Rhaenyra sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as discretely as she could. "I did not know that when you chose Lord Corlys and fled the continent to fight your wars -"

"Against bastard pirates, rapists and murderers the lot of them," Daemon growled.

"- without a word of farewell. I did not know that when you left me in the streets of Flea Bottom, alone in the dark and unsure of which way was home." 

"You have made your point," Daemon said stiffly. 

"You broke my heart," she said softly. "I feel like it just keeps breaking, shattering me into piece after piece, and now they are to come for my son already?"

"We shall protect him," Daemon said firmly. Rhaenyra swallowed, but nodded. 

"We must."

"We must," Daemon agreed. "I wish you would let me go for his head now -"

"No, you must not," Rhaenyra said heatedly. "Think of the scandal, of what people would -"

"- but there is a tourney coming up, as your stepmother so kindly told me." Daemon smirked. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. 

"Did he not beat you last time?"

"That shall not happen again," Daemon said angrily. He released her hand and rose to his feet, collecting his goblet from where he left it atop the wooden chest. "This time, when I knock him down, he shall not rise again, not ever." He raised his goblet. "And then I shall crown you my Queen of Love and Beauty with his blood still on my sword."

"That is quite an image you paint," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon smirked.

"Happy name-day, my Princess," he said, toasting his goblet to her. "May the Gods give us at least twenty more." 

"Just think about how old you shall be then," Rhaenyra teased him. Daemon rolled his eyes. 

"Here, drink up," he told her, offering her the goblet. 

"No," Rhaenyra refused him. "I just wish to sleep."

"Sleep? But it is so early, and would it not be rude if we did not take advantage of the bath your ladies so kindly prepared us?"

"Prepared me I think you shall find," Rhaenyra said. Daemon wagged his eyebrows. Rhaenyra could not stop herself from laughing. She sipped the wine slowly, before returning the goblet to him. He drained its contents in one gulp before offering her his arm and leading the way to the washroom, still steaming from the heat of the water.

Chapter Text

 117 - Summer 

  Summer had come early that year, vanquishing the cold winds and bringing with it the welcoming heat of the sun that kept the ground dry and the skies clear. It was the perfect morning for flying, not too cold but not too hot, with enough of a breeze to be refreshing without upsetting one's hair. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra was not en route to the Dragon Pit to see her Syrax, and was instead following her husband towards the tourney grounds. 

 The city was buzzing with its growing crowd as Lords and Ladies had travelled from each of the Kingdoms to the Capital to attend the grand tourney the King was throwing for his fifth wedding anniversary. Alicent had taken it as her personal victory, and had been able to speak of little else for almost a fortnight. Over dinner one evening she could hardly go a few minutes without mentioning the dress she was having prepared for the event, or her plan for Helaena's hair, or how pleased the courtiers would be to see her children at a royal engagement, but she soon fell silent once Viserys mentioned that the people would be happy to see Rhaenyra and Aerys as well, her lips pursed and eyes unable to meet her husband's.

 Much to Viserys' disappointment, Rhaenyra had decided that the tourney arena would be too loud for her son, and so Aerys was to remain in the Keep with his maids. 

 As Rhaenyra and Daemon arrived at the arena the crowd was already amid a thunderous applause. Rhaenyra had to assume that Alicent had just arrived. Rhaenyra watched from afar as the men and women clapped and cheered, some of the children waving streamers excitedly, some barely tall enough to see over the barrier. Most of the stands were filled with Lords and Ladies, dressed in the pale yellows and light blues, seafoams and soft pinks, and delicate lavenders that told all that summer was upon them, while the lowest rows were filled with smallfolk in brown.

"Come on," Daemon urged her, taking her hand in his. The royal pair had not joined the others with their soft tones, Daemon dressed in a richly decorated pair of breeches, and a gold tunic, textured like dragon scales and with silver clasps, and Rhaenyra in an elegant dress, the bodice a dark red with a strip black wrapping around her waist like scales, the skirts made of three sections, black on either side and red down the middle. She wore a cloak of bright red silk, sewn into the low neckline and sleeves, which bared most of her arms. Around her neck was a thick necklace of gold, ten rubies encased within, and from her ears hung golden hoops. 

"Since when are you so eager to be here?" Rhaenyra scoffed. 

"I am not," Daemon replied. "But the sooner we show our faces, the sooner we can disappear again." Rhaenyra laughed. 

 The Royal Box was separated from the rest of the stands by two thick walls, which joined in a towering arch overhead. At the front of the box was a low barrier, short enough that even Aegon could be seen over it. A Targaryen banner was displayed proudly on either side, with a third hung over the centre of the barrier. The box was split into four rows of individual seats, each one seating six, with the exception of the front row which had the King's golden chair in the centre. Two knights of the Kingsguard - on this morn Ser Tommen and Ser Rickard - accompanied them, one on either side of the second row. 

 Despite its regal name, the box was not strictly reserved for the royals, and the men of the Small Council and other important guests were also present. On this morn, it was emptier than it would usually be, for although the games were just to begin, few of the men were as interested in archery as they were the other events. Rhaenyra herself would not have attended had her father not insisted on it, and neither would Daemon. 

 The crowd roared out once more as Rhaenyra pushed through the velvet curtain and marched up the steps to the Royal Box. She waved to the onlookers, her cloak flowing in the gentle breeze, as she led the way towards their place at the front row, Daemon and her Ladies trailing after her. 

 Her father rose from his seat to greet her. Viserys was dressed elaborately in red and gold, although his boots were the same worn leather he had favoured for years. The crown of Jaehaerys sat upon his head, and around his neck he wore two thick chains of gold, both also inherited from the Old King. He kissed Rhaenyra on both cheeks, and she could already smell the wine on his breath. The crowd continued to clap and whistle as the King insisted on shaking Daemon's hand, while Rhaenyra shuffled towards her seat at the end of the row. 

 "Good morning, stepdaughter." 

 Rhaenyra turned to see that Alicent had risen from her seat. 

 On this occasion, she had worn her hair tightly spun into a long braid and pinned to the top of her head. Her gown was one of dark green, with long bell sleeves and gold across the neckline. It was tight, but not so tight it gave way to the shape of her figure, and little skin was shown. Her necklace was of simple gold, but it had a gleaming emerald in the centre, and she wore golden rings on her fingers. Beside her and their father, her children were also dressed in green, Aegon and Aemond in little tunics, and Helaena in a small dress, her hair styled similarly to her mother's. Alicent's face was proud, like a boasting peacock, but as her eyes scanned Rhaenyra's own gown, and her silver-gold hair that fell over her shoulders, she could see it start to break.

 "Good morning," Rhaenyra returned. Alicent forced a smile. 

"Did you sleep well?" she inquired, her voice falsely sweet as a serving boy hurried towards them with a jug of wine.

"Well enough," Daemon grunted, waving a hand dismissively. Alicent frowned, but returned to her seat, turning to Helaena as Daemon passed Viserys and Aegon to his place beside Rhaenyra. Aegon stared at him, the boy placed between the two brothers, but Daemon did not acknowledge him, his eyes scanning the grounds and the boards that the archers would soon be hitting directly ahead of them. 

"I want some," Aegon said, as Viserys poured himself a goblet of wine. Viserys chortled.

"You are too young for this, lad." 

"I am not," Aegon puffed. 

"Do you need anything, Princess?" Primrose asked. Rhaenyra shook her head. 

She watched as her ladies walked back up the box towards their seats, and noticed that all of Alicent's ladies were also in green. They sat in the back row, a small aisle separating them from Primrose and Annora, while Celia and Darla joined their half-brother, Larys, in the third row. Their father sat ahead of them, behind Aegon, while Lord Lyman and his wife, the Lady Leyla, sat behind Helaena and Aemond. 

"The Hightower girl has a theme, it seems," Daemon snorted under his breath. Rhaenyra nodded, playing with the rings on her fingers as Viserys poured Daemon a goblet of wine, despite his refusal. "Do you want this?" he asked, offering Rhaenyra the goblet, but she also declined. 

"It is too early," she muttered.

"And this is too sweet," Daemon grumbled. 

"Pa, I am hungry," Aegon said. 

"You just broke your fast," Viserys told him. Aegon scowled. 

  After Viserys' opening speech, the first of the archers was called to the arena, a Darklyn knight with short, brown hair and a thick moustache in a tunic of black and yellow. He closed one eye as he aimed, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he let the arrow fly, but it did not hit the bullseye, instead landing in the ring above it. Still, Ser Lomas was met with reasonable applause. Rhaenyra watched as he fired off another two arrows, neither hitting the bullseye but both landing on the target. 

 Next into the arena was Ser Eldric Hunter, brother to the Lady Annora. His first shot went well, his arrow narrowly missing the bullseye and landing slightly to the right.  However, his next two were less successful, one flying straight over the board and another landing at the very bottom of the target. Some of the crowd hissed and jeered, but he received a polite applause nonetheless. Rhaenyra clapped along, glancing over her shoulder to see Annora was shaking her head. 

 Ser Eldric was followed by Ser Alan Tarly, heir to Horn Hill. Despite his sigil being a red huntsman with a bow, Ser Alan did not prove any better than the Hunter heir, and was soon outdone by Lord Humfrey Bracken, who shot three arrows right at the target. 

 "Can I play too, Pa?" Aegon asked. Viserys laughed.

"You are far too young, my boy," he replied. Aegon pouted. 

"Why do you not play?" 

"I much prefer to spectate," Viserys chortled, raising his goblet to his lips. 

"You are much better at it too," chuckled Daemon. Viserys rolled his eyes at him. 

 Lord Humfrey's place was soon taken by Ser Dickon Lonmouth, who was outperformed by Fool Frey. Daemon scoffed as Ser Gerold Royce was then announced. "Pompous dick," Rhaenyra heard him grumble to himself. While Lady Rhea might have been a keen hunter, her cousin was certainly less well-practised, only one of his arrows hitting the target. Daemon snorted as the man walked away, while Rhaenyra clapped politely. 

 Another Frey knight, Ser Franklyn, came into the arena, followed by the new Lord of Runestone, Lord Robard Royce, a man only slightly older than Rhaenyra with a wispy moustache on his upper lip and extravagant clothes of brown and gold. He was a cousin of Lady Rhea's, apparently, or the son of her closest cousin. Rhaenyra had to wonder how Ser Gerold felt about not being named her heir. Despite his expensive bow, Lord Robard was outdone by Ser Gunthor Darklyn, who in turn was outmatched by Clement Celtigar, brother to the Lady Primrose, who had two of his arrows hit the bullseye. Primrose clapped excitedly, she and Annora rising to their feet. 

 Last into the arena was Daeron Velaryon, the youngest son of Ser Vaemond. The boy was younger than Rhaenyra, no older than six and ten, and almost the spitting image of his father, if perhaps an inch or so taller. His hands were steady as he fired his arrows off, all three hitting the target, and one hair width away from the bullseye. 

 The archery continued for hours as the knights continued to rotate, shooting their arrows one by one at the targets until only three remained. Rhaenyra had been eager to leave for some time, but when she had moved to rise, her father had insisted that she and Daemon remain for the rest of the games, which had certainly pleased Alicent. Rhaenyra struggled not to slouch in her seat, one leg crossed over the other as Fool Frey returned to the arena once more. She could hear Helaena singing to herself, Aemond already having been removed for his screaming, and Aegon was no more invested in the games than his sister was. 

"I am hungry," he moaned, looking around the box as if he expected food to materialise at his will. 

"You just ate," Viserys sighed. He was not wrong. As the third hour came, a trio of young pages brought up bowls of candied oranges, cubes of cheese, and cooked beef slices for them, which Aegon had had a more than healthy helping of everything, more so than Rhaenyra herself. 

"Still hungry," Aegon said. "I want cake, Ma." The boy tried to lean over Viserys to reach for Alicent's sleeve, but Viserys ushered him back into his seat. "Will you get me cake?" Aegon looked at Daemon hopefully. Daemon snorted, shaking his head. Aegon groaned dramatically.

"Aegon, enough," tutted Viserys. 

"This is booorring," moaned the young Prince. Rhaenyra folded her hands in her lap, not disagreeing with him. In the corner of her eye she could see Alicent's cheeks blush, looking around the box in embarrassment as the other occupants all stared at her son, the Strong sisters and Larys muttering to one another. 

"Stop it, Aegon," Alicent told him sternly. Aegon only stuck his tongue out at her. 

"Unbearable, this is," Daemon grunted lowly. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. 

 She watched as Ser Lomas returned, aiming at the board again. "What enjoyment do men take from this?" she whispered. Daemon snorted.

"I could not say," he replied. "Hunting is one thing, but this - this is mundane." 

"A rather unsatisfying way to spend a day," Rhaenyra said, reverting to their mother tongue. 

"Oh, you are unsatisfied? We cannot have that, can we, my wife?" Daemon smirked. His hand reached for his knee. Rhaenyra clucked her tongue at him as his fingers dipped lower and lower, towards her thigh. 

"Stop," she hissed, batting his hand away. She struggled to bite back a giggle as he wagged his eyebrows. 

"Oh dear," Viserys sighed, as Ser Lomas' third arrow flew over the target. He bowed his head, clearly muttering something to himself miserably. Still, he had earned himself some applause, through the jeers and groans at his defeat. 

 Ser Forrest Frey was next to return to the arena, his long, blue-grey cloak flowing down his back. His first arrow flew through the air, hitting the board right above the bullseye. The crowd cheered. 

"Hungry, Pa," Aegon groaned, pulling on Viserys' sleeve.

"Aegon," Alicent hissed, her eyes bulging out of her face. Aegon frowned at her. 

"HUNGRY!" he shouted, kicking his feet against the chair. Viserys shook his head, beckoning Ser Rickard towards him with a wave of two fingers.

"Shhh!" puffed Helaena, pressing a finger to her lips. 

"It is alright, sweetling," Alicent sighed. She reached to smooth Helaena's hair, but the girl ducked to avoid her touch. Rhaenyra watched as Ser Rickard left the Royal Box, and Viserys poured himself another goblet of wine. 

 Fool Frey's second arrow landed beside his first, and the third hit the bullseye exactly, earning him a loud cheer from the crowd. Rhaenyra clapped politely while Daemon poured himself a goblet of the red wine Viserys was drinking. 

 As Daeron Velaryon came back into the arena, Ser Rickard returned with Aegon's maids. The young Prince again began to kick his chair, holding onto the armrests and refusing to move, no matter what his father and mother demanded. Even as Daeron's arrow shot through the air, it was impossible for the crowd not to notice Aegon's theatrics, and Rhaenyra caught sight of a few nobles pointing his way. As one of the maids tried to lift him from his chair, Aegon kicked her in the knee, causing her to grip onto Daemon's chair so she did not fall, knocking over the small table beside him and sending his wine all over the floor. Daemon cursed and the woman profusely apologised. Viserys groaned as Daemon rose from his seat, trying to wipe the liquid from his sleeve as two pages hurried towards them to mop up the floor. "Watch it," Daemon grunted at one of them, who had elbowed him in the stomach. The boy stammered out his apologies. Daemon glanced at Viserys, who was still trying to convince Aegon to leave the Royal Box. "Move," Daemon barked at the maids, ushering them out of the way as the boy continued to kick and shout. 

 Unceremoniously, Daemon grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck and pulled him from his seat. Aegon tried to drag the chair with him, but he did not have enough strength to rival Daemon's, and soon he was lifted from the ground and into one of the maid's arms. Alicent watched, her eyes wide and her lips pursed, but offered no rebuttal as Viserys thanked him. 

 "Fucking hell," Daemon groaned, sinking back into his seat. 

"Mayhaps the young Prince will be better behaved after a nap?" Rhaenyra suggested, none too quietly. "We would not want a repeat of this over dinner."

"No," Daemon agreed. 

"He shall not be at dinner," said Viserys gruffly. Alicent opened her mouth as if to argue, but as Viserys turned to her, she shut it again, her eyes falling to her hands in her lap. "What does it take to get that boy to behave?" 

"He is young," Alicent said weakly. "He shall - he shall grow out of it." 

"Maybe he is still too young for all this?" Viserys sighed. Alicent frowned. "Mayhaps the children should not attend the rest of the games?"

"No," Alicent said quickly. "They - they can only learn from experience, can they not? And the courtiers would so love to celebrate with them. This is supposed to be a happy occasion, is it not?" Viserys did not respond. 

 Helaena joined in the applause as Ser Forrest Frey was declared the victor of the archery, although Rhaenyra doubted that she knew what she was clapping for. Rhaenyra and Viserys clapped along too, but Daemon was preoccupied with filling up his goblet again. Rhaenyra watched as Ser Forrest collected his winnings - five thousand gold dragons - while most of the crowd began to disperse, many likely hungry and dehydrated after a day of standing in the sun. 

 "Seven Hells, that was unbearable," Daemon grunted, falling back onto the bed as they returned to their bedchamber. Rhaenyra was quick to summon for Aerys, while Daemon seemed more interested in calling for a jug of strongwine.

"Yes," Rhaenyra agreed, removing her earrings. "I had hoped my father would have allowed us to leave sooner, archery has never been a favourite of mine." 

"What do you favour?"

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. "The joust, I suppose." 

Daemon nodded, "most men prefer the melee. It is bloodier." 

"It is too gory for my tastes. I spent most of my childhood watching through my hands." 

Daemon chuckled, "mayhaps in a few years you shall be watching your son compete?" 

"I could not stomach the thought," Rhaenyra muttered, shaking her head. Her son was a Prince, and would be heir to the Throne, she knew it only right that he would too be a knight, even if her father was not, but she did not want to think of her precious boy being bludgeoned by some man's morning star, or smashed by an axe. 

"He shall do well," Daemon said, kicking off his boots. "And all the comely maidens shall squeal at him, begging him to crown them his Queen of Love and Beauty." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. She moved to remove her necklace, but then they heard the doors of the lower room thrown open.

"Princess?" Celia called. Rhaenyra pushed open the door to the bedchamber and grinned as she saw Celia and Primrose walking towards her, Celia holding Aerys in her arms.

 Prince Aerys had been snuggled in wrappings of black, embroidered with red leaves. Rhaenyra eagerly took him into her arms, rocking him gently as she walked up the steps, back to Daemon's rooms. 

 Daemon remained on the bed. He had lost his socks and belt, but his breeches and undershirt had remained in place. He smiled as Rhaenyra sat beside him, leaning on his elbows as he sat up, cocking his head so he could see Aerys' little face better. Aerys had gained some weight in his last month of life, and was resembling his newborn self less and less with everyday. His hatchling was growing too, while still the smallest dragon Rhaenyra could recall seeing, his wings had definitely grown wider, and his tail longer. "My love," Rhaenyra whispered, stroking Aerys' cheek. "Are you not just perfect?" 

"Not talking to me, then?" Daemon snorted. 

"Not on this occasion," Rhaenyra returned, glancing over her shoulder at him. Daemon smirked. 

"How is my son?" he asked, returning to the Common Tongue. 

"Our son is rather tired today, it seems," she returned, as Aerys let out a yawn. Rhaenyra smiled down at him again, tracing the shape of his chin with the tip of her finger.

"He shall grow big," Daemon noted. "He is already a big one."

"Do you think so?" Rhaenyra pondered. She had seen little of Alicent Hightower's children at such an age, or any child for that matter. She could remember her brother's corpse, the small, still boy she had seen only once before they wrapped him for his pyre, already turning blue, but she did not like to dwell on that. Daemon nodded. 

"He has always been strong, too, remember what the midwives said?" he said. "He is certainly a boy fit to be King." 

"Yes." Rhaenyra smoothed Aerys' hair as there was a knock at the door. 

"Your wine, my Prince," came the voice of a servant. Daemon groaned. He waved a hand at the door. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him.

"Here, my love, stay with your Kepa," Rhaenyra whispered, placing Aerys onto the bed beside Daemon. She smoothed out her skirts as she rose to her feet, and pulled open the door, allowing the servant inside. He placed the wine jug and a pair of goblets on the bedside table, before plodding back down the stairs. Rhaenyra watched him leave, finding that all of her ladies were now in the lower room, pouring themselves tea and giggling about something. "What are you doing?" she asked as she turned back to Daemon, who was now carrying Aerys with one arm as he poured himself a goblet of wine. Daemon shrugged. "Might I have my son back?"

"Our son," Daemon corrected her with a smirk. "And he seems happy enough where he is." Daemon was not incorrect, Aerys seemed peaceful enough with his head rested on his father's shoulder, his pink lips curved into the shape of an 'o' and his eyes watching Rhaenyra as she approached him. He let out a whimper of protest as Daemon turned to walk back towards the bed, the boy now facing the wall. "I think he shall be as happy as we shall be when we return to Dragonstone," Daemon said. He gently lowered Aerys onto the bed before sitting beside him. 

"Yes," Rhaenyra replied. "I think he will much prefer being back in his own room, this one is far too close to the new one my father has given Aegon." Rhaenyra shook her head. Alicent had declared Aegon now too old for the nursery he shared with his siblings, so he had been moved into a larger room around the corner, only a few doors down from Aerys' nursery, while they prepared Helaena and Aemond's nursery for the arrival of the new babe. "I miss our room too."

"As do I," Daemon replied. He raised an eyebrow as there was another knock at the door.

"Princess?" 

Rhaenyra pulled it open to find Celia standing on the top step. "Yes?"

"We need to start getting you ready," Celia said. "For the feast." 

"Right, yes, of course," Rhaenyra replied. She turned to Daemon. "Would you take him back to the nursery? I need to bathe."

Daemon scoffed, "send him back to his maids already? The poor boy just got here."

"Well," Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably, "I cannot have him here while I dress." 

"I shall take him then."

"Good, and tell the maids to -"

"Not there," Daemon scoffed. "I shall sit with him, by the fire."

"Here?" Rhaenyra wondered, frowning.

"Indeed." Daemon scooped Aerys back into his arms and walked past her to join Darla in front of the fireplace. 

"Hello, precious," Rhaenyra heard Darla coo at the little Prince. 

"A bath then, Princess?" Celia asked. 

"Yes, thank you," Rhaenyra replied. 

 The Great Hall was filled with nobles from across the Seven Kingdoms, and lesser knights, many of whom seemed to have invited themselves at the mention of the King's tourney. All rose from their seats as Ser Harrold announced Rhaenyra and Daemon to the room, Rhaenyra descending the steps first with Daemon a few paces behind her. Her evening gown was one of bright red, the neckline low enough to show off the top of her chest and the sleeves covering little more than her shoulders. A belt of gold was wrapped around her waist, and her jewellery was gleaming with rubies and garnets. Her husband was clad in all black, the only exception the silver clasps of his tunic. 

 The High Table had been placed on a wooden dais ahead of the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra struggled to keep her face pleasant as she looked towards it, the usual Targaryen banner hung to its left, but in place of the second was the grey banner of House Hightower, its white tower and orange flames replacing the three-headed dragon.

 Alicent was again dressed in green, her dress dark and thick despite the warm weather, with a high collar of velvet and gold wrapped around her waist. She was joined by her eldest brothers, Ser Gwayne and Ser Bryndon, to her right, both clad in the grey of their banners. Alongside them sat their cousin, Ser Rufus Redwyne, the heir to the Arbor. He was a lanky man with bright orange hair and a square face, dressed in a long tunic of burgundy. 

 Rhaenyra took her place to her father's left, the King wearing his crown on his head and a richly decorated coat of black and gold. She and Daemon were joined by Lord Lyonel, the Hand clad in a tunic of mostly navy, but with red and green stripes down the centre. "Good evening," Viserys greeted them, pressing a kiss to Rhaenyra's cheek as Daemon snapped his fingers for wine. "How is my grandson? It is a shame I have not seen him today, but I have been so busy." 

"He is well," Rhaenyra replied, nodding as a servant offered her some wine. 

"Good, good." Viserys reached for his own glass, raising it to his lips as they watched Lord Lyman and his wife enter the hall, taking their places between Grand Maester Mellos and Lord Jasper.

 The Lord of the Rain House was accompanied by his fourth wife, Lady Alyce, the second daughter of Lord Swygert, and many of his children - his heir, Ser Caspor, his second son Ser Raymont and his wife, a Lady of House Swann, his eldest daughter Lady Mary, a year Rhaenyra's senior, his second daughter Lady Alynne, only a sennight younger than the Princess of Dragonstone, his third and fourth sons Sers Jack and Lester, twins each a year younger than Rhaenyra, his third daughter Lady Johanna, who was the same age as Rhaenyra's cousin Laena, his fifth son Eldon, the boy hardly five and ten, and his fourth daughter Lady Delena, the girl four and ten, while his youngest children had already been sent to bed. If rumour was to be believed, Lady Alyce was already with child, but Rhaenyra did not think she looked pregnant. 

 Lord Jason and Ser Tyland Lannister were the next to appear, both dressed lavishly in gold and red, without Lord Jason's wife and daughter, but joined by their elderly mother, Lady Cerenna, and young cousin, Erwin, who served as Lord Jason's squire. 

 "Are you looking forward to the games tomorrow, Daemon?" Viserys asked, leaning over Rhaenyra to address her husband. Daemon shrugged, sipping his strongwine. "I am sure our Aegon shall be looking forward to seeing you." 

"Does he know what a melee is?" Daemon scoffed.

"Well... no... not really," Viserys replied, scratching his chin as Ser Harrold announced Lord Lionel Lefford and his sons, Sers Humfrey and Hubert. "But I am sure he shall figure it out soon enough." 

"If you say so," muttered Daemon.

 Viserys' welcome speech was mercifully short, but the dinner itself was not. As Viserys was happy to eat almost anything, the menu was mostly catered to Alicent's tastes, starting with trays of smoked meats and cheeses, fresh bread and green olives, salads of summer greens, plums, and grapes, and a cold tomato soup served with mint leaves, most of which had come from the Reach. Rhaenyra refused most of it, only nibbling little pieces of cheese. 

  Despite her children being barred from the occasion, Alicent was certainly enjoying herself, giggling with her brothers and sharing hippocras with the King. She and Ser Gwayne spoke fondly of Oldtown and its fruit, while sharing a bottle of plum brandy. 

 "You must try this duck," she declared, as the main courses began to be served, one of which being roasted duck with more plums. Other plates included boiled goose eggs, small fried fishes soaked in oil, trout cooked in a crust of almonds and basil, pork served with honey and dried cherries, pies of lamb and leek, mutton steaks served with herbs and dark greens, venison served with roasted carrots and asparagus, and a goose stuffed with mulberries and prunes. 

"Yes, very good," Viserys agreed. 

"What of you, stepdaughter?" Alicent asked, giggling. Rhaenyra frowned. "Have you tried the duck? You simply must." 

"Bit dry for my tastes," Rhaenyra retorted, instead filling her plate with trout and pork. Alicent scoffed as if in disbelief. 

"Try the goose, then," Viserys suggested, pointing to it with his knife.

"I do not care for goose either," Rhaenyra replied. "Far too greasy." 

"Oh dear," Viserys said. 

"You are not competing tomorrow, then?" Daemon asked him, smirking.

Viserys laughed, "no, no, no, obviously not." 

"You cannot be tempted to swing Blackfyre at a man, just once?"

"Not at all," Viserys said gruffly. 

"Can you fight?" Ser Bryndon asked. Alicent glared at him. "Y-your Grace," he added. 

"Oh, not really," Viserys sighed. "I never had much interest in it in all truth."

"Prince Aegon does," Alicent said. "He is always playing with his knights and swords, playing at battle." Ser Gwayne and Ser Bryndon laughed.

"We shall see him in the lists before long, then?" chuckled Ser Rufus. Alicent nodded. 

"And he shall be victorious, I am sure," she said, smiling as she raised her goblet to her lips. 

"Where is the young Prince?" Ser Rufus pondered. 

"It is too late for him," Alicent said hurriedly. "The children are already abed." 

"Such a shame," Ser Rufus replied. "This goose is splendid, and there is plenty to go around." 

“My daughter is often keen on poultry,” said Alicent. “Prince Aegon will eat anything given to him, but our Princess Helaena has more delicate tastes.” The men did not appear interested, Sers Gwayne and Bryndon reaching for more of the goose while Ser Rufus was more interested in watching the dancers across the room. "My daughter has always been rather more refined than her brothers, I would say that she -"

"Shall Prince Aegon be joining us tomorrow?" interjected Ser Bryndon. "For the games?" Alicent looked to Viserys.

"I - I am sure he shall be," she said. "I imagine he shall want to watch his uncles compete."

"Of course he will," smirked Ser Gwayne. 

"Yes, I am sure the child will be amused to see them fall from their saddles," Daemon whispered. Rhaenyra chuckled into her goblet. "Are your sons to compete tomorrow?" Daemon quizzed, turning to Lord Lyonel beside him. 

"Well... Harwin... he shall," he replied. "But... not Larys, no." He shook his head.

"And you are not tempted to pick up your steel?"

"No, no," Lord Lyonel replied, shaking his head again. "Those days, they are behind me."

"Really? I hear you were quite the warrior in your time."

"Long ago, my Prince, long ago." Lord Lyonel raised his fork to his lips while Daemon cut himself another slice of pie. 

 Trays of blood sausages and roasted potatoes, plates of mutton chops wrapped in bacon served with leeks and broccoli, capon served with summer greens, gammon joints, pie of beef and cheese, and bowls filled to the brim with peppered rabbit stew soon reached the High Table. More jugs of wine soon followed, Arbor Reds and Golds gifted by Ser Rufus, honeyed wines from Lannisport, and pale amber wine from Pentos, across the Narrow Sea. 

 "It is a shame Lord Hobert could not be here," Rhaenyra heard Ser Bryndon say. She could not share his sentiments, rather preferring there were less Hightowers in the Capital and not more. "He would have loved to have seen this."

"Where is he, anyway?" asked Ser Rufus.

"He suffers back pain," replied Ser Gwayne. "He did not think he could last six weeks of travelling."

"Such a shame," said Alicent. 

"Are you a great lover of capon, sister?" Ser Gwayne inquired. 

"I hold nothing against it." 

"Which of them do you think shall fall first?" Daemon asked. Rhaenyra turned to him. "My money is on Redwyne, the man looks like one good gust of wind will knock him over." 

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. "No, it will be one of Alicent's brothers," she declared. "Clearly neither of them are being cautious with their wine consumption, it can lead to a nasty headache on the morn."

Daemon snorted, "you cannot fault them for that, this is likely the best meal of their lives given the meagreness one would imagine comes from a life as a sworn knight in Oldtown." Rhaenyra chuckled. 

"I shudder at the thought."

"As do I," Daemon smirked. Rhaenyra grinned at him again. 

____________

 "Perfect weather for it," Daemon said, as they approached the arena. The sky was clear and there was a gentle breeze in the air. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement. "You think Cole will win his first bout?" her husband asked. Rhaenyra nodded again. Ser Criston was skilled with his morning star, more so than she would want to admit. Daemon smirked. "Good. For the first bouts, straws are drawn, it is nothing but luck, but after that I shall have my chance." Rhaenyra nodded again, instinctively turning the rings on her fingers. She knew that Daemon was a gifted swordsman, and that bloodshed at a tourney was not to be unexpected, but still she did not know what would follow if a royal Prince killed a member of the Kingsguard in front of them all.

 If Daemon won the bout at all, that was. 

 Rhaenyra tried not to give into it, but there was a small voice at the back of her mind reminding her what happened the last time they had faced each other, with Daemon having to yield so his face was not destroyed by Cole's morning star. Although Daemon had had years of battle experience since then, while Cole had done little more than stand guard outside Rhaenyra's door, she could not help but worry for him. 

 She did not tell Daemon any of this, of course, he would not take well to her doubts nor her concerns. Her husband was a dragon, and a dragon did not fear anyone. 

 Rhaenyra rose on her tip-toes to give Daemon a short kiss before they split up, him following his Gold Cloaks towards the competitors' tents, while Rhaenyra and her ladies proceeded up to the Royal Box. 

 Viserys was already seated when Rhaenyra arrived. He was accompanied by Ser Harrold and Ser Tommen of the Kingsguard, and Lord Lyonel. Rhaenyra's ladies bowed their heads to the King and took their own seats, while Rhaenyra shuffled past him to her own. Alicent and her children were yet to arrive, but Rhaenyra knew better than to be hopeful they would not show. 

 Lord Jasper Wylde arrived shortly after Rhaenyra, taking his place beside Lord Lyonel. Lord Lyman and Lady Leyla appeared shortly after her. 

 The first into the arena was Ser Humfrey Lefford, his shield blue with a golden pile and sun, and his helmet decorated with feathers of yellow. He raised his sword into the air before hitting it against his shield like he was banging a drum. 

 "Daemon is not with you?" Viserys asked.

"No," Rhaenyra replied. "He is waiting with the other knights."

"Then there is no need to make space for him, is there?" Viserys chuckled.

"I am fine here," Rhaenyra said stiffly, wanting to put as much space between herself and Alicent and her children as possible. Viserys shook his head, unimpressed. Rhaenyra turned to watch as Ser Gerold Royce was called, the man dressed in armour of bronze, his shield displaying the runes of his House. 

"Come here, I want to speak with you," Viserys said, unwilling to let the matter go. Reluctantly, Rhaenyra rose from her chair to take the one beside her father. "Wine?"

"No," Rhaenyra replied coolly. 

 Ser Gerold won the fight, forcing an unarmed Ser Humfrey to yield and earning him an enthusiastic applause from the crowd. Rhaenyra clapped with them, watching as Ser Humfrey's squires hurried towards him to help the knight to his feet again. 

 As Ser Gerold left the arena, the applause grew even louder. Rhaenyra assumed that the next fight was to begin, but when no one appeared she frowned. 

 Rhaenyra was not left wondering for long, as soon a green figure appeared in the corner of her eye as Alicent took her place beside the King. Her children followed after her, each waving to the crowd as their mother had instructed them. Alicent flashed Rhaenyra a glare as Aegon moaned that she was in his seat, but Viserys told Aegon to just sit elsewhere. With Helaena already seated beside Alicent, Aegon took the seat on the end, while Aemond was sent to the back of the box with Alicent's ladies. 

 Alicent cheered loudly as Ser Rufus stepped into the arena, a long cloak of blue hanging down his back and flapping in the wind. Aegon, meanwhile, was more interested in watching the young squire who was passing out orange slices. 

 Ser Rufus was to face Ser Randyll Barrett of the City Watch, a large man in dark armour. Not from a noble family, Ser Randyll's shield bore no sigil, instead painted a yellow that Rhaenyra supposed was meant to match the gold of his cloak. Growing up in Flea Bottom, Ser Randyll might have lacked the formal training Ser Rufus undoubtedly received, but he made up for it in brute force, swinging his sword with powerful thrusts that soon knocked the Reachman heir to the ground. Ser Rufus held up his shield to protect his face, scrambling to return his sword to his hand, while Ser Randyll delivered blow after blow. While Ser Rufus did regain his standing, returning to his feet, he grew fearful of Ser Randyll's powerful hits, using his shield more than his sword and backing away, allowing the watchman to trap him in the corner and send him to the floor again, blood spurting down the heir's face. Ser Randyll kicked him, his boot heavy enough to break the man's nose - which made Alicent squeal - and then Ser Rufus yielded. 

 The games continued with Ser Torrhen Manderly defeating Lord Jason Lannister, Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard besting young Lord Robbard Royce, Ser Elmo Tully, future Lord of Riverrun, beating Ser Denys Woodwright, and Ser Borros Baratheon, heir to Storm's End and cousin to the Princess Rhaenys, defeating Ser Dickon Lonmouth. 

 The crowd cheered as Ser Harwin Strong marched into the arena, his gold cloak over his shoulder and his visor already lowered over his face. He was to fight Ser Raymont Wylde, a prospect which Viserys was clearly amused by as he glanced between Lord Lyonel and Lord Jasper as if expecting a reaction from one or the other. Ser Raymont was a younger, smaller man than Ser Harwin, his helm decorated with golden feathers and his shield rounded. 

 It was an energetic bout.

 Lord Jasper winced as Ser Harwin's sword connected with the side of Ser Raymont's head. 

 Lord Lyonel hissed as Ser Raymont's shield hit Ser Harwin in the face. 

 Lord Jasper groaned as Ser Harwin broke through Ser Ramont's shield, sending it scattering in pieces to the floor.

 Lord Lyonel shook his head as Ser Raymont's sword swung at Ser Harwin's knee, causing him to stagger backwards to keep himself on his feet.

 Lord Jasper cursed as Ser Harwin kicked Ser Raymont in the stomach, sending the man falling to his knees. Ser Harwin's fist connected with the side of the man's head, his weapon forgotten as he continued to hit him. Ser Raymont tried to get away, but whenever he raised himself up he only brought himself closer to the heir of Harrenhal's fist. 

Lord Lyonel rose to his feet, cheering as Ser Raymont threw his hands up in surrender, while Lord Jasper shook his head. 

 Rhaenyra clapped along with the crowd for Ser Harwin, Celia and Darla cheering for him while Larys did not look at all impressed.  

 Lord Jasper continued to sulk throughout the next bout between Ser Alan Tarly and Ser Eros Tully, the Reachman being declared the victor, but his mood was improved when his heir, Ser Caspor, defeated Ser Leowyn Corbray. Ser Eldric Hunter then beat Ser Mervyn Smallwood, and Ser Luthor Largent defeated Ser Gwayne Hightower, much to Alicent's displeasure. As Rhaenyra predicted, Ser Criston Cole won his bout against Lord Walton Glover, and Ser Lorent Marbrand of the Kingsguard forced Lord Ondrew Hornwood to yield. 

 Rhaenyra accepted one of the candied plums offered to her as Ser Medrick Manderly, heir to White Harbour, raised his sword to face Lord Grance Corbray of Heart's Home. "You know, I remember his father," Viserys said, pointing to Lord Grance as he raised his shield. "He was a... a rather large man, but he came to court whenever Jaehaerys allowed it. He was always fond of your mother, as House Arryn too haled from the Vale, but I do not think she took much of a liking to him."

"No?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"No," Viserys said. "He asked her to dance a few times, but she always refused him." 

"Was he a good dancer?"

"Not at all," Viserys laughed. "Nor was he particularly good with a sword, as I recall." 

"Not too dissimilar to you, then?" Rhaenyra smirked. Viserys chortled.

"No, no I suppose not, although I would not tell him that." He shook his head as Ser Medrick knocked the Lord to the ground. "Of course, we almost had a Manderly in the family, you know." 

"Really?" pondered Rhaenyra. 

"Indeed. Lord Theomore Manderly had long been an acquaintance of Queen Alysanne who had been betrothed to my aunt, the Princess Viserra," Viserys replied. "Not that she was fond of the idea, the man had already been widowed four times over and was easily old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather." Rhaenyra pulled a face of disgust. "Alas, the poor girl died before the wedding could happen." 

"It was Viserra who had wished to marry my grandfather, was it not?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"Well, yes," Viserys replied. "Although, my grandmother did not think she actually cared much for him, and more for the benefits of marrying the second son of the King. Even then, while Aemon lived, there were those who would have considered my father ahead of Rhaenys in the succession, and Alysanne thought Viserra wanted to be Queen." 

"What did your father think?"

"Well... Viserra had said some rather unkind things about my mother," Viserys said uncomfortably. "He did not take kindly to the suggestion." The King winced as Lord Corbray was knocked over again, and this time had to surrender to the Manderly knight as the crowd cheered. 

 The applause continued as Daemon's name was called and the Prince marched into the arena. 

 His armour was textured to look like scales, the metal black and his gold cloak over his shoulder. His helm was fashioned in the shape of a dragon's head, its snout coming over his nose and with wings sticking up on either side of his head. A feather of black and red hung from the middle, falling down like the mane of a horse. A pattern of gold chain was wrapped around the edges of his black shield, and in the centre was the three-headed dragon of scarlet, its tail and spikes also coloured gold for his own personal sigil. He unsheathed Dark Sister in one graceful motion, toying with the feel of her in his hand as his opponent was announced. 

 Ser Ronnel Leygood was a man on the larger side, dressed in garments of orange and black, three thunderbolts emblazened on his shield. He wore his beard in the shape of a triangle, and Rhaenyra expected he struggled to fit his large ears into his silver helm. 

 Rhaenyra held her breath as Ser Ronnel swung his sword at Daemon, but the Prince dodged it effortlessly. 

 Daemon bobbed back and forth, enticing Ser Ronnel to swing at him, but keeping enough distance that he was never hit. It was like watching children play a game of cat and mouse, Daemon encouraging the Reachman to chase him. Ser Ronnel took the bait, swinging his arms around as he struggled to hit the Prince of the City, and the crowd cheered as Daemon shoved him to the floor. 

 Ser Ronnel rolled but did not surrender, jumping to his feet so that he could swing his sword at the Prince again. This time, Daemon met him with a hit of his own, his sword crashing against the man's helm, while his foot kicked at his knee. Ser Ronnel groaned loud enough that it could be heard over jeers of the crowd. 

 Daemon took advantage of this, delivering blow after blow after blow, the Leygood knight struggling to block them with his shield. 

 Rhaenyra clapped as Daemon's sword thrashed against Ser Ronnel's right leg, his shield soon smashing against the man's back. Ser Ronnel dropped his own shield, staggering backwards. Daemon kicked him in the gut. Ser Ronnel groaned, waving his sword in Daemon's face, although unable to land a hit. 

 Ser Ronnel shoved Daemon backwards. He raised his sword, but Daemon swung Dark Sister quicker, their swords meeting in mid-air and Daemon's knocking the Leygood knight's down. 

 The crowd roared as Daemon kicked his opponent again, Ser Ronnel rolling onto the ground. Daemon kicked at his head with the side of his boot, Dark Sister pointed at his throat. 

 Rhaenyra cheered loudly as the Leygood knight yielded. Viserys clapped enthusiastically, before calling for another jug of wine. The crowd called out for the Prince of the City as Daemon returned Dark Sister to her sheath, leaving Ser Ronnel on the ground. 

 Next into the arena was Ser Tyland Lannister, the golden lion proudly on his chest, sword in hand to face Lord Ronnet Lonmouth. Lord Ronnet was older and stiffer than the Master of Ships, so it was not long before Ser Tyland was declared the victor. Then, Ser Ronald Westerling defeated Ser Gawen Glover. 

 Alicent encouraged her children to clap loudly as Ser Bryndon Hightower stepped into the arena. Over his armour he wore a rich surcoat of grey velvet, the white Hightower stitched into the centre, and, like his brother's, his helm was also shaped like a tower.

 Ser Bryndon was to face Ser Qarl Correy, a knight whom Rhaenyra had never heard of before. 

 The men charged at each other, metal clanking against metal as their swords met. Ser Bryndon seemed to take the edge in brute strength, knocking Ser Qarl's sword down. Ser Qarl was not easily swayed, rounding his shield and clattering it against the Hightower knight's head. Ser Bryndon grunted, raising his sword again. Ser Qarl kicked at him, but not quickly enough, and Ser Bryndon's sword knocked into him again. Alicent cheered with the crowd as Ser Bryndon kicked Ser Qarl in the leg, but the knight was not deterred, striking his own sword in Ser Bryndon's direction, crashing into his shield. Alicent gasped.

 Ser Bryndon was not dissuaded. He ran at Ser Qarl, his sword narrowly missing the man's throat and forcing the knight to throw himself backwards. Ser Bryndon lunged again, to applause from the crowd, Alicent and Aegon amongst them, but he overreached, and Ser Qarl shoved him away. 

 Alicent gasped as her brother hit the floor, pieces of his armour flying downward. Aegon giggled at her discomfort, making her glower at him. 

 Ser Bryndon rose again to his feet, ducking to avoid Ser Qarl's ferocious swing. He raised his own sword, smacking it against the knight's shield, while Ser Qarl pushed into his chest, forcing the Hightower knight backwards again. Still, Ser Bryndon was not ready to give up, kicking Ser Qarl in the stomach, and then again.

Ser Qarl stumbled.

Ser Bryndon kicked him again, this time in his right knee, and Ser Qarl fell. Alicent cheered. Ser Bryndon thrashed his sword against the man's chest, and through the cries of the crowd Rhaenyra could hear him groan.

 Ser Qarl rolled onto his side, holding up his shield to block his face as he forced himself back to his feet. He thrashed his sword through the air, smashing it into Ser Bryndon's helm, sending his visor to the ground. Ser Qarl lunged again, his sword smacking against Ser Bryndon's, and with his other hand he smashed his shield into the side of the man's head. Ser Qarl lunged once more, but Ser Bryndon threw himself out of the way to avoid the strike. Ser Qarl followed him, and Ser Bryndon was too slow with his counter attack, again finding himself upon the ground. 

 Rhaenyra clapped along with the crowd as Ser Qarl kicked Ser Bryndon in the gut, the Hightower knight doubling over in pain. Ser Qarl whacked him on the back of his head with his sword, and before he could slash at his face, Ser Bryndon held up his hands in surrender. 

 Alicent covered her face with her hands as two of Ser Bryndon's squires hurried to help the knight to his feet, blood pouring down his face from his split lip, and his forehead already swollen with signs of bruising. Viserys shook his head at the sight, reaching for his goblet, while Aegon waved to the man, pouting when he did not wave back. 

 The matches were paused for a rather late lunch, allowing the successful competitors time to recover before their next bouts, the injured to be seen to by maesters or healers, and for the occupants of the Royal Box to eat something more substantial than the candied fruit served to them. While most were left to dine on what was served by the vendors outside the stands, Rhaenyra followed Viserys and Ser Harrold to the gardens of the Red Keep. The children and their maids trailed after them, while Alicent hurried off to visit her brothers. 

 "Look here, Aegon," Viserys said, trying to offer the boy a plate, but the young Prince was busy running around with a toy dragon in his hand, letting out a roar. 

"Pa," Helaena said, waving at him. She and Aemond were sitting in the grass, their maids offering them small pieces of cheese and grapes, but she was more interested in the flowers. Viserys smiled at her, before turning back to Aegon, who had sped off behind some bushes. Viserys sighed, shaking his head. 

"Aegon!" he called after him. Aegon giggled from within the leaves. "I thought you were hungry?"

"Berries!"

"No, no do not eat those," Viserys sighed. 

"Why?" 

"They are bad for you. Come here, look, there is pie."

"Do not like it."

Viserys groaned, "how do you know if you do not try it?" 

 Rhaenyra leaned over him to scoop some pie onto her own plate, before following her ladies across the gardens to a bench under an apple tree. "Your brother performed well," Primrose said, as Annora sat beside her.

"Yes, did he not?" Annora said, smiling. "I only hope he will do as well in his next bout." 

"Did your brothers not compete?" Darla asked.

"Not in the melee," Primrose replied. "Only Clement is old enough to compete, but he shall enter the lists."

"Harwin has always said he prefers the lists," Darla said. 

"Although he has never been very gifted at it," chuckled Celia. Darla laughed.

"Has he not?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"No," Darla said.

"He can fight well enough, but he relies on his strength more than any sort of tactic," Celia shrugged. "The joust is a more tactical game." 

"Do you think he might win?" 

"Mayhaps," Darla said. "It is too early to tell." 

"Well, I can tell you for a fact that neither of Alicent's brothers shall be the victor," Rhaenyra laughed. Primrose and Celia giggled. 

"Prince Daemon performed well," said Annora. "Do you think he might win?"

"Of course," Rhaenyra replied. "He is a very skilled fighter." 

"Do you worry for him when he competes?" Darla wondered. "I do not fear too much for my brother, but I imagine it is different when it is your husband."

"I suppose," Rhaenyra sighed. "I do worry he shall get hurt, or - I do not know what I would do if he was -" she shook her head "- if he was terribly injured, but - but I have to trust him. He knows his skills better than any of us." She sighed. "I - I just hope he is not too proud to give in if he has to." 

Darla laughed, "you shall hardly find a man willing to yield when he needs to, especially in front of a crowd of this size." 

"We went to a tourney at Old Oak once," Celia said. "Harwin was knocked out cold because he refused to yield." Annora hissed through her teeth. "Larys thought he might have died."

"Not that he was overly concerned by that thought," scoffed Darla. 

"My father has a terrible scar on the back of his leg from a jousting accident," Annora said.

"My father was never much of a fighter," said Primrose. "He was always more interested in betting on the games." 

"How odd," said Annora. 

"Who do you think shall win, then?" Primrose inquired, raising her goblet to her lips. 

"Daemon," Rhaenyra said, before sipping her own wine.

"Boremund Baratheon's son looked mighty with his war axe, did he not?" Darla said. "I imagine one could really do some damage with that thing." 

"Or one of those Manderly brothers," suggested Celia. "Oh, or that big man from the City Watch." 

"Brute force can only get you so far," said Rhaenyra. Annora hummed her agreement.

 Rhaenyra watched Helaena chase after an orange butterfly as Celia and Darla returned to the table to retrieve some wine for them. Alicent had arrived now, sitting with Viserys and Aemond on a bench a short distance away from Rhaenyra and her ladies, while Aegon was rolling around in the grass, as if pretending to be in a fight. "Aegon, no, stop," exasperated Alicent, pursing her lips at him. 

"Always trouble that one, is he not?"

 Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder to see Daemon walking towards her, clad in only a white undershirt and pale, cream breeches. He brushed a hand through his hair as he side-stepped a pair of giggling ladies, before leaning his elbows on the back of Rhaenyra's bench, his chin hovering above Rhaenyra's head. "Aegon?" she quizzed. "Yes, I would say so." 

"How does Viserys cope?" Daemon grunted. 

"I could not say."

"You fought well, my Prince," Celia said, as she and Darla returned, the latter offering Rhaenyra a goblet. Daemon nodded to her, reaching over to swipe a plum from Rhaenyra's plate. She scowled at him, but Daemon smirked as he bit into it. 

"Do you know who you shall fight next?" Annora inquired. 

"No," Daemon replied. "But it does not matter, whoever it is I shall knock him to the ground and move on to the next." 

"Dragon!" Rhaenyra turned her head as Aegon leapt to his feet, throwing his wooden dragon at Helaena. The girl ducked, covering her face with her hands, but that did not stop the dragon from hitting her shoulder.

"Aegon!" Alicent hissed, rising from her seat and reaching for his arm. Aegon pushed her away, hurrying after his toy to collect it from the ground. Helaena frowned at him. 

"Your Aerys had better be more well behaved than that, Princess," sighed Annora.

"He shall be," huffed Rhaenyra, frowning. She raised her goblet to her lips as Aemond began to shout, his face growing red as he shrieked. Viserys snapped his fingers for his maids, but Aemond only pushed them away from him. Alicent abandoned her pursuit of her eldest son to turn back to her second, rubbing his back soothingly, not that it had much effect. 

  Rhaenyra walked back to the stands with Daemon, her ladies trailing behind them. "You are... confident that you shall win then?" she asked.

"Of course," Daemon smirked. He cocked an eyebrow. "Did you see something I did not?" 

"I doubt it. Only - I just do not want you to get hurt."

"That is the nature of fighting, Princess," Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. "You worry too much."

"I do not!"

"You do, and you need  not waste your time worrying about me," Daemon scoffed. "I will have my winnings, and I shall rid us of that useless guard." 

"And what if - what if he smashes your face in with his morning star?" Rhaenyra whispered.

"He shall not," Daemon hissed. "I did hope that, as my wife, you would have more faith in me." 

"As your wife and the mother to your son I do not wish to see you hurt," Rhaenyra retorted. "I - I know you can fight, I know, and -"

"So leave it alone," Daemon snarled. Rhaenyra swallowed and nodded. "I shall see you after the bout." Rhaenyra leaned up to kiss his cheek, but he had already begun to walk away. 

"Are you alright, Princess?" Primrose inquired, as she and the other ladies caught up with her.

"Fine," Rhaenyra muttered, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "I only hope he does well."

"The Prince shall be fine," Primrose told her. "He is very well-trained." Celia nodded her agreement. 

"Hello Princess, sisters." Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder to see Ser Harwin Strong walking towards them, a grin on his face. He nodded his head shortly to her.

"Ser Harwin," Rhaenyra greeted with a smile.

"Hello Ser Harwin," parroted Primrose and Annora.

"Hello, Harwin," Darla said. "Do you know who you shall be fighting yet?"

"No," Ser Harwin replied. 

"I hope it is not my brother," muttered Annora. Ser Harwin laughed. 

"Well, I wish you good luck, Ser," Rhaenyra said. 

"You are too kind, Princess," Ser Harwin replied. Darla rolled her eyes as he leaned down to kiss Rhaenyra's hand. Primrose giggled. Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder as she heard a scoff, finding Alicent, Ser Gwayne, and Ser Criston watching them. 

"We should go," Rhaenyra said, pulling her hand away. 

"As should you, brother," said Darla. Ser Harwin nodded his agreement. "You really should not give him the time of day, Princess," Darla murmured, as they trudged towards the stands, losing sight of Alicent in the crowd. 

"Why ever not?" Rhaenyra inquired. "He has - he has always been kind to me."

"Kind? He is positively obsessed," Darla groaned. Celia nodded her agreement. 

"Your marriage to the Prince has done little to extinguish that flame," she said. 

"I - I am sure he means well," Rhaenyra muttered. Darla rolled her eyes.

 There was an excitement in the air as soon as Rhaenyra returned to the Royal Box. The crowd broke out into applause at the sight of her and her father, who returned to their seats while Alicent and the maids fought with Aemond, who was refusing to let go of his mother's hand. "Just stop fussing with him," sighed Viserys. "There is plenty of room for everyone." Rhaenyra made a motion to return to her usual seat, but Viserys held up his hand to still her. 

 With Aemond unwilling to leave his mother, Alicent's ladies returned to the back of the box alone, Alicent sitting between her two sons while Helaena was placed on the other side of Rhaenyra. She gave Rhaenyra a small wave, soon turning her attention back to the pieces of candied oranges Viserys had given her. 

 Ser Gerold Royce was first to return to the arena, fighting young Ser Elmo Tully, his surcoat and shield decorated with the silver trout of his House. Ser Elmo waved his sword about, jabbing it at Ser Gerold's legs. Ser Gerold, instead, swiped his sword in the direction of Ser Elmo's head. The crowd roared when he finally landed a blow, Ser Elmo staggering as he struggled to recover, while Ser Gerold smacked him in the face with his pointed shield. 

 The bout did not last for much longer after that. Rhaenyra joined in the polite applause as Ser Gerold was declared the victor. The man did not address the crowd, instead returning his sword to its sheath and walking away, while Ser Elmo struggled to return to his feet. 

 Ser Qarl was next to return, facing Ser Caspor Wylde. It was Ser Caspor who engaged first, rushing at the taller knight and brandishing his sword through the air like a child would. He did not seem to be aiming for anything in particular, just waving his sword about in hopes of hitting the knight. He managed to smack into Ser Qarl's shoulder and elbow, but did no lasting damage. Instead, Ser Caspor wore himself out, his movements growing slower and slower, while Ser Qarl was able to push him back with little effort. Lord Jasper cursed loudly as Ser Qarl struck Ser Caspor across the face, and then again on the back of the knees, sending the Wylde heir to the ground. 

 Rhaenyra offered no applause as Ser Criston Cole sauntered into the arena, his white cloak flowing down his shoulders and his morning star swinging in one hand."Is something the matter?" Viserys asked her, as Alicent and Aegon clapped enthusiastically. 

"No," Rhaenyra replied stiffly, snapping her fingers for some wine. Viserys glanced between her and Cole. 

"I had thought he was your friend?" 

"He was my sworn shield, and now he is not."

"Oh. I had thought you were... closer than that. You spent a lot of time together over the years, did you not?"

"He was my sworn shield," Rhaenyra said again. Viserys shrugged, accepting a goblet of wine as Ser Harwin Strong entered the arena. Rhaenyra did clap for him, although not as enthusiastically as Lord Lyonel did. 

"Here comes Lyonel's boy again," Viserys said. Beside him, Aegon also clapped loudly, before turning his attention back to his wooden toys. 

"He is hardly a boy," Rhaenyra scoffed. Viserys shrugged. 

 The match began wildly. Ser Harwin had hardly unsheathed his sword when Cole was already throwing himself at him. He swung his morning star at Ser Harwin's chest, and Ser Harwin barely had enough time to back away. Alicent joined in the cheer that erupted, but Lord Lyonel groaned. 

 Ser Harwin retaliated with a swing of his sword, but Cole ducked to avoid it, kicking Ser Harwin's leg. Ser Harwin raised his shield as Cole swung his morning star at him, the spikes sending splinters off in all directions.

 Cole swung his morning star again, holding it high above his head to smash it into Ser Harwin's helmet, but his plan was foiled by Ser Harwin raising his sword and bashing it into the metal chain. Cole grunted as Ser Harwin kicked his side, too late in lifting his shield so that Ser Harwin could sidestep before it hit his head. 

 Rhaenyra cheered as Ser Harwin's sword broke through Cole's wooden shield, pieces flying over his head as he threw what was left of it to the ground, and Ser Harwin kicked it out of the way. Cole grunted again as Ser Harwin's sword collided with the side of his head. He swung his morning star again, this time hitting Ser Harwin's arm and shattering his gauntlet. 

 Ser Harwin's strength was not something Cole could compete with, but the knight knew this. Not eager to be struck by the heir to Harrenhal again, especially now that he did not have a shield, so he focused on bobbing and weaving, evading his arm while swinging his morning star wildly, intent on striking the Strong knight's chest. Ser Harwin wobbled, but did not fall, instead raising his shield again. 

 Cole took aim, thrashing at the shield until it snapped in half. Alicent joined in the cheer that followed, while Lord Lyonel dropped his head into his hands. Cole lunged at the Strong heir, his morning star smashing into his sword arm. Ser Harwin yelped, raising the half of his shield he still had and throwing it at the Kingsguard. The crowd laughed as Cole ducked to avoid it. 

 Ser Harwin had to step backwards again, throwing his sword out to try and keep Cole a distance away from him. Through his visor, Rhaenyra could see Cole smirking as he lunged again, first kicking Ser Harwin's leg and then whacking the morning star into his arm again. Ser Harwin stumbled, dropping his sword. The crowd called out Cole's name as he swung his weapon again, hitting the heir to Harrenhal in the chest. 

 Ser Harwin cried out as he fell to the ground, the plate on his chest cracking as Cole, not content, swung his morning star into his chest again. He stood on his shoulder, pushing his foot down on his collar as Ser Harwin cried again. The crowd cheered again, calling Cole's name as Ser Harwin tried to reach for his sword, but his arm would not move. 

 "What is wrong with him?" Rhaenyra heard Celia ask. 

"Broken arm, I think," said Darla, straining to look over the barrier from her seat. Lord Lyonel had gone pale, shaking his head as he watched Cole throw his morning star to the ground and raise his hands, triumphant in victory. Alicent, Aegon and Aemond cheered for him, while two squires hurried out to help Ser Harwin to his feet, but the man struggled to stay upright. 

"No," muttered Lord Lyonel. "It is worse than that." 

"Is it?" gasped Celia. Lord Lyonel nodded sadly. 

 Next to the arena was Ser Eldric Hunter, his shield displaying the five silver arrows of his House, who was soon beaten by Ser Luthor Largent. Ser Tyland Lannister was also bested, by Ser Lorent Marbrand, and Ser Randyll Barrett was defeated by Ser Medrick Manderly, while Ser Medrick's brother, Torrhen, was beaten by Ser Borros Baratheon. Then, Ser Alan Tarly was beaten by Ser Ronald Westerling.

 Rhaenyra cheered as Daemon was announced. The Prince of the City smirked as he entered the arena, looking up to wink at the Royal Box before he lowered his visor. He twirled Dark Sister in his hand as his opponent, Ser Rickard Thorne, appeared, his white cloak flapping in the wind. Ser Rickard grinned as he unsheathed his sword. His eyes scanned the crowd before he, too, lowered his visor. 

 Daemon fought with ease, often looking like he was sparring rather than competing in front of the masses. Ser Rickard was quick, but not quick enough, and Daemon managed to deflect most of his blows, and those that did make contact were not strong enough to do any real damage. Daemon continued to toy with him for a while, hopping forwards and backwards, circling the Kingsguard like a predator would its prey, while Ser Rickard was left guessing as from where Daemon would strike. 

 Before long, Daemon gave up with his game, his blows becoming more frequent and more accurate, hitting Ser Rickard's chest and lower calves, his feet colliding with his knees and once Daemon kicked him hard enough in the chest to knock him down, he refused to let him get up. Blow after blow the Prince delivered, hitting the Kingsguard repeatedly in the chest and the side of the head. He kicked Ser Rickard's sword away and smashed through the shield he was using to cover his face, forcing the knight to yield. 

 Rhaenyra jumped to her feet as the crowd erupted into a thunderous applause for her husband. Viserys clapped along, as did Aegon, while Alicent just sipped her wine, and Helaena watched the birds fly across the horizon. Rhaenyra waved to Daemon when she caught him looking at her, which he returned with a wink, before leaving the arena. 

 The cheers continued as Rhaenyra fled the Royal Box, flanked by Celia and Darla, down the stone steps and towards the tents set up for the competitors. While the Strong sisters sought out their brother, Rhaenyra navigated the banners until she caught sight of her husband's sigil. She was greeted by a pair of stammering squires, neither any older than three and ten, who opened the flap of the tent for her so she could walk inside. 

 "My wife." Daemon was in the midst of undressing, his face plastered with sweat and the smallest trace of blood, although Rhaenyra could not tell if it was his own or Ser Rickard's. Another squire, this one older with bright red hair, was collecting the pieces of armour that Daemon discarded on the floor as he shed them, soon stripped down to just his smallclothes and his undershirt. 

"My knight." Rhaenyra grinned at him. 

"I told you that you worry too much, did I not?" Daemon chuckled, shaking his head as he unlaced his undershirt. 

"I still think it is a fair concern," huffed Rhaenyra. "You could be hurt, you may well be tomorrow."

"I shall be fine, my beloved," Daemon sighed. He kicked away his smallclothes without a care for the squire, who squeaked and covered his eyes, before crossing through to the next room, where a copper tub had been filled for him. Rhaenyra heard a splash as he clambered in. "Did you enjoy the show?" he called.

"Quite," Rhaenyra replied. "You were very good." 

"As to be expected," Daemon smirked. "Will you stay with me?"

"No, it smells of sweat and blood in here," Rhaenyra said, crinkling her nose in disgust. Daemon laughed. "I will visit our son. Join us, will you, when you have dressed?"

"Certainly." 

 Rhaenyra did not go hunting for her ladies, choosing to let them stay with their wounded brother and instead joined the crowd that was dispersing from the stands and towards the Red Keep. She saw her father in the distance, surrounded by guardsmen, but knew she would have no chance of catching up with him. Her blood ran cold when she caught sight of Cole leaving his tent, a menacing expression on his face, like a man who had just killed someone and would do so again. She hoped he had not killed Ser Harwin, the heir to Harrenhal was one of the few friendly faces she had left in King's Landing. 

 Rhaenyra pondered what Darla had said. She had been married for some moons now, and she supposed that there had been little change in Ser Harwin's behaviour. He had always been kind to her, and was exceptionally kind on the night she had found herself alone in King's Landing, but she did not know how to feel about his supposed obsession. She did not know him well enough to call him a friend, so she could hardly ask him about it - as if she could ever get through such a conversation without turning beet red anyway. Nevertheless, she did hope that his sisters were exaggerating, and that her marriage to Daemon would be a clear indicator to him that she was no longer interested. 

 She felt sad for him, in a way. They never had spoken about it, after that night. The next time she had seen him, he had simply asked if she was doing well, and so life moved on.

 Putting all thoughts of Ser Harwin aside, Rhaenyra followed Ser Addam back to the Keep, where she hurried upstairs to her son's nursery. 

 Rhaenyra found Aerys in his cradle, his eyes tightly shut while his hatchling let out little puffs of smoke through its nostrils. "Hello, you," Rhaenyra murmured, smoothing the hatchling's crest with one finger. The hatchling let out a chirp happily. "Are you not the most beautiful boy?" The hatchling chirped again. Rhaenyra left the hatchling to turn her attention to her son, who she took into her arms. Aerys slowly opened his eyes. His little hand clasped around her finger, holding onto it tightly as Rhaenyra carried him to the sofa, sidestepping a servant who came in to light the fireplace. "Hello, my sweet son," Rhaenyra murmured, tickling the bottom of Aerys' feet. "I hope we have not been neglecting you too much, my sweet?" she sighed. "You would not enjoy the games anyway, it is far too loud for you, and gruesome." 

 Rhaenyra and Aerys were not left alone for long. She was telling Aerys of Daemon's victories - leaving out the gorier details - when Viserys appeared in the doorway, his crown askew on his head and a grin on his face. He had removed his ornate coat, now wearing a dark red shirt with circular, golden buttons. "Hello there," he said. "How is my grandson?" 

"He is well, Father," Rhaenyra replied, smoothing Aerys' silky hair. 

"Good, good." Viserys rubbed his hands together as he crossed the room, sitting beside Rhaenyra. "Let me see him." Rhaenyra sighed, but obliged, gently passing Aerys to Viserys' awaiting arms. "Look at you, my boy," Viserys said, grinning again. "You shall be big, will you not? Like your father." 

"Daemon is certain he shall be a strong warrior," Rhaenyra told him. 

"I am not surprised," Viserys laughed. "You will be a mighty knight, will you not, my Aerys?" 

"He will have to be, we cannot have Blackfyre collecting dust again." 

 Rhaenyra looked over Viserys' shoulder as Daemon appeared in the doorway. He was clad in a long, dark grey tunic with scarlet sleeves, and the silver buckle of his belt was gleaming in the candlelight.

 "I am sure he can keep himself busy with Dark Sister until then," Viserys chortled. 

"She is already in use," Daemon said stiffly. He leaned his elbows against the back of the sofa, peering over Viserys' shoulder to look down at his son's face. Aerys smiled up at him, letting out a little happy gurgle. "He is growing, is he not?" 

"Definitely," Viserys agreed. "He may outgrow our Aemond soon." Rhaenyra chuckled. She pressed a kiss to his little hand and Aerys smiled at her. He reached for her hand again, and she let him hold onto her thumb, before drawing it away as he tried to pull it to his mouth. Aerys let out a sad whimper. "Why does he not come and see the games tomorrow?" Viserys suggested. Daemon raised his eyebrows incredulously. "What? Do you not want him to see you compete? You might win."

"Have you never been to the stands?" Daemon scoffed.

"It is too loud for him, Father," Rhaenyra said. "And he is too young to be around so many people." 

Viserys frowned, "he has to get used to it some time."

"Well, not yet," Rhaenyra told him. Daemon nodded his agreement. Viserys sighed and shook his head. 

"Are your sons training yet?" Daemon asked.

"What?" Viserys questioned. "No, no. They are far too young for that." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps my Aemond shall train with our Aerys?"

"Would it not make more sense for Aemond to train with his brother?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"Mayhaps," Viserys shrugged. "But Aemond and Aerys are closer in age." 

"Aerys shall be spending most of his days on Dragonstone," Daemon said. Viserys' frown deepened. "And with any luck, he shall have a brother or two to train with." Daemon winked. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. 

"Well, yes... but I would hope that all of my grandchildren would visit us," Viserys said. "Rhaenyra's seat may be Dragonstone, but she does not need to spend all her time there - our father never did."

"No, but Baelon was the King's Hand," Daemon said coolly. 

"I was not and I remained in King's Landing," said Viserys. 

"Yes, which helped no one," Daemon said icily. Viserys turned back to Aerys, who had stuck two of his own fingers in his mouth and was covering his hand with slobber. 

"Shall my grandson be in attendance for the feast tonight?" he asked.

"No," Rhaenyra replied. "It shall be too loud, too busy, and too late for him." Daemon nodded, smoothing Aerys' hair. 

"Could he not come for an hour or so? I am sure everyone shall be thrilled to see him," suggested Viserys. He was not wrong, the arrival of the future King had made Rhaenyra and Daemon more popular in the Capital than ever before.

"No," Rhaenyra said again. "It would only upset him."

"And he cares for his wet nurse more than he would anything on the table," added Daemon. Viserys sighed glumly. 

 Despite nursing several injuries, Alicent's brothers returned to the High Table for dinner that night, while Ser Rufus chose to eat in his quarters. Alicent wore another dress of green, this one with an emerald half-cape and a necklace of gold and green diamonds, and she sat with her hands in her lap as Viserys called for the first courses to be brought out. Lord Lyonel was also absent, his vacant chair beside Daemon suggesting that the King had expected his presence. 

 Rhaenyra wore an elegant gown of salmon, the sleeves trimmed with a pale lilac lace that reminded her of the colour of Daemon's eyes. Around her neck, sapphires glistened in a chain of silver, reminiscent of the colours of her mother's House, and on her right hand she wore the golden ring bearing the sigil of her House. Daemon wore all black, his silver ring on his left hand and Dark Sister on his hip. 

 "The veal is nice," Rhaenyra said, snapping her fingers for another goblet of brandy as she finished her stew. Daemon shrugged, his eyes on the group of Gold Cloaks in the corner, all sniggering to one another. 

"I am glad you think so," Viserys said, turning from Alicent, who had been telling her brothers about Aegon's lessons, not that either of them appeared interested. "Have you tried the pork pies? I am very impressed." Rhaenyra reached over the table for one of the small pork pies, which she cut into. "Oh, look at that." Viserys grinned as a large boar with its skin seared to a crisp, cooked with chestnuts and cloves was placed on the table, along with a pie of cheese and onion. 

"Gorgeous," Alicent praised.

"Is it not?" Viserys agreed, nodding. He held out his plate so a manservant could pile the meat onto it. "Here, Daemon, do you want some?" Daemon shrugged again, pouring himself a goblet of strongwine. "Careful with that," Viserys told him. "You do not want to overdo it and be unable to fight tomorrow." Daemon laughed. 

____________

 Young Aemond's cries had been heard throughout the castle all morning while Rhaenyra ate her morning porridge, so she was not surprised to find that he had not been brought out to the Royal Box.

 Rhaenyra sat beside Viserys again, a diadem of rubies upon her head and a crimson cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Alicent was seated on his other side, with Helaena next to her and Aegon at the end of the row, the boy already smashing his wooden horses together and paying no attention as Ser Borros Baratheon marched into the arena, swinging his axe in the air. He was soon joined by Ser Criston Cole, the Kingsguard sporting a bruise on his face from his previous bouts and a steely expression before he lowered his visor. 

 Ser Borros was a fierce man with a thick beard and a surcoat of yellow and black. His shield was a long oval shape, but he seldom used it. Cole was a graceful man, stepping in and out of reach, brandishing his morning star with every chance he had, but those chances were few and far between. Ser Borros was far stronger than him, and Cole was obviously eager to keep his distance, those jabs he could create proving far from meaningful as Ser Borros continued to push forward, his axe swinging at the Kingsguard's head. Alicent gasped as Cole held up his shield just in time to defend himself, and the axe smashed through it, cracking it into seven pieces. Helaena inhaled sharply. "Ser Criston will be fine," Alicent whispered, taking her hand in hers. Helaena did not look convinced. 

 The heir to Storm's End swung his axe again, hitting Cole on the shoulder and sending him to the ground. Ser Borros shouted as he drove his axe down, smashing into the gauntlet that covered Cole's left wrist, causing the man on the floor to groan in agony. Rhaenyra joined in the laughter that spread across the crowd. Viserys stared at her, frowning. 

 Much to everyone's surprise, including Ser Borros', Cole returned to his feet. He lunged at the Baratheon heir, hitting him in the leg with his morning star and then shoving him in the side, but Ser Borros was quick to retaliate, swinging his axe ferociously against the morning star and snapping the chain in two. 

 Ser Criston's gulp was audible throughout the arena. 

 Ser Borros hit the Kingsguard in the face with his shield. 

 With no shield of his own to protect him, Cole tried to bob his head, his footwork less concrete as he stumbled backwards, obviously doing whatever he could to remain upright. 

 Ser Borros showed no mercy. He swung the axe again, smashing the Kingsguard's helm open and sending him to his knees on the floor. Cole tried to reach for the discarded morning star, but it was too far away. When he noticed his attempt, Ser Borros brought the axe down again, smashing into his hand. Cole let out a cry of agony, and soon his arms were thrown up in surrender. 

 The Baratheon heir smirked as he walked away from the arena, the crowd chanting and cheering for him, while Cole discarded his broken helm, his dark hair matted with blood that was running down both the back of his neck and his right cheek. He reached again for the morning star, but his hand was uncooperative, and Rhaenyra heard Ser Tyland claim that it was broken. 

 It was only as Cole pushed away the squire that had been sent to help him, forcing himself to his feet, that she realised with Ser Borros' victory Daemon would be unable to face the Kingsguard himself. 

 She did not expect him to take kindly to the news. 

 Next to the arena was Ser Lorent Marbrand, shield raised and sword in hand as he was met by the towering Ser Luthor Largent. It was the Kingsguard who engaged first, thrashing his sword into Ser Luthor's face and narrowly avoiding his right eye, which was not properly covered by his helmet, which had no visor. Still, Ser Luthor was not deterred, whacking his sword at Ser Lorent with such force that the knight had no choice but to retreat, his shield covering most of his face as he aimed to protect himself, the city watchman swiping at his knees. 

 Ser Lorent's attacks became fewer but harsher, striking him again in the face, and then twice in the chest, once across the back of the knee, and twice in the back of the larger knight's neck.

 Ser Luthor's lack of formal training began to show, the man walking towards his opponent with his shield lowered, jabbing his swordarm out but doing little in terms of defence when Ser Lorent engaged both sword and shield, managing to strike him across the back of the head with his shield and making him stumble backwards.

 The Kingsguard ducked as Ser Luthor swung his sword at him again. He bashed his sword against the man's shield, shattering it, not that it made much of a difference to the city watchman's fighting style. Ser Luthor thrashed his sword at the Kingsguard, hitting him in the chest so that he stumbled backwards. Ser Lorent kicked his leg, but then Ser Luthor pushed him backwards, smacking his swordarm with his longsword. 

 Ser Lorent staggered forward, jabbing his sword out and raising his shield, which only allowed Ser Luthor more of a chance to thrust at his legs, until Ser Lorent looked like he was skipping as he tried to avoid the point of the blade, his right greave having fallen away. 

 Rhaenyra winced as Ser Lorent pushed forward, smacking Ser Luthor in the face with his shield, shattering the man's nose. Ser Lorent continued, thrusting the shield into the man's chest as his sword swung at his knees, until the taller man fell. Ser Lorent hurried forward, kicking his longsword from reach and thrusting his shield downward, onto the man's hand. Ser Luthor groaned. 

 Still, the Captain of the City Watch did not heed. Instead, he swung his left first into Ser Lorent's face, smashing into his cheek and throwing his head backwards. He struggled with his right arm, and when he was unable to break the grip Ser Lorent had on his shield, he swung his fist again, this time connecting with his nose. 

 Ser Lorent grunted. He smacked the towering knight in the face with his own sword, blood soon pouring from his forehead.

 Ser Luthor struggled for a moment, evidently debating whether to continue with the fight, but he threw his arms up in surrender as Ser Lorent's blade touched his throat. 

 Rhaenyra joined in the applause that filled the stadium as Ser Lorent helped Ser Luthor to his feet. While the latter reached for his discarded sword, Ser Lorent bowed his head to the Royal Box, before both left. 

 "That was very good," said Viserys.

"Yes," Alicent agreed, stroking Helaena's hair, although the girl tried to move away from her. 

"Ya! Ah!" cried Aegon, bashing his wooden knights into each other again. Viserys chuckled, shaking his head at him. 

 Rhaenyra cheered as Daemon strode out into the arena. His eyes scanned the crowd as he unsheathed Dark Sister, the black feather in his helm flapping in the gentle wind. Viserys and Aegon also clapped for him, Aegon dropping his horses to watch. Daemon began to pace back and forth as the herald called for his opponent. 

 Daemon laughed as Ser Gerold Royce marched towards him. He was shorter than Daemon, his dark beard peppered with grey and his armour a dark bronze. 

 Ser Gerold was the first to engage, lunging at Daemon before he could lower his visor. Daemon side-stepped around him, not willing to retreat yet. He struck out his shield, brandishing it at the Valeman as Ser Gerold growled, shaking his sword arm violently, although not close enough to hit Daemon. 

 Rhaenyra inhaled sharply as Ser Gerold swung his sword again. He was aiming for Daemon's chest, but Daemon was quicker and Dark Sister smacked against it, pushing it aside. He followed it with a boot to the stomach, and Rhaenyra heard Ser Gerold groan. 

 Ser Gerold struggled to stay on his feet as Daemon smashed his shield into the side of his head. 

 Rhaenyra cheered as Daemon smacked the man in the face with his shield, Dark Sister jabbing at his legs. As Ser Gerold's head snapped backwards, Daemon swung his longsword against his collarbone, sending him to his knees. 

 The crowd whooped as Daemon's boot kicked through the Valeman's shield, sending splinters in every direction, including into the man's face. Daemon kicked him in the face, breaking through his visor and crashing into his nose. Blood spurted down the lower half of the knight's face and into his beard. 

 Daemon hissed something to Ser Gerold that Rhaenyra could not hear, but made the man shake with fury. He raised his sword again, his legs wobbling as he tried to rise to his feet. Daemon swung Dark Sister quickly, and in one fell swoop he snapped the Valeman's blade in two.

 Ser Gerold blinked erratically as he stared at the fragments of sword. The crowd burst out laughing, some cheering gleefully as Daemon punched the man in the face, sending him onto his back. 

 The Prince of the City assaulted Ser Gerold was a flurry of kicks, some at his chest, but most at his legs and sides. He swung his sword again, and Rhaenyra heard the gauntlet shatter as the Valyrian steel smacked against them, likely breaking the arm given the cry Ser Gerold let out. 

 Daemon kicked the knight in his face as he bitterly gasped out his surrender, curling in on himself as Daemon dropped his shield onto the man's head. 

 Rhaenyra leapt to her feet, cheering with the crowd as they called her husband's name, and she grinned from ear to ear as he waved up to her. 

 Daemon's victory was followed by Ser Medrick Manderly, who defeated Ser Ronald Westerling and also turned to greet the Royal Box. Rhaenyra clapped him politely, as did the King, while Aegon watched the squire hurry around with a bowl of candied plums, which Alicent forbade him from serving to her children. 

 The bout was followed by a pair of men in floppy red hats, from the corners of which hung little bells, who ran into the arena with bright orange balls to juggle. One of them sang as they did so, seemingly making up the jungle on the spot, while the other soon began to throw his balls at children in the stands, making some laugh, but others scream in terror. "Oh dear," Helaena said softly. 

"Do not fear, he cannot throw this high up," chuckled Viserys. 

"I could," declared Aegon. Viserys only laughed.

"What is he doing?" Alicent asked, frowning as the second man ran out of balls and began to throw his shoes at the crowd instead. 

"Who is this for?" scoffed Ser Bryndon, who was sitting behind her.

"Children, I would imagine," replied Viserys cheerily. 

 Rhaenyra watched as the second man then turned to his companion, chasing him around the arena in an attempt to steal his balls, while the first man tried to continue to juggle. Eventually, the man ran out of the arena, hugging his balls to his chest, and the other man followed him, and so their act was over.

 They were followed by a man with a pair of marionette puppets, one in armour of silver and the other in armour of black. The puppets acted out a joust of sorts, astride brown ponies, jabbing at each other with velvet swords. Aegon cheered as one of the puppets screamed, his little sword falling to the ground. Rhaenyra accepted a cube of cheese from the tray offered to her, sipping her pear brandy as Viserys laughed loudly beside her. "Do you - do you recall that puppeteer from when you were young?" he inquired, through his chuckles. 

"The one whose shows always involved a bear?" laughed Rhaenyra.

"Yes, yes," chortled Viserys. "I think he must have only had a few puppets to use." 

"Or maybe he just really liked bears?" Rhaenyra suggested. Viserys laughed. "Whatever happened to him?"

"You know, I do not know." Viserys scratched his chin thoughtfully. 

"He died, your Grace," piped up Lord Lyonel behind them. 

Viserys frowned, "oh, did he? How sad." Lord Lyonel nodded. 

"How dreadful," said Rhaenyra. "What happened to him?"

"Trampled by a horse, Princess," Lord Lyonel replied. Viserys shook his head.

"In King's Landing?" Rhaenyra quizzed.

"No, Princess, Gulltown," Lord Lyonel said. "In the Vale."

"Yes, I know where Gulltown is, my Lord," Rhaenyra said. 

Lord Lyonel nodded, "of course."

 The puppet show ended with the silver knight being the victor. Aegon cheered for him with the other children in the stands, while the puppet in black armour lay discarded upon the ground. 

  The matches resumed with Ser Borros Baratheon against Ser Lorent Marbrand. Ser Borros engaged first, swinging his axe at the Kingsguard's chest. Ser Lorent sidestepped it, smacking his hand away with his shield. He returned it with a strike of his own, his sword jabbing at Ser Borros' face. Their shields smacked together, Ser Borros waving his axe again and hitting the Kingsguard in the shoulder. 

 The crowd groaned as Ser Lorent was hit in the face with the heir to Storm's End's shield. Ser Borros quickened his attack, smashing his axe into the Kingsguard's chest and kicking him in the shin. Ser Lorent swung out his shield, aiming for the Baratheon knight's head, but he was too far away. 

 The Kingsguard was already on the back foot, and it was clear that he knew this was a problem. He was hesitant with his attacks, bobbing and weaving to avoid the Baratheon's axe, but too slow to counter, unwilling to move his shield from where it covered his face. Ser Borros lunged for him, driving his axe down onto his knee. Ser Lorent's leg buckled, and he smacked his shield into Ser Borros' face as he staggered backwards. 

 Ser Borros was heavy handed and fierce, but Ser Lorent was quicker. He was able to hit the Baratheon heir in the face again and put enough distance between them that Ser Borros had to lunge, lessening the impact of his mighty axe. Ser Lorent jabbed out his sword, aiming for the Baratheon's legs, and Ser Borros audibly grunted. Ser Lorent swung his shield, but it was too high and went over the knight's head, while Ser Borros threw his shield into Ser Lorent's face. 

 Ser Lorent drove his sword into the heir's shield, whacking at it with such force that splinters flew off, some towards the crowd, making women duck behind their hands. When the shield cracked in two, Ser Borros discarded the first half, driving the jagged edge towards his opponent, but Ser Lorent ducked, sidestepping so he could turn around and begin to retreat into the centre of the arena once more. 

 The Kingsguard thrust out his sword, smashing it into Ser Borros' chest. Rhaenyra thought that the tides were turning, as Ser Borros was too slow to retaliate, Ser Lorent already having moved out of the way by the time the Baratheon heir swung his axe. Alas, it did not last for long, as soon the axe was swung again and smashed into the side of Ser Lorent's head, severing his visor from the helm and making him groan. Ser Borros followed it with a smack of his shield into the man's chest, forcing the Kingsguard to his knees. 

 Still, Ser Lorent did not surrender, smashing his sword into Ser Borros' shield hard enough to shatter it in two, the Baratheon having to give up on what was left of it, throwing it to the ground.

 Ser Borros' boot kicked into the Kinguard's chest, sending him to the ground with a mighty thud. Ser Borros kicked him again, this time in the side, before swining his axe at the man's neck, breaking through his gorget. Ser Lorent grunted, his hand gripping onto his sword with all the strength left in him, which he brought up and smacked into Ser Borros' thigh, although it did little to deter him. 

 The crowd cried out for the Baratheon heir as Ser Borros kicked Ser Lorent twice in the stomach, and then again in the side of his face. Ser Lorent stuck out his sword, smacking the back of both of Ser Borros' knees, but it only gave him enough time to rise to his knees before he was smacked in the head with the axe again, falling down, face first. 

 Ser Borros lifted his axe again, but it was already over, and Ser Lorent held up his hands in surrender before he could be struck again. Ser Borros laughed out, kicking away his discarded pieces of shield as he left the arena, while Ser Lorent removed his helm, blood trickling down the side of his face so much so that it made Alicent gasp. 

 Rhaenyra sipped her brandy as Ser Medrick Manderly returned to the arena. His otherwise blue-green shield was decorated with the image of a white merman, its tail and hair dark green, carrying a black trident. The same image of a merman was also on the centre of his surcoat. Ser Medrick wore his dark hair long, long enough that it stuck out from under his helmet, and his piercing blue eyes were visible through his visor. Ser Medrick twirled his sword in his hand as the heralds announced Daemon, his feathers flapping in the wind as he marched out into the arena. 

 Daemon was lighter on his feet than his opponent, quicker and more agile, but Ser Medrick was bigger and stronger. Each swing of his sword became more savage, more harmful, as if desperate to smash into Daemon's head before he could do much damage in return. 

 It was not enough to dissuade Daemon from his attack, lunging at the Northman with his shield raised, jabbing at his torso. Ser Medrick smacked their swords together, knocking Daemon's arm down. Daemon kicked the man's right leg and followed it with a blow to his shoulder. Ser Medrick grunted lowly as he lunged forward, but Daemon dodged his attack, smashing his shield into the side of Ser Medrick's head.

 Rhaenyra gasped as Ser Medrick's sword broke through Daemon's shield. Daemon discarded it, kicking at Ser Medrick's shins. He swung Dark Sister at the man's face, but Ser Medrick blocked the blow with his sword. Daemon swung again, steel meeting steel in the air, and in the end Ser Medrick had to retreat. Daemon lunged for him, but none of his blows could reach him, Ser Medrick still backing away. He swung his shield, smacking it into Daemon's chest, while Daemon kicked at him, knocking into his knee but not raising his sword arm quick enough, his following blow intercepted by the Manderly knight's shield. 

 Rhaenyra turned the rings on her fingers as she watched Daemon weave under Ser Medrick's arm, avoiding his shield but unable to evade the sword that smacked into his neck. His gorget split, but Daemon continued forward, smacking Dark Sister into the knight's knee. As Ser Medrick staggered, Daemon kicked him in the stomach, sending him backwards. Rhaenyra clapped, some of the tension alleviating from her, but it was not for long, as soon Ser Medrick's shield was pushed into Daemon's chest, and he drove his sword down into Daemon's collarbone, pushing the Prince downward onto his knees. 

 The crowd gasped, Rhaenyra amongst them. 

 Viserys shook his head as he raised his goblet to his lips. 

 Ser Medrick swung his arm back, throwing his sword at Daemon's head, but instead it clashed into Dark Sister. Daemon speared his sword at the man, digging the point into the Manderly knight's gauntlet and causing him to groan. 

 Rhaenyra cheered as Daemon returned to his feet. 

 Ser Medrick had evidently not been expecting this, and was slow to attack, giving Daemon the chance to lunge at him, Dark Sister cutting through his breastplate. The Manderly knight did not let it affect him, slashing his sword as Daemon. The dreadful sound of steel on steel filled Rhaenyra's ears as Dark Sister met his sword in the air. Ser Medrick raised his shield, smashing into Daemon's head, cracking the wing on the side of his helm. Daemon grunted, pushing the Manderly heir in the chest, while Ser Medrick swung his sword again, smacking it against Daemon's collarbone. 

 Dark Sister cut through Ser Medrick's shield like it was little more than butter. Ser Medrick threw the blue-green pieces to the ground, growling as he lunged at Daemon. He pulled off the second wing of his helmet, his right boot kicking at Daemon's left knee, while Daemon's right foot kicked the Manderly knight in the gut. 

 Ser Medrick stumbled backwards.

 Rhaenyra cheered.

 Daemon swung Dark Sister again, slashing through the other side of the Northman's breastplate, the metal hissing as it came loose. Ser Medrick swore. 

 The northern knight spun around, kicking Daemon in the gut and punching him in the face. Daemon staggered backwards, his footing less graceful as he jabbed his sword out at the air, not close enough to connect with his opponent. 

 Ser Medrick leered at him.

 Daemon spat at the ground.

 Rhaenyra held her breath. 

 Ser Medrick charged again, bearing his teeth like a wild dog. 

 Daemon's sword met his in the air. He pushed the Northman, but lacking the force needed to knock him over, which was evidently what he was expecting. Daemon was too slow at raising his weapon again, and Ser Medrick slashed him across the face. Daemon cried out. 

 "No, no, no," Rhaenyra whispered to herself, twirling the rings on her right hand as Ser Medrick's boot connected with Daemon's side. The Prince fell to his knees again, the crowd jeering at him. 

 Still, Daemon was unrelenting, jabbing Dark Sister at the Manderly knight's legs until he was able to pull himself back up to his feet.

 The crowd roared with delight, chanting his name.

 Ser Medrick lunged at him, swordarm raised. 

 Daemon held Dark Sister with both hands and drove her downward, snapping the Manderly knight's blade in half. Ser Medrick's eyes widened. Daemon kicked him in the gut. 

 Ser Medrick rolled. 

 Rhaenyra cheered, leaping out of her seat excitedly. Viserys chuckled at her. 

 Ser Medrick rose to his knees, waving the hilt of his sword. 

 Rhaenyra returned to her seat, albeit the edge of it, watching intently. 

 Daemon let out a bark of a laugh, slashing Dark Sister across the man's face. His visor fell. 

 Ser Medrick swore. He leapt to his feet and lunged at Daemon, taking them both to the ground. Daemon clung on to his sword as if holding it for dear life, but his arm was in such a position that he could not wave it, only hold it up and hope he could push Ser Medrick into it. 

 The Manderly knight delivered blow after blow to Daemon's face, the metal of his gauntlet smacking into his skin, both parts of his sword now forgotten. 

 Daemon eventually had to drop his own sword, rolling onto his front so he could push himself onto his knees.

 Ser Medrick leapt onto his back, earning a roar of laughter from the crowd. 

 Daemon pushed him over, so Ser Medrick lay on the ground. As his opponent had done, he drove his fist into the larger man's face again and again until the metal was painted in blood. Even from such a distance, Rhaenyra could see the damage done to her husband's lower jaw and felt her stomach churn. 

 Ser Medrick kicked at him, throwing Daemon backwards. Daemon threw his arm out, reaching for his sword, but Ser Medrick spotted him, trampling over his hand and standing on his wrist, his other boot connecting with Daemon's knee. 

 Daemon's own leg kicked upwards, hitting Ser Medrick's gut. Ser Medrick dug his boot harder into Daemon's wrist. 

 "No, no, no," Rhaenyra whispered again, shaking her head. Viserys also looked worried. His goblet missed his table and fell onto his boot, but he gave no reaction as the Manderly knight punched Daemon's face again. "Get up," she murmured. "Just get up." 

 Daemon groaned. With the hand not trapped by Ser Medrick's boot, he reached for a chunk of the Northman's broken shield, throwing it at him. Ser Medrick kicked him again, and Daemon returned it in kind. He kicked Ser Medrick once, twice, thrice in the gut, until he stumbled backwards, freeing Daemon's wrist from his grasp.

 Still, Daemon only managed to get himself onto all fours before Ser Medrick was close enough to kick him again, his boot colliding with the side of Daemon's face. 

 Daemon threw himself at the larger man, taking them both back to the ground and smashing his fist into his face. Ser Medrick cried out. He threw out his arm, Rhaenyra thought it was to break his fall but instead he reached for a broken piece of his blade, which he thrust up into Daemon's face, slicing through his cheek. Daemon groaned in agony. 

 Ser Medrick kicked the Prince again, but Daemon grabbed onto the blade, his second hand forming a fist to smash into the knight's throat. Ser Medrick yelped. 

 Both men were clearly growing tired, their armour bloodied with their own blood as well as their opponent's, but Ser Medrick remained the stronger knight. He freed his blade from Daemon's grasp, cutting through the clasp of his gauntlet. As Daemon fell backwards, he dived, smashing his fist into Daemon's mouth. Daemon looked around, but Dark Sister was too far behind him to be any help, and the pieces of shield scattered around them were insignificant. He threw his hand out, reaching to grab onto Ser Medrick's wrist, preventing him from bringing the blade closer to his face again. Ser Medrick kneed Daemon in the stomach, but he only held on tighter to the sword. His own leg smacked into the Northman's side, but it lacked enough force to knock him down. Daemon leaned up, his other hand grasping onto Ser Medrick's elbow so he could not hit him again. He almost pulled himself up to a sitting position but the Manderly knight, lacking other options, smashed his forehead against Daemon's. 

 The Prince was evidently dazed, slumping back onto the ground. His lilac eyes flickered around the arena rapidly, unfocused.

 Rhaenyra could not bear to watch any more, covering her face with her hands as Ser Medrick broke free of Daemon's grip, delivering blow after blow to her husband's face and neck. Daemon rolled away, shielding most of his face, but his arms wobbled as he tried to scramble to his knees again. 

 Rhaenyra heard Lord Lyonel grunt behind her shrinking back into her seat as Ser Medrick continued his assault. 

 It was not long before the heir to White Harbour was declared the victor. Alicent joined in the applause the crowd gave him, but Viserys looked as if he was about to be sick. Rhaenyra peeked through her fingers to watch as Daemon's redheaded squire was sent to pour water over him, her husband having lost his consciousness at the end of the bout. Rhaenyra's stomach churned. 

 Daemon's legs wobbled as he returned to his feet, patting the squire's shoulder in an attempt to use him for support. He looked across the grounds at where Dark Sister lay, while Ser Medrick stared hopelessly at the broken pieces of his sword. He shook his head as he walked off, glancing over his shoulder at Daemon but saying nothing. 

 After Daemon and his squire had left, and the jugglers returned, Rhaenyra fled from her seat. Viserys reached for her arm and she was tempted to hit him away, not interested in his insistence that she remain in the Royal Box, as he had forced her to watch hours of archery a few days prior. Viserys, however, offered nothing of the sort. "Make him call for Mellos," he said gruffly, staring at his goblet on the floor as if only just realising it has fallen. Rhaenyra nodded. 

 She found Daemon in his tent. He was seated on a wooden chest, a goblet of wine in one hand as two of his squires hurried to take his armour from him. He was covered in blood and it was still gushing from the cut on his cheek. 

 He did not appear to notice her, his eyes on his wine as his squires fought with what was left of the pauldron on his right shoulder.

 "Hello," she said softly, as the tent flap shut behind her. Daemon looked up at her, blinking erratically. "How are you?" she asked. Daemon only laughed softly. Rhaenyra quickened her pace, sidestepping one of the squires to grip onto his hand. Daemon squeezed hers back tightly. Rhaenyra pressed a short kiss to his forehead, her nostrils assaulted by the sharp, metallic scent of blood, a tinge of sweaty saltiness within it while her lips were coated in it after only a brief touch. She rested her head on his shoulder, but jumped away when he winced. 

"Sorry," Daemon muttered. Rhaenyra shook her head. She squeezed his hand in hers. Daemon raised the goblet to his lips. 

"My father wants you to call for the Grand Maester," Rhaenyra told him. Daemon scoffed. "In truth, I have to agree with him."

"I do not need that old fool," Daemon hissed. 

"You cannot see your face, I can," Rhaenyra retorted. Daemon laughed drily. 

"My pride is wounded more than the rest of me," he grumbled, shaking his head as he stared down at his goblet again. 

"How I wish that were true," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon glared at her, but said nothing as the squires finished with his greaves and sabatons, carrying them out and leaving the couple alone. Rhaenyra's heart was hammering in her chest as she studied her husband's form, his undershirt and underbreeches both stained with blood also. "Should - should I have someone get you some clean clothes?" she asked. 

"No." Daemon tapped the chest with his now bare foot. "I have some." 

"Should I have a bath run for you?"

"Already done." Daemon jerked his head in the direction of the other room of his tent. He sighed before draining his goblet. "Would you - the shirt?" Rhaenyra nodded, leaning forward to unlace the ties of his undershirt, pulling it down over his arms. Already, she could see the bruises beginning to form across his chest and ribs. 

 Daemon groaned as he stood up. He placed the goblet atop of the chest and stiffly kicked away his underbreeches. Bruises already littered the back of his legs and thighs, and Rhaenyra could only guess how it would look come morning. Daemon said nothing as he walked to the tub, sinking in to the cold water so slowly that it must have been agonising, especially for a dragon who craved the heat. Rhaenyra smiled at him. He did not return the gesture, his eyes falling to the water. 

 "I do not mind that you lost," Rhaenyra said gently. "You should not mind either, it is only a game after all, and we hardly need the winnings." Daemon scoffed. "Please see the maester, for my sake?" 

Daemon sighed, "fine, if you insist."

"I am afraid that I do," Rhaenyra said. Daemon rolled his eyes. He reached for the washcloth beside him before he sunk under the water, disappearing for a moment. When he reemerged, the blood in his hair had faded to a pale pink, but it had done little to cleanse the dried blood on his face, and now the water of the tub was darker and murky. "It is a shame you did not get to face Cole," Rhaenyra said. 

"There is always the joust for that," Daemon said darkly. Rhaenyra's blood ran cold.

"You cannot be serious?"

"Why would I not be?" 

"Look at the state of you!" 

"Nothing I cannot just sleep off," Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra stared incredulously at him. "Cole will be silenced, and it will be by my blade." 

"You do not have to rush into anything," Rhaenyra told him. "I would much rather keep my son's father in one piece, Cole is just-"

"He is nothing!" Daemon flared.

"I concur." 

"I will deal with him," Daemon growled. Rhaenyra felt her stomach sink. "Are you going to get the bloody maester or not?" 

"Alright," Rhaenyra sighed. "Try not to drown yourself while I am gone." Daemon rolled his eyes at her. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder at him once more before leaving, knowing she would be plagued with the sight of him bloodied and beaten for many days to come, and headed off to the Red Keep in search of the maester, paying not one thought to the ongoing bout, where Ser Borros soon beat Ser Medrick into submission and took the prize money. 

Chapter Text

 Rhaenyra woke to find two pairs of eyes staring at her. 

 Daemon was propped up against the pillows, his bare chest and its mirage of dark bruising on display for her to see. He smiled when he noticed Rhaenyra's eyes had opened.

 Aerys lay beside him, one hand clutching onto a stuffed dragon while the other was clenched into a fist and waving in the air. Rhaenyra grinned down at him, tickling under his chin. 

 "Morning," Daemon muttered. His voice was soft, and deeper than Rhaenyra was used to it being. 

"Good morning," Rhaenyra returned. She yawned as she sat up, brushing her hair behind her ear. She scooped Aerys up into her arms, leaning him against her knees as she leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Has he been up for long?" 

"No," Daemon replied. "The maids came looking for us, said he would not stop crying."

"Poor boy," Rhaenyra whispered, tapping Aerys' nose gently. She kissed his forehead again before turning to Daemon. "Are you truly going to compete in such condition?" she sighed, reverting to the Common Tongue.

"Yes," Daemon said stiffly. Rhaenyra leaned over him to drag her thumb across the cut that marred the skin of his cheek. Daemon took her hand in his, holding it to his face, one eyebrow raised. "I am fine," he insisted. Rhaenyra scoffed. Aerys let out a little baby gurgle. 

"Your Kepa is so silly, is he not?" Rhaenyra whispered to him. Daemon rolled his eyes, releasing her hand so that he could pat their son's little head. 

"Are you hungry?" Daemon asked, climbing from the bed, revealing that he had at least bothered to pull on some underbreeches around the babe. Rhaenyra shrugged, cuddling Aerys to her chest as his eyes began to close. 

 They ate in the lower room ahead of the burning fire. Daemon had a plate of boiled goose eggs, blood sausages, turkey sausages, fried bacon, fried mushrooms and smoked salmon, while Rhaenyra had a bowl of porridge with nutmeg and honey, and fresh berries and apple slices, with a side of fried bacon and pork sausages. Aerys had already been seen to by his wet nurse, so he lay on Rhaenyra's lap, hugging his stuffed dragon.

 "I still do not think you should compete today," Rhaenyra said, as Daemon finished the last of his sausages. Daemon glowered at her.

"I am a man-grown, mother the babe all you wish, but I do not need you pestering me," he hissed. 

"And I do not need my husband to lose his head because he is too proud to admit he cannot fight." 

"I am more than capable," Daemon grunted. "I will not spend my days with the women and children watching the knights like some green boy." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "I still have your guardsman to introduce to Dark Sister."

"You introduced him to her before, did you not? And still you lost."

"Years ago," Daemon puffed. 

Rhaenyra sighed, "just - just promise me that you will yield if you have to." Daemon scoffed. "I do not need you having your face smashed in because of your pride." 

"Fine," Daemon grumbled. "But I shall not need to." 

"If you say so," Rhaenyra muttered. She sipped her sweet tea as Daemon rose from the table. 

 After Aerys had been returned to his maids, Rhaenyra followed Daemon down to the stands. On this morning, she wore a dress of red, with a low neckline that bared her shoulders, and golden detailing around the hem of the skirts. Her belt was gold too, the buckle in the shape of a dragon head, and around her neck she wore her chain of Valyrian steel. Daemon smirked when he saw it. "Good luck," she said, as they reached the first of the competitors' tents. Daemon winked, raising her left hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "Do be careful," Rhaenyra whispered, her right hand coming up to smooth Daemon's hair. Daemon laughed. 

"You have too little faith in your husband," he said. Rhaenyra shook her head. Daemon hooked two fingers under her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. He smiled, warmly. "That Cole dog shall not leave the stands with his head, I mean it."

"I know you do," Rhaenyra murmured. Daemon nodded, content. Rhaenyra watched as the members of the Kingsguard - Ser Tommen, Ser Lorent, and Ser Harrold - emerged from their tent. "Morning, Ser," she called after the Lord Commander. "Are you to compete today?" She could not recall Ser Harrold's last competition, but she knew it must have been years ago, the knight usually sitting it out on account of his age. 

"Indeed, Princess," Ser Harrold replied gruffly, bowing his head to her. Rhaenyra reverted her gaze to the ground as Ser Steffon arrived with Cole in tow, both shuffling passed to enter the Kingsguards' tent, while Daemon glowered directly at the pair. 

"You do not fear the young man's game?" chuckled Daemon.

"No, my Prince," Ser Harrold replied. "I rather think it better to keep up as best I can." Daemon hummed. 

"Well, good luck today, Ser," Rhaenyra told him.

"Thank you, Princess," replied the Lord Commander, bowing his head again before following down the dirt path between the tents, to where Ser Tommen was entering the armoury. 

"Do you see Ser Harwin anywhere?" Rhaenyra asked, looking around. 

"No. Why?" Daemon frowned. 

"I wonder if he is to compete again is all," Rhaenyra shrugged. "I have not seen him since his last bout."

"Nor do you have any reason to," Daemon hissed. 

"You need not be so... possessive," Rhaenyra muttered. "My - my interest in Ser Harwin - I am very happy to be married to you now, and you should know that." 

"That does not lessen his interest in you," puffed Daemon, crossing his arms over his chest. "I do not want you seeking him out, certainly not without me." 

"Fine," Rhaenyra sighed. "I was only curious to see if he had healed." Daemon looked unconvinced. "If you are not too badly beaten -" Daemon scoffed "- should we go to the Dragon Pit later? It has been too long since I have seen Syrax."

"If you like," Daemon shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder to see some of his Gold Cloaks walking towards them. "I should go." He pressed a kiss to Rhaenyra's forehead and began to walk away. She watched him for a moment, but as she turned on her heel, she heard him call after her.

"What?" she inquired, brow furrowed. 

"My beautiful wife," Daemon whispered. Rhaenyra cocked her head. "I wish to wear your favour, for the matches." 

"Oh." Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. Daemon stared at her expectantly. "Here," she sighed, slipping off a gold bracelet and offering it to him. Daemon smiled, slipping it into his pocket. "Good luck." She rose to kiss his cheek. 

 Rhaenyra was the last to arrive at the Royal Box. It was the most crowded she had seen it in years. The back row was filled by her ladies, Primrose and Annora, and Lady Johanna Wylde, and across the aisle from them sat Alicent's ladies, Alerie Bulwer, Mina Redwyne, and Alla Cuy. In the third row sat Celia, Darla and Larys, with Ser Jack, Lady Alynne and Lady Mary Wylde sitting across from them. In the second row, Lord Jasper sat ahead of his children, alongside Lord Lyman and his wife, while Lord Lyonel and Grand Maester Mellos sat in front of Celia and Darla. Alicent and her children had already arrived, Alicent sitting to the King's left with Helaena and Aemond beside her, while Aegon took the seat to the King's right. Alicent, Aegon and Aemond had again been dressed in green, while Helaena wore a dress of pale pink, her hair tied into two braids that sat on either side of her head.

 Reluctantly, Rhaenyra took the seat beside her half-brother, folding her hands in her lap. 

 "Good morning," Viserys greeted her, not bothering to rise from his seat. Rhaenyra nodded, playing with the rings on her right hand as the applause that showered her arrival died down, and the heralds entered the arena. 

 The Royal Box was not alone in its crowding, for the entirety of the stands were busier, and therefore louder, than they had been for either of the previous events. Rhaenyra could barely make out the faces in the sea of summer colours that faced her, an occasional hat or streamer the best she could use to differentiate each person's form. 

 As the herald threw up his arms, one by one the horses trotted into the arena; Blackwood, Bracken, Celtigar, Corbray, Darklyn, Fell, Frey, Hightower, Hunter, Lannister, Lonmouth, Mallister, Peasebury, Redfort, Redwyne, Royce, Smallwood, Stark, Targaryen, Tarly, Tully, Tyrell, Velaryon, Woodwright, Wylde, each with their coat of arms on their shields, and the men of the Kingsguard with their shields of white. "Horses!" Helaena exclaimed, pointing to them as Alicent shushed her. As with the melee, the first bouts were decided through drawn straws. Rhaenyra joined in the applause as Ser Bennifer Blackwood, uncle of Lord Willem and regent of Raventree Hall, trotted to one end of the arena, Ser Oswin Fell, heir to Felwood, soon chosen to oppose him. 

  It was Ser Bennifer who won the bout, knocking Ser Oswin from his saddle on the third run. Ser Oswin's horse screamed as he fell, and froze in place, while Ser Bennifer's completed the lap. 

 Rhaenyra listened for Daemon's name as more pairs were called. Ser Steffon Darklyn unhorsed Lord Robard Royce, Lord Humfrey Bracken won his bout against Ser Mervyn Smallwood, and Lord Godric Hunter, Lady Annora's father, unhorsed Ser Lomas Darklyn. Rhaenyra cheered as Ser Harrold won his bout against Lord Ronnet Lonmouth, before Alicent covered her face with her hands as her brother, Ser Bryndon, was knocked from his horse by Lord Lymond Mallister. Ser Lorent Marbrand bested Ser Ralph Peasebury, and Ser Rufus Redwyne beat Ser Jonos Redfort, although the man put up a fight, refusing to yield once he had been knocked down and fighting with his great sword until it lay on the ground. 

 Alicent cheered as Cole rode into the arena. His bulky armour covered any of the injuries he had sustained in his previous bouts, while his opponent, Ser Elmo Tully, had a black eye visible even through his helm. Cole's horse was a black mare with a white diamond on her forehead and dark brown fur sticking out of her ears, while Ser Elmo's was a fair brown, the Tully sigil on its saddle. Rhaenyra raised her goblet to her lips as Cole raised his lance. As the horses charged at one another, Cole aimed for Ser Elmo's chest, but Ser Elmo was too quick and raised his shield to block the blow, although his own lance missed Cole entirely. 

 "Yah! Yah! Yah!" Aegon chanted as the horses rode again. He was jumping out of his seat as if riding a horse himself. He winced as Ser Elmo's lance smashed through Cole's shield, sending both in splinters to the ground.

"Come on, Ser Criston," Rhaenyra heard Alicent say, as Cole gripped onto his horse's mane to remain upright. Ser Elmo's squire hurried to give him another lance before the two horses began to gallop again. This time when they met, it was Ser Elmo's shield that ended up in pieces, while Cole trotted away victoriously. Alicent cheered again. "He will win," she declared. 

"Is it not too early to say?" chuckled Viserys, reaching for his goblet. Alicent shook her head. 

 As Alicent predicted, Cole proved successful in the bout, his next lance spearing into Ser Elmo's side and sending the man to the ground. Ser Elmo was quick to rise, but his legs wobbled as he called for his sword. Cole's squire hurried to his side also, delivering his morning star.

 Ser Elmo swung first, but his efforts were futile, with Cole smashing his morning star into the younger knight's chest and sending him to the ground, wheezing. 

 Clement Celtigar was also beaten, losing his bout to Ser Leowyn Corbray, and Ser Eldric Hunter was unhorsed by Ser Alan Tarly, Annora screaming as her brother fell to the ground, his helm split in two. Ser Tommen Costayne proved successful against Daemion Velaryon, and Ser Rickard Thorne unhorsed Ser Franklyn Frey. 

 Rhaenyra clapped as Ser Willis Fell rode into the arena, his horse as white as snow, lance already in hand. Ser Eden Tarly rode in to meet him, his reins a bright red and his saddle an expensive black leather. Ser Eden's horse was fatter and slower than Ser Willis', and unfortunately the knight was slower than the Kingsguard too, Ser Willis' lance hitting his chest before he could raise his shield. Ser Eden wobbled, clinging to his horse's mane for dear life, while Ser Willis called for a second lance. 

 The crowd cheered as Ser Willis charged forward again. Ser Eden rode with his shield raised, his lance too low to do much damage to the Kingsguard, but hitting his shield nonetheless. Ser Willis' lance broke through the Reachman's shield with such force that he began to slip from his saddle, again having to grasp onto his horse with such force that it made her shriek. 

 Ser Eden was clearly thrown off, his movements hesitant and slower than they should have been. His third lance did not hit the Kingsguard, Ser Willis having already ridden past before Ser Eden thrust it out, while Ser Willis' smashed into the Reachman's shoulder. Ser Eden groaned loudly enough that Rhaenyra could hear. 

 The next time that Ser Willis' lance collided with Ser Eden's chest, the knight crumbled to the ground. Aegon cheered as the crowd called out Ser Willis' name, the Kingsguard dismounting his horse to help Ser Eden to his feet. 

 Next to ride was Ser Caspor Wylde, a blue-green surcoat over his armour and a pair of gold feathers sticking out of his helm. Lord Japser and Ser Jack clapped enthusiastically for him, but Ser Caspor's sisters were not as interested. Ser Caspor was paired with Ser Gwayne Hightower, who wore two green feathers in his helm and a grey surcoat. Alicent clapped loudly for her brother, while Lord Jasper shook his head. 

 Rhaenyra watched as the horses charged at one another. Neither man raised his shield, both aiming their lances at their opponent's chest. Ser Caspor jolted in his saddle, but Ser Gwayne looked unaffected. Both knights collected new lances before charging at one another again, this time Ser Gwayne's lance hitting Ser Caspor first. Ser Caspor buckled, gripping his horse with his knees, his own lance losing its course and hitting Ser Gwayne's knee. 

"Yes!" Alicent cheered, clapping again for Ser Gwayne. Aegon and Helaena copied her. Lord Jasper shook his head. 

 The knights rode again, Ser Caspor's horse galloping ahead. He aimed his lance and struck Ser Gwayne across the chest. 

 Alicent gasped as she watched her brother fall. 

 Rhaenyra joined in the applause that followed, Lord Jasper rising to his feet to cheer for his son. 

 Ser Gwayne rolled onto his back, before leaping up to his feet. His horse had stopped where he had fallen, turning to look at him. He slapped the horse's rear to keep her trotting forward, while he bellowed at his squires to bring him his sword. The boy almost tripped over his own feet in his hastiness to oblige.

 Ser Caspor shouted for his sword as well. The crowd whooped and cheered as the knight charged at his opponent, his sword smashing into Ser Gwayne's breastplate. 

 Ser Gwayne remained composed. He raised his shield and smacked it into Ser Caspor's face. The Wylde knight stumbled backwards, giving Ser Gwayne a chance to swipe his sword across Ser Caspor's face. 

 Lord Jasper hissed through his teeth.

 Ser Caspor did recollect himself, swinging his sword again and throwing himself at the Hightower knight. Ser Gwayne tried to push him away, but Ser Caspor slapped him around the head with his shield. Ser Gwayne retaliated, pushing his shield into Ser Caspor's chest, pushing him backwards. Ser Caspor kicked the taller knight, but Ser Gwayne smacked his shield into his face again. Ser Caspor lunged, but missed the Hightower knight, and fell to his knees as Ser Gwayne kicked him in the side.

 Lord Jasper groaned.

 Alicent cheered. 

 Aemond clapped along with her, while Helaena pointed to a butterfly that had landed on the barrier. 

 Ser Gwayne smashed his sword into Ser Caspor's back before he could return to his feet, knocking the knight to the ground. Ser Caspor tried to roll onto his back, but he found Ser Gwayne's sword pointed at his throat, so he held up his hands in surrender. 

 Lord Jasper cursed, dropping his hands into his head. 

 Alicent rose to her feet to cheer for her brother. Aegon also hopped out of his seat, waving to the Hightower knight, although Ser Gwayne did not notice. 

 Next into the arena was Jorgen Velaryon, nephew of Lord Corlys, who unhorsed Ser Forrest Frey. Lord Jasper perked up as Ser Lester Wylde trotted in, only to be defeated by Ser Gerold Royce. 

 Rhaenyra cheered as the heralds called Daemon's name. Her husband's stallion was as black as the night, and clad in armour textured to look like scales, like Daemon himself. A long feather of black hung from his helm, this one without a visor. He raised his lance as Ser Gordon Tyrell followed him. The knight wore a green half-cape over his left shoulder, and silver armour that gleamed in the sunlight. He held up his shield, a golden rose in the centre, as the crowd clapped for him, Alicent included. 

 Rhaenyra sat on the edge of her seat as the two horses charged towards one another. She cheered as Daemon's lance hit Ser Gordon's chest, although the Reachman did not fall. Alicent rolled her eyes at her, but Rhaenyra pretended not to notice, raising her goblet to her lips as the horses rode again. Ser Gordon's lance smashed through Daemon's shield, but Daemon's lance hit the knight's shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and have to cling onto his horse. Viserys clapped enthusiastically. "Yay!" Aegon shouted, clapping along with him. "Hit him again!" Alicent pursed her lips. 

 As the horses galloped once more, Daemon's lance cut through Ser Gordon's shield, while Ser Gordon's lance missed Daemon and instead hit his horse's rear, causing him to squeal. Daemon kicked him, urging the stallion forward to collect a new lance, while Ser Gordon shook his head to himself. 

 The crowd chanted Daemon's name as he raised his lance again. With both knights now without a shield, it was clear that one would be expected to fall soon. Rhaenyra held her breath, hoping it would not be her husband. 

 Daemon smirked as he urged his horse forward. He drove his lance back before lunging, striking Ser Gordon before he was ready for impact, the Reachman crumbling like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He cried out as his own horse trampled over his arm. 

 Rhaenyra leapt to her feet, clapping as the crowd cheered Daemon's name. Viserys shook his head at her, although he was clapping along, and Aegon was stabbing the air as if he had a sword himself. Rhaenyra beamed as Daemon waved up to her, her golden bracelet wrapped around his wrist. 

 The last bouts were between Ser Tyland Lannsiter and Ser Denys Woodwright, and Ser Bennard Stark and Ser Eros Tully. The Master of Ships unhorsed his opponent, sending the Reachman falling on the second lap, while it was the Tully heir who unhorsed Ser Bennard, although Ser Bennard eventually beat him in the following brawl. 

 After some hours of sitting down, Rhaenyra's limbs felt sore and stiff, so she was eager to leave the box and peruse the gardens while they lunched. She walked around with a plate of grapefruit slices, cold meats, and cubes of cheeses, alongside Primrose and Celia. "What do you suppose the smallfolk are eating?" Primrose asked. "They do not go hungry all day, do they?"

"There are always vendors outside the stands," Rhaenyra replied. "They sell things on sticks and meat pies and the like." 

"It does not smell that bad," shrugged Celia. "Although I do not know if I would buy it myself." Primrose laughed. 

"How is your brother?" she asked, as Rhaenyra ate a cube of cheese.

"Not well," sighed Celia. "His arm is shattered in two places, his elbow and slightly lower, and his collarbone is broken too." 

"Seven Hells," muttered Primrose, shaking her head. 

"Will he be okay?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"My father hopes so," Celia said. "Maester Mellos is less sure." 

"I wonder what your brother did to enrage Cole so much," said Primrose. 

"I do not think he needs much of a reason to snap," Rhaenyra murmured. 

"Harwin knew what he was getting into," Celia sniffed. "I do not see what men find so entertaining about almost killing each other." Primrose laughed again. 

"How is Prince Daemon?" she asked. "I am surprised to see him competing again after yesterday." 

"He insisted," Rhaenyra replied stiffly. 

"He might win," shrugged Celia. Rhaenyra forced a smile as she raised her goblet to her lips, while Primrose grumbled about her brother's defeat. 

  "It is a good show this year, is it not?" Viserys said cheerily, as they climbed the steps back up to the Royal Box. Rhaenyra hummed her agreement. "Certainly more amusing than the hunts." He laughed to himself as he accepted a goblet from a page in red. 

"Better weather too," Rhaenyra said. 

"Yes, yes," Viserys agreed. "And I much rather staying in the city than trampling through all that mud." He pulled a face of discontentment, before stepping aside so Rhaenyra could pass him to reach her seat. Alicent and her children were yet to arrive, but Aegon had left his wooden horses on his chair. "I much prefer keeping the blood a good distance away from me too," he added. "Now, pray tell, shall you bring our Aerys to the feast tonight?"

"No," Rhaenyra replied. "He is still far too young." Viserys shook his head. 

"He is the future King, the people shall want to see him." 

"I am afraid they shall have to wait," Rhaenyra said. "Besides, I do not think we could fit any more people up here even if we wanted to." Viserys chuckled. "Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys did not wish to attend, then?"

"Oh... no," Viserys replied, frowning. "We did send them a raven, but we heard nothing back. I suppose they must be busy." 

"Yes, busy," Rhaenyra said, although it was quite clear to her that the Velaryons' absence spoke of their continued resentment that the King had dismissed their daughter's hand and had married another. 

 Cheers erupted from the stands as Ser Lorent returned to the arena, his white mare whinnying as he raised his lance. The Kingsguard was to fight Ser Leowyn Corbray, who also rode a white horse, although his was a bit fatter than Ser Lorent's. Rhaenyra clapped for them both, but it did not go well for the Valeman, whose shield was soon smashed through. He fell from his saddle, landing on his back in the middle of the arena, while Ser Lorent rode ahead. 

 Ser Gerold Royce rode out in bronze armour on a chestnut stallion with a thick, black mane. He flexed his fingers on the lance before lowering his visor. The crowd cheered as Lord Godric Hunter rode towards him, his visor raised so Rhaenyra could see his greying goatee, his horse kicking its hooves impatiently. As the horses charged towards one another, Ser Gerold's lance smacked into Lord Godric's shoulder. Lord Godric tried to block it with his shield, but was unsuccessful, and grunted on impact. Ser Gerold's second lance struck him in the chest, and Lord Godric was knocked into the mud with a moan. 

 As Lord Godric limped away, more pairs were called. Cole won his bout against Jorgen Velaryon, Ser Bennard Stark unhorsed Ser Rufus Redwyne, and Ser Willis Fell unhorsed Lord Humfrey Bracken, while Ser Bennifer Blackwood won his bout against Ser Tommen Costayne, the Kingsguard falling from his horse with a loud cry. Ser Rickard Thorne was also unhorsed, being defeated by Ser Gwayne Hightower, much to Alicent's glee. 

 Next to the arena was Ser Alan Tarly, a red half-cape of velvet hung over his left shoulder and his horse's saddle decorated with the huntsman of his House. Ser Alan lowered his visor as Ser Harrold Westerling trotted towards him, his horse a great white stallion, the front of its saddle decorated with red tassels and a white Targaryen sigil, emblematic of his role in the Kingsguard. The horse swished his white tail as the crowd cheered out for the Lord Commander, who accepted a white lance from a nearby squire. Ser Alan raised his lance, aiming it at the Lord Commander's chest as they charged towards one another, but Ser Harrold was quick enough to deflect it with his shield. His own lance smacked into Ser Alan's shoulder with more force than he was expecting, the Tarly heir doubling over in shock. Ser Harrold reached for another lance while Ser Alan rolled his shoulders, struggling to remain in his saddle. 

  The horses galloped towards one another again. Ser Harrold's lance smacked through Ser Alan's shield, the Tarly heir's lance barely grazing the Lord Commander's shoulder. Ser Alan gripped onto the horse's mane so as not to fall, causing the horse to let out a cry of complaint. Ser Alan threw the broken shield to the ground, shaking his head.

 The crowd chanted for Ser Harrold as the horses charged again. This time, when Ser Harrold's lance smashed into the Reachman, Ser Alan dropped from his saddle, rolling on the floor. Rhaenyra clapped for the Lord Commander as Ser Alan struggled to return to his feet, clinging onto his horse's reins as his knees wobbled. 

 Rhaenyra clapped excitedly as Daemon returned to the arena, the crowd chanting for him as his horse trotted into position. He looked up to the Royal Box, smirking at her, and Rhaenyra grinned back. He was paired with Ser Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships in a long, red surcoat, his horse dapple grey with a thick black mane. Daemon's horse galloped ahead of Ser Tyland's, his lance colliding with the Master of Ship's chest before the man had a chance to raise his shield.

 Alicent gasped.

 Lord Jasper groaned.

 Rhaenyra clapped again. 

 Ser Tyland shifted in his saddle as the riders charged towards one another again. He was evidently gripping tightly with his knees, his shield raised to cover his chest.

 Daemon's horse was still quicker, and Daemon's movements more agile, his lance reaching under the man's shield to hit him in the gut. Ser Tyland fell. 

 The Lannister knight groaned as he raised his visor. His grey-green eyes flickered around the stands as if he was unsure where he was. 

 The crowd cheered Daemon's name excitedly as the Prince dismounted his horse, throwing his lance and shield at a squire before raising his arms to wave to them. Rhaenyra jumped up to clap for him again, grinning as he turned to wave to her. 

 The last bout was between Lord Lymond Mallister and Ser Steffon Darklyn. Lord Lymond was quick despite his age, and smacked Ser Steffon in the throat before the Kingsguard could react, sending him spluttering to the ground on the first attempt. 

  Rhaenyra sped from the Royal Box, down the winding steps and towards the competitor's tents. She saw Ser Alan seated outside his own tent, his shoulder being wiped down by one of the maester's apprentices while a squire was helping him remove his sabatons. He bowed his head when he saw Rhaenyra, and she forced a smile at him, her eyes searching for Daemon. She eventually spotted the sigil of his shield outside his tent, where his stallion was being groomed and his squires were polishing his armour. "Princess," the redheaded boy murmured, bowing his head. 

"Is Prince Daemon here?" she asked.

The boy nodded, "inside, Princess." 

"Thank you," Rhaenyra replied. 

 She found Daemon with only a linen sheet wrapped around his waist. His hair was still wet and plastered to his forehead, and the skin of his chest was mostly covered in blackish purple bruising. "Hello there," he said when he noticed her, wagging his eyebrows as the tent snapped shut behind her. 

"Well done," Rhaenyra praised him, crossing the distance between them to stroke her hand up his neck. Daemon smirked, covering her hand with his. 

"I told you that you should have more faith in me," he said. "And I am always right." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes dramatically. "How fares Viserys and his Hightowers?"

"Do not ask," Rhaenyra sighed. Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra flushed as he removed his linen sheet to dry his hair, leaving everything on display as he crossed the tent to reach for a pair of breeches in the corner.

"Too warm, Princess?" he chuckled, eyeing her rosy cheeks. Rhaenyra's face blushed harder, and she averted her gaze to her own feet. 

"You are very rude," she murmured. Daemon laughed again. He pulled on a white undershirt and padded towards her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I shall be glad when this is over tomorrow," Rhaenyra said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. Daemon hummed, his hands smoothing up her arms. 

"There are only so many knights left," Daemon said. "I shall almost certainly meet Cole tomorrow, that should cheer you up."

"His death does not fill me with excitement," Rhaenyra muttered.

"Why not?" Daemon puffed, frowning. 

"Do you not worry for the scandal?"

"It is a tourney, Rhaenyra," Daemon said stiffly. "Accidents happen." 

"I do not - I do not wish to see a person die, either," Rhaenyra said. "The games are brutal enough."

"Then cover your eyes, but he shall bother you and our son no longer."

"I hope you are right," Rhaenyra said.

"I shall be," Daemon declared, puffing out his chest. He shook his head as he pushed open the door to the tent, Rhaenyra following at his heel. "Here -" he spun around, throwing Rhaenyra's bracelet to her.

"Oh." She caught it, studying the shards of rubies that shone at her. "Do you not want it for tomorrow?" Daemon shrugged.

"We shall see tomorrow," he replied. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. 

____________

 The sun was covered by clouds, setting a gloomy shadow over the arena as Rhaenyra shifted in her seat. 

 The men of the Kingsguard no longer competing had joined them in the Royal Box, Ser Rickard and Ser Tommen stood beside Lord Lyman, and Ser Steffon lingering beside where Ser Tyland had joined the second row. 

 Rhaenyra clapped as Ser Willis Fell rode into the arena, his horse's white ears twitching as the crowd roared. Aegon was clapping enthusiastically beside her, straining to see Ser Willis as he reached for his lance. 

 Alicent cheered as Ser Gwayne trotted towards them, his green feathers waving in the wind. Aegon and Aemond clapped along with her, but Helaena was distracted by a bee that was buzzing around them, much to the annoyance of Lord Jasper. Ser Gwayne waved up to them, shouting something that they could not quite hear. Rhaenyra noted that, this time, he wore a bracelet of sapphires around his wrist and she had to wonder which Lady had given him her favour. Aegon waved back to him, which made Ser Gwayne grin, while Ser Willis looked impatient as he waited for Ser Gwayne to take his place, and his squire was also waiting for him with his lance. 

 When the horses did ride, each man rode with his lance raised and his shield close to his chest. Ser Willis was stronger, and Ser Gwayne could not hide the pain on his face as his lance slammed into his breastplate. Ser Willis did not avoid being hit, Ser Gwayne's lance whacking into his shoulder and snapping in two.

 Each knight collected another lance before charging again. Alicent cheered for her brother, while most of the stands called out for the Kingsguard. Rhaenyra watched as Ser Gwayne leaned forward in the saddle, as if trying to lift himself while the horse was still moving. His maneuver backfired, Ser Willis' lance smashing through his shield and knocking Ser Gwayne to the ground with the force of his blow, while Ser Gwayne's own lance lost its aim and only hit the Kingsguard's elbow. 

 Alicent shrieked as her brother landed on his face, his visor snapping from his helm. 

 Aemond screamed with her, his face turning pink as Alicent covered her mouth with her hand. Viserys shook his head, looking expectantly at his wife, but Alicent did not notice, her eyes fixed on her brother as his squires hurried to help him to his feet.

 Bryndon, who was sat in the third row, had risen to his feet to watch Ser Gwayne limp away, hissing through his teeth. 

 Ser Lorent Marbrand was next to fall, being knocked down by Ser Bennard Stark, the grey direwolf of his House emblazoned on his shield. 

  Ser Bennifer Blackwood was next into the arena, his chestnut stallion fatter than many of the other horses in the competition, the fur above his hooves a pristine white. His shield bore the sigil of his House, a dead weirwood tree surrounded by a flock of black ravens, and down his back he wore a dark cloak of scarlet. 

 Rhaenyra cheered as Daemon rode into the arena, clad in dark armour and a gold cloak. He had wrapped Rhaenyra's Valyrian steel necklace around his wrist, the rubies contrasting against the black armour. 

 "I am hungry," Aegon said, as Daemon and Ser Bennifer began to ride towards one another. 

"No, you are not," sighed Alicent.

"How do you know?" Aegon demanded, hitting his knees with his fists. "HOW DO YOU KNOW?" He scowled.

 Rhaenyra cheered as Daemon's lance broke through the Riverman's shield, but Ser Bennifer did not fall.

"Hush, Aegon," groaned Viserys.

 Both knights accepted a second lance. 

 Their horses galloped towards one another, the thundering of their hooves echoing in Rhaenyra's ears as Daemon tipped his lance, aiming it towards the Riverman's chest.

"I am hungry," Aegon insisted. "I am! I am! I am!" 

 Viserys groaned again as Aemond began to shriek. Alicent snapped her fingers, and Ser Steffon shuffled out of the box. 

 The crowd cheered for the Prince of the City as the knights' lances smacked into one another. 

 "HUNGRY!" Aegon shouted. Rhaenyra scowled at him.

"Shhh!" hissed Helaena, covering her lips with a finger. Aegon stuck his tongue out at her.

 The crowd rose to their feet in applause as Ser Bennifer fell from his horse, Daemon proving too strong for him. 

 "Wooh!" Rhaenyra cheered for her husband. Viserys clapped along. 

 "SWORD!" bellowed Ser Bennifer, scrambling to his feet. He slapped his horse's rump, sending it towards his squires. 

 "Come here, my Prince."

 Aemond's maids trailed after Ser Steffon into the Royal Box, approaching the small boy as he continued to sob. 

 "SWORD!" Daemon shouted. One of his squires, a thin boy with chestnut hair, hurried towards him, Dark Sister in hand. Daemon pulled the sword from her sheath, earning a loud cheer from the crowd. 

 Aemond was lifted from his chair and carried out of the box.

 Ser Bennifer grunted as he lunged at Daemon. 

 "Pa, I want milk," Aegon said, pulling at Viserys' sleeve. 

 Daemon dodged Ser Bennifer's assault. He pushed the Riverman backwards as he swung his sword again at the Prince's head. 

 "Pa," Aegon moaned. He slapped Viserys' hand. The King glowered at him, raising his hand from the armrest. 

"Enough," he hissed. "Or I shall have you sent to your quarters."

"No!" Aegon pouted. 

 Daemon returned every swing of Ser Bennifer's sword with a blow of his own, not allowing the steel to hit him. His shield was raised, although he seldom had to use it, and Rhaenyra could still see her necklace tied around his wrist.

 Ser Bennifer began grunting with every thrust. He was evidently aiming for Daemon's chest, dancing around the Prince as if trying to make room for himself between his breastplate and shield, but Daemon was too quick for him, batting the man's sword away. 

 Rhaenyra cheered for her husband as Dark Sister cut through Ser Bennifer's shield. 

 "Milk," Aegon whined again, hitting Viserys' knee.

"Stop this, Aegon," snapped Alicent. Helaena shook her head at him. 

"What is wrong with the lad, your Grace?" inquired Lord Lyman.

"He has just grown bored of sitting still for so long, one would imagine," replied Alicent. Viserys hummed. 

 Ser Bennifer pounced again, swinging his sword at Daemon's shoulder, but the Prince kicked him away. 

 Rhaenyra clapped as Daemon kicked the Riverman again, before knocking into his knee with his shield.

 Ser Bennifer fell to his knees, one arm still raised.

 Dark Sister flashed through the air, slamming down onto the man's gorget.

 Ser Bennifer collapsed onto his back, one hand reaching for the broken metal still clinging around his neck. 

"I want cheese, Pa," Aegon said. 

"And I want you to be quiet, Aegon," grumbled the King. His purple eyes never left his brother, watching as Daemon swung his sword again, the blade cutting through the man's helm, the visor falling to the ground.

 Ser Bennifer grunted.

 Daemon's boot met his face. 

"No, I want cake," Aegon said. "CAKE!"

 Ser Bennifer held up his hands in surrender, letting his sword fall to the ground. Daemon smirked. He raised his sword up at the Royal Box, raising his visor to grin at Rhaenyra, who clapped wildly for him. Aegon cheered as well, stabbing the air as if he was holding a sword himself. 

 Next into the arena rode Ser Gerold Royce. 

"Birdie!" Helaena gasped, pointing to a pair of blackbirds that soared above the arena. Alicent lowered her hand. Helaena pouted at her.

 Lord Lymond Mallister trotted to meet him. While Ser Gerold's armour was bronze, Lord Lymond's was a shining silver, complimented by the purple half-cape of velvet that hung over his shoulder. 

 Lord Lyonel, also from the Riverlands, clapped enthusiastically for the Lord of Seaguard. 

 The knights charged at one another. Ser Gerold's lance smashed through Lord Lymond's shield, but Lord Lymond's lance struck the Valeman's chest. Ser Gerold jolted in his saddle while Lord Lymond accepted another lance.

 Their horses galloped again, both knights raising their lances. Lord Lymond hit first, with enough force to knock Ser Gerold to the ground. 

 "Can I have cake now?" Aegon pleaded. Viserys shook his head again. 

 Alicent clapped as Cole galloped into the arena, his visor already covering his face and his white cloak flowing down his back. Aegon clapped along, but Rhaenyra raised her goblet to her lips, letting the plum brandy wash over her tongue. Viserys glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, but he did not say anything. 

 Rhaenyra did applaud as Ser Harrold trotted into view. The Lord Commander's horse was taller than Cole's and it swished its tail as Ser Harrold urged the stallion into position. 

 Cole's squire rushed forward to offer him a lance. He lowered his visor, narrowing his eyes at the Lord Commander as he did so. 

 Rhaenyra joined in the cheers for Ser Harrold, but part of her did hope that he lost, that Cole would succeed on to the next bout, on to Daemon.

 "I had thought Ser Harrold was too old," Rhaenyra heard Lord Jasper say. 

"Mayhaps he had grown tired of your company, my Lord?" chuckled Lord Lyman. 

"Mine?" scoffed Lord Jasper. "He would find you to be a bore, if anything." Lady Leyla frowned, but Lord Lyman laughed. 

 The crowd cheered as the knights rode towards one another, Cole's mare inching in front ever so slightly. The Lord Commander was unaffected. Cole's lance was aimed at Ser Harrold's chest, but the Lord Commander leaned forward in his saddle, tilting his lance upward. 

 Cole grunted as he raised his shield, keeping it over his chest. 

 Ser Harrold urged his stallion forward, the two knights not four feet away from each other. 

 They lunged. A loud crack filled the arena.

 Alicent screeched. 

 Rhaenyra clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling a shiver run down her spine. 

 The crowd did not know how to react, half of them screaming while the others cheered and jeered. 

 "Good heavens," grumbled Lord Lyman. 

 Cole crumbled to the ground, his arms flopping to his sides. His own lance had splintered, not reaching far enough to affect the Lord Commander, and his shield had broken on impact. 

 So had his helmet.

 Blood, thick and dark, leaked from his face, where he had been impaled by Ser Harrold's lance. 

 Alicent covered Helaena's eyes as Sers Willis and Lorent hurried into the arena to inspect their fallen brother, while Ser Harrold dismounted his horse to do the same.

 "Dear me," muttered Viserys, shaking his head. 

"Is - is he dead?" asked Lord Jasper, stroking his chin. 

"I could not say," Lord Lyonel replied. "But he cannot be well." 

Rhaenyra felt her stomach churn as Ser Willis removed Cole's helmet, the knight unmoving as again his head hit the ground. 

 Daemon and Ser Bennard joined the crowd around Cole's body. She watched Daemon kick the side of his head with the toe of his sabaton. Still, the Kingsguard did not move, as still as a corpse. 

 The herald declared Ser Harrold the victor, and the stands cheered for him. 

 Alicent looked paler than Rhaenyra had ever seen her before, one hand still covering her daughter's eyes while the other was covering her mouth. 

 Viserys' hand shook as he raised his goblet to his lips, shaking his head.

 Gingerly, Ser Lorent pulled the lance from Cole's face. A clear, bloodied fluid dripped from his right eye, almost like tears along his blood-stained cheeks. His other eye stared up at the grey clouds, unseeing.

 He was dead. 

 Daemon and Ser Bennard frowned as Ser Willis and Ser Lorent lifted Cole's lifeless form, carrying him away from the arena and its spectators. Ser Harrold followed after them, his shield still in hand, the white face stained by a small splatter of blood. 

 Grand Maester Mellos and Lord Lyonel fled from the Royal Box. Viserys called for more wine as they did so, the page almost bumping into the Hand as he hurried towards the steps. The boy's hands shook as he poured the King's sweet wine. 

 "Ma?" Aegon asked, his voice softer than Rhaenyra had ever heard it before. Alicent seemed not to have heard him, her eyes still on the ground of the arena even as the herald left. "Ma?" Aegon asked again, his eyes wide with confusion. "What happened? Pa? Pa, what happened?" Viserys only shook his head. 

 Despite herself, Rhaenyra wanted to find the words to answer him, but she could not. Her mouth had become incredibly dry and she found herself unable to move. 

 Viserys drained his goblet. "Lunch?" he suggested. Alicent stared incredulously at him. Rhaenyra could not blame her- she had no appetite herself.

"A fine idea, I would say," said Lord Lyman. 

"Good," Viserys replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. "Good, good."

"Not hungry," mumbled Aegon, shaking his head. Viserys sighed. 

"Well, have a walk in the gardens then," he said. 

 Rhaenyra felt as if her legs had a mind of their own as they marched her towards the Red Keep. She could hear her Ladies whispering to each other behind her, while she walked alongside her father and Ser Tommen. Alicent and her ladies were a short distance ahead of them, Helaena being carried by Lady Alla while Aegon was made to walk by himself.

 Sat on a bench between two trees, Rhaenyra played with the rings around her fingers. Food was being served, but nobody was eating very much. The gardens were quiet despite the crowd, everyone murmuring to one another, the jovial atmosphere replaced with one of trepidation and worry, and in some disgust. Rhaenyra sipped her brandy, letting the wind blow her hair into her face.

 "So, he is dead then?" Darla asked. Annora and Celia glared at her.

"I would say so," replied Primrose, shaking her head. 

"Then Harwin should consider himself lucky," Darla muttered. Celia hummed her agreement.

"How is he?" Rhaenyra asked.

"Still sulking," Darla shrugged. "Father says his collarbone shall heal, with time."

"Sounds painful," said Primrose. 

"What will they do with Cole then?" Darla asked. "And I suppose you shall need a new Kingsguard?" Rhaenyra nodded. 

 Aegon was uncharacteristically quiet as he sat beside the King on their own bench, Helaena having to be coaxed away from the bushes to eat something. Rhaenyra could hear the boy refuse everything Viserys offered to him. He eventually gave up, turning his attention to Lord Lyonel as the Hand approached him, Lord Jasper and Ser Tyland at his heel. The King's face darkened as the Hand spoke, and Alicent beside him bowed her head. 

 It was some hours before they returned to the arena. 

 "Horrid affair," Viserys was grumbling as Rhaenyra sat beside him, Aegon and Helaena having been sent to their rooms. 

"Well, the Lord Commander has proved it is not just a young man's game," chuckled Ser Tyland. Lord Lyonel glowered at him. 

"Is the Lord Commander to compete again?" Rhaenyra wondered.

"No, no," Viserys said gruffly. "I - tourneys - accidents happen, but it would be... inappropriate if the man were to win, do you not think?" 

"I see not why the games continue at all," sniffed Alicent. Rhaenyra frowned. She had expected her to be eager to put the matter behind them and return to her celebration, but she seemed more rattled by the incident than even her children, although Rhaenyra knew she had seen bloodied knights, and even deaths, at tourneys before, they both had in their girlhood. 

"Why would we not?" inquired Viserys. "Our people here came for the games, I do not wish to disappoint." Alicent shook her head. 

 Ser Bennard Stark was first to return to the arena. His horse was a snowy white with a grey mane and thick tail, its eyes dark and beady. He was met with thunderous applause from the crowd, which made Ser Bennard smirk before he lowered his visor. 

 Lord Lymond Mallister trotted into the arena with his helm already in place. The stands called his name as he rode into place. 

 The two quickly broke into a gallop, lances aimed at their opponent's chest. Lord Lymond was quicker, smashing into Ser Bennard's breastplate, but Ser Bennard proved stronger, Lord Lymond slipping in his saddle and having to cling onto his horse to stay on, dropping his shield in the process. 

 For a moment, Rhaenyra feared the prospect of Daemon having to face another burly Northman. 

 The knights charged again. Lord Lymond raised himself in his saddle, smacking his lance into Ser Bennard's gorget.

 The Stark knight coughed and spluttered as he fell down, his lance snapping as he hit the ground. 

 Lord Lymond raised his visor as he completed the lap, peering over his shoulder at the Northman, who needed help from a squire to return to his feet. 

 Rhaenyra cheered as Daemon returned, this time riding without his cloak. The feather in his helm was long and black, and the joints of his breastplate, brassards, and tasses were chased with red. 

 "Is he the last guardsman left?" Rhaenyra heard Lord Jasper ask as Ser Willis rode into the arena. 

"Indeed," replied Lord Lyman. "Ser Harrold - he is no longer competing." Lord Jasper nodded. 

"Ser Willis is very good," Alicent said. Viserys hummed his agreement, raising his goblet to his lips as Ser Willis lowered his visor. 

 Daemon kicked his heels into his horse's sides to urge the stallion forward as the heralds started the bout. He bashed his lance into Ser Willis' chest before he could react, raising his shield too late. 

 Rhaenyra applauded. 

 The knights charged again. Daemon grunted as Ser Willis' lance hit his shoulder, but his own lance smacked through the Kingsguard's shield, the splinters flying into the knight's face. 

 The crowd chanted for the Prince of the City as the knights rode towards one another for a third time, both lances aimed at their opponent's chest. 

 Rhaenyra was perched on the end of her seat, her hands clasped together in her lap as she watched Daemon raise himself from his saddle. 

 She leapt to her feet, cheering as the knight fell. Daemon's lance had smacked into Ser Willis' chest with such force the entire arena could hear his breastplate crack as the Kingsguard tumbled into the mud. 

 Daemon waved up to the Royal Box as he dismounted his horse. Rhaenyra waved back at him. "He will win," she declared. Viserys chuckled. 

 As the knights left, a pair of men in striped clothes and large, feathered hats skipped into the arena. They were juggling brightly coloured balls, and somewhere beneath the Royal Box Rhaenyra could hear a drum playing. 

 The act went on for some time, ending with the two men throwing their balls at one another until one fell to the ground, groaning and twisting in agony as if he had been stabbed. The crowd burst out into laughter and applause, but Rhaenyra did not find it entertaining. 

 It was Lord Lymond who rode into the arena first. The crowd cheered for him, his velvet cape flapping in the wind. His horse snorted as he rode into position, the herald's drums still banging in time with the horse's hooves. The horse's mane had been tied into a neat, black braid, and its bridle was emblazoned with the silver eagle of the Lord's House.

 Rhaenyra applauded as Daemon trotted into view. He held up his arms in response to the cheering, a grin on his face. He accepted his lance from his redheaded squire, glancing up at the Royal Box for a moment with a smirk, before lowering his visor. Rhaenyra leaned forward in her seat as the drums began to slow before drawing to a halt. 

 The crowd whistled and cheered as the horses began to race. Lord Lymond raised his shield, his lance aimed for Daemon's chest. Daemon's lance struck him first, snapping his gorget, but Lord Lymond's hit was effectual, and Daemon lost grip of his own shield. 

 Rhaenyra twirled the rings on her fingers as the horses galloped again. They charged closer to each other, now less than six feet apart. Both lances hit the other at the same time, but Daemon was stronger, forcing Lord Lymond backwards. As he fell, he swung his shield violently, smacking it into the side of Daemon's head.

 The Prince lost his balance. He fell too. 

 The crowd gasped, Rhaenyra among them. 

 "SWORD!" Daemon cried, thrusting out his arm angrily. Lord Lymond stared at him for a moment, visor raised, as if in contemplation, before he too leapt to his feet.

"SWORD!" he also bellowed as Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister and pointed her at him. Lord Lymond gripped his own blade and lunged at the Prince. 

 Daemon smacked the Lord of Seaguard in the face with his shield, before kicking him in the gut. The Riverman continued to thrust out his sword, but he could not get close enough to hit him. Daemon danced around him, delivering blow after blow as the older man struggled to evade him. 

 Lord Lymond grunted as he swung his arms like windmills, his shield successfully thumping into Daemon's gut, winding him. Daemon growled. He kicked the Lord in the knee, before swinging Dark Sister at his shoulder, snapping his pauldron. Lord Lymond swung his sword again, aiming at Daemon's face.

 His visor clattered on the ground. 

 Daemon cursed, spitting blood from his mouth as he narrowed his eyes at the Riverman. 

 Lord Lymond lunged again, but Daemon beat him off with his shield. He smacked him around the back of the head with it, and Lord Lymond stumbled.

 Rhaenyra cheered. 

 Daemon smashed his shield into the man's face again, sending him to his knees.

 Ser Tyland hissed through his teeth.

 Viserys applauded. 

 Daemon threw his shield aside. He raised Dark Sister with both hands, aiming her at the already clear break in the man's gorget. 

 Lord Lymond howled in pain. 

 Rhaenyra applauded. 

 The crowd cheered for the Prince of the City as Daemon kicked the side of the man's head. 

 Lord Lymond cursed.

 Daemon kicked him again.

 The Riverman held up his hands in surrender. 

 The crowd burst into thunderous applause as the herald proclaimed Daemon the victor.

 Rhaenyra leapt to her feet, cheering for him as Daemon threw his helmet to the ground, blood still dripping from his mouth.

 Lord Lymond staggered to his feet, leaning on his sword as if it were a cane as he struggled to regain his balance. 

 The drums again began to play, the trumpets sounding in the near-distance, as a man in red awarded him two sacks of gold - seventy thousand gold dragons in total - and another placed a wreath of red and white roses around his sword, his lance in pieces upon the ground. 

 Rhaenyra leaned on the barrier as Daemon jumped back onto his horse and trotted towards her.

 "My champion," she called down to him. Daemon laughed. Without his lance, he could not reach the box and had to resort to throwing the wreath up to her. 

"My Queen," he returned, smirking. 

"Well done," Rhaenyra said, even as Daemon wiped some of the blood still spurting from his burst lip. He winked up at her. If he said anything else, Rhaenyra could not hear him over the applause and cheers of the crowd, some now calling her name as well as his. 

 The trumpets played again as Daemon rode out of the arena. Lord Lymond was not far behind him, letting his squires attend to his horse while he limped away. Rhaenyra smiled as she stroked a finger over the pale rose petals of her crown. She had dreamed of being proclaimed Queen of Love and Beauty since she was a girl, and had been little more than one the last time it had happened. Her mother had said it was all the Ladies bothered with the games for, to hope to catch the eye of the victor so that he may honour her as the most beautiful before the rest.

 Rhaenyra left the stands and found her way to Daemon's tent. There, the smallest of the squires was brushing down the horse, while the other two were inside helping Daemon remove the last pieces of his armour. "Princess," he greeted, smiling as she ducked through the flap of the tent. His chin was still stained with blood, but it was no longer flowing, and she could see a new bruise forming on his left shoulder. Most of his chest and collar was still bruised black and blue from the melee, and the shape of Ser Medrick's fist was still imprinted on his jaw. 

"You fought very well," Rhaenyra praised him, as one of the squires offered him a damp washcloth. Daemon swiped it across his lower jaw, washing away most of the blood, although now Rhaenyra could see the swelling that had already begun to form. 

"You look troubled, why?"

"You look hurt," Rhaenyra replied, gingerly raising two fingers to stroke Daemon's lower lip. The Prince shrugged, handing the now reddish washcloth back to the boy and removing his own sabatons. 

"I am fine," Daemon said stiffly. He frowned. "Where is your crown?" Rhaenyra held up the wreath of roses in her right hand. "Why are you not wearing it?" Rhaenyra shrugged. There had been something improper about crowning herself, and so she resigned to carrying it until she readied herself for the feast that night. Daemon shooed away the squires and returned Rhaenyra's necklace to her. 

"Aerys is going to be very proud of you," she said. Daemon hummed, taking Rhaenyra's hand and raising it to his lips. "You looked very dashing out there, really the image of the Conqueror, and you won on Alicent's anniversary - she shall not like that."

"I am sure the occasion will be grossly overshadowed with the death of that dog," Daemon grunted, shaking his head. Rhaenyra cocked her head.

"You - did you have something to do with that?" she inquired.

Daemon snorted. "You think I did not want the honour myself?" Rhaenyra shrugged. "No, ñuha ābrazȳrys, it was not my doing," Daemon sighed. "I wish it had been." 

"I am glad, in a way, that it was not you," Rhaenyra muttered. Daemon's expression darkened.

"And why is that?" he demanded. "No, wait, let me guess - you do not think me capable again?" 

"I did not say that," Rhaenyra retorted, ripping her hand away from him. 

"But you thought it," Daemon snarled.

"I did not," Rhaenyra huffed.

"You have given me enough of an earful these past few days that I find that hard to believe."

"Have you seen the state of yourself?" Rhaenyra puffed, gesturing to his chest. "You can hardly blame me." Daemon's frown deepened.

"I did not realise you so knowledgeable about tourneys, Princess," he scoffed.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. "I never claimed to be, but - but you were knocked unconscious Daemon, I - I feared for you, and I care -"

"The dragon fears nothing," Daemon hissed. "You should do well to remember that."

"Very well," Rhaenyra sniffed. "I only meant that I enjoyed seeing you win - before you started acting like a dick about it - and if you had killed Cole, then you would have been disqualified from the later matches, as Ser Harrold was."

"Disqualified?" Daemon snorted. "From what I heard, the man was being locked in White Sword Tower like a common criminal."

"What?" Rhaenyra puzzled, frowning. 

"Your father's Council seem rather unhappy with him."

"Well, then it is for the best that it was not you, is it not?" Rhaenyra sighed. "We do not need to be causing any more trouble, and I do think that the Kingsguard being killed by a Prince would cause quite the uproar." 

"Did Westerling have reason to dislike him?" Daemon asked, scratching his chin. Rhaenyra shrugged. "That is not an answer."

"He never thought he was well suited for the Kingsguard," Rhaenyra replied after a pause. "He was too lowborn, too cocky, too... too different."

"Oh? And he told you this?"

"Neither Ser Harrold nor Otto were thrilled when I suggested him," Rhaenyra muttered. "It helped us bond, in a way, Cole and I, that we were both surrounded by people who did not think us good enough for our roles, roles that others had had to do far less to obtain and received far less scrutiny over." Daemon hummed thoughtfully. "What?"

"Could Ser Harrold have also had a desire to rid himself of him?"

"What?" Rhaenyra repeated. "He - no, no, he would not have done such a thing."

"He smashed his lance through the man's eye," Daemon scoffed. "Broke clean through his helmet, that takes strength and precision anyway, but on a moving horse while Cole was also moving? Rather convenient accident, would you not say?" 

"Convenient, yes, but an accident nonetheless," Rhaenyra sniffed. 

"And when was the last time Westerling even competed? Does it not strike you as odd that he chose to compete this year and then this happens?"

"No," Rhaenyra replied, shifting uncomfortably. "Ser Harrold - I know him, he would not do such a thing." 

"If you say so," Daemon muttered. "Ñuha dāria." He crossed the distance between them, one of his hands, large and warm, cupping her cheek. Rhaenyra's fingers stroked up his wrist before latching onto it, feeling his pulse thumping under her skin. 

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "have you finished being an arse now?" Daemon scowled at her. "I was hoping to celebrate your victory with you."

"Oh?" Daemon raised his eyebrows, so much so they nearly vanished in his hairline. "And how do you propose we do that?" he whispered, his lips close to her ear. They grazed against her lobe before he pressed a short kiss to the side of her neck. 

"What would you suggest, ñuha kosh?" Rhaenyra questioned. She felt her heart hammering in her chest as Daemon stared down at her, his eyes darkening. 

"No," he said. "I want to hear what you had in mind."

"Do you now?" Rhaenyra inquired. "Why do you say I had anything at all?"

"Did you not?"

"Mayhaps I did not expect you to win?"

"You had time to think when walking here, did you not?" Daemon quizzed. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

"I had other things on my mind."

"Oh, did you?" Daemon leered, returning to the Common Tongue as he raised an eyebrow. 

"You should be grateful I am letting you decide," Rhaenyra retorted, smirking at him. "I might not be so generous again." Daemon laughed. 

"Really?" he hummed. He lowered his head to capture her lips in his. He kissed her gently, his lips sensual and passionate against hers, although even as she leaned into him, his hands remained at his own sides. She opened her mouth to allow his tongue access to her, soon bumping against hers as the slide of his lips became more demanding. There was a tightness clenching in her abdomen, accompanied by a sudden flush in her cheeks. 

 As Rhaenyra drew away for breath, Daemon's lips returned to her neck, tickling down her throat, towards the neckline of her dark black gown. "My champion," she said, running a hand through his hair. Daemon smirked against her skin. 

"You want to celebrate, ñuha dāria?" he whispered. His hand gripped the back of her neck, as if holding her in place. Her own hand reached for his shoulder, cautious of the bruising. "We should go back to the Keep," Daemon whispered.

"What if I want to stay here?" Rhaenyra inquired, cocking her head at him. Outside, she could hear a horse neighing. 

"What if I wanted your lips around my cock?" Daemon whispered. Rhaenyra felt her cheeks flush scarlet. She swallowed before leaning in, her lips meeting his again. She felt his teeth graze against her lower lip, nibbling it gently as his hands moved to her waist. She moaned into his mouth, tasting the wine that he had been drinking. 

 Daemon appeared somewhat breathless as they drew away, his eyes darkened with desire. She smiled sweetly at him. "If my husband wishes for such things, he should learn to be less of an arse to his wife," she retorted, before drawing away from him. 

 The air was cold and the wind was growing stronger. There was a small crowd around the Kingsguards' tent, likely eager for information on Cole. Rhaenyra did not get very far before Daemon caught up with her, dressed in only a pair of grey underbreeches and a white undershirt that he had not bothered to lace up, his feet covered by a pair of slippers she had never seen before. "To the castle, then?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Rhaenyra hummed her agreement, allowing herself to lean into the warmth of his chest as they walked, the smell of sweat and blood still clinging to him. "You are very mischievous, my wife," Daemon muttered. Rhaenyra only smirked at him. He tightened his hold on her as he steered them into the crowd that was flooding back to the Entrance Hall. 

"We should go and find our son," Rhaenyra told him. 

"Actually, I should find a bath," Daemon replied. 

"Yes, I suppose," Rhaenyra sighed. "We would not want to torment Aerys with your... odours." Daemon rolled his eyes. "But do be quick, we do not want him feeling abandoned."

"Abandoned?" Daemon scoffed. "He is a babe. I doubt he even knows who is holding him and who is feeding him."

"No," Rhaenyra argued, frowning. "He knows us, he does."

"He has maids and that hatchling of his," Daemon shrugged. "Although, if you are concerned about him being too lonely, mayhaps it is time we give him a sibling?" Rhaenyra laughed. 

"I gave birth not four moons ago, I assure you I am not that eager to do it again," she declared. 

 Daemon flung himself onto the bed as his manservants prepared his bath. Rhaenyra sat beside him, her hand interlocked with his as she stared out of the window. From such an angle, she could only see the grey sheet of clouds that covered the sky, and the odd bird that flew past the castle. 

 Rhaenyra did not have much to do in Daemon's room while he was in the tub. His few books were all about the architecture and battles from the days of Valyria, and the wars of the Conquest, none of which really interested her. It was not long before she followed him into the washroom. 

 The washroom was filled with steam from the hot water, and lit only by two candles on the floor. In the dim light, Daemon's skin glowed where it was not darkened by his bruises, and his hair shone like white-gold. He had leaned his head against the back of the tub, his eyes shut so that Rhaenyra could not see the flames burning in them. "Are you in much pain?" she asked him, leaning against the wall behind him. Daemon hummed inquisitively, his eyes still shut. "You fell from your horse," Rhaenyra said. "That must have hurt." 

"I was wearing armour," Daemon snorted. 

"You should see Mellos about your face."

"My face?"

"You were bleeding."

"It will heal," Daemon shrugged. "I have no use for that old fool." He opened his eyes slowly, turning to look at her. "I do not see why you do either. He is Viserys' creature, not worth our time." Rhaenyra heard the water slosh as he rose from the tub. Her husband did not bother with a linen sheet before cupping her cheeks in his hands and kissing her. When he pulled away for breath, his wet hair slapped against her face, his lips travelling down her neck.

"St - stop that," she whispered, pushing on his shoulder.

"What is wrong?" Daemon inquired, frowning. He was still holding her close to him, and she could feel him hardening against her leg. 

"You are wet," Rhaenyra grumbled. Daemon laughed.

"So should you be," he said. Rhaenyra's cheeks flushed. She pushed at his shoulder again, forcing him away from her, but it was too late to save her gown. Daemon chuckled at her displeasure. He kissed her before she could protest, his lips covering hers. 

 Rhaenyra offered no protest as Daemon pulled her back through to the bedroom. Rhaenyra could feel her blood boiling as Daemon's kisses became wetter and more fervent. Daemon pushed her onto the bed, his lips slipping down her neck and towards the top of her shoulder. "Princess," he hummed against her. 

"My Prince," Rhaenyra returned, her hand lacing itself in his hair. Daemon chuckled. His hands travelled to the back of her dress, pulling it down to reveal inch by inch of her creamy skin. He attached his lips to one of her nipples, grazing his teeth against it before his tongue lathered at it. Rhaenyra moaned. 

"Ñuha ābrazȳrys," Daemon smirked, one of his hands caress over her breasts. 

"Ñuha valzȳrys," Rhaenyra whispered, admiring his handsome face as he rolled them over, pulling her into his lap. She let out a short squeak of surprise, her hands reaching for his shoulders as he pulled on her dress, tearing through the fabric. "Daemon!" she protested. 

"You were... going to change... for the feast anyway," Daemon said, punctuating his words with kisses to her hand. 

"And how do you know that?"

"You always do." Daemon grinned as Rhaenyra's frown dissolved into a small gasp as his fingers slid between them, teasing her swollen flesh before one slipped inside of her.

 Rhaenyra threw her head back as Daemon pushed his cock into her. She closed her eyes, her hands clinging to his shoulders as she stretched around him. She could feel his hot breath as he panted beneath her, his chest heaving as he groaned, inch by inch sliding further inside of her. 

 Rhaenyra whimpered as Daemon thrust his hips into her. Rhaenyra rolled her hips, moving in time with him as one of his hands reached to hold onto her hips. She groaned, feeling their bodies moving against each other. Her legs clung to him, bringing him impossibly closer to her as he cursed against the skin of her chest. "Fucking Gods, Rhaenyra," he grunted. 

"Since when were you a godly man?" Rhaenyra giggled. 

"Fuck," Daemon said again, his head flopping back against the pillows. He tightened his hold on her hips, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he groaned. 

"Daemon," she whispered. 

 His thrusts, first slow and relaxed, became more frantic. He was pushing harder into her, his cock reaching deeper and deeper as she felt pressure building in her lower abdomen. 

 Rhaenyra threw her head back as his head pushed against the nerves inside of her. The heat became impossible to bear, her blood burning in her veins as her heart pounded. Pleasure coursed through each of her nerves, and she could feel herself shaking. 

 She gasped as Daemon her over, their noses now so close they were almost touching. He lifted one of her legs, her other trapped beneath his, and bucked into her again from this new angle. He was moaning with every movement, while Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around his neck, her skin searing everywhere his hot hands held her. She shivered as he pistoned into her, too sensitive to take much more as he groaned into the skin of her shoulder, his teeth grazing against her flesh as he found his release. 

 He buried his face in her neck. Still inside of her, they held onto each other as they caught their breaths, Rhaenyra's hand smoothing his head as his lips traced the sweat gleaming against her skin. "I love you," she whispered. "My champion." He smiled against her.

"And I you, my Queen," he murmured. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone as Rhaenyra giggled, her thoughts soon falling to the crown he had won for her. 

 The feast was an extravagant and splendorous affair, the Great Hall decorated with colourful candles and bunches of roses, although Rhaenyra could not help but scrunch her nose at the Hightower banner that was hung beside the Targaryen heraldry around the Throne. Their lavish meal was accompanied by ambient music and stylish dancing, but still the accompaniment that most were interested in was murmured discussions and horrified recollections of the games and its casualty. 

 Even death was not enough to free Rhaenyra from Cole, it seemed. 

 Despite the less than high spirits that swept through most of the Hall, Viserys sat with a grin on his face, jesting with the Lords and Ladies that approached the High Table, sharing wine with Lord Lyonel and sending the best cuts of meat to Rhaenyra and Daemon to celebrate his victory. "You know, brother, I am glad that you won," Viserys said, as he had a plate of venison and asparagus sent his way. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "No one deserves to be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty more than my beloved daughter, of course," Viserys continued. Rhaenyra smiled.

 Her crown of roses sat upon her head of silver and gold. Her dress was one of white and pink, and she had a cloak of red and black around her shoulders. Daemon wore a long black tunic with bright red sleeves and a belt of rich black leather with a heavy, silver buckle. 

 Alicent was again in a dress of dark green, this one with puffy sleeves and black, floral detailing around the cuffs and neckline, a delicate belt of gold tied around her waist. She was shadowed by her brothers and Ser Rickard, a greenish-blue bruise visible on his neck from Ser Gwayne's lance. 

 The next plate Viserys ushered towards them was of roasted chicken with fennel and rosemary, which he ensured he was given the second helping of. Alicent was less interested, sipping the plum brandy her brother had brought from the Reach. "Here, Daemon, try this -" Viserys shooed a serving girl with a jug of Arbor Gold towards them. Daemon held out his goblet, and Rhaenyra's also, and when it had been filled to the brim he brought it to his lips. It was fresh and fruity, not as sweet as the reds Viserys usually favoured, but not as bitter as those Daemon preferred either. Rhaenyra was so impressed that she called for another goblet as the pies began to reach the table. 

 "A toast to you, my Queen of Love and Beauty," Daemon proclaimed, raising his goblet to her. Rhaenyra accepted the goblet she was offered and drank as the hall echoed with their toasts in her name. 

"Yes, yes, to my dearest daughter," Viserys agreed, his voice already slurred from the wine he had consumed. "The Princess of Dragonstone."

"To the Princess of Dragonstone," the Hall echoed as the Lords raised their goblets again. Rhaenyra grinned as she drank along, while Alicent did not touch her wine, not that Viserys noticed. 

 The feast went on well into the night and Rhaenyra had had quite an amount to drink by the time Daemon decided that they should retire. Alicent had already left, despite it being her celebration, and many places at the Lords' tables had also become vacant, Viserys' festive spirits not shared by all. 

 They walked arm in arm up the steps, the halls almost hauntingly quiet, the only light the dying torches hung up on the walls. "My champion," Rhaenyra said giddily, leaning her head on his shoulder. Daemon only hummed. "I do love you, Uncle," she whispered. Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra frowned. "Do you not love me?"

"You are drunk," Daemon said. 

Rhaenyra snorted, "so are you." 

Daemon shrugged, "perhaps." Rhaenyra giggled. 

"Drunk or not, I love you so much," she said. "I would not want for any other husband." 

"I would not want to see you married to another either," Daemon smirked. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. He pressed a light kiss to her cheek, before leading her around the corner and up another flight of stairs.

 Once they reached Daemon's chambers, they found that the fire was lit and the bed had been dressed in fresh sheets. As Rhaenyra sat on the bed, Daemon offered her a goblet of water from the jug on the little table. She watched as he removed his boots, socks and then his tunic, raising the goblet to her lips and pulling a face when she found the water had warmed to room temperature. Clad in just his breeches, Daemon threw himself onto the bed beside her. Rhaenyra placed the goblet onto the bedside table and kicked off her own shoes. She rested her head on the pillow beside his for a moment, one of her hands smoothing across the lines of the muscles on his abdomen. Daemon let out a contented sigh.

 With a smile on her lips, Rhaenyra let her hand travel lower, hurriedly unlacing the ties of his breeches. Daemon let out a gasp as she wrapped her hand around him. He was silky, and his skin warm to the touch even when so soft. She felt him twitch in her hand as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb smoothing over his tip as her fist held the base of him. Her thumb teased over his slit and she felt him throb in her hand, twitching again as if his cock had a life of its own. Daemon groaned. 

 His member grew hotter as she continued to move her hand, blood pooling south as he grew longer and thicker also, until her fist could not properly cover the girth of him. Precum leaked from the head, dripping down the length of him as she heard him gasp again. "Rhaenyra," he moaned.

"My husband," Rhaenyra whispered. She crawled down the bed, her hand still covering most of him, until she was close enough to peck a kiss to his red head. Daemon practically whimpered. "Ñuha valzȳrys." 

"My wife," Daemon returned, his hand smoothing through her hair.

 Daemon let out a low groan as Rhaenyra wrapped her lips around the head of him, sucking gently as her tongue lapped at his slit. She felt him straining not to buck his hips as her other hand pushed his breeches further down his legs. "Is something wrong?" she asked as she drew away. Daemon shook his head. "I had thought you wanted my lips." She giggled to herself. Daemon sighed. 

 He groaned out her name again as Rhaenyra returned her lips to his cock. She flattened her tongue against him as she sucked, the weight of him causing a slight strain in her jaw from such an angle. Daemon moaned out as she bobbed her head, taking more and more of him into her mouth before drawing away until only the head rested on her tongue, still leaking the salty liquid onto her.

 "Ñuha jaesa," Daemon grunted.

"Ñuha kosh," Rhaenyra murmured. She pressed a kiss to his hip, her hand stroking up the length of him as she caught her breath again. 

"Your mouth is heavenly," he gasped. 

 Rhaenyra licked slowly up and down his length, cleaning the precum from him, but still it kept pouring out. She could feel his veins throbbing in her grasp, his skin burning hotter than ever. As she stroked up the length of him again, she wondered how she managed to fit such a thing inside of her. Daemon hissed as she pressed another sweet kiss to the head of his cock. She wrapped her lips around him again, sucking slowly as her other hand dipped between his legs to tease at his sac. 

 Daemon whispered her name like a prayer as he reached his peak, spurting his seed first onto her lips. As she drew away, it ran down his length and to his thighs. He groaned again, his arm covering his eyes. Rhaenyra continued to stroke him through it until he was hissing at her, too sensitive for her touch. 

 "Rhaenyra," he muttered, his eyes wide as he stared at her, chest still heaving.

"Daemon," she giggled in return, her cheeks flushing from his intense gaze. He gripped her shoulder, dragging her towards him so he could smash their lips together. She hummed into his mouth, tasting the fruity wine on his lips. She wondered if he could taste himself on hers.

"Rhaenyra," he said again, as she drew away for breath. Rhaenyra laughed. She glanced down at where he was softening. 

"Should I get -"

"Leave it," Daemon shrugged. He kicked off his breeches and wiped himself with them, before throwing them onto the floor. Usually, Rhaenyra might have objected, but she found herself too tired to. "I shall - I shall make it up to you on the morrow," Daemon said through a yawn. Rhaenyra nodded her agreement, removing her dress and discarding it hurriedly.

"Should we bathe?" she asked, watching the sweat glistening on her husband's chest.

"Sleep," Daemon grunted. He held out his arms and she collapsed against his chest. She felt his heart beating beneath her as he blew out the candlelight, pulling the scarlet sheets over them as one of her fingers teased over his scarred nipple.

"My husband," she whispered, letting her eyes fall shut. Daemon hummed his agreement. "My Prince. My Daemon." 

Chapter Text

 The rancid odours of horse piss and sweat, cheap whores and even cheaper wine, and all else that plagued Flea Bottom clung to the men of the City Watch as they marched into the courtyard. Daemon scrunched his nose as the wind wafted the stench into his face. It was not one he had hoped to become familiar with again. 

 "Ah, the dragon Prince." 

 Daemon raised an eyebrow as Ser Randyll Barrett removed his dark helm, revealing his thick brown hair, laden with sweat, and a splatter of blood across his right cheek. He was followed by Ser Eden Tarly, a broad man with copper hair, and Ser Sebaston Celtigar, a tall man with a square jaw and dirty blond hair, the only trace of Old Valyria in his features his dark purple-blue eyes. 

 "In the flesh," Daemon smirked. "How fares the scum of the gutters?"

"There are always more of them whenever your lot has something to celebrate," Ser Randyll grumbled. 

"I am sure the city thanks them for their coin," Daemon said. Ser Eden chuckled. "Long night?"

"You wouldn't believe it," groaned Ser Randyll. "We'd had to block off the Street of the Sisters to keep the worst of the drunken cunts contained in Flea Bottom, but that only angered the twats trying to get to the gates." He shook his head. "Rough as all hell, some of them, and even the lowest of them had knives in their pockets. One of the fuckers tried to stab me in the eye." 

"They are coordinated too," grunted Ser Sebaston. "As if they had been planning to strike when all the highborns were leaving the City after the games."

"To strike?" Daemon quizzed, frowning. 

"Pickpockets and other lowly thieves," replied Ser Randyll. "They tried attacking the carriages leaving the city, killed one of them horses too. When we caught up with them, they ran off back to the gutters and we had to chase them through Flea Bottom." 

"And then other drunken idiots were starting fights," sighed Ser Eden. 

"I shall be glad when they all piss off back to wherever they came from," grunted Ser Randyll. "Your lot do not have anything else to celebrate, do they?"

"I fear we do," Daemon laughed. "My brother's wife shall have another babe before the year's end." 

"Fuck," Ser Randyll groaned. Ser Eden laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. "Are there not already enough royal mouths to feed?" Daemon laughed. 

"Shall that mean another feast?" inquired Ser Sebaston. 

"Only Viserys could say," Daemon shrugged. 

"What're your plans for all that gold you won yourself?" Ser Randyll asked. 

"Wine, and plenty of it," laughed Ser Sebaston. 

"What's His Grace doing throwing money at knights and archers for when we're bloody beggared?" groaned Ser Randyll. "We need men, we need armour, we need weapons, but does King and Council give a shit? No." 

"Has Marbrand taken it up with Wylde?" asked Daemon. 

"He does not care," scoffed Ser Eden.

"They are too busy planning weddings and feasts and tourneys and the rest of it," grumbled Ser Randyll. 

"And Marbrand spends most of his time at the barracks," added Ser Sebaston. "He does not see it."

"He is not the one walking through sewage just to be stabbed," grunted Ser Eden. "Some twat tried to stab Garth in the dick a sennight past." Ser Randyll shook his head. 

"This city turns into more of a cesspit with every moon that turns," Daemon sighed.

"I hope you plan to give us some time before you and the Princess inflict more Princelings on us," Ser Randyll said. Ser Sebaston and Ser Eden laughed. 

Daemon winked. "I cannot swear to it." Ser Sebaston and Ser Eden laughed again.

"How many royal stomachs do you think this city needs to fill?" Ser Randyll grumbled.

"As many as it takes to keep the seed of Otto Hightower from my grandfather's Throne," Daemon retorted. "How much coin do you expect to need to cover these men and their weapons?"

"At least double," Ser Randyll replied. Daemon hissed through his teeth. "Do you think you can convince Wylde?"

"Not at all," Daemon replied cheerily. Ser Eden frowned. "But I think Rhaenyra could convince Viserys." Ser Randyll nodded. 

"Your chances are greater than mine," he sighed.

"Where is Garth?" Ser Eden asked, watching the other Gold Cloaks as they marched through the courtyard towards the barracks. Ser Sebaston shrugged.

"Where is Largent?" Daemon questioned. 

"His face is still broken from the games," replied Ser Eden, shaking his head. 

"Not that you look much better," chuckled Ser Sebaston, gesturing to the slash across Daemon's cheek where Ser Medrick Manderly's sword had cut into him, his jaw littered with bruises in the shape of the man's fist. "That Northman was a fucking beast, was he not?" Daemon glowered at him. Ser Randyll laughed at the clear displeasure on his face. 

"I see not what you find so amusing," he hissed. "He cut you up worse than he did me."

"Nonsense," chuckled Ser Randyll, slapping Daemon's shoulder jovially. "You were the only one put to sleep." 

"He smashed your face in with your own shield," Daemon spat. "How did you allow such a thing?" Ser Randyll shrugged. 

"What are they feeding those cunts in the North?" wondered Ser Eden. "That Stark was a monster too." 

"I hear they send them hunting bears at twelve," said Ser Sebaston. "And by five and ten they have to kill them and skin them with their bare hands." 

"Really?" Ser Randyll asked, frowning. Ser Sebaston nodded. 

"They are all savages," he said. "They send their younger sons or elderly fathers out to die so they have less mouths to feed." Ser Randyll's eyes widened in horror. "They might sleep in castles, but there is little civilised about them. The only thing that separates those with wealth and those without is how much fur they wear, the peasants are still in rags. Most of them shall never be knights because they cannot even get their Gods right." Ser Eden laughed. 

"What makes you so sure it was the Andals that got it right?" Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I know better than to worship a bloody tree," laughed Ser Sebaston. Daemon snorted. 

"What do Valyrians worship?" puzzled Ser Eden. "Dragons?" 

"The Faith, same as everyone else," Ser Sebaston shrugged.

"Is that right, Celtigar?" Daemon drawled, raising an eyebrow. Ser Sebaston shrugged. 

"Do the Northmen actually worship trees?" asked Ser Randyll. Ser Sebaston nodded.

"That is what the Old Gods are," Ser Eden replied. "Tress with faces." Ser Randyll frowned.

"How strange."

"And a fucker with seven faces is not?" Daemon scoffed. 

"How am I to know?" shrugged Ser Randyll. "But if there are Seven Hells, I'd rather not be there." He shook his head before following the others towards the barracks. 

"Where is Garth?" Ser Eden asked again, looking around. Daemon shrugged. 

____________

  The fire crackled as the teapot was placed onto the table. The sun was burning outside and the room was already stiflingly hot, so Rhaenyra had had the windows opened while they waited for their chestnuts to roast.

 She was seated at the circular table in the lower room, with Aerys on her lap. Primrose, Darla and Annora were sitting with her. Annora was preparing the tea while Primrose was practising her embroidery. "He is quiet today," Annora said, nodding to Aerys, who gave her a gummy smile.

"He has been well-fed," Rhaenyra replied, smoothing her hand over Aerys' stomach. He stared up at her with his wide, violet eyes, tilting his head as if in thought. Rhaenyra smiled at him, smoothing his silky-soft hair. "I am sure he shall be asleep before long." 

"Are you tired, young Prince?" Primrose asked, cocking her head at him. Aerys continued to stare up at Rhaenyra. 

"Ah, here we are." Darla crossed the room to take the pot out of the flames, pouring the chestnuts into a bowl and placing it beside the teapot on the table. Rhaenyra raised her teacup to her lips as Darla sprinkled salt over the chestnuts. Annora and Primrose jumped as Aerys' hatchling shrieked from across the room. It was curled up under one of the armchairs, basking in the warmth of the fire. Annora shook her head. 

"I shall never get used to that... thing," she muttered. Rhaenyra and Darla laughed. 

"It is not so bad," Darla shrugged. "At least it is small."

"For now," said Rhaenyra. She tickled under Aerys' chin before reaching for one of the chestnuts, still piping hot. 

"Will it stay small for long?" wondered Annora.

"I doubt it," Rhaenyra replied. Aerys let out a little gurgle as he reached for the chestnut in Rhaenyra's hand, pouting as she popped it into her own mouth. Primrose laughed. 

"Talya said that the Queen went up to the Dragon Pit with Aegon and Helaena today," she said. 

"Really?" Rhaenyra frowned. 

"Apparently she took one look at Caraxes and screamed so hard she nearly wet herself," Primrose giggled. Rhaenyra and Darla laughed.

"The Queen or Princess Helaena?" inquired Annora.

"The Queen," replied Primrose. Annora chuckled. 

"What was she doing up there?" Rhaenyra pondered. "She has never liked dragons." 

"Talya said the Prince Aegon wanted to see the egg he brought back from Dragonstone," Primrose replied. "The Queen is refusing to have it in the castle until the babe arrives." 

"Well, I am sure Caraxes did not welcome her company either," Rhaenyra muttered. Her ladies giggled again. 

"I certainly would not," Darla said. Rhaenyra laughed. Aerys stared up at her, making a sound that was almost a laugh. Rhaenyra smiled at him, tapping his nose before she reached for her teacup again as the little hatchling let out another screech.

  Rhaenyra turned her head as the door creaked open. "Morning," Celia said as she marched inside, her dark brown ringlets falling over the shoulders of her pale yellow dress.

"Where have you been?" questioned Darla. 

"The Tower of the Hand," Celia sighed, kicking the door shut behind her and slumping into the chair beside Annora. 

"What were you doing there?" Darla inquired. 

"I was with Father," Celia replied glumly.

Darla frowned, "why?"

"I am to be betrothed to Derrick Darry," huffed Celia.

"What happened to Ser Tully?" Primrose asked. 

"Father changed his mind again," Celia shrugged. 

"I am sure he shall not be so awful, Lady Della seems nice," Rhaenyra said. Celia forced a smile.

"Have you met this Ser Derrick?" asked Primrose. 

"No, not Ser Derrick," Celia replied. "Just Derrick, and no, I have not met him."

"He is not old is he?" Annora questioned, frowning.

"He is not that old," said Darla. "Lady Della brought her sons to the Princess' wedding, do you not remember?" 

"Oh yes," Rhaenyra agreed. "They were not that old at all."

"He is not old," said Celia. "But he is not Lady Della's son, either."

"No?" puzzled Rhaenyra.

"A cousin, then?" inquired Darla.

"He - he is - Derrick is Lady Della grandson," muttered Celia glumly. Darla and Primrose giggled.

"How old is he then?" inquired Annora.

"Four and ten," replied Celia. Rhaenyra and her ladies giggled again while Celia shook her head. 

"Mayhaps - mayhaps he shall be a knight someday then, sister?" laughed Darla. Celia rolled her eyes. 

"Tea?" Annora offered her. 

"Yes, please," Celia sighed. Annora nodded and poured the tea into a floral cup, while Darla leaned over her for a chestnut. 

"When shall you get to meet this Derrick?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"Not until after Father and Lady Della have agreed upon the betrothal," Celia said miserably. 

"I am sure he will be nice," Primrose said. Celia forced a smile, but she did not look convinced. 

"How is the babe?" she asked, smiling at Aerys.

"He is well," Rhaenyra replied, smoothing her son's hair again. 

"Your bro - half-brother seems to be causing trouble again," Celia said. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "Prince Aegon had to be removed from breakfast for hitting Prince Aemond with his dragon egg." 

"How do you know that?" quizzed Darla.

"I heard the King telling Father," Celia shrugged. 

"So, he attacked his brother with a dragon egg and still the Queen took him to the Dragon Pit at his request?" inquired Annora. Rhaenyra shook her head.

"You had best hope your son does not hit me with dragon eggs, Princess," huffed Darla.

"Unless it slipped your attention, my son has no egg to assault you with," Rhaenyra replied, smirking. Her ladies laughed. 

"How is Ser Harwin?" Primrose asked. 

"Still sulking," shrugged Darla. "And Larys is now also in a strop because Father has again refused to name him castellan of Harrenhal."

"I do not think Larys cares for the Capital much," said Celia. 

"Nor do I think Father cares much for Larys," scoffed Darla. Rhaenyra hummed as she raised her teacup to her lips, not fond of the second son of House Strong herself. She would welcome the news that he was returning to the Riverlands, but she also could understand why Lord Lyonel would not want him running the castle in his absence, she did not trust him either. 

 Trays of lemon cakes and blueberry tarts were soon brought to accompany their tea, with turkey steaks being brought for Aerys' hatchling. Rhaenyra watched as the manservants left the tray on the floor for it, hurrying away as the hatchling lifted its head from under its wing, smoke rising from its nostrils. "Shall we be returning to Dragonstone soon, Princess?" Darla inquired, as she reached across the table for one of the cakes. 

"I should hope so," Rhaenyra replied. She tapped Aerys' nose again. "I am missing our island, and I am sure Syrax would agree." 

"I am missing it too," said Primrose. "It is much more... crowded here." 

"When shall we be leaving?" inquired Celia, before raising her teacup to her lips. 

"I could not say, at present," Rhaenyra sighed. "My father wishes for me to meet with the Small Council before we depart." She shook her head as Aerys' hatchling cried out again.

"When do you think Aerys will be flying?" Darla questioned. 

"It is hard to say," Rhaenyra replied. "Daemon was almost a man-grown when he first flew Caraxes, but Caraxes was also already grown. Syrax was born to me, and I flew her at seven, but Vermithor was born to the Old King and still he was close to four and ten when he first mounted him." 

"Shall you fly soon, Prince Aerys?" Darla asked, cocking her head at the boy. He stared back at her, but made no attempt at a response. 

"I am sure he is content with flying with me or Daemon for now," Rhaenyra said, taking one of his hands in hers. Aerys gave her a little gummy smile as she cooed down at him. 

  The tea had been finished and most of the cakes had gone by the time that Daemon slipped in through the door. "Morning, my Prince," Annora greeted him, as she and Celia took the teapot with them for more tea. Daemon grunted his response as he sidestepped to let them pass. 

"Good morning, Prince Daemon," Primrose said as Daemon passed the table towards the steps to the bedchamber. He grunted again. Rhaenyra frowned. 

 Daemon was clad in his usual breeches and undershirt, with Dark Sister on his hip, but there was not a trace of sweat on his person, his hair barely touched by the wind, and clinging to his clothes was an odour she could not quite place, but not one that could have originated in the Keep. 

 Carrying Aerys so that his head was resting on her shoulder, Rhaenyra trailed after her husband, pushing the door shut behind her. Daemon placed Dark Sister on the table and sat on the bed to pull off his boots, while Rhaenyra cocked an eyebrow at him. "You were not here when I woke," she said. Daemon hummed. "Where have you been, then?" 

"Training -"

"Do not say the training yard, while you certainly need a bath it is not because of that," Rhaenyra huffed. Daemon chuckled. 

"I was on the training yard," he grunted. "And then I caught up with some of the Gold Cloaks." 

"In the city?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Pardon?" Daemon frowned.

"Where in the city did you go?" Rhaenyra quizzed. 

"Nowhere interesting," Daemon shrugged. "We lost Garth and Gerren so we went looking for them, had some shit pies from a shit baker, and then a couple of ales before they needed to retire." Daemon raised an eyebrow. "I do not see why you are so bothered." 

"I do not need my husband to be seen consorting in unsavoury places, certainly not in broad daylight," Rhaenyra sniffed.

"Well, I was not," Daemon replied, pulling off his socks.

"And, I had rather hoped to find you abed with me this morn."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Surely you are not too drunk to recall that you owe me, my husband?" Rhaenyra smirked. Daemon laughed. He rose from the bed to approach her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her forehead, before kissing the top of Aerys' head. 

"Care to join me in my bath, then?" he suggested, wagging his eyebrows. Rhaenyra felt herself flushing. 

 It was some hours later when Rhaenyra and Daemon were seated ahead of the fire that there was a short knock at the door. Aerys was now seated on Daemon's knee, the small boy watching his hatchling eating the venison it had been given. Syrax had always favoured beef, while Caraxes was partial to goat or mutton, so Rhaenyra had been intrigued to find what this hatchling would prefer. The small creature certainly preferred the venison to the turkey steaks, evident by how eager it was to tear it apart and devour it, but still had not shown anything the enthusiasm it had the lamb and mutton served on Dragonstone. 

 "Princess," greeted a manservant as he shuffled in. Rhaenyra easily recognised him, a lanky, dark haired man with sharp features and eyes of wintry grey. He wore the yellow-gold jacket of all Viserys' personal servants, but this man - Eddard - was by far the tallest of them. "The King requests to see you in the Small Council chamber." 

"Now?" Rhaenyra inquired, frowning. 

"Yes, Princess." 

"I was not told of any meeting."

"There is no meeting, Princess," Eddard replied. 

"Then what does he want?" Daemon demanded.

"I am afraid I could not say, my Prince," Eddard said. 

"My father said nothing more?" Rhaenyra inquired.

"No, Princess," Eddard replied. "Only that he needs to see you urgently." Rhaenyra nodded, waving a hand to dismiss him. Daemon frowned. 

"What could he want?"

"Nothing good, I would guess," Rhaenyra sighed. She rose from her chair, placing her book of Valyrian poetry on the table beside her and leaning down to press a kiss to Aerys' forehead. "Shall you wait for me, or will you return him to his maids?" 

"I have nothing else to be doing," Daemon shrugged. "Oh -" Daemon reached for her wrist as she turned to walk away "- when you see Viserys, could you mention to him that the City Watch is in need of more funding - at least double they say - they cannot cope at present." 

"And you cannot mention this to him because?"

"He likes you best," Daemon replied. 

"More fool him then," Rhaenyra chuckled drily. 

"No, on that matter I find myself inclined to agree with him, for once," Daemon said. 

"Good," Rhaenyra said, before she turned again. She heard Daemon laugh as she left. 

  Ser Willis held open the door as Rhaenyra padded into the Small Council chamber. She found Viserys was joined only by Lord Lyonel, the King chortling to himself as he raised his wine goblet to his lips, while Lord Lyonel drained his own goblet. "Ah, Rhaenyra," Viserys greeted, still smiling. "Good afternoon."

"Hello," Rhaenyra returned, clasping her hands together as she heard the door slam shut behind her. 

"How is my grandson?"

"He is well," Rhaenyra replied. "If a little tired." 

"Good, good." Viserys wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand. "You are... ah... aware of Ser Criston, I presume?"

"Ser Criston?" Rhaenyra quizzed, frowning. 

"He died," Lord Lyonel said bluntly. 

"Yes," Rhaenyra said, nodding. 

"And so, we shall need to fill the position," Viserys said, waving his hand at the wine jug. Lord Lyonel shuffled across the room to retrieve it for him, filling up his own goblet as he returned to the table. "While Ser Harrold is... well... now would not be a good time for him, I was thinking you should choose the replacement."

"Me?" Rhaenyra puzzled.

"Yes, yes. The knight shall be tasked with protecting you as well, of course, and our Aerys."

"But I already have a sworn shield," Rhaenyra objected. "Ser Lorent."

"The Kingsguard cannot operate with only six guardsmen," Viserys said.

"That I am aware of," Rhaenyra sniffed. "I only mean, I see why not I should be the one to decide."

"You shall have to fill all the posts some day," chuckled Viserys. "Besides, you have chosen before."

"Ser Criston," Rhaenyra said bitterly, shaking her head. "Do you not think that, as Lord Commander, Ser Harrold would be better suited to -"

"No," Viserys said firmly. "No. Not - not at the present." He gulped his wine. "You shall not be alone, however, Lord Lyonel shall help you."

"Indeed, Princess," said Lord Lyonel, nodding. "It is a good suggestion. If we select a younger man, we could well expect him to serve into your reign." Viserys nodded his agreement.

 Rhaenyra sighed. 

 She had not wanted to select the Kingsguard on the first occasion, when it had been so clear her father had only insisted she do so to keep her from the Small Council room, when she had still been nothing more than a cupbearer a few moons from womanhood, at an age where her mother and grandmother both had already been wives and mothers. Seeing how horribly she had failed with Cole's posting, she had resigned herself to accepting she knew little about the Kingsguard or who would fit its ranks, and was not expecting to be asked again. 

 "You should ask Daemon," she suggested. Viserys frowned. "He knows more about knights and - and the sort than I do." 

"No," Viserys said gruffly, shaking his head. "The Kingsguard have a duty to defend and protect, Daemon's nature lies more in the need to attack and invade. You shall do fine." 

"The Prince's skills lie elsewhere, Princess," Lord Lyonel said, forcing a smile. Rhaenyra could not help but wish they saw that she had skills also. 

 The Princess of Dragonstone and the Hand were accompanied by Ser Steffon as they peered over the banister at the knights below. With the royal tourney's recent conclusion, many of the Realm's knights had already been in the city, and so they had all arrived swiftly. 

 The first of the knights was Ser Derek Toyne, a younger son of the aged Lord Merrell. He was dressed in the black and yellow of his House, the black heart on a gold field emblazoned on his surcoat, and from his helm stuck three yellow feathers. 

 "A fine knight, Princess," Ser Steffon said, as Ser Derek stepped forward. "He is accomplished in the tourney lists and an expert marksman." 

"A hunter?" Rhaenyra inquired. Ser Steffon nodded. 

 Below, Ser Derek cocked his head at her, smirking.

 "You are a skilled rider then, Ser Derek?" she asked. 

"Indeed I am, Princess," Ser Derek replied. "I am yet to meet a man who could knock me from my horse."

"That is a lie," muttered Lord Lyonel. "Lord Lymond Mallister threw him from his saddle at Maidenpool, and my own son Harwin unhorsed him at Highgarden." 

"Very good," Rhaenyra praised, as Ser Derek returned to his place. 

"Ser Ralph Peasebury," Ser Steffon called. 

 Ser Ralph was another knight from the Stormlands, the green peapod of his House displayed on his right breast as he rested his hand on his sword. 

"Ser Ralph is young, but he won the melee at Storm's End two summers past," Ser Steffon said. "Strong and sturdy, he shall do well I am sure." Rhaenyra nodded, although she recalled the man being unhorsed by Ser Lorent in the games. "He was knighted at eight and ten." 

 "Do you fight with a sword, Ser?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

Ser Ralph shook his head, "an axe, Princess." 

"But you can fight with a sword?"

"Well enough, Princess," shrugged Ser Ralph. Rhaenyra forced a smile and nodded to him. 

 "Ser Perwyn Rowan," Ser Steffon announced, as Ser Ralph returned to his place. Ser Perwyn was visibly older than the previous two knights, and his silver surcoat was adorned with a golden tree. "He is a fine knight, Princess, I have jousted against him myself on occasion. The son of Lord Thaddeus Rowan, he is both well-educated and well-practised." Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully. 

"Has he won anything of note?" Lord Lyonel asked quietly.

"Not that I am aware of, Lord Hand," replied Ser Steffon. "But he is a fierce swordsman." 

"Did he beat you, Ser?" Rhaenyra asked.

"No," Ser Steffon replied. "But he can joust well."

"Do you compete in the joust oft, Ser?" Rhaenyra questioned.

"No, Princess," Ser Perwyn replied. "I prefer the melee myself. I am more accurate with a sword than a lance." He grinned. 

"He is not," whispered Ser Steffon. Lord Lyonel had to cough loudly to hide his laugh.

"Thank you, Ser," Rhaenyra said loudly. Ser Perwyn nodded. 

 The fourth knight was Ser Rymun Mallister, third-born son of Lord Lymond who had been pitted against Cole some years prior. His beard had grown some, while his hair was shorter and greyer, although his form was still broad and burly. "He was the winner of the melee at Cider Hall, Princess," Ser Steffon said. "And then again at Maidenpool." 

"Well done, Ser," Rhaenyra called down to him. Ser Rymun nodded. 

"Thank you, Princess."

 The fifth was a man by the name of Ser Mathos Moore, his surcoat bronze with the image of three spearheads on his breast, and his hand upon the longsword at his hip. "He has proved a strong and steady knight, Princess," Ser Steffon said. "Winner of the joust at Highgarden, the last man standing of thirty two." 

"You hale from the Vale, do you not, Ser?" Rhaenyra called to him.

"Indeed I do, Princess," he replied. Ser Mathos was not a man of great height, with thick, dark black hair and piercing blue eyes. His nose was long and beak-like, while his lips were thin and pale, his chin covered by a small amount of dark stubble. 

"Twice, Ser Mathos has fought the mountain clans," Ser Steffon said. "And twice he has won." 

"You fought off the clans, Ser?" Rhaenyra repeated.

"Yes, Princess," Ser Mathos replied. 

"It was the Stone Crows who killed my uncle," Rhaenyra said. 

Ser Mathos nodded, "the Lady Jeyne's father, yes, I know the tale well. They are savages, Princess, brutal and cold-blooded, but they are not smart." 

 The next knight was Ser Franklyn Frey, second-born son of Lord Florian who had been unhorsed by Ser Rickard in the lists. He was not as handsome as his fool brother, but taller and broader, and the handle of his sword was encrusted with a large sapphire.

 Then came Ser Ronnet Crakehall, a thin faced man who had also been present when Cole had been invested, his brown hair greying and his forehead scarred. Ser Ronnet was a keen huntsman, with a steady hand and eagle-eye, or so claimed Ser Steffon, although Rhaenyra could not see archery helping much when one had to guard the King. 

 The last knight was Ser Dickon Lonmouth, a second son who had been brutally defeated by Ser Borros Baratheon in the melee, his left eye still a bulging purple. 

 Rhaenyra perused them all thoughtfully. 

 Infuriatingly, the words of Ser Otto came back to her. The Crown owed a debt to Houses Mallister and Crakehall, and ensuring their continued allegiance would be crucial. Honouring their sons with such positions would be a sure way to keep said Houses in line. 

 Rhaenyra knew she had few friends in the Westerlands, with Lord Jason Lannister spurned by her rejection of his proposal and his worryingly close acquaintance with House Redwyne, who in turn were kin of the Hightowers, Rhaenyra considered appointing Ser Ronnet Crakehall to the post. 

 But then the words of Lord Lyonel came back to her. If such a man were to continue his service into her reign, then she would wish for the one whose loyalty was most guaranteed. She had raised Ser Criston Cole from nothing, just the lowly son of a steward, and that had not been enough to shield her from his betrayal. The Crakehalls may be invaluable to the Crown if the Ironborn were to wreak havoc on the West, but Rhaenyra saw no reason to guarantee the service of the Westernman if the Lannisters did not side with her. 

 Her mother had been the daughter of a Targaryen Princess, but also the descendant of the Kings of Mountain and Vale, Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, Lord Rodrik Arryn. The blood of the Vale ran through Rhaenyra's own veins also, as it did her cousin, the Lady Jeyne, to whom House Moore had sworn its allegiance. Ser Mathos may not have proven himself in a tourney, but Rhaenyra thought it unlikely to find him at Alicent's side. 

 "I choose Ser Mathos Moore," Rhaenyra declared to her companions. Lord Lyonel hummed thoughtfully. 

"Very well, Princess," said Ser Steffon.

____________

 The wind blew Rhaenyra's hair into her face as her horse's hooves plodded against the cobblestones. Her horse was a large white stallion with a dusty grey mane and dark ears. Daemon's horse was smaller than his tourney horse, a thin, reddish brown stallion with a sandy mane and bushy tail. He seemed unaffected by the foul odours of the city that the wind wafted towards them, but Rhaenyra could not help but scrunch her nose in disgust. 

 Crowds had formed along the streets as onlookers hurried to catch a glimpse of the Princess of Dragonstone and her consort as they rode through the city. The men of the City Watch cleared the roads for them, holding the crowds back as the horses trotted forward. 

"Princess!" she heard them call. "Princess Rhaenyra! Princess!"

"All hail the Princess of Dragonstone!"

"Princess Rhaenyra! The Realm's Delight!" 

"Princess! All hail the Princess!"

"Seven Blessings to the Princess of Dragonstone!"

"Prince Daemon!"

"The Princess of Dragonstone!"

"The Prince of the City!"

"Gods bless you, Princess!"

"Seven Blessings to the Prince of the City!"

"The Realm's Delight!" 

 How they did not scream themselves hoarse, Rhaenyra did not know. Still, she forced a smile and waved when she could, holding onto her black reins in her left hand as the horse plodded onward. Ser Lorent and two of Daemon's city watchmen were riding behind them, and she could hear Ser Lorent's horse huffing in displeasure every couple of paces. 

  As they neared Rhaenys' Hill, Rhaenyra could see the Dragon Pit in the distance. "Do they never tire of this?" she heard Daemon grumble, the smallfolk's shouting still audible as they turned from Flea Bottom and towards the Street of Sister. The city watchmen chuckled, while Ser Lorent shook his head at him. "I am tired already." 

"I don't imagine our lives are half as interesting as yours, my Prince," grunted Ser Garth. He was a tall, slender man, with a bald head and dark, grey eyes, and a cleft in his upper lip that merited his epithet 'Harelip'. Daemon laughed. 

"I would have hoped so." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. He smirked at her. "What do they do with their lives?"

"Rob and murder, mostly," Ser Garth said darkly. "Sometimes rape and destroy." 

"They cannot all be so bad," objected Rhaenyra. Ser Randyll shrugged. 

"Ignore him," Daemon said. "He spends his nights in the gutters with the worst of them, he has forgotten what civilisation looks like." 

"Like you, you mean?" scoffed Ser Randyll, smirking.

"Would you not say so?" chuckled Daemon. 

"No," replied Ser Randyll. "I'd say you as savage as the rest of them." Daemon and Ser Garth laughed. 

"You misjudge me, Ser," Daemon drawled. "I am a knight, did you not know? As honourable as they come." Ser Randyll laughed. 

"You've got honour like I've got gold, cunt," scoffed Ser Garth. Rhaenyra frowned at him. 

"Be mindful you are addressing the Prince," said Ser Lorent stiffly. Daemon laughed and waved a hand dismissively at him.

  Syrax let out a chirp as the dragonkeepers released her from her chains. She prodded Rhaenyra's leg with her snout while Rhaenyra smoothed her neck. She could hear Caraxes whistling from further within the Dragon Pit and Syrax shrieked out to him. Caraxes whistled again, louder this time, and Rhaenyra heard Daemon muttering in High Valyrian to him. 

 Rhaenyra's braid swung in front of her face as the dome opened. There was a coolness to the wind that she had not felt since winter that flushed her cheeks pink and froze the tip of her nose. She turned her head as she heard Caraxes being led up the ramp, shaking his great long head as Daemon urged the dragonkeepers to hurry up and unchain the creature. Caraxes whistled excitedly when he saw Syrax, the yellow she-dragon turning her head and chirping at him. Daemon whispered something to Caraxes before laughing. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at him. He winked. 

 Rhaenyra let out a laugh of glee as Syrax soared through the clouds. Her tail thrashed through them, as if intending to slice them in two, while Caraxes roared ahead of them, Daemon having insisted on a race. Rhaenyra laughed again as she kicked her heels into Syrax's side, urging her forward, faster, lower so that she might pass Caraxes. 

 Daemon laughed at her attempts, shaking his head as Caraxes swerved, blocking Syrax's every move. Syrax screeched and Caraxes let out a sound that was almost a snort, smoke rising from his nostrils. Syrax shrieked again as she dived, and Caraxes shook his head, whistling to her. Rhaenyra heard Daemon grumble, snapping in High Valyrian for the dragon to quicken his pace, but Caraxes refused him, pulling back so he could fly beside the yellow she-dragon. Daemon groaned, kicking into the dragon's sides, but it made no difference.

 "Hello there!" Rhaenyra called to him. "Not as fast as you thought, are you?"

Daemon frowned, "the red fool is sabotaging me." 

"I rather think he has more sense than you do," chuckled Rhaenyra. Daemon shook his head. Rhaenyra smiled as she brushed her braid over her shoulder. Syrax turned her head to look at the Blood Wyrm, chirping happily. Daemon's jaw dropped dramatically.

"Than me?" Daemon scoffed. "Never." Rhaenyra giggled.

"They seem to be having a better time than you," she said, nodding to the dragons as Syrax brushed her snout against Caraxes' neck. 

"I would be having a much better time if he were to behave like a proper dragon and not some lovesick fool," Daemon grumbled. He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. Caraxes hissed. Syrax snapped back at him.

"I think it is endearing," Rhaenyra said. 

"Of course you would," Daemon said. "You would not be able to win otherwise."

"You underestimate us," Rhaenyra declared. "Syrax is plenty capable of out-pacing your old wyrm." 

"Old wyrm?" Daemon huffed indignantly. Rhaenyra giggled. 

  They flew alongside each other for a short while. Rhaenyra watched as Dragonstone castle came into view, the dark stone statue that was Sea Dragon Tower eliciting a roar from Caraxes. Rhaenyra could see the dragonmont burning behind it, the smoke rising into the air. 

 It was Caraxes who landed upon the beach first, but Daemon did not celebrate, for Syrax followed soon after. Rhaenyra removed her gloves as she dismounted, watching as Caraxes knocked his snout into Daemon's leg, as if expecting praise, while Daemon ignored him, removing his own gloves. "Come on," he said, jerking his head towards the dark waves. Rhaenyra watched as he stripped his riding leathers and underclothes, then his boots and socks, before running into the water. Rhaenyra watched as he dived into a wave, disappearing for a moment, before resurfacing with saltwater droplets shining on his forehead. "Come on," Daemon said again, grinning at her. The bruising across his chest and neck had faded to a greenish-black, but was still evident even through the water. "Do not make me drag you in, my wife," Daemon said, smirking. 

"You shall do no such thing," Rhaenyra said firmly.

"Shall I not?" Daemon inquired, raising his eyebrows. He waded through the water, close enough to the shore that now most of him was bare.

"I mean it," Rhaenyra told him, wagging a finger at him. Daemon only laughed, rushing towards her. "No!" Rhaenyra hurried away, racing up the beach towards where Syrax was coiled with Caraxes, hearing Daemon's footsteps padding against the dark sands all the while. She had hoped to have had enough distance from him to create an advantage, but he was too quick for her, and soon his arms were wrapped around her, pulling her towards his wet chest. "No," she said again, pushing him away. Daemon laughed into her hair.

Syrax cocked her head at the pair. 

"Get off," Rhaenyra said, elbowing Daemon's ribs. He winced slightly, but did not release his hold on her. 

"Come on," he said once more, turning so he was pushing her towards the sea. 

"No, I - Daemon!" Rhaenyra shrieked as Daemon picked her up, carrying her over his shoulder as if she were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. 

 Rhaenyra shrieked again as Daemon dropped her into the water, a wave immediately splashing her face. She groaned, feeling the leather sleeves clinging to her arms as Daemon laughed a short distance away from her.

"I am going to kill you!" she declared.

"I shall be sure to sleep with one eye open, then," Daemon said. He winked at her, before sinking under the water's surface again. Rhaenyra sighed. She tried to wring some of the water out from her braid as Daemon resurfaced. 

 The sea was warm, but not unpleasantly so. Rhaenyra threw her boots onto the shore as she heard Daemon swimming towards her, soon wrapping his arms around her waist, his nose nuzzling into her neck. "I hate you," Rhaenyra told him weakly. 

Daemon laughed, "do not wound me so."

"Look at me!" Rhaenyra protested.

"You look as gorgeous as ever, my wife."

"I am drenched, you mean," Rhaenyra huffed. "How am I to fly back like this?" Daemon chuckled. 

"You do not have to fly in the leathers, you know," he said. "You could always fly without them."

"Oh, shut up," Rhaenyra said, pushing his shoulder. Daemon laughed, taking her hand in his and kissing her palm. Rhaenyra pushed his shoulder back again and he released her, sinking under the water. When he came up for air, he splashed her, the saltwater hitting the side of her cheek. Rhaenyra gasped indignantly. Daemon laughed. While he was distracted by his amusement, she splashed him in return, wading away while he wiped the water from his eyes. 

 Daemon chased her playfully, although it was not much of a sport as she struggled to swim in her heavy, sodden leathers. He kissed her neck as he caught up to her, pulling her closer to his chest again. "You truly are insufferable, do you know that?" she told him. Daemon laughed into the skin of her neck. 

 Rhaenyra was eager to shed her dampened leathers once they returned to the city. She instead chose a dress of rose and gold, while Daemon was again dressed in all black. "That tunic always makes you look so pale," she noted, cocking her head as she watched him buckle his belt. Daemon hummed, but did not reply. 

 When she left Daemon's bedchamber, Rhaenyra had hoped to venture down to her son's nursery, but instead she was marched to the Small Council chambers by Ser Rickard and her father.

 They were the last to arrive. Grand Maester Mellos and Lord Lyman were speaking to one another in hushed tones, while Lord Jasper looked bored beside them. Ser Tyland, who sat at the end of the table, was spinning his orb around, while Lord Lyonel was at the little wooden table, pouring himself a goblet of red wine. Rhaenyra frowned when she saw Ser Willis and Alicent in the corner of the room, their backs turned as they peered out of the window. The men bowed their heads as the King entered, but Alicent did not acknowledge them. 

 "Your Grace," Ser Tyland greeted gruffly. "I had not known we were supposed to meet today."

"Well, now you know," Viserys shrugged. He took his seat and placed his orb on the table. 

Lord Jasper frowned, "has something happened? What is so urgent that we must meet?" 

"We must... we must discuss the unfortunate death of Ser Criston Cole," said Lord Lyonel. Alicent turned around, approaching the table with her hands clasped in front of her. Rhaenyra frowned.

"Why?" puzzled Ser Tyland.

"There are...ah...concerns that Ser Criston's death - and our Lord Commander's part in it - may leave an unfortunate stain on our Kingsguard," muttered Viserys. Alicent nodded.

"What?" questioned Lord Jasper.

"Forgive me, your Grace, but Ser Criston was a casualty in a tourney, was he not?" Ser Tyland said. 

"Indeed," replied Lord Lyonel. 

"So what is the problem?" asked Lord Jasper. 

"Members of the Kingsguard should not be killed by their sworn brothers," piped up Alicent. 

"Ideally, members of the Kingsguard are not killed at all," Rhaenyra said drily. Ser Tyland laughed. Viserys and Alicent glared at him. "It was a tragedy, but it was a joust."

"Indeed," agreed Lord Lyman.

"Ser Criston is dead!" flared Alicent. Lord Lyonel frowned at her. "Killed in front of us all." 

"Tourneys bring injuries and casualties, that is nothing new, your Grace," said Ser Tyland. 

"And so we do nothing?" asked Alicent.

"What would you suggest, your Grace?" inquired Lord Jasper. "Should we have the Lord Commander executed for winning a joust?" Ser Tyland scoffed while Lord Lyman shook his head. 

"I examined the corpse myself, your Grace," said Mellos. "There is really nothing here to discuss, he was struck by the lance and that is what killed him. It could have happened to anyone."

"Quite right," Rhaenyra agreed. Alicent glowered at her. 

"Your Grace, if I may, there is much to consider in a joust," said Ser Tyland. "The speed of the horses, the angle from which each of them shall sit, how they each hold the lance, the weight of each man, the strength of each man, the height of each man, the height of his horse, and the list goes on and on, any number of these things could have very innocently contributed to the accident." 

"And when people start to talk?" Alicent hissed. "When they declare the Lord Commander a murderer?" Lord Lyonel frowned.

"Alicent, please," sighed Viserys. "I do not think any of us have reason to accuse Ser Harrold of cold murder."

"He never liked Ser Criston," huffed Alicent. Lord Jasper scoffed. 

"And Lord Bracken has never liked Ser Blackwood, and yet they both left alive," said Lord Lyonel gravely. 

"Did Ser Criston say anything to you that suggested he was in danger?" Rhaenyra asked. "Or that he feared for his life?"

"What?" huffed Alicent.

"Only, he was my sworn shield for years and he never once expressed such concern to me," Rhaenyra said loftily. "I only wonder if there was perhaps a... a certain intimacy shared by the two of you so that he could profess such fears?" Alicent's cheeks flushed. She shook her head.

"He said nothing of the sort."

"So, then there is nothing to talk about," sighed Lord Lyonel. "Might we finally release our Lord Commander from White Sword Tower, then? We only have five members of the Kingsguard at present, and we cannot hold the investiture for our new recruit without the Lord Commander."

"Oh, have you found someone then?" Viserys asked. Lord Lyonel nodded.

"Ser Mathos Moore, from the Vale," Rhaenyra replied.

"Good, good." Viserys wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. "Well then, if there is nothing more to discuss, we should send for Ser Harrold to -"

"But - but he killed Ser Criston!" objected Alicent. "Are you truly to do nothing?"

"With respect, your Grace," said Lord Lyman. "Ser Harrold competed in a joust, I would not think that these actions reflect any particular violence or brutality that would make him unfit to continue serving in the Kingsguard."

"While your... interest in the fallen guardsman is... touching, your Grace," said Ser Tyland. "I would not say there is anything to do."

"Yes, your Grace, one might assume it was your brother the Lord Commander beat, not your guard," chuckled Lord Jasper. Alicent flushed again. 

"We should send Ser Criston's remains back to the Stormlands, your Grace," said Mellos. Viserys nodded his agreement. 

"Very well," he said. "If that is all settled then, we can-"

"Please, your Grace," said Lord Jasper. "Ser Burton Marbrand of the City Watch has written to me again, the men are in dire need of new -" Lord Jasper's face fell as Viserys waved a hand at him.

"That is enough for today," the King said. He drained his goblet and rose from his seat. Ser Tyland smiled. He slapped his hand against the table as he leapt to his feet. Lord Jasper and Lord Lyman were quick to follow him out, with Alicent and Ser Willis at their heels. Rhaenyra finished her wine before rising from her chair, following her father towards the door.

"You should allow Lord Jasper more funds for the City Watch," Rhaenyra said. Viserys turned to her, frowning. "Daemon has been speaking with them, and they are struggling. There were so many people in the city for the tourney and the City Watch struggled to cope."

"They have funds," grunted Viserys, shaking his head. 

"The job of the City Watch is to ensure the city is safe, is it not?" Rhaenyra shrugged. "That is rather important, I would say, would you not?" Viserys grunted. "Everyone should feel safe in the city, but especially those who are your guests, and I am sure you are going to throw another games or feast or something of the sort to celebrate your babe." Viserys hummed. "I would not like my carriage attacked en route to the Keep, not with Aerys inside, if we were to visit with him." Viserys hummed again.

"I will - I will speak with him," he said. Rhaenyra nodded. 

 Aerys was asleep in his cradle when Rhaenyra reached his nursery. His hatchling was curled around itself at his feet, but it raised its head as Rhaenyra leaned over it to reach for her son. "Hello, you," Rhaenyra greeted it, smoothing the scales on the top of its head, before she picked up Aerys. She kissed his little forehead, smoothing a hand over his hair. It was so impossibly soft, like the velvet blankets he was wrapped in. "Hello, my sweet boy," Rhaenyra whispered, tapping his little nose again. "Did you sleep well?" Aerys yawned. 

 Rhaenyra hummed as she carried Aerys up to Daemon's rooms. "Look who is here," Rhaenyra called as she opened the door. "You know, I think I convinced my father to give -" she trailed off, her brow creasing as she looked around the room.

 It was vacant. The fireplace was cold, and Daemon's wine jug was empty and discarded on the mantelpiece. Rhaenyra frowned.

 "Hello?" she called as she padded up the steps to the bedchamber. She pushed open the door. "Daemon?" The bedchamber was also cold and empty, the bed neatly made and Dark Sister missing from her place on the table. "He is not here, little one," Rhaenyra murmured to her son. Aerys let out a little sound that was almost a giggle. His little fist was clinging to her dress as he was carried down to the lower room again. "Come on," Rhaenyra murmured. "Let us at least find someone to light this fire, it is too cold for you."

 With the slam of a door, Rhaenyra jolted awake. She did not recall dozing off, but she woke upon the armchair, with Aerys on her chest, also fast asleep.

 She scrunched her nose as she was met with a foul odour, the terrible stench of rotting fish and filth. She turned her head to see Daemon walking towards the bedchamber. "You have been out again." It was not a question. Daemon hummed. "I can smell it on you." Daemon laughed. His back was still turned to her. Rhaenyra frowned. 

 The Princess of Dragonstone rose from her seat, placing Aerys back onto the chair before following after her husband. It was dark outside now, and the flames in the fireplace had begun to die out. As she padded up the steps, she could see droplets of blood staining them, gleaming in the candlelight. "Daemon?" she questioned. "Are you hurt?" Daemon only grunted. He placed Dark Sister upon the table and brushed his hair from his face. As he turned around, Rhaenyra could see blood trickling down his neck from his chin. "What happened?" she gasped. 

"Nothing you need worry about," he replied. He crossed the distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders as he kissed her forehead. "How is the little one?"

"Do not change the subject," Rhaenyra flared. "You are hurt. What happened?" 

"Just some fool," Daemon shrugged. "He was aiming for the man beside me in all truth, he just had terrible aim." Daemon laughed to himself.

"Is that not how your uncle died?" 

"Do not fear, it shall not be the end of yours," Daemon replied, winking. Rhaenyra crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. Daemon laughed again. "You do not need to look so serious, ñuha byka ābrazȳrys. You worry too much."

"You do not worry enough," Rhaenyra huffed. Daemon laughed once more. "You do not worry about your own safety, and you certainly do not worry about how it effects your wife and son." Daemon frowned. "You should go and see Mellos, you do not want that getting infected." 

"I do not need him," Daemon grumbled. Rhaenyra shook her head. She kicked the chair beside the table at him. 

"Then let me do it," she said. Daemon raised an eyebrow. "Sit." Daemon's brow furrowed as if deep in thought, but as Rhaenyra walked towards the washroom, he sunk into the chair. 

 She returned with a washcloth dipped in cold water. "Tell me what happened," she demanded, as she began to wipe the blood from his face.

"There is nothing worth telling," Daemon sighed. Rhaenyra glowered at him. "I went out for a drink with some of the Gold Cloaks, some cunt who is a known cheat recognised Barrett for having thrown him out of a gambler's den a sennight or so back. The drunken fool lunged at him over the table, cut me and kicked Tully, but was nowhere close to Barrett. Garth and Gerren had the cunt thrown out of the place." 

"King's Landing does not sound awfully safe at the moment."

Daemon scoffed, "it never has been. The greater the city grows, the more trouble it brings. Do not worry yourself about it, there is naught we can do." He hissed slightly as Rhaenyra pressed the washcloth to the cut, but offered no complaints. 

"My ladies and I think we should go home soon."

"I concur," Daemon replied, nodding. 

"Hopefully you shall get yourself into less trouble there," Rhaenyra said. Daemon rolled his eyes. "You should be recovering, not getting yourself cut up even more."

"I am not one to lay about idle," Daemon shrugged. 

"You are never too old to try something new," Rhaenyra said drily. Daemon laughed. "I put an awful lot of effort into having you as a husband," Rhaenyra told him as she wiped the blood from his neck. "I am not eager to have to find another yet. You need to be more careful." 

"I am not going anywhere, ñuha jorrāelagon, you need not worry yourself so," Daemon whispered. Rhaenyra only hummed. 

"There," she said, once she was confident she had cleared the blood from his face. "Although you should let Gerardys check it when we return."

"If it pleases you, can I call for my bath now?" Daemon asked.

"That would please me very much," Rhaenyra replied, pulling a face of disgust. Daemon rolled his eyes. "You do smell abhorrent." 

"I do not," he grumbled. 

 Rhaenyra followed him down the steps to where Aerys had fallen asleep again upon the armchair. "Come along, my precious boy," she said, as she lifted him up again. "Let us return you to your bed. You shall be back in your own room before long, your mother promises." Aerys gave her a gummy smile. 

Chapter Text

 117 - Autumn

 "Where in the Known World would you most like to see?"

"What? Oh, I do not know."

"Anywhere." 

"Let me think." 

"You should not need to think," Daemon chuckled, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "It is not about rationale... it is about desire." 

"Well, it is a big question," Rhaenyra shrugged. She dropped her spoon into her bowl as she hummed thoughtfully. Daemon chuckled, rolling his eyes at her. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity." 

"Right." Rhaenyra stared at her porridge and blueberries as Daemon sipped his morning ale. "The ruins of Ny Sar, I suppose, where Nymeria once ruled."

"Ruins?" Daemon asked, frowning. Rhaenyra nodded. 

"Why not?" she pondered. "It is a piece of the old world still standing - or what is left of it at least. Evidence of the dragonlords of Old and the forgotten beauty it once was."

"I do not know if the Dornish would agree with 'forgotten'," Daemon scoffed. "The Martells seem rather obsessed with her." 

"If you say so," Rhaenyra shrugged. She raised a spoonful of porridge to her lips as she heard Syrax cry outside. "What of you? You have seen more of the world than I, but where would you most like to go?" 

"Valyria."

Rhaenyra frowned, "truly?" 

Daemon nodded, "you are surprised? My grandfather forbade it before I was born, sailors who knew the route could no longer take it, but it is not as if the place has vanished." 

"The city is dead," Rhaenyra said. "Do you not think it... macabre? Do you not fear for what happened to Aerea?" 

"I think we all fear what we do not understand," Daemon replied thoughtfully. "Mayhaps I should wait until I am an old man, just to be sure." 

"I would not like to see it," Rhaenyra told him, shaking her head. "I think it would be rather morbid and horrid." 

"And your ruins are not?" 

"They are not the death of our people." 

"No, no I suppose not," Daemon muttered. He raised a fork stabbed in pork sausage to his lips, his eyes on his goblet. "Do you never wonder what it looks like now? All of that magic and greatness, what it was reduced to after to Doom?"

"I would rather not know," Rhaenyra sniffed. "It is no home for us now."

"No," Daemon sighed. "No, it is not." 

"Leng might be nice," Rhaenyra said thoughtfully. 

"So long as you are not eaten by tigers."

"So long as they are not eaten by Syrax, you mean?" Rhaenyra chuckled. Daemon laughed, reaching for his goblet. 

"Where in Westeros, then, that you have not been would you most like to?" he questioned. 

"You are very curious this morning," Rhaenyra said. Daemon shrugged. "Alyssa's Tears, I think."

"The Vale?" Daemon scrunched his nose in disgust.

"Yes," Rhaenyra huffed. "It is where my mother was born, and yet I have never been."

"You are better off that way, let me tell you," Daemon grumbled. 

"And you? Where would you like to see?" Rhaenyra asked, before raising another spoonful of sweet porridge to her lips.

"I do not know," Daemon shrugged. "Not the fucking Vale, that is for certain, but I have had more freedom in my life than you have, and so I have seen a lot of it." Rhaenyra nodded her agreement as he hummed thoughtfully. "The Wall, mayhaps."

"The North?" pondered Rhaenyra. "Is it not terribly cold there?"

"Indeed it is, but Alysanne could never get Silverwing to fly over the damn thing, and I would like to see why," Daemon replied. 

"Even if it would mean putting Caraxes in danger?" Rhaenyra wondered. 

"I would hope it would not come to that," Daemon asked. 

"I do not think I could cope somewhere so cold," Rhaenyra said. Daemon shrugged. He finished his bacon as the door opened and Maester Gerardys shuffled in, carrying a metal tray in one hand, on which was the pile of letters that had arrived on their island for the day, most of which would be for her. "Thank you," Rhaenyra said to him. 

"Of course, Princess," Maester Gerardys replied. He nodded his head before leaving their rooms, while Daemon sipped his ale again. 

"My father has written again," Rhaenyra said, reaching for the letter on the top of the pile. Daemon only hummed, reaching for his own letter, his name written in an unfamiliar, untidy scrawl. Rhaenyra sipped her tea, the sweet liquid washing over her tongue as the floral scent hit her nose. "I do not know why he would think we would want to be there for the birth of his new babe," she muttered. 

"I still wonder why he thought we would want him here for the birth of ours," grumbled Daemon. Rhaenyra chuckled lightly as Daemon drained his ale. She cracked open the seal of her letter while Daemon rose from the table to throw another log into the fireplace. 

"They have finished their nursery alterations, Father says," Rhaenyra read. "The children are much happier now."

"So?" Daemon grunted. He returned to his seat and tore open his own letter. 

"Alicent thinks Aemond's egg may open soon," Rhaenyra scoffed. "What would she know?" 

"Nothing," Daemon shrugged. He was frowning at his own letter. Rhaenyra's eyes fell back to her father's scrawl, skimming over the page as she reached for her teacup.

"Exactly," Rhaenyra agreed. "She knows nothing about dragons, so why he thinks I would care about wha-"

"CUNTS!" 

 Rhaenyra jumped as Daemon slammed his fist against the table, throwing the letter onto his plate. Rhaenyra widened her eyes at him. 

"What is wrong with you?" she inquired. 

"What is wrong with me is that fucking Joffrey Lonmouth thinks he can write to me making demands," Daemon hissed. He rose from his chair, kicking it towards the table as he turned to peer out at the balcony. Rhaenyra frowned, reaching across the table for the letter. The seal was not one she recognised, but it certainly was not the Lonmouth coat of arms. "The dumb cunts have already run out of coin," Daemon snarled. "For some reason, they think that that means they can demand it from me." 

"How much do they want?" Rhaenyra questioned.

"Enough to get them through the winter," he growled. 

"'To the esteemed Lord of Dragonstone' did you tell them to call you that?"

"Of course I did not," Daemon retorted, grabbing the letter and crumbling it in his fist. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "They should not be contacting us," he grunted. 

"On that we can agree," Rhaenyra muttered. 

"The bastard wants to come here to collect it," Daemon scoffed. "Over my dead body will they set foot in Westeros again." 

"So, what then?" Rhaenyra asked. "Surely nothing will play out in our favour if you ignore them?" Daemon groaned. 

"I shall write back," he grumbled. "I shall send someone to him with enough coin to appease them." Rhaenyra nodded. 

"And if my father asks about the payment?"

"Since when does he check the accounts?" scoffed Daemon. 

"Lord Lyman might."

"Why should he care about your accounts? He serves the King, not you."

"It is still a risk."

"Fine, fine, I shall use my personal accounts."

"What accounts?" Rhaenyra pondered, frowning. 

Daemon laughed, "did you truly think I had no money before I married you?" Rhaenyra shrugged. "I bought you rather expensive presents, do you not recall?"

"I never thought much about it, I suppose," Rhaenyra replied. Daemon laughed again, before shaking his head.

"Nevertheless, I am not keen to spend it on them," he grumbled. Rhaenyra could not blame him.

 Daemon's mood did not improve that morning. Rhaenyra could see him from her window as he knocked down one guard after the next, treating it less like a spar and more like a quest for blood. None of the guardsmen agreed to a second round. 

 Once Rhaenyra had finished giving her seal to the documents Maester Gerardys had sent to her, she collected Aerys from his nursery and carried him outside. 

 Daemon was panting. His chest was heaving and sweat was trickling down his face, the blood of his opponents splattered across his breastplate and plackart. He had removed his helmet and gauntlets by the time that Rhaenyra reached him, while his squires were helping him remove his pauldrons. Both of the squires appeared apprehensive as Daemon continued to breathe heavily through his nostrils, a frown on his face. 

 "Good morning," Rhaenyra greeted. Daemon turned around, raising an eyebrow at her. Rhaenyra smiled at him, smoothing Aerys' hair as he let out a little laugh. His hair was certainly growing thicker in recent weeks, but it had not changed its colour, a fine silver with traces of gold. Daemon grunted, snapping his fingers for the squires to remove his sabatons while he reached for his discarded boots. "Rough morning?" 

"You are here."

Rhaenyra chuckled, "I am."

"Are you not usually... preoccupied at this hour?"

"Aerys and I thought we would quite like some fresh air. Care to join us?" Rhaenyra brushed a fragment of golden leaf from Aerys' head while the boy stared over her shoulder, mesmerised by the sight of Vermithor and Silverwing flying in the distance. 

"Give me that!" Daemon growled, ripping his gorget from the smallest squire's hands. The boy's lower lip trembled at Rhaenyra thought that he was going to cry. Daemon shooed the boys away, and they hurried to collect the armour from the ground before rushing to the armoury, leaving the Prince to free his legs himself. "Fucking useless twats, I do not know why I bother with them," Daemon hissed angrily. 

"I am sure they are doing their best," Rhaenyra said. "And watch what you say around the babe." Daemon rolled his eyes dramatically. 

"He does not understand."

"He does!" Rhaenyra huffed. "Do you not, sweet boy?" Aerys cocked his head, his eyes peering into Rhaenyra's. He raised a chubby little hand at her before giggling again. "Aerys. Aerys," Rhaenyra said to him. Aerys laughed, smiling at her. Rhaenyra kissed his forehead while he let out a sound that was somewhere between 'oh' and 'ah'. "Muna," Rhaenyra said slowly, while pointing to herself. "Muna." Aerys cocked his head, his eyes on her lips. "Kepa." Rhaenyra pointed to Daemon. "Kepa." Aerys smiled again. Rhaenyra sighed.

"He will get there," Daemon shrugged, lacing up his boots. "He is still young."

"Yes," Rhaenyra agreed. 

"What is that you have him in?" Daemon puzzled, scrunching his nose in disgust as he shook the lacy collar of Aerys' golden shirt.

"You do not like it?" Rhaenyra pondered. "It was a gift from Lord Celtigar."

"I think it is bloody hideous," Daemon replied, shaking his head. 

"I think you are awfully rude," Rhaenyra puffed. Daemon laughed. 

"Can I have the boy?" he asked, opening his arms, but Rhaenyra clutched Aerys tighter to her chest. Daemon frowned. "He is my son too," he pouted, his expression reminding her of one Aerys made when he was displeased to be woken from a nap. 

"Yes, and as such I may allow you to carry him on the way back," Rhaenyra smirked. Daemon rolled his eyes before buckling his swordbelt over his underbreeches and slotting Dark Sister into place. 

"Why do you not trust me with him?" he frowned, as they began to walk towards the dirty path. 

"It is not that," Rhaenyra replied. A pair of birds cried out from a tree a short distance ahead and Aerys let out a glum whimper. "But, he is my babe, I like to have him in my arms." She smoothed circles around the small Prince's back as he whimpered again. Daemon grunted, fussing with the ties of his undershirt as Aerys let out a small yawn. 

  The sea was a dull blue-grey that reminded Rhaenyra of the sky after a storm. She sat on the sand, darkened by the tide, her boots discarded somewhere behind her as she buried her toes in the sand. 

 Daemon was kneeling beside her, Aerys' hands gripped tightly around his fingers as the boy struggled to balance on shaky legs. He giggled as the waves rolled in, splashing him with their icy droplets, while Daemon frowned at the stains on his knees. He pressed a kiss to Aerys' forehead as the water rushed towards them again, covering Aerys' little feet and splashing over his black shorts and up to his neck. 

 "What is wrong with you?" Daemon puzzled, glancing over his shoulder at Rhaenyra, who was staring out at the sea. 

"You do not think that Laenor and Joffrey are truly going to come here, do you?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper although there was no one around. Daemon sighed.

"I do not think that they want to cause trouble," he grunted. "The letter did not seem threatening... just desperate." Rhaenyra hummed. "Although, I cannot see why they cannot make coin in Pentos, they are strong young men, they could build a wall for someone or - or they could pick grapes in a vineyard or - or suck cock, I do not care, so long as they are not bothering us." 

"At least we know they are still alive, I suppose," Rhaenyra muttered. 

"You say that like it is a good thing," Daemon scoffed. 

"Laenor never did me any harm," Rhaenyra sniffed. "So long as he does not get too demanding, I see no reason to wish him ill." Daemon sighed, smoothing Aerys' hair as the boy took a shaking step forward, giggling as the water splashed him again. 

"They cannot return," he said firmly. "Ever. They cannot even consider it."

"No," Rhaenyra agreed. She shuddered to think what could happen if Lord Corlys found out about his son's continued survival. 

"They are trained warriors," Daemon said. "It should be easy enough for them to find work as sellswords, or as guardsmen somewhere, or as fishermen perhaps since they are sailors too."

"How much will you send them?" Rhaenyra pondered.

"Seventy thousand gold dragons should be more than enough," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra widened her eyes, evidently surprised by the hefty sum. "My winnings from your father's tourney," Daemon shrugged. "We shall not miss it."

"No, I suppose not," Rhaenyra replied. She brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear before rising to her knees, crawling across the sand so she was also crouched behind their son. "Are you going to let this grow long again?" Rhaenyra asked, running a hand through Daemon's hair. He shrugged. "Well, I think you should," she said, stroking the hair at the back of his neck. Daemon chuckled. 

"And when do I get to start making suggestions about your hair?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. 

"What is wrong with my hair?" Rhaenyra asked, cocking her head. Daemon chuckled again. Rhaenyra frowned at him. "Your Kepa is very rude to me," she whispered to Aerys, stroking his hair. Daemon scoffed. 

"Do not do that," he said. "You started it."

"I do not know what you mean," Rhaenyra said innocently. Daemon rolled his eyes. Rhaenyra saw him shiver as another wave crashed into him. She rested her head on his shoulder, watching as Aerys curled his toes in the sand, giggling as he made little 'ooh's and 'aah's to himself, although still far from anything comprehensible. "He is so perfect, is he not?" she asked softly, reaching out to stroke Aerys' hair. 

"Of course he is," Daemon replied. "We made him." Rhaenyra hummed her agreement. Daemon snaked his arm around Aerys' chest to grip under his armpit, one of Aerys' hands trying to grip onto his thumb, while he wrapped his other arm around Rhaenyra's shoulders. She leaned into the warmth of him as the cold wind blew, pulling her hair in every direction. "Are you going to be a swimmer one day?" Daemon asked Aerys, before he pecked his temple. Aerys gave him a gummy smile, his eyes wide and searching as he stared up at Daemon's face. "You seem much keener on the water than most babes," Daemon told him. 

"And it is so cold," Rhaenyra added, dropping her hand into the water as it rolled towards them. Aerys giggled, reaching for her hand. Daemon tightened his hold on the boy as his knees wobbled, preventing him from falling over as he grabbed onto Rhaenyra's thumb. Rhaenyra flinched as Aerys let out a sad cry. She clutched onto his little hand, watching as Silverwing soared over them. As the she-dragon roared, Aerys whimpered again. 

"Come on," Daemon said, scooping Aerys into his arms and rising to his feet. "Let us take you to your own dragon, shall we?" Rhaenyra also rose, rubbing circles around Aerys' back as the boy buried his face into Daemon's neck. 

"He is getting so big, is he not?" she said. 

"He is a babe," Daemon chuckled.

"But he has been growing so quickly as of late, do you not think?" Rhaenyra inquired. Daemon shrugged. He stroked his hand over Aerys' hair as Rhaenyra hurried ahead of them to retrieve her boots. 

 When they returned to Visenya's apartments, Daemon lowered Aerys into his crib. His hatchling lay ahead of the fireplace, tearing apart a mutton steak. Rhaenyra watched as Daemon patted the hatchling's crest, before she padded into the washroom, eager to remove her dress, now stained with seawater and sand. "Will you summon for my ladies?" she called, kicking her boots into the corner. Daemon grumbled something about not being a servant, but she heard his footsteps retreating towards the door anyway. 

 "You spend more time in there now than you did while pregnant," Daemon chuckled, while Rhaenyra was still lounging in her bath. The water was no longer as hot as it had been upon arrival, but it was still warm enough that she found it comfortable. Daemon leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest, now clad in a rich doublet of dark blue velvet. 

"The island is so cold this time of year," Rhaenyra said, hugging her arms around herself as she felt gooseflesh creeping down her back. "I do not think I shall ever get used to it."

Daemon chuckled, "you shall. And until then, we do have a fire." 

"I suppose," Rhaenyra shrugged. She cocked her head as Daemon smirked at her, his eyes scanning over her naked form. "Did you want something?"

"The maester has brought another letter for you," Daemon replied. Rhaenyra frowned.

"Really? From whom?"

"Lyonel Strong, it appears," Daemon said. 

"Why is he writing to me?" Rhaenyra puzzled.

"That, I could not say," Daemon replied. 

Rhaenyra sighed, "will you pass me that?" Daemon nodded and took the rose linen sheet from the top of the pile on the little wooden shelf beside the door. Rhaenyra wrung the water out of her hair as she rose to her feet, accepting the sheet from Daemon and wrapping it around her shoulders. 

"We should go flying later," Daemon said, wrapping his arms around Rhaenyra's waist to pull her towards him. 

"I have work to do," Rhaenyra groaned, one of her hands holding the sheet around her, while the other held onto one of Daemon's. "Will you call for my ladies?" 

"If I must," Daemon sighed. He pressed a light kiss to her forehead before walking away. Rhaenyra smiled as she padded into the bedchamber, soon met by Celia and Primrose, who helped her dress. 

"Are you just going to sit there?" Rhaenyra asked, glancing over her shoulder at where Daemon was at the table, watching her as Primrose offered her a pair of pale yellow stockings.

"I might," Daemon smirked. Celia and Primrose giggled, making Rhaenyra's cheeks flush. "Why?" 

"Do you not have something to do?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"I am doing something," Daemon said, holding up his book, which had obviously been sitting on the table, unopened. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him. Daemon chuckled. He opened the book to a random page and pretended to read, his eyes flickering over to her every few moments as Celia tied up the back of her dress, a silk gown of pink and silver. 

"What do you want to do with your hair, Princess?" Primrose asked. 

"Just a braid will do," Rhaenyra replied. Primrose nodded. 

"One or two?"

"One," Rhaenyra said. Primrose nodded again. 

"Would you like the earrings with the pink sapphires, Princess, to match the dress?" Celia asked. "Or something silver?" 

"No, that is alright," Rhaenyra replied. "Just give me my ruby necklace." Celia nodded. 

"I like your necklace, Primrose," she said. Primrose smiled. Around her neck, she wore a golden chain bejewelled with large sapphires. 

"Thank you," she replied. "It was a gift, from my father." 

"I had always thought Lord Bartimos was loath to spend his riches?" 

"He is," Primrose said. "I believe that this was once my grandmothers, or perhaps my great-grandmothers." She ran a finger over the largest of the sapphires, a smile on her face.

"Some of my favourite pieces were once my mothers," Rhaenyra said. 

"Not that we could know that," laughed Celia, "when all you wear is what the Prince has bought you." Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at her. Daemon smirked. 

"I believe I choose very well," he said. Celia and Primrose giggled again. 

"There, all done, Princess," Primrose said, releasing her hair, now tied in a long braid down her back. "Do you need anything else?" 

"No, that is all, thank you," Rhaenyra replied, bending forward to peer at herself in the vanity. 

"We shall leave you alone, then," Celia giggled. Primrose chuckled along as the two turned towards the door. Daemon laughed, placing his book back onto the table as Rhaenyra sat across from him, reaching for her letter on the silver tray in the centre. 

"I was not wrong," Daemon said, clasping his hands together in his lap. "It is a rather nice necklace." 

"That depends on who you ask," Rhaenyra replied.

"You certainly like it enough to keep wearing it," chuckled her husband. Rhaenyra hummed, unable to disagree as her rubies glistened in the candlelight. She turned her letter over in her hands, seeing the sigil of the Hand stamped into the wax that sealed it. As she cracked it open, she heard a knock at the door. Daemon held up a hand as she moved to get up from her chair, shifting himself. Rhaenyra unrolled the letter, recognising Lord Lyonel's handwriting easily. "It appears that His Grace, Prince Aerys of Dragonstone has returned from the wet nurse," Daemon declared, holding their son up in his arms.

"My sweet boy," Rhaenyra beamed. Aerys giggled, one hand clinging onto Daemon's tunic while the other reached for a strand of his hair. Daemon tried to bat his hand away, but Aerys was too quick, yanking on his fringe as he smiled to himself.

"Stop that," Daemon grumbled. Aerys made a cooing sound, his hand still tugging on Daemon's hair. Daemon groaned as he broke free. Aerys laughed. Daemon scowled at him, but that only made the boy laugh harder. 

"You know, I might like to see my son too," Rhaenyra said, as Daemon walked away from her towards the sofa ahead of the fireplace. 

"There is a solution for that," Daemon said, holding out his arms as he sat Aerys on his knee. He picked up a stuffed dragon - this one yellow, like Syrax - from the floor, waving it in Aerys' face as Rhaenyra rose from her seat. She slumped beside Daemon, leaning against his chest as she watched him bounce Aerys on his knee. She smiled at the boy, watching as he reached for the dragon, but Daemon held it too far away for him to reach.

"Do not tease him so," she said, shaking her head. Daemon rolled his eyes at her. 

"You are no fun," he pouted, letting Aerys pull the dragon from his grasp. Rhaenyra smoothed Aerys' hair, before turning her attention back to her letter. 

"It seems Celia's betrothal to the Darry heir has been decided," she said. "We are invited to their wedding at Darry." 

"The child?" Daemon scoffed.

"Yes - no - well, he is four and ten, not eight," Rhaenyra replied.

Daemon laughed, "is he even old enough to bed her?"

"I do not know," Rhaenyra said. Daemon sniggered, while Rhaenyra stroked Aerys' hair again. "Have you ever been to Darry?"

"I cannot say it has ever been a trip I thought worthwhile," Daemon chuckled. "But it is not far from Harrenhal, and there I have been." 

"I have always wanted to travel across the Narrow Sea," Rhaenyra sighed, dropping her letter onto the table ahead of them and resting her head back against Daemon's shoulder. 

"Well, the Riverlands shall pale in comparison," Daemon laughed. "But, Darry shall likely be warmer than here." 

"That is something, at least," Rhaenyra muttered. "I should write to Father and tell him of our plans to travel."

"That can wait," Daemon shrugged. "First, let us call for something to eat." Rhaenyra offered no complaints. 

____________

  It was cold, and painfully so. He clung to the rocks, pain searing through his hands as they turned white, grappling to get himself to higher ground, but the sea was stronger. It pulled him down, deep into the dark abyss plagued with sea salt and blood. He tried to breathe, but his lungs burned as his body filled with water. Still, he was so cold, and yet still he tried to fight it. 

 He could hear voices. They were far away at first, but growing closer, singing - no, chanting - in an unfamiliar tongue. He heard the warbled cry of Laenor Velaryon in the distance, the boy close to tears. He reached out for him, although arms were weighed down by his armour, to cling to his cousin's son, but he was too far away. 

 The waves tossed him into the rocks. The jagged edges of what he had once called a refuge slicing through the skin of his neck, left vulnerable by a shattered gorget. The saltwater stung him, and the Prince cursed. He kicked off, arms sweeping like windmills as he tried to navigate his path. He would not retreat, he would not give them such satisfaction. The darkness of the night was supposed to aid him, but instead it hindered his vision, and he could hardly tell the gleaming silver of the Velaryon armour from the rags of the Myrish. His lungs burned again, growing desperate for air, and he realised that he had still been holding his breath even since resurfacing. His chest heaved as he inhaled deeply, raising a heavy arm to wipe water from his eyes. 

 Laenor's head appeared in front of him. The Prince looked around, reaching for a splintering spear the bobbed in the water, not quite long enough to reach him. He dived under the water again, swimming as best as he could towards the boy, offering the edge of the spear to pull him back from the tide. 

 The Prince let out a silent scream as the first flaming arrow pierced through Rhaenys' son's shoulder, sending the boy under the waves, tears leaking from his eyes. 

 At first, he did not react when one plunged into his own chest. 

 They were raining down on them now, one after the other after the other after the other, and he could hear the cries of their men as they were attacked. 

 When the fire touched him, he screamed. Unable to find the strength to hold his own weight, he could feel himself sinking. He roared again, but none answered. He grabbed onto the nearest rock with a shaking hand, fighting with the tide in what he knew would be a losing battle as the arrow snapped in two and blood began to pour from him. "Dra - DRACARYS!" he cried, his voice quivering as much as his body. 

 As he sunk down, he heard the leathery flap of wings. A dark red shadow soon appeared overhead. Though the water blurred his vision, he watched as a bright amber glow engulfed the island, the Blood Wyrm's screech interrupting the Myrish chant. He screamed again, but beneath the water nobody could hear him.

 Daemon woke with a start. 

 His heart was hammering in his chest, and he was plastered in sweat. 

 He leapt from the bed, wincing as his knee collided with the bedside table. He shook his head, his chest heaving violently as he panted, one hand reaching for the marring on his neck, which twinged and inched under his touch as it had when the scars were new. He shook his head again, his jaw tight and tense, every nerve in his body alight as if the fire had just gone out. 

 Through the darkness, he could see Rhaenyra's purple eyes watching him. 

 The stone flooring was cold against his bare feet. A cold breeze blew in through the dark curtains that Rhaenyra had pulled across her side of the bed in hopes of shielding them from the balcony. Daemon's hand fell to his chest, his palm rubbing over where he had felt the arrow pierce. His limbs felt very heavy, but his head was light, as if he had been starved for air. 

 He could not imagine what he looked like to her. 

 "Are - are you alright?" came her soft voice through the icy tension he could feel building around him. Daemon swallowed. He nodded his head shortly. "You were screaming," Rhaenyra whispered. 

"Yes," Daemon said, his voice impossibly weak, like a child's. As he felt his knees shake, he threw himself back onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow, inhaling the scent of the rose bath oils Rhaenyra used on her hair. 

"Are - are you in pain?" Rhaenyra asked. 

"No," he mumbled. 

"Good." Hesitantly, Rhaenyra reached out for him, gently rubbing his shoulder. Her touch was alarmingly cold against his skin, which he felt was burning up, making him wince. Rhaenyra retreated from him. He groaned. "Should I... should I call for Gerardys?" she asked. Daemon shook his head. 

"I am not hurt," he muttered. "Just - just go back to sleep." He licked his dry lips as Rhaenyra gently pressed her hand on his back, her fingernails ghosting over one of his scars. "I - I need a bath," he said, pushing her away from him and rising to his feet again. 

 The bathwater was scorching hot, and soon the chamber filled with steam. Daemon had summoned the servants to his own rooms, hoping to leave Rhaenyra return to her slumber in peace while he wallowed, doing little to cleanse the sweat from his skin. He let his eyes fall shut, resting his head against the side of the tub. His breath had returned to normal now, but there was still a faint pain in his neck, like sitting on a three-day old bruise. 

 "Are you alright?" 

 Daemon opened his eyes slowly as he heard Rhaenyra's voice. He did not know how long he had been sitting there, or if he had managed to doze off again. The water had lost its heat, warm but not comfortably so, and the chill of the air caused goosebumps to sprout across his unmarred skin. 

 "Go back to sleep," he told her, waving a hand dismissively at her, before brushing his damp hair from his face. Rhaenyra scoffed, letting the door slam behind her as she crossed the room to join him beside the tub. The servants had lit two candles on the floor, but both were dying rapidly. 

 "What is wrong?" Rhaenyra inquired, reaching for his hand. 

"Nothing worth worrying about," Daemon replied gruffly. 

"Really?" Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "Then you shall have no problem coming back to bed then, shall you?" Daemon groaned. "This can hardly be pleasant," Rhaenyra said, dipping her other hand into the water. "It is tepid, and this room is too stuffy." She tugged on his hand and, reluctantly, Daemon rose to his feet. She released her hold on him so that he could reach for the linen sheet, but continued to shadow him as he walked through to the Conqueror's bedchamber. 

 It had been moons since Daemon had slept in this bed, not since Rhaenyra had moved into Visenya's while pregnant with Aerys, but he found himself too tired to go any further. Rhaenyra offered no complaint, sitting on the bed beside him as he dropped the sheet and rolled into place. 

 "What is wrong?" she asked again, reverting to their mother tongue as she stroked her thumb across his cheek. Daemon sighed. 

"I have trouble sleeping sometimes." 

"Like - like nightmares?" Rhaenyra inquired. Daemon nodded shortly, his eyes unable to meet hers. Rhaenyra laid beside him, pulling the fur blankets over them. "I had nightmares for weeks when my mother died."

"So did I," Daemon whispered. "When my mother died, that is."

Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully, "and tonight?" 

Daemon shook his head, his chest feeling impossibly tight. "Stepstones," he gasped out. Rhaenyra nodded, her fingers trailing down his chin and towards the scarring on his neck. 

"It was a long time you were gone," she said knowingly. Daemon nodded. "But you are here now, and safe." Rhaenyra gently kissed his cheek, her hand moving down from his neck towards his chest. Daemon only hummed, letting his eyes fall shut as he felt her rest her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his nose, still smelling like rosewater. 

 When Daemon next woke, daylight had spread across the room and bathed his face in golden rays. The servants had already found them, their breakfast trays set out for them on the table, and the fire was roaring. Daemon yawned, running a hand through his hair as he sat up. Rhaenyra was still asleep beside him, curled in on herself, her pale nightgown contrasting against the grey of the furs. He watched her for a moment, her peaceful expression, how she appeared devoid of tension or strain, the steady rise and fall of her chest. There was an ethereal beauty to her, like the women in the old portraits that lined the library, brought by Aenar before the Doom. While far more comely than any other maid of her time, the Good Queen had not possessed such a look about her, and Daemon doubted that even the fair Queen Rhaenys had either - there was none other like Rhaenyra. 

 Daemon's movements were slow as he rose from the bed, hopeful not to wake her as he approached the offerings on the table. The ale was strong, brought from Wayfarer's Rest in the Riverlands, and served in a tall jug. To break his fast he was given freshly baked bread, still warm to the touch, bacon seared black, blood sausages, and a handful of almonds. Daemon began eating right away, taking the chair ahead of the fire as he leaned over the table to pour the ale into a golden goblet. When two servants came to fill the bath with fresh water, he called for some ink and parchment through a mouthful of sausages, sighing to himself as he heard Syrax chirp outside. 

 Rhaenyra had risen by the time that the maester arrived with their letters. Her own meal was one of sweetened porridge, pork sausages, and bacon so pale Daemon would refuse to touch it. She did not drink ale, but instead washed it down with honeyed tea. She had wrapped herself in one of Daemon's gold cloaks, and her untamed hair fell down her back in every direction like a hissing flame of gold and silver. "Good morning, Princess, my Prince," Maester Gerardys greeted them, bowing his head as he approached the table. 

"Morning, Maester Gerardys," Rhaenyra returned. Daemon only nodded to the man as he placed the tray of letters beside his wife. 

"Not to hurry you, Princess, but the petitioners have already begun to arrive for the morrow," he said. 

"And they can wait," grunted Daemon. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at him.

"Thank you, maester," she said.

"If you do not require anything else, I shall see you in the Throne Room, Princess," Gerardys said, turning away from them.

"Here, take this," Daemon said, rising from his seat and offering the man the parchment, now sealed with his own sigil.

"Daemon!" Rhaenyra squeaked, as she and the maester, who turned his gaze to the floor, were suddenly made aware of Daemon's nakedness. 

"I want it sent immediately," Daemon continued, ignoring her. "Today." 

"Of - of course, my Prince," the maester said, nodding as he accepted the scroll. However, he did not get very far before turning back. "My Prince, I am afraid we do not have ravens that can travel this far," he sighed. "I am sure Lord Corlys would have ravens fit for it, if we were to -"

"Bugger Lord Corlys," Daemon growled. He pointed a finger aggressively at the maester. "You keep him out of this." Maester Gerardys nodded. "Give it to a missive then, send them there and tell them to come straight back, do not wait for a response." 

"Yes, my Prince," Gerardys replied. If he found the request odd, his face did not give it away. He bowed his head shortly again before leaving their chamber. Daemon sat down again, reaching for his ale.

"You are sending that to Laenor, are you not?" Rhaenyra asked lowly. Daemon nodded. "I hope you did not put his name -"

"I am hardly so foolish," Daemon hissed. "Do you not think I know what would happen if it came to light that he was still alive, that he was alive and we knew about it? No. The letter is for their hosts, there is a second inside for Lonmouth himself." 

"Good thinking," Rhaenyra said. Daemon smirked. "Well, I shall not eat much more, I should call for my ladies to help me dress. Might you also dress yourself and see the petitioners with me?" 

Daemon scoffed, "no."

"Why not?"

"For what would I want to listen to some peasants complaining about fish tax?"

"I will need you to stand in for me at times," Rhaenyra shrugged. 

"Why? Are you pregnant again?" Daemon raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not," Rhaenyra replied. "But, as you say it is a terrible bore -" Daemon snorted "- and I think it would be good for the people to see us both." 

"You keep to your petitions, I have other matters to attend to," Daemon said. Rhaenyra sighed, but did not press the matter further. 

 Rhaenyra and her ladies returned to Visenya's apartments, leaving Daemon to finish his ale and find his own clothes. When he joined her, Rhaenyra was still ahead of the vanity while Celia and Darla laced up her red and gold gown and Primrose helped attach her ruby earrings. 

 Daemon crossed the room to pick Aerys up from his crib. He smirked as he caught Rhaenyra smiling at them through the vanity, raising Aerys' arm as if he were waving to her. Rhaenyra's smile grew wider. Daemon kissed Aerys' forehead, smoothing his hair as he carried him towards the sofa. His hatchling was lounging on the floor ahead of the fire, his chest gleaming as if the scales were made of solid gold. "Sȳz ñāqes," he whispered to the boy. "Gōntan ao ēdrū sȳrī?" Aerys made a little giggling noise, one hand reaching for Daemon's hair. Daemon lowered his hand, earning a pout from Aerys, and clucked his tongue disapprovingly. 

"He is quiet, today," Rhaenyra said, as she laced her boots. "The maids told me that the wet nurse barely heard a peep out of him. I do hope that there is nothing wrong." 

"He is a babe, what is she expecting from him, a bloody conversation?" Daemon snorted. He tickled under Aerys' chin as he placed the boy on his knee. 

"What are your plans for the day then, whilst I am with the petitioners?" Rhaenyra inquired. 

"I think we shall pay Caraxes a visit," Daemon replied.

"Well, make sure you keep the babe warm if you do," Rhaenyra told him.

"Is the dragonmont not warm enough for you?"

"I am being serious," Rhaenyra huffed. "Winter is soon to be upon us and I do not need him getting sick." 

"Unless there is a greyscale epidemic going around I have not heard of, I am sure he shall be fine," Daemon laughed. "He is a Targaryen babe after all, and we are made of tougher stuff than most." 

"Many babes - Targaryen or otherwise - do not see their second name day," Rhaenyra sniffed. 

"That is true enough," Daemon relented. He smoothed Aerys' hair gently. "I shall look after him though." Rhaenyra smiled. She shooed away her ladies, crossing the room to press a kiss to Aerys' forehead, and then one to Daemon's cheek, before following after them. 

 After the fire had burned out and the hatchling had fallen asleep, Daemon did call for the maids to wrap Aerys up tightly, but they did not approach the dragonmont. Instead, he called for a carriage to drive them down to the docks, a bag of gold dragons in his pocket. "Your poor mother is going to have a long, boring day," Daemon said, rocking Aerys gently as their horses came to a halt. "We should find her something to cheer her up, yes?" Aerys' only reply was a little gurgle. 

 The smell of cheap wine, fish, and sea salt filled the air and hit Daemon's nose as he departed the carriage. Reluctantly, Daemon had enlisted Ser Steffon to escort them, the kingsguard keeping the crowds from getting too close as Daemon perused the stalls with his son in his arms. The wind was strong, blowing Daemon's hair into his face and blasting in his ears so hard that it began to block out the cries of the townsfolk, all calling out for attention from the Princes. He bought himself a tankard of mulled wine mixed with cinnamon and other spices to fight the cold, before plodding through the stalls of meat and fish towards the foreign silks and gemstones.

 "What do you think?" Daemon questioned, holding up a bangle of sapphires and cocking his head. Aerys let out a little gurgle, which Daemon took to be a sound of displeasure. "No? Alright then." He put the bangle back onto the shelf and continued to inspect the collection, feeling the eyes of the vendor staring at him even as he continued to serve another patron. "This one? She likes rubies after all." Daemon pointed to a bracelet of rubies and yellow garnets. Aerys refused to even look at it, his attention otherwise caught by a passing Tyroshi woman with bright pink hair. "No? I suppose it does look like the sort of thing fit for a Lannister," Daemon murmured. "Well, what about a necklace then?" Daemon clicked his fingers, earning Aerys' attention again. Daemon pointed from one shelf to another, watching as Aerys' eyes followed his finger. As he pointed up and down again, Aerys let out a giggle, and so Daemon decided he must be approving of whatever he was pointing at, which was a necklace of emeralds. "Not a chance," he laughed, shaking his head at the boy. "What of these, though?" He pointed between a pair of necklaces, one made of rubies carved into the shape of leaves, bound together on a golden chain, the other a silver chain that held a garnet as dark as blood in the centre, cut into the shape of a feather. "This one, or this one?" Daemon asked, pointing between the two. "This one... or ... this one?" Aerys giggled again. "Yes? Yes, I think so too, your mother is going to be very pleased," Daemon said, before he settled on the necklace of rubies, much to the glee of the old vendor. 

 En route back to the carriage, Daemon purchased a small wooden boat for Aerys, which he immediately had to take from him as the boy tried to put it in his mouth. Aerys gave him a small whimper, displeased his father's decision, but Daemon did not give in, turning his attention to some passing gulls as the townsfolk cheered for them again, some throwing their arms into the air madly. Daemon forced a smile and a wave as Ser Steffon held open the door to the carriage for them. 

 Daemon sat Aerys on his knee, peering out of the window as the boy stuck his own fist in his mouth no matter how many times Daemon told him to stop. The sky was a dark grey again that morrow, and the sea reflected it. Daemon would not be surprised if there was a storm on its way to Dragonstone, although that was not a thought he welcomed. Aerys let out a whimper as their carriage rode over a stone, jolting slightly. "Calm yourself," Daemon whispered, rubbing circles around the boy's back. "It is nothing. You are fine." Aerys did not seem to agree as he began to cry again when the carriage ran over what must have been a stick, an audible snap sounding as the carriage rocked to the side slightly. "Shush, shush, shush," Daemon muttered. "Come now, boy, you must be better at travelling than this, or else you shall never survive a trip to Darry." Aerys let out another cry, louder this time.

 Daemon was not surprised the thought of visiting the Riverlands did not cheer his son. 

Chapter Text

 The rain was icy cold, shooting down so harsh and hurriedly it was indistinguishable from a hailstorm. He shivered as he walked, dragging his feet through the puddles that were pooling on the dirt ground, hardened by frost and ice. His pale violet eyes stared back at him, the ripples in the water distorting his face as the onslaught continued. His stomach growled, a low rumble that made him groan. 

 He brushed his hair from his face, watching the water as the purple strands fell back into place. He stroked his chin. His purple moustache was growing thicker across his upper lip, but the rest of his face was freshly shaven. His face was thinner than it had once been, although his shoulders were broader and torso more defined. He clenched his fingers around the bow in his hand, although as he approached the next of the many caverns that honeycombed the hills, he had little hopes of finding anything to kill. 

 With his luck, he would likely come across a wolf that would maul him. 

 "There you are!" 

 He froze as he heard the slap of cheap leather sandals against the slippery rocks behind him. The wind hissed in his ears as he pulled up the hood of his cloak. 

 "I had feared the bears had gotten to you," laughed Joffrey, clapping his shoulder as he caught up with him. 

"No," Laenor replied. "I fear they shall have to starve like the rest of us." Joffrey scoffed, his hand gripping the knife on his belt. Laenor cocked his head at him. 

"What?" Joffrey demanded, raising an eyebrow.

Laenor chuckled, "you have left one of your eyebrows red." Joffrey frowned. He peered down at the puddle forming between two of the rocks, his fingers dancing over his right eyebrow, untainted by the turquoise dye that covered his hair. "You should shave, too," Laenor said, tapping Joffrey's cheek to draw attention to the stubble that littered his square jaw. 

"I see not why I should waste such time," Joffrey shrugged. "You worry too much, nobody shall recognise me here, it is you and your Valyrian appearance we need to hide." Laenor scoffed. "Speaking of which, I do wish you had not chosen purple again." 

"As you keep saying," Laenor grumbled.

"I am hardly wrong," puffed Joffrey. "It draws too much attention to the colour of your eyes." 

"Jealous much?" Laenor smirked.

"I do not waste all this time doing all of this -" Joffrey gestured to his own coloured hair "- just for you to be found out." Laenor sighed. 

"We shall not be," he said. "Nobody is looking for me, are they?" 

"Daemon Targaryen might be," Joffrey hissed. Laenor rolled his eyes. 

"Come on," he said, clapping Joffrey's shoulder. "We still need something to eat today." Joffrey shook his head, reaching over to grab onto Laenor's cloak and pulling the man towards him, his fist on his chest. 

"You do not truly still think of going, do you?" he whispered. 

"And you say I worry too much?" Laenor laughed. 

"Yes," snapped Joffrey. "The people here do not know us, but in Westeros they -"

"We shall not be caught," Laenor said firmly, his eyes bearing into Joffrey's. "Nobody shall be looking for us." 

"It is not worth the risk," Joffrey insisted. 

"You took the risk when you wrote to them," Laenor shrugged. "Daemon is offering - well, agreeing - to help us. It is a risk either way - or do you truly trust Motheo not to rob us?"

"Do you truly trust Daemon Targaryen not to kill us?" inquired Joffrey, raising an eyebrow. Laenor frowned.

"Yes," he replied. "And if he does, well, I would sooner be killed by a dragon than a bear." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head as his hand covered Joffrey's. "All shall be well in due time."

"Just let me go," Joffrey insisted. "Few shall care to recognise me." 

"No," Laenor said. "I do not wish to sit here and starve alone." 

"Then... then let us sail you back to Pentos," Joffrey said. "You can remain there, well-fed and -"

Laenor scoffed, "Motheo has already fallen out of favour with Prince Reggio, he shall not offer me any hospitality."

Joffrey sighed, "Laenor -"

"You can stay if you wish, but I am not leaving Motheo to do everything," Laenor huffed. He raised his hand to cup Joffrey's cheek, leaning closer to him so that their foreheads were touching. Joffrey sighed again. "Come along," Laenor said, clapping his shoulder. "I have not tried this one yet -" he pointed his bow at the cavern ahead of them, "with any luck, we shall find something worth cooking."

"I doubt it," grumbled Joffrey. "It would be better if we were to turn back now. The city is easily a few hours' walk from here, and I do not want to risk losing a hand to a wolf." Laenor did not disagree, although he felt his stomach growl again. 

____________

 When the dragons roared, it shook all of Darry to its core. 

Darry was an old but small castle, located close enough to the river trident that the rushing water could be heard at night, and certainly not built to accommodate the crowds that followed for Lady Celia's wedding, high Lords and lesser nobles alike eager to sit at the same table as the Princess of Dragonstone. 

 Rhaenyra's rooms were located in Plowman's Keep, the main building of the castle where Lady Della's apartments were kept. The bedchamber was comfortable enough, decorated with an expensive Myrish carpet, brown, velvet curtains, and the dark bed sheets were trimmed with lace. There was a large portrait of Darry soldiers at the Widow's ford on the wall facing the bed, and a vase of white flowers on the floor ahead of the small bedside table. The bed itself was made out of sturdy oak, with vines and leaves carved into the banisters and across the headboard. There was a door to the left that led through to the washroom, which she shared with Daemon, his rooms being through the other side, although he had shown no interest in them. 

 They broke their fast on the low chaise ahead of the fireplace. They were served oatcakes, smoked meats, freshly baked bread paired with various preserves, and small fishes fried black, along with cups of iced milk and sweet ale to wash it down. Daemon was rather unimpressed with the platter, while Rhaenyra was content with the oatcakes. She sat with Aerys on her knee, the small boy hugging a stuffed dragon tightly, this one a similar colour to the bronze scales of Vermithor, the Wise King's mount. 

 "Celia thinks the last of the guests shall be arriving today," Rhaenyra said, as she watched Daemon spread strawberry preserve over his bread. "I hope there shall not be too many, the Great Hall is filled enough as it is."

"Nothing about Viserys?" Daemon asked, stroking Aerys' hair as he bit into his bread. 

"Lord Lyonel said that he shall not be in attendance," Rhaenyra shrugged. "Alicent feels too uncomfortable to travel this far." Daemon hummed as he poured some of the ale from a jug into a goblet. "How are you, my love?" Rhaenyra murmured, cocking her head at her son as he began to suck on one of the wings. 

"Are you sure you want to bring him to the Sept?" Daemon inquired. "I do not even want to be there."

"Of course," Rhaenyra replied. "My darling boy does not want to be left in this castle alone." Daemon looked as if he was going to retort, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. Daemon waved a hand in her direction before she could move, and rose from the table. 

"Morning, my Prince," Darry's maester, a straw-haired man named Arreck, greeted him. Daemon raised an eyebrow at him. "A raven has arrived from Dragnstone for your Graces," Maester Arreck said. Daemon accepted the letters from him, inspecting each seal in turn. He nodded at the maester, who continued to stare back at him.

"Is there anything else?" Daemon demanded, cocking his head, never one for small talk or pleasantries, and certainly not in the morning.

"Uh...no, my Prince," the maester replied. As he bowed his head, Daemon slammed the door in his face. 

"Here you are," Daemon said, placing Rhaenyra's letters beside her plate. Rhaenyra picked up the first, recognising the seal of House Darklyn on the back. "We should go flying today," Daemon muttered, cracking the seal of his letter. Rhaenyra hummed, scanning over Lord Rycherd's request for his nephew to squire for Ser Steffon at Dragonstone. "No?"

"No... yes, yes," Rhaenyra said, dropping the letter onto the table. "Although, we shall have to do so when this one is napping, I do not think he much enjoyed the flight here." Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to the top of Aerys' head, while Daemon moved the butter knife from his reach as the boy grasped at it. Daemon clucked his tongue.

"That shall have to change," he said. "We shall need him on his own mount before long."

Rhaenyra scoffed, "he is certainly too young to be thinking of that." Daemon shrugged. Rhaenyra turned her attention back to her son as he waved his dragon at her.

"Oh, fuck off," Daemon cried, throwing his letter onto the table, the corner of it landing in Rhaenyra's milk. 

"What is it?" she inquired, frowning as she swatted the page away. 

"Lonmouth," Daemon growled.

"What is it now?" Rhaenyra asked, frowning. 

"He is refusing to receive my man," Daemon grumbled. "He fears I would be sending him to kill him - as if he would still be alive if that was my intention." He shook his head, chuckling darkly to himself. 

"So, they do not want the gold?" Rhaenyra quizzed.

Daemon laughed again, "no, no, of course they still want our coin. He is sending a man of his own to Dragonstone to collect it."

"What?" Rhaenyra snapped. "Whom? When?" Daemon only shrugged. 

"They have already sent him, apparently," he groaned. 

"Well, with any luck he shall arrive soon, whoever he is," Rhaenyra sighed. "I will be happy when this ordeal is over with and I can go back to not thinking about Laenor Velaryon." Daemon nodded his agreement, frowning as Aerys reached for his hair. 

____________

 Through a dark forest of pine and oak, and down a thin path between small, terraced farms, sat the ancient city of Great Norvos. A harsh wind blew, shaking Laenor to his bones as Joffrey tied the brown wrappings around his head. "Keep still," Joffrey hissed. Laenor hummed his agreement, but still felt himself shivering. Joffrey clucked his tongue disapprovingly. 

"Stop it," Laenor grunted. He could practically hear Joffrey smirking. 

"There," Joffrey said, clapping Laenor on the shoulder as he pulled away from him. 

"Your turn, then," Laenor said. Joffrey sighed, but nodded, and offered Laenor the folded fabric from the pocket of his cloak. 

"I fucking hate this," Joffrey groaned, as Laenor began to wrap his head.

"You say this every time," Laenor chuckled. "And yet you are the one who keeps bringing us back to Norvos." 

"Not me," said Joffrey. "Motheo." Laenor rolled his eyes. "I will be as happy to leave as you shall be," Joffrey added. 

"Right," Laenor said, not convinced. He squeezed Joffrey's hand before clapping his shoulder. "Shall we?" 

Joffrey sighed, "I suppose we must." 

 The lower city was protected by a large moat of greenish water and a palisade of timber covered in moss and other climbers, which was defended by guards armed with spears. Laenor struggled not to laugh as Joffrey waved his arms wildly in the air to earn the attention of the guardsmen. One of them shouted something in a bastard Valyrian. Joffrey turned to Laenor, a confused expression on his face. Laenor shrugged. "Uh... we - we are merchants!" Joffrey called back. "Merchants!" The guards stared at him.

"Traders!" Laenor shouted in High Valyrian. "We come to buy!" Joffrey nodded vigorously. 

"Uh... yes, what - what he said!" he called. "Aha!" Joffrey grinned as the other guard lowered the drawbridge. "Yes!" Joffrey clapped as Laenor pulled on his shoulder, pulling him backwards so the drawbridge did not land on his toes. "Come along, then," Joffrey said, tapping Laenor's chest with the back of his hand before beginning to cross. 

"What do you suppose it is like up there?" Laenor asked, gazing at the High City, where the nobles lived. It was located at the top of the tallest hill, and protected by a ring of stone walls so high none could dream of climbing them. Separated from the lower city by the Sinner's Steps, a massive stone stair that spread over a hundred leagues, it was impossible to see or hear any sign of life. 

"Better than down here, I would wager," Joffrey muttered. 

"Yes," Laenor sighed. 

 They followed the river down to the wharves and the ale houses and brothels that lined it. The smell of cheap wine, fried fish, and saffron wafted through the air, and Laenor licked his lips as he eyed the alleyway to the marketplace. 

 Suddenly, the ground shook as the sound of a deep bell echoed through the city. Laenor groaned, watching as every man, woman, and child hurried away from their boats, beers, and other interests, towards the temples to pray. 

 "And here I had hoped for some food," Laenor grumbled. Joffrey laughed. "What sort of people are these?"

"The sort that let themselves be told what to do by a bell," scoffed Joffrey, shaking his head as they continued to march at the sea of people that had formed in the street, pushing through them towards the next alley. 

 They stopped outside of an inn made of redbrick. Laenor raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked, looking around. It was one of the nicer establishments on the street, but certainly nothing extravagant.

"Of course," Joffrey replied. He ratted his knuckles against the door, tapping one foot impatiently. Laenor rolled his eyes. "Patience," Joffrey told him. Laenor rolled his eyes again. He looked around the silent street. 

"What if he has gone with all the others?" he whispered. 

"Why would he?" Joffrey shrugged. "He is not Norvoshi." 

"Right," Laenor muttered. He glanced up at the inn, his eyes drawn to a window as he saw a hand draw back a curtain. His heart raced in his chest as he saw a beak-like nose poke out between the green velvet, before the curtains were snapped shut again. Laenor raised an eyebrow as he heard Joffrey's stomach growl.

"Shut up," Joffrey said.

"I did not say anything," Laenor smirked, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"You are late!"

 Laenor's head snapped back to face the now open door as a man glared at them. 

"I had thought you were not coming," he hissed. 

"Well, we are here," Joffrey shrugged. The man huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes, I see that," he snapped. "Well, do not linger, come along." Laenor glanced to Joffrey, who forced a smile, before the pair followed him inside. 

 Motheo was a short man with a bushy moustache and thick, black hair. He had the olive skin and sultry accent of Myr, but dressed in silk from Pentos and dark velvet trousers from Braavos. On his arms, he wore bangles of gold and bracelets of gleaming jewels, many of which Laenor doubted the man had acquired lawfully given the extravagance of them. He led them up to his room on the top floor of the inn, shutting the curtains as they arrived and lighting the two red candles on the dresser. 

 "We leave on the morrow," Motheo told them.

"So soon?" Laenor inquired. "Shall we not need more time to prepare or pa-"

"On the morrow!" Motheo hissed. Joffrey glared at Laenor, who swallowed and nodded. "I will not loiter here for longer than I have to."

"Right," Laenor muttered. 

"So, you -" Motheo poked Joffrey in the ribs "- you are ready to go, yes?"

"Yes," Joffrey replied. 

"And your friend?"

"He uh... he -" Joffrey glanced to Laenor, who nodded "- is coming too." 

"Right." Motheo rubbed his hands together. "So, you shall pay me in double then."

"What?" Joffrey asked, frowning. 

Motheo held up two fingers, "there are two of you. You and him -" Motheo pointed between them "- and so you shall pay twice, yes, yes." 

"But - but you are still only making the trip once," Joffrey protested. 

"Yes, yes, one journey, one boat, but two of you," groaned Motheo. Laenor frowned. "You shall give me the gold now, then, that that is settled?" 

"We - we do not have any more coin," huffed Laenor. Motheo scowled at him. 

"No." Motheo pointed to Joffrey, "he said you shall get some."

"Not before we get to Westeros," Laenor grunted. Joffrey nodded his agreement. 

"But Westeros is many days away," sighed Motheo. "And I need my coin now."

"We shall - then we shall pay double once we get to Westeros," Joffrey suggested. Motheo hummed, stroking his chin thoughtfully, while Laenor glowered at his companion. "You already have my coin, so we shall be paying you for three people just to take the two of us." 

"Alright," Motheo relented. Joffrey grinned. "But -" Motheo grabbed onto Joffrey's wrist, pulling the younger man towards him as he pulled out a knife from the inside of his cloak.

"What are you doing?" Laenor shouted.

"If you do not give me my coin," Motheo growled, ignoring him. "Then you shall not return." Joffrey nodded slowly. "Not you nor your pretty friend." Motheo glowered at Laenor.

"Let him go," Laenor demanded. Motheo laughed. 

"Yes, yes," Joffrey croaked. "You - you shall get your coin."

"Good." Motheo released Joffrey, tapping his cheek while he slid the knife back into his pocket. "Meet me here again on the morrow, now I must rest."

"What are we to do until then?" Joffrey asked, frowning.

"I do not care," Motheo shrugged. 

Joffrey's frown deepened, "but we -"

"Come on," Laenor said, gripping his elbow to pull him away. "Leave him be," he muttered. "The man is deranged." Joffrey scoffed, but followed Laenor out of the room and down the stairs. 

"So, what now?" Joffrey groaned. He moved to cover his ears as the high pitched ring of the next bell rang out. 

"We find something to bide our time until we leave," Laenor grumbled. "Are you sure you want to spend weeks trapped in a boat with that man? We hardly made it out of Pentos without him being thrown overboard." 

"Do you have some better suggestion for how we get to Westeros?" Joffrey scoffed. "I gave Motheo the last of our coin, this is the best we are going to get." He pulled the door of the inn shut behind them as they walked down the alleyway again. "Besides, Motheo has his own boat now, we need not bother with Pentoshi merchants."

"Or will the merchants not bother with Myrish pirates?" Laenor hissed.

"You do not have to come, you know," Joffrey said lowly.

"You are not leaving me behind!" Laenor insisted. Joffrey rolled his eyes. "I am being serious. Besides, you have already promised that arse some coin for my board." Joffrey laughed. "So, how much are Daemon and Rhaenyra giving us?" 

"He did not say," Joffrey shrugged.

"He did not - " Laenor scowled, grabbing Joffrey's arm roughly "- and yet you have already promised some to that twat?"

"Do you want to come or not?" Joffrey puffed. Laenor sighed. 

"We need that coin, Joff," he muttered. "We shall not survive the winter without food." 

"Yes, I know that," Joffrey grunted. "You know, if the Prince does not give us enough, we could always sail down to Lys." Laenor frowned. "If we wash all that dye out of your hair, I am sure you would fit in with all the other Lyseni whores." Joffrey winced as Laenor punched his ribs. "Just - just a suggestion," he laughed. 

"Come on," Laenor groaned.

"Where to?"

"If we cannot find anything to eat here, then I shall try fishing from the river."

 Laenor soon became convinced that nothing lived in the river, but with little other chance to find something to eat, they remained at the Noyne for many hours, until the rain had again began to pour and dusk would soon be upon them. Laenor groaned as his stomach rumbled. His jaw chattered as the wind blew fiercely and he shuffled closer to the fire that Joffrey had built. "This is worse than the Stepstones," he grumbled. Joffrey laughed humourlessly. 

"Yes," he agreed. "At least then your father sent to Driftmark for provisions." He hummed.

"How is there a river with no fish?" Laenor groaned. He glanced at Joffrey, who was staring thoughtfully at him. "What?" he asked. 

"This truly is no life for Corlys Velaryon's heir," he sighed. Laenor rolled his eyes. "Do you want to go back to Westeros because you miss it there?" Joffrey asked softly, wringing is hands in his lap.

Laenor shuffled uncomfortably, "partially, I suppose."

"Right."

"But missing it does not mean I want to go back."

"You could," Joffrey sighed. Laenor cocked an eyebrow. "You could go back." Laenor laughed. "I am being serious."

"Then Daemon truly would kill me," Laenor chuckled. 

"What, kill the missing heir to Driftmark just when he has been found?" puzzled Joffrey.

"Not 'missing', dead," huffed Laenor. "My father's son is dead and he is not coming back."

"But you do not have to be," shrugged Joffrey. "And your return would certainly garner great attention, maybe even a reward. Why risk it?" 

"Risk?" Laenor scoffed. "What could I do to him?"

"Your father -"

"Is not the brother of the King," Laenor insisted. "If my father tried to attack the King's only living brother, he would likely find his head on a spike." 

Joffrey scoffed, "I have seen the dragon your sister flies, it is them who should be afraid of you." 

"Laena would rather not burn a lamb let alone a person." 

"Besides, he has already wedded and bedded her," Joffrey shrugged. "He has already put one babe on her, I doubt it will be long before the next, you know how Lords like their heirs to have spares. You do not have to incriminate him, you can say that I kidnapped you -" Laenor snorted "- or that we were both kidnapped, shipwrecked and picked up by pirates. Or you can say you ran away and changed your mind, or -"

"And what? Cut off my own hand to make it more believable?" Laenor huffed.

"Think of all that wealth," Joffrey said. "I would pay a hand - why, I would pay my whole arm for it." Laenor laughed. "No more sleeping in caves, no more hunting for our meals, just silk sheets and golden cutlery, and goblets filled with the finest wines in all the world." 

"And a life designed by my father to push his own name and ambitions," Laenor said bitterly. "One at the expense of my happiness, my freedom and my own wants. Besides, were you not the one who thought Daemon was going to have us killed out here, so far from Dragonstone?"

"While the Realm believes you dead, allowing you to live will always be a risk," Joffrey shrugged. "I never took Daemon Targaryen as much of a gambler, he was always more precise in what he wanted. But, if you were to reveal yourself, what more could he do? If he threatened you, you could just tell your father he paid you to go away." 

"Laenor Velaryon is dead," Laenor whispered. "I was not made for that life, there is no going back, Joff. Never." 

"You were not made for this life either," Joffrey muttered. "Every day we risk freezing or starving to death, being mauled by a wolf or bear, being beaten to death if we are caught thieving, we cannot live like this forever." 

"So we must build a life fit for us," Laenor declared.

Joffrey snorted, "did we not already try that?"

"We were wrong," Laenor sighed. "We cannot make ourselves magisters of Pentos, nor coax Prince Reggio to, and we cannot waste borrowed gold on silks."

"What do we do then?" Joffrey asked. "Shall you be like Saera Targaryen and run a whorehouse?" Laenor scoffed, shaking his head. "We have arrows, why not kill one of these farmers and take their land?"

"Do you know how to raise cattle?" Laenor inquired. Joffrey shook his head. "I do not know about you, but I have been sailing since I could walk. If we get ourselves up to Braavos, I could be of valuable help in a shipyard."

"A shipyard?" Joffrey repeated. Laenor nodded.

"We could earn enough coin to buy our own land someday," he said. "And you are good on horseback, mayhaps you could join the Sea Lord's guard, it is not as if you are planning on siring heirs anyway, is it?" Joffrey snorted. "We just need a plan, Joff. Then things will get better."

"And money," Joffrey added, smirking.

"That too," Laenor agreed. 

"It is cold up here," Joffrey said thoughtfully, "but those farms did look quite nice."

"We are not killing the farmers, Joff," Laenor said. Joffrey rolled his eyes.

_____________

  The Great Hall of Darry was smaller than most bedchambers in the Red Keep, hardly worthy of such a grand title in Rhaenyra's opinion. Both hearths were lit, and while it was initially a welcome escape from the cool air of the hallways, it soon became stifling and stuffy, the room far too crowded to feel comfortable. The long tables filled the room from wall to wall, leaving little space to walk and certainly no room to dance, although there was a small band in the corner. As the guests of honour, Rhaenyra and Daemon were seated with the Darrys and Strongs at the High Table at the end of the room, raised slightly on a wooden platform. 

 Rhaenyra wore a gown of bright red with sleeves of black silk and a ruby necklace that matched her many rings. She and Daemon were seated at the end of the table, across from Ser Jonothor, Lady Della's cousin, and his wife, Lady Hanna. To Rhaenyra's right, Darla was dressed in a simple gown of purple, her hair tied into two strands that fell over her shoulders, and a long chain of silver and sapphires around her neck. Much to her disapproval, she was seated beside Larys, who wore a thick red cloak over his navy tunic, with his cane leaning against the table. Ser Harwin was seated on Larys' other side. His collarbone and left arm were still wrapped in bandages from his injuries at the King's tourney, and his hair had been cut to sit just above his shoulders. Like his father, Ser Harwin wore a dark cobalt cloak, but he was wearing a pale blue tunic while Lord Lyonel's doublet was a rich burgundy. 

 The bride-to-be was seated at the centre, ahead of a large banner that bore the Darry coat of arms - a black plowman on a field of brown - that was traced with golden tassel. Celia's dress was a pale gold with long, cobalt sleeves, the skirts of which were detailed with floral patterns. Derrick, meanwhile, wore a thick black coat trimmed with grey fur over reddish brown breeches. He was a slim boy, but a tall one, already as tall as Ser Harwin. He had a narrow face and curly brown hair trimmed just below his ears, and pouty red lips. Around his neck he wore a heavy silver chain, but donned no other jewellery. 

 Lady Della Darry sat beside her grandson. She held a bejewelled goblet in one hand, but Rhaenyra did not see her drink from it. Like her sons, Lady Della was dressed in black, but her jewellery was gold while theirs was silver. 

 Their meals were served with goblets of blackberry wine, which was dry with a slightly bitter aftertaste that was too tannic for Rhaenyra's liking, but its scent was delightfully fruity. The liquid was a deep ruby colour with a visible tint somewhere between blue and purple, that looked even darker than it naturally would in the Darry's equally dark goblets. 

 Looking out at the hall, Rhaenyra saw a sea of colourful banners and sigils born on tunics, dresses and gowns. Most haled from the Riverlands, Rhaenyra recognising the two-headed horse of House Roote, the black talon of House Lychester, the six acorns of House Smallwood, the pink maiden of House Piper, the red stallion of House Bracken - noticeably on the opposite end of the hall from the dead weirwood and its flock of ravens of House Blackwood - the red martlets of House Grell, the black toad of House Vypren, and the silver eagle of House Mallister, but others had come from further afield, one of Lord Jasper's sons sporting the blue-green and gold of their House had been sent in the Master of Law's place, while a Lannister squire represented the Master of Ships. Rhaenyra had seen the crabs of House Celtigar, although she was yet to hear the droning of Lord Bartimos so she assumed he too had sent someone in his place, while Lord Selwyn Errol of the Stormlands had made the journey himself, along with his five daughters, who Rhaenyra assumed would also be looking for suitors. 

 "Who is that?" she whispered. Daemon hummed as he followed her gaze to a tall man who was standing against the back wall, dressed in a cloak of chequered green and a doublet of pale gold. 

"A Jordayne by the looks of him," Daemon muttered, frowning. 

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, "who?"

"Dornish," Daemon grunted, glancing at Lady Della as the woman stirred her soup with her spoon. 

"Why is there a Dornishman here?" Rhaenyra hissed. Daemon shrugged, raising his goblet to his lips, his eyes still on their hostess as she exchanged quiet words with her sons. 

"Although I think we might have other concerns," Daemon whispered, nodding to the other corner of the room, where a Hightower squire stood muttering with two serving girls a short distance behind Lady Della's son. Rhaenyra frowned. "What are the odds that those emeralds he wears are actually painted glass?" Daemon scoffed.

"No, look at that chain," Rhaenyra whispered. "Old and worn, mayhaps they were once his lady-mother's?" Daemon snorted into his goblet. "The cape too, I would wager," Rhaenyra added, her eyes narrowing at the young man's cape of purple feathers. Daemon could not stop himself from laughing even as he sipped his wine, droplets falling from his lips and down his chin. Rhaenyra giggled along, offering him a napkin as Lord Lyonel glared at them. Rhaenyra did not care; the Hand was not her father, he could not chastise her for drinking too much or being too loud.

 It dawned on her, not for the first time in her life, that in her father's absence she outranked everyone in that room - in that castle - and that here no one could talk down to her, to make her feel like she did not matter.

Perhaps, now that the wandering eyes and whispers that followed her feared the wrath of her husband's sword - and the temper of their dragons - that it was not solitude that she sought, but an escape from the draining wants and demands of her father and his wife. A good monarch should know their people to rule them well after all, as the Good Queen had, spending time amongst them would do her good.

 Although, Rhaenyra was not sure she could extend such ideals to include the Hightowers.

 "And here comes another," Daemon grunted, nodding towards the door. Rhaenyra turned her head, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes as another young man in a long tunic of grey, the white tower crowned with flames upon his breast slipped into the room. 

"They are worse than rats," Rhaenyra grumbled. "Or cockroaches." Daemon snorted, earning him a peculiar look from Larys, and a raised eyebrow from Darla.

"Certainly the worst sort of vermin," Daemon muttered. He narrowed his eyes at the Hightower squire as he glanced at them, the serving girls walking away from him. 

"But why are they here?" Rhaenyra puzzled, reaching for her own goblet.

"Why are they anywhere?" Daemon replied. "They are feckless, but ceaselessly ambitious. They shall be scheming something of sorts to return their name to relevance." 

"And what is for them at Darry?" Rhaenyra asked. Daemon raised an eyebrow, and Rhaenyra followed his gaze to the Strongs. "Lord Lyonel?"

"He took old Otto's place, did he not?" Daemon shrugged. "If they have their sights set on the Hand position again, he is their first obstacle." Rhaenyra hummed thoughtfully as she raised her goblet to her lips.

"You think they shall wish to kill him?" 

"Wanting for it and doing it are two separate notions," Daemon replied silkily. "Not every man has the stomach to kill, nor the strength to do it, and Lyonel Strong was a formidable fighter in his day, before the Citadel and all the politicking turned him round and soft around the middle." Daemon shook his head. "While I do not consider Hobert to be the most intelligent of men, sending an assassin in your own coat of arms is only a lack-wit's move. Two young squires, green as summer grass, in this crowd? They shall be little more than spies is my wager." 

"Spies?" Rhaenyra repeated. Daemon nodded. "You think Hobert Hightower would send spies here? For Lord Lyonel?" 

"Mayhaps," Daemon said. He drained his goblet, his eyes following the server as he poured cups of ale for Lady Della's sons. "Or for you."

"What?" Rhaenyra demanded. Lord Lyonel, Larys, and Darla stared at her, but Rhaenyra ignored them, her gaze never leaving Daemon. 

"Keep your voice down," he hissed. "If dear Otto has filled his daughter's head with the notion of war, he has to believe they can fund one." Daemon held out his goblet as the server neared them, watching as the man generously poured the amber liquid until the goblet was filled to the brim. "Or did you think the Hightower banners over King's Landing were just the Hightower girl's new decor choice?" Daemon added lowly. 

"No," Rhaenyra spat. "I do not see what they want from me, I would -"

"You are the heir to the Throne," Daemon interjected, "and they - amongst many others - covet that Throne. I could not say for certain what it is that they want -"

"Try," Rhaenyra insisted.

Daemon laughed humourlessly, "I truly could not say, I do not know how optimistic Hobert is about his chances of supplanting you with his grand-nephew. He may still be hopeful that you are yet to incriminate yourself before the brat comes of age and Viserys will see fit to change his succession-" Rhaenyra's expression darkened further "- or he may be fearful that us being here is indicative of you gaining allies that could threaten the boy's influence in the Riverlands, and while Oldtown is much further south, enough of the Reach borders the Riverlands for that to be a problem." 

"What influence?" Rhaenyra scoffed. "Aegon is little more than a babe in the cradle." 

"Yes, but he shall grow," Daemon said bitterly. "Of course, they may not be here for you at all."

"Yes, but what could Lord Lyonel -"

"The Hightowers might be more interested in our son," Daemon whispered. 

"What?" Rhaenyra quizzed sharply. "Why? Aerys is a babe."

"A babe with a dragon, who shall grow into a dragonrider," Daemon said. "And a man worthy of Blackfyre and the Iron Throne." 

"You think they mean to harm my son?" Rhaenyra demanded. Daemon frowned at her wording, but did not correct her.

"I could not say for certain," he said. "Mayhaps they only wish to hear news of him. We do not know how much the Hightower girl knows, nor how much she relays home. But, I am sure it would be for the best to keep the fuckers away from us."

"I could have told you that much," Rhaenyra said drily. Daemon laughed. 

 The desserts were complimented by a drunken warble from Lords Vypren and Smallwood as they attempted to sing, and doing so poorly that Rhaenyra thought she would crack a rib from struggling not to laugh. Daemon did not bother to hide it, chortling through slices of fruit pies and orange cakes dusted in sugar. Lord Lyonel had since excused himself, taking Ser Harwin and Darla with him, but Larys remained at the table, his gaze fixed upon Lady Della as he pretended to drink from an empty goblet, their hostess refusing to glance in his direction. 

 Celia did not look any more comfortable as her young betrothed tried to feed her pieces of pie from his fork. She obliged him, eventually, grimacing as she chewed the blackberries, but then he urged her to do the same for him. Rhaenyra chuckled into her goblet at Celia's displeased expression, cutting herself a slice of the cherry pie from the tray ahead of Darla's vacant seat. 

 For a man who claimed not to have the sweet tooth that his brother had, Daemon sampled each of the desserts in front of them, reaching for second helpings of the apple pie and custard tarts long after Rhaenyra had finished eating, each of which he washed down with the bitter wine. "Come on," she said to him, covering his hand with hers. "Let us find our chambers before you are too drunk to make it up the stairs." Daemon scoffed. Rhaenyra took his goblet from him. He raised an eyebrow. 

"I was drinking that." 

"Yes, and if you drink any more I shall have to carry you back," Rhaenyra replied. Daemon rolled his eyes dramatically. "We have been here for hours, how are you not tired yet?"

"Can you not find your way back without me?" Daemon asked. 

"You would leave me wander the Darry's halls alone? What sort of husband are you?" Rhaenyra inquired. Daemon rolled his eyes again. He sighed.

"Come along, then," he said, rising from the table. Lady Della and Derrick were speaking with the Rootes at their table, so Rhaenyra did not bother to bid them a goodnight before taking Daemon's hand in hers and leading the way through the tables and towards the door. "Gods, it is cold out here," Daemon grumbled, wrapping his arm around Rhaenyra's shoulders as the night air hit them in the hallway. 

  The fireplace had already been lit, as had the candles on the bedside table, so Rhaenyra's bedchamber was delightfully warm by the time they arrived. Daemon dived onto the bed, grunting as his head collided with the headboard. "Will you help me with this?" Rhaenyra asked, gesturing to her dress. Daemon sat up, raising an eyebrow at her as he rubbed his skull. "Without ripping it in two," Rhaenyra added. Daemon rolled his eyes.

"That is not my expertise, Princess," he smirked. 

"Well, my ladies are abed, so do try your best," Rhaenyra said drily. 

Daemon sighed dramatically, "if I must." He rose from his place on the bed and crossed the room to approach her. His hands were warm when she felt them on her back, as was his breath, which hit the back of her neck and sent a shiver down her spine. "You still blush like you did as a maiden," Daemon chuckled. Rhaenyra shook her head, her cheeks only growing hotter. "I am barely touching you, Princess." Rhaenyra hummed. Daemon stroked his hand down her arm, his fingers dancing over her elbow as if teasing her, before he returned to the buttons of her gown. Rhaenyra felt the hairs on the back of her neck stick up as his lips ghosted over her shoulder. He laughed against her skin. "So sensitive," he whispered. 

"And you are so infuriating," Rhaenyra retorted. Daemon laughed again. 

 Once her dress had been swapped for a lilac nightgown of silk, Rhaenyra took to the bed to pull her hair free from its braid. Her cheeks lit up again as Daemon shed his clothes and dived onto the bed to join her, not bothering with sleepwear of any sort. He cocked his head at her once he had wrestled his way under the sheets, his hand reaching for her knee where her skin was exposed. "Oh, stop that," Rhaenyra told him. Daemon smirked again. 

"I do not know what you mean," he said innocently, inching closer and closer to her until he could rest his forehead on her shoulder, his hands trailing down her sides. 

"I am tired," Rhaenyra said.

"So am I," Daemon mumbled against her. Rhaenyra cocked her head at him, considering his words as she placed the last of the pins onto the bedside table. She blew out the candles before laying beside him on the bed, his head still resting against her as she stared up at the dark ceiling. 

"I miss home," Rhaenyra whispered. Daemon wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him as she felt his chest rise and fall. 

"I do too," he murmured softly, so quiet that Rhaenyra almost missed it. "Fuck the Riverlands."

_____________

  The chilly breeze that blew in from the sea was a welcome relief as they sailed into the harbour, under the shadow of the crimson structure that was the Bleeding Tower. 

 They had been sailing for what felt like an age. It had taken five long days to reach Volantis from Great Norvos, where they had been confined to the poorer part of the city, plagued by the pervasive stench of elephant dung, fish, and something rotten. The city was stiflingly hot with a thick, wet heat that clung to them and left Laenor feeling as dirty and putrid as the streets. The beach was as crowded as everywhere else, so they had found no shade under the few trees that could grow in such conditions, and the sea was so hot that swimming in it was like being boiled alive. The city held no septs, the Volantenese instead praying in the Temple of the Lord of the Light, and its inns were plentiful, there was scarcely any room and they had to keep to their boat. 

 It was another five days from Volantis to Tyrosh, a fortress of a city at the northernmost point of the Stepstones. The city was surrounded by high, black walls, and its streets lined by temples and shrines to the various Gods kept by the Tyroshi. 

 Again, they were out of luck, with nowhere to stay with the little gold Motheo had to offer, they were confined to the boat for the night. 

 Laenor would not grumble so if they had adequate apartments, but the boat was certainly not built with such long voyages in mind, nor for anything of a crew. Motheo kept to the captain's quarters, equipped with a narrow cot, blankets of seal fur, and a single window, while Laenor and Joffrey were left to sleep on the floor of the dining chamber with threadbare blankets and their own clothes folded over as make-shift pillows. Joffrey did not think that his back would ever recover from the discomfort, and Laenor feared he now had a permanent crick in his neck. 

 "You need to eat." 

 Laenor looked up from his place on the floor as Joffrey walked into the room, placing a small plate onto wooden table. 

 "What is that?" he asked.

"Honeyfingers," Joffrey replied. "Motheo got them from the marketplace."

"No, that -" Laenor pointed to the bowl in Joffrey's other hand, filled with what looked like brown sludge, as he rose to his feet. 

"I had Motheo get us some more dyes," Joffrey replied, as he sat at the table. "I mixed a few together for you."

Laenor frowned, "for me?"

"Yes," Joffrey said. "You shall be too noticeable on Driftmark with your hair bright purple, but if it looks like this -" Joffrey raised the spoon, the sludge falling from it sloppily to form a pile in the centre "- no one should bat an eye."

"Right."

"You do not need anyone looking too closely at you, nor for too long, right?"

"Right," Laenor said again, reaching for one of the baked honeyfingers. "It smells fucking foul, though."

Joffrey laughed, "you are not wrong." 

"Do 'oo 'ave nuffin' to warsh vis don wif?" Laenor asked through a mouthful of honeyfinger. 

"You could drink the seawater," Joffrey shrugged. Laenor rolled his eyes. 

"Must I put that in my hair?" he asked, pulling a face as Joffrey placed the bowl onto the table. 

"Yes," Joffrey insisted. Laenor sighed. "I shall let you do mine if I do yours first." 

"Like when you had me shave my chest?" Laenor scoffed.

"You had me shave my legs," Joffrey huffed. Laenor smirked. 

  Laenor did not recognise himself as he stared down at his face in the water. Joffrey had cut his hair so it fell just below his ears, and it was now dark enough that he could pass for a relative of Motheo's. His velvet cloak, too, had to go, its brown replacement cheap and coarse. His moustache, too, had been dyed, as had the short beard growing across his chin that Joffrey insisted he did not shave so they could hide as much of his face as possible. 

 For not the first time, he wondered what he was doing, why he was going back to the place that he had so desperately escaped from, but he could think of no reason why this was a good idea. He had never had any intentions of returning to Westeros, but now that he was he was risking being caught and ruining everything. His mother would certainly never forgive him for it, and his father would never stomach the embarrassment. Still, he was set upon it and would not be swayed. He had decided to take his life into his own hands, and if taking Daemon's money was the only way for him to eat that winter, then he would be the one to retrieve it. 

 Sometimes, he pondered if Joffrey longed for home. He did not know the last time he had returned to the Stormlands, having spent most of their last year at Driftmark and the three years before that as a squire and later a knight for the Velaryon fleet. As a third son, Joffrey could not have expected land or titles, but mayhaps that would have saved him from the balls and betrothals that Laenor's father had expected to be his life. The past year had been lacking the comfort they were both accustomed to, and Laenor would not blame him for missing the Lonmouth Keep with all its riches and spices and silks.

 "Are you worrying again?" 

 Laenor turned his head as he heard Joffrey's voice. He was sitting on the exposed deck of the ship, his legs hanging off the edge so that his bare feet could graze against the top of the water, sending ripples through it and jarring the reflection that stared back at him.

 "No," Laenor replied softly.

 Joffrey's once red hair was now a dark brown. Laenor had also slathered the dye across both of his eyebrows and the short goatee he had begun to wear. While Laenor was clad in only his pale undershirt, Joffrey wore a dark black tunic and reddish leather gloves. 

 "You certainly look like you are," Joffrey said as he sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders knocked against each other. Laenor sighed, leaning into his touch until his head was on Joffrey's shoulder. The sun was setting in the distance, bathing them in an amber glow as Laenor stared down at the sea. "We leave at first light, Motheo said," Joffrey muttered. Laenor nodded. "Back to the Stepstones," Joffrey added bitterly.

"Do not remind me," Laenor grumbled. Joffrey laughed, raising his hand to stroke through Laenor's hair. "I had hoped to never see that damned place again." 

"Well, if your father has been doing his job right, there should at least be no pirates to welcome us this time," Joffrey whispered. 

"You have too much faith in him," Laenor laughed. Joffrey hummed, his eyes following Laenor's hand as it gripped his knee. 

"Motheo thinks we should be in Westeros before the end of the sennight," Joffrey said.

Laenor hummed, "if he is a good enough sailor, I would hope so." 

"Have you travelled here before, Ser?"

"No," Laenor shrugged. "But Tyrosh is a short distance from the Stepstones, and even Torturer's Deep is only a four day trip in such condition." 

"Do you miss it?" Joffrey asked. "The sea?" 

"Yes," Laenor replied. "It runs through my veins, how could I not?" 

"Mayhaps that is what we should do then, buy a boat?" Joffrey suggested. Laenor raised an eyebrow. "We could be traders."

"Are there not enough already?" Laenor scoffed. 

"Is that not how your father made his riches? Bringing goods from across the Known World?"

"Yes, when he was the first to do it," Laenor replied. "Now those courses have been charted, everything is far less rare." 

"So... so let us go further afield," Joffrey shrugged. "To - to -"

"What? Asshai?" Laenor inquired, smirking. Joffrey shook his head.

"I am being serious."

"The Summer Isles, then?" 

"Why not?" Joffrey puzzled. "We could make some money, and find ourselves something to eat too."

"Why not? Wolves, I would say," Laenor replied. "Panthers, monkeys, lizards, crocodiles -"

"Yes, yes, you have made your point," Joffrey huffed. "But - but have we not found half of those things here?" Laenor grunted. "I do not wish to spend my life as a beggar, but nor do I wish to spend it as a guard outside some bastard's castle, and I assume you do not wish to waste your life in a shipyard building ships when you could be the one sailing them." 

"If we waste this money on a boat and cannot sell our wares, then -"

"You worry too much," Joffrey said, covering Laenor's hand with his own, his thumb stroking over the smooth skin he found there. Laenor cocked an eyebrow at him, his head rising from his shoulder. "Besides, if you agree, I shall let you shave my legs again." Joffrey winked. Laenor rolled his eyes. 

_____________

 Aerys' little laugh filled the room as he splashed about in the tub, the scent of his mint bath oils following it. He had insisted on taking his yellow dragon with him, which would by now be drenched, and Rhaenyra was not convinced that he had not entered the tub while still wearing one of his socks. 

 Rhaenyra listened to him from the bed, her head in Daemon's lap as she ate blueberries, apple slices, and freshly cooked bread slathered in apricot preserve from a bowl beside his knee. Daemon had insisted that he was not hungry, reading through an old scroll he had once bought containing the writing of Galendro and his histories of the Valyrian Freehold, although he would accept the pieces of bread Rhaenyra ripped off for him, and the occasional apple slice. Rhaenyra smiled to herself as she heard Aerys giggling again. As she cocked her head, her eyes on the doorway to the washroom, she felt Daemon's gaze on her, one of his hands stroking through her hair. "What?" she asked, tilting her head so she could better look at him.

"Nothing," Daemon muttered, returning his gaze to his page.

"Nothing?" Rhaenyra repeated, smirking. Daemon hummed, his hand falling limp on his knee. Rhaenyra covered it with her own. "Apple?" she offered him one of the slices, but he shook his head. "Apple," she said again, sitting up so she could wave it in his face. Daemon dropped the scroll into his lap so he could bat her hand away, her laugh echoing Aerys' as he continued to giggle. "Go on," Rhaenyra urged. Reluctantly, Daemon accepted the fruit from her, eating it in two bites while Rhaenyra leaned closer to him, the scent of dragon and sweat clinging to the undershirt she had made him dress himself in before her ladies entered the bedchamber. She smiled as she felt Daemon's gaze on her again, his hand stroking through her hair as it hung free over her shoulders. 

"I do not see why you bother with those braids all the time," he murmured. 

"My hair is long, it can get in the way sometimes," Rhaenyra shrugged. "Besides, I like my braids."

"Looks nice like this," Daemon said. 

"Thank you," Rhaenyra said, feeling her cheeks burn up under his gaze. Daemon chuckled, the side of his finger ghosting over her flush, before he lowered his lips to her cheek. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, before reaching for his chin to pull his lips to hers. 

 They lay like that for a short while, all food and reading forgotten, her hands slipping under his shirt to slide across his back while his hands framed her face, lazily kissing and smirking at one another until Rhaenyra felt her lungs would run out of breath. 

 "Here he is, Princess," Primrose said, carrying Aerys from the washroom. The young Prince was wrapped in a dark linen sheet and his silvery hair was sticking up in every direction.

"My sweet boy," Rhaenyra declared, rising from the bed to collect him into her arms. 

"Ah-ah-ah," he said happily, reaching for Rhaenyra's hair. Rhaenyra held onto his hand, pressing little kisses to each of his fingers before she sat on the bed again.

"Was that fun, my love?" she asked, reverting to their mother tongue to speak to him. "Are you nice and clean now?" Rhaenyra tickled under Aerys' chin. "Your hair smells so nice."

"Do you want this back, Princess?" Annora asked, holding up the sodden stuffed dragon. 

"We had best try to dry it," Rhaenyra replied. "It is one of his favourites." Aerys smiled as if agreeing, his eyes following the yellow toy as Annora placed it in front of the fireplace. 

"It is not as if he does not have a hundred others," Daemon scoffed. 

"He is allowed to have favourites, my Prince," Rhaenyra told him, smoothing Aerys' hair. "Come on, you," she whispered. "Let us find you something to wear." She hugged Aerys closer to her as she rose from the bed, jerking her head towards the door. Daemon reached for Dark Sister on the table before following, lifting the bar that kept it locked. 

  Aerys' nursery was also kept within Plowman's Keep, but on one of the lower floors, where Derrick and the Strongs' chambers were kept. Rhaenyra had Ser Steffon man the door while she rummaged through the drawers of clothes, eventually deciding on a black shirt with a red collar and cuffs, the cuffs also detailed with dragons, and dark brown shorts. Around his waist, she buckled a belt of thick, black leather, the buckle a gleaming gold in the shape of a dragon's head, its eyes shards of sapphires.

 She kissed his cheek once he was properly dressed, while Daemon held up two dragons for him - one bronze and the other black. Aerys reached for the bronze one, which Daemon held over his head until Rhaenyra clucked her tongue disapprovingly and he relented and handed it over to the boy. Aerys giggled as he hugged the dragon tightly, mimicking kisses to its wings. 

 "You are so sweet," Rhaenyra murmured, smoothing the young Prince's back as she picked him up again. Aerys grinned at her, showing off the two front teeth that he had begun to grow. Aerys pressed his lips together again and Rhaenyra kissed his forehead, making him giggle. 

"I thought you had said the last of the guests had already arrived?" Daemon pondered, peering out of the window. Rhaenyra frowned, carrying Aerys over to him, where they could see two carriages arriving in the courtyard. They bore no banners and waved no flags, and the man that descended the steps wore only a plain grey tunic. 

"Celia told me they all arrived days ago," Rhaenyra replied stiffly. "Who is that?"

"I could not say," Daemon muttered, stroking his chin as he watched the man approach the Darry guards. "Traders mayhaps? Hoping to make some coin from the wedding?"

"Perhaps," Rhaenyra said. She cocked her head as the guardsman shooed the man away, but he would not leave, stamping his foot in one of the puddles that had formed on the ground. Daemon scoffed. 

"The rain has cleared, at least," Daemon said, nodding to the white clouds that now covered the sky. "We should see the dragons today."

"With him?" Rhaenyra questioned.

"It was one bad flight, Rhaenyra," Daemon sighed. "The boy has to get used to them some time. How else do you expect him to get home?" Rhaenyra hummed, smoothing Aerys' hair. He waved his dragon at her.

 Syrax and Caraxes could be found coiled together underneath a tree in a neighbouring field, with Syrax hiding her head under Caraxes' wing for warmth. Daemon held Aerys in his arms, gently patting Caraxes' snout as he whispered to the boy, although the young Prince was more interested in watching the sheep in the distance. 

 "See," Daemon said, glancing over his shoulder at his wife as she patted Syrax's neck. "He is fine." 

"Be careful with him," Rhaenyra said. Caraxes flapped his wings as he rose to his feet, knocking his snout into Daemon's knee. Syrax shrieked in displeasure, coiling around herself as the wind blew. It was not an ideal environment for the dragons, who were far from fond of the cold and used to the heat of the dragonmont to make their nests in. 

"Patience," Daemon told Caraxes sternly as the dragon puffed, his head hitting against his leg again. Daemon dropped the sack he was carrying onto the ground. Rhaenyra winced as it squelched in the mud. Caraxes puffed as Daemon opened it, smoke rising from his nostrils as his eyes lit up, watching as Daemon pulled out a slab of beef. Syrax was now watching him too, her eyes wide. She cried out miserably as Daemon threw the meat to Caraxes. "Do you want one?" Daemon asked, offering the sack to Rhaenyra, who pulled a face.

"I do not think so," she replied. Daemon laughed, taking out another chunk of meat and throwing it to Syrax, who caught it in her mouth and swallowed it in one gulp. 

"Ooh-ah," gurgled Aerys, pulling on Daemon's collar hard enough to make his father hiss. Rhaenyra struggled not to laugh as Daemon struggled to pry the boy's fist from him, soon giving up and handing him over to her. "Ah-ah," Aerys murmured happily, resting his head on Rhaenyra's shoulder as Syrax rose, sniffing at his leg as Rhaenyra smoothed under her chin. 

"Sy-rax," Rhaenyra told Aerys slowly. "Sy-rax." Aerys frowned, his lips forming a pout as he watched her lips. "Sy-rax." Aerys giggled. However, his smile soon faded as Caraxes roared at the sheep in the distance, sending them hurrying away, bleating wildly. "There, there," Rhaenyra soothed her son, rubbing circles around his back as Daemon distracted Caraxes with a dead chicken, which he tossed into the air. Caraxes took off after it, puffing as he did so. Syrax turned to Daemon expectantly.

"Here you are," he chuckled, throwing a second in her direction. 

"Where did you get those?" Rhaenyra asked, pulling a face of disgust. 

"The kitchens," Daemon shrugged. He ruffled Aerys' hair before he whistled loudly, calling Caraxes back to them. "Here, son-" Daemon raised Aerys' hand with his own, pressing his little fingers against Caraxes' neck. Caraxes snorted. Aerys let out a gasp, his eyes wide as he watched the dragon. 

"I do not think you are being careful enough," Rhaenyra tutted.

Daemon laughed, "if you were so cautious, I doubt you would have become a dragonrider by seven."

"Syrax was a great deal smaller back then," Rhaenyra retorted. "Certainly smaller than Caraxes is now."

"He shall be fine," Daemon said gruffly. "Shall you not?" He turned to Aerys, the boy staring up at him with a smile. "Your mother worries too much."

"She does not," huffed Rhaenyra. 

"Never fear, your father does not," Daemon continued, ignoring her. "My mother did not worry half as much, you know. She flew a red dragon too, Meleys, and she would take me to see her whenever I was good." Daemon chuckled to himself at the memory, although there was a sadness in his eyes that did not match it. Aerys giggled along with him, oblivious to anything else. 

"Meleys is on Driftmark now," Rhaenyra said softly, tickling under Aerys' chin. Daemon nodded. "Sometimes, we can see her from Dragonstone." Aerys was no longer interested, watching the braver of the sheep that approached the hedges again, also drawing the eye of Caraxes. "We should go," Rhaenyra said. "Before he starts trouble." Daemon rolled his eyes but did not disagree, patting Caraxes' snout once more before slinging the sack over his shoulder again. 

_____________

  The smell of squid roasting on an open flame, raw fish, cooked mussels, and the salted air of the sea spread across the Great Harbour of Driftmark. Everything was exactly as Laenor remembered it, and yet as he looked across the sea of patrons, he did not see a single friendly face. The scent of the gentle perfumes of the Lyseni diluted the stench of rotting fish that clung to the fishermen, while the Summer Islanders, towering men in coloured cloaks made of the feathers of birds Laenor had never seen before, smelt of nuts and pine. 

 His stomach churned as he followed Motheo through the crowds, his glance drifting to stall after stall. The vendors here he did know, men and women who had served his family on many occasions, always with a grin and a bow of their head when in the presence of Princess Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, but they showed no similar delight to their poorer customers, trying to hurry them out of the way. 

 "Chiggen!" Motheo called, raising his hand as he approached one of the stalls on the outside of the market, towards the street of shipyards and alehouses. "Chiggen! Aha! I see you, I do!"

"You do," sighed Chiggen, an aged man with brown hair peppered with grey streaks. He had a scar running across his right cheek and he was missing his right hand. "Motheo, you've returned."

"Indeed, and you shall not guess where I have been this time," Motheo grinned. "Tell him, Ollo." Motheo turned to Laenor and Joffrey.

"Ollo," Laenor hissed, kicking Joffrey's ankle.

"We - we travel from the Hills of Norvos," Joffrey replied, forcing a smile. 

"So far?" questioned Chiggen, raising an eyebrow. Motheo nodded eagerly. 

"From the top, you could see as far as the Axe," he proclaimed. Chiggen chuckled. "I speak no word of a lie!" 

"He speaks the truth," said Joffrey, nodding. 

"And wait until you see what I have brought you," Motheo said, rubbing his hands together. 

"You come with gifts?" chuckled Chiggen.

"I come with goods," insisted Motheo. Chiggen's face fell for a moment, but he soon regained his composure, forcing a smile as Motheo explained to him the barrels of golden wine, rugs of bear fur, and fine tapestries that he had brought with them from Great Norvos. Chiggen nodded along, but he appeared distracted, as if he was running something through his head. 

"And how much do you want for all this?" he asked. 

"Well, well, well," chuckled Motheo, smirking. "How much will you pay for it?" Chiggen sighed, scratching his chin. "We took great care in transporting these goods, did we not, Ollo?"

"We did, truly," agreed Joffrey. 

Chiggen frowned, "you his apprentice or something?" 

"Just another pair of hands," shrugged Joffrey.

"And what of him, is he mute?" Chiggen asked, pointing at Laenor. 

"Vegar, he... he is like that, the quiet type," replied Motheo. "But not mute, no."

"No," Laenor muttered, keeping his eyes on his feet. "Not mute." Chiggen hummed. 

"I will be honest with you, Motheo," he said. "Business here, it... it is not what it once was. They say that there is a long winter ahead of us, and Dragonstone can drum up twice as much profit than we can any day. I am drowning - drowning I tell you - in undrunk wines from pissing everywhere that nobody will buy, all they want is the mulled stuff, warm and spiced for the winter."

"Such a shame," Motheo sighed. 

"I can give you twenty dragons a barrel," Chiggen sighed. 

"Twenty?" scoffed Motheo, glowering at him. "Twenty?" 

Chiggen held up his hands, "I can't guarantee I sell half a barrel, let alone fifteen of them!" 

"It cost me half my bloody purse to get that much," hissed Motheo. "What do you mean you cannot sell it? You run a shop, selling things is your job!"

"I cannot sell if nobody comes," replied Chiggen. "Alehouses line the docks, whorehouses tempt green boys with sweet smiles to buy sweet wines, and there are four other bastards in this very market selling the same ales as I. Take your wares to Dragonstone, mayhaps you'll find a giddy fellow there who has more to offer." 

"Forty dragons!" Motheo hissed.

"I cannot," Chiggen said, shaking his head. "If you came from Lannisport with honeyed wine, maybe I'd agree, but this - I don't know who will buy." 

"Thirty five dragons and seventy moons," huffed Motheo. 

"I cannot," Chiggen said again. "I'd not make it back before the winter freezes us." 

"Thirty dragons and seventy five moons," Motheo said, slapping his hand against the table. Chiggen shook his head. Motheo glanced sideways to Joffrey, his eyes wide as if urging him to say something. Joffrey licked his lips nervously. 

"Norvos rarely trades with Westeros, you know," piped up Laenor. "They keep their trading routes with Lorath mostly, and only the highest nobles will receive their tapestries - like the King or - or Lord Cor- Velaryon. If you buy, you shall have something to sell that is not found on other stalls, or in alehouses or the like." Motheo nodded.

"Yes, yes," he said excitedly. "Norvos trades with the King only - and Motheo." 

"How do you know that?" Chiggen demanded. 

"I, uh... I fought in the Stepstones with Lord Velaryon years ago," Laenor replied. "Once the war had ended, we manned the shipping lanes. From everywhere they would go to and fro - Lys, Myr, Tyrosh, Volantis, the Summer Isles, you name it - but never from Norvos." 

"Right," Chiggen said gruffly. 

"And - and we have rum," Joffrey added. Motheo glowered at him, but Chiggen's face lit up. "That is sure to be popular with the sailors."

"Why didn't you say?" Chiggen laughed, rubbing his hands together. 

"Ignore the boy, Chiggen," Motheo sighed, shaking his head. 

"No, no," Chiggen replied, waving a hand dismissively. "We can never have enough rum here, especially not when the fleet is docked for the winter." 

"I have barely a barrel," muttered Motheo. "But wine - wine I have plenty of." 

"And rugs," added Laenor.

"Yes, thank you, Vegar," huffed Motheo, glaring at him. Laenor forced a smile. 

"I shall give you twenty two dragons for the half barrel, then," said Chiggen. "And twenty three dragons apiece for the wine." 

Motheo sighed, "very well." Chiggen grinned. "You fought in the war?" Motheo inquired, raising an eyebrow as they walked away from the stall. 

"I was a squire mostly," Laenor shrugged. 

"Aha, yes, you look young," chuckled Motheo. "Now, come along, I have silks to sell." 

  The stalls that sold silks and gemstones were located in the centre of the market, with the food vendors to the right of them and the ales and foreign spices to the left. "Are you Dannel?" Motheo asked, approaching one of the stalls.

"Nah, lad, I'm Jyck," the man grunted. "But I've got pearls from as far as Walhano and -"

"Walano," Laenor corrected.

"Right, yes, that," Jyck said. "Anyway, I have pearls, sea-pearls, emeralds and even jades." 

"Good for you," Motheo said, nodding to him. Laenor gave the man a small smile before following him to the next stall. "Are you Dannel?" Motheo asked, wagging a finger at the vendor, who narrowed his eyes at him. 

"Might be," the vendor said gruffly. He was a brawny man some decades older than Laenor with thick, golden hair that fell down his back and a whiskery beard. Around his neck hung a silver chain from which hung a single ruby in the shape of a pear. "Who're you?"

"Are you Dannel?" Motheo asked again, frowning. "Dannel, the friend of Qom?"

"I wouldn't say friend," scoffed the man. "But I know the man, yes." 

"I am Motheo," Motheo said proudly. Dannel stared at him for a moment, clearly not having heard of him before.

"Right," he said. "Did Qom send you? Does he want to buy?" 

"He did not send me, no," Motheo replied, his face clouding slightly. "But, he said that you would buy these silks from me."

"Did he?" Dannel scoffed. "Why would I do that?"

"They are from across the Jade Sea," Motheo declared, puffing out his chest. "The finest in the Known World."

"Are they now?" leered Dannel, raising an eyebrow. 

"The finest," Motheo said again, nodding. 

"And why should I believe you?" Dannel inquired, leaning against the table of his stall. 

Motheo snorted, "you know of somewhere finer than across the Jade Sea?"

"I mean, how do I know you have the damn thing? A suggestion from Qom is not enough," retorted Dannel. Motheo frowned. "I must see this silk you speak of before I give you my coin." 

"Go on, Ollo," Motheo sighed. Joffrey glanced sideways to Laenor, who nodded, before hurrying off into the sea of people and out of sight. Dannel tapped his foot impatiently. 

"Where'd you get this silk from, anyway?" he asked.

"I know friends in Volantis," Motheo shrugged. "Where do you get your pearls from?"

"Traders," grunted Dannel. "They come back with all sorts. Most of it ain't worth a thing, but this is." Dannel held up a necklace of pale pink pearls.  

"Do many traders sail across the Sunset Sea?" pondered Laenor.

"Why? Scared of sea dragons, is it, lad?" chortled Dannel. Laenor shrugged. "Nah, most of them buy their goods from the  Free Cities, but you don't find a thing like this in Essos." 

"It is good silk, the finest," Motheo insisted. "The finest, and I shall sell it to you for two stags a roll." Dannel scoffed.

"Are you serious? Two stags?" 

"Yes." 

"What do you think it's made of? Silver?" laughed Dannel. 

  Laenor remained behind Motheo as the man continued to haggle, pushing for more coin than the vendor was willing to give. He watched a flock of seagulls flap overhead, squawking as if in fear. Laenor frowned, stroking his chin confused, but the source was soon revealed to him as the shape of Vhagar appeared in the distance, the great she-dragon letting out a cry. 

 "Why, look at that," beamed Motheo, rubbing his hands together excitedly as Vhagar let out a roar, startling what was left of the birds in the area. 

"That one was ridden by Visenya herself, they say," Dannel said. Laenor nodded, but his eyes were not on his companions but upon the figure on Vhagar's back. Laena's hair curled into perfect coils that ran down the back of her teal riding leathers, and even from such a distance Laenor could see the ropes that were tied around her. 

"It is bloody enormous," gasped Motheo.

"No bigger one alive," said Dannel. "Scary they can grow that big, ain't it? I'd reckon it could block out the sun if it tried." Motheo nodded, still watching Vhagar in awe. 

 Laenor felt his insides shrivel up as Vhagar soared over them, covering the faint sunlight and casting them in a dark shadow. He recalled making the very same flight himself, day after day after day, and he knew that Laena could not see him from such a height, and while he knew that that was for the best, part of him longed to speak with her again, to hear her voice or her laugh, to see her grin, but instead she was just a figure in blue in the distance, and he was just a faceless form in the crowd beneath her. 

 He hoped she had taken to the pressure of their father's expectations better than he had. 

 "I think we should go now," Joffrey said. Laenor's head snapped in his direction. He had not even noticed him return. "I, for one, could certainly do with something to eat, and we shall need to find rooms for the night."

"Yes, yes," grumbled Motheo. He accepted the money from Dannel, leaving the silk on the table, and plodded past them, towards the squid vendors.

"What?" Laenor asked, as Joffrey grabbed his wrist and pulled him away. 

"Look behind you, but do not let them see you looking," Joffrey whispered. Slowly, Laenor turned his head, one hand scratching his cheek to better obscure his face as his eyes fell upon the teal and silver form of his uncle Vaemond. The second son of Driftmark was perusing a stall of fine garments with his sons, both Daemion and Daeron dressed in dark navy, Daeron now several inches above his father, accompanied by two Velaryon guards. 

"Fuck," Laenor groaned. 

"We should go," Joffrey muttered. "Come on."

 Much to their surprise, Motheo found them rooms at a small inn at the docks, sandwiched between two whorehouses tainted by the smell of sex and fish. This did not dissuade them, however, for after another six days at sea, Laenor was more than happy for the narrow cot and its coarse blankets, a great improvement from many nights on the floor.

 Motheo did not stay for long. Having ensured his own room, the Myrman did not tell them he was leaving, but they heard his footsteps and the slam of his door. Joffrey rose from where he was seated on his own cot, pulling out a small flask from his pocket. 

 "Where did you get that?" Laenor inquired.

"Do not ask questions you do not want the answer to," Joffrey shrugged. Laenor frowned. 

"What does that mean?"

"It means I am a better thief than I ever was a sailor," Joffrey laughed. He gulped down some of the ale, before offering it to Laenor. Laenor stared at him for a moment, before accepting it, and draining the flask of the rest of it. "Was this a bad idea?" Joffrey whispered, sitting beside Laenor on his cot. Laenor shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "We shall be on Dragonstone before long," Joffrey said, forcing a smile.

"Yep," Laenor murmured. 

"Do you - if he -"

"I do not want to talk about it," Laenor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he rose to his feet to inspect the meagre washroom. 

 It was a long night. Laenor stared up at the ceiling as he heard Joffrey snoring from his own cot, counting the seconds as he longed for sleep to find him. There was a cool draught in the room which the thin blankets did not protect him from, and gooseflesh spread across his skin as he heard the wind howling outside. 

 Laenor felt tired and groggy when morning came, unsure how long he had been sleeping for but knowing that it was not enough. He rose from the bed and crossed the room to peer out of the small window, glancing up at the golden rays from where the sun was trying to break through the grey clouds as he heard the sound of hooves approaching. 

 Laenor's breath hitched in his throat as he saw the aquamarine banners of House Velaryon flapping in the wind, the silver seahorse in the centre large and proud. The carriage itself was white and silver, pulled by brown stallions with thick, black manes and silky tails. He watched as the guards dismounted and held open the carriage door, his heart thundering in his chest as his mother, Princess Rhaenys, descended the steps. 

 She had hardly changed from the image of her he still saw in his dreams from time to time. Tall and slim, she walked with her head raised proudly, her silver hair tied back in four braids that met at the back of her head in a bun to keep it from falling in her face. She dressed in garments of black, removing her leather gloves and sticking them into the pockets of her coat as the guardsman shut the door behind her. From the height of the second floor, Laenor could not see her face well, but he could see the golden chain around her neck, and the earrings containing sapphires and white diamonds that matched it. 

 Laenor's mouth felt impossibly dry as he watched her walk away from him, down the narrow, wooden walkway along the docks and towards the marketplace. Along with three guards, she was accompanied by a handmaiden in a silky dress of pale blue, her reddish hair tied with black silk. She was an older woman, and not one that Laenor had seen before, while the guard's faces were obscured by their helmets. 

 "Morning," Joffrey croaked from his cot, raising his arms above his head as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Any chance of rain?"

"Yes," Laenor muttered, scratching his chin. His eyes were still glued on his mother's retreating back, watching long after she had become just a dot in the distance, until he felt Joffrey's hand on his shoulder. 

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, wiping his eyes with one hand. "You look as though you have seen a ghost."

"I may as well have," Laenor replied softly. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, which Joffrey's eyes fell to, smirking. Soon, Joffrey's lips were on his, the scent of his cheap perfume and the leather that clung to his skin surrounding him as Joffrey's hands cupped his face. Laenor leaned into the kiss, his own hands resting on Joffrey's hips, pulling him ever so slightly closer. The taller man wore only a pair of pale green breeches, while Laenor's were brown. 

"Any news from Motheo?" Joffrey asked as they drew apart, his lips still close enough to Laenor's face that he could feel his breath. 

"Not a word," Laenor replied. Joffrey hummed as he peered out of the window, staring miserably up at the grey clouds that continued to block out most of the sunlight. If he noticed the Velaryon banners in the distance, he did not mention it.

 The sky had only darkened by the time that they had returned to Motheo's boat to set sail for Dragonstone, the bleak island of cliffs, shallow beaches, and a rocky volcano soon visible in the near distance. Laenor said nothing as he watched the clouds of smoke rising from the dragonmont grow closer and closer, the low roar of Vermithor sending a chill down Motheo's spine. 

 Before long they docked the boat at the harbour. Joffrey tied the rope around a wooden pole, while Laenor and Motheo disembarked. "Be quick with it, Ollo," Motheo huffed. Joffrey rolled his eyes. "When are we going to get my money?"

"Soon, hopefully," Joffrey replied, wiping his hands on his breeches. "We are to look for a man in gold at the dock." 

"In gold?" Laenor puzzled, raising an eyebrow. "Not very inconspicuous."

"A city watchman," Joffrey shrugged. "In a gold cloak." 

"Gold cloak," Motheo repeated, nodding. He rubbed his hands together as he walked up the steps from the harbour towards the small market. 

"Do you know this man?" Laenor asked quietly.