Chapter Text
He felt numbness more than anything else. His wife was dead and his daughters were broken, and yet he could not begrudge Laena the way she went. If Daemon had a choice on how he was to pass into the next world, he would choose dragonfire as well.
Dragonfire or steel whilst defending his blood. As any true dragonlord should want.
The Rogue Prince could not find it in him to grieve his unborn child, the thing that had chased his wife into an early grave. He cared little for whether it was a boy or a girl. Laena was dead and that was all that mattered.
His wife had been the one constant in his life for the past decade. She had patched him up when he was fractured. A decade-and-a-half of his brother’s barbs and dismissals had done quite a number on him. Laena had healed him, even though it was not her responsibility to do so. She had understood his need to stay in the East, out of fear he would dishonour his vow to her, and had loved him despite the undisputed fact that she would forever have to share his heart with her cousin, with her good-sister.
Laena understood him unlike any other and he loved her all the more for it. On nights when he fell deep into his cups, Daemon had dreamed of having them both. If his brother had not been so weak, he could have wed them in the ways of Valyria and the three could have been content as their ancestors were.
Still, the daughter of the Tides was all he could have hoped for. A true Valyrian at heart, with no care in the world for what happened in his bedchambers for they were more than husband and wife. They were partners. They had seen the wide world together, from Braavos to Asshai. They had even dared to fly over the Fourteen Fires, where madness and hellfire still ruled.
To top it all off, she had given him two beautiful daughters in the process. Baela was exactly like Laena and him – passionate and fiery with a deep love for the sword and dragons. Rhaena was odder. She reminded him of his aunt Gael. Quiet and unassuming, yet so fiery when push came to shove. She enjoyed her stories and her dresses, much like his aunt did. At times it hurt Daemon to look upon his youngest, for he did not like to think of Gael, whom he missed dearly. Daemon could have been a better father to Rhaena and from that moment forward, he vowed he would be.
They had been happy travelling the Free Cities, eventually settling in Pentos, where Daemon and Laena had used the former’s connections to trade from and start a sellsword company. Daemon may not have held any titles or lands, but he was wealthier than any would ever believe. Wherever he and Laena travelled, men and women in power handed them tithes and spoils, hosting them in grand manses and palaces. Let Viserys have his ugly crown, which his brother placed on his head, for Daemon influenced real men by way of gold and war.
Even now, as the Rogue Prince and his daughters sailed to Driftmark from their home in the Free Cities, on a grand ship aptly named the Queen Visenya, which probably rivalled the Sea Snake’s splendour, they brought with them more gold than which the Crown had in the treasury and nearly two hundred of the finest trained men-at-arms. Not to mention the three dragons flying overhead.
Laena had been embalmed according to the Valyrian rites, after which Daemon and his daughters had sat vigil over her body for a fortnight. A letter from Driftmark asking Rhaenys to be permitted to join them was sent back with a refusal. His daughters did not know their grandmother and he would not force the Queen That Never Was upon them in their time of grief.
Now as they were mere minutes away from docking the Queen Visenya at High Tide’s grand harbour, which also housed the famed Sea Snake, Daemon ensured his daughters were readied. He had clad both Baela and Rhaena in the finest of cloth, his eldest in black and red and his youngest in silver and sea green. Let all remember that his daughters are pureborn daughters of Valyria, children of both House Targaryen and House Velaryon. Daemon himself wore all-black to denote his mourning, and as always had Dark Sister and his dagger at his hips. Better to be sure than sorry.
Standing upon the bow of the ship, the three must have made quite a sight to those awaiting them. A small fleet of five trade ships with a war galley at the front and three dragons flying overhead was a worry to any who might not like the Rogue Prince.
As Daemon took his daughters’ hands in his and guided them toward the plank to disembark, he nodded to the captain of his household. Laena had been placed in the bowels of the ship and would be carried out by his men after Daemon and his daughters made their way onto the soil of Driftmark.
Daemon could see all who had come to grieve with him and his daughters, or at least pretend to grieve with them. The Lord of the Tides and his lady wife at the front of them all.
His good-father and brother-in-arms had spared no expense for his welcoming envoy. To the Sea Snake’s back stood the Princess of Dragonstone, her prince consort and their sons. Glancing upon the three princes for the first time, Daemon knew that those were not true Velaryons and his daughters would all but prove it to any of Rhaenyra’s detractors present.
Having joined them were the elderly Lord of Storm’s End, Lord Boremund Baratheon, who as Jaehaerys’ brother was Daemon’s great-uncle, as well as Laena’s, and who had made it to Driftmark despite his advanced age. With him was Laena’s grandmother, the ever-hawkeyed but increasingly frail-looking Princess Jocelyn Baratheon, the former Princess Consort of Dragonstone. Both had soft enough looks for the Rogue Prince and his daughters, which gladdened the man for he knew his uncle’s widow had not always particularly liked him.
The king was present as well, as was his Andal consort and the mongrels she birthed. However, it was the Hightower’s presence that annoyed the Rogue Prince most of all. It seemed like his fool brother had brought the snake back to the capital if the gleaming pin on his chest was anything to go by.
‘Stupid cunt,’ Daemon thought and quite surprisingly it was not Otto Hightower he was thinking of. Viserys had invited his verminous good-father back into the Red Keep, giving him free rein to plot against his named heir.
To the back of the royal family stood the small council and Daemon was gladdened to see both Harrold and Lyman. Both fine and loyal men.
“Daemon,” Corlys grabbed him in a bear hug whilst Rhaenys kept her distance, “My brother, it pains me to see us reunited like this.”
“Nyke tolī, ñuha raqiros [me too, my friend].
“Baela and Rhaena,” Corlys moved to his two granddaughters, “My, how I have missed the two of you. As beautiful as ever,” Baela gave her grandfather a small smile at that. If there was ever a way into Baela Targaryen’s heart, it was by way of flattery.
At Corlys’ side, Rhaenys clenched her jaw. Whilst Corlys had visited numerous times over the past decade – at least twice a year – his wife had refused to do the same, despite it being easier for her to visit Pentos on dragonback. No, it seemed like his cousin-turned-good-mother had been insulted by their repeated refusals to visit Driftmark and the capital.
“We missed you too, grandfather,” Baela was the leader of the two, more outgoing and always dragging her little sister with her wherever she went. Even now she took the lead in meeting with their Velaryon kin, hugging her grandfather, with Rhaena joining her.
“I’d like you to meet someone,” Corlys turned to his lady wife, “This is your grandmother, the Princess Rhaenys.”
Rhaena followed Baela’s lead and bowed when she did, “Pleasure, princess.”
That brought forth yet another grimace from his cousin and a cold chuckle from Ser Vaemond Velaryon, Corlys’ brother, who stood with his wife and sons to the back.
“You needn’t call me princess, I am your grandmother,” Rhaenys stiffly said and grew evermore red when his daughters looked to him to see what they should do.
Rather than force his daughters into a standoff with their grandmother, Daemon took the lead, “My men will bring forth Laena’s casket soon. Is it possible for my daughters and I to be brought to our rooms?”
Corlys took command of the conversation, probably to spare his wife further embarrassment, “Of course, my friend. We have emptied the Sea Horse Tower for you and your household. There has also been made room in the barracks for your men-at-arms.”
Looking upon his niece for the first time in a decade, he was struck by the gauntness of her visage. He had heard some of what had transpired in King’s Landing but nothing he had heard would have justified how she looked. Her lord husband looked even worse. It seemed like all life had left Ser Laenor Velaryon. So, Daemon focused on him for the time being, “Laenor, would you like to meet your nieces?”
The knight snapped out of his grief-filled inner musings and tried to smile at the young girls, “Hello, my darlings. Don’t the two of you look evermore like your mother,” Laenor had attempted to visit the girls a few times over the years but it had been four years since his last visit to Pentos. A husband and father he was and as such busy as well.
Just a glance was enough for Baela to understand what Daemon wished and the girl ran toward her uncle, grabbing him around the waist. Daemon could hear Rhaenys’ scoff when Rhaena followed her sister closely, though in her case far more subdued.
“Let us retire to our private chambers,” Daemon looped his arm around his good-brother’s shoulders and led him away, ignoring his brother and his kin, “Corlys, your son will escort us to the Sea Horse Tower. We shall see you again for supper,” and away they walked.
───※ ·♛· ※───
“My granddaughters refused to embrace me, husband!” his wife had been ranting for several minutes now as they had retired to the great sitting room and solar next to the Hall of Nine, “He took Laenor and his niece with him, but not us? Daemon barred us from our daughter’s children! In our own keep!”
“He did not bar us from anyone, Rhaenys. He saw how our son has been struggling and chose to prioritise him. I cannot fault him for loving my son,” Corlys had long forgiven Daemon for his role at the Great Council of 101 AC. The Rogue Prince had practically placed the crown upon his brother’s head himself, but the Sea Snake could not begrudge him that. Viserys was his brother after all. His wife however had never forgiven Daemon, whom she had once been incredibly close with.
“What about loving our daughter? We did not see her for a decade! He kept us from her!”
“I saw my daughter plenty, wife,” Corlys was growing tired of this discourse, “It was you who refused to fly to Pentos. And let me assure you, as someone who has been witness to the behaviour of those two when together, Daemon loved our daughter plenty.”
Rhaenys clenched her jaw tightly, ignoring his dig, “Daemon took Laena from everything and everyone she knew. She wanted to come home, she wrote to me, and he denied her.”
“Daemon did what he thought best,” of that Corlys was sure. Few knew Prince Daemon Targaryen as he did. The Rogue Prince could have been sitting on the Iron Throne if he wished it so, but instead, he lived a life of duty to a king who was wholly undeserving of it.
“Daemon only ever does what is best for Daemon,” Rhaenys sneered at him, her anger blinding hr to the truth, “Laena needed our maesters.”
“Daemon and Laena had more gold than any can do with, do you truly believe that the Pentoshi surgeons and healers that attended to our daughter were not equally as well-trained as our maesters? If not more, to be honest?” Corlys sighed deeply, “Our daughter chose the path of a dragonrider’s death. She lived and died as a dragonlord of old. Yet, you are looking to place blame for an act of the Gods. You are blaming your cousin for her choice.”
“Mayhaps the Gods have scorned us for our insatiable pride.”
Corlys refused to go into this, not tonight of all nights. His daughter had returned to Driftmark to be laid to rest in the way of their ancestors.
“Nothing more to say, husband?”
“I will not be goaded into an argument, wife,” Corlys replied.
“That is quite a clever choice, my friend,” the Lord of the Tides turned to the unexpected voice coming from behind them, from deep within the darkness of the corridor that connected the Hall of Nine to the sitting room, “It takes a wise man to walk away from an argument already lost.”
Rhaenys stiffened when her cousin seemed to almost appear from the shadows, looking nigh the same as he did at the great council. Daemon Targaryen had barely aged in the last quarter century, besides a few laugh crinkles around his eyes and mouth, and no doubt some scars on his body, hidden behind his luxurious silks.
“How are the children?” Corlys hoped by laying the focus on their grandchildren, he could avert an implosion between the two cousins, “Have they settled in?”
Daemon had walked toward them and seated himself in what was Rhaenys’ armchair, but which she had vacated when she commenced her pacing in front of the grand hearth that graced the sitting room, “They are enjoying spending some time with their cousins. Rhaena is positively fascinated with your youngest grandson. An odd name though.”
Corlys laughed at that, “Yes, well, it seems like my good-daughter let Laenor name that one.”
“Yes, I suppose she did. I heard of the disgrace of Ser Criston getting off without any notable punishment. Even received a promotion to guarding my brother’s whore. Must be deeply insulting to you that Viserys brought the mad dog with him to the isle of your ancestors.”
Corlys was surprised that his wife kept quiet but counted his blessings, “I can’t say I am particularly joyful at the prospect of that murderer walking the halls of the High Tide but Laenor seems to have made his peace with it.”
Daemon hummed at that, “The Hightower is back, I see.”
Corlys sighed deeply, “Yes, your brother believes that the realm needs experienced governance for the time being.”
“How much of that was his wife’s doing whilst suckling on Viserys’ withered cock?”
Rhaenys made a choking sound whilst Corlys laughed, “Now that is an image we could all do without.”
“My brother is a fool for bringing that snake back to court. My…,” his good-son licked his lips, “… informants tell me he has been spending a great deal of time with Ser Tyland Lannister lately, as well as the Master of Laws.”
“You believe them to be plotting something?”
“Something? They are not plotting something, Corlys, they are plotting to put Viserys’ Andal half-breed on the Iron Throne once my slowly-wilting brother perishes.”
“The king is still healthy enough,” Rhaenys spoke for the first time since Daemon arrived, “He breathes and sits the throne more often than not. No one shall do anything for now.”
“The king is rotting away. I could nigh smell him from where I was standing,” Daemon exaggerated but Corlys got his point.
Though neither he nor Rhaenys had spent much time in the capital in the last decade, even the Sea Snake had been shocked at how Viserys had aged, which had become even more clear when Daemon arrived – his younger brother of only four years.
“The king? Is that how you speak of him now?” Rhaenys sneered, “Viserys is your beloved brother,” a small pause, “As you have made clear more than once.”
“Gods, Rhaenys, it has been a quarter-century and in that time I have wed your daughter, treated her well and given you two granddaughters and here you are, still whinging over the great council.”
He should not have done that, Corlys thought to himself.
“Treated her well?! You kept her from her mother!” Rhaenys shouted, ignoring the jibe about the great council for now.
Corlys stood from his chair while Daemon kept seated, “Please, let us not resort to shouting,” he tried to placate his wife but she shrugged him off.
“Laena wrote to me, telling me she wished to come home,” Rhaenys was near tears, Corlys could tell, “You kept her from her home.”
Daemon remained as unfazed as ever, “I was her home. Her daughters were her home.”
A deep flinch, “You do not deny refusing her leave?”
“Refuse? Your daughter flew the greatest dragon in the world. Her mastery of the bow and dagger put many a man to shame. Let me assure you, there was little I could do to make Laena do anything,” Daemon leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, “You wish to cast me as the antagonist in the tragic mummers’ play you have made up in your ever grand imagination, go ahead, but do not presume to think you knew my wife better than I did.”
“I am her mother.”
Daemon paused for a beat and seemed to war with himself and eventually chose to leave it at that, “Yes, you were.”
Another flinch, “For a decade the two of you were wed and not a single visit to Driftmark. Do you deny that you refused to come here?” Rhaenys was like a dog with a bone when she got something in her head, and while usually that was something Corlys loved about her, he did know how unpredictable his good-son was, and he had Dark Sister at his side.
“No, but Laena did not begrudge me my choice to turn away from the Seven Kingdoms. I chose to honour the vows I took before the Fourteen. I chose to honour my Valyrian bride above all else.”
The sound of disgust that came forth from Rhaenys’ throat was one her husband had never heard before and it seemed like Daemon was taken aback as well.
“What is it you take umbrage to? The fact that your daughter and I built a life away from you? Or that she chose me against your will,” Daemon hit his wife exactly where it hurt, which she made clear by how she flinched, “You could have flown to Pentos anytime. You could have visited your daughter and granddaughters anytime you wished to. It would have taken you five to six hours at most, but you chose to keep your grudge alive. Look where that got you,” the pause was excruciating, “A dead daughter you hadn’t seen in a decade.”
The tears had been inevitable, “She wished to come home,” his lady wife kept coming back to the same issue.
“She was eight moons with child. Any travel had been prohibited by the healers and midwives,” Daemon seemed unfazed by his cousin’s tears.
“And before? The nine years before?! Not a single personal invitation for me! Always Corlys and I. Never me on my own. Not a single request to join you in the Free Cities while she carried your daughters and was awaiting childbirth. Do you deny keeping me away from my daughter?!”
“That was her choice.”
“You are telling me that it was Laena who decided that I should not meet my granddaughters?!”
“You want the truth, cousin?” Daemon sneered at the Lady of Driftmark, “You may not quite like it.”
“The truth is that you kept my daughter and granddaughters away from their family. That you kept her in Pentos, where you could trade and wage war, all to make fortune.”
Daemon seemed annoyed, “Once again, no one kept you away from Baela and Rhaena. For fuck’s sake, Rhaena was named after you! You chose to sit on an ancient grudge and keep your distance. Not me, not Laena. If you believe yourself hard done by, then gaze into a looking glass for it was your choices that got you here.”
“Please, let us cease the fighting,” Corlys tried.
“I am sorry if you are hurt, Rhaenys, I truly am, but you made your choices just as I did,” Daemon stood from the chair and stood before the hearth, turning his back to his weeping cousin, “Laena loved you a great deal, you were her mother after all, but you made your disagreements regarding our union clear more than once. She chose not to humour you any longer. Not for me but for herself. She was gladdened to be able to breathe at long last.”
The flinches kept following one after the other, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You smothered her, cousin. I was her way into the wide world – a world without your arms around her neck, pulling her into your bosom as if she was a babe of two name days old. You were a noose around her neck.”
“I…,” Rhaenys had been silenced at long last.
“If you wish to have a relationship with your granddaughters, you will have to forge one yourself, and I won’t begrudge you that but let us cease pretending that you did not have a hand in our estrangement.”
“Maybe you could stay awhile,” Corlys suggested and from the corner of his eye, he could see some hopefulness taking hold of his quiet lady wife, “Driftmark could be your home for a few moons.”
The Rogue Prince paused for a bit, gazing into the flames, “That might be nice, yes.”
Corlys grasped his wife’s hand and gave her a teary smile, which she returned.
───※ ·♛· ※───
It had been an interesting two days for the Princess of Dragonstone. A sennight before her family had arrived at Driftmark in preparation for her late cousin’s return to the Velaryon ancestral isle, and two days earlier her father and the court had joined from King’s Landing.
It had been an uncomfortable reunion, to say the least. The return of the snake Otto Hightower had angered her beyond anything she thought was possible for her to feel, as did the smug Queen Consort, who probably had a hand in her treasonous father’s rise from the ashes. The returned Hightower had been supercilious himself, offering her husband insincere condolences, and it had only been the presence of their sons that had kept Laenor back from bashing the old man’s head against the wall of the Hall of Nine.
The day before her uncle and his daughter had arrived from Pentos on a grand war galley with a few more trade galleys following behind. It had given Rhaenyra a thrill to see how Otto Hightower and his daughter had blanched at seeing the Rogue Prince on Westerosi soil after a decade-long voluntary exile. It had gotten even worse when he had ignored the king and his family and had disembarked with dozens upon dozens of armed men at his back, wearing the customary golden cloaks Daemon had made popular and steel at their side.
All had heard of Laena and Daemon’s exploits in the East. During her time on the council, Ser Tyland Lannister and Lord Jasper Wylde had asked her father many times to call back his brother for his usage of his dragon in the Free Cities they said could prove a threat to the Targaryen dynasty. Both the late Hand of the King and the Master of Coin had harshly disagreed with them, and her father had – in a strange moment of strength and lucidity – claimed that none could tell his brother and his lady wife what to do for they rode the two fiercest dragons alive today.
After Daemon and his daughters had retreated to their chambers with Laenor and their sons in tow, Rhaenyra joined her father for a few minutes. While Viserys had resigned himself to his brother’s coldness, his lady wife had been far more incensed, which had only grown when the king had told her to quiet.
Supper had been private, against the king’s wishes, but not even her father was a big enough fool to deny the Velaryons a private moment the evening before one of their own was laid to rest. Rhaenyra being allowed to join whilst she and her children were not permitted the same had probably offended Alicent but the princess’ good-father and uncle had paid the Queen Consort and her children no attention as they relayed the news. Rhaenyra was wed to the next Lord of the Tides and mother to the one who would come after him, her presence was expected and required.
The dinner itself was quite joyful for its purpose. Laenor had blossomed open a bit in his niece’s presence, and even Corlys and Daemon had managed a laugh or two. Her sons had clung to their cousins, who had kindly accepted them, no questions asked.
Now as the Houses Targaryen and Velaryon had gathered to lay to rest one of their own, Rhaenyra felt ever ill at ease. Though Rhaenys remained cold and distant, Corlys was ever so supportive of her and her sons. Lord Beesbury had embraced her with kindness, as did the Lord Commander, though the remainder of the council seemed to have allied themselves with the returning Otto Hightower, only giving her empty condolences and greetings.
Laenor had been better since he got some time to spend with his niece and it seemed like Daemon was taking him under his wing for now. Her husband had even made his way to their chambers the night before, her holding him as he wept.
Early that morning the Velaryons had isolated themselves within their dragonpit and had, per Targaryen traditions, laid to rest their fallen dragonrider daughter. Caraxes had put to the flame his rider’s lady wife without a verbal command, and whilst their kin watched on. Only Daemon and his daughters, Rhaenyra, Laenor and their sons, and Corlys and Rhaenys had been present, and thus there was no overt awkwardness or hostility. Daemon had led the short ceremony himself before he gathered the ashes and they went on their way to ready themselves for the public Velaryon ceremony.
Ser Vaemond Velaryon cleared his throat and commenced with the final rites to lay Laena to rest, “Tubī Velario Lentro Ābrāzme Laena iēdrarta mōrqittot, māzīlarē tubirri Elēdrion ziry umīsilza luo dāriot, hannagon Embrurliot gierūlti. [We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King, where He will guard her for all days to come.]”
Daemon had conceded and given Corlys permission to lay to rest his lady wife with the rites of the sea as well, rather than solely those of fire and blood, which had only endeared him to the Lord of the Tides.
“Solion tolijor zijosy pradarose, Ābrāzma Laena rāeniot hen eglio ilvot lanto taloti hembis. Pōja muña hen zȳho solio āmāzīlus daor, yn ānogrosa gierī ozletaksi humbilza. [As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughters on the shore. Though their mother will not return from her voyage, they will all remain bound together in blood.]”
The Princess of Dragonstone clenched her jaw and gazed at her uncle for the barest of seconds, making the amused tilt of his mouth suddenly disappear. Of course, Daemon would find Vaemond’s insolence amusing. Her uncle did like his chaos.
At her side, she watched as Corlys laid his hand on Luke’s shoulder. Rhaenyra was incensed, for if the Lord of the Tides loved those boys as if they were his own then it was not up to Ser Vaemond Velaryon of all people to question them.
At least she was in luck that not many spoke High Valyrian, and most certainly none of the Greens did, not even her father’s children by Alicent. To have them chuckling at her children’s humiliation would have been too much to bear.
“Velario ānogro rȳ lopor ojāris. Īlvo qumblī iāris. Īlvo drējī iāris. Se dōrī vajiñagon īlvo bēvilis [salt courses through Velaryon blood. Ours runs thick. Ours runs true. And ours must never thin],” another sneered insult from Vaemond and yet another flinch from the Princess of Dragonstone. Corlys was clearly angered at his brother’s insolence but did nothing to stop him, whilst the Princess Rhaenys seemed indifferent, standing beside her granddaughters.
Just as the Velaryon knight was to recommence with his final words, Daemon suddenly moved, hurrying toward the Velaryon knight, who seemed shocked at his movement. The shriek Vaemond let out when her uncle suddenly used his thumbs to gouge out the Velaryon knight’s eyes was nigh inhuman.
Around them, men and women were staring in shock, with gasps and squeals all around. With a swift move, Daemon unsheathed the dagger at his side, cleanly slicing Vaemond’s throat ear to ear, and dragged him to his lady wife’s coffin, allowing for her uncle’s blood to spill upon it.
Even the Kingsguard were in shock with none but Criston Cole even attempting to unsheathe their steel and even he stopped at his Lord Commander’s raised hand and silent command.
Corlys’ brother had two sons: Daeron and Daemion, as well as a wife, who now had been witness to Daemon brutally killing their patriarch. The new widow let out a loud wail and collapsed at her sons’ feet whilst the two sons had made to unsheathe the steel at their sides but were swiftly stopped by the Lord of the Tides, who had signalled for his men to disarm his nephews, which they swiftly did. The two shouted at Daemon and Corlys but were swiftly silenced with a punch to their bellies and subsequently dragged away, as was their mother.
All this happened within the span of twenty counts at most.
Daemon did not seem to care about the chaos he caused, instead continuing one where the now-dead knight had left off, “Ānogar hen zirȳla ānogar [blood of her blood],” whilst holding Vaemond’s body by the scruff of his neck, allowing for his blood to heavy flow upon the stone casket, “Gelebo syt se hembar vys [coin for the next world].”
Gazing to the side, Rhaenyra saw the shock still on her father’s face, as well as the terror and fright on those of his new family and council. Sure, they knew of the Rogue Prince’s penchant for wanton violence but none had ever been truly confronted with it. The small councillors had started whispering amongst themselves but a quick cold glance from the Rogue Prince had them holding their tongue.
Daemon kept muttering to himself. With his eyes now closed, his head lowered and his right hand laid upon the left, palm-down, her uncle seemed deep in prayer.
Rhaenyra just kept on with her inspection of those present.
Daemon’s daughters seemed to be the most at ease for Laena and he had probably raised them more martial than either she and Alicent had raised their children. Rhaenyra had always imagined her uncle and her cousin would have little Visenyas and by the lack of shock or disgust on either their faces, she had been right.
Jacaerys and Lucerys had both flinched but both Laenor and Corlys had kept tight grips on their shoulders. The Heir to the Iron Throne was grateful for her Velaryon kin today. The Sea Snake could have demanded Daemon’s head but instead, he seemed to choose him over his own brother by doing nought at his death.
Alicent seemed to be shaking – whether from fright or the cold sea wind, Rhaenyra did not know – whilst her eyes flitted between Daemon, the king and her own father, while both Aegon and Helaena had turned away from the proceedings. Only Aemond seemed to looking on with an odd expression on his face, which almost seemed like glee.
Daemon raised his head and gestured for his daughters. Rhaenys seemed unwilling to let go of her granddaughters but a narrowing of Daemon’s eyes and the placement of his hand on Dark Sister’s pommel had the Queen That Never Was swiftly remove her hands from the girls’ shoulders. The two scurried to their father, barreling into his sides. Daemon lowered his head and whispered something to the girls, who nodded their heads.
Daemon removed his dagger once more and held it out for Baela first. The eldest of the prince’s daughters used the dagger to slice her palm, while Rhaena did the same mere counts later after being passed the dagger by her sister.
The two girls spoke in unison whilst placing their hands upon the stone casket, which had already been baptized with Ser Vaemond Velaryon’s ill-spilled blood, “Hen embār masti. Va embrot āmāzīli. [From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return.]”
A quick movement of her uncle’s fingers had Corlys and Rhaenys walk forward, repeating the same ritual and words as their granddaughters.
A few counts later Daemon gestured for Laenor to join them, who repeated the words and the bloodletting.
“Now the Blood of the Dragon,” her uncle said, “Bring forth Laena’s nephews.”
Her two boys looked toward her for guidance but Rhaenyra just smiled at them, grabbing their hands and walking them toward the casket.
Rhaenyra halted when her uncle held up his hand and frowned, fearful of what he might say next.
Upon looking back she realized the hand was not meant for her and her children but rather for the king. It seemed like her father had nudged his children to step forward and join them.
Daemon seemed colder than ever toward the king, “Only pureborn children of Valyria, Viserys.”
Rhaenyra felt a perverse joy at how Alicent’s mouth fell open at the open insult while the queen’s lord father grew red in the face. Yet, it was her father’s pained grimace that caused the greatest instance of joy to overtake her grief. None could hurt King Viserys quite like his own brother could.
“My wife will need a worthy sacrifice for her to take her rightful place at Visenya’s side within the Hall of Dragons in the Great Beyond, and as such I shall not spill the blood of half-breeds in her honour. It would be more insult than tribute.”
“How dare you! You are speaking of princes of the realm! Dragonriders! They descend from the Conque–” the Hand of the King started but was cut off when a shrill shriek sounded from the air and Caraxes flew overhead. Ser Otto Hightower froze and was eventually pushed back by the King, who told him to quiet and briskly nodded at his brother, clearly insulted but unwilling to start a fight over it. Not when all he had at his back were seven sworn knights and his brother had brought with him twenty times that in men alone, not to mention Caraxes.
The Blood Wyrm himself kept flying overhead, casting a shadow over those attending and no doubt reminding them of the danger of crossing the Rogue Prince. Even her brothers were shifting at the display of dragon power.
Rhaenyra turned back to her sons, just to witness how Jacaerys and Lucerys stood in front of their father and grandfather and at their urging complied with the Valyrian funeral rite.
“Young Joffrey,” Daemon said whilst pricking the babe’s finger with his dagger, “As his mother, you may say the words, niece.”
“Hen embār masti. Va embrot āmāzīli. [From the sea we came. To the sea we shall return.]”
Daemon took back his dagger and sliced open his own, placing his hand on the cheek of the face that had been carved in stone. Daemon used his blood to draw a Valyrian rune on the forehead, before allowing for his blood to drip on the remainder of the casket, “Ñuha jorrāelagon. Inkoso kostōbāpis aōhis jelmīs sagon, gīso lykāpas aōhas embis, se prūmȳsa lēdāpas aōhas manengīs. Kostagon ao sōvegon lēda īlva ānogar isse se jēdar. [My love. May your winds be as strong as your back, your seas be as calm as your spirit, and your nets be as full as your heart. May you fly with our blood in the sky.]”
───※ ·♛· ※───
Daemon watched the crowd from the grand balcony, where Corlys had offered the funeral-goers refreshments and a small bite after Laena’s casket had been lowered into the sea. Half of her ashes had been placed within the stone slab and the other half Daemon kept with him. What to do with it, he did not know, but he was sure he had to keep a piece of his lady wife close to him.
Vaemond’s death had been ignored by all upon Corlys declaring it a crucial element of Valyrian tradition. Ser Otto Hightower had attempted to protest but had been silenced by his king once more.
Lannisters, Wyldes, Hightowers. Vermin strolled around the Driftmark, with their haughty sneers and deep-rooted belief that they mattered. Animals had invaded the last of the Valyrian strongholds and had done so at the invitation of his brother. Daemon wondered how his family might have fallen this far.
It was Daemon’s fault. Upon his grandfather dying, he should have had Viserys disposed of and taken the throne himself, but his love for his brother had always lessened any ambition he may have had to sit the Conqueror’s ugly chair.
A decade out of the toxic snake pit that was King’s Landing had opened Daemon’s eyes. War was inevitable because of Viserys’ weakness and wandering cock, and his brother would have to be the one to ensure their enemies failed. He and Laena had made connections and created resources. Once again Daemon would step forward as their house’s champion, though this time it would not be in his brother’s name, no, his allegiance had shifted once and for all.
“Brother,” speak of the devil and he shall appear, “Your girls are the very image of their mother. A comfort and an anguish, as I well remember. The gods can be cruel,” his brother had struggled over to where Daemon leaned, watching over his daughters, who were spending time with their cousins and grandmother.
“It seems they've been especially cruel to you,” Daemon fought to keep his tone as even as possible.
The king chuckled, “Yes,” It seemed like he could find humour in his deterioration, “You should return with us to King's Landing. It's time that you came home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, brother. I know we've had our differences, but let them pass with the years. There's a place for you in my court if that's something you should need.”
Daemon did appreciate the sentiment, misplaced as it was, “A place in your court? I command a sellsword company five and thirty thousand men strong and own a navy that sails two and hundred war galleys and another two and thousand trade ships. I have more than thrice the gold on my ledgers than the Iron Throne does. There is nothing in King’s Landing for me.”
“Then do it be near family. Let our children make peace. Aemond is a gifted swordsman, you could–”
“Enough, Viserys. There is nothing you could grant me that would make me step another foot in the Red Keep, infected by your half-breeds and their Andal kin as it has been.”
“They are my children. They are your nephews and niece, your kin,” Viserys looked at him with the same eyes he had given him when he had asked for his support during the Great Council. His brother did as he always did when faced with opposition, preying on his sense of duty toward his blood.
“I am a dragon,” Daemon pushed himself off the stone ledge and towered over his brother, “A dragon could never be kin with Andal sheep,” Daemon left behind his brother, turning to his daughters instead.
Daemon could see Otto hovering nearby and made a short lunge toward him, frightening him and forcing him to jump backwards, bumping into one of the servants, who was carrying drinks. Goblets clattered to the ground and the Hand grew bright red, “I apologize for the ruckus,” and quickly walked away, leaving the woman to clean up after him.
Daemon softly sniggered to himself. The man may call himself a knight but he was like a skittish little mouse when faced with a true dragon.
“Have you seen Laenor?” Corlys asked before Daemon could even begin to address his daughters.
The Rogue Prince merely shook his head and looked around, whilst Corlys, Rhaenys and the children did the same.
“Corlys,” Rhaenys whispered and gestured to the beaches below the High Tide, where his good-brother was sitting on his knees in the upcoming waves.
The Lord of the Tides clenched his jaw and turned to one of the Velaryon household knights, “Retrieve your patron.”
The man nodded his head in supplication but Daemon interrupted, “I will go get him,” Daemon said to his good-father. Signalling for five of his men, the Rogue Prince ordered them to stand guard over his daughters.
“I shall be back soon, my darlings, and then I will escort you back to our chambers, so you may get away from this spectacle,” Daemon softly kissed both their head, “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha byka zaldrīzoti [I love you, my little dragons],” Daemon would never repeat the errors of the past. His daughters would always know how loved they were.
Swiftly turning, Daemon crossed the balcony, shoving past his brother’s wife and her rabid dog. When she made a noise of disgust, the prince turned around and gazed upon her. The consort shivered and took a step back whilst her sworn shield’s hand went to the pommel of his sword. Smirking at the fool, Daemon closed his eyes for a count before Caraxes shrieked in the distance, “We would not wish to become dragon kibble, would we, Dornishman?”
When the man slowly removed his hand from his side, Daemon sneered at his brother’s Hightower bride and made his way to the grand stairs connecting the grand balcony to the High Tide’s private beach.
Trudging across the sand, Daemon dropped down next to his good-brother, “Gods, the water is cold,” sitting on his arse next to Laenor, every time a wave came in he’d be soaked.
Laenor just stared at the wide sea before him.
“I am sorry you did not get to see her,” Daemon chose to be honest with the man, broken as he seemed, “She missed you a great deal.”
The first sign of life Laenor gave was a soft sob.
“Baela is just like her mother, fierce and headstrong, and devilish with a dagger,” Daemon laid his hand on the Velaryon knight’s shoulder, “They are as much Velaryons as they are Targaryens, and they will need someone to teach the way of the sea as you did your own sons.”
“I can’t…,” the man to his left croaked, “I just can’t.”
“Of course, you can. You are of the Blood of Old Valyria. There is nought you cannot do,” Daemon assured him, “Your nieces need you, Laenor. Be there for them now that your sister can do so no longer.”
The man just leaned forward and sobbed, letting out decades’ worth of pain. The fresh grief for his beloved twin sister and the scabbed-over grief for the lover he had not been allowed to mourn, and whose murderer walked free to this day. The mask that had been forced upon him, all for the glory of House Velaryon.
Daemon pulled the man into his side, allowing him to weep whilst clinging to him for some comfort.
Together the two sat for minutes and then hours, until the sun started setting. Just two men who had lost a remarkable woman comforting each other in their time of need.
“Uncle?” Daemon turned to his niece, who had made his way toward the beach, her sons and his daughters in tow, “The sun is setting. Mayhaps it is time for some supper for the children.”
“Laenor, what say you?” the Rogue Prince asked his brother, “Would you like to regale your sons and nieces with tales of our adventures in the Stepstones?”
“Yes, father,” the middle of his niece’s sons – the one named Lucerys – jumped up and down, “Please,” even his daughters seemed excited at the prospect.
“Well, it is decided then,” Daemon stood and clapped his hands, “Your uncle Laenor will take you back to the Sea Dragon Tower, and you’ll have supper together and listen to all his brilliant stories.”
“Will you not join us, kepa?” Rhaena asked with that hesitant look she wore all the time.
Daemon pulled his daughter to him, placing a big sloppy kiss upon her forehead, “And begrudge you this chance to spend with your uncle, who will no doubt spoil you with the finest of sea critters and sweet desserts,” he smiled at the children, “No, tonight belongs to your uncle. Besides, I find myself quite liking the beach. It is quite beautiful as the sun descends into the horizon.”
Laenor stood and placed his hands on Rhaena’s shoulder, “I will have the cooks make us some mussels and some crab legs. Maybe some shrimp and lobster.”
“Oh, and clam chowder, father,” young Lucerys shouted.
“Yes, and maybe some claw chowder too,” Laenor smiled at the boy.
As they huddled together and readied themselves for their short trek back to the High Tide, Daemon turned to his daughters, “Girls, are you not forgetting something?” and tapped his cheek. Both girls immediately ran toward their father and kissed his cheek, “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha byka zaldrīzoti [I love you, my little dragons].”
The two returned his sentiment and ran toward their uncle, grabbing his hands.
“Are you coming, Rhaenyra?” Laenor asked.
“Later, I think I might sit with Daemon for a little while,” Laenor smiled at his wife, who addressed their sons next, “You be good for your father.”
“Yes, mama,” the two exclaimed in unison, and off they were, leaving uncle and niece alone together for the first time in a decade.
───※ ·♛· ※───
It had to have been three or four hours at least. Darkness had descended upon Driftmark and the two just gazed at the dark sea before them, speaking intermittently, when her uncle suddenly stood.
“Let us take a walk, niece,” Daemon pulled her up from the sand.
“Laenor has been restless for years, but now, he will be useless,” Rhaenyra spoke softly, afraid of voicing the truth out loud, “Or worse. I know better than anyone that our marriage is a farce. But I at least make the effort to maintain appearances.”
“You have more to lose,” Daemon reminded her.
“Yes, well, that has been my lot since my father named me heir,” Rhaenyra chose honesty over subterfuge because if there was someone she could trust above all it was her uncle, “We did try... to conceive a child. We performed our duty as best we could. But to no avail. There was no joy in it.”
“Well, your husband does prefer cock. That outcome was a little expected.”
“Laenor is a good man,” Rhaenyra got defensive, to which her uncle only laughed.
“Of course, he is. I have seen your husband cut down dozens of corsairs with his sword and burn even more upon Seasmoke. I am not doubting his character, which I know cannot be questioned, I am saying that as he is a man whose preference lays with other men, it is not that odd he may not like fucking a woman,” Daemon explained, “Even if that woman is as lovely as you.”
She could feel her cheeks redden and softly smiled at Daemon, “Thank you, kepus.”
For a few minutes, there was silence as they comfortably walked the beaches of Driftmark.
“Do you still play cyvasse?”
Rhaenyra was confused, “Sometimes. When we lived in the capital I regularly played with the Lords Caswell or Beesbury, but at Dragonstone only Maester Gerardys knows how to.”
“Lyman is a remarkable player indeed. The only one who ever beat my father,” Daemon rarely spoke of his father, so she was glad he chose to do so now. At least until he chose to open his mouth again, “You must have become quite shite at the game in the last decade. Ser Harwin was a terrible move. You opened up your board for your opponent to attack you on all sides,” Daemon explained, “All who lays eyes upon my daughters would question your sons’ legitimacy,” as always her uncle knew how to hit her exactly where it would hurt most, “You and I are both as pale-faced Valyrian as one can be, and we have both wed dark-skinned Valyrians, yet your sons look nothing like my daughters.”
“It felt good to be desired,” Rhaenyra looked down, “I needed someone of my own. Laenor was broken at first and then found Qarl, yet I had no one.”
Her uncle sighed deeply, “I understand Breakbones was quite devoted to you.”
“Yes, he was,” she said, “And I trusted him. I should have forbidden him from returning to the Riverlands. Harren's curse is said to be as strong now as it was after the Conquest.”
Her uncle snorted, “That's a ghost story. One the Lord Hand and his daughter would gladly exploit.”
“No, I do not believe Alicent capable of cold-blooded murder,” Rhaenyra was sure of it. Alicent may have grown cruel and petty over the years but murder was another thing entirely.
“Then you are a fool for each of us is capable of depravity,” Daemon said, “And more than you would believe.”
“I believe it of you,” Rhaenyra regretted it the moment she said it.
“If you're accusing me of some depravity, you'll need to be more specific,” Daemon smirked at her.
“I've been alone,” Rhaenyra hated the desperation in her voice, “You abandoned me.”
“I spared you. You were a child,” Daemon tried to explain.
“Yes,” Rhaenyra said, “Yes, I was a child. And look at what my life became without you. Droll tragedy.”
“I had to leave, Rhaenyra. You were to wed a good man, and it would have been wrong for me to remain behind.”
“Did you love her?”
“I did,” Rhaenyra did not know what to make of the fond look on her uncle’s face.
“I am sorry.”
“Don't be,” Daemon replied, “Laena died as she lived. And I am at least allowed to mourn my losses.”
“I need you, uncle,” Rhaenyra closed her eyes, willing the tears to stop from welling up, “The Greens have invaded the Red Keep. I need you by my side.”
“Rhaenyra…”
“I am no longer a child.”
“I know,” her uncle grabbed her hands, “You shall have me. I will defend you always but I must mourn, Rhaenyra. As must my girls.”
The princess looked down at the sand below, “Sometimes I wonder what could have been if we had fled to Dragonstone and eloped.”
“Your father would have been forced to name his pup Prince of Dragonstone,” Daemon said, “No, we have beautiful children and I would not trade them for anything in the world. As such I cannot regret how our lives have gone but that does not mean we cannot right the ship now.
“What do you mean? The Greens–”
“Stop calling them that. We are dragons and they are sheep, and as such that will be the only way we talk of them. We shall certainly not grant them any ridiculous epithets.”
“It is not quite that simple, uncle,” Rhaenyra insisted, “They had a decade to spread rumours and undermine me. With Otto’s return, they have taken control of the capital.”
“That all matters nought when faced with the might of dragons and the influence of gold.”
“I shall not be a tyrant, Daemon.”
“Good, but I will be,” her uncle answered, “Our time in the East has made me quite wealthy and given me men and resources I never had before. That can only aid us against the Hightowers.”
“So you shall stay?” Rhaenyra was hopeful for maybe the first time in many sunturns.
“I shall stay at Driftmark for a while and fly to Dragonstone to ensure your sons’ education in matters of war and combat. We must think of strengthening their claims as well. Baela and Rhaena are dutiful, intelligent and strong, and are of pure Valyrian descent, they may make for fine brides for your two eldest, thus ensuring the survival of our blood.”
“You would allow for that?”
“Yes, though begrudgingly so. My daughters will not allow for anyone to overrun them, they are too much like their mother for that, and if your sons should prove themselves to be unworthy of them, we can re-evaluate in the future.”
“My sons–”
A roar interrupted the uncle-niece duo.
“Vhagar…,” Daemon jumped up.
“Maybe Rhaena?” Rhaenyra tried to give her uncle some hope.
“No, my daughters know not to approach an unbound dragon without me present. This must have been a guard or one of your father’s mongrels,” Daemon seemed incensed at this unexpected development, “We must make our way back.”
As they had walked quite far, it took the two a while to make it back to the High Tide.
Just as they were climbing the stairs up to the balcony, a servant came running their way, “Princess, prince,” the woman bowed deeply, “There was an incident with Prince Aemond. The princes Jaecaerys and Lucerys and the ladies Baela and Rhaena got injured.”
Rhaenyra’s heart started beating out of her chest, “Where are they?”
“The Hall of Nine, princess,” the servant bowed deeply but the Princess of Dragonstone cared nought, instead she pulled up the hem of her dress and sprinted into the High Tide, toward her babies.