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Chapter Text

(100 AC)

Red Keep

Viserys

It was an abnormally warm evening.  The summer sun baked the capital during the day. The shudders were thrown open and drapery drawn back allowing as much of a seaside breeze as possible.

Below the Red Keep, in the bowels of Kings Landing, they were not so lucky.  The air remained warm and stagnant, relief reserved for those closest to the Blackwater. In the evening the heat was slow to dissipate and lingered in the red stone - while normally he would have been unbothered like the rest of his family, as of late he’d felt it more and more. 

Is it my nerves? Viserys wondered, tugging at his collar.  

Long clouds slowly meandered through the night sky, he watched their migration through bleary eyes, his mind wandering yet his grip upon the stone railing was white-knuckle tight. One fucking night, he tried to summon some anger and nearly succeeded until a wholly intrusive thought bullied its way to the surface, But what a night it was. The vitriol spewed. The fiery rage. The unburdening of jealousies and of course the deep, deep passion. 

One night.

Would that I could be like my brother. Viserys mulled over the spiced wine in his goblet, sipping it slowly as mournfully warm gusts of wind tugged at his hair. It was the same drink that had loosened their inhibitions and brought them all to this point. He lifted the glass and sloshed it, peering at the maroon liquid as it swirled, This belligerence-inducing nectar.

Aemma had only recently begun speaking to him once more. For nearly seven moons she’d taken her leave - three moons spent in the Eyrie, another three spent on Dragonstone, before retiring to the capital for the last moon and residing in apartments nowhere near his.  

It was only in the last two moons of Rhaenys pregnancy that she’d reconciled with him and graced him with her voice, though admittedly it was only a few sentences at a time. Still, it was something he was exceedingly thankful for. Thankfully Rhaenyra is yet a babe, and her opinion can not pierce me like the arrows that are Aemma’s.  

“Gods, it was only one night.”

“Did the maesters not tell you, my dear brother, that’s all it takes,” Daemon said with a bark of laughter on his maudlin lips.  He exited onto the elevated stone deck from the adjacent parlour with a stumble and clearly ratted ‘Oops!’. The pinnacle of youth at eight and ten years, Daemon sauntered to a spot near enough for him to turn around and besottedly lean against the railing with a sigh, pinning Viserys to the spot with his ever-piercing violet eyes and jaunty tilt to his head. 

He may be drunker than me, Viserys thought. 

“Sho - should you not be nearer the birthing chamber?” He asked with a squint as he fumbled with the top button of his black gambeson. 

“Ha,” Viserys scoffed, “And have Corlys run me through with forceps? No, no. Thankfully Aemma is there. His anger does not extend to her.”

“Aemma!” Daemon repeated rather loudly, “Your wife is attending the birth of your bastard with our married cousin?”

“Quite a mess isn’t it?” Viserys replied demurely, a groan leaving his lips as he leaned forward and put his forehead on his knuckles, still tightly gripping the railing. Hearing it said aloud by his brother really drove home the absurdity of it all. 

“Hmm. I would tell you I would never have thought you had it in you…but well, you did, you had it in Rhaenys,” Daemon guffawed at Viserys horrified expression and even more exaggerated groan. 

“You were always so careful at the brothels.”

“Shut up!” Viserys snapped, looking back at the parlour to ensure it was still empty. Certain that it was clear of any nosy courtiers, he ran a nervous hand through his hair. 

Daemon's nostrils flared, a smile or laugh at the corner of his lips. Viserys’ youth was spent enjoying some debauchery, but now, as his father's eldest son and heir apparent after him, siring a bastard was the epitome of wanton acts. 

And on your cousin no less…

The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like his father.

The night waned on, time meandered forward, the gods brought them a new day, and Viserys watched the sunrise, his brother snoring on the couch. So engrossed with his thoughts was he, that he didn't notice the hours melt away. He’d managed to wander in and outside, rotating between sitting on the plush settee across from his sleeping brother, quietly dragging a chair to the deck, timorously standing at the railing overlooking the gardens and a portion of the city - all while impatiently waiting for any news.  

He was dozing and blinking slowly on a high-backed chair on the veranda. His legs were crossed at the ankle on the railing, eyes heavy-hooded and half-open, and his mind far away when the door opened. Prince Baelon entered the parlour, weariness apparent as he rubbed at his right shoulder while yawning widely. His entrance woke Daemon and pulled Viserys from his sleepy stupor. “Father…” he muttered, dropping his legs and standing with a grunt. 

Daemon yawned silently and stretched, slowly sitting up as Baelon joined him, but not without mussing his youngest son’s hair, a fond albeit tired smile on his face.  He sat with a groan, his purple eyes finding his eldest. 

“Aelor… Waters was born on the fourteenth day of the ninth month of the year one-hundred AC.”

“Ae-lor,” Viserys pronounced the name slowly as he joined them.  “But not Targaryen…”

“No, despite his particular circumstance. Your grandfather had to placate Lord Corlys and House Velaryon as well as punish you somehow.” Daemon scoffed and his father sighed.  

“But it is not a punishment for m -- ” Baelon rose his hand.  The disappointment on his father's face was finally gone, but replaced by a deep tiredness that exposed itself as bags under his eyes and a jaded sigh. 

He took a breath, this was far from the end of this particular conversation. Regardless, Viserys heard his father's statement and he had to confirm, “Is it, it’s a…”

Prince Baelon nodded and smiled slightly, “It is a boy. He has the Valyrian look but for a queer little birthmark.”

At Viserys' questioning look Baelon continued, “Where his mother has streaks the colour of our hair, he has one black one, at his temple. Truly the inverse of Rhaenys.”

Something in him stirred at that, my son. He thought, a tired and wistful smile creeping up his cheeks as he imagined looking down on his little face. “And Aemma? Rhaenys?”

Baelon leaned into the plush backrest, closing his eyes for a moment. In the morning light, you could see more silver than gold in his hair, his age more pronounced. “Your cousin is healthy and tired. Your wife is tired, but well. She is helping with the babe.”

Viserys sighed, a sense of relief washing over him as he sat across from his brother and father. The evening's weariness crept up on him, but their father was not done. “Your grandfather is pleased the birth went well; but Viserys, Corlys is still most wroth. To appease him…”

“What?” Viserys asked, his jaw tense, concern flooded his baring and he leaned forward swallowing thickly, preparing himself for otherwise awful news. 

“Aelor will not be raised here.”

He felt as if he had been struck and leaned away, balling his fists at his side. Something formed in his belly, he was unsure what. Anger? Sadness? His eyes darted to his brother and back to their father, “I don’t…but, he is my --”

Baelon raised his hand, again, “It is done, my son. In a few moon's time, once he’s hardy enough, he will be escorted to Dragonstone.”

“And raised away from his family…” Daemon muttered, shaking his head. “The Sea Snake takes to the sea for moons at a time, and has likely sired a dozen bastards at different ports, but he decries Rhaenys?” 

“It must be,” Prince Baelon said, his voice growing hard. “It may not be fair, in fact, it isn't. Nor do I care for the decision, but by all rights, this should have started a war between House Velaryon and ourselves. We are lucky that resuming his position on the small council and the babe out of sight will suffice. Even more, since he will not set Rhaenys aside. No matter my dislike, Viserys, we are much luckier than we should be.”

“But away from us?” From me? Was what he truly meant. He didn’t care if he failed to hide the pleading in his voice.

For the first time since this ordeal, his father looked at him with sincere sympathy and sadness, as well as something bordering on understanding. He smiled sadly, clearly tired, “You can visit him at any point.” 

“And what of Rhaenys?” Daemon asked after scoffing.

Baelon’s nostrils flared and he frowned, “She will be with him, here, for now.” But once more those eyes became distant. Baelon looked away, “But as I said, Corlys does not want to see nor hear of the babe - nor does he want his wife with the child - infant or not. His concern is for his house and his family, and the ensuing ramifications. He certainly does not want to see you , Viserys, so you will have to wait to see your son.”

Viserys understood clearly - create distance and act as if Rhaenys never birthed the child.   Make him the sole responsibility and as such, a stain on only House Targaryen - on me .  Viserys wanted to be angry, but could he blame him? 

“So, he’ll -- he’ll be alone?” Daemon asked, his voice softer than usual and his brows pressed firmly together. He looked up at his father, a queer look of disbelief and acceptance on his face. A bitter chuckle left his lips. “Alone, with no mother or father, in a massive castle with nothing but soldiers, septa’s, and Maesters.  He is a dragon, on both sides, our blood and you want to treat him like, like garbage… ”

“No! Never,” Baelon said, aghast.  

The Crown Prince turned to his youngest, “Queen Alysanne, Princess Gael, and,” his father's eyes darted to him, “Princess Aemma have decided they would return with him. Rhaenyra will be joining them and I will visit as often as duty permits - I am his grandfather and Aemon would never forgive me.”

She’s still angry, Viserys thought with a despondent sigh surprised he was cognizant enough to school his emotions.  

His father rested his hand on Daemon’s shoulder, but what he’d said didn’t seem to mollify his younger brother and he had a guess at why. Daemon had grown up largely without their mother - she passed from this world to the next when he was two, so he knew that despite having strong women in his life, the hole could never truly be filled. 

“I never had any ill will for Corlys,” Daemon hissed, his eyes like daggers. “But to separate a mother and son so early, despite their circumstances…he will come to rue this day.”

(102 AC)

Dragonstone

Daemon

These Andal gods, they do nothing but take and take.  

He stared at the ceiling, making patterns out of the visible veins in the black stone.  It began with their mother Alyssa, whose laugh and face he could not remember and he would never admit it aloud, but it ate at him. Then came the brother he never knew, Aegon, who lived for only half a year longer than their mother.  And finally, the Andal gods his father had worshipped took him as well; but not on the battlefield with honour and pride, Dark Sister dripping with the blood of his foes, but in a bed weak and frail and sick. 

He cursed the Andal gods, they are not the gods of our house.

It was morning and the tepid grey light of Dragonstone came through his drawn drapes. A single window remained open; the drapery swayed with each gentle gust as the room filled with fresh air.  It created a very pleasant cross breeze under the crack of his door with the open window and dead hearth in the couch and chair-filled antechamber connecting his room, his map-filled solar, and his washroom and privy.  

He yawned and stretched, kicking about in his sheets which were very surprisingly empty aside from him. He’d not taken a partner to this bed in some moons. It wasn’t for lack of effort, no, he’d simply come to understand that as the eldest male Targaryen in the castle an example needed to be made. Truly it surprised him, well, all of them at the amount of unexpected effort Daemon put in, especially after the death of his father. 

At times he found himself wondering, how different would life have been had father lived for --  

The bang of a door interrupted his thoughts and he chuckled noiselessly, “Here he is,” Daemon said aloud, his eyes falling to the next barrier: his door…

…a high pitched squeal followed by the laughter of a babe echoed on the other side, the pitter-patter of little bare feet against the stone and rugs before the handle of his door jiggled and the final barrier flew open - the very reason he’d limited his debauchery and whoring to Kings Landing came charging into his rooms like a mad bull.

“Amon!” His nephew shouted, teetering to the edge of his bed, naked as his name day. A bastard-born Targaryen on both sides, Baby Aelor was a robust child, five moons away from two years old with eyes of pale lilac, and but for the single black streak at his temple, hair of a very rare white gold he shared with Daemon’s own deceased uncle, Prince Aemon.  

Quick to laugh but with a fierce temper, Aelor was raised on Dragonstone; far enough away from the cruelty of the capital. It was good because, in some circles, he was referred to as the Bastard of Dragonstone and Daemon abhorred the epitaph. 

“Aelor Waters!” Septa Leonette called from the hall that connected his suite of rooms to the family apartments. The boy in question giggled and stretched his arms out for Daemon to pick him up, which he did with another chuckle.

“Hide,” Daemon whispered, throwing a blanket over the boy. 

“Aelor, you stop this…” she trailed off as she looked through the parlour between Daemon's rooms and his personal study and washroom. 

The Septa smirked at the opened door but paused as she approached it, seeing a shirtless Daemon, “Oh, My Prince.” She looked down, cheeks rosy red and eyes wide in embarrassment. “Apologies,  have you seen your nephew?” 

“No need to apologize,” Daemon said slyly, but his nephew was far too young to stay still for any length of time. The boy giggled revealing himself and the septa sighed.

“Oh, dear.  Apologies Prince Daemon.  Come, Aelor, it’s almost time you broke your fast with the Queen and Princesses and you still need to bath.”

“It’s alright, Leonette, I’ll take care of my nephew this morning,” Daemon said.

“Are you sure, My Prince?” She asked with a blush, still unable to look him in the eye.

“I am. Go, we are fine,” he nodded and she hastily took her leave, shutting the main door to his suites. Once she was gone Daemon threw the blankets back to his giggling nephew who sat up with some effort, a wholly infectious smile on his almost toothless face. 

Daemon shook his head, “Little dragons should heed their Septa.” The prince grasped the child by the waist before hoisting him to his hip. He had yet to indoctrinate the babe with his own thoughts on the gods. 

“Come now, it’s bath time.”

Always a feisty child, Aelor squirmed at the mention of a bath. “No, pepa!” He shouted as Daemon brought him to the washroom, thankfully the maids had already prepared a bath for him - it would now serve them both. He’d long since given up on correcting him as well. He’d tried explaining what an uncle was, but the concept escaped the boy at his age. 

A momentary wave of sadness washed over him.

He remembered his nephew's first words, and they had been the very same, kepa, but even then he pronounced the Valyrian word for father as pepa, Daemon thought.  It was not directed at him, but at his grandfather, Prince Baelon who’d smiled sadly and just nodded. 

“Ow!” A yank of his hair brought him back to the moment. His nephew's little face stared at him very seriously.

“No baff.”

“What if I join you?” He questioned, brow raised, the makings of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Aelor’s lilac eyes brightened, “Nywa?” 

Daemon guffawed, “Oh no! Your sister can not join us.”

Bath time with a two-year-old, he’d learned very quickly, was an adventure. If he wanted to avoid a fight he had to make it interesting. Rarely did Aelor allow them to have an easy bath. 

And this one was no exception. Daemon shook off and blew air through his lips as he towelled his nephew and himself dry. “The entirety of the washroom is soaked,” He said.  

He was lucky that at least half of the water remained in the tub. Extra towels were tossed everywhere, besides the soaps and oils used for bathing. It looked like a battlefield and had in fact once been one. 

“Come nephew, let us dress you.” Daemon groused as he buttoned the final button of his black gambeson. Of all the people to change, it seemed the birth of Aelor had a direct effect on Daemon who for some reason or another took it upon himself to be the boy's guardian, especially after Prince Baelon’s death. His father's presence had been constant. Weeks at a time he would depart and return looking refreshed and happy…and despite his outward nonchalance Daemon was beginning to understand why.  

“The Rogue and his shadow,” Princess Gael said, a half-peeled hard-boiled egg resting on a porcelain plate in front of her. Though she spoke to him, he knew she was focused only on the babe he held, a toothy smile reserved just for the apple of her eye plastered on her pale cheeks. Aelor laughed and reached out to her.  

Guards stood at the entryway to their private dining annexe, two Kingsguard stationed outside of either door.  The smell of crisp bacon filled the air as Daemon sauntered over with his usual ease; though instead of a longsword, his hip was otherwise occupied by a baby with a thumb in his mouth.   

“And doesn’t he look dashing?” Princess Aemma said, knitting needles mid-stitch.  Daemon was sure she meant Aelor, and Aemma confirmed as much a moment later. “Your work I presume? Septa Leonette prefers to dress him in light and airy colours.”

“Ha,” Queen Alysanne scoffed, her lively blue eyes mirthful, “Of course, it is Aemma, who else would do that? Aelor is wearing black pants, a black tunic, a tiny black gambeson, and little black boots with his hair in a very loose tail that will come undone and become a mess in an hour instead of a braid.  I dare say I'd be surprised if he wasn't wearing a black nappy.”  

Daemon shook his head and Aemma laughed, but the Queen continued, “All he’s missing is a crimson dragon, a devil may care grin, and the pride of Balerion himself, and we’d have ourselves two rogues.”

“You wound me, grandmother,” Daemon said with faux outrage, his free hand raised to his breast before he chuckled.  Aelor continued reaching out for the princess, his fussing growing the longer he was forced to wait, “Princess Gael has always thought he favoured Nuncle Aemon in looks.”

“Oh, but he does!” Gael said enthusiastically as she finished her last egg.  Sweeping her pale gold and silver hair back, she stood from her seat and took his nephew whose fussing stopped the moment he was in her grasp. She plastered him with kisses as he giggled and laughed away.

There were few moments in his young life that could coerce a tender smile on Daemon's face, and one of those few was the sight of them together. Theirs was a very quick bond, quicker even than Daemon’s. The stillborn birth of Gael’s own natural child had all but closed her off to the world. If the family was honest with themselves they were sure the arduous labor and subsequent languor would have killed her…had that happened, the effects would have had a horrible ripple on their household, but somehow she’d avoided the stranger, persisted, and survived just long enough to be weaned back to life by Aelor’s presence. 

Daemon crossed his arms and watched as Gael twirled the babe, as did Aemma with a soft smile and Queen Alysanne, who for her part, looked satisfied. 

The pair were as mother and son and even looked like it - Gael going so far as to dismiss his wet nurse before they’d reached Dragonstone. Both the Maesters and Septa’s said that her milk should have dried but it didn’t, so naturally, Queen Alysanne called it a blessing from the Gods - they had meant for Gael to be a mother to Aelor.

She fed him from her own breast when he hungered. Held him when he fussed. Shushed him when he woke in the night. Changed his nappy when he was dirty. Bathed him and shared the rooms a mother and her babe would and in return Aelor called her his mama.

Motherhood came to his aunt naturally, the role fit her like a well crafted suit of armor. She relished every moment of it and for that he was glad. 

They heard a child’s shout and then a bubble of laughter as another child joined them, brought in by Septa Leonette, “Nywa! Mama!”

Gael laughed as her son in all the ways that mattered struggled to free himself as she set him down. The brother and sister collided in a tangle of arms and hair and hugged each other as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“Gods, I don’t know that I miss anyone like that,” Daemon said.

“The innocence of babes,” Aemma replied, watching her daughter and goodson play. It surprised Daemon how easily she’d overcome her anger. Her heart was tender and the smile on her fair face very genuine, and for that, he cherished his brother's wife. Never once had she been unkind to Aelor and even treated the babe as her own, though warily, as she knew Gael was rather possessive and protective. 

Daemon joined his family at the dark-wood trestle table while the children played. He dropped into a chair and began helping himself to the morning's dishes, “We should have a new house member within a fortnight, at the latest a moon's turn.” Queen Alysanne said, her eyes skimming a letter from the King.

“Oh, who?” Aemma asked, pausing in her knitting.

“Maegelle.”

“Really? I thought she died,” Daemon remarked, spooning eggs into his mouth. 

“Daemon!” Aemma chided and he shrugged, chewing slowly.

But the Queen rolled her eyes, “She survived her bout of greyscale, though she is forever marked by it. We have Vaegon to thank, it was an experimental method he was hard-pressed to use and I believe only did so because they are siblings. We will soon learn if he will suffer any repercussions, but thanks to his diligence and inventiveness, she is a rare survivor.”

“Repercussions?” Gael asked as she joined them once more, now certain her babe was well. 

The Queen set the letter down and sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, “The method included some brutality apparently and was otherwise completely unsanctioned. Archmaester he may be, but approval from their council is still needed before any experimentation on living subjects. Though he was successful it was still a procedure with an incredibly high probability of failure.”

“So, in essence, she was lucky to survive this procedure?” Gael asked.

“Yes, and he was lucky to not contract greyscale.” Her mother replied. “Very lucky. But the gods guided him and they both remain amongst us. Though…” She looked forlorn.

“What?” Daemon asked, chewing on sausage now.

“Maegelle - she has lost her faith,” Alysanne said, the despair clear, but none here were as faithful as her, least of all Daemon who turned away just enough to roll his eyes.  

“Am I allowed to be thankful?” Gael asked, hiding behind a demure smile. “I love my sister dearly, but she could be such a bore.”

“Gael!” The Queen chastised.

“It is true,” surprisingly it was Aemma that agreed, though from her expression it was reluctant

It wasn’t long before the children joined them, the almost two-and-a-half-year-old Rhaenyra on Aemma’s lap with Aelor on Gael’s as they were happily fed smaller portions. 

“How goes Viserys’ campaigning?” Daemon asked, setting a cup of watered-down wine on the table, he crossed his arms and legs and leaned into the chair. “The Great Council approaches.” He had his own plans, but it wouldnt hurt to coordinate , he thought smugly.

“The lords are extremely fickle and Corlys is wealthy, ambitious, and not overly fond of Viserys. His reach stretches far, but we are still Targaryens so regardless of his wealth there is that to contend with.” Aemma said, rather astutely. 

“Well, Meleys is rarely seen leaving Hightide and since Laena managed to do what many of us considered impossible I have not seen her over Dragonstone.” Gael said as she spooned buttered porridge with brown sugar into her babe’s mouth.  Aelor ate happily.

Daemon grumbled at the admission and sat up straight. “Well, that’s not much of a surprise, she’s had that new child and Laena is ever her shadow. She’s never far from her mother.” There was some distaste in Daemon’s voice, and the mood darkened.

But only for a moment as the Queen shifted attention, “Shall we gather in Aegon’s garden, it’s a rather beautiful day. We have two name-day celebrations and a journey to Harrenhal to plan.”

Chapter Text

(102 AC)

Hightide

Rhaenys

Some days were harder than others. The guise of austerity and pride, when her heart ached, took its toll. There were times she would find herself staring at her one-year-old son Laenor and imagining his eyes were a lighter shade of purple, his lips slightly fuller with pudgy cheeks and long soft hair that shone like white gold with a dragon stripe as black as the black hair of her mother's house. Laenor would do something that would make her smile and she would wonder, does he do that…

It was never very long before the tears found their way to her eyes and she wept for her loss. She knew it was far from fair to her other children, but it felt as if her heart was on Dragonstone and she was powerless to reclaim it. 

The sparse letters she received from the Queen painted a beautiful picture that at times threatened to break her - my son is growing up without me. His first words, his first steps, his first bite of solid food, the first time he climbed a stair or opened a door, all of it I have missed. 

In truth, it was the small things that ate at her. Never hearing the sounds he made as he fed from her or watching him fall asleep in her arms. It was only in her dreams, when she and all three of her children were together, that she was happiest. 

Rhaenys closed her eyes, hoping for more sleep, but that was not to be. “Good morning my lovely wife.”

The door to their master suites opened widely, a jovial Corlys entered with a smiling Laenor at his side. “Father and son decided to wish mother a good day ourselves.”

He came to her right side and sat on the plush feather-stuffed comforter she’d pulled up to her waist and deposited Laenor who crawled beside her with a soft mama. His warmth reached her bones and she held her boy dearly for a moment, breathing in his scent and memorising the feel of his soft skin.

“How are you today?” Corlys asked, tentatively, voice soft, with concern on his face. 

She eyed the man carefully, “I’m well enough.” She replied after a moment of narrow-eyed silence. 

“I am happy for that.” He said, looking about, obviously at the state of her rooms. Dark, foreboding, almost threatening in its Targaryen pride. Black and red hung everywhere, defiance, as what had been such a sweet and loving marriage became something different. The banners and colours of House Velaryon were nowhere to be seen, only a shrine to her mother, a painting with the colours of House Baratheon on either side broke the black and red.  

He tried, of that she admitted, but where he put in the effort she simply had none. Of course, she loved her children, but a part of her, by far the largest part of her, loathed him these days.  Even though the distance between us is of my making.

“Hmm,” was her eloquent reply as she sat up and disentangled herself from their darling son. Shifting Laenor to her lap she turned towards Corlys, “Your efforts?”

“Ah,” he smiled, a charming one she admitted, and was angry at herself when she found her own smile forming. “We are on a razor's edge. Many of the lords of the Crownlands are willing to support you and Laenor, Lord Baratheon and a good contingent of Stormlanders remember your mother fondly, and for that, they are willing to look past the rules of agnatic primogeniture in favour of you so long as Laenor inherits. As is the Vale - but the North, The Riverlands, and Westerlands seem to be firmly for him. If we can sway the Reach, we stand to win should the remainder of the Stormlands be pulled on the side of Lord Boremund.”

And as Queen, I can right so many wrongs, she thought of her first son. “The Lords of the Stormlands have always been faithful to Lord Boremund, I doubt that will change now.”

A soft knock followed by “Mother,” pulled their attention to the door.

“Laena!” Rhaenys called to her daughter whose purple eyes widened with a sort of hope that hurt her heart. 

Laena joined them, crawling through the bed to her empty and waiting left side. “I’m glad you’re up. Are you feeling better?” 

The worry in her daughter's eyes threatened to make her cry, so she kissed her on the forehead, “I am.”

Laena perked up and shifted to face her mother, Rhaenys pushed a silver curl from her forehead, “Good enough to fly?”

Rhaenys hesitated but then nodded. Meleys needed her as well, it had been at the very least a moon since she’d visited her beautiful mount. That needed to be rectified, “Yes, good enough to fly.”

The feel of the wind rushing past her face was as refreshing as a dip in an ice-cold lake, it invigorated her and she wondered why she’d neglected this for so long. Meleys did too as she soared through the sky, happiness radiating through their tether. She ran a gloved hand along her mount's red scales, I'm sorry, she thought and the dragon roared a reply.

Gaelithox soared near her, Laena whooping in delight. Her daughter had changed things suddenly when a few years ago, at the age of eight, she had managed to bond to and tame a wild dragon and the Sheepstealer at that.  

All it took was several moons of bringing her sheep until she grew comfortable with me, Laena told them after they’d regained composure and their hearts returned to a normal rhythm. 

It proved to them all, even the dragon keepers, that it was possible; the wild dragons were capable of subservience so long as you were patient. 

Her daughter whooped again. How she had missed this. The pair banked right over the sprawling sea, flying idly with no true destination in mind. She closed her eyes and let the moment claim her. Meleys would fly them, their ever-constant connection subconsciously guiding her mount. 

It wasn’t until she heard a very distant call followed by a roar did she open her eyes. Gaelithox was behind them, and she realized where they’d gone. The Dragonmont loomed in the distance - a cloud-wreathed titan that grumbled and smoked from time to time. Little else happened, and as such, it was the perfect place for dragons to roost and nest. It was also the first place Meleys, herself, and Gaelithox called home - Dragonstone.

Her heart fluttered before it began racing, Meleys was beginning to descend, driven by some compulsion likely more pronounced by her desire to see her child. Before she knew it, they were circling the southwestern plains overlooking part of the cliffs and beachhead. 

They heard a whistle and then a terrifying screech followed by a roar as Caraxes appeared like a red bolt from the clouds, having managed to manoeuvre himself above them. He shot between the circling pair of Meleys and Gaelithox, neither dragon particularly fond of surprises like that. As he banked left and came back Rhaenys was able to see that the dragon her father had once ridden had grown even bigger and was quickly coming to rival her grandmother's mount, Silverwing.

The rider, her cousin Daemon, was motioning. He gestured to the ground and so she followed him down, Laena and Gaelithox doing the same. 

Their dragons landed as gracefully as could be. The trio descended to the earth amidst claws and scales, each of which could end them with a simple movement. Gaelithox took to the sky in a cloud of dust and circled the trio several times before departing to her Dragonstone roost. 

“Mother,” Laena muttered as she reached her. “We shouldn’t be here if Father finds out…”

“Then your father won’t find out.” She turned to her daughter, all of ten and three now. Her daughter took a breath and nodded once, sharply. 

Meleys growl drew her attention - Daemon prowled toward them, every inch a dragon in mortal flesh, clad in black from head to toe. His eyes were narrowed and dark in the bright sunlight, they cut between Laena and herself, his frown deepening. “Cousin Dae -- ” 

“Why are you here?” He all but growled, his hand resting on the pommel of Dark Sister. 

She hesitated and the boldness and confidence she’d felt just a moment ago wavered - Who are you? Where has this weakened version of myself come from, she lamented until she felt her daughter's hand slide into her own. Laena leaned against her for a moment, her weight a comfort.  

“You know why I’m here.” Her voice sounded like the old Rhaenys, the stronger version of herself - the one who’d once been spirited and proud and fierce.   

The wind filled the silence between them as their cousin examined them from a distance before blessing them with a deceptively charming smile, a hint of something in the shine of his eyes, was it malice? One could never tell with the rogue. “Come then, my dear cousins.”

Caraxes and Meleys took to the sky. In silence, they walked, but not for long as a cadre of household guards rode out, three extra horses towed behind them. “My Prince, Princess Rhaenys, Lady Laena,” they greeted as they approached and waited for the three of them to mount. 

Daemon being Daemon took the lead, his pride would allow nothing less. Each step of the horse's powerful legs felt and sounded like thunder to her, the distance travelled from where they met Daemon to the South Western gates felt both endless and instant, such was the state of her thoughts. It wasn’t until they reached the first flag of Targaryen heraldry, lined parallel on either side of the gravel pathway that lead into the southwestern courtyard and stables that she pulled herself together. 

The stable hands greeted them as Daemon led their group in, moving to her cousin, herself, and Laena first before aiding the household guard. Daemon dismounted in one swift motion, breaking into a stride the moment his feet touched the ground. He was one of those mercurial sorts that were somehow good at everything he set his mind to yet still mischievous in his pursuits. 

“They’re likely still in Aegon's Garden,” Daemon said as she and Laena followed. He looked over his shoulder, “The babes do like the outdoors.”

“He does?” Oh, gods, she heard the desperation in her voice. 

“Mhmm,” Daemon nodded and kept walking. 

She knew the way herself, having spent quite some time there. It filled her with joy to learn he enjoyed the outdoors too, but the pain of knowing it was not with her threatened to cloud it all. They passed hallways and closed doors, guards, and maids greeting them as they did. It felt as if Daemon was purposefully leading them the longest way there but it wasn’t long before she heard a woman’s laughter followed by the joyful scream of a child. 

It’s him. She thought, thankful for her gloves as her palms became sweaty. She was unsure what to say, or how to behave. God’s who have you become, Rhaenys?

“Well?” Daemon said and only then did she realize that she’d stopped. 

“Mother, come,” Laena said softly, threading her fingers with her own once more. She gripped her hand, “I’m here with you.”

Daemon watched her daughter with a raised brow before giving her a single appraising nod. Rhaenys swallowed her fear and nodded her own head.

“You were right grandmother, it was Gaelithox you heard,” Daemon shouted as they passed black pillars interspaced by vases full of blooming bouquets. Sunlight filtered through, breaking each step, but through the pillars and vine-wreathed trellis, she could see two children at play. Their voices carried, though she was sad to admit she wasn’t sure which was her son. 

The world seemed to slow down as they turned the corner and descended the three steps into the garden. Tall trees surrounded them, and wild roses dotted the manicured grass, with light broken into beams. A path led to the opening the family occupied and it was there Daemon led them. They were met by a member of the Kingsguard, Ser Lorence Roxton, who greeted them with a nod and soft Prince, Princess, and My Lady. 

Her mouth felt dry, and her heart was in her throat. Her legs felt both heavy and like jelly, each step laborious. All the light seemed to fade  - except around him. He laughed and fell on his bum, his eyes surprised before Rhaenyra joined him. “He’s perfect.” She said, more to herself but Laena’s face seemed to soften, a smile forming at the corner of her lips.

“He’s my baby brother?” Laena asked, her voice a curious whisper. It was only then she realized that her daughter had never met her sibling. 

Rhaenys nodded, her eyes hazy with tears, “He is.”

“Rhaenys,” Queen Alysanne greeted, “Laena.” 

She blinked several times, “Grandmother.” 

The Queen stood, and Aemma beckoned Laena over. Rhaenys missed Gael's narrowed eyes as the Queen approached, “He is hale and hearty and reminds me so very much of your father as a babe.”

The Queen looked at her child with such admiration and love, her smile pure and whole, “We love him Rhaenys. He is not what the world may see of him, what Corlys may think of him - he’s our little dragon.”

Something about what she said stung but Aelor laughed and it was like music to her ears, everything else was forgotten for just a moment.  A bubble of her own teary laughter left her mouth as Aelor toddled around with a wooden sword emulating what he saw the men do in the yard. She didn’t expect her sniffle to draw his attention. He turned towards them, his head tilted curiously.  Her laugh faded as concern flooded his little eyes and he teetered all the way to her. 

She knelt as he approached her, her heart racing faster with each of his tiny unstable steps. Jabbing his thumb into his mouth, he extended his wooden sword to her, expectantly and mumbled a garbled something from behind his hand. 

“For me?” She asked and he nodded, little hairs coming loose from his tail. 

Rhaenys took the little wooden sword, faintly aware that despite pretending they weren’t, everyone in the area was paying them considerable attention. She looked at the Queen who looked back with uncertainty before nodding, albeit hesitantly. That time she didn’t miss Gael's flinch, the protectiveness in her mannerisms, the clenching of her fists. 

“Thank you for the sword, little dragon,” she said softly, extending her arms and clutching him at his side. He went with her willingly, if not unsure. “You know what would really help?” He looked at her, his pale lilac eyes so endearing. “A hug.”

At that moment she memorized his face, the dimples in his cheeks, their rosiness against his pale skin. The single black streak of hair, his birthmark, how it had grown. His warmth against her.

Rhaenys sniffed again and pushed some strands of his white gold hair behind his ear - this time his little hand rested on her cheek tenderly, which only made it worse and she found herself hugging him against her wishing she could take back their time apart. 

Aelor squirmed and made a noise before she released him. “Mama” he called, his voice only slightly distressed, but it stilled her for a moment. 

“I’m here,” Gael replied and the moment came crashing down. He wasn’t calling me, and why would he? She thought. Her child didn’t know her, her firstborn son. 

It all happened so fast, the impulse, the intrusive thought that slipped from her mouth, “Aelor, I’m your mama.” 

His reaction was quick, the boy pulled away and tears welled in his perfect eyes before the crying started. Gael was there in a moment, his calls for his mama answered by her and it stung. 

Her aunt's eyes were full of wrath as she snatched him from her hold, “You don’t get to do that. You’ve heeded your husband's word so faithfully for all these years it is best you continue to do so.” 

The words were said with pure venom and Rhaenys swallowed the hurt they caused but she did not flee, “No matter your thoughts, he is my son.” She reached out to him, and his crying increased. He buried his face in Gael's neck, she hesitated but pushed through until her head was turned sideways by a resounding slap that echoed around the clearing.

“Gael!” The Queen shouted.

But that moment was overshadowed. A roar unlike any other quieted them all, except Aelor, whose cry’s had abruptly turned to laughs. The boy reached for the open sky just as several guards and two of their dragon keepers tumbled in and another roar sounded directly above them as a shadow passed overhead.

“It’s the Cannibal!” The dragon keeper shouted in High Valyrian and everyone, including Daemon's face, paled.

“Indoors now!” Alyssane shouted, and the guards took position around them and escorted them within. Fear was on everyone’s face, everyone but the youngest of them, Aelor, as he clapped happily and reached for the sky. 

“Gon!” Aelor called to it.

Once they were well within the castle walls, Daemon turned to the keepers, “He never ventures this far! What’s happened?”

The grey-bearded elder one wrung his hands, his lined face anxious as he looked to his younger compatriot, “ We do not know. He seemed agitated and would leave his lair from time to time. But the amount of time he would leave began to increase late last year. Never once did he make a sound, he would fly and soar around Dragonstone in the dead of night, almost as if he was searching or patrolling and once he was satisfied he’d return to his lair.”

“And you chose not to tell us, why?” Queen Alysanne asked, her silver brows furrowed in anger. Gael rocked her son, and she watched him cuddle up to her, the pain reaching deeper and deeper with every passing moment. 

“Apologies, Your Grace. He caused no harm. This is the first time he’s ever come out during the day and made a sound.” The keeper said.

“And the other wild dragons? ” Aemma asked as she consoled Rhaenyra.

“They avoid the cannibal.” Daemon answered, “Everyone does. The size of Balerion with a temperament to match.” Daemon turned to the dragon keepers, “ Is it possible since Balerion died that he has claimed this as his territory?”

“It is but with the number of dragons here and Meleys, Gaelithox, Caraxes, and Vhagar, I doubt it. If it was a challenge, we would have heard an answer. Those four are not ones to back down.”

“Is she okay?” Laena asked, her face matching the concern in her voice. 

“Yes, My Lady, Gaelithox was barely moved by the roar. Of all the dragons we care for she has encountered the Cannibal the most. The wild dragons are a different case.”

“But they are not our concern right now,” Daemon added, watching her son and Gael at the window. Aelor’s little palms were pressed against the glass as he stared outside and Gael whispered things to him. Her aunt shot her one last withering look, before clutching Aelor tighter.

“Mama, gon!” He said.

Gael held him at the window, rubbing his little back as she did, “Yes my love, a dragon. A big fierce one. Like your father’s was.”

Gods’ they even look like mother and son, she bemoaned internally.  She could scarcely take anymore, “We must be departing. Y-your Grace.” She took one last look at her son and her heart tightened as she did. 

The flight home was much faster. They did not encounter the Cannibal, but their bonded mounts were much more alert on the return trip. 

Somehow she’d managed to hold her emotions at bay. It wasn’t until they’d landed and the Hightide dragon keepers led Meleys away and she saw her daughter's concern, did the walls break and for the space of a gasp and single sob did she slip. 

Laena ran to her and hugged her dearly. “I’m sorry Mother.” She released her daughter and quickly wiped her eyes. 

“So am I,” she replied her voice shaky and watery. Her chin trembled and her daughter took her hand. They made their way to the family suites unseen, using the hidden passages and corridors throughout Hightide. 

Laena

She sat quietly in her father's solar, the only light coming from the hearth. Thoughts raced through her mind, rampant like wild horses. She struggled to corral them, and a wave of deep-rooted anger certainly did not help. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The tips of her left boot rapped against the tile, her right middle finger following the same rhythm on her right knee. Tap. Tap. Tap.

My brother. A wistful smile crept up her cheeks but fell just as quickly when she remembered her mother's face. Rhaenys Targaryen, so strong and proud, was defeated and struggling. She wanted to hate the child, her half-brother, but how can I, she wondered thinking about the sound of his laugh. 

He was so much more active than Laenor, expressive. Mayhaps it was their year difference in age? Laena did not know, but in the short amount of time, she’d come to understand why her mother was so despondent and distant and so utterly different. 

She is a mother separated from her child. Bastard or not, he was hers and as her daughter and his elder sibling, she had a duty. Laena sat silently in her father's solar, prodding the hearth every so often. The evening drug on, the sun lowered and night took hold. It wasn’t until well after the maids had made their rounds and lit the candles and torches throughout the castle that her father made his way to his solar.

“Oh, Laena!” He said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, Father.” 

“I see. And you and your mother, what did you do today? You were gone for quite some time.”

“We went flying, just as we planned, Father.”

Lord Corlys nodded, his brow furrowing in confused concern, “Did anything happen on your flight? Some of the men claim they saw the cannibal out from his lair. Is that why your mother has locked herself in her rooms with your brother? Did something happen?”

The young Lady took a deep breath, “We went to Dragonstone.”

“W-what?” His face fell, the smile gone replaced by a contortion of confusion and anger. “You did…what!” He pivoted and turned on his heel.

“We aren’t done, Father.” 

Corlys turned back, “You would command me? You and your mother have willfully defied my orders, and you, my daughter, would command me?”

Laena closed her eyes and a rumble shook the keep, another low rumble rolled over them before a roar made her father flinch. Gaelithox flew by very low, somewhere overhead, no dragon keeper would dare stop her. Her father's wide eyes fell on her, “What are…”

“I met my brother today. He’s so little but fierce and vocal, so different from our youngest brother. They look alike, you know, him and Laenor, only separated by a year. But for our mother, it has felt like an eternity since she was separated from her eldest son.”

“Eldest son…” Corly spat, the confusion gone and in its place only anger, “He is a motherless bastard as far as I am concerned - a dishonour on House Targaryen, not House Velaryon. I will hear no more of this Laena. Now go to your rooms -  I will tend to your mother.”

“You will do no such thing.” Laena stood slowly, all of ten and five. She was quiet, contemplative but a dragon nonetheless, and her fire was sparked. “What you will do Father, is make it right before it’s too late and your pride and callousness rob you of all you hold dear.”

“You are a child. What would you know of any of this? What would you know of --”

“I know you have bastards of your own.”

Corlys’ face fell, “How --”

“You, just now. But it was your ledgers that gave me suspicions. You pride yourself on your organization. You wanted me to be like you, do you not remember? You made me copy line for line every one of your entries and then total the sums on my own. You would reference them against yours to ensure our totals were identical, except they never were, were they? I was missing one monthly payment, you checked them yourself so you wouldn’t have to explain the unaccounted-for gold and always told me they were correct, but once I checked for myself.”

His eyes narrowed, “How long have you --”

“Does it matter? Make this right. Make my mother happy again or I will tell everyone. I will tell my great-grandfather the king and everyone will learn of your hypocrisy and the depth of your cruelty. Your marriage will be dissolved and you will be a pariah, forced to marry some minor lord’s daughter since your bastards could not inherit. Another Velaryon’s blood will sit the Driftwood throne because you will be denied your trueborn heirs.”

Corlys stared at her, his thoughts? She was unsure, but she knew he had them, many. Corlys took a breath and balled his hands into fists. “Where has my meek daughter gone? I have noticed a change in you since you claimed the Sheepstealer.”

“Her name is Gaelithox - named after one of the gods of our ancestors and I’ve always been a dragon father, mayhaps it took being on the back of another to realize it.”

“Mayhaps.” Corlys stepped aside, leaving the door open, indicating he was done. 

Laena stood, taking the hint. She paused as she exited and looked him dead in the eye, “I thought myself special, that you were teaching me to be self-sufficient or strong and independent. But you weren’t. I hope you will be a better father to Laenor than you were to me.”

Dragonstone

Daemon

It was nighttime. He was standing on the wall walk between the southern and southwestern towers, leaning against the outer wall, his elbows propping him up. He turned his head up, his hair falling back as his eyes danced from star to star. 

Daemon Targaryen was waiting. 

It had been one sennight since Rhaenys visit. One sennight since they’d learned of The Cannibal's activities and one sennight since his curiosity had been piqued. After learning of the dragon's nocturnal activities, he wanted to see it for himself - lo and behold as the dragon keepers had said, that very same night he watched the great black dragon appear like a void in the night sky, silent as death itself. 

The Cannibal would circle the island and then make a few loops around the Mont before doing the same for Dragonstone and then returning to his lair. He never made a sound and every night's appearance was random, never at the same time. The third-night Daemon had sat outside until the early hours of the morning before he saw the dragon, leaving him to conclude that the Cannibal was purposefully choosing random times.

“Has he come out tonight?” Gael asked as she walked up to him, the door to the tower shut behind her with a soft thud. A wool shawl hung over her shoulders, pulled tight against the cold. Of his family, Gael's company was among those he enjoyed the most. Mayhaps it was their closeness in age, but they’d always gotten along rather well; he owed it to them both feeling like outsiders amongst such a dutiful bunch. 

“Not yet,” he replied, scooting over so she could join him. Though they were aunt and nephew it was truly as if they were brother and sister, such was their bond. “And Aelor?”

Gael smiled, the singular smile reserved for when she thought of Aelor. It was content and happy, full of something Daemon didn’t understand but he knew whatever it was it was good for her. Aemma had tried to explain that it was something along the lines of completeness, knowing the one thing you love the most is hale and hearty and safe. A feeling only a mother could have. 

“He went down easy enough. Gon, mama, Gon!’ That dragon has become the bane of my existence.” She said, her nostrils flaring in exasperation. 

Daemon chuckled, “He cares not for his dragon egg, but can’t seem to forget about this dragon.”

Gael shrugged, “The egg is inanimate. The dragon roars, and flies, and it ‘akys’.”

He looked at her, confusion on his face, “What? Akys?”

Gael laughed, “Mhmm, it akys.”

Daemon was something he rarely ever considered himself to be, befuddled, “Gael, that’s not a word.”

“Of course, it is, to Aelor - but to the rest of us the correct pronunciation would be drakarys.”

Daemon closed his eyes and snorted, “Gods, I love that babe.”

Gael smiled again, “Not more tha - -” but her voice trailed off. A shadow had appeared in the night sky, moving slowly, but banking right and headed in their direction. 

“There he is,” Daemon muttered, as the awesome creature neared them. The Cannibal was an immensely massive dragon, easily rivalling Vhagar in size; he could even be bigger, Daemon thought. 

No one was certain how old the dragon was but they were all certain he couldn’t be any less than seventy-five. Just as with Vhagar his girth amazed him, the dragon crept upon them. Like an eldritch god, he passed over Dragonstone, his mouth cracked open exposing the constant acidic-green inferno that he contained by sheer will - the glow was fiendish, sinister even, and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. 

Gael made a noise, “You - you don’t think he could possibly have seen us?” 

“I’m almost certain he saw us.”  He watched as the dragon passed them and continued on his nightly patrol, a grumble resonated through the air, and some kind of deep noise reverberated in their chests. “The keepers said this began a year ago. So something has drawn him from his den consistently, every night for a year, and only recently did he change his routine and show himself during the day.”

Daemon slowly stood, Gael did the same, “All questions better asked during the day.” She said, and the pair returned to their rooms.   

“Velaryon ships approach, Your Grace, My Prince, Princess’s.” The castellan announced as they ate their afternoon meal. Aemma and Gael sat beside each other as their children ate and played - but all of it stopped when that was announced. 

“Ships?” Daemon asked, setting his fork down. He laced his fingers together and tapped his thumbs against each other. “How many?”

“Four, Prince Daemon.”

“I’ll go see what this is about,” Daemon said. It had been a fortnight since Rhaenyra’s visit and the silence between then and now had irked Daemon. Now with ships on the horizon, he hoped, for the sake of the women and children, there would be no confrontation, But why else would they sail here without notification?

“Be careful, ensure a sizeable guard meets them at the docks.” Queen Alysanne said, her eyes narrowed in concern

“Of course, grandmother,” Daemon said.

The Castellan nodded his agreement, “At once Your Grace.”

It was a breezy day that greeted Caraxes and himself as his mount lumbered from the dragon's den, the keepers maintaining their distance. Easy, he thought, his bond mate was unusually temperamental as of late. He ran a bare palm along his scales, patting him gently as the great creature rolled its shoulders. “Let us fly .”

Caraxes arched his back, his wings spread wide. Gods, he’s grown. Daemon thought, hearing the stretching leather of his saddle. He frowned, knowing that visible growth in such a short amount of time was…abnormal. 

With one great lunge, the dragon took to the air, dirt and dust trailing behind him.  The rush of wind pushed him down, the dragon's strength and speed seemingly increased as he shot upward like a loosed arrow, making his stomach drop and a tickle works its way up his belly.

They leveled out and Daemon righted himself with a grunt. 

It felt like moments before they were soaring over the docks, his eyes inspecting the ships. He waited until they were docked to bring his mount in for a landing. 

Caraxes landed as nimbly as he always did, the dragon perched itself and watched, a deep growl coming from him as the Velaryons disembarked. 

He made his way down and greeted the castellan as he did, “My Prince, we are ready.”

Daemon looked at the thirty or so guards he's amassed, “Let us sea what the snake slithers from the water for.”

Some guards chuckled as the groups met at the opening of the long walkway to the castle, “Is this how you greet family?” Corlys called an otherwise friendly smile on his face. 

But Daemon was not of the same thought, “What do you want?”

That must have caught Corlys off guard, the man opened and closed his mouth. Daemon wasn’t known for being as serious as some of his family, tense situations could use some brevity, but where his family was concerned, especially the ones incapable of protecting themselves, he became something altogether different. 

“I - to speak. With yourself and Queen Alysanne.”

“Hmm, follow me.” 

It didn’t feel like too long before they were entering the castle once more, Caraxes flew overhead, watching them. He led them through the many darkened halls of Dragonstone before entering the throne room, knowing that was where his grandmother was. The rest of the family was there, arranged together around the Queen on the massive onyx throne. Gael held Aelor and Aemma, Rhaenyra. 

“Grandmother,” Daemon began, “The snake, apologies, Sea Snake.”

Corlys’ nostrils flared and he heard some in his retinue muttering. “Your Grace, Princesses.”

“Corlys Velaryon.”

“It has been far too long.” He said, approaching the Queen as Daemon joined the princesses. Aelor was a tired boy today, having woken up while it was still dark. The babe yawned and lay against his mama, his thumb in his mouth - those little eyes heavy hooded and half opened. Gael and Aemma watched Corlys, glancing at one another, he had no idea what it meant but the pair could converse with nary a look. Rhaenyra sat happily on her mother's hip, staring at Corlys curiously. 

“Has it?” Alysanne questioned, “I believe that has been by choice, your choice. Rhaenys was here some time ago.”

His face fell but it was almost unnoticeable, “Yes, I - I am aware. That, Your Grace, is why I am here.”

Daemon's brow rose, “Are you here to admonish us?” he asked sarcastically.

Corlys looked to Daemon, “ No, that was a choice of my wife’s. I am here to…correct the situation.”

“And how is that?”

“Why, to take, the boy with me. To his… mother.”

Of all the people to laugh, it was the Queen herself. “Is that why you are here?” Gael clutched Aelor tighter and Aemma scooted closer to her sister in all ways but blood. 

“Yes. Mayhaps my anger clouded my judgment. I…should not ha -- ”

“No.” It was Daemon that spoke. 

“Nearly two years you have had to make this attempt. Nearly two years Rhaenys has had to make an attempt.” Daemon shook his head. “You are not doing this for her, you are doing this for some other reason, I know not what that is. Mayhaps, to somehow use him at the Great Council? I haven’t an idea, but that is not happening.”

Corlys frowned, “That is untrue and I do not believe that is a decision for you to make.”

Daemon looked to his grandmother, “I agree with my grandson.”

And this time Corlys smirked, “You baulk at simply saying his name or admitting that Rhaenys bore him.” Alysanne continued. 

“No, My Lord. That will not be happening. Rhaenys is free to visit him, but he will not be living at High Tide under your oh-so-tender auspices.” The Queen scoffed, “I can’t believe you would even ask, you of all people. You severed that bond and she was willing. I do understand the circumstance of his birth was not ideal, but you separated them and were fine with ignoring his very existence, so fine you and Rhaenys bore another son a year later and all but name him the same but for two letters…”

Corlys' eyes widened, and his people gasped as everyone but Daemon and Gael realized that their names were damn near identical, but the Queen continued, “…and now you want us to believe you are fine with him being under your roof? No. You sought to replace him. Aelor is my blood, not yours, he will stay with the mother that chose him, the family that loves him, not the one that set him aside.”

The Sea Snake composed himself, “I see…” he took a calm breath and smoothed his doublet, “That is very unfortunate. But it can’t be said that I didn’t try.”

“Is that so?” Daemon asked, noting the Sea Snake's wording.

“Gon!” Aelor called, suddenly awake. 

All eyes turned to him, but Daemon and Gael shared a questioning look before a shadow passed overhead. Daemon strode to the window and looked out as far above, a black mass disfigured by the brightness of the sun banked away from the castle. Daemon turned from the window, his violet eyes landing on his nephew. 

He was going to need to speak to Vaegon.

Chapter Text

Kings Landing: Prince Viserys’ Apartments

Viserys

“Prince Viserys has an heir, my lord,” Lord Bartimos Celtigar said with a frown, a harumph on his lips. The courtier had a perpetual sour look, his eyes narrowed as if there was something afoot and only he could decipher it.

They were within Viserys King’s Landing apartments, the solar to be precise. The mid-afternoon sun filled the room with light as the cross breeze from the sea helped keep them cool. Viserys' brow arched as the slightly corpulent lord adjusted his doublet. 

“And that heir is a girl,” Lord Lyonel Strong repeated, not unkindly, Viserys noted, but with some emphasis. “I mean no disrespect My Prince, but even Princess Rhaenys has a male heir.”

An undeniable fact that I would otherwise celebrate were it not for our current political predicament, Viserys thought to himself. 

“He is right, My Prince, agnatic primogeniture is the way of the land. The great council has the potential to upend years of tradition, but in common practice, it is a male heir that inherits.” The older Lord Lyman Beesbury opined. He was sat nearest the open window, fanning himself periodically.  “And she has ensured that after her it will resume.”

“That is why I meant the Prince Daemon,” Bartimos replied, stroking his silver whiskers, face still as sour as ever. 

“We are all here forgetting something…” Lord Gunther Darklyn interjected, his voice soft as he leaned into the backrest of the armchair he was in. His dark eyes found Viserys and a sly grin cut through his equally dark beard, “Our Prince has a son…”

Lord Bartimos's purple eyes widened. He looked aghast, his lips curling unpleasantly, “A…a bastard?”

Gunther shrugged, “A trivial issue that can be righted by the King and the Faith were they so inclined.” Lord Gunther replied, voice soft and unbothered. He scoffed noiselessly, “And why wouldn’t they be? The promise of gold or dragon fire can be very compelling.”

“Bastards are treacherous by nature, it is in their blood! Betrayal comes as easily to a bastard as loyalty to trueborn men!” Bartimos shouted. 

Viserys' eyes narrowed, and his voice took a dangerous edge, “Careful my lord, bastard or not, Aelor is my flesh, my blood. My son. You will address him as such, or not at all, am I understood?”

Lord Celtigar looked down, his face red but admonished, “I apologize, My Prince. I should never speak of any member of the royal family in that manner.” He sat down slowly. Both Lyonel and Lyman shared a look, surprised by the harsh rebuke and tone of Viserys' voice. He was not one known for confrontation - except when it came to his wife and children, he was quickly realizing. Gunther smiled smugly - his distaste for Lord Bartimos was known by most. 

“I will allow this outburst to pass, this once, Lord Celtigar. But speak of my son in that most execrable way again and my response will be much less pleasant. Remember, my children are the blood of the dragon, from both sides of their family - and dragons are made of different stuff. We are not as you and yours.”

“Exactly, My Prince.” Lord Darklyn said, “He is a dragon, twice over; and he is a boy, your seed, your blood. If Rhaenys campaign is in truth for her heir, shall you not allow yourself an heir as well? There are solutions. Ways to ensure his claim remains unchallenged in the years to come. Betrothals?”

“You mean with Rhaenyra?” Viserys asked, knowingly. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of it before. The Lords of Westeros were men of tradition, and a male heir, legitimized natural-born or not would be preferable to a Queen or female heir, however distasteful the opinion was.  

“It could be done. House Targaryen has married brother to sister for years,” Lord Strong said, a contemplative frown on his face as he stroked his brown goatee. 

Lord Lyman cleared his throat, “May I add a concession?” Lyman began, “Should you and Aemma bear a son of your own, then that child shall be the heir, but until such a time, Aelor shall be yours.”

Viserys took a deep breath before sipping on his wine. “Give me the letter.”

Lord Darklyn passed Daemon's letter to Viserys, he glanced at it, quickly reading through the neat lines once more. “Do you think Corlys poses any threat to my child? He did break the terms of his own accord to collect my son. Aemma and Rhaenyra are there as well.”

“Remind me of the terms, once more?” Lyonel requested.

“It was all rather simple, Aelor was to be raised away from court and to have no interaction with Rhaenys. He did not want him to know who his mother was. To him, Aelor was a motherless mistake in the care of House Targaryen, best unseen and forgotten.”

Lord Celtigar didn’t say anything but he could tell that the man agreed. Lords Darklyn, Beesbury, and Strong though showed different levels of disapproval.

“I would not have been surprised if some awful tragedy befell the babe on their return trip to High Tide,” Gunther muttered, and Viserys' brow pressed together, a knot of worry formed in his belly. 

“Surely he wouldn’t have killed my son so brazenly?” He didn’t know whether to be appalled or angry. Regardless, the thought was concerning. He was thankful for his grandmother's rationale and his brother's outright stubbornness. 

“I highly doubt it, My Prince, that would have earned them the ire of the Iron Throne and the wrath of Daemon and Caraxes and most likely the Queen and Silverwing. Your brother wrote that he claimed to be collecting your son on Rhaenys behalf so let us assume the best until we have proof of the worst.” Lyonel said, ever the voice of reason.

“Of course you’re right, he wouldn’t dare harm my family,” Viserys said, more to assure himself. The prince sighed and set Daemon’s letter upon the rest on his desk, “Though I must admit, his actions haven’t gone unnoticed. He is drumming up support for Rhaenys. The Crownlands are split between us.”

“You are a man. Right now the only thing she has on you is her male heir, make Aelor your heir, legitimize him, have him anointed by the faith and that split will narrow in favour of you.” Lord Darklyn pushed.

“I will have to speak to Aemma, in person, about this.” And mayhaps even Rhaenys, he thought to himself. 

That was how he found himself sailing to Dragonstone, Daemon's letter in the inner pocket of his doublet. 

Mind your children, Viserys, they are growing quickly. 

It had been nearly a year since he’d seen any of them. A dragon would have made the travel quicker but he was loath to bond to another. The loss of Balerion had taken a piece of him. Nobody told you about that, he thought. The feeling of having a chunk of your soul die when your bonded dragon passed. Though he’d been old and well past his prime, the pair had formed a connection in their little time together and his death hurt as deeply as the loss of a sibling or parent.

“How long has it been, My Prince,” Ser Harrold Westerling asked him, breaking him from his reverie. Viserys took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, turning towards the Kingsguard. 

“Far too long Harrold, I wonder if my children will even recognize me?”

Ser Harrold smiled warmly, “I’m sure they will.”

The pair lapsed into silence as the captain shouted orders to the crew - his mind on the wood cuttings and the doll he’d brought as gifts for his children. He pulled on his cloak as the wind caught it, his eyes set on the horizon. He enjoyed the company of Ser Harrold, a long-time knight and man he considered a friend. His hope was for him to be the next Lord Commander, he was well deserving of the post and were he to become King he would see it done. “When was the last time you returned home, Ser?” 

They heard the whistle of Caraxes before Ser Harrold could reply. The dragon burst from the clouds with a roar, swooping over the ship and making the crew shout out, some in surprise and others in awe. Viserys chuckled at his younger brother, “I doubt he’ll ever change.”

“You never really get used to that,” Ser Harrold said.

“No, you do not.” 

It was not long before their ship was docking and he was standing at the railing, prepared to deboard. Daemon and a small retainer of Household guards greeted them at the end of the pier, “Viserys!”

“Daemon! How have you been?” He asked as he descended the ramp. 

“Good enough. From the looks of it not better than you,” his brow rose in question and Daemon quickly cleared up his confusion, “You’ve gotten fat, Vis.”

Viserys' cheeks reddened and he rubbed his belly defensively, “Bollocks!”

His brother shrugged non-committal, “If you say so,” Daemon chuckled, “Come on then.”

He walked behind Daemon in silence, taking some time to refamiliarize himself with his family's ancestral home. He admired the sound of the crashing waves and the wind and the pleasant coolness as opposed to the heat of the Capitol.  He was looking over the windswept grassy plains when he stopped suddenly, grabbing his younger brother by the upper arm, “Daemon, what - what is that!” He pointed to the north.

Daemon followed his finger and made a noise of understanding, “Ahh, that is the Cannibal,” he said nonchalantly as the dragon rode the wind's currents in the distance. It turned slowly and for a moment looked as if it was suspended in the air until he realized it was getting larger which meant it was headed in their direction.

Everything in him told him to run, to hide, to call the guard to do anything, but Daemon remained still, watching it approach. It was massive, he realized. A black void in the blue sky, nighttime and darkness personified with silver streaks and veins parallel on either side of him. He could see eyes like wildfire, burning an insidious green even in the bright daylight. 

“Should - Daemon! Shouldn’t we be running!?”

His younger brother looked at him, brow raised, and a mischievous look on his face. “Whatever for?”

He swallowed thickly, every fibre in his body screaming to run as he pointed to the dragon once more. Daemon did the unbelievable, he waved it off. “No harm will come to us. In fact…” he looked at the guards, his brow raised before taking Viserys by the arm and pulling him some distance away. Daemon leaned towards him, gesturing for Viserys to do the same. It was all rather conspiratorial.

 “… in fact, I think I know why he’s been out and so active, but I need to speak to our uncle, Vaegon. I sent him a raven a sennight ago.”

Viserys looked as the dragon approached and passed far overhead, casting them all in shadow. Their group watched the dragon continue onward, “What’s he doing?”

Daemon followed the dragon for a moment longer, “We’re pretty certain he is patrolling.”

They continued walking toward the castle, “Why, what for?”

Daemon slowed down so they were walking beside each other. “I’m not certain, but I think it's because of Aelor.”

Viserys' heart stuttered, as did his steps, “What!”

Their group paused once more. The sound of gulls and sterns against the wind filling the concerned silence. Daemon sighed. “I’m not sure, that’s why I contacted Vaegon. I wanted to know if it was possible to bond to a dragon you've never met or interacted with, even from a distance.” 

“I don’t know what to say, Daemon. The Cannibal? My son?”

“Then don’t say anything.” His brother replied, “Come on. Oh, Maegelle should be here any day now.”

He began following his brother but paused once more, “Maegelle? I thought she died!”

“Grandmother,” he smiled at the sight of her. The Queen held her skirts back and hugged him upon entering the large sitting area connected to the family’s apartments. Her white hair was pulled back behind her ears in a loose bun and she looked hale, more so than the Old King.

“Viserys, my boy.” She smiled kindly, lovely even in old age. 

Viserys went to his wife next, his heart aflutter at the site of her face. Aemma stood, a winsome smile creasing her porcelain cheeks. He cupped her cheeks and drew her in for a kiss and an embrace, “Gods I have missed you.”

“And I, you,” Aemma said, leaning slightly away to look him in the eye, her arms encircling him. She released him, and gripped his wrists gently, the most beautiful smile on her pale face. He rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs, memorizing her countenance once more before letting go.

Taking a breath, he looked around only then realizing that but for his wife, grandmother, Daemon and himself there was no one else, “Where…” he frowned, “Where is everyone?”

Aemma smiled, “Taking a bath. We let them play on the beach. We’d hoped to catch a glimpse of you.”

He cheered up, “Oh, that would have been wonderful.”

“It would,” Aemma replied, “We’d hoped to get them acquainted with boats before we travel back to the mainland.”

“Ahh, I see.” His mind went to his task for a split second and he considered broaching the subject then, since the Queen was there and he was certain Daemon would support him, but he reconsidered. I should speak to Aemma first.

“Oh! Here,” he quickly pivoted to the gifts he’d brought for his son and daughter and showed her the two wood cuttings as well as the doll. “I wasn’t sure what colour he would prefer, so I had a red one and a black one made, in our house colours and Rhaenyra would like a doll wouldn't she?” He was very unsure. 

Aemma put her hand on his, “I’m sure they’d love anything their father gave them. Now come, let’s go see them?”

A grin captured his face, “Let's! Daemon are you coming?”

His brother looked up from what he was reading, “Oh no. Bath time is…well you’ll see.”

Aemma and Queen Alysanne chuckled as she led him out.

He could hear his aunt laughing as he walked up the hallway to the family suites. 

He stuttered in his steps when he heard the children’s laughter, it made him grin from ear to ear. Viserys and Aemma came to a stop within the opening of the door. Gael and the children were bathed but playing, the room smelled of lilac and rose water, fresh scents. 

“I've missed so much,” he said, more to himself.  Aemma gripped his arm to comfort him, but he couldn't help but think of Daemon’s letter, Mind your children. 

Viserys shook his head, amazed, the last I saw them, Aelor could not walk and Rhaenyra barely could .  They were in matching night clothes, Rhaenyra’s hair pulled into a single braid and Aelors a low tail, his black stripe prominent and both heads still damp. 

Were it not for his birthmark, the pair could be twins he thought, the grin turning into a fond smile as he watched them, the three none the wiser. Aelor climbed over Gael's leg and crawled over to Rhaenyra’s stack of blocks, Rhaenyra clapped and followed suit, toddling around to climb over Gael's leg as well, the action becoming a game for them as they squealed in joy - Gael poked and prodded them all the while, drawing laughter as they squirmed away from her tickling fingers. 

Aemma opened her mouth but was beaten to the punch, “Mama!” Rhaenyra called, Aelor and Gael turned as well. 

“My baby girl,” Aemma said as Rhaenyra toddled to her, Gael smiled and stood - scooping Aelor up as she joined them. She was dressed for the night as well, a robe over her nightgown and pale silver-gold hair swept behind her. 

“Nephew,” she said.

“Aunt,” the pair embraced from the side and he placed a kiss on her cheek before stepping back and taking a look at the boy in her arms.

“Hello little ones,” Viserys said, looking between Aelor and Rhaenyra. 

“Do you remember who he is Rhaenyra?” Aemma asked, and Rhaenyra tucked herself under her mother's chin bashfully. “This is your father, Nyra.”

Viserys held a breath as Rhaenyra looked between them, unsure before slowly reaching for him. He took his daughter gratefully as Gael bounced Aelor on her hip. 

“Do you want to meet your kepa, Aelor?” Gael asked, sweeping hair from his forehead. He looked at her from behind his thumb as he sucked away, his pale lilac eyes moving between the three adults and landing on the still unsure Rhaenyra. 

Aelor extended an arm and Viserys grinned, taking his son in his other arm. The siblings looked at him, Both of them staring at the hair on his face. Viserys remained still as his son and daughter explored his features, Aelors  little hand came from his mouth and touched his beard, making Viserys laugh. 

“Daemon doesn’t have a beard and he is really the only man Aelor and Rhaenyra spend any significant amount of time around.”

His little fingers wove through the beard, “You may yet have one, one day my son.” He said, the racing in his heart subsiding as something else replaced it. Gael and Aemma stood where they were as Visery walked further into the room. 

“I’m your papa,” he looked between the pair as they watched him, their little faces so endearing. “And I have missed you both so much.”

He found himself smiling a lot that evening as they played and he became their horse and their dragon. He became their knight and the monster behind the settee. He flew them through the air and told them about his own great dragon. That evening titles did not exist and Dragonstone became their playground. He chased them through the halls, both Daemon and The Queen joining at one point. 

For the first time in what felt like months, he laughed and forgot about his father's death and the great council. He was himself, nothing more. Viserys the father, and Viserys the husband. Viserys the dragon, and the horse, and the mountain, and the tree, and whatever else his daughter and son wanted him to be. 

As they lay against him, tired and fighting the eventuality of sleep, he promised himself then that he would not separate himself from his children again. 

“Come Viserys.” 

He woke to a soft voice, Aemma’s. “Where…”

“Rhaenyra’s room,” she said with a warm smile. It was at that moment he felt the piles of warmth on both of his arms and looked to his right to find Rhaenyra fast asleep tucked against him and then to his left to see Aelor was the same, though his thumb was in his mouth. 

“You all fell asleep as you told them stories. I hadn’t the heart to wake you.” Aemma said. He saw the rising sun through the eastern window.

“Gods,” he groaned, “I slept here all night?”

“You did,” Aemma said with some humour. 

Gently, he unwound himself from his children. Rhaenyra moved and he paused, waiting for her to still before he left the bed, leaving the pair fast asleep beside each other. He stood with a yawn before taking Aemma in one arm. 

The pair watched their children sleep. “Truly Aemma, I am sorry for how he came into this world, but I can not be sorry for the fact that he is in it.”

She wrapped an arm around him, “Neither can I. I’ve moved on Viserys. I see him as my child, as Gaels as well - she more than anyone has earned that distinction. I do feel for Rhaenys. I couldn’t bear to be separated from Rhaenyra let alone Aelor. At least he has you, and the clarity that brings.” 

Her face fell and he noticed, “What, what is it?”

“His life will be challenging. Will we tell him who his mother is? Will Gael? Will Rhaenys? How will that go? Will we confuse him and cause him more harm? Besides that, he is a prince in all ways, but the one that matters.” She looked at him, her amethyst eyes locked on his, “There has never been a royal bastard before him, Viserys; at least, not known or recognized.”

“There was Orys.”

“The bastard brother of the conqueror. Another very unique situation but altogether different. Aerion Targaryen was not The King.” Aemma replied

“Neither am I.” He countered.

“But that may change. As it is you are a Prince, possibly the Crown Prince.” She paused, “As is Rhaenys. He is royal on both sides of his family. Orys was not.”

He bobbed his head in agreement, turning his eyes towards his children who were now holding each other in their sleep. If ever there was a more opportune moment, Viserys decided that this was that moment. The sweat in the centre of his back seemed to appear very suddenly.  He swallowed thickly, and she must have noticed.  Her silver-gold brow rose in question, “Well, umm, I was hoping to speak to you about this later, but now may be as good a time as any…”

Aemma’s head tilted, and were it any other time, the morning sun highlighting her ethereal beauty would have driven him to steal a kiss, but this once, nerves twisted his belly in knots.  

“What?” She asked, voice still soft.

Releasing a breath, he let the words rush out of his mouth, “I am going to petition grandfather, and seek Aelor’s legitimacy.”

She didn’t look surprised, rather, her lips pressed together in a thoughtful frown before she nodded slowly, “Good,”

“Good?” He turned to her in full, “I…good?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Yes. But was there more?” she asked knowingly.  

The ease with which she accepted this, it made him suspicious. He understood that with time most wounds were able to heal, but was it truly this simple? He led her further into the hall, “Yes, I - of course with your approval, I am going to make him my heir. Contingent on the birth of our son.”

And now a bead of worry formed where the butterflies were.  Her face changed and her head dropped, she looked at the ground and it was his turn to question, “What is it?”

She took his hand in hers and led him away from their children’s room and back into the vestibule connecting all the rooms, her violet eyes darted to Rhaenyra’s room and back to him, “I had hoped to speak to you at another time.”

“About what,” he asked, his concern growing. The pit expanded, now filling his belly with dread.  

Aemma looked at him, and deeply, her grip on his hands tightening. “Viserys, I…I do not wish to bear another child.” 

Something in him baulked at that but outwardly he tried to remain impassive.  He swallowed thickly and exhaled through his nose slowly, “I, Aemma…”

She placed a finger on his lip, “We can speak on this at another time. And no this is not any form of punishment. I just - My love, I cannot suffer another loss. We may speak on this more later, but for now, know that I am in agreement.”

She released him and made her way back down the hall silently, she stopped at the door and leaned against the edge, peering inside at the pair of them curled up and clutching each other. He had yet to move, so wrapped up in what Aemma said that he had yet to notice her move or hear her speak, “-- wed them to each other.” 

“What was that?” He asked, blinking and shaking his head. 

She looked back down the hall at him curiously before beckoning him over.  He complied, and as he reached her she repeated herself, “We shall wed them to each other. He will need the security that the marriage provides. Betrothed and wed to his trueborn sister, there will be no question on the legitimacy of their reign and of their children. They will be our heirs - a crown prince and a crown princess, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne they can rule together.”

“You have thought on this?” He asked, surprised by the depth of her reply. 

Aemma smiled, “Of course I have. They are our children and I want for them the world. Since I’ve come to Dragonstone they have been inseparable, Queen Alysanne said they reminded her of your mother and father. ”

“Did she?” He asked, surprised. 

Aemma nodded, “She did, but will King Jaehaerys agree?”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.” Viserys felt much more confident. “Things are different now. My father is dead. We have seen how easily we can be taken from this world. With Aelor as my heir, betrothed to Rhaenyra my claim is stronger than Rhaenys’ and Laenor’s. The only issue will be the faith, but surely grandmother could assist us?”

Daemon

He yawned as he strode through the hallway, his arm lazily resting on the pommel of Dark Sister. He’d received a summons to his grandmother's solar as he finished in the yard. Ser Lorence and Ser Harrold greeted him at the door, with Ser Clement Crabb guarding the entrance to the Queens suites. 

“My Prince,” Ser Lorence said, opening the door, both knights gave him a nod as he entered.

He was greeted to the site of his entire family currently on Dragonstone. Gael sat on the settee in green brocade with Aelor matching on her lap.  Rhaenyra was doing the same in a dress of sky blue with Aemma in a gown that looked the colour of a peach.  The four of them were beside each other as the children played in the space between the two women. Viserys sat before the Queen's desk with the Queen behind her desk, a loose samite gown on her shoulders and a thin circlet of gold on her brow. 

But there were two newcomers, one of which was a complete surprise. 

“Nuncle Vaegon!” He said, startled. 

“Daemon.” He bobbed his head.

“Sep - - ”

Maegelle raised a hand, “Aunt Maegelle, Princess Maegelle, Maegelle, or aunt. Nothing more.” She stood and crossed the distance, hugging him tightly, “Hello my nephew.”

Daemon stood rigidly once released, his eyes darting to Gael who was on the cusp of laughter. “Hello.” He said, approaching an empty chair. “When did the two of you get in?” he drew Dark Sister, scabbard and all, and rested the sword beside him.  

“Late last night. I thought it prudent I take some time away from the Citadel.” Vaegon replied in his somewhat nasal voice. 

“Ahh…” Daemon shifted Dark Sister before him resting both hands on the butt of the pommel, “So…summoned just to say hello?”

Alysanne pursed her lips and shook her head, “No, you silly boy. Your brother intends to petition the King to legitimise your nephew.”

Daemon's eyes grew wide and darted to Viserys and then Aemma before falling on Gael and her bright smile. The Queen continued, “Your uncle has also shared with us your concerns regarding a particular dragon.”

This time it was Daemon's turn to purse his lips, as he turned to Vaegon with an exasperated smirk, “I had hoped to confirm my suspicions before making them known, but aye, I believe that something is occurring between Aelor and the Cannibal.”

“I still don’t understand how that can be,” Viserys said.

“We all know what happened with Laena and the Sheepstealer, or rather, Gaelithox,” Daemon replied.

“I abhor that name,” Gael said.

Princess Aemma, Queen Alysanne, and Prince Daemon all replied in unison, “We know.”

“But you can’t seriously believe that the dragon and my son are somehow bonding? And besides, did Laena not visit Gaelithox often, bribing the dragon with sheep?  Last I knew, my son, who is not yet even two, is not capable of that,” Viserys said, looking back at Vaegon. 

“I can’t say one way or another but it is possible.” At Viserys' questioning look he clarified, “The forming bond, not a babe guiding sheep to a dragon.  Wild or not a dragon is a dragon and a bond can be made. I am here now so I will be able to observe this myself but from what Daemon's letter said, it does seem as if a bond or something like it is forming.”

“Either way, this is a rather large development,” Surprisingly it was Maegelle, their recently arrived aunt. She was wearing all black, decidedly not colours a Septa normally wears - the collars were high, hiding her neck and he assumed the scars from her bout of greyscale. 

Her hair was pulled back into three braids, those braids also braided together. He noticed a signet ring bearing the sigil of House Targaryen on her right ring finger as she laced her fingers together. “The Cannibal is by far one of the largest dragons alive. If what I saw last night is to be believed he easily rivals Vhagar.”

“You saw him as well?” Viserys asked.

“We did.” Vaegon replied, “Your brother told us he patrols in the evenings. Another strange behaviour, but easily indicating a protectiveness of something. Is that Aelor? I am as of yet unsure.”

“I’m telling you, he’s bonded to Aelor,” Daemon said.

“If that is true,” Queen Alysanne began, “Then I admit, this is quite a development. I have always been in favour of legitimization. Aelor is as much a dragon as all of us here and with a mount that could easily surpass Vhagar and rival Balerion mayhaps it is prudent. Were he to marry into another family, a new line of dragon riders could come to life, untethered to House Targaryen.”

“Come now,” Gael joined in, “You truly believe my babe could be a threat to our House?”

“Were he not in someway bound to our house, yes, he could be. Do I think it is likely, not at all. But why leave the future to chance? Given the name he deserves, I do not foresee that ever happening. Even if it were not a possibility that my great-grandson was bonding with a new immensely massive dragon, I would still aid you with your petition. It’s what Aemon would have wanted and I know it’s what Baelon argued for.”

That surprised them all, “Father wanted him to have our name?” Daemon asked the Queen.

“He did, from Aelor’s birth. But it was Corlys who was wroth. Yet Corlys broke his accord so legitimization is now a possibility. One that I intend to pursue.”

Four days later the sun rose and with it two sleepy babes still in their night clothes at the hips of their mothers.  

A cold mist swept over the black ocean water, an equally cold breeze with it. Aemma and Gael set a brisk pace, their hoods raised as one of them shushed a fussing child. Aelor and Rhaenyra remained tucked beneath their cloaks as they rushed across the docks and up the ramp of The Pride of Balerion. The royal family on Dragonstone was departing.  Viserys followed, Maegelle and Vaegon came after - hooded just the same.  The remainder of the guards that had accompanied them from Kinglanding followed, the sound of their boots heard clearly over the eerily quiet waterfront.  

Daemon watched from high above, on the back of Caraxes. 

The early morning sun was only just beginning to burn away the cloud cover and mist.  In the near distance he could see his grandmother on her mount, Silverwing, gliding on the breeze as the boats set out.  Only the wind, the distant call of sea birds, and their dragons could be heard at their elevation.  

The tepid light grew warmer, gold and orange and pink blooming from the horizon.  He watched it as they set out, Caraxes wings lazily holding them aloft as they rode a draft.  His bonded dragon grumbled, and Daemon smiled.  Do you like your new saddle? He thought, sure that whatever bond connected them would relay his message.  Caraxes puffed a circle of smoke and Daemon ran a palm along his mounts scales.  Good.

The sound of a bell drew his attention.  Daemon looked to Silverwing who had banked to the right and was sweeping low.  Holding his hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the sun, he could barely make out his grandmother on the back of her mount, pointing.  SIlverwing screeched and this time he felt Caraxes tense as a deep roar that sounded like the roll of thunder resonated over the water.  Daemon clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils, a smirk cutting across his cheeks.  

He and Caraxes did as his grandmother and banked right, turning to circle downward. As they did he saw what had caused the warning bells from their ships.  The Cannibal had risen, a black scar across the sky - both terrible and awesome.  The dragon leveled out but otherwise maintained the same course as them, if anything he was speeding up and would soon reach them. With that in mind, Caraxes belted a screech, drawing his grandmother's attention.  He pointed back at The Cannibal before turning his hand in a circle and gesturing upward.  He and Caraxes rose once more but also slowed.  His grandmother followed suit and soon Silverwing was pulling even with him as the sun rose higher into the sky.  

Daemon watched as The Cannibal came even beneath them. 

Caraxes was hit by a wave of air but rode it easy enough before righting himself with a perturbed screech. The dragon was massive, easily twice the size of Caraxes, and each flap from its awesome wings was strong enough to send a smaller weaker dragon flying.  As the sun rose he watched the light on its scales, as dark as night but for a tiny sliver of silver and a hint of green so dark it looked black on either side of its body.  It truly is as if the Black Dread lives again, Daemon thought.

Soon enough the three formed a ‘V’ of sorts with Daemon’s eyes moving from the dragon to his grandmother and back periodically. He imagined his grandmother was doing the same.  He could admit that being around such an immense creature, and without a rider, could be perilous but if anything he was near absolutely sure now that Aelor and The Cannibal were forming a bond.  It's fucking undeniable now. He thought, watching the dragon out of the corner of his eye. You're going to need a proper name, The Cannibal won’t do.  

It wasn't until the sun was high in the sky and the Blackwater warning bells at the sight of the massive black dragon began to toll that he thought of a name. 

“Aegarax.” He said to himself as Caraxes flapped his wings. Kings Landing became clearer, “Aegarax the Black.”

Chapter Text

Daemon

From the back of Caraxes he watched as Aegarax unknowingly mimicked Vhagar and found himself a roost outside of King’s Landing but near enough to remain a constant reminder.  His shadow loomed over the beach just within sight of a cave and outcropping of scorched rocks that had seen use by several other dragons - Balerion being one of them. 

Daemon wondered who would bend if and when Vhagar was claimed and both were forced to share the same space. 

He and Caraxes took one sweeping turn, a quick survey of the city at large - he hoped to spot any banners of significance waving from the towers of any villas, there were plans that needed to be made, assurances to be had. 

Grandmother and Silverwing must have landed already, he saw them nowhere in the air.  Daemon could still hear the bells of King’s Landing tolling as they began their descent towards the Dragonpit. Even from where they were they heard the thud of the black dragon as he landed with force, mayhaps for a grand entry. Daemon thought with an amused smirk - the pair descended, and made their way within.

Once he was certain Caraxes was settled he bid his partner and mount thank you and farewell, before leaving the Dragonpit and its minders on horseback; he had half a mind to make his way to the street of silk, he was well overdue for an apprisal - his knowledge on the happenings of King’s Landing was weeks if not months old by now, but decided that could come at a later time. 

Instead, Daemon met his family at the docks, the Queen's horse tended to by Ser Crabb as he rode up. The City Guard patrolled the quarter in force, protecting the royal family upon arrival though they were nonuniform, not patrolling in groups or creating routine paths - no fucking discipline, he thought. The royal ships were being tied off as the King and Queen’s parties converged on the pier.  

“Whose beast is that!?” Ser Otto Hightower questioned, stepping from the King's carriage, his eyes as empty and soulless as ever with a condescending frown that matched. 

The prince stifled his revolt and rolled his eyes, “Careful there Hightower, he might hear you.” Daemon paused and almost didn’t comment, “Lovely dress by the way.”

The man’s nostrils flared and finally those lifeless eyes showed some emotion, Otto slowly turned his head to him, a baleful stare at the ready, “These are rob --” 

“Lord Hand!” Queen Alysanne called, interrupting their tit-for-tat in Daemon's favour. He grinned as Otto tried to school his face from indignant fury to polite deference in the matter of a breath. 

“Your Grace,” he paused, “Oh and this must be the young Aelor Waters,” he finished. Daemon didn’t miss the inflexion. 

“My great-grandson? Yes,” And it seemed neither did the Queen, she tenderly kissed the babe on his head, blue eyes boring into Otto. Still in her riding leathers and overcoat, his grandmother was holding Aelor, who for his part looked half asleep. Viserys followed, carrying Rhaenyra, with Aemma and Gael followed by Maegelle and finally Vaegon.

Daemon remained astride his horse, watching the Lord Hands' surprise as the majority of the living members of House Targaryen descended the ramp. Save for those in exile and Rhaenys and her brood this really is all of us, isn’t it? Daemon realised. 

“My Prince, Princesses, Archmaester, Sep - - ” Otto began.

But he was interrupted, again, “Princess Maegelle will do.” His aunt corrected.

“Oh, of course, Princess!” Otto quickly amended, stepping from his perch at the opening of the carriage, the Queens arched brow enough encouragement for him to remember his courtesies. Daemon snickered and Otto shot him a look. 

Arse, Daemon thought, prodding his horse forward once the family was loaded in.

“Gods it smells like shit!” Daemon said as he dismounted within the courtyard, the stable hands rushing out. Of all the people to agree with him, he heard his Uncle Vaegon. Considering the ocean and the rivers that surrounded them, their inability to quickly dispose of waste was a damn shame. We need proper sewers, better infrastructure… and then a thought came to his head, one he would pursue later. He smiled inwardly at his cleverness.

“His Grace is waiting within to greet you,” Otto said, stepping out of the carriage once the horses came to a stop. The caparisoned white mares whickered and tossed their heads as the family left the carriage. 

“Oh dear, I’d hoped to meet as a family first. So be it.” Alysanne said, stepping out with a look around the courtyard. Daemon noted that it was rather quiet and empty, as if court had not been held in some time. Curious, he noted as he’d seen more than one retainer and knight in the lower city. 

They must all be in their hovels, scheming, as grandfather withers away, he thought, utterly failing to notice his hypocrisy.  

“Apologies, Your Grace, I should have been clearer, King Jaehaerys desired to see you all in private and is waiting in his solar within Maegor's Holdfast,” Otto corrected. 

“Yes Otto, you should have been clearer,” Daemon teased. This time it was the Queen that gave him a ‘behave yourself’ look. Chastised, he felt his cheeks redden. 

“Thank you, Otto, please escort us,” Queen Alysanne commanded and moved ahead.  

Otto nodded deferentially and did as bid, but not without glancing over the party once more, a look of distaste flashing across his face when his eyes fell on both his nephew and The Queen - the former he understood, even if he didn’t like it, natural born children to those that followed the accursed Seven were an affront, but his grandmother? That was a development… an overwhelming protectiveness churned in his blood. Daemon had half the nerve to trip him, but instead, he would figure out what it meant. 

They followed Otto to Maegor’s, Rhaenyra remained asleep and Aelor fussed only once. A few soft pats on his back and a couple of gentle shushes and the Queen had him fast asleep in her arms, his thumb limply hanging from his mouth. 

Outside of the royal suites they were greeted by Ser Robin Shaw, he nodded politely, “Your Grace, My Princes and Princess, Archmaester, welcome back to the Red Keep.” He stepped aside, opening the door and allowing them within. 

They followed Otto to the King’s solar, at his quick knock the recently elevated Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Ryam Redwyne greeted them, “Your Grace,” he said politely, stepping aside to allow them to file in. He greeted them each as they did, paying special attention to the children.

“Jaehaerys!” The Queen called her husband's name, a smile on her face - although it faltered almost unnoticeably. The King was sat on the settee, a surprisingly thick blanket over his legs. Daemon swallowed thickly, struggling to look up. 

For some reason, the sight of his grandfather, the great and wise Jaehaerys the First of His Name, enfeebled, made something in him wriggle uncomfortably. He looked so old and tired, frail. Despite his gaunt and withered look, his eyes were still bright. 

“My wife. How much I have missed the sight of you.”  He said. 

“Come, my love - oh, what’s this?” He asked, realizing the Queen was holding someone. 

Queen Alysanne sat gently, and Gael joined her, “Hello Father,” she said and Jaehaerys' eyes brightened even more, he gasped softly as the remainder of his family filtered in and he saw the additions.

“It has been far too long, both of you.” His voice broke, as he spoke to Vaegon and Maegelle.  Daemon wondered how long it had been since they were last together, father's funeral. 

King Jaehaerys continued, “Letters were never enough. Now I can thank you to your face for your suggestion of the Great Council, my son.” He said, finishing with an appreciative look at Vaegon. 

“Of course father, I only wish to serve,” His uncle dipped his head as he joined the family, sitting across from his father.

“Tell me of this Dragon? By description, I was led to believe it was Balerion reborn but the dragon keepers were able to tell me, ‘The Cannibal’ has joined you?” He looked around the room and Daemon sighed, forcing the discomfort away. He loved his grandfather, and the thought of another loss was something he desperately did not wish to face. 

“How has this come to be? Viserys? Gael? Did one of you claim him as - as…” he stared blankly for a moment, the word on the tip of his tongue.

“Laena?” Aemma said, her voice doubtful.  They all shared a look between each other, all of them thinking the same thing… are his wits leaving him?

“Laena! Thank you Aemma, as Rhaenys daughter claimed that other wild dragon?”

“No grandfather,” Daemon replied, hoping to alleviate the sudden discomfort. “Aegarax came at the unwitting bidding of another.” His family looked between each other, about the name this time, he assumed.

“Daemon, we aren’t sure.” Viserys said, taking the armchair near the desk and beside their grandfather, “And Aegarax? You’ve named him?”

“Of course I named him. He’s bonded, and if you’ve noticed in the time this new behaviour has begun he has yet to attack a person let alone another dragon. Moreover, he followed us.” Daemon deposited himself beside Vaegon.

“Followed?” The King asked, shifting slightly. “You said it bonded with another, who?”

Daemon dipped his head in their general direction, “With that one.”

King Jaehaerys' brows knit together and he looked at his wife, “A bond between two dragons is not possible.”

“So they say,” Daemon said, ever the sceptic. 

“Daemon…” Gael said irritably, “No father.”

She stood as Aelor was beginning to wake in the queen's arms and took him just as he began to fuss. She rocked the babe and whispered ‘Hush my love.’ The princess turned back to her father, “Daemon means Aelor.”

The King stared at the child in her arms and blinked several times. His eyes darted from the Queen to Daemon, to Gael and finally landed once more on the sleepy babe.

“Are you certain?” He asked, his voice just above a whisper.

“I am,” Daemon said. 

“I admit, I am much more convinced than yesterday,” Vaegon added. Daemon grinned triumphantly. 

The King looked back to the babe who was just waking, he looked around confused before his lilac eyes landed on the King who let out a surprised chuckle, his voice very soft when he spoke. “By the seven, he is the image of Aemon as a babe.” 

The Queen smiled, “He is.”

“Would you like to hold him, Father?” Gael asked as she shifted her babe to her hip.

The king nodded, albeit hesitantly as Gael brought Aelor to him. Surprisingly his nephew went willingly but stared at the King wide-eyed the whole time. Once the King had him on his lap, Aelor looked between the group, first at his mama and then at Viserys and Rhaenyra who had also just woken and then finally back to King Jaehaerys.

“Hello,” Jaehaerys said, his voice warm and low, “And good morning little one.” 

Aelor for his part laughed once nervously and cooed which coincidentally had the effect of forcing a drawn ‘aww’ from the women in the room. As they commented on the adorableness of it all, Aelor reached forward and took a handful of King Jaehaerys’ beard…and yanked.

“Yow!” The king shouted and Queen Alyssane and Princess Gael moved to take him but King Jaehaerys guffawed, stilling them all, before laughing in earnest. 

The rest of the day was spent with the King - Aelor and Rhaenyra at his side at all times. They’d even accompanied him to a quick Small Council meeting, much to Otto's chagrin. Daemon sat in and watched as the council members became absolutely smitten by the babbling pair.

It wasn’t until later that evening when the children were put to bed allowing the adults some leisure time did Daemon revisit his idea. 

Aemma, Gael, and Viserys had gone to their rooms, leaving his grandmother knitting near the fireplace in the sitting room that connected to all of the apartments in the royal suites.  These days she spent the majority of her time with their family and the children, with her daughters and granddaughters, and grandsons that remained.  Her ladies-in-waiting had all married or passed. 

The room was large though comfortable with copious settees, chaises, and lounge chairs. With the warmth during the day, no hearths were lit.  The blinds were drawn, but behind them, large windows exposed them to the sprawling city and the sea as well as the light of a bright silver half-moon.

“Grandmother?” He questioned, voice soft as he entered. He bid Ser Crabbe hello with a silent nod. The Kingsguard shut the door softly behind Daemon. It must have been odd for his grandmother to have any sworn shield besides Jonquil, she’d been a constant part of her life for decades. 

“Daemon, are you here to try my patience, grandson?” She smiled and he could see she was being anything but serious.

“No, not this time. I had a suggestion I wished to bring to the Small Council, but I would like your consideration first.”

“Oh?” Queen Alysanne sat up straighter and patted the spot next to her, “Sit, tell me. What is it?”

It was an unexpected thought, but one he realized could make him invaluable to King's Landing, the King, and the Small Council. An idea that could help me help my brother. He looked at his grandmother, feeling a new emotion, trepidation, and he was not used to it.

Taking a breath, he spoke quickly, “Master of Wrights - A new Small Council position, essentially the lord of all the builders. We would establish a coalition that would maintain the city on a constant basis, mayhaps they could even expand around the seven. These builders would be tasked with working on infrastructure, general maintenance, and expanding and maintaining the sewers and waste systems, mayhaps even the roads. They would work in tandem with the Master of Laws to manage the rodent catchers, and maintain the ratways under the city.”

Queen Alysanne set her knitting down and leaned into the back of her seat, looking deeply into his eyes, she had a frown and he wasn’t certain what it meant until she nodded her head appraisingly. She was impressed by the idea. “What brought this thought?”

“The smell of shit.” He said, as blunt as ever.

The Queen nearly snorted, “It is rather pervasive.”

Queen Alysanne leaned towards him and smiled, thoughtfully. “You should know Daemon, that your father would be happy to see the man you have become. Do not think I have not noticed your diligence - your fastidiousness in your father's stead, you have remained your niece and nephew's most erstwhile protector and Baelon would be proud of you. I have seen you, my grandson and I too am proud.”

His stomach felt funny and warm, and he felt his cheeks reddening. Her compliments meant the world, and at times even sent tingles of elation through his skin. His grandmother's approval meant even more to him than Viserys, and that was saying quite a bit. 

She rested her hand on his, “You have never known how to receive compliments, I understand but know that I am Daemon. As is your brother, and the King. In her last letter, even Rhaenys said she was thankful to you for allowing her to see Aelor, even if it was brief.”

That surprised him and for a brief moment he felt a particular sympathy for Rhaenys, but just as quickly as it came, it also passed. She was an opponent currently, mayhaps in time after the Great Council those emotions could be revisited, but right now she was the adversary. 

“T-thank you, grandmother.” He finally replied, abashed and doing something singularly unlike himself, blushing. 

“You, my grandson, are very welcome. At one of the next council meetings, I will summon you and we can bring this before the table. I agree, your proposal has much merit. To see Otto's reaction when you make such a stellar suggestion, he will be furious he didn’t think of it himself.”

Daemon grinned, broadly. That would be nothing more than the icing on the cake.

Viserys

“How do I ask though?” He questioned his wife, turning on his left side to face her.

Both Rhaenyra and Aelor were fast asleep in their shared nursery. Their suite connected to a vestibule that connected the rooms, which included Gael’s. Originally it was meant for a prince in one room and his princess in the other with their child between them but Viserys and Aemma elected to share and Gael took the other. 

“Just as you did with me. With confidence. Give him your reason, starting with the most obvious - a bloody massive dragon that was otherwise untamed before Aelor.” She reached forward and swept some hair from his face, her cheek resting on her knuckles.

Viserys chuckled, “But tell him the truth. He is a Targaryen. He may not have come from my womb but he very well could have.” 

They both sat up, Aemma brushed her hair behind her before crossing her legs and taking his hand in both of hers, “I admit, I was wroth Viserys. I knew the two of you had history, but I did not know to that depth. Nonetheless, I was wroth, but soon I thought what if in some way this is a blessing in disguise?”

“How so?” Viserys asked, perplexed. He shifted against the headboard and pushed himself further upright. 

She looked into his eyes, and he saw an old sadness; one he had not seen in her since before Rhaenyra’s birth. 

“The miscarriages.” He said softly, gripping her hand.  

She put her free hand on her belly, “The stillbirth.”

“My love,” Viserys said sadly, now taking both of her hands in his own as he came to his knees, facing her in their feather bed.  Their linens and blankets were haphazardly thrown to the foot of the bed.  The lone lantern in the room, acting as a security light should the children wake, cast long shadows over their faces. He remembered what she’d said on Dragonstone and he steeled himself for the conversation.

“I’ve come to terms, Viserys. I’ve seen Aelor for what he is, the son we wanted but have struggled to bear. I love him and I know you do. I fear what could happen should we continue to try to bare a son.” 

Her hands gripped his tighter as she continued, “I want to live Viserys. I want to see our children grow up and have children of their own. I want to be there when Rhaenyra puts on her first gown, or when Aelor rides in the lists for his first time. I want to watch them exchange vows, and see their love grow just as ours did.”

“You paint a beautiful picture, my wife.” He said softly, a smile pulling at his cheeks. “If you are sure, then so am I. For none of this would be possible without you.”

“...and don’t forget it.” Viserys laughed.

“Now, what we should do is leave it be for a few days,” Aemma said, settling down.  “The King is smitten by the two, so we should let that develop and then broach the subject. What say, the end of the week?” 

Viserys agreed, “Yes, the end of the week.” The nerves in his belly slowly vanished and he couldn’t help but look at his wife adoringly as she pulled their linens back up and lay down, stretching out before creeping over to him.  

Three days later he was sitting in the Small Council chamber, two high chairs on either side of the King. He sat on one side next to Aelor and Queen Alysanne on the other beside Rhaenyra. It was rather unorthodox, but the King came alive around them in a way he hadn’t in some time, Grand Maester Runciter told them. 

Ser Otto, Maester Runciter, and Lady Fossoway sat on one side with Ser Ryam and Lord Beesbury on the other, beside him. The King was otherwise preoccupied with the babes, Aelor drawn to his white beard and Rhaenyra very interested by their assorted chains of office. 

Queen Alysanne presided. 

“Lord Strong is aware, Your Grace. We’ve already begun preparations. Wayns travel from Maidenpool, Duskendale, and Lord Harroways town daily. Surrounding keeps will be compensated for room and board as the Inn at the Crossroads will be unable to fit all of the gathering lords. The grounds surrounding Harrenhal are being prepared for tent use and towers and rooms have been designated for the royal family, the Wardens, and the Lord Paramounts. ”

“Good,” Queen Alysanne said to Otto, turning to the King when the door to the Small Council chamber opened.

“My Lords,” Corlys Velaryon greeted, wearing a silver cloak with a seafoam green doublet as Ser Robin shut the door. “Your Graces, Prince…Viserys.” 

“Lord Corlys,” Otto greeted, “I assume the remainder of your family is here?”

“Of course, it is only right that our King meets Laenor.” He joined them at the table. 

Queen Alysanne smirked in Viserys direction, her eyes rolling hard. She did not care for Corlys much, which was increasingly evident, and his constant displays and overall attitude towards Aelor did nothing to endear him to her. Grandmother living with my son on Dragonstone has been more of a blessing than I care to admit. 

“Indeed, and where is the young Laenor? Mayhaps he may join the babes here?” Otto said with a hint of a knowing smile. 

“Mayhaps another time,” Corlys said a bit uncomfortably, “He is rather tired. Now tell me, is it true? Someone has claimed The Cannibal?”

“Did you not know Corlys,” Daemon addressed them as he entered the Small Council chamber through a side door. Viserys smiled at his brother who joined them, sitting across from Lord Velaryon. “Aegarax is my nephew's mount.”

Corlys face paled, “And Rhaenyra’s egg hatched some time ago. Syrax is going on a year now and I must say she is growing big, fast. They all are.”

“Impossible. The boy is yet a babe.” Corlys said.

“Stranger things have happened,” Viserys replied and the pair locked eyes. It was Corlys that looked away first. 

“Why don’t we finish here and allow the royal family to lunch together,” Otto said.

“Grandfather, could I beg for a moment of your time?” Viserys asked as the room emptied. Daemon collected Aelor as the Queen collected Rhaenyra.

“Of course my boy,” King Jaehaerys replied. Corlys remained near the door.

“I will not waste your time with preamble grandfather. I love my son as does Aemma. It is with her blessing that I ask for legitimization for Aelor, I would have him blessed by the high Septon, remove the taint of bastardy and give him the title of my heir.”

“Your Grace,” Corlys interrupted. “This goes against the promises and assurances I was given at the bastard's birth!”

“Promises and assurances that were invalidated the moment you and Rhaenys both came in search of the child she willingly gave up.” Daemon poked Aelor’s belly and the babe laughed, using both of his little hands to push Daemon away. Rhaenyra fussed and reached for Aelor, their bond already as evident as Aelors and Aegarax. 

Corlys stared between the Targaryens. “This is…unprecedented Viserys.” The king said, his aged voice soft. “I will have to think on this. There has not been an acknowledged royal bastard, nor has there been a legitimization of this degree.”

“A legitimization like this will have profound effects on the future of the Targaryen dynasty. What of any future royal Targaryen bastards? Will they be legitimized as well?” Otto said. 

Daemon rolled his eyes, “If they are as Aelor, a dragon through their father and mother, then why not?”

Viserys spoke before anyone else could, “I can not speak for the future, I can only speak for now. I have learned that life can end quickly. My mother, my father, my uncle, my baby brother, countless other cousins and uncles and aunts all dead. Maegelle was saved by sheer inventiveness that is likely to never be seen again. The gods have taken but they also have given. They gave Aemma and Gael the chance at a future they did not have before, and that is all because of him.”

“I have an heir grandfather, and he has a betrothed and wife in his sister, Rhaenyra. The pair shall be wed when they are both of age, ensuring the continuity of our house, my line, and the legitimacy of our descendants.”

“And Rhaenys?” Corlys asked, his voice barely restrained, “Does she not have the right to speak on the bastard's future? What if she has her own plans?”

“Gael is his mother.” Daemon snapped, “Aemma is more his mother than Rhaenys. If the High Septon can grant him a new name then the High Septon can bless him with a mother that wants him. It can be written and made as good as true. So, her plans have never mattered.”

“Enough, I have heard all of your concerns and I must think and consult the High Septon. Please summon His High Holiness, Maegelle, and Vaegon to my solar.”

“At once your Grace,” Otto said. 

“Come husband, I'll help you.” The Queen added, depositing Rhaenyra in Viserys arms and escorting the King. Three Kingsguard followed, leaving Ser Harrold with both children, Viserys, Daemon, and an irate Corlys. 

“Rhaenys is going to win the allegiance of the lords. She will become queen, Laenor will be king after her, and the bastard will be just that…a bastard. Your bastard. Your stain. Your dishonour.”

“Wind and words Corlys. A day will come when you will regret these efforts -  when that immense black dragon will judge you friend or foe. I am curious what Aelor will know of you by then. He will know that his father and his uncle always championed him, but what will he know of House Velaryon, his half-siblings, you? Dragons are rather wrathful beings.” Daemon finished, his nephew babbling and examining the necklace around his neck. 

Viserys woke with a jerk, Aemma fast asleep. He looked around, aware that someone was crying. It took him a moment to realize that it was one of the children. He left the bed as gently as possible, Aemma rolling over and mumbling in her sleep. He was still unable to pinpoint whose cry was whose, so it wasn’t until he got to the nursery that he saw that it was Rhaenyra.

“Oh sweetling,” he said softly, going to his daughter. He scooped her up and she instantly silenced. Inspecting his daughter quickly he assessed that there was nothing outwardly wrong, no dirty or wet nappy. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” He whispered, turning to face the window before shouting, startled, “Gods!” He said with a breath, his son was standing in his crib, thumb in his mouth watching them silently and leaning on the railing. “Did she wake you too?”

He smiled and rocked a bit longer until he was sure Rhaenyra was back asleep before laying her back down. His son watched the entire time. Once Rhaenyra was down he turned back to his boy and lifted the child from the crib. Once in his arms, Aelor leaned against his papa and Viserys felt his heart melt. He rested his nose on his head and inhaled his babe's scent. “Prince Aelor, doesn’t that sound just right?” Viserys asked his son.

His boy looked at him, before pulling his thumb from his mouth and turning towards the window, “Gon.”

And true enough as he approached the window Aegarax could be seen banking over Blackwater Bay and back towards the Red Keep. Silent as a ghost he flew above the sleeping city, a shadow against the moon, both terrifying and beautiful. “Yes, my son, it seems you’re taking after your father.”

He rocked Aelor as they watched Aegarax in the distance. Soon though, the soft breaths of his sleeping son were heard. He hugged him close before setting him back down on his cradle, thumb immediately in his mouth.

Rhaenys

The heat was not as intense today, the early afternoon sun hidden by thick white clouds. They’d been in Kingslanding for near a fortnight; Near a fortnight of Corlys’ willingly excluding himself from Small Council meetings in an adolescent form of objection. “They say he’s hardly ever seen without his ‘little advisors’, courtiers and attendants have so affectionately come to call the bastard and his sister.”

Rhaenys grit her teeth and turned away from the window, her lilac eyes finding Corlys. It was as if he forgot whose womb he came from. Every bastard uttered from his mouth created a new layer of frost over her heart toward Corlys. Yet he was none the wiser, even as she stared daggers at him while he paced. 

“I will contest it.” He said, balling his fist. 

“Why?”

Corlys rounded on her aghast, “Why? Because he is a bastard. A constant reminder of your infidelity. His existence is an insult to our marriage and you would ask me why? You drunkenly fucked Viserys and became pregnant with his child, that is why. The moon tea didn’t work…” he mocked.

Corlys scoffed and continued, “By all the laws I had every right to set you aside, but I didn’t because, despite all you have done, I do love you deeply. You are the mother of my daughter and now my son.”

She sighed, allowing him this moment, he was right. The fight slowly bled from her.

“But when I am King Consort, the bastard will have to go to The Wall when he is of age. I will not have him as a threat to Laenor and your rule.”

And the fight returned. “You would send him to The Wall? For being born?”

“I would send him to Essos, to disappear and be forgotten. But that wouldn’t be allowed.”

Rhaenys laughed derisively, “Look at you. The hate and energy you are spending on a babe.” My babe…

She shook her head in disgust. “Would it not behove you to know him, rather than loathe him? Should I not be named heir and Viserys is, he will be a Prince of House Targaryen. I can assure you that. Viserys will legitimize him and it is only right, he is in every way a Targaryen.” She failed to mention that she would do the same, were she named heir. 

“Know him?” He scoffed, “I’d sooner pitch him over -- “ his eyes widened and he must have realized he’d gone too far.

“Was that your plan? To take him and pitch him over the side of your ship?” Her voice was cold, her stare colder.  

“No,” He shook his head, quickly.  

If ever looks could kill, the one she wore would have stopped Corlys’ heart, “I believe we are finished. I will see you when we sup.”

“Rhaenys, I went too far, I understand but…”

“We are finished, My Lord.”

Corlys was meeting Lords and Ladies in the hope of consolidating support and Laenor was with him, wherever they went, leaving Rhaenys with Laena. Her ‘Lord Husband’ was playing the part of the penitent, hopeful to earn forgiveness for his callous words. This time he'd seen and felt the rift they’d enlarged.

So deep in thought was she, that she did not notice her daughter come down the stairs of their two-story apartments, “What are you thinking about mother?

Rhaenys took a breath, mildly startled, and turned from the window overlooking the courtyard, “Well, what to get your brother? His name-day is soon. I’ll likely have to get something for Rhaenyra as well since they are celebrating together.”

“Oh,” Laena said, the momentary confusion clearing - she knew who Rhaenys was referring to, “What do you have in mind?”

Rhaenys and her daughter joined each other on the settee, “I haven't the slightest idea. All I know of him is through the Queen. I wish I knew his likes and dislikes, more about him.”

Laena looked at her mother contemplatively, “I could try to learn more about him. Prince Daemon - -“

“What about Daemon?” Rhaenys asked her daughter, her brow raised. 

Her daughter blushed, “Nothing mother. I just know he is fond of Aelor and is often in the yard, Princess Gael brings my brother to watch so I may even encounter them. I could learn for you?”

Rhaenys heart fluttered hearing Laena claim her sibling, “Oh? You would play my informant? My spy ?” 

“Of course, I am your daughter, he is my brother…” She looked at her mother deeply, and Laena gripped her hand, “…and I want you to be happy, Mother.”

Rhaenys knew her daughter was being sincere, she drew her in for a tight embrace, “There has never been a daughter better than you.”

Laena grinned, “But what say we both go to the yard, I may have need of a master spy as clever as you should I be named heir.” Rhaenys winked and her daughter laughed.

With the arrival of both heirs presumptive, many Lords and Ladies of the Crownlands, Stormlands, Reach, and Westerlands descended upon the Capital. The vast majority of villas were occupied and with them the inns and brothels. High lords mingled with courtiers, as far as propriety and position would allow. Archers, outriders and knights practised in the yard - their shouts and laughs mixed with the clash of steel and wood, sword and shield, and arrows piercing stuffed targets. 

There was no distinction between the factions, yet. She knew it was only a matter of time before teeth were bared and promises requested, assurances required to gain allegiance. It was for that reason that Ser Robin Shaw, member of the Kingsguard, was now her sworn shield, at least for the time being. 

“There are quite a few more people here than when we arrived,” Laena said.

Amongst the Targaryen and Velaryon banners swam a sea of colour. She saw Baratheon, Tyrell, Lannister, and even Arryn; but also their bannermen: The Marlin of Bar Emmon, the frog of Vypren, House Cressey and its helmets and coins, and the runed bronze shield of House Royce. She saw the yellow stars of House Sunglass, the purple knight of House Ferring, and the ravens and dead Weirwood of House Blackwood. Houses Caron, Connigton, and Dondarrions banners were grouped together with their respective knights challenging each other. Many houses, far too many to name, were present,   

Yet the crowd was biggest in a circle in the centre of the yard. Daemon was circling a knight in a tabard embroidered with a red lion on a silver field. More men, lords, and knights from around the seven cheered and shouted as the two men faced off. 

“There’s Princess Aemma and Princess Gael,” Laena said, looking at a raised observation platform. A gaggle of ladies watched, some whispering amongst each other but those that were available were keen on gaining the attention of a suitor, Daemon most likely. In the centre with the ladies around them stood Aemma and Gael, resplendent in their gowns, though the children weren’t there. She felt a pang of disappointment. 

She approached the circle and watched from outside as Daemon twirled Dark Sister, his face a mask as he stalked the Reyne knight. 

“Princess Rhaenys,” an attendant called her, drawing some attention from a few surprised faces.  

She turned to him, “The Princess Aemma has invited you to the pavilion, to watch from a better vantage.” Rhaenys stared at the attendant before looking in their direction, Aemma waved, an enthusiastic smile on her face. 

“Let’s get this over with,” she said, looking to her daughter who took her arm in hers.

“Come mother, you are the heir presumptive, who are they to a woman that could be the first Queen Regnant on the Iron Throne?”

Rhaenys couldn’t stop the smile that spread, “My clever daughter. Lead the way, good Ser.”

They followed the attendant, and Ser Robin followed behind them. “Princess Rhaenys.” She heard, “My Princess. Princess. The Princess and her daughter. The future Queen.” That one, in particular, made her smile proudly.

“The Princess Rhaenys and her daughter Lady Laena.” The attendant announced them as they ascended the stairs to the pavilion. Ser Robin took his position at the entrance beside Ser Lorence, leaving them to mingle.”

“Cousin Rhaenys,” Princess Aemma called as they met. The gaggle of ladies and courtiers pressed on, pretending they were not keen on hearing the interaction between the three royals. 

“Aemma, Aunt Gael.” At the very least, she could be courteous.

Gael nodded her head politely, but otherwise remained focused on the sparring men, “Nieces,” she said after Daemon landed a particularly vicious overhand, smiling demurely as she finally turned to face them.  “It is good to see you, both of you.”

Aemma smiled, “Yes, it is. I am disappointed we could not talk more when last you were at Dragonstone. Much has occurred since.”

Rhaenys looked between them curiously, Gael nodded, “For one, I’m certain you are aware, Maegelle has returned, she no longer wears her vestments and prefers her royal title. Archmaester Vaegon has been tending to the king himself, some believe he may even take the position of Grand Maester.”

“Princess Aemma, are there any plans for Rhaenyra’s name day?” Laena asked, dispensing with the ‘Lady's gossip’ and changing the subject.

Rhaenys smiled internally, thankful for her decision to cut to the quick, “Oh there are. You are both certainly welcome to attend, and bring Laenor.” Aemma said. “It won’t be too large of a celebration as the king is not able to move as freely as he once did, so it will be held here at the Red Keep.”

“But it is more than a name day though,” Gael said, a proud turn to her chin.

“Will Aelor be there?” Laena asked.

“Yes, of course, my son will be there.” Gael interrupted quickly. “It is his name day we are celebrating after all.” Her eyes landed on Rhaenys.

Rhaenys clenched her jaw but otherwise did nothing else, “We would be glad to attend.” But she would make no scene, confident in her knowledge. “What does he prefer?” Surprisingly, Gael's face softened.

“Anything dragon related,” She replied. “To be more precise, anything that looks like his ‘gon.”

“His dragon?” Laena asked. “Has he had an egg hatch?”

Gael and Aemma shared a look, “No. It seems, you and he share a bit more than you’d guess.” Aemma replied. As if on cue, The Cannibal launched into the sky from his beachside den and could easily be seen. Those in the yard grew quiet as they watched him disappear behind the buildings. Some people muttered as the festivities and actions resumed. 

And then it clicked.

She turned to Aemma and Gael, her eyes wide and all Aemma had to do was nod, though it was Gael that confirmed, “We are fairly sure. Vaegon is confirming our suspicions but he is nearly as certain. Aegarax and Aelor seem to be a bonded pair.”

“Aegarax?” Laena questioned. 

“A god of our people. Revered as the god of all creatures that walk, run, swim, or fly. Creator of the first dragon.” Daemon said, sauntering over as the women in the pavilion gave him a berth, though not wide, the better to touch him.  

Some giggled and watched him with a flutter of their eyes. New combatants had entered the ring, the attention shifting, a lot of it to the four royals and her daughter now.

Daemon leaned against the railing, his violet eyes dagger sharp and focused on her, “Aegarax, The Black King?”

Her eyes narrowed as he continued, is he mocking me? “No, no, it doesn’t have quite the right ring to it. I’ll think of something else. Thus far I’ve come up with The Black, The Black King, The Black Fury, even Aegarax The Fell.” 

Daemon shrugged, “We have years to invent a moniker.” 

He smiled charmingly at a Lady in the blue and green of House Serret - the feathers of a Peacock, the animal on their coat of arms, stitched into her dress. “Cousin Rhaenys, we hadn’t seen you in the yard, one could almost conclude you were avoiding us. Lady Laena, a pleasure as always.”

Her daughter blushed, she would investigate that later. 

“I do hope you will join us for my niece and nephew's name day celebration. We have so much to celebrate…”

“Daemon…” Gael warned, hesitantly. 

“Come now, she’ll learn soon enough.” The Prince’s eyes darted around the gaggle of ladies on the pavilion, an edge to the sheen of his eyes when they found her once more. Many women and some men weren't even pretending to be listening - they outright were. 

“Learn what?” Laena asked, so curiously. 

Aemma shot him the type of look an older sister would save for her naughty younger brother but Daemon shrugged it off. 

“Of my recent appointment to the Small Council.” Surprised whispers erupted around them, not at all subtle. “A new position, one of my creating if you’d believe it, Master of Wrights.” The whispering was now muttering.

“Congratulations are in order,” She intoned, a surprised frown on her face. 

“But not for me,” Daemon said, confidently, “We should be congratulating my brother. This will all be a benefit to him, once he is on the Iron Throne, and to his heirs.”

Nobody missed what he said - Heirs, plural, she thought. 

“Heirs?” Laena asked.

“Oh, Apologies, I did mention we had so much to celebrate, but I never said what. We will be celebrating two name days, my appointment…and a betrothal.”

“You’re going to be wed?” Rhaenys asked, by way of a joke.

Daemon chuckled, “Oh no, not me. The betrothal of my brother's heirs, Princess Rhaenyra and…” he paused for emphasis, “Prince Aelor of the House Targaryen.”

The area erupted with that information. Aemma sighed and Gael shook her head, obviously, Daemon wasn’t meant to share this yet. Laena gripped her hand, and she looked at her daughter, both thinking the same thing…

Even with Aelors origins utterly obfuscated, Corlys was not going to stand for this.

Chapter Text

Daemon

“- - re you thinking!” Viserys was shouting at him, but he’d long since tuned it out.  Aelor was laughing - he was turning the babe in a circle held out in his arms, the little princeling's favourite game. It’s going to be impossible to keep this one off his dragon when he is old enough to fly, he thought. Peels of uproarious laughter shook his nephew as Daemon made roars and growls, pretending Aelor was a dragon soaring high above the setees, chaises, lounge chairs, and pillows; which at the moment doubled as trees, mountains, and clouds. 

It was mid-afternoon in the less formal family sitting room within Maegor’s. The day was much cooler than the others with cold moisture in the air. Grey clouds cloistered tightly together like novices stealing a pint in a closet at the Citadel. The spectre of rain loomed over the Crownlands - a summer storm was brewing just as one brewed within Viserys.  

“Gods, damn it. Daemon, listen to me!” He finally stopped and held Aelor closer, the babes back to his chest as he cradled him under his legs and across his tiny chest.  Aelor kicked his chubby legs, urging the play to continue. 

With an exasperated sigh he faced his brother, but passive-aggressively whispered into his nephew's ear, “Look, your father is oh so angry, Prince Aelor.”

Viserys wiped his face with his palm, his nostrils flared, lips thin and pressed together, “Is my anger humorous?”

“A bit.” Daemon retorted, and he heard both Aemma and Gael sigh from behind Viserys.  

Rhaenyra chose then to squeal, “Up, up!” She hopped in place, in between Aemma and Gael, waiting as patiently as her age would allow.  They were seated on the settee directly below the window and behind Viserys.

But Viserys stepped between her line of sight with her brother and Daemon, his brow furrowed angrily. “This may be some grand jest to you, but it is not to me. This is my child’s life, my son's future, my daughter's future, damn it Daemon, our future. Our side of the House and Family at large.”

Viserys continued, “This is no longer a game. You are no longer on Dragonstone, isolated and insulated from the world at large. Any misstep can see us fall.”

“But I did not misstep,” Daemon argued, Aelor squirmed as he bounced him in his arms, “It all worked.”

“You were lucky, Daemon,” Aemma said, and that time he did feel some guilt. In the last two or three years their relationship had flourished and she was very much another sister to him. 

“Trying to force the king's hand with such a declaration - you consider that not a misstep? Gods, you can no longer be so brash. You are an adult and their uncle. You are on the Small Council now, in a position of your making…you have influence Daemon. You must set an exam- -”

The door opened to the Queen. She blew in, lips pursed, “- -an example? Yes, he must.” She rounded on Daemon and took her great-grandson from him, her blue eyes boring holes into him.

“I had hoped your growth was a more permanent thing, but I see it comes and goes with your sense and tact.”

Daemon looked at the ground now, anywhere but his grandmother's face. “So much like your mother you are, but even she understood that there was a time and place. Consider yourself fortunate on four fronts: that your grandfather adores his great-grandchildren, that His High Holiness is receptive to bribery and is in fact not all that holy, that Lord Corlys' petition against Aelors legitimisation has fallen on deaf ears, and that I am your grandmother.”

“I - I’m sor - -”

A hand was raised, the other securely holding her great-grandson at her hip, “Spare me your false contriteness. You are no longer a child, unable to control your actions. You will no longer behave like one.” 

The Queen sighed and Aelor babbled. She joined her daughter and granddaughter, placing the children beside each other who immediately began playing. 

“The lords and ladies talk. Otto was displeased with your announcement. As a repercussion, he sought to remove you from the Table and fill your new seat with a Reachman for undercutting the King's decision. Your grandfather told him you did not and that you were in fact of similar opinions. King Jaehaerys spared you embarrassment Daemon, you had best go thank your grandfather.”

He hadn’t fully considered the negative repercussions and only just then realized that he’d put his seat in jeopardy. 

“Didn’t think about that did you?” Viserys said, noting the introspective look. 

“Of course, he didn’t,” Gael said, staring at Daemon with furrowed brows. 

“Viserys you had best prepare to counter Corlys, he will use this against you.” Their grandmother said, a smile on her face as she tickled her great-grandchildren. “I am meant to be impartial, and while I love Rhaenys and my great-grandchildren dearly, I am finding my opinion of the Sea Snake is souring by the day.”

“Gods, that man is as relentless as a tick trying to burrow into your flesh,” Viserys said, leaning on the backrest of an armchair facing the women.  

“Yes, he is - and you Daemon, as recompense and to ensure the Faith's obeisance and my great grandson’s ascension will give a ride to the High Septon on the back of Caraxes. He wishes to see the gods' creations from a view only the Targaryens and the gods themselves can.”

Daemon's jaw dropped open, “I - that..grandmother! That is a privilege reserved only for the blood of Old Valyria.”

“And whatever woman you wish to woo at the time,” Aemma added, handing the children wooden toys. 

He looked at Aemma with a mixture of horror at the admission to his grandmother of all people and betrayal, but before he replied his grandmother did.  

“Well now add one portly, effete man.” 

Daemon hiked his booted feet on the edge of the table, a stein in his hand as soft instrumentals filled the silence between words, moans and grunts, and laughs. The smell of ale, wine, sweat, and sex filled his nose - the sounds of carnal pleasure beside him, around him, yet he did not partake. The thought of his grandmother's demand soured his mood.  

The haze of the incense was enough to obscure the faces of the patrons as they moved around the dimly lit brothel. A light broke the haze and some of the smoke rushed out of the open door before it was shut once more. 

“There’s our prince,” he heard the rough voice of Ser Luthor Largent when he was spotted.  The bearded man strode straight to him, Ser Balon Byrch behind him. Both men served in the City Watch, Captains of one of the seven gates - the Dragon Gate and the Lion Gate respectively. 

Information can at times prove more valuable than gold, his father had told him often, how better to get information than through the mouths of those you’ve made trust you? His father did not spy, he never had cause to. He used his charm, his wit, the cleverness behind his purple eyes - thankfully, Daemon thought, I have inherited some of that.  

A few carefully cultivated friendships and his information network was slowly growing. “Another round!” Daemon shouted to the serving wench once his companions joined him.

“Gratitude My Prince!” Ser Balon said, setting his helm on the table. “I could use a drink.”

“Long day?” Daemon asked.

“Aye, it’s hard to maintain security when the lords and ladies keep bringing their own knights and retainers. Everyone is bumping heads on how best to patrol and keep order.” Ser Luthor replied. 

The serving wench brought them their rounds, Ser Balon looked at her hungrily until he cleared his throat and the large bosomed girl walked away. “I will speak to my grandfather or grandmother. The city guard takes precedence when within the city walls unless given express orders not to.”

They each sipped on their drink, Daemon leaned back, “Your announcement caused an uproar, Prince Daemon.” Ser Luthor began.

Daemon sighed, “What are they saying?”

“Most are curious, My Prince. A legitimization of this magnitude only ever happened amongst the petty kings if a bloodline was on the verge of extinction. Some see it that way. With no male heir, Viserys’ line would have ended with Princess Rhaenyra. Many of the ladies have spoken highly of this decision.  They see it as a husband protecting the life of their wife.  Princess Aemma and Princess Gael are favoured amongst the Ladies.” Luthor said, taking a long swig once he was done.  

Ser Balon leaned forward, “The majority endorse it My Prince - he is a boy which most prefer.  Only the truly zealous care and even then most pretend.  They’d rather have a King with a legitimized heir than a Queen.  This talk of a male heir has made your brother's name favoured, but…”

Daemon polished off his second stein. “But what?”

“Most are surprised by your placement on the small council. You’ve heard your epitaph, The Rogue Prince, many believe this is a passing fancy for you - Lord Corlys has done nothing to dissuade them and in some cases stokes the flames of the rumours.” Ser Balon finished with a look to Luthor.  

“I shall endeavour to prove him wrong,” Daemon replied, voice dripping with sarcasm and acrimony. He drew his dagger and twirled it expertly along his knuckles, using the tip of his middle finger to momentarily balance it at its tiny crossguard. Flicking it up, he gripped the palm-sized leather hilt tightly and drove its tip into the wood with a muted thud. “What else?”

“Lord Darklyn arrived one day past. Lord and Lady Stokeworth as well, saw their white sheep on a green field the flag bearer was carrying.” Luthor told him between gulps.

“Knights of Chelstead and Bywater rode out of the Lion Gate in a rush a day or so after your spar with the Reyne knight.” Ser Balon added. “Likely to report all they heard.”

Daemon nodded, nothing out of the ordinary it seemed, he sighed and leaned back, “I’d expected Corlys to do more. Hmm, alert me should you hear any negativity surrounding my nephew's ascension. I would yank it out root and stem before it has an opportunity to latch on and grow. Also, let me know should any of you see anything amiss or suspicious. The Great Council looms and I know that enemies lurk in the shadows.”

“Of course Prince Daemon,” Ser Luthor replied. “You’ll want to check with the Harbourmaster too, his little urchins ought to tell you more.”

Daemon looked them over, inspecting their mismatched uniforms, their armour, old and dented. They did nothing to inspire confidence or respect. Daemon slid his hands into the pocket within his gambeson and slapped down eight gold dragons, four for each. 

“Change is coming my good Ser’s. Should you remain loyal, I will see to it that the change is nothing but good for you both.”

He left the barmaid with four gold dragons, several copper stars, and a few silver stags and instructed her to give the men their fill of drink. Stepping out of the brothel and away from all of the sounds and smells, the late afternoon air was especially fresh - well as fresh as the air in King's Landing on the Street of Silk could be. 

The sun was well on the western side of the world, and the shadows of the buildings on the streets below stretched longer and longer. Daemon is in his mischief cloak, Gael had mocked him as he tried to slip out of the Red Keep unseen. 

He chuckled at her humour. Yes. This is my mischief cloak, isn’t it? He thought as he drew the hood over his very noticeable silver-gold hair. 

Leaving the Street of Silk, his goal was to make his way to the Street of Steel. He would pay a visit to the harbourmaster early the next morning. But that decision was quickly set aside, “What do we have here?” He muttered to himself. 

Ser Vaemond Velaryon, nephew of Corlys snuck across the street in what appeared to be his own mischief cloak, though like the fools the Velaryons are, he neglects his hood, Daemon thought, quickly turning and following the knight. He made sure to stay behind corners all the while, avoiding any suspicious onlookers or shushing inquisitive busy bodies with a look of his own very violet and violence promising eyes.

Whatever path Vaemond was taking it was windy. He led them down the Street of Steel but cut through an alley to reach the Street of Silver before cutting over to River Row. Daemon was almost certain he was confused until the bells of King's Landing began to toll. That moment of hesitation was all it took for Vaemond’s winding path to elude him and the man was gone - lost to the labyrinth of streets and alleys.  

“Damn it!” Daemon walked forward a bit further, looking down adjacent pathways.  He saw other people, but nothing of Vaemond.  With a curse he turned away, and began the long track back to the Red Keep. His mind flitted through the cause of the bells and Vaemond’s purpose. Worry began to seep into his bones when he remembered the last time the bells had rung like this, fathers death. 

He found himself running the rest of the way, fear of what awaited him pushing his feet. Servants and guards, lords and ladies, everyone was in a rush when he crossed the bridge into the Red Keep, the sun much lower now.

“What’s going on?” He questioned a harried courtier. 

It turned out to be the Lord of Bitterbridge, Allun Caswell, “Prince Daemon, Apologies.” He said quickly, distractedly. 

“None needed. What is happening?” He looked around as the maidservants continued to rush about, guards right behind them. “Is - is it my grandfather - -”

The Lord's eyes widened, “No, nothing like that.” Daemon sighed between his words, the lord wasn’t done, “You must not have heard, a number of Volantene ships were spotted in the Black Water earlier, they only recently docked. It is believed that your aunt has returned.”

“My aunt?” Though he realized who the moment he said it. His eyebrows shot up in surprise remembering his thoughts when they’d arrived in King's Landing.

“Princess Saera Targaryen.” Lord Caswell confirmed.

We’re all here… Daemon thought and the realization made him uneasy. There were far too many Targaryens together, and the most volatile of us all may have just returned. 

Lord Caswell said something, he didn’t hear, but before the bald lord could leave he grabbed his arm, not unfriendly, their eyes locked, “My brother?”

Lord Caswell chuckled and patted his hand, “Will always have my support Prince Daemon.”

Viserys

They were in a rush.  Courtiers were being hurried to the throne room and the King and Queen were quickly shuffled away and presumably stuffed into more regal attire.  He and Aemma were led away, to their rooms, clothing already prepared on their beds.  When last he’d seen his grandmother she’d been beside herself, in her own silent way.  A dream fulfilled mayhaps?  The return of a daughter? 

Despite his age and his waning wits, his grandfather was stoic, with only a distant look of hope in his amethyst gaze.  

“Why is she here?” He asked Aemma, quickly buttoning the few buttons of his black doublet.  They were in their rooms now, hurriedly dressing.

Aemma scoffed, “You know why.”

“Aemma! Your Help!” Gael shouted from the shared nursery before he could reply to her.  

“Coming!” She replied, her eyes darting to his before she left their rooms.  Viserys followed behind her.  

“Surely you don't think she is here to make her own claim?” He said, trailing behind her quick steps.  

It was Gael that replied, mid-change of Rhaenyra’s clothing as they entered the shared nursery.  Aelor fussed in his crib, upset by something.  “Why else would she be here Viserys? If it is truly her, why would she choose now to come back?  She’s ignored every invitation, every summons, even our brother's and sister's deaths.  She ignored it all, only to come back now?”

Aemma took Aelor from his crib, the baby quieting some as she set him down and began changing him, “Mayhaps she isn't here for that.  Even then, her appearance is rather abysmally timed.”

“Or it couldn’t have been better timed,” Daemon said, startling them all.  

“Where have you - Never mind that.  What do you mean?” He asked his brother who moved over to his son and tickled the babe before moving over to his daughter and doing the same.  He hoisted Rhaenyra up, leaving Gael to help Aemma with Aelor.

“Her appearance is a perfect distractor.  Aelor’s legitimization was the talk of the city, now, it will be the return of the whore princess.”

“Daemon!” He chastised. 

“What?” Gael asked, hoisting Aelor to her hip, the babe smiled once more, his thumb in his mouth, happy to be in his mother's grasp again.  “What Daemon says is true, so much so that she prides herself on it. In her one and only letter to us, she claimed to have her own Kingdom there. Let her stay there, we are much more peaceful without her.”

Aemma came over and took Rhaenyra as Gael slipped a small gold band on Aelor.  She smiled fondly while he fussed with it and Aemma placed a tiara on Rhaenyra’s head, “Well, all that aside, it is time we make our way to the throne room.” She looked him and Daemon up and down, appraisingly.  Aemma pursed her lips, her beautiful gold and silver brow arched, “Don’t forget your circlets.”

They entered the Throne Room to curious and excited whispering, it seemed their visitors had yet to appear.  With a thinner version of King Jaehaerys crown resting in the plaits of her hair, Queen Alysanne stood at the base of the Iron Throne - its mass of ugly melted swords precariously encircling his grandfather at their precipice.  He sat nobly, with only a slight bend to his gait, his crown set firmly on his brow, and doublet and pants matching the Queen - red and black.  His dalmatic robe was draped forward and over his legs.  

Ser Otto stood at the top step of the dias, he gave him a brief nod as they entered and filed up before returning his eyes to the great doors.  

They were arranged on the King's right side; Viserys stood with his arms behind him, Aemma to his right with Rhaenyra held at her hip. His daughter looked around with big curious amethyst eyes.  Gael came next with Aelor on her own hip, his thumb in his mouth with his free hand still fussing with his circlet. 

Daemon was after her, his arm resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. Like his son, his younger brother looked as if he wanted to throw his own circlet across the room - Viserys fought the smile that threatened to claim his face. 

Vaegon came next, with Maegelle last. All of them, save for the Archmaester, wore their House's colours to some extent. 

Across from them stood Rhaenys with Laenor in her grasp, her eyes unable to stay away from Aelor.  A silver diadem rested on her head - its tear-drop-shaped gemstone matched her seafoam gown and dropped between her brow.  

Laena stood to her left, resplendent in a silver gown trimmed in the same green as her mother.  Beside her stood her father, Corlys who looked anywhere but their way.  Next to him stood his nephew Vaemond with his two sons, Daemion and Daeron who like them wore the colours of their own house. 

The Kingsguard stood closest to the courtiers, the greatest warriors in the realm, shielding the life of the king and his kin.  All seven White Cloaks surveyed the throng - fierce in their silent and focused splendour.  

The front most of the onlookers were the Wardens, Lannister and Arryn and the Lords Paramount, Tyrell and Baratheon. Their assorted bannermen followed, then their knights, and extended retainers and courtiers. The household guard stood on the outside perimeter, at each pillar, heavy pike and kite shields in their grasps. The galleries were full of the assorted ladies unable to fit below. 

A guard at the door stamped his pike, drawing the attention of everyone present. A pregnant silence fell over the populace as even the King sat straighter. For a moment Viserys saw him as he’d once been, Jaehaerys the Wise. His attention was pulled back to the door as it began to open. 

They waited a moment as a number of guards in plain black quilted tunics, pale blue and green cloaks, and spiked bronze caps entered. They looked strange, like boy men with round faces and smooth cheeks, yet still lithe and fit. It took him a moment to realize what they were, eunuch soldiers.

Daemon realized at the same time if his grimace and unconscious guarding of his nethers was anything to go by.  Some of the more worldly Lords noticed as well and muttered uncomfortably. The herald followed the weaponless foreign guards and took position as Lord Lyman Beesbury led the visiting delegation of Volantene nobles into the throne room. He’d been chosen as he was one of the few people the Princess would remember. 

“Master of Coin and Lord Treasurer, Lyman of House Beesbury, Lord of Honeyholt!” The herald announced. Lord Beesbury quickly entered, making his way to the front through the guard-lined path in the centre of the attending lords. He took his place beside Otto. 

A man in colourful robe-like clothing strode in, a proud turn of his goateed chin. He paused at the opening, “Baeleon Mopohr!” The herald announced. He had dark hair and a swagger that earned him a snicker from the attending lords. Who he was and his importance was missed by them all. 

He moved to the side as another man entered in his place. “Raegor Drennerion, former Third Sword to the Prince of Pentos, and - Umm…” the herald baulked and stammered, they didn’t hear what the Third Sword muttered to him, but even as he did, he seemed exceptionally reluctant and Viserys quickly learned why, “Th-Third Sword to the Prince of Pentos and - He - Heir to the Iron Throne.”

The populace broke into outraged muttering, but loudest of all was Daemon's clear and unmistakable scoff. He and Rhaenys shared a look and a silent chuckle. The former Third Sword scowled at Daemon, who rolled his eyes and looked over at Viserys with a smirk as another man entered, and this time Daemon's eyes narrowed. 

Viserys saw his grandmother’s eyes widen just as some in the crowd began whispering. 

“Good gods, who does he look like?” Aemma whispered.

Viserys mouth opened, then closed before parting once more, “Grandfather.” 

“Jaehaelyx Fyreblood.” The attendant announced, and by the Surname alone they knew him to be a bastard. But by the gods does he look like grandfather. Viserys and Rhaenys made eye contact once more, before his eyes swivelled to his son, depending on grandfather and grandmother's reactions, this could be a problem. 

Their names alone could be considered insults, but the striking similarity to their grandfather was unmistakable - even to those who had not seen the Old King in his youth. The young man stepped to the side, beside the other two who seemed to behave deferentially. 

Another man entered, he too shared the Valyrian colouring. But unlike the humble indifference of the other this one looked nothing but haughty and disgusted, “His father, the former Triarch of Volantis, Tymian Nesterion and…” the herald paused and the former Triarch looked at him with utter contempt and disdain.

“Apologies…” Someone was sure to be in a fair amount of trouble after this. Viserys shook his head as the attendant continued, surprised for what seemed the hundredth time, but again, Viserys quickly learned why and he was sure it would earn the young lordling some pity. “…and his, Paramour, the - the Princess Saera Targaryen.”

Not wife, he thought with a contemplative frown.

And there she was: as beautiful as all the rumours claimed her to be. She looked ageless and cocksure. A small smirk, as if she knew something they all didn’t, drew the side of her face up. She alone did not wait at the side and began striding down the centre aisle. The men that had entered before her followed: the pedantic Triarch, the walking insult, the heir pretender, and some man with not quite my father's name. 

Unsure of her purpose he admitted that she showed some respect. She wore an otherwise form-fitting, if not fully clothed, gown with a long train - though some Ladies still pinned their Lord Husbands with murderous glares. It was all black with what looked like rubies or garnets stitched into the fabric of her bodice and gave the appearance that she was dripping blood with each step. 

Princess Saera stopped at the base of the dias, her plum-coloured eyes dancing over them all but lingering longest on first Daemon, then the three babes and finally himself and Rhaenys. 

The entire crowd was silent now, the remainder of their delegation entered unceremoniously and unannounced and remained in the back as the entirety of the population in the throne room was focused solely on Saera and their House. The Princess savoured it. The four men that had followed her stood behind her, with the lookalike and pedant at the forefront. 

Princess Saera looked at the Kingsguard who allowed her to pass. She gave them a charming smile, the ornate black-gold crown on her silver hair gleaming with rubies and obsidian. 

“I do not know you,” She said as Ser Otto stepped forward to greet her, earning a stifled chortle from Daemon. Her voice was clear and vibrant. No hint of an Eastern accent taking root. 

“No, Princess, you wouldn’t,” Otto began, almost discourteously. Viserys brow rose, “I am Ser Otto, The Lor - -” 

“A Ser? Good gods, how ever did you get the position? Stand aside, upstart.” And with the surprised muttering of those in attendance, chuckling in Daemon's case, she breezed past Ser Otto, with a gentle pat on Lord Beesbury’s arm. The Reachman stood utterly horrified, and by the shades of red on his neck he guessed incensed as well. 

He fixed the most disingenuous smile on his face Viserys had ever seen and turned slowly as the Princess approached her mother. He swallowed thickly at the hopeful look in his grandmother's eyes, the smile that threatened to crease her beautiful face. Her eyes glistened as the Princess stood before her. 

“I am home, mother.” She said, surprisingly softly and compassionately. 

The Queen took her daughter's hands, “Yes, you are.” The pair shared a moment, the entire crowd growing silent as the Old King cleared his throat.

Everyone paid him the attention he deserved, all eyes and faces turned to King Jaehaerys as he sat himself straighter and took a deep breath.  Saera stood beside her mother, “When last we spoke you were bound for Old Town. For ten and eight turns of the moon, you endured the life of a novitiate. You were to learn obedience and reflect and contemplate. You were never meant to join the Faith.”

Some muttered and whispered but most, including himself, had assumed as much. “But that did not happen, you disobeyed me, again, and in that time seemed to have learned nothing still.” 

Viserys brows rose as his grandfather's voice went from soft to hard, and now had the old cadence and strength of the Conciliator they all had come to know, “So tell me, girl, why have you returned to a kingdom you could not be bothered to return to even after the death of your own siblings!?”

His voice held none of the age they’d known before and he seemed particularly lucid. King Jaehaerys had stood, and although he used Blackfyre as a cane, he stood taller and stronger than they’d seen him do in the last near moon they’d been in the Capital. Daemon looked in awe, Rhaenys eyes wide, his wife astonished. 

The queen was speechless, and even Corlys looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. Some of them jumped when a roar shook the stones, Vermithor, The Bronze Fury, in sync with his bonded. 

That tension was cut, by of all things, the giggle and laugh of his son and then his daughter. The stress seemed to abate when Daemon chuckled at his nephew and niece. Some of the Lords and Ladies joined in. But it was short-lived as Saera cleared her throat, annoyed by the distraction. 

“Is the babble of a babe enough to draw the attention of this court?” She shook her head unaware of the disapproving glare her mother gave her. She is rather protective of her great-grandchildren. 

“Even in old age, you are much the same. I will tell you why I am here.” She turned, her dagger-sharp eyes falling on Maegelle and Vaegon, “As the eldest child unburdened by chain or cloth, I am here to claim what is mine by right.”

“Told you,” Aemma whispered and he clenched his jaw and fist, thankful his hands were behind him.

“Saera, you ca - -” Queen Alysanne began but was interrupted.

“I can and I will, mother. I am here to put forth my claim to the Iron Throne.” Silence filled the room, tenser, thicker than even a moment before. “And my line is secured, with three heirs.”  

So that’s who they are, her children, Viserys thought. But all three? It was after she mentioned it and he knew what to look for that he could see their similarities and their age. They were young, younger than Daemon and even Gael. 

Daemon's eyes were narrowed, a dangerous smirk at the corner of his lips - his eyes cut over the trio and the former Triarch and to him, they spoke volumes. Daemon was going to do something and he would need to stop him.

But of all the people it was the King that broke this silence, and not with his words - instead, he chuckled once, sat back on the Iron Throne and began to laugh in earnest, leaving them all to wonder if King Jaehaerys had finally snapped.

Daemon

The murder of a former Triarch may cause an incident but the current Triarchs of Volantis would be fools to try our House, Daemon thought. They fear our fire. 

He was pacing in their formal family sitting room. Rhaenys, Laena, Laenor, Corlys and their group occupied one corner, the Velaryon bunch muttering amongst each other. His cousins stole furtive looks in their direction - Laena smiled shyly, blushing as she did to which he reciprocated politely, if not a bit confused as to why she’d blush. He was at times utterly oblivious of the effect he had on many women. 

I will make it look like a horrible accident. Mayhaps dash his head with a rock and throw him over the walls into the Blackwater. He began formulating his tentative plan. It would be simple enough, especially for a stranger to ‘lose’ their footing while looking around. None would be any the wiser. 

He unconsciously gripped the hilt of Dark Sister, his pacing continuing. His body will be washed away, and even if it’s found the injury will be lost to the damage of the fall. He is her source of income, cut her off at the knees and she will be forced to bend, he concluded. 

I will kill her bastards myself, mayhaps force the one that looks like a dragon to swear to us and renounce any supposed claim.

With his back currently to his family, his eyes focused on the flickering lights in the lower city, he was startled when Viserys spoke from right behind him, “You’re thinking.”

He flinched and turned around quickly, brow furrowed, “Do not do that.”

“Sorry. But as I said, you’re thinking. Whatever it is, no .” Viserys said, voice soft yet firm. Aelor was in his grasp now, asleep, his circlet askew. His brother rocked his nephew and patted his back gently.

“You do not know what I am thinking, Viserys.” Daemon replied, “Mayhaps I was thinking of asserting my own claim?”

His brother's eyes widened but Daemon chuckled, “I have no intention of usurpation, brother, I promise. I am concerned about them,” He lied, nodding his head towards Rhaenys. “What if they were to break bread, ally themselves?”

“I doubt it,” his brother breathed a sigh, “Rhaenys would be loath to take help from someone who is not only a stranger but an apparent catastrophe. Three sons, yet none of them truly look alike? I assume different fathers? No one will want a loose woman on the Iron Throne and Rhaenys would not want her name associated with Saera Targaryen.”

“You were woefully or blissfully ignorant to her purpose here, who's to say that you aren’t very wrong about this?” Daemon replied, more snidely than he intended. 

Viserys pressed his lips together in frustration, “If I am wrong, we will cross that bridge then. But let them be the aggressors. Do not strike at them first, Daemon. A response can be excused, but should we initiate - it will not be excused.”

“Of course Viserys, you know best.” He lied, it looks like it all falls to me, he thought as the door to the formal sitting room opened. He and his brother joined their side of the family as Ser Robin opened the door, followed by the subjects of Daemon's thoughts. 

The first fool, whose name was a mockery of his fathers, entered, quickly followed by his other plain brother, and then the one that looked like them - whose name was also a mockery of their grandfathers. 

The boy's purple eyes widened when they met Daemon’s and he inclined his head - Daemon did not reciprocate. 

The former Triarch entered after, his nose no longer turned so far up. I want to strike him in the throat. 

His Aunt came next - vibrant eyes searching the room. When they landed on him she winked, and despite himself, he blushed. Ser Otto and Lord Beesbury followed and finally, his grandfather, aided by his grandmother. 

Ser Ryam entered followed by Ser Harrold, who closed the door behind himself. That presumably left Ser Robin and Ser Lorence in the hallway with Ser Crabbe at the entrance to the Maiden Vault and the remainder of the Kingsguard manning the gate and bridge that separated Maegor's Holdfast from the rest of the Red Keep. 

“It fills my heart with such joy to see you so well Gael. I had heard such terrible things,” She said, approaching her sister, “And where is your babe?” 

Before Gael had the chance to reply, Saera turned to Viserys and her eyes brightened. Before they had a chance to tell her Aelor was asleep, she was there, touching his face to which he squirmed away blinking blearily.  “Viserys you naughty boy. Laying with your aunt when you're already wed.”

Aemma, who held Rhaenyra, stared daggers at the whore Princess. His brother opened his mouth to correct her, but then closed it and took a calming breath as his son began to fidget more, “Princess Saera, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Oh is it? You are Baelon’s son, which means you are the competition.” Her brow was raised questioningly, a coy smile still on her face. “Still, I will be glad to know you, I am sure. And you must be Daemon.”

She turned to him and this time he was able to school himself. He admitted she was a strikingly beautiful woman, but she oozed poison, “Prince Daemon, Master of Wrights and Lord Builder.”

“So young and already on the Small Council. You will do well in my court.”

“Hmm,” he chuckled once, and Saera walked away realizing she would get no rise from him.

As Saera made her way across, Gael, drawn from her glare spoke, voice dripping with disgust and venom, “Here for less than a day and already you slither like the snake you are, poisoning all you speak - -”

The former Triarch stepped forward, almost threateningly, “Quiet girl, and know to heed your words around your bett - -” 

But the Kingsguard’s hands fell to their swords, as did Daemon’s, surprisingly so did Vaemond’s and Corlys’, “Finish that sentence, and I will be obliged to teach you how to treat and speak to a Princess of The Blood.”

The man’s frown faltered, and his son took a step back, “Prince Daemon, they call you ‘The Rogue’. You do not know me apparently, but you should. As a Triarch - -” 

“Former Triarch. And you are far from Volantis.” He interrupted in High Valyrian. “ You are surrounded by dragons. Best you remain respectful, or you are liable to be burned.”

“Enough!” The Queen finally said firmly. The King looked especially tired like everything that happened in the throne room took all the power from him. 

“Daemon, my grandson, I apologize for what I told you earlier. I had forgotten that my daughter's impertinence knows no bounds.” Queen Alysanne finished, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

“What is it you want?” It was Corlys of all people that asked.

“Velaryon, yes?” Saera questioned. At the Sea Snakes' nod, she continued, “Exactly as I said. I am blood of the dragon. Eldest daughter of the King, unaffiliated with an order. By all the Laws I am the Heir since my elder siblings all perished.”

“You may say that all you wish, Princess, but you have no true claim,” Corlys replied. “Princes Aemon and Baelon both passed, yes, but they had children. Those children stand here with… children …of their own. A sister would not take precedence over a son with a son or grown daughter. You have no standing. You have no allies but your bastards and this foppish Triarch.”

The Triarch opened his mouth but Saera shushed him with a raised hand, he scowled angrily and grumbled. He may have had the look, but he was no Targaryen and soon he would learn all that his behaviour would give him - Daemon intended to make sure of that. 

“I have no friends at court, for now. But I intend on changing that. We have some time yet before the Great Council, wonderful suggestion Vaegon by the way, so I will have many opportunities to make those friends.” Princess Saera replied confidently. 

“But before that, I have a demand,” Saera continued. 

It was the Queen of all people that belted a sarcastic laugh, “Oh please my dear daughter, tell us your demand.”

Saera rolled her eyes at her mother before turning towards her father, “If one bastard can be legitimized,” her eyes landed on Gael, “then why not three more.” She winked, callously. 

Daemon was going to have to learn who was providing her information, she knows far too much for one that just arrived. 

“Because they are not Targaryens.” And the room went silent, King Jaehaerys had spoken, a different blanket was draped over his legs and his voice was softer than it was in the throne room but he still commanded them all, even Saera surprisingly. 

“I have had enough of your continued insolence, Saera. In all your years away, age has not wisened you. Experience has not tempered your behaviour. I fear for the lives of your sons , and while I may not consider them mine blood, I will give them a place in my court should they prove themselves useful - but sit the Iron Throne? That will never happen, my dear, dear daughter.” 

“You won’t live forever,” Daemon sucked air through his teeth when Saera replied, everyone’s reaction similar to his, “The next king may be more amenable, or mayhaps even a Queen?”

“Your disrespect truly knows no bounds, does it?” Daemon asked Saera, “Speak to my grandfather in that manner - -”

“- - and you will do what?” Her son replied, one of the dark-haired ones, the third sword fellow.

Daemon tilted his head, “I wouldn’t want to be a kinslayer, so nothing too drastic. But you? Well, we don’t consider you kin.”

The man-boy’s face fell and his eyes darted to his mother, an appraising look in her eye that made him uncomfortable.

“I think enough has been said for now,” Queen Alysanne interrupted them. “Let us sup, together, and mayhaps with full bellies and clearer minds we can have a proper conversation.”

As everyone stood to go clean themselves up and prepare for dinner, Queen Alysanne came over to them, “I need my great-grandchildren,” 

She looked tired, and sad despite the front she put on. A truly genuine smile came over her face as Aelor snuggled up to her, followed by an even bigger one when Rhaenyra was placed in her other arm and did the same. She rested her nose on them both and inhaled their scents with a smile.

“Come Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Aelor. Let us go eat and hope the evening goes a bit better.” The Queen said with Gael and Aemma behind her. Viserys stayed behind to help their grandfather as the Kingsguard took their positions. 

As they were filing out, Daemon didn’t miss the longing look Rhaenys gave Aelor and he felt a pang of guilt in his heart. Corlys and the remainder of both of their parties had gone and only Laena, Daemon, Rhaenys, and the babe Laenor were in the room now. 

Daemon took a breath before approaching them, “Lady Laena, a pleasure as always.”

The young lady blushed and dipped in a small almost unnoticeable curtsy, Daemon returned his attention to her mother and the child in her grasp, “You would be welcome to bring Laenor when we are in the yard or enjoying time in the gardens. Mayhaps it would be good if Prince Aelor knew his relative, yes? Should either become Crown Prince, it would behove them.”

“Yes!” Rhaenys said, probably more quickly than she intended but he smiled, although it was brief. Her lilac eyes, so similar to Aelor’s watered up. “Thank you, cousin.”

“We are blood.” He tilted his head toward the door, “They are not. If an outside threat shows itself, we dragons must unite to defeat that problem and Saera Targaryen and her bastards are nothing but a threat and a problem.”

“On that, we are agreed,” Rhaenys replied before Daemon escorted them out.

Chapter Text

Crownlands

Kings Landing

Red Keep: Small Council Chambers

Daemon

He turned his head to the side, stretching his neck before rolling his shoulders and finally working his jaw. Tension was building in his muscles, be it frustration or the mind-numbing effects of Lord Beesbury and the Grand Maester. He respected them both but readily admitted that the combination of their voices, especially one after the other, could drive anyone to boredom. 

“What makes Viserys' son so different? What makes him special enough to legitimise, but not mine, Mother?” Saera asked angrily, accusingly, her lips pursed. 

The collective group sighed in unison.  

The King remained abed this morning, and in his place, Queen Alysanne presided. Following Grand Maester Runciter, they’d released the majority of the small council - all but one that remained bore the name Targaryen. Otto rubbed his temple in frustration, and for once, he shared the man’s sentiment. They’d opened the floor to broader topics and again found themselves in this abysmal cycle.  

In the last sennight, Saera had proven herself to be as taxing and intrusive as he’d expected. After every meeting, she visited the small council chambers, asking the same thing only to be given the same answer… 

“Oh, my puerile daughter. Saera, there are many reasons.” The Queen said, and her daughter rolled her eyes. 

“The foremost being that Prince Aelor is a Targaryen on both sides of his family, royal on both sides of his family. It does help that, unlike you, the rest of our family members have been dutiful and, for the most part, respectful of our name and positions - we feel more inclined to aid them in their requests.” His grandmother nodded in his and Viserys' directions; they were sitting beside each other.  

“Do you even know the father of your first two sons?”

Saera blinked, stunned by her mother's assertion - and while he was surprised by his grandmother's bluntness, he admitted that he wondered the same. “How da- -“

“You know - - it does not matter.” The Queen interrupted, waving her off before she could fuel the flames of her fire. 

“Aelor is a dragon, twice over, going back generations. He is as much a dragon as those of us here with the name Targaryen. The King, myself, the Small Council and the Faith are agreed.” 

Of course, there were ‘donations’ to the faith and some promises, but nobody needs to know that, Daemon thought .

Saera’s nostrils flared, “And you, the King, and the Faith can come to the same agreement for my sons.”

“No!” Daemon slapped the table, startling them all. 

“Good gods, are you simple? At first, I did not believe you were, but this perpetual fatuity now leads me to think otherwise. It would explain your many blunders in life.”

Saera’s eyes narrowed, and a frown replaced her perpetual indignance as she crossed her arms and leaned into her chair. “Your bastards will remain just that, bastards. Sons born of the seed of Essosi peasants. Who were their fathers? Common sellswords? Mayhaps a sell-sail? Some patrons of yours whilst you spread your legs for gold?”

“Daemon,” Viserys warned.

His vivid eyes snapped to his brother, “Do you hear this woman? You hear how she refers to a Prince of The Blood?  Her sons are little more than common, especially those mouse-haired things that swagger about our castle. Do you know that one nearly got themselves killed in the dragon pit!?”

“No, I did not know that,” Alysanne looked at her daughter, her face hardening, “Is that why you are here, to steal a dragon or dragon egg? I can assure you, it will not happen.”

Saera blushed, “No! My son is simply bold, as father was. As you are, Daemon.  And like the ba - Prince Aelor, he is a dragon.”

“The conversation is moot, Princess.” And for once, Daemon didn’t want to hit Otto. “The King, the Queen, and the Small Council have made their decision - it will not be happening. Now, you have been invited to the Table to see if there is a way you can best serve the realm. If you continue with the interruptions on this matter, we will have to ask you to leave.”

That she would not be invited back did not need to be said. 

Saera went silent with a glare at Otto.  The Queen leaned forward, “Now, the royal train is prepared to take us to the name-day celebration grounds - I will rouse and prepare for travel with the King.  I would suggest you take care of any last-moment appointments.  Once we return from the Kingswood on the morrow, we will be here long enough to resupply and switch our mounts before making our way to Harrenhal.”

“I think I’ll have Caraxes saddled - -“

“No,” the Queen said. “We will be travelling to the woods as a family. The rest of you are dismissed. Saera, you will stay - I would have words with you.”

Daemon stood and followed Viserys, pausing at the door to hear what was said, “- - pit is off limits to you and your sons, am I understood?”

He was yanked out, the door shut behind him, and Daemon came face to face with a smirking Viserys. “It was just getting good!”

“I don’t care. Mind grandmothers privacy.” 

Daemon shook his head and greeted Ser Harrold instead, “I hope my brother treats you better than he treats me.”

“Prince Viserys is quite possibly the most pleasant of charges I have had the delight of guarding.” Ser Harrold said, to a chuckle from Daemon and a polite and appreciative, if not bashful, head nod from his brother.

“Daemon, please... Please, for the love that you bear me, stop antagonising Saera. It is not you who deals with her looks and remarks. It is Aemma, Gael, and they come to me .” 

They were walking through the halls of the Red Keep, which were much more full than usual. Most of the lords and ladies were preparing to travel, first to the name days and the christening and then to the Great Council.

Daemon sighed, flaring his nostrils, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Viserys said. After a moment of silence, his face broke into a small smile. “I will admit, I almost laughed when you all but called her a whore, and grandmother said nothing.”

The pair shared that laugh, Viserys unable to contain himself. Even Ser Harrold broke and allowed a few chuckles to slip through his facade, only to clear it up with an embellished cough. 

With the arrival of so many more people, the crown had taken precautions for the immediate royal family.  Daemon now had a shadow in a rotating member of their household guard, and with Viserys accompanying him this afternoon, Ser Harrold was also there.  

It was hard being inconspicuous with so much ‘protection’, and with a seat on the Small Council, his grandmother told him to find suitable guards before she assigned him one. His brother nodded and smiled, dipped his head, and maintained his niceties all the while - their journey from the Red Keep to the lower city took much longer because of it. 

“Make way!” A member of the city guard shouted as they approached the storefront - a well-hewn sign hung above the door in looping letters ‘ The Jade Harpy’ .  They were on the Street of Steel, collecting his gift and for whatever reason, his elder brother had decided to accompany him.  

A bell rang when they entered the shoppe, “My Prince, oh , my Princes’!” The proprietor said, noting them both. The household guard remained outside with Ser Harrold, guarding the entrance. 

The shoppe was musty, the air thick and smelled like polished metal and aged wood.  The proprietor grinned, a few teeth missing, “Prince Daemon, here, here.” He gestured towards a seat, but Daemon shook his head.  

“Brother?” He gestured, and Viserys took the offered seat.  

“Do you have it then?” Daemon asked, casually peering around the small shoppe.  The shelves and counters were neatly organised with boxes containing intricately designed metalwork.   Necklaces, bracelets, diadems, circlets, brooches - all of it was on display.  

He barely noted the hooded guard lurking near the back door, tall enough to view the entirety of the room but nondescript enough to blend into the background.  

“I do, my prince, one moment,” the proprietor said, his common tinged by the thick accent of Old Ghis. How he’d made it this far west, Daemon didn’t know, but he was one of the best in his trade. A haggard older man with a well-lined face, he seemed genial enough, not crotchety like most his age. Despite his years, the intricacy of his work was nearly unparalleled, especially his dragons. 

He disappeared into the back room, behind the door the hooded guard stood beside. 

“How did you find this place?” Viserys asked, peering about curiously.

Daemon leaned against a counter, eyeing a trinket, “Rhaenys.”

Viserys turned in his chair, “Truly?”

“Why would I lie about that?” He asked, knowing full well he was lying.  

He’d encountered this place several years prior before father passed, and much less responsibility rested on his shoulders.  But Viserys need not know that he thought.  Daemon was curious, though, about his brother's ruminations, and this flippant lie gave him a path to sate that curiosity.

Viserys shrugged, an introspectively thoughtful look on his face, “Do you ever think of her?” Daemon asked, and by the look on his brother's face, he knew he was surprised. Daemon smiled devilishly.

“I - well… yes - no.” Viserys stammered, and the same smile widened.

“It’s all rather difficult . Aemma, Gael, Rhaenys…it would be a lie to say that those three women are not on my mind in one way or another at any point during the day. I just - I want Gael and Rhaenys to find common ground; they have plenty of it. Odd as it is, Aemma and Rhaenys have found a way to move on; they have no quarrel between them.”

Viserys looked around the shoppe, at a loss, avoiding Daemon's eye contact. “What twisted lives we lead,” he said, patting his elder brother on the shoulder.  

Aemma, Gael, and Rhaenys - the trio that rules my brother's life in one way or another. He loved them, Daemon was certain, all for very different reasons, but his brother's lack of conviction was his worst trait. It still begged the question of how he’d even managed to find himself in a bed with his admittedly beautiful cousin, Rhaenys - it was the one thing Viserys would never share, no matter his prodding.  

Gael, I can speak to; we are as close as siblings.  Rhaenys, on the other hand, is a very different case - a spirited and stubborn, once proud dragon that seemed to be regaining the fire that made her, her .   

“Just do as Maegor and wed the three.”

Viserys went red and scoffed, “Ahh, yes, and see the Faith Militant risen again?”

Daemon made a face, “Forget I said that.” Those were bad, terrible days, made worse by the mad Targaryen on the Iron Throne.  

They heard the door open, and the proprietor shuffled back into view, two dark lacquered mahogany boxes of equal width and height in his hands. The woodwork of each was intricate - detailed dragons in various positions, some twisting, others roaring and blowing fire from their mouths.  The boxes were mirrors of each other, and when set side by side, the two largest dragons stood wing to wing, paw to paw - the bordure was completed, a wreath of dancing flames ending with their house words in the middle, written in High Valyrian.  

“Perzys Ānogār”, Daemon muttered.  

The proprietor grinned, “Yes, my Prince.  I thought it would be fitting.”

Daemon nodded and reached forward, tracing the design before turning them away from his brother, who smirked.  He noted the gold hinges and latch - he spared no expense .  Daemon used his thumb to flick the latch back with a click, opening one box slowly - a smile spread across his face, and then he opened the other.  

“Good job.” He took the edge of each box and turned them to face his brother - his violet eyes widened.  

“Daemon…” He whispered, reaching forward before hesitating.  

Within the boxes were two matching circlets of black gold. Both were in the image of flames reaching their zenith in the centre. The first was steepled much higher in the front than the other, the fire designed with intricate line work. 

The second was narrower, for a lack of better words, more masculine.  The front bore a striking resemblance to writhing flames meeting in the middle at a much slighter peak.  Rubies, orange topaz, and black diamonds made them both come alive, the flames almost dancing in the light. 

“These must have cost you a fortune, brother,” Viserys muttered, the surprise on his face evident. He inspected them without removing them, shaking his head in wonder. 

Daemon shrugged, “Cost is unimportant, and besides, we’re celebrating more than a name day.  This is a legitimisation and a betrothal as well.  This is the first of the gifts I plan to give my niece and nephew.”

Red Keep: Velaryon Apartments

Rhaenys

Rhaenys pursed her lips, one hand on her hip while the other tapped a random beat on her cheek. Her silver-gold and black hair was in a loose bun with strands and baby hairs free around her neck. 

“Have you chosen, mother?” Laena asked her as she played with her brother. Laenor laughed and reached for the plush tiny seahorse she waved before him. 

Rhaenys dropped her hands and sighed exaggeratedly, “No, I can not.” 

How vapid of me, she thought. It was late morning, and the sun shone again after the last four or five days of summer rain. They were currently in their apartments, preparing for what the day brought - my son and his sister's name-day celebration and official christening and titling.  

Daemon's offer was genuine. An invitation by courier to their celebration was sent a day after Saera’s grand reintroduction. Gael had gone so far as to ask her to dress in the family's colours and Laena and Laenor as well. It was time to show a united front with the arrival of their elusive gadfly of an aunt - especially as she seemed very intent on undermining anything and everything so long as her sons were looked over. 

And none of us will allow her to interfere with the legitimisation. 

She stared at the lineup of brooches and pins the jeweller Daemon suggested had brought; her daughter came over, her brother in her arms. “They are all stunning.” 

“There in is the problem,” she replied, glancing at her daughter. Six in total sat before her, different designs. Each one bore the Targaryen dragon, but in various positions, some coiled, others extended their wings; there was one with just the three heads in ruby and obsidian that she adored - but the one that claimed her attention the most was the piece that featured the crowned stag of House Baratheon and the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. 

The jeweller told her that his father had hoped to gift that particular piece to her father upon his ascension - obviously in the hope of continued patronage.  

Laena smiled, following her mother's line of sight, “It is exquisite, isn’t it?”

Rhaenys nodded, “But would it be improper?”

“He is partially a stag, like Laenor and myself,” Laena reminded her. 

Rhaenys chuckled, “Aelor is more a dragon than a stag, and to the rest of the world, he is only a dragon.” She shook her head angrily. 

“Well, I think you should choose that one. He may not be able to wear it now, but in time, it will come to mean something - and besides, it was meant to be given to a Targaryen prince.”

She smiled faintly, “In time.” Her voice sounded distant. 

There had been so much time taken from them already. In the beginning, she’d been livid with everyone - they took her baby and benefited from it: Gael, Viserys and Aemma, even her grandmother and grandfather. 

But with time came clarity, and with that clarity came understanding. 

They were benefitting; she could not deny that, but had they been the ones to initiate the separation? Had they been the ones keeping us apart?

No, it was Corlys. She concluded, her anger finding a focus. 

It was his accord Nuncle Baelon argued with him and told him it was wrong, but he wanted to avoid a conflict which could have proved disastrous for the realm. I was despondent for moons, but I was never unable to visit. 

So many thoughts rushed through her head as she stared at the pieces. 

Can I blame Gael for caring for my son? For loving him? For growing protective? No, and that is why. He is loved and cared for; at the very least, I know in my heart that is true. 

Rhaenys breathed the resentment away.

Nuncle Baelon, Viserys, grandmother and grandfather never forbade me.

Just Corlys. Only Corlys.

“Mother? Are you well?” Laena asked, concern flooding her eyes.

Rhaenys blinked, realising she’d been lost in her thoughts, “Apologies, my love.”

“Thinking?”

“Deeply,” Rhaenys replied. She looked at the dragon and stag piece and nodded, “You’re right. In time, it will mean something. And in that time, I will come to mean more to him.”

Laena smiled, and Rhaenys felt a conviction she had not felt in some time. She would take her life back.

“You know, let’s just take the lot.”

“My - oh…” Corlys greeted them; his enthusiasm drained almost immediately.  He glared, his lips drawn thin. “So you are Targaryens today.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Oh no, husband, we have always been Targaryens. I just forgot for a time. I promise you here, and now, I will not be doing that again.”  She swept past him, Laenor in her arms. Laena followed behind, their gift to her son in her hands. The three had done as requested and wore her house's colours. 

“Princess Rhaenys, Lady Laena,” the valet greeted as they were escorted to the carriage. 

“My, do the Ladies of our house look ravishing!” Daemon called, coming down the last set of steps that led to the courtyard ahead of Viserys, Aemma with Rhaenyra, and Gael with Aelor. Her daughter blushed. 

Rhaenys and Viserys shared a chaste smile, the latter flushing very slightly - dressed as they were, the attraction would be undeniable. All of them were in variations of House Targaryen’s colours, and she admitted that despite the issues between them, her family, in its entirety, was very comely, almost unbelievably so.   

Her gaze, though, was reserved for only one. My baby . Aelor rubbed his eyes and blinked, looking around as if he’d just woken. Gael caught her staring, and rather than offence, she offered her own small, albeit tepid, smile. 

“He’s just woken from a very unintended nap,” Gael told her as their groups met. “He woke exceptionally early this morning.” Aelor yawned, and they both watched him.  His lilac eyes landed on her, and she felt her heart melt. 

“Sometimes, he will wake in time to watch Aegarax take his morning flight. Only the gods know how a babe can wake so promptly.”

“His br - Laenor can be the same way. He loved our first flight together.” Rhaenys looked down at her youngest, her babe watching his sibling curiously. So close to each other,  the similarities between them were obvious, and she was confident they would continue to be apparent. 

“I will have to bring you to Meleys, nuha Aelor; I’m sure she would love to meet you.  Of course, if that is fine with you?” And where she’d expected anger, she was greeted by Gael’s surprise.

“Yes,” the Princess swallowed, “Yes. Would you like to spend some time with your - ” Gael’s eyes darted from Aelor and back to herself, and Rhaenys steeled herself for the coming sting “ - your cousin.”

But nothing could soften the blow, regardless of preparation.  She sighed inwardly; these twisted webs we are weaving. Cousin, brother, aunt, mother, gods… I will correct this. It was a promise to her son and herself.  

“Cousin,” Aemma called, drawing their attention. “Let them ride together.  You and Laena can join us with the babes, yes?”

Before she could answer, the King and Queen were escorted down. Vaegon and Maegelle followed - the arch-maester wore something besides his robes for the first time she’d seen.  King Jaehaerys looked worn and grey, haggard and tired, but he pushed himself, this time with an actual cane instead of Blackfyre. 

“My - My family,” he paused to take a laboured breath, his valiance admirable in the face of his pain, “It is good to see you.” 

The Queen hovered at his free elbow, a thin, fragile smile on her face; Vaegon and Maegelle followed, with Ser Redwyne and Ser Crabb a step behind them.  Ser Roxton, Ser Westerling, and Ser Shaw were already prepared, mounted on their white stallions with white caparisons.  

“My dears,” her grandmother greeted before moving on to their carriage.  

Aemma shot her a look, and Rhaenys looked at Corlys, brow raised.  The majority of House Velaryon was already on their way, as was Saera Targaryen and her brood. Rhaenys had stayed behind for the specific purpose of arriving with the family - this would leave Corlys the indignity of riding in his own carriage or on horseback.  

Or he will have to swallow his pride and dignity and ride with Daemon and Viserys. 

“Of course, Cousin Aemma. Laena, come. Let us have some lady time.” It was a very easy decision to make.  She looked back at Corlys, his nostrils flared and lips near non-existent with how thin they'd become. “Enjoy your ride.”

Red Keep: Courtyard

Viserys

He heard the whistle, long before the screech that shook their canopy and startled their horses. Caraxes soared above them as the wheelhouse rattled along. He cast Daemon a questioning look.

“I’m trying something new,” Daemon said with a shrug. 

Corlys scoffed, “Something foolish.”

Daemon raised a brow, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“And what does that mean?” Corlys replied.

His brother's eyes became daggers, a hungry smile crept up his cheeks, and his teeth bared, giving Daemon a wolfish look  -  lithe dexterous fingers gripped the leather seat rather than Dark Sister - the sword was thankfully stowed behind them.  Corlys’ eyes followed the motion, “What do you think it means, My Lord ?”

Viserys admitted that there were times his younger brother made him nervous. He could still be unpredictable, and though his volatility seemed to die down, that did not mean the danger he represented was any less.  If anything, his brother was more subtle, more clever and cautious.  This was one such time - poignant and useless honorifics - the fire is lit in his blood.  He’ll goad Corlys into wrath, and the Lord will lash out, giving Daemon enough reason to ‘ defend ’ himself.

“And what is the reasoning behind freeing Caraxes?” Viserys quickly questioned as friendly as possible, very aware of the tension and potential violence brewing in the carriage. 

Daemon leaned back, his draconic eyes never leaving Corlys. The Lord swallowed almost imperceptibly, and they heard the keening screech of Caraxes in the distance. The Sea Snake was a skilled fighter, but not more so than Daemon. His brother was by far the greatest of his generation. 

“Vaegon has a theory,” Daemon finally answered, never breaking eye contact with Corlys.

Viserys took a deep breath and fought the urge to roll his eyes, “Must I drag it all from you?”

Daemon smirked and finally looked at him, “Vaegon theorises that confined space limits our bonded. He used Meraxes, Vhagar, Balerion, and Aegarax as an example. They were never kept in a pit. For the majority of his life, neither was Vermithor or Meleys, for that matter. Their sizes and growth were at a different rate than the modern dragons. He believes it’s because they ranged freely, and subsequently, their bonds with their riders were greater.” 

“Yes, the Maester without a dragon,” Corlys muttered.

You’ve never bonded with one either, he thought to himself, deciding his mind was where that would stay. 

Daemon ignored Corlys, “I think he is right. A dragon is not a slave, and keeping them confined in a pit, great creatures such as them, is foolish and cruel. Our ancestors in Valyria did no such thing. Why did Maegor think it was wise, and why did we continue to follow his example?”

Viserys shrugged, actually contemplating that. Maegor’s rule was contentious, to say the least, so it bore reason to look at his policies and reevaluate some of his decisions. He looked at his brother curiously - in many ways, Daemon's passion for knowledge rivalled his own, especially regarding anything Valyrian. Their curiosity was undoubtedly a shared trait.

“Ancient Valyrians didn’t keep their dragons in pits either, did they?”

“No th - -“ Daemon didn’t get to finish.

The sound of the sky cracking open, a deafening thunder, split the air and rumbled in his chest like the aftershocks of an earthquake. The roar was like an eruption from the Dragonmont; the sound of a natural disaster, a fearsome and frightening thing - silencing all else around it. No doubt it terrified anyone not of their house.

Like Balerion and Vhagar’s roar. A storm that was my mount once, he reminisced. 

The jaw-chattering thump of massive wings reverberated through their teeth and chests as the sable titan took flight. They heard the horses whinny in fear; the carriage bucked slightly and paused momentarily before continuing. 

Viserys looked out of the window at the shadow that covered them. Daemon tapped his boot, and he peered over at him. His brother tilted his head in Corlys' direction - the lord was pale, jaws tense and lips drawn thin. He was looking through the other window as the shadow of Aegarax passed overhead. 

Mayhaps it shouldn’t have, but Corlys' disquiet made him smile, “Worry not, my Lord, Aegarax will not harm this train so long as Prince Aelor is in it.”

“So it is true, the boy has formed a bond with the beast?”

Daemon smirked, “Don’t let him hear you. It is said that once they have formed a bond, they can understand any tongue their partner understands.”

Viserys coughed through what was going to be a chuckle. “It is true, though they understand Valyrian implicitly.”

Daemon smiled casually this time. Silent chuckles shook him as he looked out of the window. They watched Aegarax for a moment longer. Will he always follow my son like so? Viserys wondered as the dragon soared over the Kingswood. The bond between them was strange. There was no actual interaction, only from a distance, but the connection was undoubtedly there even with that distance. 

“Gon.” Viserys muttered with a fond smile. 

Daemon chuckled, “Aelor’s Gon.”

Corlys looked between them, brows furrowed, confused by that last interaction. 

“Papa!” Rhaenyra shouted when they exited the carriage.  The Princess and babes arrived first, followed by their grandparents and uncle.  Viserys, Daemon, and Corlys’ carriage rumbled in last in their grouping. His daughter bounced in his wife's arms and reached for him.  

“Oh, ho! Does Nyra want her papa?” Viserys said, a smile plastered across his face.  

Aemma looked between them, a soft, warm smile on her lips, “Yes, she does.”

Viserys came over and took his daughter, the babe giggling.  She climbed into his arm and snuggled against him, laughing as his beard tickled her head.  Viserys looked around, a frown forming, “Where’s our son?”

Aemma's smile grew wider. She set her hand gently on his shoulder and spun him, pointing over his shoulder with a beautiful lithe finger, “Look.”

He saw his son, yet the company surprised him. Gael hovered over him like a mother hen. The King and Queen held either hand as Aelor took uneven toddling steps between them. 

The king's smile was so bright and full you could almost forget he was dying.

Almost .

Lords and Ladies were still arriving after them but were ushered forward through another path.  He spied Lord Darklyn amongst some of his kin and tilted his head, the lord doing the same.  Viserys continued to look around; Rhaenys stood beside Gael comfortably. Her adoring smile was glued to her face as both princesses followed behind the King and Queen. Laenor was happy to be looking around at all of the nature. 

He peered at his wife, “The ride over?”

“Very pleasant,” Aemma replied, looping an arm through his. He shifted Rhaenyra to the other side and followed their grandparents and retainers. 

A veritable canopy city was erected in a wide clearing with tents spread out around it and a central pavilion in the middle towards one edge. Each grouping represented a house, flag poles bearing their standard. Those were located around their Lord Paramount or Warden, with the foremost tent canopy bearing the banner of their house. 

They followed a path lined by knights in service to House Targaryen, their banner flapping in the wind. At the head of the procession was Ser Robin, followed by the King and Queen. Many lords and ladies milled about, talking, laughing, and drinking. Scullery maids, cooks, and their assistants ran back and forth, preparing the day's meals.  Silence came over the lords and ladies, the clearing quieting as they entered. 

“Queen Alysanne of House Targaryen.” The herald announced as the congregation faced their direction. Those who were sitting stood; the rest waited patiently, “His Grace, Jaehaerys of House 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.”

Their grandfather and grandmother led the way into the tent. “Lady Laena of House Velaryon and Prince Daemon of House Targaryen,” he announced next.

“What do you think of them? She is of Valyrian decent, so I know he wouldnt be averse.” Aemma surprised him, a curious brow raised. He watched his brother and the Lady enter, her arm in his.  He grinned internally. Corlys' scowl couldn't be missed.  In truth, he thought they would make an excellent match, mayhaps something to consider when she came of age.  

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted as Gael dropped back with a curious Aelor in her arms, leaving Rhaenys and Laenor standing by Corlys. “We should probably be announced together.”

He and Aemma nodded, agreeing with his son's mother. “Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen, Heir Presumptive and their son Laenor.”

“Had I known we were all wearing our house colours, I would have joined in,” Saera said in greeting.  A smirk accompanied her blue and white gown.  Like every other lady, she was dressed for the warm weather, though by Southron standards, some would consider what she wore scandalous with the shallow neck and exposed back. Viserys took a breath. He felt Aemma's grip on his arm tighten, and Gael shared a look with him before rolling her eyes. 

“Now, aren’t you simply precious,” she finished, bopping Rhaenyra on her nose. His daughter wrinkled her face and scrunched her nose, turning her head away and burying it in his neck. Aelor watched her, unsure and most likely confused by the newest silver-gold-haired person to enter his life.  

Before Saera could say anymore, Gael spoke, “Come, we are next.” She shot Saera a look before walking forward. 

“Princess’s Gael and Aemma, and Prince Viserys of House Targaryen, Heir Presumptive.”  Viserys felt it, the moment hundreds of sets of eyes focused on them. 

“And now, the reason for our gathering, the children of honour,” the Herald said.  A hush fell over the lords and ladies. At the high table, his grandmother shot him a wink, turning his stomach into knots. Neither of his children were fixtures of court, rarely seen by anyone, not of their house. They were a curiosity, more so because of his son's legitimisation. 

“For the first time in their young lives, I present to you, My Lords and My Ladies Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aelor, of the House Targaryen.” He stepped forward, his shy daughter burying her face in his neck. Aelor clutched his mama and mimicked his sister; the surrounding ladies were wooed into cooing, some going so far as to place a hand on their bosom. 

He watched the others clap and perform. For that is what it was, a deceitful performance. Their eyes spoke volumes; in them, he could see their manipulations and plans. He clutched his daughter tighter as he followed behind Gael, Aelor, and Aemma.

“And so it begins…” Viserys muttered as he stepped upon the dias where their house was seated and turned to face the gathered lords, ladies and retainers - their laughs like the braying of hungry pouch tigers.

Crownlands

Kingswood

Celebration Grounds

Laena

Part of her family remained busy, occupied, swamped by well-wishers and lick spittle’s alike, the side of her family with royal titles - her mother and cousin, Prince Viserys, chief amongst them. Laena wandered on the border of each grouping - her plum-coloured eyes watching Daemon carouse with the lords and ladies around him.  His smile was infectious, and she found her own forming.  

Laena felt separated from everyone.  Not quite the age of the adults and certainly not a child, she wandered between them yet belonged to neither.  She was in the throes of adolescence.  But it wasn’t all bad - her meandering allowed her to hear things as she flitted from person to person and group to group.  

The young Lady found herself wandering near the gift table, guarded by Targaryen soldiers.  She had a gift for her brother, a quilt she embroidered herself, yet fretted because, in her haste to finish Aelor’s gift, she’d forgotten to get one for Rhaenyra.  

She continued wandering, coming up to the largest and most animated grouping, that of her Great-Grandmother, the Queen.  Rhaenyra was laughing, so young and vibrant.  The princess preened at the attention, already out of her shell. Their brother was a quiet, curious sort. His pale lilac eyes searched the faces of those around him before breaking into a wide, nearly toothless grin when he found her face.

“Ena!”

She felt her eyes widen and her breath hitch as the ladies turned to her in unison, following the young prince's sight. Queen Alysane smiled, “Granddaughter, come join us.”

“He - he knows me?” She stuttered, her surprise evident as she slowly approached. 

The Queen smiled, a smile she only saw when the elder royal was away from the red keep or with the youngest of her family. She bounced Aelor, who hummed happily, chewing on what she assumed was a cut of apple. “A babe’s memory is an amazing thing, isn't it? He’s surprised us all with who he remembers and what he tries to say.” 

“Tries to say? My son does more than that.  He’s taken to mimicking his uncle, Daemon.” Princess Gael said, sitting across from the Queen with Rhaenyra in her lap and Princess Aemma beside her - the pair thick as thieves. 

“It’s not half bad when you stay out of his way when he’s waving that wooden sword of his.” Prince Viserys said as he approached.

“Such scandal, are we in the presence of the heir to Daemons title?” Lady Brune questioned in humour, sweeping her brown curls behind her shoulder.  She wore a burgundy gown with no sleeves and a glass of wine in her hand.

Viserys scoffed, and Aemma and Gael snorted, looked at each other, and laughed, “Gods, I hope not.” Viserys said.

“But why?” Everyone looked at her, “Prince Daemon is a sound man to aspire to. He’s created a whole new position on the Small Council and - -”

It was only then she realised how out of turn she’d spoken. The Queen's quirked brow and inquisitive smirk caught her attention as she tried to swallow the sudden nervousness away. “Please forgive me. I - -”

“You what? There is nothing to forgive, dear girl.  Come, join us.” Lady Hayford chided.

She gave a demure bow before finding a chair near her great-grandmother; Aemma smiled warmly, surprisingly, as did Gael. 

“I do hope you don’t think I was maligning my brother?” Prince Viserys said once she was seated.  “Daemon is unbelievably clever, mayhaps the greatest sword of our generation, and the best dragon rider - - ”

“Uh, hm,” The Queen cleared her throat very obviously.  

“Second only to Grandmother.” He corrected himself with a chuckle.  Their group laughed, the Queen winked in her direction, and Laena couldn't help but smile.  “As I was saying, my brother is an admirable man to aspire to, especially as of late.  I do admit, the young Daemon would have made me fear for my son, but this Daemon - -”

“This Daemon what?” The man in question questioned.  His voice made her belly squirm; the prince came over, his shadow shrouding her.  “Lady Laena, is my brother slandering me?”

“Umm,” she hesitated.

“I would hate to deprive the realm of a Crown Prince.”  Daemon continued.

There was a beat of silence before Viserys laughed, followed by Daemon.  It seemed only his kin understood his humour as the Queen shook her head ruefully. 

“You would do no such thing,” Aemma chastised, equally playful. 

Daemon grinned and drawled, “Gods damn it, Aemma, you are absolutely correct. Now, let me have my nephew.”

Laena watched as Aelor willingly went to his uncle with outstretched arms. She smiled; he would make a good father. Her brother laughed as his uncle tickled his belly.

“I believe it’s time we made a formal introduction, don’t you?” Daemon said, a gleam in his eye. 

“That’s what we’re doing, Daemon,” Viserys replied.

“He doesn’t mean the lords and ladies,” Gael said.

Daemon smiled, but it was the Queen that answered. “He means Aegerax.”

Crownlands

Kingswood

Celebration Grounds: Beach Side

Daemon

“Are you mad!” Viserys said firmly, hoping to avoid any more attention. 

“Gon!” Aelor shouted and bounced excitedly in his arms. His nephew had never been so thrilled before. He could feel the child’s excitement as if he knew what was happening without being told.

“However much I dislike it, Daemon is correct, Viserys.” Daemon smiled when their grandmother defended him. 

There was a group of them, forty, mayhaps fifty in total. The majority had stayed near the steps at the cliff side, hoping to catch a view of the forming of a bond between dragon and rider. Not many in their kingdom were privy to such private moments for the royal family and their extended relations. 

The gathering lords and ladies' curiosity and murmurs had faded. Only the sound of the sea and the rustle of tree leaves accompanied their family’s steps through the sand. In the distance, he could see and hear Caraxes wheeling over the ocean, feel his screeches and roars of enjoyment at the newfound freedom. 

Vaegon was right; the dragons should not be caged anymore. 

The royal family, including House Velaryon members and others like Lords Darklyn, Beesbury, Rykker, and Strong, joined. Otto Hightower was there as well, with his daughter Alicent. 

Directly behind Daemon and Viserys followed Gael and the Queen, with Princess Aemma holding Rhaenyra and Rhaenys with Laenor. He’d asked Laena to bring the other gift he had. Saera and her bastard brood followed, the former triarch complaining about walking. Lord Velaryon followed behind them amongst the rest of the remaining lords who had been invited to join. King Jaehaerys had remained at the birthday site at his wife’s urging.

The group behind him, including Viserys hesitated when Aegerax shifted. The size of a mountain, everything he did made the ground shake and rumble. Even in the bright daylight, his eyes glowed an insidious green. The dragon rose higher and higher, and his black scales blotted out the sun as he stared at them from a great distance. Daemon paused, realising just how giant the dragon truly was. 

“He’s as big as Vhagar,” Viserys said uneasily as they all paused beside and behind Daemon. It was best to keep their distance and allow the dragon to approach them of his own accord. They could see the subtle green patterns crossing through his black scales this close. They were so dark that, at most times, the dragon looked utterly black. 

Daemon swallowed thickly, actually nervous now as the dragon moved towards them. Every step was thunder, the sound of boulders smashing against each other, the movement of the very earth. His shadow covered them all. A deep rumble vibrated the air; a sound like a hum of approval came from its throat as the sable titan lowered its mountainous head towards them. 

“I’m not sure of this Daemon,” Viserys said skittishly. 

Neither was he, but he would never admit that. Daemon looked back at the group, his immediate family pensive and tense. Even Corlys had a look of anticipation. They were no more than twenty feet from the dragon. His head was low, nearly to the ground and more significant than a carriage. 

He could swallow a mammoth, if not whole, then in two bites , Daemon thought.

Smoke trailed from his nostrils. His breaths stirred the sand. This close, they could feel his ambient heat. 

“My lady?” He gestured to Laena, who stepped through the sand and brought him the first gift. “If you could bring Rhaenyra, Princess?”

Aemma did as asked. Standing beside Daemon, she too, watched the dragon with some caution. “To my niece and my nephew. May their days be long, their lives happy, and their future filled with love and joy. They will make a grand pair, and I had these made for that.”

With Viserys’ help, the circlet and tiara were withdrawn with a gasp from those around them. They were placed gently on the babe's heads. Aelor immediately went to fuss with it.

He turned, nodded to his brother, who joined him and slowly walked the distance to the dragon. His heat grew as they neared the wondrous creature. He imagined they must look to him how a fly does to a man. 

This close, the dragon's breath fluttered their hair. “Gon,” Aelors said softly, his pale lilac eyes wider than they’d ever been. 

Daemon would have been nervous if he hadn’t been sure that the giant, the behemoth, the creature that could murder them all with one move, only had giant wildfire-green eyes for his nephew. Even Viserys noticed the dragon's breath had stilled like it was waiting, too. 

“Now or never.” He took Aelor in his grasp and extended the boy. His nephew's little palm reached the dragon's snout before touching him softly. 

“Gon,” Aelor said softly, and the wild dragon once known as the cannibal was wild no more. Aegerax seemed to sigh, sounding content. 

Crownlands

Kings Landing

Street of Silk: ???

Corlys

Unaware of the veiled, mauve eyes following him, Corlys passed the pale bosomy woman. She rolled her curvy hips alluringly, twisting her arms as she did. Silver-white hair fell in tumbles of curls over her shoulders and down her lissome back. She manoeuvred herself nimbly, spinning in place with each step of the passing lord, the better to watch him.

Corlys found his spot, a table in the corner, away from candles and lanterns. It was obscured by the tavern's haze and milling populace. Already occupied, he tilted his head to the hooded individual as they slowly dropped the cloth covering their head, obscuring their face with shadows. 

Corlys did the same.

“Imagine my surprise when I learned that it was true. My nephew cuckolded the Sea Snake - and though it was your wife that wounded you, it is her that has been wronged, and for that, she loathes you . All over the bastard , am I correct?”

“Say it louder, why don’t you?” Corlys stared at her, taking note of her guards standing just out of sight. 

Saera smiled, her eyes following his line of sight, “The wounded pride of a man. Mmm, how sweet it can be.  One could believe he is my sister’s.” Her eyes widened, a positively devilish smirk replacing her curiosity. “THE BA - -“

His eyes grew wide as some patrons looked her way. A few city guards were already in their cups for the evening, and they gave them questioning looks. It certainly wouldn’t do to draw attention to them, Corlys thought. “Are you mad? Gods! You know the love he has from both the dying king and the queen who refuses to do the same.”

“Careful, Corlys. I may not care for my father greatly, but my mother is an entirely different story.”

“Apologies. All I am saying is misspeaking of the” Corlys swallowed back the bile, “the prince could have us facing Caraxes, Silverwing, or…”

“Meleys?”

“I was going to say The Cannibal.” He knew he made a face. Betrayal? Anger? Mayhaps a bit of both. In reply, he nodded once quickly.

“Do you not know, it is Aegerax now.” She said. Corlys waved it away, silence spilling between them for a moment as the woman observed him.

“That must sting to know that your wife will always love him . To know that she will always choose him . Even if he doesn’t choose her , that is what tends to happen when you bar people from their children, Corlys.” Saera looked at him knowingly. 

He clenched his jaw, “I…miscalculated. I acted out of anger - nor did I expect her to form any bond with the… I did not think of the future. I did not foresee Baelon dying and, as a repercussion, a succession crisis. Had I kept him on Driftmark, there would be no legitimisation, and I could convince Rhaenys not to legitimise him upon her ascension. He would be a Waters but loyal to his natural mother, not that insipid trollop.”

“Again, Corlys, be careful…she is my sister. Even if I barely know her. I know that no matter the child’s status, a mother will love any child she births or feeds from her breast.  Adopted or natural, Gael may as well have given birth to him.” Her face softened; of course, she’d think of her bastards.

Corlys fought the roll of his eyes but nodded. “Apologies, and I know that now. As I said, he would be loyal to us, and Viserys would be without an heir. Gods, hindsight is such a cruelty. I allowed emotion to dictate my actions instead of thinking them out. What’s worse is I did it again when I went to Dragonstone.”

“I heard,” Saera laughed softly, her guards still standing like statues. “As you have no doubt learned, my mother and father can be somewhat implacable and the rest of my family equally obstinate.”

“Yes, that being said, I can not make any more mistakes. You wish for your sons to carry the Targaryen name, and I wish for a more permanent solution to my problem.” 

Saera’s face darkened, and he admitted she was a gorgeous woman. “I will be no kin -“

Corlys put a hand up, “You don’t have to be. You are, I dare say, nearly as resourceful as myself. I know what you want and how bad you want it. You want to stick it to your father for lack of better words. Once Rhaenys ascends, I will be her consort; I will be in a position to see it done.  No one need ever know our arrangement, and if you want to hurt the King and Queen, I assure you. This is the best way.”

Saera looked hesitant; he needed her to do this. House Targaryen was already full of kinslayers. The blood would stay on their hands. 

“A life for a name?” She questioned stupidly, and he smirked knowingly.

“A life for three names.”

“I will need substantially more Corlys,” her lithe hand extended, “but I believe this to be a good start.”

As Saera walked away, Corlys smiled. Her hatred for her father was easily used. She thought herself clever, but once the deed was done, he would expose her if he had to.  Saera and her brood would be summarily executed, leaving him free of blame.

The Sea Snake stood, a triumphant tilt to his lips. He draped his hood over his silver hair and left, unaware of the mauve eyes following him. The curvy Lyseni smiled knowingly and danced, her skin pale as milk. 

Chapter Text

Crownlands

Hayford

Daemon

Four days on the Kingsroad was trying. As the royal family, it was of utmost importance that they arrive promptly, which we could do so much easier on the backs of our dragons, Daemon thought dryly. 

A departure from only a short sennight or two ago, the sun shone brightly - gold light covered them, warmed them, and left the sweet fragrances of blooming flowers in the air around Hayford, their first of three major stops on their journey north to Harrenhal.

A gentle late morning breeze pulled his hair, and he breathed in the smell of nature, away from the shit and detritus of writhing civilisation.  Wildflowers dotted the landscape and unmanicured grass; some as tall as his shins waved in the wind.  

Daemon stared back in the direction of King’s Landing, baleful, violet eyes narrowed by the sun.  How will we be returning? He wondered, jaws clenched, anger lingering as he fidgeted with a small strip of parchment in his pocket. 

The Hull was cracked, its contents laid bare for the grey dragon and his would-be heirs to see. Cloaks of gold provide escort to the eye of the gods - fifty score. Will I need their swords?

He let his eyes travel eastward toward the tiny dark speck in the distance - Aegerax returning from a hunt. Will I need our dragons? 

His and his nephews' mounts had become unlikely companions, but the sight of Silver Wing and Vermithor in the skies beside them was even more surprising. 

“If it was so foolish, why have the King and Queen followed suit?” He muttered, thinking back to the carriage ride with Corlys. As if to punctuate his thoughts, a screech from Caraxes drew his attention as his mount wove through the clouds, racing after Silver Wing in some sort of draconic game. The hill in the near distance shifted and was, in fact, no hill at all. A bronze head took form as Vermithor watched the other two.

Awash with banners - the plumage of nobility - House Hayford's ancestral keep seemed small, surrounded by a multitude of personal standards and tents for those unable to stay within the keep proper. The keening call of his bonded drew his eyes up once more as both dragons banked away and angled themselves eastward, likely to do their own hunting. They enjoyed their freedom and unwittingly flaunted it in Daemon’s face. 

“Do you wish you were up there?”

It was only his training that kept him from leaping from his skin. His hand flexed, the desire to grasp the hilt of Dark Sister coming and going in the time it took him to recognise the voice.  “Lady Laena! I do wish I was up there.  Alas, Grandmother ensured Caraxes was left without a saddle to dissuade me from mounting.”

“And will that do any good?” The lady asked as she stepped through the grass and joined him on his knoll.  

Daemon laughed, clear and vibrant.  “No. It most certainly will not.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, her full lips curving until Laena laughed, and Daemon felt queer; his stomach turned in knots, and his cheeks grew warm, likely enough for his blush to be noticeable.  He fought the urge to shift one foot, his anger from a moment ago nearly forgotten.  

“They seem to certainly enjoy the freedom. I wonder if I should do the same with Gaelithox?” 

Her purple eyes turned to him; in the sun, they were bright and sparkled like amethysts. He felt his face warm up as she smiled, her presence making his heart work faster. “I-“ he stumbled over his words, “Aye, you should.”

“You could aid me once we have returned?”

Daemon swallowed thickly, “That would be very pleasant, my lady.”

Another smile tugged at her lips, and he felt his breath hitch as the sun caught her porcelain face; she’s beautiful. The light of the morning caressed her cheeks and set her eyes glowing; he felt his pulse quicken. 

“Good, and mayhaps we could take a ride together?”

His eyes widened for a beat, but he schooled his features and nodded, unable to speak any further. Laena dipped into a slight curtsy. “I hope to see you again soon, my prince.”

Daemon watched her depart dumbly, stepping through the grass, pausing to pluck a tulip and greet her guards before shaking his head, “That would be very pleasant, my lady?” He repeated. “That doesn’t even make sense, you idiot.” Daemon slapped his forehead. For all his skill, his persona, cunning, and capability, this woman turned him into mush, and he had no way to counter that.

With the morning well behind them, Daemon quietly sauntered back into Hayford Hall. Sticking to the shadows, he meandered and listened. The castle was unimpressive by his standards. Small, grey-brown, drab, monotone, and, in his astute summation, boring. 

Entering through a southern door, he stood by a window, watching maids and servants pass by him, their heads bowed as he listened to their benign conversations. 

“…not well, I tell you. What else necessitates a great council?” Some Reach lord muttered to another at his side, their heads close together, so close they didn’t notice Daemon as they passed.

He continued on, looking back as he rounded a corner, more nobles milling about, conversing. Some bobbed their heads when they saw him.

“Prince Daemon!” 

“Lord Strong,” he greeted, a strapping lad by the lord's side. “I’d thought you’d ridden ahead of us?”

“Oh no. Preparations are all but complete.”

Daemon said nothing; his brow ticked up as if to say, ‘Then why are you stopping me?’

Lord Strong took the hint, “I wanted to introduce you to my eldest son and heir, Harwin. I intend for him to return to court with us. I had hoped he could make a name for himself.”

“Hmm,” Daemon looked him over, “How old are you, boy?”

“Ten and one, my prince.” Harwin squeaked, his voice breaking, “It would be an honour to serve you.”

“Ten and one! Gods, you're a big lad. Well, you wouldn't be serving me, but my brother and mayhaps his children.” Daemon looked him over; he was big, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, and only ten and one. He would be monstrous, and if he were anything like his father, he would be loyal. “I have no use for a boy, but a knight? Now, House Targaryen could use a knight. What say we get you your spurs first and then see how well you can serve my house?”

“Good, good!” Lyonel said, clapping his meaty hands, “Now I do have some ideas ab - -”

“That won’t be necessary, Lord Strong; I have thoughts for knights he could squire too. Sers Luthor Largent or Balon Birch. They are upright and moral men, loyal to House Targaryen. We will speak later once I’ve gained their measure. You lad, meet me in the yard on the morrow; I’d like to take your measure.”

Harwin's eyes widened in disbelief. His face parted in a toothy smile. “Of course, my prince. I will not disappoint you!”

Daemon dipped his head, “We shall see.”

After that little stop, the prince continued while Lord Strong and his son carried on with their stroll, leaving Daemon to search out his family. He knew he was getting closer when he crossed paths with the undeservedly smug Vaemond Velaryon - the suites afforded the royal family were all in one location. 

“Prince Daemon, haven’t seen you in the yard in the last few days. Watching children must be so very tiring.”

Daemon shrugged, an iniquitous smirk on his lips, “Of course you wouldn’t. Why would I waste my time in the yard when you are the best challenge I’d have?”

The smugness melted away. “Unless someone I don’t know happened to join us without my knowing? Someone with the skill to prove a challenge because we all know that isn’t you, Vaemond, is it?”

Vaemond Velaryon’s nostrils flared; he clenched his teeth but ended it with a scoff. “Thank the gods for the bastard; at least now we won’t have to deal with a second Maegor as Viserys heir, should he win the lord's favour, but he will not.”

The smile on Daemon's face vanished, and for a brief moment, Vaemond’s expression morphed into triumph. Daemons' dagger-like eyes quickly scanned their surroundings. There was no one to see him in a hallway between rooms for the royal family and their entourage.

Or stop him…

Like a shadow cat hunting a mountain goat, Daemon pounced. With a muffled shout, Vaemond Velaryon was slammed against the wall, his back striking it with force enough to shift a few paintings. Daemon's elbow pressed against the indentation just below the apple of his throat, a dagger the lord hadn’t seen on the Prince pressed to his left side, tip first.

“Right here, between these two ribs - it’s a deliciously vulnerable area. You see, beneath the muscle and flesh, beneath these soft silks, satins, oils, and lotions, a pillow biter such as you enjoy lays your heart.” 

Daemon pushed on the dagger, his elbow pushing into the minor lord's windpipe.  Vaemond gurgled a grunt, his eyes growing more frantic. “A quick push, that is all I need. No maester will save you. See, I’ll have pierced that foul, desiccated thing you call a heart. You’ll die here thinking, ‘I should never have spoken of my prince in that manner.’”

He pressed harder still. “Now, Vaemond, what do we say when confronted by our betters?”

Vaemond gurgled a response, “I…ugh…I a - apologise.”

Daemon tilted his head curiously, the smile on his face a stark contrast to the venom of his voice. ”Good, I’m heartened by your capability to understand when given such strong impetus. Now, when next you think or speak of mine kin, you will remember the ease with which I could snatch the life from your heart.”

He released Vaemond. The lord coughed and stumbled just as a maid passed them. “Not a sure-footed fellow,” Daemon said; the maid smiled demurely as he patted Vaemond on the back as if they were friends. The moment she turned the corner, Daemon shoved the lord to the floor. Vaemond landed with an undignified yelp, his face a mix of fear and incredulous anger. 

“You look much better down there,” he said, continuing his search for his family. “Do remember your place, Vaemond Velaryon, or I will be there to remind you.”

He could hear them before he saw them, a smile capturing his face once more as he greeted Ser Roxton and Ser Westerling. Ser Crabb and Ser Redwyne were likely resting, leaving the others to guard whatever royals weren’t in the room.

With a quick nod, he slowly opened the door and slid in, shutting it softly behind him. Rhaenyra was hard at work, stacking pillows from the settee. Aelor was just as busy, vehemently fighting his mother's attempt to tame his unruly white-gold mane. The queen was perusing a fistful of letters with a quirked brow. Saera was outside, sitting on a chaise and basking in the sun - for some reason, she’d decided she wanted to spend her time amongst them. 

Daemon made a face.

Attention was drawn to him when Aelor shouted, his hands stretched in his direction. 

“Oh no, my love, your uncle will not save you,” Gael said, sounding utterly harangued. Grandmother laughed noiselessly.  

Aelor threw his head back, fighting every instance of the comb near his head. “Do you want me to try?”

“You want to try?” Gael asked as Aemma entered the room with Viserys right behind her. The Kingsguard with them closed the door and remained outside.

“I’ll do it,” Aemma said, “Daemon.” She greeted as she approached her goodson, who reached for her now. Once in her arms, Aelor turned once more and reached for Viserys.

“Pa!” Aelor shouted. Viserys barked a laugh and snatched his son, twirling him high in the air before bringing him down and plastering him with fuzzy kisses across his head and face.  “You can almost say papa!” Rhaenyra clapped happily, toddling around her structure, babbling. 

Gael released a sigh and smiled, watching father and son; Aemma did the same, looking between Rhaenyra and Aelor while leaning against the chair her sister in all ways, but blood was in. Aelor giggled, and it was at that moment that Viserys sneakily took the brush from the table and gently ran it through his son's hair before repeating the process. Fuzzy kisses, a spin or two in the air, and then a brush.

Aelor laughed all the while. “And there we are!” Viserys said triumphantly, depositing his son beside his sister. The two immediately shifted to play, Aelor taking it upon himself to be the monster and trample through the blocks and cushions. The Queen watched with a pleasant smile, still silent. Rhaenyra laughed and followed suit. 

“Good morning?” He questioned, joining them. He dropped into a chair near the table. 

Viserys sighed, “Well enough. It is as I feared, questions about our son and daughter's future. The lords are already looking for a way to benefit. Thankfully, betrothing Aelor and Rhaenyra now removes them from most proverbial boards.”

“Only in the matter of marriage.” Saera, of all people, said. 

“And even then, they will still try to offer options until the day they are wed.  You all must remember there has never been both a crown prince and princess at the same time.  A crown prince and princess will have an entourage: Favorites, knights in attendance, ladies in waiting, and highborn guards. Who will Aelor squire to and with? Who will Rhaenyra sit beside as she learns to knit? Lords and ladies will offer their own tutors to help in their education.”

“And you would know how?” Daemon asked as his aunt found a chair for herself at the table. The Queen set her letters down with a curious squint to her eyes and a single brow raised.  

“Her.” Saera tilted her head at her mother. “My father. Gods, the nobles of Volantis. It’s all the same wherever you go, especially for those that look like us.”

“Is it?” Alysanne asked. 

“Yes, mother, it is. Decisions are made for royal and noble children, with or without their say. It’s why I fled…only to learn that it’s always the same. Bastardy does not carry the same taint in Essos as it does here. Imagine my surprise when my sons were born, and many high-born sent me offers of marriage. All of it for the chance to have the blood of the dragon in their line.”

“So you are saying that all of your defiance was, in fact, a waste of time?” Gael asked with a frown.

Saera sighed and stared, seemingly lost in her thoughts. She finally shrugged, “Maybe it all was.” 

That surprised all of them…

Saera continued, “I missed - - so, so, much. Aemon, Baelon.”

And much to Daemon's surprise, he found himself feeling something other than disinterest or dislike. He and Gael made eye contact, both of them obviously perplexed by this show of emotion.

 “I…I want to apologise to you all. I made this about myself since my arrival when so much is already happening.” She looked at Rhaenyra and Aelor, who were now sitting happily, playing together. “I do not want to miss the lives of my family. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my brothers; I will not make that mistake again. I just ask that you include your children in your decisions - you do not want that resentment to grow and fester. Especially for dragon rider’s with a temper.”

The Queen's eyes had teared up, but it was Gael who replied, “We will. On that, I can promise you.”

“We hope that you will remain to keep us accountable?” Aemma said timidly, the beginnings of a smile creasing her cheeks.

Daemon literally had to shake his head as he and his brother made eye contact. What the fuck is happening? He screamed with his eyes, utterly bewildered by the turn this day had made.

Crownlands

Sow’s Horn

Viserys

“What is she up to?” Daemon asked, his arms crossed. 

Viserys shrugged, “I do not know, but it is a nice change.” He looked at his brother, “Isn’t it?”

Daemon peered at him, side-eyeing him, a smirk forming, “If you wish to be idle, that is fine. I do not. Saera is up to something; I know not what. I do intend to find out, though.”

Daemon leaned forward over the bannister overlooking a flower garden.  They’d reached Sow’s Horn a day ago, the Targaryen branch of the royal family in a state of confused change. Aemma had taken it upon herself to be the olive branch between themselves and Saera, Gael being her support, and yet even now, as the three walked the garden with both of his children, it was nothing but odd.

“Let us see how this goes,” Daemon said, and Viserys followed his line of sight. 

The quintet was walking through a waist-high row of bushes and flowers, with tall birch trees as a natural barrier.  Aelor was in Gael's arms, Rhaenyra in Aemma’s, with Saera beside them. 

Entering through the western opening and now walking down a perpendicular path were Rhaenys, Laena, baby Laenor, Corlys, his brother Vaemond and his sons Daemion and Daeron. The men were deep in some conversation - they trailed behind an obviously irate Rhaenys. 

Kingsguard attended both, Ser Crabb and Ser Roxton. 

“Oh.” Daemon leaned forward, forearms against the stone railing. Saera came around the corner first, just as Rhaenys crossed the path. The ladies nearly collided or did, and he couldn’t see it; either way, they stepped back, and from what Viserys could see, they were busy apologising to each other. 

“I wager Aemma will be the bridge she always is? You are aware that Aemma is far too good for you?” Daemon questioned,

He watched their interaction; just as Daemon predicted, Aemma took the lead, hefting Rhaenyra on her hip. “Aye, I am very aware.”

They said something, Aemma laughed, and so did Rhaenys. The ladies turned back, and it looked as if they were speaking to the men. He focused on Corlys and Vaemond. “Is it me, or does Corlys look out of sorts? Nervous even?”

Viserys figured it was his dislike for Aelor. Daemon watched on, “You’re right.” But he shrugged and stood up straight just as the women continued. This time, Rhaenys, Laena, and Laenor on Rhaenys hip departed with them. Ser Roxton joined Ser Crabb and followed after the ladies. 

“Come on,” Daemon said, leaving the viewing platform and ancillary room altogether.

“My Princes.” Ser Harrold greeted them both.

“Harrold, you must join me in the yard on the morrow. The fops here are much too soft. I need a challenge.” Daemon said.

Ser Harrold made a thoughtful face, “If His Highness thinks I’m skilled enough, then I shall endeavour to impress. That is if Prince Viserys is amenable?”

Viserys barked a laugh as they made their way through Sow’s Horn, a brown stone and rather comfortable castle. “Of course, of course. I may just join you.”

“Viserys in the yard?” Daemon questioned, “Now you’re really going, Ser, this I must see.”

Viserys chuckled as his brother led the way out. He pushed open a door to the sound of laughter and voices in animated conversation. Lords and ladies milled about, and the early evening air smelled of food and cookfires. 

The King and Queen sat at the head of the room in the chairs normally reserved for the lord and lady as they held what he considered to be a very unofficial and ball-like court - Nuncle Vaegon remained by their side. 

He watched his grandfather for a moment, how stoic in the face of his twilight he remained and found he could only hope he was half the man Jaehaerys, First of His Name, was. 

“Vis?” 

“Hmm?” He blinked, “Oh, apologies.”

“Grandfather?” Daemon asked knowingly. With the King and Queen in the room, the possible heir played second fiddle, and he was very fine with it. 

“Aye.” He replied.

“You’ll do fine, Viserys, I know it. I’ll be there every step of the way.”

Viserys looked at his brother. “I know. I don’t think I could do it without you.”

Before Daemon had a chance to reply, his name was called, “Prince Viserys!”

Daemon rolled his eyes, his arms crossing. He frowned and sucked his teeth. He was very aware of the enmity between his brother and Ser Otto. The Reachman approached with Tymian Nesterion, their aunt's paramour and former Volantene noble at his side. 

“Ser Otto.” Viserys said by way of greeting. He dipped his head, and the Volantene did the same, though Daemon stood at his side, stock still, his lips pursed.

“Daemon.” Otto greeted.

“Lickspittle,” Daemon replied, and Viserys elbowed him. He didn’t even bother to greet the Volantene. 

Otto’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Lord Nesterion and I have had a very illuminating series of conversations. I do believe that he may be able to help us increase trade between Kings Landing and Volantis. More trade means more tax. New shipping lanes and trade partners.”

“It is a proposal that has merit and can aid in diplomatic ties.” Tymian, the former Triarch, said in his accented common. He eyed Daemon with a measure of displeasure but tilted his head respectfully enough. 

“Diplomacy. Is that why you are here? Not an attempt to rehabilitate your name and image? Tell me, who chooses not to wed who? You or Saera? Because House Targaryen will not be your stepping stone.”

“How dare you!” Tymian said, taking a step. Daemon remained still, but Ser Harrold stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his steel. 

“You will step back!” the Kingsguard’s voice was hard as granite. The former Triarch clenched his jaw in defiance before swirling around, his robes flowing behind him as he stalked away and through the throng of people. Conversation continued around them unaware of what just occurred.

“As always, Daemon, your way with words astounds me.” Otto stared at his brother.

Daemon shrugged, but Viserys spoke, “Whether you agree with him or not, my brother is correct. I have seen his type. We have no use for a former Triarch clinging to my aunt's skirts.”

“Mayhaps we should revi - -“

“You are so, so , very trying, Otto. My brother has said his peace. Now be gone.” Daemon said.

“You forget your place, Prince Daemon. I am the Lord Hand, your grandfather’s Lo - -”

Viserys interrupted him. “Lord Hand is not a permanent position, Ser Otto. I would remind you of that when you speak to a Prince of The Blood.” 

Daemon's surprise was clear; Viserys pinned Otto with his best Kingly stare. Otto’s surprise was equally clear, his forehead creased by his raised brow. He schooled his features, “Apologies, my Prince.”

Much to Otto’s displeasure, Daemon clapped him on the shoulder, “No apologies needed. Just understanding. Now, my brother, grandfather and grandmother are well and truly busy, so why don’t we go find the rest of our family?”

Ser Otto dismissed himself with a tilted head, “You shouldn’t antagonise him as much as you do, Daemon.”

Daemon smiled, not at him but at some Lady who greeted them as they made their way through the hall and out of the doors. Once outside, in the cool air, his brother shrugged. “Fine. I will try. But you have to admit that what I say is right; he is forever overreaching. How else did he become Hand once Father passed?”

Viserys relented, “Fine, I admit it, Daemon, you are right.”

“Fine,” Daemon replied.

“Fine.” Viserys copied, playfully shoving his brother. 

Their search was short and ended by locating the Kingsguard attending them. Sers Crabb and Roxton greeted them with a dip of their heads, standing on either side of the gate leading to a covered gazebo with lanterns in the shape of a boar's tusk lighting the area. The sun was just setting, filtering purples, oranges and pinks through nebulous clouds. 

“My Princes.” Ser Crabb said as he pulled the gate open for them. 

“Sers,” Daemon replied for them both, following behind him. Harrold took position beside his white-clad brothers. 

“Well, this is a…development,” Daemon said, taking the words from his mouth. They paused at the manicured arch of vines and bushes. The gazebo, with a floor covered by cushions, was occupied by some of the most important people in their lives…plus a few others. 

Maegelle had joined them, as had Saera’s son, the bastard that looked like their grandfather, only young, but that was the least surprising.

“What are a Hightower and two Tyrells doing here?” Daemon asked him. Lord Matthos Tyrell’s wife and daughter sat amongst the Princesses and their children, accompanied by Otto’s daughter, Alicent. 

“Lord Lannister has no daughters to send amongst the Princess’, so besides his larger guard, Matthos wants to utterly outshine Tymond Lannister, and his wife is willing to aid him.” Viserys said. The pair battled for the title of second richest in the kingdom since the first was thoroughly claimed by Corlys. 

“Nephews!” Their aunt, Maegelle, greeted them with enthusiasm. 

The bastard stood quickly, his face a mix of fear, awe, and reverence. “My Princes.”

Of the women, Lady Cordelia Tyrell and the little girls Alicent Hightower and Camellia Tyrell stood, “Prince Visery, Prince D-Daemon.”

Viserys stifled his chuckle. The younger ladies blushed, saying his brother's name. As one of the most eligible males in the kingdom, it only made sense. Daemon dipped his chin in respect for Lady Tyrell and her daughter; he tried and failed to hide his disgust towards Alicent or any woman not of Valyrian blood - instead, he aimed the other portion of his greeting at Saera’s son, whose face parted in a grin at the recognition. 

It was only as they came closer that he stuttered in his steps, surprised by what he saw: Gael sat on one side, like a human barrier, with Saera on the opposite side. Rhaenyra, Aelor, and Laenor played in the middle, with Aemma and Rhaenys on either side and Laena sitting in the space between Rhaenys and Aemma. 

Lady Tyrell sat between Saera and Aemma, with the other ladies sitting opposite each other. All of them combined made a circle around the children. Saera’s son stood on the edge, nervously opening and closing his hands.

“Husband,” Aemma said, facing him with a smile that made his heart skip. 

“My Lady.” He greeted, kissing her forehead once he was near enough. 

“And what is going on here?” Daemon asked, approaching the group. 

Rhaenyra stood up with Gael's help. “We’ve just returned from visiting the dragons.” 

His daughter tottled around. She’d recently learned that you could change the noise coming from your mouth by clapping your hands over your lips while humming with your mouth open.  It was rather adorable. Aelor had caught on and did it himself from time to time.

“Tell me, Daemon, do you trust Aegerax around Caraxes and Silverwing?  Vermithor is large enough to fight for himself. But one does wonder if his past actions will be repeated.” Rhaenys asked his brother.

“I do. Had you asked me this two years ago, I’d say no, but now? His behaviour, his very nature, seems to have changed. If anything, I worry he may be too protective.” Daemon stepped through the cushions and sat on the stone benches lining the interior. 

“It is a curiosity I am eager to observe,” their uncle's nasally voice met them.  

“Vegg!” Saera called, and their uncle made a face. It was clear he disliked the epithet. 

“Sister dearest.” He joined them and sat opposite himself and Daemon. 

“Does that mean you are staying, uncle?” Aemma asked.

“It does. It’s all rather uncouth and has no precedence, but Mother, your grandmother, has asked me to remain here. Whether in time I shall replace the Grand Maester or go to Dragonstone remains to be seen. But I much enjoy the time I’ve spent with my great grand nephews and niece and there is so much to be learned from both Aelor and Laena’s interaction with their bonded mounts.”

“Come now, what can you learn from a babe?” Vaemond Velaryon greeted them. Corlys was at his side, lips pulled into a frown. Daemon's keen eyes followed the lord. “My niece is all you need.”

Vaegon pierced Vaemond with a withering glare. “Is Gaelithox one of the three largest dragons alive? Is Laena a babe who has only met the dragon once? Or was she able to tell us precisely how she and her mount formed their bond?”

“I - ” Vaemond opened his mouth but was interrupted by their uncle once more.

“Even as a child, you were not clever, Vaemond. I just never considered that you’d be so foolish as to willingly expose yourself. It is amazing that you found a woman to bear your children.”

Corlys spoke up warningly. “You forget yourself, Archmaester.”

“No, you forget yourself, Lord Corlys. Look around at those of us here. But for the Reachers, we all bear the name Targaryen. Princess Gael, Princess Maegelle, Princess Rhaenys, Prince Vaegon, Prince Viserys, Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Aelor, and myself, of course. Were it up to me, Laena would be Princess Laena. But you?” Daemon growled.  

“Enough of this quibbling!” Queen Alysanne's voice cut through them all. They turned as she entered the partitioned garden, stopping just outside of the gazebo. “My Lady’s Tyrell, would you excuse us. I must speak to my children and grandchildren.”

“Of course, Your Grace, pardon us.” As they departed, leaving Alicent, Aelor crawled around the bench of the gazebo, only stopping below the Queen and reaching for her. 

“My itty bitty dragon.” She scooped up her grandson and joined them, taking a seat on a plush cushion. When she did, Rhaenyra immediately went to her. With both babes on her lap, she looked at her family. “We here are all blood. Kin. Quarrel if you wish, but not outside, where the chinks in our mail are visible to everyone. No matter who the lords choose, we are one family and will support each other.”

The queen looked around, her great-grandchildren in her lap. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, grandmother.” Viserys replied. His brother echoed him, as did the others in different variations. 

“Good. Now come, your grandfather has retired for the evening, so we must all be in attendance. The feast begins soon.”

Crownlands

Ivy Inn

Rhaenys 

She woke up with the hint of a smile creasing her lips. Morning light spilt through the white and blue cotton and chiffon blinds - the light breaking on Laenor’s bassinet. He was still fast asleep. She’d spent almost the entirety of the previous day with all of her children, with Aelor. Her bed shifted, and Laena’s arms popped out, twisting in a big stretch before she fumbled her way to the surface of the linens, 

“G’morning.” Her daughter said, voice thick, laden by grogginess. 

Rhaenys smiled. When her daughter turned her head just right, she could see both of her sons in her face. “Did you sleep well?”

Laena peered past her to her sleeping brother before grinning, “I did.” 

“Good.”

“I had a pleasant dream.” Her daughter said softly.

Rhaenys turned on her side. “What was it about?”

“Well, I dreamt of us. I dreamt the lords made you our queen. I dreamt that…” she trailed off.

Rhaenys' brow pressed together. “What?”

“I dreamt we were a family. I dreamt that Father accepted Aelor as our sibling.”  Laena looked at her, a very real sadness marring her daughter's beautiful eyes. “Father accepting Aelor. Of course, that would only happen in a dream.”

Rhaenys reached forward and pushed her daughter's silver-gold hair behind her ear. “Your father is wrong, and so long as you know it, so long as I know it, and one day, so long as your brother knows it, that is all that matters. Aelor is my son and your baby brother, our family. Now come, we shall make today better than yesterday.”

The Ivy Inn was many things: simple, old, and worn, but surprisingly, it was also comfortable. Their room sat on the third floor and afforded them space enough for a privy, a washroom, and even a bassinet for Laenor. Green, brown, and tan drapes hung over windows protected by thick storm shutters; heavy, plaid and striped rugs lined the outer hall, with thinner ones strewn between rushes in the room.

Across from them was Corlys’ with the remainder of House Velaryon taking the remaining three rooms - she assumed they shared the same colour scheme.  Viserys, Aemma, and Rhaenyra shared a conjoined room with Gael and Aelor, with Daemon in another and Saera in the last of the rooms on the second floor.  The King and Queen and the Lord Hand and his daughter took the entirety of the first floor.  

They’d arrived five days ago, after a sennight of travel.  The area immediately around the inn looked like a battle camp with so many tents surrounding it, and with the Kingsguard and varied patrols trailing after their charges, it almost felt like one - though she admitted she had no idea what those were truly like.  

The final leg of their journey was also the final moment for respite and plots, and it showed. There was an aura about them all, an undercurrent of tension hidden by a faux sense of ease and calm. She knew the lords were planning, and wherever Corlys was, he was doing the same - for ill or not remained to be seen. He’d come to take Laenor with him for the morning but had failed to look her in the eye.  

With the ground floor all but empty, she’d come to the very easy conclusion that everyone but the staff made their way outside. She greeted a tavern wench on her way, the entirety of the little inn surrounded by Velaryon and Targaryen guards.  

Laena led them out, with Rhaenys close behind. Mother and daughter had gone for a simpler look: riding breeches and moleskin boots, a snug tunic and a moleskine jerkin. Rhaenys’ only royal embellishment was the small diadem on her brow; she couldn’t look too common, now. She squinted against the bright morning light. East of the Gods Eye, the air was fresh with a slight breeze pulling from the massive lake. 

“Is this what it will always be like?” Laena asked, hands on her hips after stopping for what felt like the thirtieth time, the crease of another false smile fading from her face as Lord and Lady Farman of Faircastle walked away. Ser Crabb nodded hard, pulling a smile from them both as they began walking; he trailed behind in amiable silence.

Rhaenys sighed, exhaling through her lips, “Gods if it is, it will certainly take some time to get used to, won’t it?” She looked back at Ser Crabb.

“You’ll come into it just fine, Your Highness.”

Shouting and laughing and the adjoining sounds of mock battle drew their attention as they made their way across the Kingsroad and to an enclosed ring under the shelter of a tree.

“Is that…”

“Viserys?” Aemma finished for Rhaenys as she and Laena approached the ring. Her cousin leaned against the railing, a sardonic pull to her lips.  “Our cousin convinced his brother it would be a good decision to join him.”

She watched her daughter's attention shift at the mention of Daemon. Oh gods. She knew that look. The pinkening of her cheeks, the small smile playing at her lips. Her daughter was ten and five and was most certainly a woman - a woman who was clearly learning what she wanted.

Aemma caught her attention, a raised bow in question. Rhaenys nodded her head before shrugging. Aemma mouthed, ‘Corlys?’ And Rhaenys shook her head; Corlys would never allow it. But would he really have a choice? Her daughter's attention was well and truly on Daemon now. The three leaned against the railing as Ser Crabb joined Ser Roxton. 

Daemon was standing beside his brother, animatedly gesturing and describing some action. Viserys nodded and took position as Ser Westerling took the opposite position. 

“Daemon has been dying to get to a yard.” Aemma told them.

The screech of a dragon stopped all fighting as everyone looked up and watched Caraxes race across the sky, Silver Wing in hot pursuit. Fighting resumed once more. Rhaenys looked around; nobody baulked, some watched in curiosity, and children were hypnotised by the sight, but nobody screamed or shouted in fright. Even the horses seemed calmer. “Hmm, compared to the first day, everyone seems almost fine with it now.”

“That is why I’ve asked Prince Daemon to aid me in freeing Gaelithox as the King and Queen have done. Caraxes and Aegerax have shown us a new way to care for our bonded dragons. Look, they're even bigger, can’t you tell?”

And what her daughter said was true. She’d remembered noticing that Caraxes was bigger back on Dragonstone, but that thought also applied to Silver Wing. All of the freed mounts looked happier and healthier. Their calls showed their renewed enthusiasm for life, a new vitality. “But how can we be sure nothing horrible will happen?”

As if to prove their point, at that moment, a shout rang out. “Caraxes! Tegun nuha anogar!”

Daemon sheathed Dark Sister and casually strolled away from the large group of combatants as more people came to the ring's railing. A roar, Caraxes’ unique and terrifying roar followed by his sinister whistle, echoed around them as the blood worm descended from the clouds like a god stained by viscera. His wings beat the air and earth, sending dirt and dust up as the dragon landed with force enough to shake the earth all around them.  

Through it all, Daemon stood and then approached his bonded mount, running a hand along his long, sinewy, horned and spiked neck. What he was saying couldn’t be heard, but the fact that the dragon had reacted to his call so quickly…was this truly a new chapter in caring for their dragons?

“Amazing.” She said.

Aemma smiled, “And all it took was a thought shared between Vaegon and Daemon.”

“I told you Prince Daemon is exceptionally clever.” Laena muttered softly, her violet eyes followed the prince with the hint of an amused smile as he gestured for his brother to follow him as he mounted his saddleless dragon. 

“Oh gods.” Aemma said, chewing her lip.  Their eyes met before darting to Laena with a knowing look. This was going to end badly for someone, and it was most certainly not Laena.

The rest of the morning and afternoon were spent as tourists - flitting from one grouping to another. Both the high and low ladies of the court, of course, wanted to be in the know. They wanted gossip, juicy secrets. Who does Daemon steal away with? Does Gael have a paramour?  Why is Saera back? Did the royal family have a meeting before we left Sows Horn? Does the king have a favourite? 

She didn’t want to think too long on the last one because if he did, she was sure it wasn’t her. 

It was only the serious ones, like Lady Reyne of Castamere or Lady Waxley of Wickenden that dared ask her and Aemma the real questions. Will appointments to the Small Council change? Will the Kingsguard entertain another War of The White Cloaks? With his sister so much older, who would Laenor wed were you to become Queen? Will the betrothal between Prince Aelor and Princess Rhaenyra stand should Laenor be the heir?

Question after question, littered with well wishes and pleasantries, a few contrite flatteries and then more questions. She was glad to escape, however momentary it was. 

“Dinner outdoors. We could at least eat within this fucking hovel.” Vaemond said in their shared common area on the third floor. His sons were remaining.  The adults, her daughter and son were preparing for an evening meal spent pleasantly with the high lords and ladies in a space prepared outside of the Inn. 

“You could always remain, uncle. I’m sure they would accommodate you.” Laena said, her tone identical to her mother's. Rhaenys smiled.

Corlys chuckled. “Have you gone soft, Vaemond? You act as if you haven’t dined in a trench or the mess hall of your own ship.”

Vaemond smirked, “I have, but that was all a necessity.  This is not.  We could, at the very least, dine here. Outdoors is utterly unnecessary.”

“This whole conversation is unnecessary,” Rhaenys said derisively, lips pursed as she stood. “I’m leaving, stay, come, I do not care. Come, daughter.”

Corlys and Vaemond shared a look as she picked up Laenor. “Is all well, my love?”

Rhanys rolled her eyes and placed a kiss on her son's forehead as she hefted him on her hip. “All is fine, Corlys.”

The walk was quick. A path lined by torches led directly to the cleared section where a tartan wall-less tent covered a set of tables positioned into a square so that all sides could see each other. She thought it was a stupid design.

Approaching the table, she saw their designated seats; hers happened to be beside Aemma - Alysanne's idea, she was certain.

“It feels as if it’s been years since I last saw you,” Aemmma joked as they sat beside each other, their chairs attended to by maidservants. Rhaenys laughed, and Laenor fussed. They were lucky to be blessed by a warm evening; a faint breeze stirred the tops of the trees. Her black and red gown covered her arms but hung low down her back. Thankfully, a fox fur shawl lined by silk hung over her shoulders, just in reach of Laenor’s wriggling fingers.

“Where is - -“ She began.

“He’s asleep. Rhaenyra is with her father.” Aemma finished. She smiled warmly as Gael joined them, arm in arm with Daemon. 

She heard Rhaenyra squeal and turned to watch the Queen dote on the little princess; even the king watched on with a pleasant expression. Viserys stood at his side, arms behind his back. She rose to join them but stopped short as the call to be seated went out. 

“I’m telling you, he absolutely begged me for a ride!” Daemon said loudly, a laugh on his lips. Minstrels strummed soft notes in the background. Drink and food was served, and a stein sat precariously close to the edge nearest her cousin. He sat on the left side of her daughter with Aemma on her right. Rhaenys was to the right of Laena with Laenor sitting in his father's lap directly across from her and over the opening in the centre. 

From Aemma’s right, Viserys leaned forward and shook his head. “I did no such thing, you villain!”

Daemon pushed the stein back as they laughed, continuing their conversations amiably. The king and queen sat at the head of the square with the possible heirs on one side and the remainder of their families and the highest of the lords taking the rest of the seats. 

She saw Saera’s brood, laughing with a Riverlord. Jaehaelyx, the one who looked like their grandfather when he was young, looked at their group longingly. 

“I can’t imagine what it is like for him,” Aemma said, catching her line of sight. “A father like his, who cares not at all about his or his mothers's well-being, only her name.”

Laena sipped from her cup, setting the silverware down gently she looked at Daemon with an upturned brow. “Mayhaps you should befriend him, Daemon? Cousin Aemma told us that Saera wished to make amends.” 

Daemon shrugged, “A father like his; it’s no wonder the boy exudes a pathetic malaise.”

“And imagine if you were the one to rid him of that malaise. Give him purpose. You would have a loyal friend for life.” Laena countered, giving their cousin pause. He looked at her speculatively, a slow smile creeping across his face, replacing the indecision.   

Again, she and Aemma shared a look. With each passing conversation, their eventuality became more and more of a reality.  

“Where is Saera?” Viserys asked from Aemma’s other side. 

“Mayhaps not feeling well? I only saw her in passing today.” Gael replied, setting her fork down before rising with a valet's help. “Please pardon me, the washroom and my baby.”

Rhaenys sighed when Gael said that. It would never get easier to hear and right then she missed the weight of Laenor in her arms. Gael left with Ser Westerling trailing behind her. Rhaenys looked around as everyone else continued their conversations. Her eyes found her son once more, sitting in his father's lap with a piece of bread in his hands. The world vanished around him, and she watched Laenor play with the silverware. 

Lady Tyrell and Lady Rowan doted on her son as his father spoke to Lord Tyrell. One of the ladies tickled his belly and he laughed, his toothless mouth opened wide. She couldn’t help but think of how beautiful he was. The tepid smile on her face began to widen - - “My baby!”

A shout stopped her short. 

A lantern bobbed in the twilight, flapping wildly as whoever carried it ran. The minstrels stopped their strumming and looked at each other as the servers and maidservants paused too. Conversation dipped down as they heard the telltale sound of armour in mid-run.

Gael came crashing back to the feast, her hair in a state, she looked wild and panicked, her lilac eyes wide with pure fear. “Where is my son? Where is Aelor? Where is my baby!”

Rhaenys’ blood ran cold, and she swallowed thickly; her vision narrowed to a tiny prick. 

“I can’t find my baby!” Gael cried, ending any further conversations.  The Kingsguard sprang to action, directing guards to surround the royal family. The lords and ladies present were escorted away, their murmurs nothing but unintelligible droning now.

She felt herself jostled and realised it was Aemma. “Are you well?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. Fear lanced through her, and she searched frantically for Laena and Laenor, only to find Laena stuck to her side and Laenor still in his father's grasp. Good.  

Daemon said something; Viserys’ eyes were wild as he ran back and forth, searching for answers. The Queen held Rhaenyra as knights began their search. Vaegon stood by his father as Maegelle helped console her sister. But it's my son that’s gone missing.

A roar broke their panic-struck search. Daemon's eyes widened, and he slapped himself on the forehead before running as fast as he could in the direction of their mounts. Viserys followed after, and then Aemma, and eventually even the king, helped by Vaegon. 

Gael wept as she followed, and Rhaenys soon found herself following, running through the dirt and grass, her gown dirty and frayed, likely tearing.

The sight they came upon could have been humorous had it been any other child or any other person, but it wasn’t. 

“Greetings?” Princess Saera said, the lantern in her free hand showing the clear concern on her face as the entirety of the royal family stared her down. 

Gael gasped and sobbed, “Mama!” Aelor called from Saera’s hip, a bright smile on his young face. Rhaenys’ heart lurched. In the darkening background, the towering shadowed form of a dragon broke the horizon. They heard Aegerax's deep grumble followed by a noise that almost sounded like longing. 

Gael took her son. “Are you mad!” The following slap turned her sister's head and echoed through the clearing. Saera stood silently, her mouth parted as her cheek bloomed bright red.

“I - I - I’m sorry. I -“ she began.

“You what!” Gael shouted, “You took my child from his nursery without telling me!”

Saera swallowed thickly, and her eyes turned red. “He - I.” She stammered, “He was awake when I was preparing to come down and calling for his dragon. I am sorry, Gael, Mother, all of you. You must realise I did not mean to worry you. He - he just woke up.” 

Saera sniffled, and to her surprise, Gael softened. “Saera, you must understand my reaction, don't you?”

Saera nodded, “I do. I should have asked. I should have brought him to you, especially since we were unguarded.”

“Good, good, the babe has been found. Shall we return to dinner, or is that done?” Corlys interrupted very uncharacteristically, Laenor happily sitting at his side. Though with her heart still in her throat, it was no surprise she missed the angry scowl he sent at Saera.

Chapter Text

Riverlands

Harrenhal

Laena

The Wall, Harrenhal, and The Hightower - the three largest or tallest man-made structures in Westeros. She could mark one off as seen now, the other two still distant curiosities. As they came to the halfway point around the God’s Eye she wasn’t certain what she saw. Her mind’s eye had nothing with which to judge it against, mayhaps only the Dragonmont hidden behind its thick sulfurous clouds; the enormity of Harrenhal made her mouth drop open in sheer astonishment. Cracked and crooked, grey, fingers of stone scraped at the sky, gouging out a trail of clouds - its peaks high above the trees. 

The roll of thunder reverberated through her chest as Aegerax made himself known, his roar a clarion call for his bonded. Aelor tensed, but not in fear. She felt her baby brother's excitement as he bounced in her lap and pointed. “Ena, Gon!”

“Yes, Aelor, your dragon!”

“And what a mighty dragon it is!” Saera chorused, riding at her side with the semblance of a smile. Her brother twisted in her hold once more to watch his dragon soar through the sky, angling himself towards the castle - his toothless smile still clinging to his face. 

The other three circled Harrenhal like birds of prey. Were it any other time, she was sure it would have been rather disconcerting for the inhabitants, considering the last time a dragon had circled the enormous keep. 

“He reminds me of my youngest at that age,” Saera said and the son in question blushed. He rode just to the side and half a horse behind them. Princess Gael rode to her left side, lilac eyes never straying far from Aelor.  Her mother was slightly ahead, with Daemon beside Gael on her left.

“Hmm, did you have an enormous black dragon too?” Daemon replied in jest.

Jaehaelyx blushed, “Uh, daor - I mean, no, my Prince.”

Saera rolled her eyes, and Daemon clucked his tongue, “I am very aware - that was a witless jest. Call me Daemon - honorifics should not be used between family; we are cousins, are we not?”

Laena smiled, looking at Daemon from the corner of her eye with a note of approval. We will make a good pair, she thought. 

“I am certain we would know if there were dragons in Volantis.” Otto said to the clip-clop of his horse as he joined their group. Daemon audibly groaned, and her brother twisted to see who it was. His little hand rested on her neck as he peaked over her right shoulder and watched the Lord Hand. 

“Hello, child.” Otto said, and Aelor’s little face frowned before looking away, burying his face in her neck and collar.

“Mama.” 

“Shh, my baby, I’m here,” Gael replied, slowing her horse. She smiled warmly at Laena as she took her son, her lilac eyes trailing to Otto with a stiff and averse look, wordlessly saying, ‘You are not wanted amongst us’. She rode ahead and said something to Aemma and the knights, who drew their white cloaks up and shielded her from view as the princess fed Aelor from her breast. The Kingsguard drew tighter around both princesses, shielding the intimate moment from wandering eyes. 

Laena watched as Daemon pulled on the reins of his horse, his pace matching Otto’s. “Strange, is it not? How a babe can see through your rather obvious effrontery, Otto.”

“Mayhaps you should take your leave, Ser?” Saera’s silken voice cut across before he could reply. 

Otto turned and locked eyes with Saera - his dislike obvious. He scoffed and whipped the reins of his horse.

The Princess rolled her eyes. “Is the upstart always so… intrusive?”

The smooth lyrical notes of High Valyrian flowed from her mouth. Laena’s lip quirked up, their mother tongue was a difficult tongue to master, but as most of them were guided in the language since birth, it was second nature to the majority of them - herself included.

“A year ago, I would have said no.  As of late, yes, and that feeble attempt at ingratiating himself with my nephew is a wholly new tactic. I admit, seeing him rebuked by a babe makes me happy.” Daemon said.

She chuckled to herself. Daemon's spirits were high, and his cheer was very noticeable. 

“It helps that Aelor is an observant babe; he has noticed his uncle’s dislike,” Saera said.

“I can admit, he is a child after mine own heart. I dare say I even love the little cad.”

Saera’s son baulked, and Saera laughed. Laena shook her head, catching Daemon’s sight only for the prince to wink and send a blush up her neck and cheeks. 

“Speaking of my nephew, tell me, cousin Jaehaelyx, what is your goal? What is your intent here now that you are in Westeros?”

All of them were caught off guard by his sudden shift in topic. Laena tilted her head, curious by the line of questioning. As a group, they turned to Jaehaelyx and waited for his response.

“I -” Surprised by being put on the spot, Jaehaelyx fumbled his wording. He looked to his mother, who seemed equally curious, silver-gold brow raised. She nodded her head, pushing him with her eyes. “I - don’t know.”

He looked utterly unsure, and Laena felt for him, “In Essos, it is different, more so in Volantis. Even though I am a bastard, my blood affords me much - the blood of Old Valyria. Yet, I can not rely on blood alone.”

He looked around at them as their horses trotted onward, “I am capable. I can work for my lot. I - I want to earn my place.”

Daemon dipped his head. “An admirable sentiment. One I can certainly applaud and even aid should you be… amenable?”

Jaehaelyx’s indigo eyes widened, “I am!”

“Good. I will see you become a knight. You will serve our house and in doing so earn your place in it. Do not expect this to be done overnight - be prepared for years of hard and, at times, tedious work. But should you remain steadfast and vigilant, remain loyal and above all, honour House Targaryen, your fortunes will change for the better. You share The Blood and have the look. I will see you rise, Jaehaelyx.”

His easy transition to Valyrian sent a shiver down her spine; his confidence and regality did something else. 

“On my honour, Prince Daemon, I will serve faithfully!” Jaehaelyx replied, also in High Valyrian, without a hint of indecision. 

“I’m certain you will,” Daemon said, reverting to common.

Their eyes met once more, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. He’d done as she’d instructed, and something in her felt powerful. 

The towering portcullis of Harrenhal’s entry gate was ahead in all of its monstrous size. 

“The gatehouse is large enough to serve as a keep itself,” Saera muttered as they approached.

Laena agreed.

“It is a pity Aegon did what he did,” Daemon said. “I would have liked to see this castle in all its splendor.”

Caraxes cried out overhead, and Silverwing followed close behind. She figured Aegerax and Vermithor had likely already landed in what was rumoured to be the largest Godswood of any keep in Westeros. 

“They say that Black Harren used the blood of his builders in its mortar. They say its towers are cursed by those cooked alive.” Laena whispered.

“Fear not, My Lady, you are amongst dragons.”

Laena smiled to herself. “And you will be my dragon knight?”

“As is natural.” Daemon winked.

It was then the train slowly came to a halt. Their horses cantered in place as Princess Rhaenys returned to them, baby Laenor in her arms. 

“Momentary delay,” her mother said, two Velaryon knights and a member of the Kingsguard following behind her. “I’m going to find your father before we are escorted to our chambers.”

Her face made it clear that they would not be sharing. 

“Stay here cousin. We are here for you and Viserys. Why should you search him out when you may soon rule over him?” Daemon asked. 

Her mother paused at Daemon's words, her eyes narrowed. She frowned in thought before seemingly agreeing. “You’re right.” 

Laenor yawned, and Princess Rhaenys shifted him to the other side. “Where is Prince Aelor?”

It was only natural she’d ask after him. Her mother’s eyes searched Aelor out at any opportunity - the attempts to hide her eagerness were admirable if useless. 

“Likely with the King and Queen now, Aemma and Gael had business with grandmother,” Daemon replied. 

Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and that familiar pain came upon her heart. Laena chose then to soothe her mother and said, “He is well if that is what you are wondering. I held him for a time until Ser Otto disquieted him.”

Her brows knit together, lips pursed. “And what did that upstart do to my - nephew.” She caught herself - the words looked as if they tasted awful coming from her mouth.  

“He was himself,” Daemon replied. That pulled a smile onto her mother's cheeks as she righted her horse. She’d been offered a ride in the same carriage her father occupied but had decided horseback would be her preferred method of transport - anything to distance herself from Lord Corlys and Vaemond. Laenor seemed to love it, and away from her father, her mother could divest herself from her burning anger. 

The train began to move again. 

“I wonder, what awaits behind that gatehouse?” Daemon said, to no one in particular ,it seemed. “What plots and schemes will unfold within the walls Black Harren built? What secrets will be made? What secrets will be learned?” 

He all but hissed the last word, a coy smile pulling at his cheeks as his eyes raked over them, lingering longest on herself. What did that mean, she wondered.

Daemon was going to be Daemon - brilliance aside, he was dangerous and enjoyed teetering on a knife’s edge. Could she tame that? 

I don’t know, she thought, but Laena would certainly enjoy the attempt. 

Corlys

“Your glaring does nothing, Vaemond,” Corlys muttered from behind the pages of a thick tome. 

Vaemonds scowl found him over the edge of the book, his nephew’s thin face made all the more cadaverous.“Everyday that child draws breath is an insult to our house, Corlys.”

He’d already begun doubting his decision to apprise his nephew of his plans, but this did nothing but lend credence to his doubt. Snapping the book shut with one hand, he grabbed Vaemond by the arm with the other and yanked him closer, pulling him from the carriage's window and onto the plush bench. 

Placing the book beside him, a retelling of Dornish myths of the Narrow and Southern seas, he leaned closer to his nephew and hissed, “Think before you speak, Vaemond. One wrong word in front of the wrong person and Blackfyre will be removing your head - there would be nothing I could do to stop it.”

Vaemond yanked his arm free, “Nobody heard me.”

Corlys’ eyes lingered on his nephew. Was he that foolish? Was he so simple as to believe that there wasn’t someone listening at any given time? “My grandfather said you were a clout, and I defended you. I’m beginning to wonder if he simply saw something I did not.”

Vaemond scoffed and leaned back into the chair, his arms crossed. He looked at anything but Corlys as his anger reddened his cheeks. 

“Day in and day out, they dote on the bastard. Were this a choice between him and your son, there would be no great council. We would already have a Crown Prince - the child birthed from your cuckolding. And you think our grandfather would have words for me?” Vaemond scoffed again, knowing his words would draw something from him. 

And draw something they did…Corlys felt the warmth in his cheeks, embarrassment and anger in equal parts. 

“You speak on matters you know nothing of.”

“What is there to know? Your wife fucked that soft cunt Viserys and grew round with his child - a bastard born royal. Who would our grandfather chastise now, Corlys? He’s like to say you don’t even deserve to be Lord of the Tides.”

That was enough. Corlys eyes grew hard, his jaw set, and he turned to his nephew fully. Slowly, he tipped his head to the side, “Are you implying you do?”

His voice had a chill, an edge he’d mastered just for his ships and crew. There was a level of fear every captain needed to cultivate; he knew this. That fear began where the respect ended and he’d done his utmost to level that fear in a particular voice, a certain look.

He brought it all to bear on his nephew.

Vaemond paled; his Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. “N-no. I - umm. Apologies, Corlys, I spoke out of turn.”

“You did…”

Corlys allowed the hostile silence to fill the carriage until the jerk of a stop. Quickly filling the silence, Vaemond said, “I wonder what the problem is.”

Corlys pivoted away from his nephew and stuck his head out of the window, “You, Daemion, what is the issue?” 

His nephew's son yawned from the back of his horse before shrugging, “We’ve arrived, but I don’t know why we’ve stopped. Likely greetings and pleasantries exchanged between House Strong and the royal family.”

He dipped his head, his squinted eyes quickly looking over their assorted guards and retainers before withdrawing it, scowling. 

Corlys would have complained but thought that it was likely for the best if he was far from the child - when the deed was done, he would need to seem as inculpable as possible. 

Lord Velaryon leaned back into the bench’s backrest, his eyes following a random cloud. Vaemond remained silent now, allowing him to think of what he would do once the problem was solved. 

He had all he needed to pass the blame on to the whore, Saera… Rhaenys would be burdened by grief, but he would see her through it, mayhaps they would have another child - name this one Maelor as a faux tribute? Corlys chuckled darkly to himself - Vaemond briefly eyed him with a contemplative turn to his head.

Viserys was of no concern, as his nephew had said the man was soft, even if he’d tried to shed that appearance recently.  He would weep and despair, but Corlys would see him cowed for his misdeeds. The wall or Essos was his destiny. 

Aemma would be allowed to join Viserys in Essos or she would face a lifetime with the silent sisters if The Wall was where Viserys went. He had no great love for her, nor did he dislike her - but she played a part and would pay all the same. 

Gael would take a lowborn husband or find herself joining Aemma. As King Consort, it would be of no consequence to see her cloistered away. The king and queen were not long for the world - the king especially. The doting would end.  

It was only Daemon whom he had to fear. He’d thought the prince nothing more than a brute, akin to Maegor, but he’d maneuvered his way onto the small council with a new position to boot - a position with untold power and agency. He’d toyed with the idea of having Daemon dispatched, but even Corlys could admit that that was a fool's errand. Daemon was a prodigy with a sword and a skilled dragon rider. With his new edict of freedoms for their mounts, Caraxes would come to his bondmates aid. 

His thoughts lingered on Daemon, even as the carriage lurched forward - “…and now it begins.” Vaemond muttered.

“No, this began the day Baelon died,” Corlys replied. “A death began this, and a death shall end it.”

As fate would have it - he found himself sharing a tower with the child despite his wishes. Corlys fought the pull of his cheeks, the coming and admittedly pedantic sneer. Rhaenys was avoiding him, as was his daughter. Sighing, he pulled his eyes upwards, watching as Caraxes descended into the Godswood before he finally entered the crooked Kings Pyre Tower. 

“My lord,” an attendant greeted as he entered. Knights swarmed the tower, protecting His and Her grace and their family. Two guards stood without, two within, on either side of the vestibules door frame. More men in black and red and some with gold cloaks joined the knight and patrolled the winding stairs traveling upward.

”Whose are they?” Corlys asked the attendant, following one of the men as they ascended the stairs.

But it was not the attendant that answered, “Mine.” 

A chill came over him this time; Daemon sauntered over, the bastard in his arms.  

“Surely you understand the need for caution? One never knows who is mousing about. Skittering in the shadows, in the walls, or, as you would likely put it, between the panels of your Hull. Wiser to err on the side of caution. One can never be too careful when safeguarding the future of our realm.” He looked at Aelor fondly, fleetingly shooting him with a pointed look. 

Corlys stilled at his wording, his emphasis… a bead of sweat trailed down his back. He fought the surprise that would have surely shown itself; his nostrils flared for a moment, but that was all Daemon needed to raise a curious brow. “Tell me, Lord Corlys, are you wanting for more sons, or is Laenor enough?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your concern, Prince Daemon.” He forced out, a nervous pit forming in his belly. He clenched his fists, his palms sweaty. There is no way he knows of the plan, he told himself. There is no way he knows of Mous- Marilda.

“Of course, of course, apologies, My Lord.” Daemon chuckled. His eyes remained daggers fixed on his own - the Rogue Prince smirked mischievously. “Do try to have a good day, Corlys; one never knows how fast they can turn sour.”

Daemon dipped his head with a hum, tickling his nephew's belly as he passed him and exited the tower, singing a sea shanty that made his blood run cold. 

”Put him in the bed with the shipwrights daughter…early in the morning.”

Soft brown eyes and the smell of the sea filled his mind for the breath of a moment. His bravado from within the carriage sifted away like dirt separated from gold. There is no way he knows, Corlys tried to soothe himself, but it didn’t work.

Laena

“Oh no, you don’t!” She laughed and chased after her brother - he’d taken her hair tie. Laenor waved his arms happily as Aelor toddled away from her as fast as his little legs could take him. His giggle reddened his pale cheeks. Her mother’s smile remained fixed on her face, her own cheeks rosy and pink - the day's warmth mercifully countered by thick tree cover. 

Blood red leaves littered the ground, and coiled around the massive Weirwood was Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, slumbering peacefully. 

“You're a fast little prince, but I’m still faster.”

“For now,” Aemma said merrily. 

Gael was sat on a blanket, her legs draped to the side. She extended an arm, and Aelor tottled back to her, his arms extended as he threw himself into her waiting grasp.

“Mama will defend you,” Gael said with a laugh as she cradled her son. Laena tickled the back of his leg under his pants; Prince Aelor squirmed away before she sat back with a laugh and a sigh. 

“Saved by your mama's arms,” she chuckled, looking towards her mother, only to catch the last vestiges of her pained smile. It sobered her rather quickly. She watched her long enough for their eyes to meet before mouthing she was sorry. Rhaenys smiled back, but there was very little effort or feeling behind it as her eyes strayed to Gael and Aelor.  

Their enmity may have lessened considerably, that did not mean that there wasn’t any pain still, any resentment. Laena wondered if this was how it would always be? She sighed silently, watching Aelor cuddle against Gael. Her mother watched for a moment longer before shifting her attention back to Laenor as he fussed in her grasp. 

“I think I’ll retire for a while.” She finally said; the other lady nodded.

“We shall join you,” Gael commented, bundling up Aelor. “This one needs to go down for a nap. Would you care to help, Laena?”

Her eyes widened in mild disbelief, which was unexpected. “Yes, of course.” She glanced at her mother, the same sad smile on her beautiful face. She nodded her approval ever so slightly as Gael stood, Aelor in her arms, his little hand gripping her hair tie.

A member of the Kingsguard was permanently stationed with the possible heirs and their heirs and accompanying mother or father. No matter where Gael and Aelor went, a white cloak quietly stood sentry, observing and taking note. This time, it was Ser Harrold watching over the royals - his keen eyes ever attentive.

“Good day Ser.” She greeted, following Gael into their rooms two floors above the King and Queens. The entirety of the royal family and their partners were within the King’s Pyre tower, something she’d seen her father scoff at. Her eye roll was entirely reflexive. 

“Little Prince, Princess, my lady,” he greeted amiably, holding the door open for them. 

“Thank you, Ser Harrold,” Gael said, gently rocking Aelor and running a soft hand over his back. 

The door thumped shut. Laena watched as Gael rocked Aelor, a silent and admittedly adorable yawn leaving the babe’s mouth. His eyes grew heavy with each gentle movement, every soft word and equally soft touch. His head rested against Gael's collar, and very soon, his grip upon her hair tie loosened - the ribbon fluttered to the ground.

Gael placed Aelor in his bassinet tand ucked a strand of his hair behind his ear before picking up the ribbon, “Apologies. Here is your favour.”

“Oh.” Laena took it and looked at it. It was black and silver, two of the primary colours of House Targaryen and House Velaryon. “No, I would like for Aelor to keep it. I want him to remember me in some way.”

Gael took it and held it momentarily, her lilac eyes scanning the ribbon with thought. “I would like for him to know you Laena. I do not know what that would look like, but it is my desire. Family is important, and bonds must be made, especially…”

“What is it, Princess?” Laena asked as Gael trailed off. 

“Well, I was going to say, especially if we are to secure his future. But you have a foot in both sides, don’t you? Laenor or Aelor. I don’t want to make you choose.”

“I really hope I never have to.”  Laena sighed. “I want him to know me. As hard as it is for me to say this, and as much as I would never want my mother to hear this, I know Aelor is your boy, your son. My father created the distance, but my mother waited too long to claim him as hers. I’ve seen you with him; he does not look to Princess Rhaenys when tired or scared or hungry or happy; he searches for you. He calls you mama.”

Gael smiled, “Thank you.” Her voice was soft, lilac eyes pinned to Aelor. She loved him. In every way a mother could love their child, she loved him - and wasn’t that what was best? Growing up loved unconditionally? She wanted to hate her, dislike her even a little, but the love Gael bore for her baby brother supplanted what dislike could have grown.  Laena followed her line of sight to her sleeping brother.  He smiled in his sleep, his little hands opening and closing.  

“Are you fond of Daemon?”

Had she anything in her mouth, she was certain she would have spat it out on her sleeping brother.  Her eyes widened before she schooled her emotions.  “I…”

Gael gave her a telling look, and Laena sighed, “Is it that obvious?”

”To myself, yes.  To your mother, more so. To Daemon, though, I doubt it but you should know he is fond of you as well.”

That set her belly squirming, she felt the flush on her cheeks - but a thought came to her mind, one she had never considered and a different kind of wriggling filled her belly.  Was Gael fond of Daemon as well?

”Are you…”

“Gods, no!” Gael said with more emphasis than she likely meant. “No. I am done. I have Aelor, my baby.  I need nothing more.”  

Laena knew only a snippet of Gael's past but thought better than prying. She’d heard her father call her stupid or simple, but that was not the case. She’d learned firsthand that Gael was anything but: she was quiet, yet observant, with a keen sense of duty. One mistake did not detract from who she was: a good woman and an even better mother. She truly hoped they could be friends and family, if not for her, then for her brother. 

Laena absently rubbed at her wrist; Gael reached forward, placing a gentl,e calming hand on hers. “Daemon is a good man. He is my brother in every way that matters. Your secret is safe with me; in fact, if you are amenable, I will help you in your pursuit. He may be my brother, but even I know it’s high time he was married - the gods only know how long it is before he goes off and becomes a pirate lord out of boredom.”

Viserys

“I hope the accommodations are to your liking, Your Highness?” Lord Strong questioned from behind the desk in his solar.

Viserys dipped his head, acknowledging him, yet his eyes remained steadfastly focused outdoors - though they were focused on nothing in particular. No, he was lost in thought. The enormity of the decision to be made weighed on him more than it ever had. If he were being honest, he was afraid.  Not for himself but for his family. Sides had formed, a clear divide on who wanted who to rule,  but when the last vote was cast, and all were counted, could they find unity once more? 

He would have liked to think his grandfather infallible, but was a massive vote better than his decision? Would this not sew doubt and enmity between the lords of Westeros? Surely everyone would learn who voted for who, so would the realm be sitting in a perpetual state of suspicion since half of the realm was ignored for the other?

And what was the likelihood of war? Many would be aggrieved, none more so than Corlys and the entirety of the Stormlands. They had blood in the game as it were. Viserys sighed, arms behind his back, unaware of Lord Strong’s assessing gaze.

“If I may, Prince Viserys?”

Viserys, for his part, took a soft breath, his eyes focusing as Lord Strong joined him at the window. He dipped his head, urging him to continue.

“The wise have already made their decision and I have no reason to believe that it is not you.”

Viserys smiled, though it was half-hearted, “You have always been an optimist, my friend. Whether they choose me or not is not what concerns me; my concern is on what comes after. Will they acquiesce, or will this merely be the calm before an eventual storm?”

“If we focus too much on what could be, we will never see what can be.” He smiled as warmly as a lord could, patting Viserys on the shoulder. “With this vote, you will make history, my friend. And the lords will have to bend the knee, for better or worse. Dwelling on their feelings will preclude you from the work, and I assure you, there will be work.”

“Work I hope you will be there to assist.” 

Lyonel’s eyes widened marginally before he dipped his head graciously. “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”

The sun was lower, not quite twilight, but night was quickly coming. He’d identified the cause of his concern, and that cause had been suspiciously absent the entire afternoon. More ‘gold cloaks’ patrolled the castle, their amount alarming as his brother had told him he’d only gathered a number of men. Leave it to my brother to misrepresent a simple fact.

He’d watched as lord and lady, knight and mistress weaved their way across the yard - guards and emissaries, and harolds and courtiers, each with a plan of their own. 

Lord Chelsted had found himself surrounded by the stingers of House Beesbury, a row from the night before - a night full of drinking and cavorting.  How easily one insult could turn into a lifetime feud, he’d thought as his brother's gold cloaks descended upon the squabbling Sers and Lords with ruthless efficiency.  

Ser Otto had approached him, his daughter in tow.  Thankfully, he was saved once again by Lord Strong, who’d drug the lord and his daughter aside with talk of revised trade policy.  ‘Contracts with eastern provisioners would need to be redrawn,’ he’d heard Lyonel say as they made their way out. 

Cloistered quietly in the King’s Pyre Tower, he hovered over a window again.  There was safety behind the stone, solitude behind the glass.  With a thousand thoughts and one, he’d found the relative silence of the open study peaceful.  He’d wasted the day away here, preferring the solitude to the tumultuous scheming without - even Aemma had kept her distance, allowing him to brood silently and instead allowing the court to dote on their children. 

Several candles lit the study, casting long shadows along the grey-stoned wall. The room was cool, the musk of age permeating each and every book and curtain and tapestry.  Leaning into his chair, he drew his leg up, resting his booted ankle on his knee with a sigh as he heard the door open, a shuffle of feet, and then the door closed once more.  

“Prince Viserys.” He swallowed and sighed inwardly, cursing to himself.  

Setting aside his dislike, he schooled his face as pleasantly as possible and turned in his seat, hands gripping the armrests of his chair, “Lord Corlys.”

Ser Crabbe dipped his head as they made eye contact. He’d remained outside earlier, but with the lord present, he stayed within the room this time.  Viserys was surprised to see Laenor with his father considering the enmity between Corlys and Rhaenys was tangible. The smile that pulled at his cheeks this time was genuine; something about children made him happy, especially when that child reminded him of his own.

Viserys stood now, “And little Laenor.”

Corlys dipped his head, hoisting his son in his arms. Laenor looked around curiously, his purple eyes wide. Silence enveloped them as Corlys joined him, overlooking the window. Viserys watched the lord for a moment longer.

“You are wondering why I am here?” Corlys spoke as Viserys opened his mouth to question. 

“I am.”

“Queen Alysanne was right. It is time we set old hatreds aside. What will happen here will change the realm forever ,and we must show a unified front, as it were.”

“Indeed…” was Viserys' measured reply. 

Curious, that was the best way to describe what he was feeling at the moment.  Corlys spoke, “Do you ever wonder what the castle looked like before Aegon set it aflame?”

Crossing curious and entering clearly into confusion, he replied slowly, “Yes. I have. This castle is a mystery, one that it seems will allude us in perpetuity.”

“Almost as much of a mystery as how you were able to fuck my wife.”

Viserys inhaled sharply.  The silence that fell between them was almost violent in and of itself.  Corlys tilted his head and turned to him.  “Apologies, it seems some hatreds are harder to set aside than others.”

“Indeed…” Viserys replied, an echo of his earlier measured reply.  But where he’d lapsed into silence before, confusion controlling his reply, this time, a sudden Daemon-like bravado filled him.  How would his brother reply? 

“What can I say? The blood of the dragon runs hot.  Mayhaps a storm was needed to quench the fire?”

Mayhaps he’d erred? He felt the bob of his apple as he swallowed nervously.

Lord Corlys's lip twitched, and a pink hue crept up his neck. He breathed roughly through his nose. He took a step forward, Laenor oblivious, but the rattle of the Kingsguard’s armour drew his eyes. 

Corlys’ eyes darted to the knight before quickly looking down at the child in his arms - a frustrated sigh crept from his parted mouth. Lord Velaryon wet his lips, “A little dog, all bark and no bite, that’s all yo- -“ 

- - - - - -

They felt it before they heard it.

Every window in the study and likely the tower shattered inward just as the ground shook violently. Corlys lurched forward; Viserys shuffled back, catching himself on the chair before they both turned and ducked behind those very same chairs.

“My prince!” He heard Ser Crabbe shout through the sudden cacophony, “We must find safe-“

A roar he recognised drowned the captain's voice out just as a burst of heat warmed his back - prickling fear crept up his spine. The sun had begun to set, and night was nearly upon them. The dragon's flame burned an insidious green, replacing the waning sun. He could hear the flaps of its mighty wings and feel each pull of its terrible claws. The room reverberated, and the tower buckled under its weight as the dragon dropped down.  

Another sonorous roar loosened dirt and stone from the mortar. 

“Prince Viserys! My prince!” Ser Crabbe shouted, voice finally reaching him. The knight was crouched down. He’d made it over to them, arm shielding his face. 

“We must go! This tower could be in its path.”

Wordlessly, he nodded to his sworn shield and turned, “Corlys! Come on!”

How easily life could be turned upside down. 

Ser Crabbe shouldered his way through the door, the four of them all but tumbling out of the tower. What greeted them was chaos. They went unseen, unheard above the screaming. 

“Oh gods, Aegerax…”

The thrash of a dark tail struck the Tower of Ghosts, sending stone raining down. Lords and ladies ran in fear, most towards the Godswood. Daemon’s men in golden cloaks escorted who they could, some more rough than necessary, but it could be excused because of the panic. A distant bellow drew his eyes; Vermithor, Caraxes, and Silverwing were airborne, their calls of alarm almost muted by Aegerax.  

The air vibrated under its throaty roar, the sound rattling their very bones. Something had infuriated it, and Viserys' heart sank. He’d seen the dragon react to only one person…

“My son.”

Green light lit the sky; with the sun recently set, the eeriness made him shiver involuntarily - goose pimples erupted up and down his arms. As cool air hit his face, it took him a moment to realise that he’d rushed towards the dragon without even a care for himself. 

Aegerax was wroth, and he had an awful suspicion he knew precisely why.

“My prince!” Ser Crabbe caught him, grasping his arm as screams broke the tepid silence and shouts as men at arms rushed to protect their charges. Decorum meant shite in the face of danger and death. Lords and ladies pushed past and ran to the hall of a hundred hearths, little good it would do them were Aegerax to turn his flames on the building. 

His heart was racing. 

Cracking and crumbling stones filled the air as black claws expectantly tore at The Widows Tower. Fear pierced him thoroughly - the dragon was searching for something or someone. Aegerax took deep breaths as if he were sniffing the air, following a path or a scent only he knew.  He reared back, a colossal titan wreathed by green flame before unleashing that flame on the Wailing Tower. 

He yearned to get within the tower proper. 

Black and unrelenting claws tore at the stone, chunks pulled away far too easily.  The tower creaked, and the stone cracked as it swayed.  Aegerax reared back again, spreading his immense wings before beating them once and taking to the air astoundingly quick considering his size; wind whipped their hair and cloaks around them.  Aegerax’s roar overcame them before they were blinded by infernal green light, the dragon's flame steadily getting hotter and hotter.  

My family, he thought, realising that like his son he did not know where his daughter, his wife or his son's mother were. 

“Aegerax!”

From the chaos, Daemon came running. “They hurt Laena and Gael!”

“Who!?” Corlys shouted, his voice panicked. He hadn’t noticed the lord join them; Laenor wailed in his arms. 

His brother's eyes were wide, wild, but focused. They swivelled to Corlys, a maleficent turn to his brow - his violet eyes were nearly glowing with something he couldn’t quite place. “You know who, Corlys. The ones that took Aelor.”

His blood ran cold. 

“My boy.” He felt lightheaded, separated from himself.

Viserys turned, his motions jerky. Fear warred with an instinct he’d never thought he would have. It was something his father had told him, ‘You’ll do anything for your child Viserys.” 

The ground rumbled beneath him; he stumbled but caught himself.  Before he could commit to that instinct a hand gripped his forearm; his brother stopped him. 

Daemon held onto him firmly. “I’ve got this.”

He hadn’t the chance to stop his brother - the shove came suddenly and was surprisingly hard. His brother was stronger than he looked. He stumbled back into Ser Crabbe. 

“Guard the heir Ser Crabbe!” Daemon shouted as Ser Crabbe helped him right himself. In that brief moment, Daemon took off running - his only protection, Darksister hanging at his hip. He dodged sheared chunks of stone and flying debris, and Viserys could only impotently watch as his brother, wearing only leathers ran headlong into danger.

“Daemon!”

Everything said before was forgotten. He was afraid. Afraid he’d lose his brother in this mess. Afraid he’d lost his son. Afraid of what he would do after. He was afraid to face Aemma, afraid to see Gael. Afraid to tell Rhaenys. Viserys was well and truly afraid. 

Daemon

What am I doing? He thought, dodging a stone half his size. The gate to the inner ward was in his sight.

He hissed when a fragment caught his cheek, and he could feel the warmth of the blood that followed. 

“Aegerax!”

Daemon threw himself to the ground and rolled just in time for a piece of battlement to come crashing down where he’d just been. He scrambled up quickly. 

“Aegerax!”

Arms waving over his head, the dragon finally took note of him. Green light pooled in his mouth, his burning emerald gaze full of fury. Please work, he thought. The dragon roared its anger, dropping to the earth below with an earth-shaking crash. 

“Aegerax, great dragon. See me, smell me. Know I am kin to your bonded.” He spoke in high Valyrian. 

Reptilian clicks from deep in the dragon's throat let him know this chance was brief. Calculating eyes stared at him, their ephemeral green glow making him doubt himself. Many dragons had seen this sight before they were killed - he did not want to join them. 

“Please, great dragon. Halt your fury. Peace, if only for a moment.” He spoke as calmly as his fear would allow him, arms and hands raised in deference. 

Aegerax's massive head dropped low, horns on his lower jaw gouging out the earth below. He watched as they created a jagged trail towards him. He could feel Aegerax’s heat, feel the growl that built in his barrel-like chest. His hair was stirred as the dragon inhaled his scent; the ground shook as he rolled his shoulders. 

A snort ruffled his clothing, his hair flailing behind him. He shut his eyes and braced, but nothing came. When he opened them again, Aegerax was staring at him, not calm but not utterly enraged. He was waiting. The dragon was giving him his chance. 

“Ser Luthor!” He shouted, hoping that his plan had been a success. It had to have. 

Silence met him; he felt the ground shake as the dragon shifted. He wouldn't wait for long. He noticed his brother waiting expectantly. Ser Crabbe stood at his side, prepared to move. Corlys was just out of his sight; Daemon wasn’t going to chance a look. He could hear others.

“Daemon!” His heart clenched when he heard Laena’s voice, and that time, he chanced a look - so did Aegerax. Aemma was behind her, arm around Gael - a bruise was forming around the younger princess’ eye and cheek. There was no Rhaenyra; he could only hope she was with their grandparents. They all stopped, hesitation claiming their movements. 

“Don’t!” He shouted to them, to her, as Aegerax turned back towards him, shifting his weight and making the earth rumble. 

Gods damn it, Luthor…

“Ser Luth-“

“Prince Daemon!” He heard the knight and breathed in relief.

Daemon slowly stepped back, the dragon watching him closely, each breath stirring the ground. 

“My prince!” Luthor shouted. He came through the still standing gate Daemon was aiming for, shouldering through the rubble-blocked iron. As he turned, it was quickly apparent he had a bundle with him. White gold hair came from the bundle before a small arm followed and haphazardly yanked at the cloth covering him - Daemon released the most profound sigh of relief he’d ever breathed. 

Aegerax shifted, and Daemon raised a hand.

“Stop where you are Luthor. Where are the others?”

The knight swallowed, his eyes now on the dragon. “Uh, in the bathhouse, my prince. It was a clever thought; the tunnels led right back there. Our men were stationed at the entrance and cut them off.”

It had taken careful planning to ensure that the culprits would go the path he’d wanted, and Aegerax's blind fury helped. He’d counted on the dragon's anger but had not expected the destruction. 

Luthor Largent stood where he was as another gold cloak came rushing in through the opened gate. He stopped at Luthor’s look. Daemon breathed easier as the dragon had taken notice of the two newcomers. 

He heard a whimper and, at the same time, felt a rumble. “He knows.”

“Stay where you both are.” Daemon walked backwards, slowly as a crowd gathered around his brother and the princesses. The dragon's patience was wearing thin if the increase in heat was anything to go by. He felt his growl.

“Go slowly.” He said to Luthor as he reached the knight. Lifting the bundle, the cloth fell entirely off. His nephew blinked wet eyes and sniffled - a tiny frown captured his face as his chest puffed up. He heard the whimper, the beginning of tears. His little arms reached for Daemon.

“My little dragon,” he whispered, feeling his heart clench. Dropping his arms, he took his nephew before the tears could come.

“He did well, my prince - that’s a brave little drake you have there. He was scared, but I tried to soothe him.” Luthor said, eyes never leaving the dragon.

“Thank you, Ser. My house is eternally grateful. I will see that you are rewarded. Now, I have an enraged dragon to sate.” 

The knight nodded as Daemon began making his way to Aegerax. The dragon's silence now was eerie. He paused and let Aelor see his mount, the boy's face unexpectedly breaking into a mostly toothless grin. “Gon?”

“Aye, Aelor, your dragon. He was very worried.” Daemon swallowed thickly and inhaled deeply before resigning himself to closing the distance. So close; the dragon was insanely massive. It lowered its head until the enormous spikes on its lower jaw were deep within the earth. 

Daemon turned Aelor so the prince was facing the front rather than against his hip allowing his nephew to stretch his arms out. The dragon, though, did not wait. He shifted his head and scooted forward; scales made contact with a small hand. The dragon grumbled, but it sounded satisfied, as if it hadn’t destroyed many of the remaining towers of Harrenhal. 

Daemon’s sigh was the perfect contrast to his nephew's laughter.