Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was said that Targaryens were closer to gods than to men. The same was once said of the Valyrians of Old, who ruled Valyria and its many conquered lands from the top of their great beasts. The same was thought by those same dragonlords ate the height of their might. Some thought it was their hubris that turned them to ash. Others claimed it was a punishment from the gods for their great cruelty and many sins. Songs were made of how the greatest Empire to have ever existed was turned to ash in a day and a night from the wrath they brought upon themselves from the Fourteen Flames for enslaving, dark magic, necromancy and vile experiments. Those would be right.

Almost.

The truth, the world would never know was the true reason that led to the gods’ chosen nation to be vanquished, for it was not only hubris that brought Valyria its end, it was faithlessness.

At the height of their power. The dragonlords thought themselves invincible, true gods walking amongst common men, and soaring high above them. They grew careless with magic and negligent with their gods, for why should a god pay tribute to another if they were equals?

And so, all but a chosen few were punished.

It was on a stormy night that Daenys Targaryen woke up from what felt like her own death with the distinct memories of a life that she had not yet lived, but knew in her bones she would should she not change fate. The girl had been alive for thirteen sunturns when she had woken up, from melting along with Valyria with her family and her beloved Balerion, the dragon black as night who she had never seen before but knew came from the egg on her bedside. That would be twelve years in the future.

Daenys still felt the fires licking her skin, she still remembered how her brother Gaemon burned first, for he had hugged his sister and hid with her behind Balerion when the fires came and consumed his left wing before she could take flight atop her young dragon. She had twelve years to save her family from dying a second time with Valyria.

She told Gaemon first, and then her sister Eleana. The boy was three years her senior and the girl one. It was not fear that kept Daenys from telling their father Aenar first, she had not feared disbelief in even a single day in her life, for all knew the truth about her. Daenys was one of the dragonlords who possessed abilities beyond what even their peers had, those were called the demigods. While all dragonlords were said to have been descended from a single couple of demigods, it was known that all Fourteen gods sometimes blessed their kind with the half-god half-human child.

No one truly knew for sure how they came to be so, but all manuscripts from the dawn of Valyria were in accord with one truth. When their gods roamed this land to rebuild it from the long night, they created the first Valyrians, each god created their own pair, except for two gods.

Caraxes and Meraxes, the twin lovers gods of darkness and light, good and evil, balance and chaos, decided that, like them, their creations would always be born together, and exist only as a pair, for if one perished, the other would follow.

As time went, their half divine creations thrived in the fertile land they were granted. They multiplied and lived as shepherds in their small paradise. When the Great Other was banished from the land of the living and put to sleep, the Gods no longer lived amongst people as before, they descended, of course for a few night every now and then, but they could only see the world of mortals through the eyes of those of the same blood of the men and women they had created. For a day and a night they experienced life as that of the mortal they had chosen, as a silent spectator for what a mortal’s life feels like. From those expeditions, came the demigods.

They possessed powers beyond their peers, a small taste of what their divine parent had passed on to them. They were more durable, stronger, faster than others and some even had abilities beyond belief. From them came the legends of the blood mages and sorcerers from Old Valyria, for their skill and powers were truly remarkable. From their descendents came the dragonlords, for the great dragons Agarrax had created recognized in their blood a piece of the gods themselves, as long as they kept the bloodlines amongst their peers.

Their abilities ranged greatly amongst demigods, but each of them was similarly matched amongst themselves. All but for one kind.

Caraxes and Meraxes’ half human children came always as twins, like them. The twin gods experienced the mortal world as a couple and through a couple, and every time they blessed the world with a set of twins. A boy and a girl meant to exist together as their godly parents, for Caraxes could not conceive a world living without his sister, and Meraxes could not bear to live as a single being. Existing together granted each twin unparalleled and unprecedented power, for each would mirror and expend what the other had. They did not age and they did not die unless killed, for good and evil must always be a constant in this world

It was a common misconception to assume this or that god held more power than another, but the truth was that all things came from balance and chaos, darkness and light in equal measure. From Caraxes and Meraxes. The gods acted as one, for none knew which held good or evil, for they had both at all times. And so, their children came to be the most powerful of all, even amongst their kind.

It was through their overbearing power that new dragons came to exist, for if Agarrax had gifted the world with dragons, they had never produced a single egg until the first demigod twins to have become dragonlords had children of their own. And so began in Old Valyria the age of dragonlords and demigods.

As demigods, unusual abilities were a norm in Valyria, Daenys, the demigod daughter of Tessarion, and gifted with premonition was confident she would be believed and her warnings heeded. So she told her father Aenar Targaryen, who planned their leave from the Freehold without hesitation and headed West with his entire family, his household, all his coin, five adult dragons, three hatchlings and thirty eight dragon eggs. The same trust in her words, cannot be said for all dragonlords. The Targaryens were not the most influential family in the Freehold, and when the head of the Targaryens brought the subject to his closest few amongst the nobility, he was not believed and was somewhat betrayed. Word spread that the Targaryens claimed Valyria would fall and end in fire, and that all should flee. The family was mocked and fell into disgrace amongst the high and mighty, for such an end was inconceivable to the powerful masters of the skies who thought themselves equals to the gods who gave them power.

Knowing of the impending Doom that awaited Valyria, in the years that preceded it, the Targaryens strived to preserve and possess all they could in terms of knowledge, books, relics, weapons, craftsmanship, health staff and such that could be brought or bought from Valyria, for they knew it would soon end.

They settled in Dragonstone, in the castle of a rarely used outpost for the Freehold. At first, Aenar feared retribution for taking over the keep, but managed to purchase it for a relatively small amount of money from the Empire, for his peers thought their stay to be a self imposed exile of a man who fled in disgrace.

In the years that followed, Dragonstone was made into a small piece of Valyria. They built temples to the gods that saved them and Guild to train new healers, teachers, architects, blacksmiths and such. It is said that Aenar Targaryen spent nearly half of his fortune to fully staff the Guild and fill it with books and tomes with the best he could pay from Valyria itself in hopes of not losing all the knowledge that only his people had.

On the same night that Valyria fell, Daenys woke again, from another vision. This time she had the answer to the question she had been asking herself for the past twelve years. Why was she warned amongst all other demigods and children of Tessarion like herself? Why did her divine mother choose to spear her family and not someone else’s?

On the same night Valirya met its end, Daenys saw herself face to face with the Great Other who would rise again. The Great Other who would bathe the world in ice if not for a girl of her line who would come 700 years in the future. On the night her motherland saw its might for the last time, Daenys saw that from her blood will come the heir that was promised, and theirs shall be the song of ice and fire.

Chapter Text

King Jaehaerys 

Jaehaerys thought himself an accomplished man. He was a good king, a good husband to his sister-wife, a good brother to his other sister, Rhaena, a good father to his children. Well, better than most men at least. 

He was what the realm needed after the reign of terror of his uncle Maegor. 

He had never expected to be king, he was the fourth child and son of King Aenys, his sister Rhaena was his fathers eldest child. 

His family had never followed Westerosi tradition of a son before a daughter, since the days of Old Valyria, the head of the family chose their heir, if not, the eldest inherited. Aegon the Conqueror had only become king over Visenya for it was his initiative to conquer Westeros. So Jaehaerys had known Aenys had wanted for Rhaena to be queen, not his sons. Or his brother.

But Rhaena had been one of Maegor’s black brides, forced into marriage with a tyrant. While that unfortunate situation was not her fault, his eldest sister had a penchant for being unrelenting and uncompromising when enforcing her will through much darker means than he thought were necessary. That was not a good choice to have after a ruler like Maegor, his sister would not bring them strength and stability after their uncle’s reign of terror, so his mother had wisely chosen to crown him king instead. It served them all well. He had ruled with temperance and reason, he had pacified the Faith, the lords and brought stability and prosperity for the realm. It was for the best. 

Or so Jaehaerys told himself since the very first time he found himself sitting on the Iron Throne as its rightful lord and not kneeling down at his sister's feet. 

Despite the initial good relationship between him and Rhaena, they eventually got estranged, he knew she resented having her claim being passed over. Twice now. Once by their brother and her husband Aegon, and once by him. Though they did get along at times about their shared interest. 

When Rhaena was married to Maegor, he had thought his sister would die, like his brothers. He had been a boy of ten then. But she didn't, she was married to his uncle for three years and walked out alive and well. Much better than well. 

Jaehaerys had never been a coward, but still, it took him many years to work up the courage to ask his sister about her time as Maegor’s wife, Maegelle had still been a babe in arms then. It was not only out of morbid curiosity, he thought he had valid reasons to do so as he noticed his sister simply did not change. The years passed, but his sister stayed the same. 

He had always been interested in the occult, more as a hobby or an academic interest, he had never believed in such things. Not like Rhaena seemed to. Jaehaerys did not remember if she had always believed in such things or if it came with age and grief, he was still a boy when she was a woman grown already and did not pay attention to such things. So it had caught him completely unaware when she, eventually, revealed to him her interest had come from Maegor and Visenya. 

He had always assumed she must have suffered true horrors at their hands, much like their brother Viserys, and it honestly shocked him to learn Visenya had put her foot down to defend her against the very son she aided in taking the throne by force. It was known how Maegor had trusted no one in his life, but Visenya. To know the woman had struck her son to defend her great niece from him, was quite frankly shocking and unbelievable.

“ I will not say he never took or hurt me, for he did. But when Visenya saw the marks on me, she struck him hard on the face and declared he had killed enough Tragaryens already, he would take none more while she lived ” Rhaena had told him that day, on Dragonstone “ Whatever made him obey, I know not, but he did. He never hurt me again”. And so his sister had become closer with Queen Visenya. They were not friends, she told him, not at all. But Visenya had her own reasons for their closeness and it suited Rhaena just fine. 

The conqueror queen had often been accused of being a witch, and according to Rhaena, she might as well have been one, for she claimed to have been taught by Visenya herself about Blood Magic. Jaehaerys had laughed, and made to leave when his sister told him that, surely mocking him, as she did often when feeling particularly petty, but that had truly enraged the woman to the point she called him a vile infidel and shoved her hand inside the fireplace. 

Now, that had been the shock of his life. His sister’s hand had been a little red by the time he pulled her arm out of the fire, but otherwise unharmed. He sat back down and vowed to listen to her then. 

And listen he did. 

To the most unbelievably shocking tale of his life. What his sister told him was so out of touch with earthly things, that he did not believe most of it, though this time, he did not dare tell her so. 

That is how Jaehaerys first learned about demigods and the wonders they were said to bring to their family. 

Like their magic.

Like their dragons. 

Rhaena had explained to him, Visenya had taught her much about them, but she also did not know enough, for Maegor, while a demigod, was never able to reach his full potential seeing as his twin sister had died so young. The same had happened to Visenya’s sister, Queen Rhaenys. Her twin brother had died young, and she never reached her fullest.

Jaehaerys had heard about how his uncle had been immensely strong, faster than a man should be able to move and more resistant to dragonfire. He had always brushed it off as fancy tales Maegor might have spun about himself to give his claim more credit, it was pointless to go against a king who was invincible. But seeing his sister’s nearly unmarked hand, the seeds of doubt were planted.

All Rhaena had told him was so unbelievable he even forgot his first reason to speak to her. She did not age as others did. But whatever had been done to her, she never told him, and so Jaehaerys moved on with his life. No demigods existed anymore, afterall, he had Seven Kingdoms to rule, and eventually thirteen children committed to drive him to an early grave. 

Well, not thirteen, they were nine now, he reminded himself sadly.

Nevertheless, he could not complain much, for he had a good life, and more than any other man or woman alive. He was a dragonrider, a king of a great nation, husband to a woman he loved and father of many children. His life was good. 

Aemon and Baelon were his pride, his boys were everything he imagined he might have been to his brothers. But his girls, they were his joy and also his greatest source of frustration. 

Alyssa had been everything a lady was not to be, even less a princess. But, to his greatest frustration, he had no control over the girl. She became his eldest daughter after his little Daenerys had died in early infancy, and Gods strike him if they might, he could not really punish her. The feeling of helplessness faded as more girls came, but Alyssa retained her place with him. It did not help him much that his eldest sons kept covering for her, he was sure that the things he found out Alyssa did were only a small fraction of her real deeds. The girl was incorrigible. 

When she was thirteen, his wild girl had claimed the dragon Meleys behind his back. Few times had he truly raged with her, but that was one of them. It was like chastising a rock though, for how little mind she paid him. She would marry a brother one way or another, he had told her and she agreed so fast and unbothered, he realised then he had just given her all she wanted, a dragon and a brother to marry.

He had plans to marry her to Aemon, his heir, and have her become his queen. The eldest daughter married to the eldest son, as was the way of their House, both dragonriders no less. What a powerful match they would make. 

It was to no avail though, Alyssa and Baelon were so unequivocally besotted with each other that a blind man could see there would be scandal had anyone tried to part them. 

He had tried anyway, even against his wife's counsel, to match Alyssa and Aemon, but when the devilish girl had caught a whiff of it before he could even voice anything, she appeared before him, both brothers in tow and demanded she be betrothed to Baelon, lest he wanted his sons turned against one another for the heir having only his brother’s bastards to succeed him, for she would bed no other.

He had been somewhat offended and annoyed they had ganged up on him, but in the end relented. He was somewhat amused at his children’s tactics, and with Aemon’s aid, no less, for the sly lad had been the one to request a formal audience with the king, after petitions ended that day.

His wife had never been so smug before as when she witnessed her of their children’s scheme, though she demanded the union not happen before Alyssa turned sixteen. 

Shortly after Baelon and Alyssa’s betrothal, Alyssane insisted on their sister as a match for Aemon. He had been reluctant to agree, as she was not a Targaryen on both sides, there were no guarantees their children would have enough blood to claim dragons, and as heir, it was paramount that Aemon’s children were able to do so. He had advocated for Maegelle or Daella, but his sister-wife had been relentless in insisting on the match, for it would be many years before her daughters would be old enough to marry and their half-sister Jocelyn Baratheon, would then be too old. She was half Targaryen, surely paired with Aemon, their children would have enough to claim the very creatures that gave them power. His sister Rhaena advised against it and claimed the very opposite would happen.

He agreed and, as Aemon did not protest, the match went forward before the first year of Baelon and Alyssa’s two year betrothal.

Jocelyn had fallen pregnant quickly, not two moons married and she was confirmed to be with child. He had rested more relieved then, for the match was fruitful and when a girl had come, in 74 ac, he had been mildly disappointed, for a boy would have been best. No matter, he would love the girl as his first grandchild and wait for the boys to come. 

At least that is what Jaehaerys had thought until the maesters told him Lady Jocelyn would never bear a child again. The pregnancy had been exceptionally harsh on her body, she was constantly in fever and cold at the same time. No amount of fire seemed to warm her enough, until the babe came, five days after her labours started. 

He was furious then. With the maesters that did not fix his sister, with his wife that insisted on this trial and error match - for their heir, no less -, with his sister for not doing her duty, with his son for agreeing to this, with Alyssa and Baelon for interfering with his match of choice for Aemon, but most of all, his fury was directed at himself. 

He had agreed with it. 

He was the king

He had relented to his family’s whim, and look what happened!

A single small child, and a girl no less. 

His anger only escalated when he saw the golden dragon egg Baelon stole from the pit and placed in the king’s granddaughter’s crib, Rhaenys, he’d been told. He had decreed, years before girls would not be allowed dragons. Both of his sons and all in the kingdom knew it. 

And yet, there it was, the large golden egg, burning as hot as it could, placed on the girl’s crib. 

It was both the tipping point and a great relief for the king when the girl touched the egg and cried immediately. 

It had burned her hand. 

Rhaena was right. Every story he’d heard on the matter was right. His first granddaughter would never be a dragonrider, and her offspring even less, no doubt. If she could not withstand the heat of an egg, she would be burned down to raw flesh if she ever tried to mount a dragon. 

They had saddles of course, but that was man-made. Withstanding heat was the bare minimum one had to be able to do in order to become a dragonlord.

Jocelyn had, thankfully, not been present when the maesters informed him Rhaenys would be an only child and she had not seen his reaction. Aemon was though. He had not gone into an explicit fit of rage, per se, but had not been pleased either. Be that as it may, he must have not hidden his disappointment as well as he thought when he visited the newborn and her mother, for his sister knew at once he was not pleased. 

No matter. 

He would have this fixed.

He had some time to do this right, it was not as if the succession was truly endangered. 

He was proud of both his sons, and would be satisfied if for some reason Baelon had to step in to inherit. But Aemon was his firstborn, he had been raised from the cradle to be king one day, and he lived up to every expectation a man could have for his first son. He was everything a Crown Prince should be, and he could not have hoped for a better heir. 

Yes, he would see Aemon’s line guaranteed to continue as it should. 

It was not as if he lacked daughters for his heir to marry, and being Targaryens on both sides, they were sure to provide Aemon with a potential dragonrider. 

There was still a year for Alyssa and Baelon to be married, she was of age already, fifteen years old. He was the king, he could easily break their betrothal in favor of a better one. Jaehaerys knew his children might put up some resistance, but in the end, he was the king and his will would prevail. 

He had listened to his wife and children once on this topic, and now he had a mess to fix. He would do things his way now. 

And he did. 

He had been, up until then, satisfied with the Doctrine of Exceptionalism he negotiated with the Faith of the Seven, to allow his family to marry close kin. He patted himself on the back for having never put it in writing to outlaw polygamy. No, that had been verbally agreed upon with the High Septon at the time, but never had he outright forbidden it. 

It was not his intention at the time to ever have polygamy in his family again, he thought they could create only chaos where successions were concerned. His uncle’s reign was proof of that. But now, it might be a necessary evil. 

The Faith would complain, of that none could doubt. 

But, in truth, what could they do about it? 

They could barely oppose Maegor with any true success, and his uncle only truly had two dragons on his side. Jaehaerys, on the other hand, had six at his command, so there was not much anyone could do against him. 

He did not want to cause unrest with the Faith, not really, but it could not be helped, Aemon had to marry again.

Jaehaerys decided to wait a few moons, to see if something changed about the girl’s tolerance to the eggs, for his half-sister to recover from birth and to gauge Aemon’s behaviour.

As much as his son seemed to love his wife, and there was no doubt the pair was a happy match, the heir knew he would need children who could properly bond with dragons or pass the succession to Baelon. 

The king told him as much, and much to his relief, both of his sons agreed with him, albeit Aemon seemed a bit saddened by it. 

He had called his wife and all children to dinner to announce his choice of bride for the Prince of Dragonstone. He had meant well when he agreed to the match between Baelon and Alyssa, but it was not to be, he said then, Alyssa would marry Aemon when she turned sixteen and be the next Queen Consort upon her father’s death. 

Oh, how she raged that night. 

How Baelon raged. 

Aemon however, stayed silent and he was relieved for it. 

Until he wasn’t. 

It was 5 days later, that he received a missive written by the Prince of Dragonstone’s own hand that he was happy to announce the marriage of his brother, the Prince Baelon Targaryen to his beloved sister, Princess Alyssa Targaryen. The ceremony had been performed according to Valyrian rites by the Rūklion Vezofnōtā Ānogrose Vāedar (Priestess of the Sanctum of The Flame Eternal) in Dragonstone and had the island’s own overlord, Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen as a witness. 

It was his turn to rage then. 

The union, as the missive said, was performed as dictated the traditions of their ancestors in the ceremony usually chosen by couples in love matches, for their vows were sworn in blood and included no allowance for any other spouses, in life or death. 

Jaehaerys said nothing as his councilmen stared at him. They were sure to have seen how red with anger he’d gone, even his wife had said nothing. The king rose from his chair and stormed out of the Small Council. 

Vermithor was seen in the air less than an hour after with the king on his back, heading towards Dragonstone with Silverwing and the queen in tow.

It was too late, of course. A Valyrian marriage could not be annulled, not that kind of ceremony, at least. 

His ancestors had three types of marriage ceremonies.

One was designed for alliances of pure political reasons. This one was valid, but the couple did not swear to their Gods, they were blessed by a priest or a priestess and the marriage, while valid, could be undone by the sovereign. It was mostly used to marry those one was not so fond of enough to swear an oath or those not of dragon blood, though it was frowned upon for dragonlords to do the latter in Valyria.

The second was sworn before their Gods and blessed by their faith, it was the most common choice of ceremony in the old days, for while it could not be undone, it allowed a man to take more wives. 

The third was the choice for love matches, for it differed from the other two in a few points. It did not allow for polygamy after it was performed, once the couple was married, a man could not take another wife while the former still lived. If he had other wives before, he would keep them, but take no more after swearing into this type of marriage. As for the oaths, while they were sworn to their gods by the bride and groom, like the second type, this one was sworn in blood, as one of the most sacred of their traditions. Despite the power the dragonlords of old displayed, for some reason, this rule was always obeyed, regardless of politics.

Jaehaerys knew, of course, before he even took flight to Dragonstone that Baelon and Alyssa would have chosen the third ceremony, meant for love matches. While most of Westeros did not pray to the Fourteen Flames, as the official religion of the royals’ ancestors, most nobility were somewhat educated in their history, if only for lickspiting. So a lot in the realm would know Prince Baelon was married to his sister with no hopes of a match with any other woman while his sister lived and that the king himself could no annul what the gods had joined if only to marry his eldest daughter to another man. 

No, this did not surprise him. 

Aemon, however, was his true shock. 

His heir had been everything a king in the making should be, and he understood the necessity for remarrying, had agreed to it even and not protested against the match with Alyssa when he announced it.

“ What kind of man would I be to take my brother’s wife, father? ” was his answer when questioned. 

“ I will marry, as we spoke. But I will not steal my brother’s happiness or reap my sister’s heart from her chest and force her to be my wife. I have many sisters, I can wed another. You will have no less than two lines of pure dragon blood to secure our house’s future, if that is all you care for”. 

That had stunned him. 

The meaning, while left unspoken, was clear. He would do his duty and marry again, a sister this time, but not by force. On either side.

Aemon had never spoken to him like that, or defied him. 

That day how the king viewed his son changed. Not for the better at first, but Jaehaerys would come to be secretly proud of Aemon, for that was when he saw his successor could not be bullied into submission. House Targaryen would thrive under a strong ruler for a generation further. His children’s solution had put him, the king, in a bad light. Temporarily, at least. But their solution, in hindsight, had been for the best, for a blind man could see that Alyssa was the one person Baelon loved more than his brother, and one would not be parted from the other, consequences be damned.

The newlyweds stayed on the island for a moon at the invitation of the Prince of Dragonstone, after that time they were to return to court to attend the celebrations the king had ordered in honor of their marriage.

Viserys was born seven moons after their wedding, a robust and calm babe who seemed to have learned to laugh before suckling on his nursemaid’s tits. When the boy came early, the king secretly thought it a blessing his children eloped, for he would have to marry them in a hurry anyway as Alyssa was surely pregnant already on her wedding night.

People talked, of course, but it mattered little. Baelon was second in line and already had a son to come after him and, as Alyssa took well to childbearing, more would surely come. 

Viserys’ birth was the first time King Jaehaerys finally breathed more easily after his children came of age. He had sons and daughters a plenty, Baelon had already increased their numbers and Aemon was sure to follow soon. 

As soon as he chose a sister to marry, that was. 

For the king, the most logical choice would be Maegelle. At thirteen days of her name, she was soon to be of good age to marry and was both dutiful and strong willed enough to make a good queen for his heir. But his peace was not to last it seemed, for the very things that pleased him about his daughter’s virtues to be a consort, also turned against him when the girl declared she would not marry and would become a septa instead, like Rhaella. 

He forbade her at once, of course. What a nonsensical wish for a girl so young. She was the third eldest daughter of the king, with two brothers close to her age, her hand was invaluable. 

But it was not to be, it seemed. 

While the Conciliator maintained good relations with the faith, he would not give them another Targaryen on a good day, less so when he was about to allow his heir to take a second wife while the first was alive. 

He knew Alysanne had taken to following the Seven Who Are One, but he had not realised any of his children were so taken with the religion until Maegelle decided to join the Faith with her mother’s blessing. A feat he could not allow, for he might have made peace with the Starry Sept, but he was no fool to think they did any more than tolerate them, if only to avoid another conflict as the one they had with Maegor. Giving his daughter to them meant giving away a hostage. 

As a compromise, the king’s third daughter joined the Vezofnōtā Ānogrose Vāedar, the sanctum of The Flame Eternal to become a priestess of the old faith of Valyria, as House Targaryen still followed it. Of what kind, she would decide later in her studies. 

While he did it to protect his daughter, the king also hoped time would change her mind and she would seek marriage one day. And, as a dragonlord and a follower of the old faith, albeit more discreetly, his influence there was even greater, Maegelle could leave the path of religion and become a wife with less repercussions should the time come. 

As Maegelle was unavailable to become the new consort to the Prince of Dragonstone, all eyes turned to Daella now, his second daughter. When she was born, he expected her to become Baelon’s wife one day, and as time passed, Vaegon’s, but perhaps it was for the best if she didn’t. She was sweet, kind and gentle with a soft heart. His wife thought Daella to be their most adorable child. 

And in many ways, she was.

However much they loved her, Daella was as delicate as a person could come. She was shy, quiet, easy to frighten and even easier to cry and was scared of anything that moved, from people to cats and bees - or anything that lived in a garden. 

Dragons, she would not approach if her life depended on it. Never had. Unlike Alyssa, the King and Queen never had the habit of taking their babies up to the skies. They did take their children eventually, of course, but only after they were older. Aemon and Baelon had been five already when he first took each on Vermithor. Alyssa however, precocious as only she could be, demanded she’d be taken to fly by the time she was barely three and could put enough words together to be understood by him, and like the fool he once was for his first little girl to survive, he obliged. 

Daella, was a different matter. Not only had she never expressed the desire to fly, but the king saw her cry the loudest he ever heard from her when Alysanne once tried to take her up on Silverwing, when the girl turned seven. 

He had little hopes from her, he expected she would turn to faith, like Maegelle had. If only the two of them could have switched. 

Jaehaerys, in truth, did not know well what to do with her. She was slow of wit, had trouble reading and often could not understand the text at the first attempt and was unable to memorize the simplest prayers her mother tried to teach her. She had a sweet voice rarely heard though, for she too was afraid to sing in front of others as she forgot the lyrics. To make matters worse, the king had never been too good in sugar coating his sharper edge, it was always fine with his other children, but Daella was often reduced to tears in his presence, for the mildest scolding would unsettle her. 

When she turned thirteen, he had tasked Alysanne to find her a husband since it seemed to him that she would not find a match with a brother. He even gave them leave to look in every corner of the Seven Kingdoms and choose whichever husband pleased his daughter, but at fifteen years old, she remained unmarried. That was the year he gave Alysanne a deadline, Daella  could either choose a husband and marry by the time she turned sixteen or he would choose for her.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think Aemon of all people would come forward to ask for her hand. In truth, his eldest son had always been the most patient with her, though he’d always brushed it aside as kindness for his most fragile sister. She was the eldest after Alyssa and while he had first turned to Maegelle, Daella would be the match that would take the smallest amount of time to be officiated, it was only she seemed to him so unfit to be queen that he had skipped over her entirely. 

He was satisfied with the match, in a way, for Daella would require protection for as long as she lived, and while he was in a rush to find her a husband, he did not really want her to suffer a terrible fate at the hands of a man cruel to her. Perhaps that’s what prompted his son, Aemon would never mistreat her, and while being Queen might make her uncomfortable, there was not an ounce of doubt in the king’s mind that Aemon would defend his sister and wife. 

Had he not defended mine own sister from my temper once? 

On top of that, his next daughter after Daella and Maegelle would be Saera, and while she was his greatest joy, he had his doubts the spoiled troublemaker would be a proper consort. That and the wait, for the girl was still ten, too young to marry, while Daella would soon be an old maid.

And so, Aemon and Daella were married a year later, in the year 78 ac, after she turned sixteen, in a grand celebration - and even greater controversy -  held in the capital following the Valyrian wedding performed at the great Sanctum dedicated to the Ānogrose Vāedar (The Flame Eternal) in the Red Keep. 

And so, to the consternation of every noble whose memories of Maegor’s war against the Faith of the Seven, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms became the husband of two women. 

The union would not bear fruit right away, whether by the will of the Gods or the couple, the king would never know, but it did eventually. Princess Aemma Targaryen was born two years after her parents' marriage, in the year 80 ac. 

Another girl, to Jaehaerys growing displeasure, though this time it was not so bad. Aemma was a Targaryen on both sides, she could still have a brother to marry, and if not, she was close in age with Baelon’s boy. She and Viserys could marry, and things would be settled if it came to that. 

He had given up on being mad at his two eldest sons’ strong will to disobey him, and had turned the blind eye to yet another egg put in a girl’s crib without his consent. Aemma would either marry a brother or Viserys, the king would not be moved from that.

As far as his children went, he had hoped his life would be calmer from now on. 

How wrong had he been about his peace, however. 

Saera, for one, caused him more stress than all of his other children combined when he discovered her many dalliances with both men and women. Parents were not supposed to play favorites, but at one point, Saera had been his greatest joy. He was no longer such a young man by the time she grew, and while still harsh, he grew ever more indulgent to his daughter’s demanding wims in silks and jewels aplenty. He was the damn king, afterall. 

It both broke and forever hardened his heart to discover the lengths of her wickedness and just how much depravity she had managed to get away with right under his nose. First at his court and then in the Free Cities, becoming what many said to be a most skilful courtesan turned madam. 

The Whore Princess, she was dubbed. 

No more. He had allowed enough in this family, and look what came of it. 

To Jaehaerys' great relief, no other scandal of such magnitude afflicted his family again. Though his personal life would not be without obstacles.

Vaegon was the next one. 

The boy was still thirteen when he first heard the rumors that Prince Vaegon, while not at all fond of fighting, was only ever seen in the company of squires in the empty changing rooms of the training grounds. At first, Jaehaerys was hopeful the boy would finally take after his brothers and become a knight, until his hopes crumbled in the most disappointing manner a father could think of. 

Vaegon, it seemed, was indeed fond of the training grounds of late, but to kiss squires, not to fight!

He had raged then, in private of course, lest anyone else learned of this. He had called Vaegon to confront him, but in the end he was too ashamed to speak of it. It was a phase, some young boys were prone to test things, he convinced himself. His son would come around, he was sure of it. 

When the boy suggested he wanted to dedicate his life to being a scholar, the King, of course, forbade him the Citadel. Vaegon should marry, not stuff himself further amongst more men, in Oldtown of all places. Aemon and Daella’s marriage had caused tensions to rise between the Crown and the Starry Sept, and, as with Maegelle, he would not give Oldtown a hostage. So, Vaegon was given leave to study at the Guild established in Dragonstone by Aenar Targaryen when they first settled in Westeros. 

The Targaryens were great patrons of the Guild, in the King’s opinion it held much more advanced knowledge than the Citadel anyway, so Vaegon would do well there. If the Guild did not require their attendants to make a vow of celibacy and swear off marriage, it was only for the better. 

Jaehaerys had been king for most of his life, very few things could overwhelm him so out of his mask of polite coldness, but when Vaegon came to him and asked for his sister’s hand, he could not help it. He was overjoyed. His son had finally shown interest in a woman as he knew he one day would, for the boy was from his blood and seed! When Viserra ceased any protest and asked - quite eagerly - to be wed to her brother, he allowed at once, his wife’s plans for her betrothal with Lord Manderly be damned!

While it was no secret that Saera was his joy, Viserra was his most prized jewel, if only she was a little less insufferable. He felt some guilt for thinking such of his own child, he loved the girl, as he did his other daughters, but gods, was she self centered. Or so it seemed to him. 

Viserra possessed a beauty unlike that of others, all who had eyes had no way to deny it, and the girl knew it. So, he thought that if anyone would make Vaegon interested in women, it would be her. 

Oh, he was no fool though. He knew well his vain daughter had been lying through her teeth when she proclaimed her love for Vaegon. He cared not. His son was marrying a woman, one of pure Targaryen blood that would further increase their numbers with no dilution, and, most important for him, the match would keep her dragon in the family. 

In hindsight, he thinks he should have known that, after the tantrums she had thrown when she was informed of her betrothal, her sudden quiet reclusion could only precede chaos. He was breaking his fast with his wife, Baelon, Aemon, Jocelyn and Daella, Alyssa had declined to come claiming her children had been fussing that morning, when sir Ryam came in to tell the king that he had just been informed the princess Viserra had been found missing from her chambers by her maids. 

Jaehaerys had been livid! Had the girl gone mad and decided to run away like Saera had done? 

He had ordered a thorough search of the whole city and that no ship was to set sail from King’s Landing until his daughter was found. His sons had committed to search in the city while Alyssa had mounted Meleys and went in search of her by air. And what a surprise she brought back!

Three days had passed since Alyssa had begun to look for Viserra in the surrounding lands, when the two came back on dragonback. Both of them. Each on the back of one dragon. 

Viserra landed her recently claimed mount on the dragonpit alongside her sister and Meleys, where she waited until the king came - hurriedly upon hearing the unknown roar. There he found his missing daughter stroking the golden scales of the she-dragon she had named Syrax, as he was promptly informed. 

She had been smart to claim a dragon. Jaehaerys would never allow others access to what had made his family kings. He had regretted enough allowing Aemon to marry his half sister Jocelyn and elevate another House so close to royal status. 

And so, Vaegon and Viserra were married in the year 88 ac, in the capital in a Valyrian ceremony ordained by Maegelle, who had indeed become a priestess by then. 

If the king thought his son would move away from books and men anytime soon after marrying, he was sorely mistaken, for their union did not bear fruit for many years. Jaehaerys doubted it had even been consummated for the longest time, but had no way to press them, for the couple took to traveling all around Westeros and even Essos together. Wherever there was something to learn or see, Vaegon would mount Syrax after Viserra and they disappeared, returning only when the king held back their coin. 

He had not expected the peace he saw between those two, for while they could not be more different, they apparently found a way to live well together. If only they would have a child or two, the king could not ask for more.

His life was not to be one of peace it seemed, for when the king finally thought his life would grow calmer, life found a way to forcefully remind him of a conversation he’d had with his sister Rhaena many years ago about demigods and all the many blessings and troubles that came along with them

Chapter Text

King Jaehaerys

Jaehaerys could not understand his wife sometimes. He truly loved her, of course. But the bright, kind, caring and empathetic woman she had been was long gone. 

At least at heart. And in her place he was left with a woman whose bitterness and fear grew by the day whenever faced with someone in particular.

The king could not bring himself to say so out loud, for he could not point out exactly when she had changed so much, but he suspected. She had been overjoyed whenever a new grandchild of theirs had been born, with only one exception. 

Daemon. 

Alyssane was her happiest and quite relieved when Alyssa seemed to take after her in childbearing. It was why he thought his wife’s dark mood strange one night, when Alyssa had been around 5 moons along with what were obviously twins, that his sister had voiced her concerns. “Let us pray the children come out normal, like the rest of us, not like Visenya’s spawns from the Seven Hells”.

They didn’t. 

It was the third day of the third moon of the year 81 after the Conquest at the hour of ghosts when a boy and a girl had been born to Alysa and Baelon, only an hour apart. Alyssa’s labors had begun two days before, and had only increased as time passed. His ill-behaved daughter had forbidden him from her birthing chambers at all costs until she called for him to meet the child. Not that he would have intruded in any case, he had not been in the rooms with his wife since Maegelle was born. 

Alysanne had been banished from the chambers as well by both Alyssa and Baelon. Her increasingly dark mood as her pregnancy progressed with twins soured whatever connection mother and daughter had cultivated after Viserys and Aegon came only a year apart, and both mother and father-to-be expressly informed their mother she was not welcome there.

Both Viserys and Aegon came easily and without much fuss, Alyssa claimed, which relieved the king immensely. So, when he was called from a council meeting to go see Alyssa earlier at the day the children came, with no child yet born, he had truly feared as he never had before. 

There had been a serious incident, it seemed, involving Baelon and the Grand Maester Geraunt who was one of the healers attending Alyssa. 

The maid that came to inform his presence was required there as something happened, did not go into detail regarding the incident, and since Alyssa had banished Alysanne, she had no clue of what happened there either. 

At 47 years of age, Jaehaerys was no longer such a young man, but he rushed down the corridors as never before. And good thing he’d done so, for the situation inside was indeed so dire, the king was glad for having the good sense to allow neither his wife nor any guard inside with him.

The Grand Maester laid dead in the antechamber, his entire belly opened from a single cut he soon learned had been made by Dark Sister wielded by Baelon’s hand. 

He found Alyssa pacing her rooms, groaning in pain and Baelon by her side, neck and hands still bearing residual stains of the Grand Maester’s blood as if he’d wiped himself just enough in a hurry and changed his clothes at some point. 

But despite the shocking scene, what surprised him most was Aemon’s presence, sword in hand, standing guard on the doorway to Alyssa’s bedchamber staring at the entrance the king had just used to the antechamber. 

He barely recognized Baelon that day.

His second son was bold, happy, charming, brave - though a bit reckless - , hot-tempered and as level headed and serious as he was sarcastic and devilish. Which is why the worry etched on his face as he followed Alyssa around the room while she gripped his arm now and then for balance brought a cold dread down the King’s spine.

“If another man thinks to suggest cutting my sister open for a child, he’ll have to kill me first. If you send another one of those rats, I’ll kill them too.” Was all Baelon said when questioned of what happened there. If Alyssa paid their exchange any mind, it didn’t show, for the girl seemed to be able only to curse or growl. 

Suffice to say, no other maester was sent to attend Alyssa and the first child came at the hour of ghosts with the second following an hour later, after what she claimed to have been the worst pain she’d ever felt. 

No help from the Citadel was truly necessary. The Grand Maester’s additional assistance was simply an agreement Jaehaerys made with the Citadel, as the Royal Family was already supplied with their own physicians from the Guild since Aenar Targaryen settled in Dragonstone. The agreement had been a show of goodwill between the Crown and the Order who was so closely tied to the Faith of the Seven after Maegor’s reign of terror, and the king thought that extra men learned in Westerosi politics and healing could only benefit his council and his ever growing family’s well being.

Both children came out with their family’s features and pale hair, straight silver white for the boy, much like Aemon’s, and silver-gold curls for the girl, like Baelon’s. They would be the perfect picture of what one expected for newborns, if not for a few things. The skin over their spines was scaled, with more scales fading out the further it went from there, nearly translucent thin membranes joined their fingers, irises that glowed an inhuman fluorescent bright purple sometimes and the same vertically slit pupils one found on dragons.

Or the statues of their dragon Gods.

Though that was not what caused his son and daughter pain. If he knew Alyssa, she would not bat an eye so long as her children were healthy.

While the boy came hale, healthy and screaming, the girl never drew breath. 

Despite their draconic features, they were beautiful. Not the same kind of beauty all babies possessed, but one that left the king in awe and thinking their looks otherworldly, almost divine, beautiful as no one had the right to be.

But try as their healers might, the girl would not live. Though still as she was, she was beautiful, if he’d not stayed there to see her born dead he would think his granddaughter asleep.

The boy was named Daemon and the girl Rhaenyra, for Alyssa insisted her daughter have the name they chose for her. No Targaryen had received those names since they came to Westeros until now. 

His son and daughter loved the tales about their ancestors and how they came to bond with dragons. So when it was confirmed that Princess Alyssa was most likely carrying twins, she decided her children would be named for the first Valyrians to have ever mounted a dragon. That they were twins believed to be demigods in the Motherland, just added to her favouritism towards the names, for their Old Blood from the Gods’ own veins, the stories said, was precisely what allowed them and their descendants the bond with dragons.

How ironic that they, as their namesakes, would always be demigods, it seemed. 

Or at least the boy is. 

He could not find it in himself to celebrate his grandson as much as he might have in other circumstances. His House had another boy to secure their line, afterall. But beside the fact that the little girl was born dead, the king found many causes to worry. 

The Grand Maester’s death by the hand of Baelon and having Aemon there in support of his deeds was, surprisingly to many, the smallest of his concerns. There would be problems, sure, but those were merely political and, well, a powerful and influential Order the maesters might be part of, but the Citadel was still made of just men. 

And what could men do against their dragons? 

No, what truly worried him was his new grandson and his twin sister. 

His dead twin sister. 

Had they been born looking like anyone else, the king would only have cause to mourn for his granddaughter's death. 

But these were no ordinary children. 

His grandmother, the Conqueror Queen Rhaenys was born that way. Many knew Visenya to be the warrior amongst the three, but few knew the true nature of the youngest Conqueror. 

Lady Valaena Targaryen laboured for the last time with success when she gave birth to the dragon twins, Aelyx and Rhaenys. They were called so because of their draconic features, much like the ones his new grandchildren possessed.

Rhaenys would go down in the history books as being kind hearted, graceful, playful, curious and impulsive, with a mischievous personality who loved flying so much that she did so more than both of her siblings combined. While all of those were true, few knew of the madness that had plagued the Queen. 

Jaehaerys would admit to very little good being said about Visenya, but he could not deny how great a job she and Aegon had done in shielding Rhaenys’ reputation, for that was a truth known only to those of his House and a very chosen few from the Guild and priests who followed The Flame Eternal. 

Rhaenys had been a true delight as a child, their ancestor’s  journals said, she and her twin brother were absolutely beautiful, more so than any other Valyrian could boast to be. 

They were irresistible and impossible not to love. 

Well, either love or envy, be jealous or possessive, hate them. 

While the vast majority of people could not resist to love and adore them, others felt something else quite strongly. The king knew not what caused some to differ, but knew it was impossible to remain indifferent to them. 

He supposed he would have to find out the reason now that Daemon came out as he did.

It was said that they worked as a single unit and transitioned seamlessly from one aspect of their personalities to another, but never at the same time. Whenever one was bold, loud, reckless and mean, the other was restrained, quiet, careful and kind. It was both a wonder and a fright to behold. 

At the age of five, they both were already faster and stronger than children much older than them, at the age of eight they could both boast to match the strength of men grown. And that was without counting their more impressive abilities. 

It was impossible to keep a secret from either, for they saw, smelled and heard what men could not. Dragonlords were known to enjoy scorching hot baths, but the twins took that to increasing extremes by the day, so much so that Lord Aenar ordered a special bathtub built for each that could keep fire running under the tub at all times.

If people thought it funny or adorable to see any twins finishing what the other said, Aelyx and Rhaenys seemed to go the extra mile and appeared to share a single mind as they often seemed as if they were having an entirely private conversation without speaking at all. 

While it was Visenya who went down in history as the Warrior Queen, few knew Rhaenys had at one point joined her twin brother in practice by her own free will when the boy began his training, but it was a habit she would not take into adulthood without Aelyx. If out of genuine disinterest or grief, none would ever know. 

It was still three moons for the twins to turn nine when tragedy fell over House Targaryen. Aelyx was found dead, with his throat slit open and his heart missing from his chest and his sister was never the same. 

Lady Valaena wrote that the little girl had been in the gardens with her mother and sister when she screamed and clawed her own throat and chest as if she had been under attack, and as soon as she stopped, bolted to the castle in search of her brother. None ever found the culprit, but many blamed the murder on an act of hate prompted by superstition ignited on the island since the first septons settled nearby a few years earlier and began preaching to smaller audiences. Since the boy’s murder, every septa and septon had been banished from Dragonstone in pain of death.

Rhaenys was never the same since then. 

The joyful girl, while she kept her inherent charm over all those who met her for it could not be helped, became, in private, increasingly erratic, easy to offend and even easier to anger, but above all she grew more reckless by the day, and at times, Visenya wrote, bordering on suicidal. She claimed to feel her best when alone, though that was when the strangeness began. She would laugh or cry at the invisible presence only she could see or even hold entire conversations with herself. When Aegon decided to conquer Westeros under his banner, most would be surprised if they knew it was Rhaenys who had been his first volunteer into war, not Visenya. 

She was hard to kill, but not entirely invulnerable, and she loved to try and find out just how much. 

Until she did. 

Queen Rhaenys’ death had been attributed to a lucky arrow that pierced the Queen mid-flight and caused her to fall from Meraxes while attacking Dorne. She was prone to flying either bareback or unchained from her saddle after all.

A foolish thing, Jaehaerys always thought, but easy enough to explain and much less damaging to their reputation. 

The truth that only his family knew was that she most likely jumped. 

Her siblings wrote down a few instances their sister was seen doing so now and then, jumping off cliffs to swim or from her dragon straight into the ocean or to simply land first on hard ground without having Meraxes come down from the air. Never before had she done that from such a great height until then, though.

There was not an ounce of doubt in Aegon’s words written down after Queen Rhaenys was declared dead that she had jumped out of free will. But it was Visenya’s account on the matter, written years later and his sister Rhaena’s words that truly convinced the king of the Conqueror’s opinion. 

The next child born like that had been his uncle Maegor and his twin sister Maegara, two years after Rhaneys’ death leaving behind two children, Aenys and Alyssa, born almost three years apart and both named after Aelyx.

Having lost a brother born just like Maegor and seen what it did to the remaining twin, Aegon and Visenya were hellbent on keeping both children alive. Thus, they began to acquire every bit of information regarding their children’s kind from the depths of their libraries and the Guild to the ends of the known world. 

Their efforts, however, would be in vain, since, before their third nameday, Maegara would be found dead in her bed missing a heart. 

And, like Rhaenys, Maegor would never be the same. 

While Aegon had looked for culprits in nobles and commoners alike, Visenya turned her hatred to the Starry Sept and raised her son to do the same. 

Rhaenys was said to have changed only after losing Aelyx, but since Maegor was so young when his twin died, in truth, no one knows if he would have grown to be different. As history has it, he was a quarrelsome man, violent, quick to take offense and slow to forgive and his wroth inspired fear. While Rhaenys became volatile, Maegor grew up that way, showing cruel tendencies early in his childhood and increasing powers by the day. 

As his aunt and her twin, he was charming when he wanted to be, of course, and despite his rigid and unyielding nature, many who knew him flocked to his side, though he trusted none save his mother.

His death was a mystery to all, for a man of such formidable abilities could not possibly be overpowered by a group of soldiers, much less a single assassin or a woman. Jaehaerys - and Rhaena -  always thought that Maegor met his end the same way as Rhaenys, by his own doing, for by the end of his life, he too was said to be cursed by the same mad loneliness his mother’s sister developed. In his last years, he often spoke to himself and listened only to advice none else could hear. Visenya wrote down her worries that he would go as her sister did, and to Jaehaerys, that’s what happened. 

These past occurrences were what worried the king so much now that Daemon had been born missing a twin. Unlike Aelyx and Maegara, Baelon and Alyssa’s little girl never drew breath. He hoped that difference was enough for his grandson to not be plagued by the same cruel madness that cursed Maegor. 

Gods help them if it did. 

“What is it you want me to tell him, then?” Rhaena asked from her seat in his solar on the couch across from him. He’d summoned her from Dragonstone the same day Alyssa gave birth. 

“All of it. Everything you told me”  

That surprised his sister it seemed, for she raised a brow inquisitively.

“I never thought I’d see the day you would want to share superstitious tales of gods on earth with your sons. They’ll think you a mad fool.” She was condescending now. “Even if you believe it, you were never one to enjoy sharing power, brother.”

In truth, the king would have called only Aemon, he would be king after all, and if the little boy became a problem, it was him who would decide what to do, come what may. 

But he knew his sons. If Baelon was as loyal to his brother as anyone could be, Aemon returned it tenfold. His heir would not keep a damn secret of this magnitude from his younger brother if his life depended on it, much less if it concerned Baelon’s own son. 

No. Calling one and not the other would only sow discord between the two with their father, and Jaehaerys could not allow it. Not now, or ever. If Daemon ever grew to be as powerful as Maegor and Rhaenys had been, they would need to raise him well.

“Yes.” The king admitted “But I grow older by the day. Before long, this will be a problem for Aemon to handle. And Baelon.”

“That’s true.” she conceded. “But why call me then? You can speak to your own children yourself.”

That had crossed his mind. Jaehaerys would never admit, but he feared he would not be believed when he told his sons about some second hand knowledge acquired from his sister’s lips, old tomes and journals. And this could not be allowed. 

Rhaena, on the other hand, had not only seen Maegor in person, lived with Visenya who in turn was raised with Rhaenys, but also was living proof that dark magic existed and worked, for the woman did not look a day older than she did when she married their uncle. That was still without counting her stunt by resisting fire for much longer than any one should. 

“Your words on this are much harder to dismiss.” He shrugged. “Usually, people age, Rhaena. You did not. If your stunt with fire convinced me all those years ago, Gods’ willing, it will convince my sons as well.”  

She said nothing, simply laid back where she sat and waited with him for her nephews. 

“You called for us?” It was Aemon’s voice. 

Both of his boys stood by the door, Baelon looked as if he’d not slept for the past three days, Aemon did not look much better. 

It was Rhaena who spoke first.

“He did. My brother wanted me to tell you about my time around someone born like Daemon. He worries your boy will turn out like my second husband” She began, much to his exasperation “or our grandmother.” He could count in three fingers the amount of people with enough balls to speak over him. Much to his displeasure, Rhaena was one of them. “If the tales that reached me and the dragons hounding the city for days now is anything to go by, I believe he might be.”

As he predicted, such was the wrong thing to say in Baelon’s presence of late, for any sign of exhaustion gave way to anger. 

“And what would you know of having children, aunt? You barely raised your own.”

Jaehaerys didn’t know what Rhaena expected to hear back from him, but it was definitely not that and it showed.

Serves her well.

“You know nothing….”

“Enough!” The king interfered, rising. Though his voice was firm, he did not scream, he seldom had to. “I will not have this petty trade of insults. That’s not why I called you here and it will serve no purpose!” 

No one dared speak over him this time. 

“Sit down!” He commanded, but as Rhaena and Aemon made to obey, Baelon only huffed and looked at the door, as if pondering whether or not to leave. “You too, Baelon. It concerns your son, after all.”

Baelon’s expression hardened as he turned to stare at his father. 

“I will not sit here and suffer insults to my son! Alyssa is already worried sick over him after those fucking hags that should be attending them ran their tongues. There’s enough from court as it is, I will not have my own family turn on him as well!”

In other circumstances, Jaehaerys might have snapped at him, but the past few days had not been easy for Baelon, and the king was known as The Wise for a reason. Baelon’s daughter had died, a Septa and few of the maids more devoted to the Seven who’d been assigned to assist Alyssa and her newborn had been shocked or horrified at the child’s inhuman traits and denounced him as an abomination, there had been the incident with the Grand Maester and to top it all ever since Daemon and the little girl - Rhaenyra - were born, two unclaimed dragons began to hound the city and fly around the keep. One was Meraxes, and the other the long necked red dragon that hatched from the same egg as the old mount of Queen Rhaenys.

He would not be surprised if Baelon had not slept at all since his twins were born. He knew Aemon, Jocelyn and Daella spent all their time the past few days with Alyssa and her husband, he’d been informed of such. 

His wife, however, wanted nothing to do with their grandson. He urged her to go meet the little boy, and she did. Once, and never again. 

“No one will touch him, brother. You have my word on that” Aemon spoke from where he was seated. Jaehaerys had no doubt left in him that his heir meant to enforce exactly what he promised his brother. “You won’t know what you must defend your family from until you hear it all.”

Aemon really is good at this. He’ll be a good King.

“No one is here to attack your boy, son.” The king decided to take Aemon’s approach and to his satisfaction, it worked. Baelon nodded and took a seat beside his brother. 

“You heard the stories of how my grandmother and her twin brother were born much like Daemon, yes?” He decided it would be best to remind them of Rhaenys first, rather than Maegor. “While none of us have met her, Rhaena spent time with her sister, Visenya and…..Well, you’ve heard the stories. After Rhaenys died and Maegor and Maegara were born like Rhaenys and Alyx, Aegon and Visenya went a long way in search of answers and ways to avoid my grandmother’s fate to befall their children. I have some tomes and books in here, but most of it is in Dragonstone. Rhaena, as you know, lived some time with both Maegor and Visenya, and she learned quite a lot from them.” He paused. “A lot of it is quite surreal, in truth, but as you must have noticed, it’s not natural not to age, and my sister looks as if she were your age, not my elder, so keep an open mind”

As his sons said nothing, Rhaena began her tale. 

Rhaena had spent more and more time with Visenya after the Conqueror-Queen defended her from Maegor. She taught her a great deal about Blood Magic and everything she learned over the years about demigods in hopes of helping her son. Much to her disappointment, there seemed to be no hope, for what kept one of them sane was their counterpart, and like Rhaenys’, Maegor’s had died. 

“She said we all come from demigods, though the further down the bloodline the weaker the magic becomes to cause dragons to hatch or us to bond with them. Usually one or some comes after a few generations, incest has kept our bloodline pure enough to keep the ability to mount them but not for new eggs to be laid or hatch.  In Valyria, there were many of them in any of the forty families, from many Gods, the child came with powers unmatched by the regular Valyrians, even the dragonlords, like Daenys. Visenya believed her to be a demigod, a blessed daughter from Tessarion from a time the Goddess saw the world of men through the eyes of one of her parents. They were mostly a single child, though, and the last a couple ever had. There’s one exception, though.”

She paused to take a sip from her wine, and looked at Baelon.

“Which is?” His second son prompted, slightly skeptical but equally captivated by Rhaena’s story.

“Twins. Demigods are almost a mirror of their, let’s say, divine parents. Caraxes and Meraxes, much like themselves, always have theirs in pairs. Twins. A boy and a girl, every time. Like the exact Gods that gave them life through a couple of humans of pure dragon blood. Like you and Alyssa” 

“Your tale has one flaw. My girl did not live” His face was a mask of coldness. With two sons already, Baelon had been hoping for a girl, all knew it, for he had not made it a secret.  

“Yet.” Rhaena drank from her cup again. “I know not why only the girl died…”

“Rhaenyra! Her name is Rhaenyra” Baelon corrected her.

Rhaena did not look pleased to be interrupted, but merely pursed her lips and refrained from commenting on it. 

“Very well, I don't know why Rhaenyra died. Usually, the mother is said to experience a surge of energy and strength throughout her pregnancy. The labours are not meant to be hard for the mother is already stronger from the children’s blood alone. I cannot speak of what changed for Alyssa. It is unusual. Visenya herself was said to have not abstained from neither sword practice nor flying during hers, and nothing happened to her. The same for Valaena, though she was not keen on swordsmanship. In any case, they are created to exist together, one cannot exist if the other is dead. One mirrors and enhances what the other can do. They are very powerful, too much to exist in a single being, they cannot handle it. That’s why Maegor killed himself and Rhaenys jumped from her dragon’s back.”

Baelon got up from his seat and poured himself a cup of wine. 

“This is a nice tale, aunt, but even you must hear the sound of nonsense it rings.” He snorted.

Jaehaerys was silent the whole time, he had heard this many times before. It was his sons’ turn. 

“Do I look like I am close to sixty, Baelon? I am over a decade older than you parents, and yet any would think me your sister”

It was Aemon who spoke now. 

“Should I take it you are a demigod then, blessed with eternal youth? Daughter of Syrax perhaps?” Aemon never lost his composure, condescending mockery was his usual choice. 

Rhaena only smiled, and if he knew his sister, there was a show soon to come. 

“Why, nephew, I am flattered, but the Goddess of Passion and Beauty has not blessed my parents with a child of her blood. My long lasting good looks come from much closer to home through less divine means.” Rhaena surely knew she was not being believed, for she moved closer to the fireplace now. The king would bet his crown he knew what she was about to do. 

And she did not disappoint when she shoved her uncovered arm fully into the fire. 

“What the fuck?” Came Baelon’s exclamation as he rushed to Rhaena. Aemon did much of the same, though he remained silent. 

“How….? Impossible!” Came Aemon’s exclamation. “You do not burn!”

His sister laughed, pulling her hand back and walking back to her seat. 

“I do burn. Only much, much slower than the rest of you.” She exposed her arm to show them the emerging redness, though there was not a hint of bruise. 

“How?” Aemon asked again and she shrugged. 

“I don’t know, really. Visenya took to teaching me all she knew about magic and demigods. She made me give out blood now and then. Most of it I used myself, for rituals and such, but she took a vial once before I noticed, I think, and then one day she told me I would not age and burn as others did.”

Even Jaehaerys was curious now. When they spoke about it, Rhaena never told him that. “Why would she do that for you?” he asked. 

“She thought one day others like her children could exist in our family, and since she would most likely be long dead, someone else should know of it and” she rolled her eyes “spread the word. I was all she had, anyways”.

His sons no longer looked so skeptical. He was glad to have called Rhaena for this, what she did in the fire convinced him one, he knew it would convince Aemon and Baelon. 

“You said one of them could not exist if the other was dead. But Daemon is alive and going strong. Even Rhaenys and Maegor lived for years past their twins” Came Baelon’s question. 

“The girl never lived yet. It’s quite different from dying” 

It was Aemon’s turn to speak now.

“I don’t follow”

Rhaena exhaled and began her speech again. 

“Everything I read about this matter and heard from Visenya as well, points out there are some differences where death is concerned for them. If things go well, both of them are born and grow together, but they do not age past the point where their bodies reach maturity, at around eighteen, give or take a couple years. Their maturing increases as they are closer to that age, but once their bodies reach it, it stops there and they no longer age, or die of old age like I one day shall.” She paused to let them take it in. 

“What will happen to my son then? My daughter is…” Baelon looked down as he could not finish his sentence. 

“Well, nature has a way around it. For your son at least, it was not an option for my uncle.”  

“What is it?” Baelon did not take his eyes from his aunt now, and he was holding the goblet with such force, that the king knew he would have broken it by now had it been glass.

“The time before they reach maturity is when they are most vulnerable, if one could call a demigod that. They are not yet so……durable, or strong, fast and, well, powerful. Not to their full potential anyways. After that, they are very hard to kill. So if one of them dies before, like Aelyx or Maegara, the other goes down the way Maegor and Rhaenys did. Mad, unbalanced and craving death.”

“You said there was a way out for Daemon.” Aemon asked. The look of pure desperation on Baelon’s face made the king feel true sympathy for him. While Rhaena was not a cruel woman, she did not even try to make things easier for others, even when she should. 

“There is. ” She said rearranging herself on her spot. “You see, the girl - Rhaenyra” she corrected herself at the look Baelon gave her “she never lived. As I said, nature has a way around it. The next child born in our family will be the little girl you lost. For  the balance of nature’s sake. Had she been born alive and then died, there would be nothing to do. But since she didn’t, she must exist since her brother does. As for Daemon, he’ll age normally until she does, and since she’s to be born later, he’ll only stop aging when she reaches maturity. If they both survive until then, they’ll be nigh impossible to kill.”

That was not what the king expected at all. 

When Jaehaerys called Rhaena here, he had hoped she would tell his sons about the peculiarities and everything Maegor was once able to do. He did not want to risk raising the boy to grow up like his uncle had. Never did he think there was another way around it.

A better way, depending on how one looked at it. And a much worse one from another angle.

As much as he hated Maegor, he had to admit his uncle was formidable. And that was without ever reaching his full potential. 

He both feared and looked forward to this new future that now became an option. His family already possessed power unmatched by anyone in the world. If they could have more, well, that would only strengthen them. 

There was also the matter of the dragon eggs. Rhaena had once told him that the tales went that no eggs were ever laid by dragons until the first demigod twins to have become dragonlords had children of their own. He brushed it aside as superstition then, for those half-gods, if they ever existed, perished a long time ago. But now he had one in his family, two if the girl was born once more, and the king could not help but worry that the source of their great power now relied on a single girl existing again. 

And the more he thought about it, the more pieces came together, like the fewer eggs being laid by their dragons every year. How long has it been since he’d received word of a new egg laid by any dragon? 

Two years? Five? 

“What can we do?” It was the king’s turn to ask. 

Rhaena shrugged, “Wait. There’s no way to predict when she will come, or from whom. Most likely not from either you nor Alyssa”

“What do you mean not from Alyssa and I? Rhaenyra is our daughter!” Baelon looked exasperated. 

“Just what I said. Demigods are always the last children a couple can have. The Gods’ blessing to mankind, if you wish. Daemon is the last child you’ll have. She might fall with child again, though rare, it’s said to have happened, but no child will be born alive. If she even manages to go very far with the pregnancy that is.”

Baelon’s face finally fell. He looked crestfallen at those news. 

He and Alyssa had often declared they would outdo their parents in having children, and how much his daughter seemed to love every time she discovered to be with child. 

Jaehaerys decided to continue, there was nothing he could do or say to change that. 

“I don’t understand. How can the girl come from other parents?”

“That is a mystery which we might never know the answer to. She’s a demigod, Targaryen on both sides. Whoever has a child next, it will be her. Inside the family, that is.” She repeated. “It’s always amongst closest kin and from a couple with dragonlord blood on both sides. So we know at least she won’t be Jocelyn’s child, or Rhaenys’, even if she marries back into the family.”

At the mention of his first wife and daughter, Aemon stiffened, but said nothing as there was no real insult levied against them, only the truth. He might love the girl and her mother, which the king knew he did, but the sad truth was they would never fully be one of them. Not like Daella and Aemma.

Baelon however, had gone silent, and, who could blame him? 

In a matter of only a few days now his world has been turned upside down, but now he learned that the daughter he wanted so much and had been taken from him, might return. Only she would not be his.

Baelon was not in a position to be envied right now. 

“Is there more?” Aemon asked as his brother seemed unable to. 

“Yes.” Came Rhaena’s answer. “But perhaps we should continue tomorrow. This is enough as it is for a day.” she continued in a rare show of compassion. 

He nodded. 

“Baelon.” Aemon called his brother. “Whatever comes next, we’ll protect your son.” Baelon nodded. “And your daughter, whenever she comes”.

Chapter Text

Alyssa 

Alyssa had never been so worried in her life as she’d become after Daemon was born.

She had also never been so out for blood in her life. 

And pissed off at her mother either. 

Alysanne Targaryen acted as if the Seven Devils themselves had come into the world in the form of a little babe. Alyssa swore she saw both fear and relief in her mother’s eyes when she learned that her little girl didn’t live. 

Her only daughter. Her Rhaenyra. 

Good Queen my arse. 

When her labours started she was grateful that she would soon be able to see her feet once more, or close her legs together again when she wished - she was rebellious, with little regard for propriety or delicate manners, and perhaps eccentric, not a barbaric she-man.

When the hours turned into a day and then days, she thought she would die. Never in her life had Alyssa felt such pain, even when she first faced this trial with Viserys’ birth and both him and Aegon came without fuss. She was certain she would die.

But she learned terror when that wretched maester dared to suggest she be sacrificed for the babes. There was nothing in this world she wouldn’t do for her children, nothing. But to die as that rat suggested was a step she could never imagine herself taking, and an act of cruelty that left her appalled and disgusted. She would give her best until her last breath to bring her children into this world, but Alyssa didn’t think a woman should be made to sacrifice her life for it in such a manner. She was not religious, but she thought that at least for this, it was the Gods’ will to decide. The Princess did not think for a second Baelon would allow such a thing, but in that moment she felt ordinary and helpless, and Princess Alyssa Targaryen liked it not. Had she been married to another who loved her any less, as so many ladies were, being a Princess of the Blood would not save her from the butcher’s knife. It did not save her namesake Queen Alyssa from Rogar Baratheon’s greed for a second dragonblooded child afterall, and she was the Dowager Queen and the King’s mother at the time. She could not understand how her parents could forgive the man for such a thing, if it were up to her, he would have been fed to their dragons. To think that the very man assigned to care for her health and wellbeing, of the health of royalty would think to do such a thing….

It would forever sit ill with her. 

She knew Baelon would defend her, of course, he was her twin-flame, the other part of her very soul. But when he did not think for a split second to pull Dark Sister and split the slimy old maester open, she was surprised to learn how much more she loved him, a feat she did not think possible, for without him, Alyssa knew she would die of sorrow.

If such events might cause other women to forever refuse to have children, Alyssa decided then and there she would give Baelon however many her body could carry. 

And she would survive this day to raise her children with him. 

My beautiful twins.

She recalled her father had been called at some point later, but what the man said or did was a blur in her mind, for she could not have cared less when she was delirious with pain. 

The midwife’s scream, however, she would never forget. 

Baelon threw the woman out and left the old cunt under Aemon’s watch outside. 

What her brothers did with the old wench, she never learned or cared to ask.

“GIVE ME MY CHILD” Alyssa shouted to the healer who’d been dumb enough to take her baby away from her reach. “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE HURTING MY CHILD, OR YOUR CORPSE WILL BE FEEDING MY DRAGON BEFORE THE DAY IS OVER.”

The man, however, in the end, meant them no harm. He merely took the boy away from the commotion, but Alyssa was in panic. A maester tried to kill her, a woman screamed and had been thrown out and then someone took her baby from her. The princess never felt such rage in her life. Or so much fear for her newborn.

Newborns. She corrected herself, for she would never forget her little girl, the only daughter she ever had. 

She loved her sons fiercely as she never thought to be possible, but she would be the world’s greatest liar to say she was not as excited as Baelon over the chance of having a daughter. 

She was never good with things most girls cared for, but it could not be so hard to learn how to do a girl’s hair if it were for her daughter. Jocelyn would certainly teach her. Or mayhaps Daella, as she’d unexpectedly grown closer to her sister in the past couple of years since she married Aemon. 

But it was not to be, as her fantasy would forever remain only that when her little girl was born an hour after her brother without a single breath of life in her strangely beautiful draconic little body. 

My beautiful girl. You shall never know how much I loved you. The brothers you have and the father who dreamed about you. You’ll never know the joy of flying a dragon.

It was all Alyssa thought as she held the lifeless body of her daughter. 

Though not all of her thoughts had to be true. 

She felt wretched and exhausted, but she decided at least that last wish she could grant her daughter before they took her little body and burned her pyre. 

Alyssa forbade anyone from taking Rhaenyra from her, she was perfect, they both were, absolutely perfect. Though, while Daemon’s chest rose and fell as he breathed, Rhaenyra was still as only the dead could be. Still, the Princess thought never had she seen more beautiful children in her life. Her daughter should know the joy of flying at least once before her ashes were forever confined to an urn in Dragonstone.

She insisted on wrapping Rhaenyra herself after Daemon finally fell into restless sleep in his father’s arms, and made for the door with the little bundle in her arms. 

Alyssa had been excited to take her children up on Meleys, as she had done twice before already, the second she felt recovered enough to mount, but this time she would not have time for that, since Rhaenyra’s funeral would be held in three days. The wait, she knew, was only on her account, for the Princess would only be absent if she was dead.

If Baelon had been exasperated with her at times before, this would have to take the crown, for her brother had nearly lost it when he saw her head to the door in riding leathers less than a day after giving birth.

In the end, she relented, and for the first time since she became a mother, her husband took their child to fly first.

She would take Daemon in no more than a senight without fail, the Princess decided. That would be enough rest for her body. She felt better already, tired of course, but stronger than she’d ever felt before. The bleeding had diminished so considerably, unlike in the past, that startled even her most experienced healers and even herself for she knew it wasn’t the case after giving birth. As far as the usual discomfort that followed birthing a babe, she had only some soreness left, and even then it was very mild. Months later, she would think that whatever made her babies special, also found a way to make her body stronger.

Alyssa waited by the window and watched when Vhagar took to the skies. Oh, how she hated the weeks following giving birth and the restrictions her body imposed on her. It was far less this time, for some reason, but Baelon would not bend on this. Her labour was hard so she would rest and stay in bed until her body healed. The Princess recalled being told a dragon had been hounding the city since her labors started, and had even heard the high pitched screech as she paced in pain. The dragon, her father told them, was the long necked red beast that hatched from the same egg Queen Rhaenys’ old mount had, but unlike Meraxes, she knew he’d never been claimed, save for the closeness little Alyx had with him before the boy was murdered leaving only Rhaenys, just a lady then, to claim Meraxes. She knew not where he nested now, but she could hear his distinct whistle now and then from her rooms. 

What surprised Alyssa, was seeing the enormous silver-white silhouette following Vhagar’s. She considered giving chase on Meleys for a second, for the same day that gave her another son to love had cost her a daughter, she would not lose Baelon too. Her fears would be short lived, however, and were replaced by sadness. Meraxes neither attacked nor roared in anger. No, the only sound heard was the grieving wail of the dragoness that, Alyssa was certain, had lost yet another rider before their time. 

Jaehaerys could decree whatever he wanted, but at that moment Alyssa knew her daughter would have one day mounted the same dragon as the mother of their dynasty. 

And yet only Daemon will ride the red marvell that hatched with her.

She knew in her bones it would be so. Alyssa was not given to superstition or holy omens like her parents, but how else could she explain this? Two twin dragons appeared just as she gave birth to twins. One stayed behind outside the castle, where Daemon was and the other now trailed and wailed after her daughter in the skies.

Neither she nor her husband had found sleep since their children were born for days. They simply couldn’t. Daemon had not been a day old when a Septa tried to end his life. “An abomination”, she claimed, “bound to be returned to the seven hells with his demonic sister.” 

The remaining maesters, she was informed, were forever banned from her care by her husband. Maesters, septons, septas, acolytes and their fucking mothers. She did not like much to have her own brother giving orders concerning her person for, well, anything, but this time she did not protest. As a Princess of the Blood and a dragonrider, Alyssa never had cause to fear anything, until now, not for herself, but for her son. And in the end, she would have done the same thing after all, and, as much as she was loath to admit, her mother would never make a move against Baelon’s order as she would certainly do if they came for her, for Jaehaerys himself would not allow it. 

“It is a husband’s right to command his family as he sees fit.” The King would say. 

What a great load of crap.

Jaehaerys’ added interest in her youngest boy too played in her favor, at least so far as his safety was concerned. Her father was bordering on obsessed with him, he came to see her boy everyday, a most surprising feat, for the man had never shown this much interest in any of his grandchildren. Hells, he’s not been this fond of his own last few children.

“My grandson is meant for greatness, I know it. The Gods themselves sent him to strengthen our line and bring us even more power and glory.” He would say. 

Though any mentions of his sister or when she would one day come again were avoided in her presence, his meaning remained clear even if unspoken.

What an even greater load of crap.

However great her sorrow at the loss of her only daughter, Alyssa decided she would honor her by doing her very best for the only brother who had ever known her alive before they left her womb. Even if he would never remember her, she would ensure her children know of the sister they once had. She refused to spend her life buried in superstition waiting for a child she was not meant to have. Rhaenyra would always have a place in her mother’s heart, but she had other children who would need her, and a very young son who would need the very best protection she could grant him until he could defend himself. 

“What do you mean, I cannot have any more children? Are you daft, woman? I am well now and I feel the strongest I’ve ever been, you superstitious cunt.”

Healer Eleander, a woman in her early forties who’d been in her service since she became pregnant with Viserys sent by Aemon from his own medical staff to attend her pregnancies from the Guild in Dragonstone, sighed looking at her with the same patience one would speak to a child. Condescending bitch. 

She meant what she said, those were the facts as she saw them. Alyssa had never felt so strong as in the days that followed her last birth. She had healed faster too. Too fast, she was informed, and was taking Daemon to fly on Meleys on the fourth day of his life, a day after Rhaenyra’s funeral. Oh, how he loved it. He’d been restless and fussy every day of his very short life up until then, he hated to be alone, and cried every time his company left his eyesight, but would quiet and fall asleep so easily on the back of a dragon, Alyssa took him ever more often, for it was the only time his sleep was so long and deep. Her suspicions for his dragon had proven true, at least in her regard, when the red dragon had been trailing them since their very first flight. 

“A big dragon to protect my little dragon” she would whisper, kissing the silver-white wisps of hair on his head. 

Her renewed vigor was not an isolated case, she thought, for Baelon too had confided in her that never had he beaten Aemon so often in the training grounds. He felt such a surge of strength lately, he damaged half a dozen targets throwing knives. 

Which was why it baffled her that everyone, her husband included to her exasperation, seemed to be of the mind she’d somehow become barren. They hadn’t said it that way of course, but Alyssa could not think of a single reason why she and Baelon would not be able to have children when, by all accounts, they were in their very best physical condition. Except that foolish superstition, of course.

“Sister, I know it is not what you wish to hear, but she speaks true.” Maegelle spoke and Alyssa must have looked as incredulous as she felt, for her sister felt the need to elaborate. “Alyssa, I spoke to Rhaena, then every healer who’s seen you, the priests at the Sanctum and I’ve read everything I could find on this. Every time a child like Daemon is born, no other is born from the parents. With each other or otherwise. I’m sorry, sister, but he really was your last child.”

She scoffed, turning her back to Maegelle and sat by a chaise facing the door where she could see Daemon’s crib in the other room. Her little boy would soon see the third moon of his life, and to her great relief, was growing well and healthy, though the restlessness and dislike to be left alone were yet to leave him.

“Rhaenyra was born last, if you wish to piss me off about my children, at least get the facts straight.” She was growing annoyed now. “This is none of your business, Maegelle. You chose to have no marriage, so don’t be a nagging cunt and stay out of mine.”

Maegelle took three deep breaths before she spoke again.

“Alyssa, what happens in your marriage is your own business. I speak for the sake of those who love you, sister, and do not wish to watch you suffer such a loss again. Or  watch you kill yourself as you try.” 

She could see some sense in her sister’s logic, she was not simple, and Alyssa knew she was loved. But she simply did not believe that silly belief of theirs. Her twins were born a little different, and that was it. It didn’t seem like their unique features would be a problem for Daemon, for while he still looked much the same, she had noticed his unusual appearance was softening and fading by the day, and every healer who examined him was of the mind that her boy was not behind at all in anything expected for a babe his age. If anything, he was more advanced and seemed to develop his skills faster.

“Did Baelon ask you to appeal to me about this?”

“No” Maegelle gave her a censorious look. “But I know you have been consulting the healers to know when you can have a child again.”

This did not sit well with Alyssa. It was one thing for the King and Queen to ask servants about their own children, and, well, they could not lie to a sovereign then. But she would be damned to have spies in her household telling on her to her siblings.

“Are you spying on me?”

“No, Alyssa. I am not. I simply have knowledge your healers thought I could share with them and perhaps talk some sense into you.”

“You better not be.” She took the jug by the center table and poured herself a cup of juice. “And I don’t want you talking to Baelon about this either. He’s been fed enough of this nonsense already, I don’t want you to encourage him more.”

“I hope you can convince father then.”

“Why would you speak to our father about that? You know he’s been acting like a cunt whose only interest in my children is the heirs they will bring us and whatever ‘power’” she made a face saying the word she’d come to loath lately “he thinks Daemon has!”

“He asked if and when you could have any more children, Aly. You can’t. You might get pregnant yet, but you’ll never carry another child to term. And I know you are pigheaded enough to try.”

“You are unbelievable! A superstitious traitor, that’s what you are, and-”

“Draw your claws back, Alyssa, I only confirmed what he already knew. And Baelon. And Aemon.”

“Why would Aemon-”

“Rhaena told all three of them, I reckon. I mean, the King, Baelon and Aemon. Father only wanted a second opinion. Though why he thought I would know something aunt Rhaena does not is beyond me. He must have been truly hopeful.” Maegelle took her sister’s side by the couch. “You must know, he’s quite excited about your last boy, he won’t stop bragging about ‘The glory my grandson shall bring us’. And he’s equally worried he’s got no sister and will end up like Maegor.”

“Your words are not the reassurance you think it is.” Alyssa scowled and tried very hard to keep her voice down so as not to wake her son in the next room. “What a horrible thing to say! My son is a baby, he’s a little boy in diapers and already he’s got a brand from the King and Queen it seems. If I get the smallest hint of something I don’t like, I’m taking my children and moving with Baelon from here. And we’ll take all our four dragons too!”

Maegelle frowned, obviously confused. 

“Four?” 

“Vhagar, Meleys, Sunfyre and Daemon’s dragon.” She clarified, matter of factly. Her answer, however, seemed to amuse her sister. 

“You are so certain Daemon will bond with the Blood Wyrm?”

The Blood Wyrm was how the people took to calling the red dragon that took residence in King’s Landing since her son was born. As he’d never been claimed, he did not yet have a name, and Alyssa thought her son should have the honor of doing so when he grows older and finally rides him as she knew he would.

“Of course, he will.” She rolled her eyes. Surprisingly, only her father seemed to be of the same mind as her. Baelon was of the same mind as Aemon, that things might come to pass that way, but neither encouraged her expectation since they thought it could be a coincidence and Daemon’s egg could still hatch, given how hot it always was. “He stalks him every time I step outside with him. Every single time, Maeg. If Daemon is on the ground, his dragon is flying above around the city. If I take him flying, he trails after us everywhere. I swear I can hear a high pitched whistle if I keep him indoors for too long. And he even let me pet him once when I was with Daemon.”

Alyssa instantly regretted saying that last bit when she saw her sister’s expression. That was a little secret between herself, Meleys, Daemon and his dragon, and she knew Baelon would bristle at her for the risk of approaching a riderless dragon. 

“Don’t make that face, he was calm and friendly and I had Meleys on my back.” She defended herself. “If you tell Baelon I will strangle you with the cords that hold your robes closed.”

Maegelle only chuckled, raising her hands in surrender before changing the subject. 

“At least father won’t be pushing you to have anymore children now. It is the rest of us who must suffer the constant badgering to reproduce.”

“You are a priestess.” Alyssa rolled her eyes making a face of contempt, she would never understand why her sister would give up sex and devote her life to fucking prayer. “He knows you can’t have children anyway.”

“The man is in a frenzy, sister. He even hinted that I could leave the Sanctum and marry a brother. He already gave Aemon two wives, he can do the same for his other sons. Can you believe that?”

“You are not marrying Baelon.” She issued the warning in dead seriousness, but, in truth she did not think she really had to.

“Of course I’m not. I have no wish to marry, Alyssa.” Maegelle took her hand. “But if it makes you feel better, Baelon shut it down at once and reminded His Grace, the King, that his blood marriage with you doesn’t allow for any more wives and that you both vowed to never remarry should you outlive the other. Not to mention, he does believe he’s not going to have any more children, so remarrying would be moot anyway.”

Alyssa huffed and drank the juice from her cup. It was good to produce milk, she was told, though every type of wine and liquor she favored were banned from her for however long she chose to breastfeed her son at the risk of harming the little boy. 

She liked it not, and frankly was unsure whether or not her healers were pranking her. Alas, she would not jeopardize her son. 

“Aly, why don’t you get a wet nurse if you miss drinking so much?”

Her contempt for the offending beverage must have been too evident in her face for Maegelle to have seen through it.

“And give another superstitious old bitch a chance to try and kill my son again? No.” Alyssa looked at her sister as if she was simple, then her tone softened. “It is not so bad. And I quite like doing it. Truth be told, if I knew it was like this, I would have cursed our mother’s propriety to hell, and done it for Viserys and Aegon too.”

It was true. She was a mother twice over by the time Daemon was born, and had never considered nursing her children until now. It was simply unnecessary, and Alyssa never paid it much mind since even her own mother had never done so. She never thought herself a bad mother for that. On the contrary, she was always well rested and available to see to her boys needs personally, spend quality time with her family instead of delegating everything as most nobles did and she took great pride in knowing she was good at it and could rub in the face of every hypocrite who doubted her dedication to her family when Baelon chose to marry the improper sister. Or those who were relieved that the Spring Prince took her from the marriage market and saved the Realm from having her as Aemon’s Queen.

“Mother! Mother!” She heard Viserys’ excited childish voice right before she saw her two boys storming into the rooms and rushing to her. 

“Hello, my little speeder.” At six years old, Viserys was only a little taller than Aegon, who at five was fastly catching up to his brother since they were so close in age. That one will be tall, alright.

“Uncle Aemon says we can fly on Morghul with him. Can we? Please, please, please?” Viserys pleaded, holding her face and squeezing her cheeks in his chubby child hands. 

“Yess, momma, we want to fly.” Aegon echoed his brother tucking himself on her other side and tugging on her sleeve.

She laughed. These little moments made her truly happy. 

“A kiss on your mother and you can go.” 

Her words were met with instant compliance, and in a second Alyssa had Aegon kissing one cheek and Viserys the other. 

“And Daemon?” Aegon asked eagerly. 

“Daemon is too small to go with a band of troublemakers, and he’s asleep” She pinched his chubby cheek softly. “I’ll bring you along when I take him next time, yes?”

Aegon pouted, but did not protest further, and Alyssa pushed his silver-gold straight hair back away from his eyes. 

“Are we going then?” She heard Aemon at the door, with a visibly disheveled joyful Rhaenys in tow. From the state of her braids, she must have just returned from flying with her father. “Aly, can you stay with Rhaenys? Jocelyn will come pick her up for luncheon, she’s with mother watching Gael as she holds court.”

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Good morrow, aunt Aly” She heard Rhaenys’ voice. “Can I play with Daemon when he wakes up? I brought a book, I can read to him!” She showed the book in her hands.

“Hello, Rhaenys.” She greeted the girl, patting the place next to her on the couch “I’m sure he’ll love that. We’ll go to the gardens when he wakes up so that Blood Wyrm will stop screeching my ears off and you can read to him, yes?" As her niece giggled she turned to her sons, who had rushed to Aemon’s side. “Obey your uncle.” She said seriously to her children, and almost slipped a smile at their adorable faces nodding, Viserys’ ringlets going up and down as he did. “Aemon, don’t forget to check their chains.”

“Hmmhm.” Aemon hummed rolling his eyes and Alyssa narrowed hers. 

“You better not let my children fall off the saddle.”

“Yes, Princess.” Aemon made a show of bowing exaggeratedly and she scowled. “I shall take great care with them as it is the first time in my life I take a child flying on my dragon.”

Alyssa rolled her eyes and chose to ignore him. 

“And watch for Sunfyre so he doesn’t try to follow you, he’s still small and I don’t want that Cannibal of yours to-” upon her words Aemon cleared his throat and looked at Aegon whose eyes were glued to his mother when he heard his dragon’s name.

“-to startle him.” 

“Yes, yes.”

__________

Aemon 

Aemon was a happy man. He had everything a man could hope for. Parents who loved him, a brother he trusted with his life, two beautiful wives and two equally beautiful daughters. 

His father, however, was forever unhappy with his decision to spare his wives from trying for more children, and more specifically, for sons. 

“At least two more, Aemon. A boy and a girl from Daella for your line.” King Jaehaerys would often preach to his son. “You will be King, son, one girl is insufficient, you need an heir and a strong line. Baleon has three sons already, one of them is Daemon, your line could have at least the sister the boy lost.”

Aemon, however, saw things differently.

Both of his wives had difficult pregnancies, though for different reasons. With Jocelyn it was a matter of incompatibility, seldom Targaryen men married out of their family, for there was no need to do so. It was an irony that Jaehaerys was so obsessed with sons when they all knew dragonlords usually had girls to spare, hence the valyrians long standing tradition of poligamy since before the doom. Their dragons, in addition to that, made it so that in the old Freehold of their fallen kin, men and women were allowed the same legal rights, for dragons cared little for what lies between their riders legs when bonding. 

The truth was he could not find a single instance of a man of their family marrying out in the years since Aenar left Valyria for Westeros. The few times such a match occurred, it was a woman of their family doing so, such as Queen Alyssa and Rogar Baratheon, and to Aemon, the reason became very clear when he learned he was soon to become a father for the first time. 

Being of dragon’s blood, the women seldom found complications from childbearing for their kin or others. But the same could not be said about outsiders, like Jocelyn, carrying a child of dragonblood, even if she too shared some blood with them. 

He feared terribly for her life when she was carrying Rhaenys. Her discomfort seemed disproportionate and was soothed by nothing. Her skin was always too cold to the touch, as if the child sucked all the warmth from her body, or feverish, though regardless of which, no amount of heat would fully warm her, no matter how hot her baths were and the amount of furs covering her body.

The Pale Prince remembered how his aunt turned wife spent more time asleep than awake and could barely keep any food down due to the sickness he was told was common in pregnancy, but that would plague his first wife until Rhaenys left her body. However, seldom did she complain, for Jocelyn Baratheon truly faced her life with a stiff lip. 

Rhaenys had been a great joy in his life. Of course Aemon knew it would be best for many reasons if she’d been a son, for blindness was not a trait that could ever be associated with the heir, but the truth of it was that he could not have cared less for it. By the time his own succession approached, he would be King, not Jaehaerys, and could handle it as he saw fit. And if he named Rhaenys to be his heir, then the Prince would see that she would follow him as the first Queen of Westeros, the lords could hang!

Jaehaerys and Aemon seldom seriously butted heads, they didn’t have to. Father and son would often come to agree on things based on reason and mutual respect, and if not, they both knew in the end there was only one King whose word was law. The one thing his own father didn’t seem to ever get his mind around was the Prince’s lack of insistence in having a son of his blood, for “A King needs an heir”, the elder man would argue. 

Aemon did want a son, but mostly because he already had a daughter. It must be different, no? Rhaenys was as perfect a lady as she was pigheaded and willful, but she never took any interest in the more masculine pursuits he always thought to teach his child one day. Beloved by the Realm, the King and Queen might be, but the royal couple were a controversial figure amongst their own children, for while Aemon and Baelon could boast to have trained with their father in youth, and Alyssa had been the youngest child to fly on Vermithor with the King, the rest of his siblings fell mostly to the care of attendants and servants as their parents duties increased by the day. 

Perhaps it is a consequence of having so many children when one does not want to have time for them all. 

In that regard, at least, perhaps the limitations nature imposed on his wives could be a blessing in disguise to his own little family, however sad it made him at times. 

There was very little in this world he envied others for, but seeing Baelon play with his boys, train them…..it did make him long for a son. 

One that became ever more necessary when Rhaenys was truly proven unable to be a dragonrider one day. 

Aemon did not think for a moment to replace a daughter of his for a son or his own brother, however much he loved Baelon. But Westeros submitted to the dragons and it was them who lent House Targaryen power, it was paramount that the ability be preserved in the main line of succession. He did not think Baelon would usurp Rhaenys had he insisted on keeping her as heir, but the hard truth was that, if not after his passing than one or few generations later, whichever line controlled dragons would certainly go to war for the throne, for what dragonlord would willingly bend the knee to one who was not like themselves?

And they would win. 

Afterall, how could men kill a dragon? 

The Dornish tried with their scorpions when Queen Rhaenys last flew over their lands, and they failed, barely scratching Meraxes’ thick hyde.

His eldest daughter was already more Targaryen than her mother, and it was still not enough.

Rhaenys would always be his first child, the first little Princess he would spoil and who would hold his heart, but without a dragon she could never be Queen. 

The Prince of Dragonstone knew he would need an heir, one that could claim a dragon and pass the ability to do so to their own offspring, and for that he would have to remarry. He would never dishonor Jocelyn by setting her aside, for he did find happiness in his first marriage even if it was not the reason why the union started, so either Jaehaerys could allow him a second wife or he would name Baelon his successor if he had to. 

Aemon was surprised when his own father brought up turning to poligamy. He knew Jaehaerys, much like himself, was still a follower of the Old Faith of their forbearers, but the King was so private in his practice that many in the Realm assumed that, like Alysanne, he too was a devout of the Seven Who Are One. 

While they agreed on his second marriage on principle, Aemon was no fool, he knew what bride his father would suggest, but decided to wait and see where things would go before he acted in haste. 

It was no dislike for Alyssa that prompted him to aid her elopement with their brother, but that would be a betrayal against Baelon he would die before committing. A blind fool knew they were in love, and by the time they got married Viserys already grew in her womb. Added to the fact that not once in his life had he looked at her as anything but the snotty little sister that stalked his brother and that few people tested his temper so much like Aly, there was nothing in this world that would compel him to marry her. 

It was a bit of a puzzle to him how others saw marriage in his family. That Targaryens practiced incest was no news in any part of the known world, but now and then the Pale Prince wondered how people justified it in their own minds. Did they think it was only politics, necessity, preference or depravity? He heard many wonder the reason he would not marry Alyssa, or why it mattered which sibling married who, if in the end, they were all the same so it would make sense to match them by age and get the most of it. 

Aemon came to conclude, people simply couldn’t grasp that his family might do it out of preference for their own or desire to be with each other rather than only convenience or advantage. The Heir was no fool to the necessity of it, of course, for he was seeking to remarry for that exact reason, but for him, the truth was that they simply craved their own. It had been so for thousands of years in their culture and no amount of contact with the foreign ways of Westeros seemed to erase it from them. Even if some lords would wish it. 

The King and Queen had many daughters, he would not lack a match, his sisters were young and he’d have some years to become interested in one of them when the time was right. 

How wrong he was. 

The eldest prince was the most even-tempered amongst his brothers, Baelon and Vaegon had little in common, except perhaps the same impatience with those who did not follow their pace. So it was no surprise that, of the three sons of Jaehaerys, Aemon would be the only one whose presence did not spook their most delicate sister. 

Daella was the shyest person he’d ever met in his entire life, she barely spoke in the presence of others and avoided the most mundane activities to an absurd degree. Yet, with attention and patience she bloomed like the loveliest of flowers. Few people knew her in truth, and aside from Maegelle, Aemon thought only he could count himself amongst those who did. 

He started spending more time with her when they were a lot younger, back when she was first being taught to read, and no matter the Septas lessons and their mother’s dedication, she barely learned anything. 

“I don’t know what is wrong with me.” She lamented, crying alone in a secluded alcove in their family’s private library where Aemon found her then. “I really, really try, Aemon, but the letters mix before my eyes. I cannot make sense of them”

She did learn to read eventually, long after all of her siblings, and still did it more slowly than him, but he came to learn she memorized things quite easily if one had the patience to recite them to her without reproach or censure and found the glyphs of their ancestors easier than the letters in the common tongue. And so they developed a habit that, to this day, remains a secret between brother and sister. At first, Aemon taught her his own lessons, for those were all he knew, but as he grew up and gained access to his own coin, the Prince indulged her in books, texts and songs, mostly in their mother tongue, he knew would be to his sister's taste and helped her through them, reading to her until she memorized it or grasped its meaning. 

What a lovely voice she had, so much it brought their mother to tears the first time his second sister sang for the Queen. 

Aemon had already been married when Jaehaerys ordered Alysanne to find her a husband, and was relieved the King had at least the good sense of letting her choose, for a wealthy brute would simply not be allowed to wed her. 

He would see to it. 

Her husband would be a lucky man and he hoped she would choose well. 

Daella was fifteen and still unwed when he learned their father gave her a deadline to marry someone of her choosing or accept his own choice for her. Having been allowed a second wife, Aemon did not think twice, he needed a wife and she a husband who would treat her with kindness and protect her from the harsh reality of their world. 

It was a pragmatic solution, the Prince told his father, but the truth was, that he looked forward to his second marriage way more than any married man ought to. It was a match he’d been considering ever since the possibility became a reality, she was the eldest after Alyssa after all. But the truth was, that the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. The mere thought of some faceless man touching his beautiful sister made him sick and angry. She was a Targaryen, a princess of the dragon’s blood, and much too precious for some unappreciative greedy man far beneath her station. 

Their wedding date was set by the King with no allowed delay, regardless of his and the Queen’s protests. Daella did have a fragile constitution, and both her mother and betrothed feared she might perish if she carried a child soon. In the end, Jaehaerys would be exasperated with yet another couple of his children, for Aemon refused to let her fall pregnant before she was eighteen. 

And what a gift she would give him. Aemon had seen twenty-five days of his name when he became a father to another girl for the second time. Aemma was the smallest babe he’d ever seen, and yet filled his heart with so much love he thought it would burst. He would be a big liar to not admit he was smitten in love with his second wife by then and Daella’s insistence their little girl be named after him nearly brought the mighty Prince of Dragonstone to tears, to his greatest embaressment. 

He would never forget the pride he felt when, a little over a year later, the blue egg Baelon had yet again stolen for another niece, hatched into a beautiful she-dragon of dark cobalt wings and beaten copper belly, claws and crest who breathed fire of the brightest blue he’d ever seen. It had been a long time since they heard of a new hatchling, come to think of it, the last of such news might have been when the golden beast that became Viserra’s Syrax was said to have hatched some ten or twenty years before. The happy news did not escape Aemon’s notice that his daughter’s egg finally hatched mere weeks after Baelon’s twins were born. A coincidence made ever more evident by the hatching of the pink and golden hatchling that came out of little Aegon’s egg days after Aemma’s and the conversation he was called to attend with aunt Rhaena following the chaos of Alyssa’s last birth.

Despite the easy pregnancy throughout its whole duration, Daella’s water broke a fortnight too early, having a long and troubled labour. Although their daughter was born healthy, she was plagued with childbed fever that prevented her from nursing their newborn, much though she wished to. To his great relief, she did recover but would never bear another child while he had a say in it. 

Daella always looked fragile, but she had blossomed in the years that followed their marriage. Seeing his wife nearly waste away in bed to give him a child put a stop to his pursuit of more children. He would not deprive his daughter of her mother only to please Jaehaerys, she gave him Aemma, and that was all the heirs he needed. Baelon had three sons close in age with her, they would grow up together, and in time, she could choose one to marry. 

He did not understand his father sometimes. The same man had eloped to marry whom he loved and waited years to consummate his marriage in fear he would lose her to the childbed, constantly badgered him to expose his own daughter to the same risk that nearly killed her once already.

No one knew what went wrong, the Prince least of all, but the following years and Alyssa’s last time giving birth would forever leave him with a feeling of distrust he would never again be able to shake off. 

Daella was fine through the whole pregnancy spent in Dragonstone until her labours started suddenly and early. Alysanne arrived the month before her due date and would not be moved from spending all of her time with her pregnant daughter, she even brought her own maesters from the capital to assist the healers he assigned to attend to his wife, whom, he was later informed, saw to her every need daily. 

And then, everything went wrong, and for nearly half a moon Aemon thought he would become a widower. On the twentieth day of Aemma’s life, the Prince of Dragonstone was called to resolve a pressing issue. There had been a fight between master Geraunt and his young acolyte, Gerardys who’d been caught meddling with his master’s poultices for the past senight, both of whom had come from the capital with the Queen to care for Daella. 

He’d been ready to strangle Gerardys with his bare hands if not for the fact that his treatment was indeed effective. Daella no longer had a fever, was eating well again and he even caught her in the nursery singing to their daughter, despite being put on bedrest.

In the end, the dispute between the Geraunt and Gerardys was one of egos. It was not that the young apprentice was poisoning the Princess, but that he completely disregarded the maester’s ineffective instructions and simply replaced the man’s poultices with his own with the knowledge and agreement of healer Eleander, whom Aemon had put in charge of Daella’s care before their mother arrived with the maester who had her absolute trust.

In gratitude for Gerardys, the Prince offered to pay for him to finish his studies in the Guild and a later position in Dragonstone. Aemon was ever distrustful of the Grand Maester after that situation, but to his great frustration, neither of his parents listened to him, so the man retained his position in court, though, thanks to his brother, not for long. 

What fully cemented the Citadel’s decline in his esteem was Geraunt’s handling of Alyssa’s last ever birth with her twins. 

He’d been in his chambers keeping Daella company at the time, she was worried sick her sister’s life would be forfeit, for she too had nearly perished to difficult labours, but could not bear to be there and watch Alyssa die. 

He heard screams and moments later a knight calling him to come at once at Baelon’s behest. Whatever he thought he would encounter it was not the old man’s guts split open in the middle of the rooms. Aemon did not ask what happened, he did not call for guards, he simply moved the body to the antechamber, sent a maid to call for the King and unsheathed his sword to guard the door. 

__________

 92 ac

“Daemon, what in the name of all the Gods are you doing here?” Aemon asked his youngest nephew, who, as of this moment, stared at him startled as if he'd just been caught doing his greatest mischief yet, which for a boy with such a vast collection of those was indeed impressive. 

Well, this might as well be the worst yet.

Aemon was changing in his tent when his squire rushed into his tent to inform him a second dragon had landed on the camp. At first he had thought his imagination was playing tricks on him when he heard Caraxes’ high pitched screech singing in a distance, for Daemon had been an unrelenting pest breathing down his and his father’s neck asking to be allowed to “go to Tarth and kill pirates with uncle Aemon.”

At nine years old, the boy had finally managed to lose the guards his father put around him when he began trying to sneak out to fly alone and mounted the red dragon he named Caraxes and who had been following him his entire life. 

Ever since that day, his nephew would fly every single day, straight out of his sword practice without fail and had finally convinced Baelon to let him squire the year before when he turned ten. “I’m already a dragonrider and I fight with men grown, I’m old enough to start working on my knighthood, so I should squire for a great knight!” the boy argued, and Aemon had to hold his smile not to undermine his brother on that occasion, but the truth of the matter was, that he was right. 

Young still he might be, but if Aemon once had doubts about Rhaena’s tale of demigods, Daemon was growing up to do everything his aunt said he would. 

While still a boy, his youngest nephew had fastly progressed in his training with excellence, soon beating boys much older than him, catching up even to his elder brothers at the age of eight and moving on to training with adult men since finally claiming Caraxes the year before. Baelon delighted in fighting with him, and truth be told, so did Aemon, for the boy was indeed what every man could want in his son. He knew his brother loved all three boys the same, but the pride to see his son become such a young prodigy was impossible to hide. 

Aemon supposed he should have expected his nephew to come up with some vexing shenanigan when he was quite vehemently denied the chance to accompany his uncle to battle, the boy’s dream of fighting a real war was a secret to no one. But still, he could not believe his eyes when he saw the enormous form of Caraxes landing not so far from his own dragon, Morghul.

Being the petulant boy he was, Daemon did not take long to recover, he squared his shoulders and stared at his uncle as confidently as only a child could.

“I’ve come to burn pirates with you, uncle. You are a knight and you’ll need a squire. I am a squire.”

“You are Ser Ryam’s squire Daemon. In King’s Landing, not here.” He corrected Daemon, but then decided he should redirect since he had more pressing matters to think of regarding his nephew. “Does your father know you are here?” 

Aemon did not really need an answer, of course his brother didn’t know of this, or else Daemon would be locked under watch in his chambers, not in his fucking tent!

“Of course he does.” he answered quickly, but Aemon would not have it. Usually his nephews’ mischief only caused him some mild exasperation at worst or endless amusement to watch his brother and sister vexed, he was not their father afterall, aside from caring for their wellbeing should his siblings be absent, the eldest Prince thought he got only the fun and none of the duties regarding his nephews’ scheming. 

But this time he was truly angry with Daemon and did not care to hide it even a bit. 

“I mean, I’m sure he guessed by now since Caraxes and I have not returned.”

“Hells, Daemon!” He fisted his hands and walked to the center table, away from his nephew, lest he smacked him like wanted to. Recomposing himself, Aemon turned back to the incorrigible son of his sister. “Can you imagine the state of your parents' concern for you when you do not return, hm? Have you no regard for them? You reckon how many times they protected you when people have threatened your life?” In other circumstances, he might have felt bad for guilting him like that, Daemon was not his son, it was not his place to lecture him in this manner, but he could not help himself. “And what do you do? At the first chance you abscond like a fugitive, and put yourself in the middle of a fucking conflict! What should I tell your mother if you’d been shot down from Caraxes?”

Daemon seldom looked guilty for anything he got himself up to, but this time he had at least the good sense to look ashamed. 

“I didn’t think of it like that.” The boy said sheepishly, before he switched back to his argumentative self Aemon had begrudgingly grown fond of. “But I would not die uncle, I’m hard to kill. And I’m really, really fast.”

Gods be good, the lad will get himself killed entirely by accident.

Aemon was out of his element here. Never had his daughters done anything that came close to being so reckless, in fact, the worst he could remember was Rhaenys’ failed attempt to give her sister’s hair a trim that most definitely failed or when Aemma took it upon herself the task of resizing over half of her dresses to fit Tessarion. They didn’t run away and landed into a battle camp. He could count in one hand the few things that ever made him lose his temper so much, but today was one of them. 

“You” he pointed a finger at him, closing in the distance with Daemon, feeling mildly in control of himself again “will write you mother and father a letter each informing them where you are at this very instant, and that you are returning straight to the capital come morning and I will do the same.”

“I don’t want to-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Daemon!” Aemon cut him off, bristling. “Your father said you can’t come, then you can’t be here. I’ll fly with you until we see the Kingswood, and then you’ll return on your own with what I hope is the mother of apologies if you don’t want to be spanked at this age anymore.”

“Uncle, that’s ridiculous!” He rolled his eyes, stomping his feet and huffing as indignantly as Aemon had ever seen his nephew. “I don’t want to return, there’s nothing to do there. None of my friends want to train with me anymore, it’s like hitting babies! And the older men who do treat me like a child. I want to be a knight, and I don’t learn anything there! At least I have something useful to see here.”

“You are stronger than many of your opponents and yet you still can’t beat an actually decent knight, only the least skilled and I know that for a fact.” He was indeed calmer now that he had decided what to do. If they left now, Daemon would be flying alone way past dark to reach King’s Landing, and then it would be his balls Alyssa would come after. Aemon couldn’t entirely leave Tarth, so he’d follow Daemon half the way and the boy could traverse the rest alone, he was used to flying around the area there afterall. 

He’d send their messages today, through the fastest bird he could get his hands on. An emberwing falcon perhaps, if they had one, or at least a white raven if not.

The younger Targaryen seemed to take great offense from his uncle’s words, but instead of amusing himself, Aemon decided it was enough of strong emotions for today. 

“You can’t, don’t lie to me, I see you training all the time.” He beat his nephew to it. “That’s not an insult, Daemon, it's an assessment, merely. One day, very soon, I reckon, if you keep this pace, that will change and we’ll need to find a better challenge for you. But right now, brute force alone does not beat skill, and that you have not mastered yet.”

“But I can do it here, there are many soldiers and knights, surely they’ll need to train for battle at some point, no? I’ll train everyday, uncle, I don’t need to go back. And I have Caraxes. Two dragons are even better than one ” the younger insisted. 

Aemon pinched the bridge of nose. Thank the Gods for giving me only daughters. And neither like this one’s mother.

“I will not debate this with you. You will return tomorrow. This is not about-”

“Why? There’s nothing for me there.” He bursted, walking away from his uncle. 

“Your parents are there, your brothers, your cousins.” Your grandparents, Aemon thought, but held his tongue before adding the King and Queen. If Jaehaerys had once thought Daemon to be the golden prize of their House, the sentiment had changed in the past years when no sister was born to replace the twin who died when he was born, and his father had become ever more wary of his youngest grandson, much like the Good Queen. 

“And? Viserys will marry Aemma and be King with her, Aegon will inherit Summerhall after father. I’ll have to find something else to do, and I won’t learn anything in King’s Landing that will be better than seeing battle in here with you. I’ll need to know these things one day anyway, better to start soon.”

Aemon did not know how to respond to that. Daemon’s arguments were, frankly speaking, undisputable in theory. He never realised how much the young Prince already grasped of their family’s dynamic and of his own position in the world. He was just a boy after all. Though it was not a matter of making sense, the truth is he was too young to be here. If he’d been, say, thirteen or fourteen, Aemon might have even talked Baelon into allowing Daemon to accompany him, but in this stance, he agreed with his brother. It was one thing to take the lad to travel as his squire for a tourney, it was very different to drop him, a very young Prince, in the middle of a war camp when they could very well be attacked at any moment.

“There will be a time for that, Daemon.” He looked at the sulking boy making himself comfortable on his chaise, arms crossed and the most displeased look on his young face, and Aemon had to suppress the urge to chuckle. Hells, if you were my son, I might really have let you stay, he thought. “I know you want to stay here, but you’ll return tomorrow.”

Daemon made to retort, but closed his mouth as a pensive expression took over his young face before speaking again. “But I can stay tonight, yes? You said we’d only leave tomorrow”

“Yes.” Aemon narrowed his eyes and grew very serious. “Do not think you are buying yourself time to do something and stay here. You’ll spend the rest of this marvelous day where I can see. You won’t leave my side even to piss and if I think you are up to something, I’ll tie you to Morghul’s saddle and fly you to King’s Landing in chains.”

Daemon made a great effort not to smile, and if his uncle did not have his eyes glued on the little pest’s face, he would have missed the smirk that threatened to show there. 

“Understood.” The boy said, leaping off his chair. “Will you at least show me the place, then? I never saw a war camp, only in books” 

Aemon sighed. 

Gods help me. 

“Write your letters first. One for Baelon, one for Alyssa.” He pointed to his desk. “And I will read it before we send them, so don’t pull anything.”

“Fine” Daemon slumped his shoulders, but obeyed without further complaint. “But can we see the camp after?”

“Yes, I’ll show you around.”

__________

“Well, that pavilion next to mine is Lord Tarth’s and that other structure in the middle is the command tent,” Aemon pointed as he spoke, walking around the camp with Daemon in tow, while his nephew looked everywhere as if his eyes had never landed on anything more exciting. “over there is where the Baratheons and Velaryons are housed. Those grey tents are where the knights are, surrounding us. If we are attacked and the first outer defenses fail, they’ll add another layer of protection for us and give us time to reach our dragons. That’s why they are nesting on that hill where you landed. See how there’s nothing in the way of the path leading there straight from my tent? I can reach Morghul in under two minutes from my tent if I have to. That’s why you must always sleep dressed in a camp like this, you may need to fight or leave at any time, so you can’t be in nightclothes or naked unless you want the enemy to catch you bare arsed, and you need to keep your boots near your bed and your weapons at arms reach. Do you have a dagger with you?”

  The elder Prince looked at his nephew seriously as he said that last part while the boy nodded eagerly, unsheathing his weapon as proof. He didn’t think they would be attacked overnight, but war was unpredictable and if the Myrish were stupid to try and descend upon their camp with two dragons present, he needed to get Daemon out of there and to safety fast. He would go over their escape route with him later, just in case and make sure he’d know where to go to run straight to Caraxes.

Aemon’s anger had dimmed by the time he dispatched the letters to King’s Landing, there was nothing else he could do today, so he made good of his word and took Daemon for a walk around the camp. He would never admit it, but he actually enjoyed it. Neither of his daughters were interested in such things, and even if Aemma, as his heir, took lessons in warfare, she was as disinterested in the topic as someone could be. 

“Father, this is boring and men’s work,” she complained whenever Aemon sent her to such lessons or called her attention to the subject. “I’ll have a husband when I’m Queen, he can see to those things if we are at war. Like you and mother do.”

This frustrated Aemon to no end. She would marry one of her cousins, if Aemon had to make a bet, it would be Viserys it seemed, and even if the lad was more inclined to the martial aspects of governing - and he wasn’t - Aemma was his heir, not any of his nephews, however fond he was of them, it was the sovereign’s duty to see to such things. She would be the one to rule and make these kinds of decisions, not her husband and in the end, for better or worse, the consequences would fall on her shoulders, not to that of her husband or advisors.

The Prince of Dragonstone was proud of both of his daughters and he loved them fiercely, their differences and all, but even if he would never say so outloud, he always thought it was a shame that Rhaenys could not claim a dragon and be his heir instead of his delicate Aemma, for between the two, she was much better suited to lead than her little sister. Even then, he could never imagine bringing Rhaenys to a place like this at eleven years old. Hells, he refused to bring Daemon, and the boy was indeed made of tougher stuff than even Aemon himself!

He always wondered what it would be like if he had a son to teach and train like Baelon did with his boys, but in times like these, with one of his nephews, Aemon discovered little things never before he would have thought he’d miss doing. Like showing an excited Daemon around a war camp and answering the endless interrogatory about why they chose one layout for their camp over another, how could the Myrish be so stupid to attack a kingdom who had dragons, what was the best way to attack the enemy without without hitting their own men with dragonfire, and so on.

Though even Rhaenys would be bored after hearing about the damn watchtowers and tent placement.

Daemon wasn’t. His nephew drank in his every word and kept bombarding him with more and more questions without fail. 

It was late afternoon when the princes joined the lords and commanders, the sun casting a beautiful orange glow across the skies. As agreed, Daemon kept to his uncle’s side diligently and was now inspecting maps and figurines laid over the large table where they planned their attack. Despite his interest in the visual display, Aemon had to hold back a smile when he noticed the boy did not miss a word of what was said by the older men and was clearly making a great effort not to speak - and possibly bombard him with more questions or make suggestions to add him and Caraxes to their attack.

Whatever disinterest Viserys showed to military pursuits was made up by Daemon’s fixation with it. 

“That one will be knighted before the both of us were.” He would often joke with Baelon whenever they saw Daemon in the training yards. Which was often.

Aemon thought that his second nephew was the one that most resembled him in their level temperament and ironhold over self control. Aegon was the more reserved of Baelon’s sons. There was no denying he would become a greatly skilled warrior one day very soon. At six-and-ten his training progress was quite impressive and he had the discipline for that, albeit less obsessive than Daemon. The lad was quiet, but observant, he listened more than he spoke, but when he did his words never left the secret of his mind without intent. He was as brave as he was private, as charismatic as he was polite and as honorable as he was sarcastic and vicious. 

The Prince of Dragonstone was lost in strategy discussion with Lord Tarth and his goodson Corlys Velaryon. They would need to coordinate the attacks by land and sea with his own with Morghul. The point of debate was whether the dragon should attack first the men on land or the ships. Aemon insisted to clean out the foot soldiers first either on their camp or in open field and then move on to the ships while Corlys’ fleet surrounded the enemy’s. Once the battle started, it was a lot harder to distinguish the men fighting on land than ships, so the Prince wanted to handle them first. 

Corlys, however, was feverously defending that Aemon and Morghul ought to take out the ships first before his fleet approached the remainder and only then attack men on the ground. 

While the man did have some compelling arguments, the Heir was not fooled by his intent. Corlys was as competent a scheemer as he could be stingy with his own property over risking someone else’s. And while his plan had some merits, the Prince thought it would have a greater downside in their own numbers and make it even more difficult for him to distinguish friend from foe when he moved to a land attack, even if his men held off their attack until Aemon arrived, he didn’t think the risk of discovery for their troops worthy should the Myrish try to escape by land upon seeing their ships on fire. 

“We take the ships, they’ll be left with little to no resources. Weapons, provisions-”

“Aye. And you keep all your ships to trade silks while I lose men and steel on the damn beach.” Aemon’s uncle Boremund Baratheon boomed. 

“Boremund is right, Corlys. It’s not worth the loss.” The Prince cut off the banter.  “Your men are good on the sea, but we’ll need foot soldiers just as much if we are to hold our ground. Pirates or no, they are just men, it should not take me too long to wipe them, then we move to the ships. Corlys, have your navy come this way, surround them through-”

It all happened too fast. 

One moment, Aemon was leaning over the table and moving the figurines to show what he meant, and the next he was on the ground with Daemon falling on top of him, though the lad quickly moved to stand up and went straight to the back of the tent as if looking for something. 

Everything happened fast, all he knew was that in the blink of an eye he felt something sharp slash against his neck right before he was shoved to the ground by Daemon. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Boremmund boomed, unsheathing his own sword and turning alarmed everywhere as guards gathered around them. 

“Has the lad gone mad?” Corlys said. 

“Prince Aemon!” 

He heard Ser Harold Westerling’s voice calling for him.

“I’m fine!” Aemon got back on his feet rushing towards Daemon. “Daemon, are you well? What was that for?”

Instead of startled, like Aemon expected he would be, Daemon was as alarmed as the soldiers, but unlike the rest of them, he was focused and looking in the distance as if looking for something. 

“Daemon!” He barked, trying to call the boy’s attention, but to no avail. His nephew took a few more steps and finally stopped as if he’d found whatever he was looking for. 

“There!” Daemon pointed at the direction Aemon was previously facing, towards the only high point where a forest began. He noticed Daemon was holding what seemed to be an arrow in his other hand, but before the eldest Prince could find what his nephew was looking for, the boy pulled his arm back and threw the arrow straight at whatever he found.

“Yes!” he celebrated, fisting a hand. “I got him.”

“DAEMON!” Aemon was by his side, turning the boy around. “Are you ok?”

His nephew finally looked at him. 

“Yes. I got him, well, one of them at least, the other ran off. You have to send someone to take him in before he escapes. Or dies.” He explained quickly.

“Daemon, what are you talking about?”

“The men who shot you, I know I hit one of them, I don’t know where, but I swear I know I got one!” Daemon elaborated, looking as if he desperately wanted to be believed, then his eyes widened and he finally looked scared. “Uncle, you are bleeding.”

Aemon took a second to grasp what Daemon was saying but finally touched his neck and found it, indeed, bleeding. 

“My prince, were you hit? Are you injured?” came Lord Cameron Tarth’s voice. “Someone go and fetch a maester for the Prince.”

“I am fine.” He brushed them off, pressing his neck with a kerchief he pulled from his pocket. He’d have time later to make sense of what happened, but right now, if Daemon shot down a spy at their camp, he’d want to catch them, so he turned to Ser Harold instead to give his orders. “Do you see those trees there? Yes, have them searched thoroughly for anyone roaming there right now and bring to me whoever you find.”

“What happened here?” He heard Corlys ask behind his back. “Prince Aemon, there’s blood on your-”

“I know that!” He snapped, turning his back to the men once more. He motioned for Daemon to follow him to an adjoined room inside the command tent that served as their makeshift office for more private meetings amongst the higher officers. 

Aemon did not yet know exactly what happened there, but he was certain he’d been nearly fatally shot and would be dead by now had Daemon not shoved him out of the way. He poured himself a cup of wine and sat down on the chair facing the one he signaled for his nephew to take.

“What happened there?” He asked calmly once the boy took his seat. 

“Are you mad at me?” Daemon looked incredulous. “Uncle, you can’t be serious. I did not want you to die and surely-” The boy continued and Aemon nearly chuckled. Interrogating Daemon was the one thing he watched his brother nearly pull every hair on his head in frustration now and then, because the boy often refused to give a straight answer whenever he’d been accused of anything. 

“I’m not mad at you.” He interrupted the boy and looked at him very seriously. “But this is a war camp, Daemon, we are at war at this very moment. I grasp that we might have just been attacked or that might soon happen, so I need to know right now exactly what happened there.”

Daemon was silent for a few seconds, but nodded understanding the importance of what his uncle spoke.

“I heard something, or felt something” he began “I don’t know really, but something was off, and then I saw an arrow coming your way and just acted. I barely had time to push you, if I’d seen sooner-” Daemon did not finish his sentence, only looked down as if he actually thought he was to blame for something. “I’ll catch it sooner next time, uncle. Was it bad? You are not going to die, are you?”

“It’s just a scratch, I’m not even bleeding anymore. I think” He brought a hand to his neck again, and there was indeed no deep cut or flowing blood, just what felt to him like a burning line  and some red droplets where his skin had no doubt been flayed by the arrow. “Daemon, how did you see an arrow moving?”

The boy frowned, seeming genuinely confused. 

“I don’t know. I always do.” He shrugged. “I turned to look where I was hearing something, and then saw it coming right after Lord Cameron moved out of your way, so I just pushed you out of its way.” 

Aemon faced his nephew for a moment that felt to him like a long time, but could not be more than a few seconds. That his nephew caught sight of an arrow in the air just in time to save his neck from becoming its permanent target was remarkable already, but if he’d indeed manage to hit someone with that same projectile from such a great distance and without a bow or a crossbow…

The Pale Prince did not know what to think. He saw Daemon throw the arrow with his own eyes, and it did disappear in the air, but he could not see where it landed. He’d wait for the culprit to be brought - if anyone was found - to draw a conclusion from that and see if whoever it was had indeed been hit.

Despite having some doubts about the latter part of what he witnessed moments before, Aemon was not a blind man. Had Daemon not pushed him out of the way at the last moment, letters would now have been written to the King and Queen of how Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen died with an arrow pierced through his neck.

“Come on. We need to go back outside.” He got up and the younger prince did the same but Aemon spoke again facing him before they both turned to leave. “Daemon, you did well there and you saved my life today. Thank you.” 

Daemon looked up and smiled at the praise, then recomposed himself and nodded, as if he was already a knight. 

“That was one mighty throw, you know.” Aemon commented as they walked back outside. “I knew you were stronger now, but not that much.”

It was not a lie. He and Baelon often threw darts and knives either for fun or gambling, but neither could pitch anything like he’d just seen his nephew do with a mere thin arrow.

“I know I am.” Daemon shrugged, smugness all over his demeanor making his uncle finally laugh and muss the younger’s hair after that stressful day.

__________

Baelon

In the thirty five years he’d been alive, Baelon had never felt so angry in his life as he did while crumpling his youngest son’s letter. 

The brazen inconsiderate disobedient pest had not only made him and Alyssa nearly die of worry when he did not return from his flight, but now had fled to the middle of a conflict he’d been vehemently forbidden by himself, his uncle and the fucking King from attending. 

Baelon was seething in so much rage, he was sure this was the time he’d lock Daemon up for good for the better part of next year. 

“THAT IRRESPONSIBLE BRAT!” Alyssa had shouted at him waving the letter Daemon sent her in front of her husband’s nose. “DID YOU SEE THIS? WHAT IS HE THINKING? DOES HE KNOW HE’S FUCKING ELEVEN?”

It took him a great deal of effort to calm his wife and convince her not to fly straight to Tarth and even more for him not to burst out of the Keep and mount Vhagar to go after his son and bring him back, tied to his saddle if needed. But Aemon’s letter - and Daemon’s too - informed him of how Prince Daemon would be returning the very next morning, escorted by the Prince of Dragonstone until half of the way to the Kingswood, and Baelon intended to welcome the insolent lad himself at that particular point. 

He had half a mind to go anyway, but Aemon was not given to fumbling with things like that. If he said Daemon was well for the night, then Baelon thought the boy was well for the night. 

But the lad will never see the light of day again outside of his bedchamber if it is the last thing I do.

What finally irked him beyond measure, however, was the second letter he received from Aemon when he woke the next morning, sent again by an emberwing falcon, for speed. Where his brother kept finding the birds while at war, Baelon did not know.

There had been an incident the day before, an impromptu attack meant for Lord Cameron Tarth, but that had nearly culminated in Aemon’s death had Daemon not pushed him out of the way at the last second. 

His brother did not go into detail, but requested Daemon be allowed another day there. A day he’d spend nearly entirely in the air if need be until they dealt with the spy his son had apparently caught. How that came to be, Aemon did not say. 

There were not many people in this world Baelon held more dearly than his brother. Aemon was one of the people he trusted with his life, but he’d had it with this situation, he would not waste time sending birds to deliver messages. The Spring Prince would be in Tarth before the sun went down today, and put an end to this. 

This was not the kind of vexing mischief the boy was prone to getting himself into. Daemon was his son, and he disobeyed him too much this time, to the point of putting his own life at risk. 

Daemon can think himself lucky if I don’t give him a trashing in the middle of that fucking camp.

“You!” He barked at the first guard he saw stationed around the largest tent in the camp. Having landed Vaghar next to Caraxes, the whole camp saw Baelon dismounting the enormous dragon and no further information was necessary for the identity of the tall silver haired man stopping to ask a knight for the whereabouts of the other two princes. “Where are my son and brother?”

“My-my prince” the guard, whoever he was, stumbled, eyes going wide at the very angry man in front of him. “At the stockade, my prince. Prince Aemon is conducting an interrogation, and the young Prince follows him everywhere.”

“And where is that?” Baelon did not wait to hear what the man said, having been pointed in the right direction he stalked away, without caring for the curious looks he was no doubt receiving, going straight to the stockade. 

“Oh, we’re but the vanguard, dragon prince.” Baelon heard a man’s voice speaking the bastard valyrian he knew was often spoken in the free cities. “A hundred more galleys are to arrive soon. And we have a much better aim than the Dornish.”

Baelon frowned. If they had scorpions, things would change. He did not worry about the dragons, after all, the Dornish had failed miserably in even scratching Queen Rhaenys’ Meraxes’ hide. But even if unlikely, the chance of the rider being hit was a reality. Albeit small, it worried him all the more that his son and brother could be hit. 

It should be me here, not him. 

Afterall, Baelon was the spare, not Aemon. If one of their lives had to be risked, it was his that should go on the line first, not his brother’s. 

That was the way of things. 

However capable a warrior Aemon was, his brother would be King and Baelon their family’s shield. 

“He’s lying. The second part, not the first” Daemon’s voice surprised him. Their use of the common tongue no doubt an attempt to keep their conversation a secret from the invader. “What he said about being the vanguard is true somehow or he thinks it is, but the rest about a hundred ships and what I assume are scorpions is bulshit. It’s either less than that or none at all.”

He’d been told his son was with Aemon, but he expected to find the boy waiting outside with a guard, not inside a damn cell interrogating the enemy. 

There were few times Baelon got truly angry with Aemon, but this was beginning to be one of them. What possessed his brother to do such a thing was a question the Spring Prince was growing ever more eager to know the answer to as he stopped in front of the knights guarding the entrance. 

“Tell Prince Aemon his brother is here.” Baelon commanded, receiving a nod before one of the men disappeared inside. 

There was a pause in the sounds inside before Aemon emerged from the room with a not remorseful at all Daemon in tow. If anything his son looked proud of himself, though his eyes did widen a bit upon landing on his face. 

“Brother.” Aemon greeted, somberly. “I assume you came to retrieve a fugitive.”

“I have.” While his tone was contained, Baelon knew his brother caught on to his dissatisfaction instantly. Aemon was always the more observant of the two. 

The three of them walked in silence all the way to the Targaryens' large tent, for which Baelon was grateful. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t snap at either his brother or his son in public if either of them tested him too much at present. 

That Daemon was there at all was already bad enough. That Aemon saw fit to take his eleven year old son to interrogate a captured invader was not something he’d expected from his usually good sensed brother. 

Between the two of them, Baelon was the one more prone to making rash decisions like that. Baelon was hot-tempered, impulsive, rash and fiery while Aemon was calm, dutiful, steadier and most importantly, responsible. Or so he thought, for he would never call it responsible to take a child to a cell to interrogate a fucking war criminal. 

“Ser Harold, take Daemon outside while I speak to my brother.” Aemon called the Kingsguard into his tent while he poured them a cup of wine each. “And do not take your eyes from him for a second. The lad is slippery.”

“I don’t need babysitting-”

“The fact that you are here proves you do.” That finally did it for him, and Baelon snapped. “Now go wait outside!” 

“I do not! That’s humiliating, I can take ca-” Daemon protested again. He had to give it to him, the boy had balls even if he lacked any good wits. Or self preservation.

Baelon crossed the room and stopped right in front of Daemon, forcing his son to look up. He was tall for his age, but still a child. 

“You’ll know humiliation when I drag you by the ears across this damn place in front of everyone! Now go wait outside and do not leave Ser Harold’s watch. With both feet on the ground, Daemon!” Despite his anger, he did not shout, using a dangerously low tone which Daemon had the good sense of recognizing as that of a promise if his father was not obeyed. 

“What the hell was he doing there, Aemon?” he asked.

Aemon looked at him raising a brow in the annoyingly calm way he always did as he sat down. 

“You should sit first.” Was all his brother said signaling the chair in front of him.

“I don’t want to fucking sit. I want to know why you took my eleven year old son to watch an interrogation of a captured enemy in a place he has no permission to be in!” 

“Calm down, Baelon. He was on the other side of the bars with three men flanking him.” Aemon’s tone did change, he never lost his temper, ever. He thinks he’s composed but he’s an annoying cunt. “And the man was cleaned and stitched up from the previous round of interrogation before I took Daemon there. All he saw was a shaggy man tied to a chair talking back to me. Though he might have learned a couple new profanities in that fine bastard valyrian they use across the Narrow Sea.”

“Then why even take him there?”

Baelon was not against showing his sons the reality of things, he didn’t want them to grow up soft. But he thought there was a time for them to see certain things, even though - to his and Alyssa’s great despair at times - Daemon was as precocious as he’d ever seen anyone and seemed like he couldn’t wait to be a man grown before he was even tall enough to see above the bars of his crib as a babe. Learning how to walk did him and Aly no favors to slowing him down and with two elder brothers to mimic, Daemon was a wilder child than all of his siblings combined. 

“Did you know a person’s heart beats at a different rate every time they lie?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with-”

“Aren’t you going to sit down? I don’t want to spend the next hour looking up.”

“Aemon, I’m gonna punch you!”

It was true. He really wanted to punch his brother right in the middle of his condescending face. 

“Then you’ll never know why I took him there and that vein on your forehead will burst in anger for no reason.”

Baelon very nearly made good of his threat, but in the end restrained himself, he took the wine his brother offered, but did not sit down. 

“Aren’t you going to-”

“You’re not king yet” Baelon shot back, making his brother nearly smirk. Nearly. Aemon’s face never showed anything by accident.

“As I was saying, I have recently come to learn that a person’s heart rate changes when they lie. How convenient is it if you have someone that can hear that and tell the difference, no?”

Baelon rolled his eyes and pinched the space between his eyes. This would be a long talk, it seemed. 

“Aemon, I’ve had a very long day. If you have a point, make it soon”

“Fine.” Aemon finally - finally - conceded. “I’ve had a chance to spend a lot of uninterrupted time with Daemon and he’s been” he paused as if looking for the right word “relentless in trying to convince me to let him stay longer. And while it’s not up to me to allow it if you are against it, I’ve learned some quite impressive things I had no idea he could do. Some of which I was quite impressed with when we put them to the test. Like telling with great precision when he’s being lied to.”

In the end, neither did Baelon know of such things, which hurt him in a way he was not ready to admit. 

He did his very best to be a good father for his sons, and always assumed he did a good job at it. Daemon was an unexpected surprise since the day he was born, but despite the protection he and Alyssa put around him given the attempts on his life early on, Baelon always thought they managed to allow him even more freedom than he himself had. It helped that, as the years passed, much of his unusual appearance faded, some of his unique traits only coming back now and then when the boy had a fit of anger or truly lost his temper, like the glowing irises and the slit pupils, that Baelon once thought had disappeared before his son’s first name day. Others, like the scales that covered much of his back, had been fading slowly as the years passed, having left only some lines on most of his back along with the increasingly less prominent scaled line along his spine. 

As a second son, none of his children were expected to actually rise to the throne, no more than Baelon himself, and even then, Daemon was his third son with two brothers ahead of him in the line of succession anyway. It was not as if his position demanded as much strictness as Aemon’s did from his upbringing, or even Baelon’s as the spare. 

He and Alyssa were both very close with their children, much to some nobles’ surprise, and at times, even his own parents’ consternation. 

They always watched Daemon closely, of course, they’d never seen anyone like him before, and were often lost on how to handle him. But in the end, Baelon always assumed they did well. Aunt Rhaena had woven a wild tale of magic and raw power, but as time passed, Baelon had brushed some of it off as exaggerated fantasy. His son was indeed blessed with some unique abilities that would make him a formidable man once he was grown, but he was yet to see evidence of all the things his aunt seemed certain would happen. 

Or perhaps it is maybe because he does not have his sister. Yet. A small, irritating voice Baelon tried to ignore would whisper at the back of his mind whenever he had such thoughts.

Daemon was a precocious child in everything. He grew fast, though it slowed a bit with time, he developed skills sooner than other babes and children his age, walking and mumbling his first words a lot sooner than any of their healers had ever seen. His strength grew astronomically as he grew up, surpassing his brothers soon and moving on to training with his father before he was even tall enough to do so, to Baelon’s great delight. 

When Viserys was born he couldn’t wait to teach him how to hold and wield a sword, though his increasing disinterest with it and having fully abandoned his training the year before made it a dream he would only truly fulfill as Aegon progressed in his training. 

That Daemon could block full blows from him already filled him with more pride than he could ever put into words. The boy still had a long way to go, he was tall for his age, but still a lot shorter than him, making it hard for him to fight equally matched and keep up with well trained knights, and he was not yet as skilled as Baelon knew he one day would be. He could not wait to see Daemon and Aegon fighting their first tourney or for them to become knights.

It was true that sometimes, strange things happened around Daemon. Things appeared in different places than where they were left and no one seemed to be able to throw things at him and hit the mark, and Gods know Viserys and Aegon tried. No one seemed able to keep a secret from him, if Daemon was in the room, he’d hear whatever small noise was made. Though what was uncanny was how far this skill seemed to stretch as time went by, so much so, his brother now claimed his boy could hear a man’s heart beat!

Spotting the arrow in time to react was yet another surprise. Daemon was very fast, he noticed that when he was playing with his brothers or other children, but it became even more evident during his training. Watching his son’s practice, now and then Baelon would ask himself if his son was actually practicing a move or if he simply felt his opponent was too slow at times. 

 As a little boy, he was always eager to show him and Aly whatever he learned how to do, but now that Baelon thought of it, it had been a long time since his son came to him with anything. He assumed it was natural of the age, when a child starts to want nothing to do with their parents, but the more thought he put into it, he began wondering if Daemon was not simply closing himself up. He had friends his age, of course, but with his brothers being 17 and 16 years old and wanting little to do with their eleven year old brother, he wondered if he simply felt lonely. 

Daemon always hated to be alone. If he was not with Alyssa or him, it was chasing Viserys and Aegon or among his friends. But lately, he’d been up on dragonback more often than he was on the ground. A feat Queen Alysanne greatly approved of to keep him off her mind, much to his sadness, for whenever her youngest grandson was around her, he would be reprimanded for something. Real or imaginary.

“Did you know he saved my life?” Aemon surprised him by asking. “I have no idea how he saw it, even less how he managed to hit that pirate with that same arrow with no bow, but he did.”

“I didn't know he could do that.” Baelon admitted. “I’m glad he saved your life, brother. But I still don’t want him here, much though I trust you.”

“I wouldn’t either, if he were my son.” Aemon responded. “But we now know where the Myrish are, and that the pirate’s lying about their numbers. My guess is they were waiting for reinforcements, but they never came, not with Myr as it is. I took Daemon there just to confirm what we got from interrogating that man. You and I can put a quick end to it. I doubt they’ll have reinforcement. Morghul and Vaghar can vanquish them in one go before they’ll know what’s happening.”

“Aemon, if I don’t take him back, Alyssa will be landing here very soon.” 

“Then write to her. You’ll stay here for a while more and return with Daemon after we attack.”

“Are you seriously asking me to let an eleven year old fly his dragon to war? However big Caraxes is, he only mounted two years past.” Baelon could not believe his ears. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course not.” Aemon looked at his brother as if he was simple. “You can let Daemon stay here with you on the condition that he sticks to your side or mine at all times and that he stays in the air too high for even us to see him from the ground during the whole ordeal. He’s a squire, and squires watch, they don’t fight. He can see far beyond us anyway, he won’t miss a thing and no arrow can reach him.” 

“What about scorpions?”

“They don’t have any.” Aemon assured him. “And if they do, unless they mount one on a flying ship the bolts can’t go that high.”

Baelon started pacing. He was unsure what to do. On one hand, this possibility excited him, Daemon was always fascinated with battles, and being the one to teach him and show off a bit for his son appealed to him. It also tranquilized him somewhat that he’d have some control over the outcome of this, since his brother had very nearly been killed. 

On another, he wanted to protect his son, both physically and his innocence, for it was one thing to read about war in books or hear fabulous songs of great warriors, but it was another to see the brutal truth of it. He should be a child for at least a while longer, however much the lad seemed determined to the contrary. 

“You know, I nearly died.” Aemon looked at him straight in the eyes with the most affected countenance, making Baelon suspicious at once.

“My Gods, you want him to stay here, don’t you?” 

“I would not object to it.” Aemon corrected, smirking. “He’s a good boy, Baelon. He goes about things in a reckless and annoyingly inconvenient manner sometimes, but honestly, when are you getting another chance to teach him about soldiering in such a conveniently real environment? He’s your third son, brother, he’ll have to make a life for himself somehow and he seems intent on military pursuits. He’ll have to learn at one point, no?” 

__________

Baelon found Daemon not far from Aemon’s tent under Ser Harold’s watch, throwing knives at a target.

Or, trying to throw knives at a target, for while he could see there were some blades stuck to it, having been thrown either earlier from a closer distance by him or by someone else, Daemon was at an impressive distance cursing every knife he missed because they barely crossed the immense distance he stood from the intended mark. Which, for the short time Baelon watched him, was every one of them. 

“You know, I don’t think anyone can hit the mark from that distance, Daemon.” Baelon finally said startling his son, who was so concentrated in his endeavour he did not deign to take note of his latest audience. It amused him somewhat and he had to contain his grin, for seldom Daemon was caught off guard like that.

“I am not anyone,” The sulking boy replied, yet another blade missing its mark. “And I have hit a moving target from much farther than this already. Has uncle Aemon not told you?”

“Oh, uncle Aemon has told me many things today.” Baelon retorted, not fully managing to keep sarcasm off his words. 

 Daemon turned to him, lowering the knife he’d been planning to throw. “Did he tell you I’ve been here for two days and I saved his life, caught a pirate and helped interrogate him?”

Baelon narrowed his eyes at the boy’s clear attempt to argue the need for his participation in a war.

“He did.” 

“And?” Daemon looked up, clearly anxious. 

“Walk with me.” Was all the Spring Prince told his son.

They walked in silence under the sun’s nearly faded light for some minutes before Daemon realised the direction they were taking. Baelon was still unsure whether he’d only speak to him or shake the boy and shout at him, so the hill where their dragons nested at present seemed to him like as private a place they would get, since people avoided going near the enormous fire breathing creatures. He thought it would at least spare Daemon the humiliation of an army of soldiers overhearing his scolding through the thin walls of a tent. However much he thought his son deserved it, a boy’s confidence was very easily bruised at such a young age and his own temper had cooled significantly by now, mostly from his own reflections. 

“Oh no, no way. I know what you are doing, I’m not going there. You are taking me back, aren’t you?” Daemon began complaining once they approached the path leading to their dragons. “I told uncle Aemon, I don’t want to go back, there’s nothing for me at home. I want to stay here and-”

“Daemon, shut up and walk.” Baelon stopped and looked down at his young son, nearly amused at his agitation. “I’m not taking you back today, but I suggest you move unless you want all these fine knights to watch your father scolding your disobedient ass instead of just your dragon.”

He did not wait for an answer, only turned around and kept walking, knowing he was being followed.

Baelon had a half formed idea of what he was going to say, but the silver glimmer on Daemon’s hand caught his attention.

“Were you planning to stab me with that and make a run for it?” He raised a brow, slightly amused at how strongly his son was holding onto the blade he never threw.

Daemon frowned then looked surprised to find the weapon in his grasp. Looking down at himself, he fumbled a little trying to find a place to put it before finally settling on hiding it in his boot. 

“If I were, I’m sure I’d miss if you were tied to a post right in front of me.” He mumbled looking mighty displeased, which Baelon found odd, for of all three of his sons Daemon was always the most confident, if not arrogant in all he thought he mastered. He was so comfortable in a martial environment that the Spring Prince never thought he’d see the self-deprecating line coming from him of all people. 

“What’s come over you?”

“Nothing.” Daemon huffed, but his father was not having it. Baelon said nothing, merely raised a brow and waited until his son finally looked down and mumbled, kicking some rocks in front of him. “I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

He expected a variety of things. An excuse to his escapade, a torrent of complaints, or even sarcasm like Daemon was wont to do, but not that.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” He looked away, then back to his father after a moment, looking as defiant as the Spring Prince knew him to be. “Aren’t you going to scold me? I’d much rather get done with it.”

“Oh believe me, I have many words for you and even more plans on how I’m going to punish you for this latest folly of yours.” Baelon frowned, displeased at the boy in front of him before adjusting his tone. “But first I want to know what that’s about. Why do you think there’s something wrong with you, son?”

Daemon assumed the same defiant posture he had moments before.

“Because there is.”  

“Watch how you speak to me!” Baelon reprimanded his son. He might have calmed down considerably since he arrived earlier that day, and he would know what bothered Daemon so much or if something was indeed wrong with his son, but Gods be damned if the boy wasn’t intent on testing his thinning patience. “By all means take all night, but we are not leaving this very spot until I’m satisfied, Daemon.” 

To his credit, Daemon didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, he seemed exasperated, throwing his hands in the air right as he spoke again.

“Well, there must be something wrong. How can there not be?” He started pacing. “Has uncle not told you what I did yesterday? I threw an arrow across the whole camp to a man trying to escape and hit him. It was so easy.” Daemon sighed, he was not bragging, in fact, as he spoke he seemed almost resentful of it for some reason. “But now I can barely throw a blade, perfectly balanced on my hand made for that exact purpose, and hit an immoble target from a much smaller distance.” He looked down, as if ashamed of his confession. “This should not happen, father, I thought I finally got better at it for good, but just a day later I’m back at square one.”

Baelon did not know what to make of it, or if he fully understood what his son was saying. 

“What are you saying, Daemon?” He inquired. 

“I’m saying that apparently I can no longer do what I did yesterday!” He saw his son’s hand ball into fists. 

“What you did was impressive already, son, I’m proud of you. No one else could have done the same.” 

That made Daemon pause his pacing and look at his father, though he was not entirely pleased. 

“I’m not everyone!” the boy said, clearly displeased. “At least, I shouldn’t be.”

“Of course you are not.” Baelon agreed. “You are a Targaryen, my son and a dragonrider of a most fierce and formidable dragon, one who has claimed you for himself since the day you were born. How can you think you are like everyone else?”

“That’s not what I mean, father.” He huffed and sat down on a rock. “What if I failed yesterday? What if I hadn’t pushed uncle out of the way in time? What if I missed that pirate? What if I fail like this next time and it is you instead? Or mother? Or my brothers?”

Baelon understood it then. 

“It is not your responsibility to save everyone, Daemon.” He sat by his son’s side. “While I’m here, it is up to me to defend your mother, you and your brothers and when I’m gone I’m glad to know you’ll stand up for them like I would.”

“But what if I can’t do anything anymore? What will become of me then? My brothers will each have something for themselves, Viserys will probably marry Aemma and be King, you’ll leave Summerhall for Aegon. I thought I had…. Well, these stuff I can do, you know. What if I’m losing them?” Daemon looked up at him.

He understood the boy’s concern, but thought it unfounded. While it must have seemed like a great problem for him, Baelon did not think it was cause for worry.

“You know, I remember when you surpassed Viserys in your training for the first time.” 

Daemon rolled his eyes.

“It was not so hard, Viserys is terrible in combat.” 

Baelon cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes at him.“Be that as it may, the first time you beat him was fairly quick, but then it was many moons before you could do it again. And some more before you were matched with Aegon.”

Daemon huffed, clearly annoyed.

“What does that have to do with my current situation?”

Baelon was never a very patient man, but fatherhood had given him that skill more than he ever thought he would have. 

“Did you ever do what you did yesterday before?”  

“Twice.” Daemon said. “Some time after I rode Caraxes for the first time and again a few weeks ago.”

“There you go then.” Baelon answered as if the answer was obvious. He supposed it should be for someone looking in from the outside. “Everytime you learned something new it took some time before you mastered the skill. This is no different. Soon enough I reckon you’ll be hitting things on the ground high up in the air from the back of your dragon.”

Baelon ruffled Daemon’s hair to his son’s great annoyance. He was finally at an age where he was still a boy, though hated to be treated like one. 

“Uncle would be dead if I failed yesterday.” Daemon mumbled, smoothing his hair back. 

“But you didn’t, and he’s alive.” However angry he was with Daemon for this escapade, he could not resent him for that and deep inside his mind, Baelon knew he would forever be proud of his deed. Had his son not been there, his brother would be dead. Aemon and Baelon had been close for as long as he could remember and he could not imagine a world where he wouldn’t have his brother by his side. “I’m proud of you, Daemon.”

This was not what his son expected to hear, it seemed, for Daemon looked at his father as surprised as he seemed pleased and perhaps happy. 

“I thought you’d be mad at me.”

Baelon sniggered.

“Oh, believe me, I am.” He assured the boy. “And you better believe you’ll be punished accordingly when we get back to King’s Landing.” He saw Daemon rolling his eyes and groaning. “But since we are here, you might as well learn something. And pray your mother does not kill us both when we get back.”

Chapter Text

Daemon 

The 12th moon of 96 ac

Daemon always knew he was different. 

He didn’t know when he realised that, but the knowledge had been there for as long as he remembered. He could do things no other he’d ever met could. Incredible things. Impossible things.

But one thing had been clear for as long as he lived. His grandmother did not like him. 

The young prince would often ask himself why, but he was yet to learn the truth of it. It confused him, because he did not think he’d ever done anything so grave as to offend her so much to afford him such freely given contempt. It was true that he was given to finding trouble quite often, and he was as restless and chaotic as a person could be. Still, he could not possibly have ever done anything so grave, for even his greatest misdeeds never awarded him some grand punishment from his parents of the same scale his grandmother often called for.  That was not to say he was left to act as he pleased, for Baelon Targaryen took great pride in the discipline and respect he instilled in his sons from a young age, and Alyssa seldom had to use more than a look to get them all in line when in the presence of others, and they were the very best parents Daemon could have ever hoped for. 

He was the only one of his cousins to get the cold and harsh treatment from his grandmother. She did try to disguise it many times, but if there was one thing Daemon was not is simple-minded. Rhaenys was Alysanne’s uncontested favorite and Aemma came second. There was a time in his life he thought it was the fact that he was the most disobedient one and most prone to causing trouble, but such a notion was quickly swept off his mind. His mother Alyssa had been dearly loved all her life by her mother, the Good Queen, despite her disobedient nature and lack of lady-like sweetness. His brother Aegon, albeit far less chaotic than Daemon, full of good manners and quiet disposition had caused no less havoc at times and had even been discovered to have taken aunt Gael’s maidenhead the year before! And even through all of the Queen’s fury over the lost honor of her most protected daughter, still she did not seem to dislike Daemon’s brother as much as she disliked him. After some shouts and insults, Jaehaerys determined the two of them would be wed, keeping Gael in the capital with her mother and that was the end of it. Aegon took the Queen’s most prized possession and walked away exactly with the valyrian bride he wanted and very little consequences to his name. 

Daemon admired his brother, when Aegon wanted something he found a way to get it. He knew he’d been courting Gael before they were discovered, but when Alysanne caught a whiff that one of her grandsons was interested in her little doll, she became even more rigid with the poor girl, barely letting her leave her side, except when Daemon himself was around, because Gael was then sent away. He was sure she thought he was the one leading her perfect girl astray. She must have gotten desperate, because she had even hinted she wished for her to join Maegelle and become a priestess at the Sanctum in Dragonstone. Daemon suspected this is what prompted Aegon to act and be discovered. Neither the King nor the Queen would ever allow Gael’s reputation to be tarnished, and they gave Aegon exactly what he and his now wife wanted. 

He loved both of his brothers, of course, and Aegon had always been the one to whom he was closest. Him and Daemon were both knights, dragonriders, he was brave and honorable, even despite his latest misgiving – for he would have never allowed Gael’s name to be soiled, he took care even in how they were caught! 

He would bet his sword hand his brother was planning to elope, much like their parents did, had he been refused her hand. 

He thought his second brother was the coolest person he knew and in the last year or so he thought he spent more time with Aegon than with anyone else. He was finally at an age he was no longer a child his brothers wouldn’t want around them, though he still did not have nearly enough in common with Viserys as he did with Aegon. Daemon always hated to be alone, the silence of solitude drove him mad and he wanted to pull his hair off whenever there was no sound around him. His family brushed off his hedonistic lifestyle as simply a lack of interest for how others perceived him or for duty, but while the late night partying was certainly fun, he found himself oddly relaxed in the midst of cacophony, it was like his mind was almost as balanced as he imagined it should be. But despite surrounding himself with people, Daemon could never fully shake off the feeling of being lonely. He had friends, of course, and many self interested lickspittles too, but they were not the same as being in the company of his own.

Which is why he found his self imposed situation to be the most ironic. 

Daemon never gave marriage much thought, he was only fifteen and, with Aegon marrying Gael, it was not as if there was anyone for him to marry. Not that he wanted Gael, anyway. His brother seemed to be utterly besotted with her, but Daemon always thought her too frail and quite frankly, simple, he always had to walk on eggshells around her because more than once he had made her cry entirely by accident - she did not have a great sense of humor in his opinion. He would not have mistreated her, had they been married, but he would certainly not be thrilled either, not like Aegon was. If love was truly blind, he wouldn’t know for he’d never experienced it, but in honesty, Daemon was happy for them. 

Though it would certainly be a great improvement from that ridiculous insulting Bronze Bicth. 

He grunted, frustrated and felt like using every bit of air in his lungs to shout at the wind high up in the skies of Braavos. It still irked him to think about his unwilling marriage to some insipid valewoman named Rhea Royce he met twice before and disliked since the very first time his grandmother introduced her as his future wife. 

Wife. HA. In her dreams, perhaps.

And yet, Queen Alysanne Targaryen insisted that was the case, that Daemon was indeed married to that….that….

“FUCK” He yelled at the sky and Caraxes echoed. 

He did not expect any other noise, so the sound of another dragon did catch him off guard. 

Looks like he finally found me.

It had been moons since Daemon saw another dragon other than his own, not since he left Westeros right after his so-called wedding to Rhea. 

He did not know how anyone could even fathom to call that farce valid in the first place when the groom had neither attended the ceremony nor consummated the union. The King and Queen tried - quite ardently - to force him on this, but Daemon could not be moved. He was caught trying to escape the city a fortnight before the wedding and was put on house arrest until the day came. It was the longest time of his entire life and he did not know how he hadn’t died of boredom. But the day finally came and true to his word, Daemon refused to leave his chambers and make his way to the sept. Two guards had been sent to inform him of his orders that day and half a dozen attendants came to attend to him and ready his wedding attire. 

To no avail. 

Daemon sat on the couch and refused to move or let anyone touch so much as a single strand of hair on his head and he even threw the tunic he was offered into the fireplace.

Two whole hours passed with no cooperation from him before the King was called. Daemon did not consider himself a rebel, despite what many thought, he was loyal to his family and to his King, he never refused an explicit order in his life and would die before he committed treason against his blood. But that day he would not obey. And he would like to see anyone try. 

It irked him beyond measure that he would be the single person in their family who would be denied any modicum of choice in his marriage. Even Viserra and Vaegon had their way, even if no one believed it was out of some great improbable love. Still, they were Targaryens, and if they ever had any children, they would be Targaryens as well, and perhaps dragonriders. And all of that was not to mention Aunt Maegelle who was even allowed to decline marriage altogether to become a priestess of all things!

Everyone, every single person in their family was allowed a choice, some choice at the very least. Everyone, except for him. His parents married for love, uncle Aemon was happy with both of his wives, one of whom was entirely his choice, Aegon had the love match he wanted and married Gael only moons before Daemon’s ridiculous marriage, Viserys and Aemma could not be happier since they married and finally, people still sung about his grandparents marriage and how they eloped to live their said great love – which Daemon had begun to doubt, otherwise they would not be such hypocritical cunts. 

And yet, Daemon was unreasonable and ungrateful for not wanting to marry some rich second grade nobody from fucking nowhere who is half a decade his senior and looks like a dog stuffed in a man’s body! Or a sheep, like the ones her father is said to have aplenty. 

There was nothing to be proud of in that match, in his opinion, and if he would ever doubt his rightness in this, his mother’s loud support against this match would have wiped any question from his mind. Alyssa had protested the match so much that she was put on house arrest on the day of the wedding lest she did something to disturb the festivities, since she’d actively been sabotaging her mother’s efforts however she could. While Baelon had not been nearly as loud as his wife, he eventually took her side, which is how he ended up locked up with Alyssa in their chambers with two guards on either side of the door.

Daemon truly had no idea what had caused such an action from his grandparents. Growing up, he remembered Jaehaerys’ eagerness and excitement around him. Every time Daemon did something extraordinary, he would rejoice and spend the longest time talking to him, asking him questions on top of questions. He was not a man to fuss over children, but both of his brothers and cousins had, more than once, accused him of being the evident favorite grandchild in the King’s eyes. That slowly changed over time, and Jaehaerys’ opinion of him seemed to have fully soured after he came back with his father and Prince Aemon from Tarth. Daemon never understood that. He had run away, sure, had disobeyed and gone to a war without telling anyone, yes, but shouldn’t the man be glad he saved the life of his son? Of his heir? 

His uncle and father must have told the King everything that happened and what he did - what they learned Daemon could do - and every since then Daemon felt his grandfather’s distrust in him. His progress no longer excited the Old King, and yet he insisted on being told of everything, and if anything, it seemed to worry him to the point Daemon more than once noticed people who seemed to be watching him. Which is why he started hiding things from his family. If no one knew, neither could the King and Queen. 

Alysanne was another matter. That woman seemed to be wary of him for as long as he could remember and Daemon knew for a fact this was not her personality, for she doted upon every one of her other grandchildren, except for one. 

He was not surprised when the Queen chose someone absurd to marry him, but he was surprised by the effort his grandparents were willing to put into marrying him off to a second grade citizen who lived across the country. 

His wedding was first planned to be a grand affair, a feat that did not fool Daemon, for he knew it was simply a way to make him more agreeable. 

“Listen, Daemon, I’ll make you marry a horrible bitch, but look how much money I want to spend on your wedding. I am so generous.” Saying that imitating a woman’s voice to respond to his grandmother on that occasion had finally earned a slap from Alysanne for the first time in his life, but at that point he did not care one bit if only it got the wedding called off. The plans quickly changed as not only Daemon, but also Alyssa began to actively fight the Queen in every step of the way planning, invitation and organization of the celebrations, so it was decided the event, albeit fit for a royal, would be a lot smaller than all the weddings before. If the Good Queen cared to minimize embarrassment she ought to have undone this cursed match!

When it became clear Daemon would not willingly go to the Sept and attend the wedding ceremony, Jaehaerys had finally snapped and decided to send in twenty armored men to take him by force if necessary. 

If only the King knew what he was causing.

That Daemon had progressed well in the training yards was no secret, the last time he lost a match while training was to his father almost a year ago. That was the last time he learned a new move that neither Baelon nor anyone else had taught him before. As his strength and speed grew, so did his abilities and his father always tried to find new things to teach him if he could or find new sparring partners and instructors to teach him something different.

But what no one expected – even Daemon himself – was the extent of his actual prowess in combat. Twenty men charged at him, attempting to take him away, and seven were killed before Prince Aemon arrived and called the attack to stop. Whether it was his heir’s public opposition or the King’s realisation he would not get his way like that, Daemon would never know, but the thirteen remaining soldiers were called to halt by Jaehaerys and Daemon was told he’d stay in his chamber if that’s what he wanted, but the wedding would proceed with or without him. 

And so it happened. Daemon and Rhea were married that same day by proxy, with the Queen stepping in to represent him since not only the groom was absent but also both of his parents as well. 

He had no idea what happened that day, he saw commotion in the distance from his balcony and had briefly considered jumping from it straight to an open gallery outside Maegor’s Holdfast to escape, but thought better of it. Queen Rhaenys had gone down jumping from higher than she could survive and he did not want to die such a pathetic death if he was proven wrong. Much less on the account of that Royce cunt. 

Daemon also didn’t know how his absence from his own wedding was explained, but at some point he remembered the bride being delivered to his rooms in only a sleeping gown, probably made especially for that night, to consummate the union. 

He was so drunk he barely remembered what he said or yelled, but Daemon recalled being angry enough to grab her by the arm and throw her out of his rooms still fully dressed, bolting the door behind him and pulling a large heavy dresser no man should be able to move by himself in front of his door. 

Stories about the secret passages Maegor built in the Red Keep had followed him since infancy, he’d even found some in explorations over the years, but he had never found one anywhere in Maegor’s Holdfast until that day. He was pacing, rilled up from his anger at being told to fuck some ugly cow who could not interest him if she was the last woman alive, when he drunkely stumbled on a small cabinet that served the seating area of his chambers. That small thing appeared to him more irritating than reason called for, and the next thing he knew the insulting piece of furniture had flown across the bedroom and hit the wall with so much force, Daemon thought he opened a hole in the wall when he saw a piece of it disappear. 

The hole was, he soon realized, a door to a passage. A door to freedom. 

He did not remember throwing the cabinet, or even kicking it, but he must have, for how else would it move like that? Objects did not fly on their own accord, or someone’s will. In truth, he never paid it too much mind, Daemon had drunk enough to knock out a bull, it was a wonder he was still up and walking straight.

Smiling at his good luck, Daemon quickly repacked the bag he planned to take the first time he tried to escape and taking all the gold he could get to travel, he closed the passage behind him and did not look back. 

That was seven moons ago. 

He flew straight east and did not stop until he hit the shores of Pentos, though he did not stay long there. He’d been there three days before an envoy to a rich magister finally found a dragonriding Prince of House Targaryen wandering their markets. There was a frenzy amongst the pentoshi elite, he later learned, to find which Targaryen had landed in their city and a rush to be the first to host such an illustrious guest. Magister Illyrio Varo was the first to host him with every luxury a man of Daemon’s station could have expected. The magister treated him with the most beautiful courtesans of all shapes and origins, Daemon was sure the man either had a harem somewhere or he was paying some brothel a hefty sum to keep sending such a vast selection to his pleasure. He could confidently say the magister’s hospitality was more lavish than even the Prince of Pentos’. 

It was a shame when the time to leave came quickly. He left Westeros under rather hostile conditions, with no leave from the King or even his father, it was only a matter of time before someone came looking for him. And in a family who did not lack dragonriders, the search would be rather efficient, so he could not stay too long in one place for now, especially not at the essossi city closest to King’s Landing. 

So he left with an open invitation from Illyrio to return whenever he pleased. While he always planned to take the magister up on the offer, Daemon was no fool to believe the man’s offer came from the kindness of his heart. He had a dragon, a large one who hatched even before the Conquest, it was an advantage to anyone to have him as ally or even just to be seen in friendly terms with him, and Illyrio did not strike him as a fool. 

Still, he could use that. He would use that. 

Myr was the next city he visited, and he’d not been there a month when he learned two other dragons had been seen in Pentos. One red and one green. Meleys and Vaghar. His parents. Either by their own will or the King’s command. But Daemon did not want to be found. He knew his parents had not been in favor of the match, but uncle Aemon had managed to avert even the King’s decree that Aemma would marry as soon as she bled. Instead then at eleven, Aemon decided his only child by Daella would not walk down the aisle before she was sixteen and he made it happen. And when Alysanne demanded justice for Gael's lost virginity, they managed to get Aegon the bride he wanted. Deep in his mind, Daemon knew it was not his parents fault, his marriage had been arranged by the Queen with her husband’s leave to send him out of sight, but he could not shake off his anger, or his resentment. Everyone else got what they wanted from their sovereigns, except for him. There was no one he wished to marry at present, he didn’t think that would happen for a very long time, but he was not so simple as to believe his hand was needed to make an alliance with the fucking Royces! 

If they want more coin from the Vale, just raise their fucking taxes like everyone else!

And if Yorbert Royce did not like it, what could he do? Mount one of his sheep and come to face the Targaryens’ dragons?

And Daemon knew the alliance was not for his benefit either. He was a dragonrider, he had income from the crown by right of birth as a Prince and another for as long as he had Caraxes. He didn’t need any income from the Bronze Bitch. 

He quickly left Myr to avoid being found, and from there he decided to go further into the continent and avoid any obvious route. 

Seven moons that he hadn’t met anyone from his family. He did return to Pentos eventually and had only left for Braavos recently. He assumed – correctly – that his parents would not think he’d go back anywhere. The Dothraki had been a problem to every city in their path, and to Pentos it was no different. The title of Prince, unlike in Westeros, was given through election, and its current holder had been in a rather precarious position for a while due to the Dothraki’s passing through their lands. The Prince of Pentos was a largely ceremonial position and he could be sacrificed if the city suffered a military defeat. 

Daemon did not have to think twice. Despite being allowed to stay in Tarth with Aemon and Baelon, Daemon did nothing more than watch on that occasion. He was allowed to fly over the battle so long as he stayed so high in the sky it was out of range for anything other than another dragon. This would be the first time he would get to participate in a battle and his blood was boiling to do it. 

The attack was a success. His attack, actually, for Daemon and Caraxes needed no army to put an end to the men in Khal Moro’s khalasar assaulting Pentos. He did not walk out from that endeavour empty handed. Aside from gold, Prince Xaro Belantis offered him a lavish mansion in the Marble District, where most magisters and nobles in Pentos lived whenever he wanted to stay in their port city. 

It had been a senight since he moved on to Braavos, he hadn’t been there yet, but he quickly found that the braavosi were far less warm to valyrians than the pentoshi.

A senight here and already my father found me.

The irony was not lost on him that he was so quickly found by his father in the very island that remained a secret even from the valyrian dragonlords of old for so long.

It was bound to happen, he supposed. Daemon thought himself lucky to be able to evade his family for this long and his actions in Pentos with the Dothraki were not exactly discreet.

Vaghar’s roar was accompanied by her lunging up right in front of Caraxes before she descended in one of the unpopulated mountainous formations that surrounded Braavos that was big enough to land both their dragons. 

Vaghar’s behavior was a clear message that his father wanted him to follow his lead and land. 

Daemon sighed 

“Great.”

He supposed it was best to get it over with. It had been long enough and truth be told he did miss his parents. 

I wonder where my mother is. He thought, noticing the absence of Meleys. 

He looked at Dark Sister, checking that it was safely strapped to his hip before dismounting. Months ago it had been his greatest achievement, gaining from the King himself the famous blade of valyrian steel that was his father’s up until then on the very same day he was knighted soon after turning fifteen and winning a tourney. Now and then he wondered if it was not a consolation prize, for only weeks later he’d been informed he would marry Aemma’s lady in waiting Rhea Royce, heir to Runestone.

Fuck that nonsense, I fought well and earned it. 

“So, he is alive.” Was the first thing Baelon said when Daemon dismounted and walked near his father, who was leaning carelessly against Vaghar’s enormous side. 

“You knew I was.” 

He stopped at a safe distance from Vaghar and waited for his father to approach him next. 

“You have some explaining to do.”

Daemon did not think so, he thought his opinion was blatantly obvious for anyone who knew the bare minimum of the situation revolving around his alleged wedding. 

“I think my actions are very self-explanatory.”

Baelon would not be satisfied with that, and Daemon knew. 

“That’s not enough for me. Or your mother.”

“Not to the King and Queen? That’s funny -”

His father was suddenly very close to him, and while he was visibly dissatisfied he was also very calm.

“That’s enough, Daemon.” Baelon ruled. “Your anger, I understand and even your wish to escape, but I will not condone how you handled the situation!”

“Easy for you to say.” He mumbled. 

“What does that mean?”

Again, he thought it was very obvious, but apparently further explanation was needed. 

He scoffed. 

“Your wife is not some sickening bronze relic from some fucking bronze mountain. You were never expected to touch that with the longest pole in the world and ordered to get that useless piece of shit with a child. Your wife is a Targaryen with a dragon of her own who was able to have children who are like the rest of us, not whatever will come out of that horse-faced sow!”

He wasn’t planning to raise his voice, but by the end of his rant he was shouting and his hands curled in fists. Baelon, however, remained calm and composed. 

“You know, I did not favor that match.”

“You did not protest very much until my mother did either!”

It was true. Baelon did take his side once Daemon was hellbent against marrying Rhea, but only after Alyssa confronted their parents about how she would be very dead before she agreed to that “ridiculous scheme to render my son an exile.” He did not know when his father heard of those plans, but the first time Daemon was told of it, Baelon attempted, albeit weakly, to talk him into at least give the Royce girl a chance. One that was wasted, to Daemon’s opinion, because he hated her from the very first moment he laid eyes on her when Alysanne, tired of his refusal to meet the “splendid bride” she chose for her grandson, ordered him to take her for a walk in the gardens chaperoned by herself in person. 

“I did fight it, Daemon.” His father responded.   

Truth be told, in these past months Daemon had come to think that there was nothing that would have convinced his grandparents. Alysanne was hellbent on this match and Jaehaerys had not said a word against it. If there ever was a time when his grandfather was expectant towards him, it was long gone. “If only your sister lived” he heard the old man mumble in such a low voice only Daemon could have heard him despite being across the room on that occasion. That was what did for him, Jaehaerys had allowed it because, to his absurd superstitious mind, his ambitions for powerful demigods to his line were over. He hated that word, and would often scoff and roll his eyes whenever he heard it. He knew why certain things were different for him, of course, he’d heard the stories a thousand times in infancy, why he was so much stronger, faster and more than others, or why he had the impression things moved from where they should be around him, but he seldom thought of it. He was born like that, that was just the way his life was, it was normal for him. Demigods sounded to him like superstition the King and his sister, Rhaena, liked to indulge in and what would make Alysanne hold her seven pointed star harder. And yet, he was living proof that something other than what he could explain existed. 

“I know you are here to take me back and to scold me, and since I’m not returning, we might as well get to the part where you tell me all the many things I’ve done wrong."

Baelon’s forehead creased. 

“I do not care for that tone and you’ll cease using it with me.” He spoke firmly, before he continued. “No one noticed your absence until the next afternoon, you know that? Alyssa and I were still locked in our chambers. The servants were sent for us and for you to get ready for the feast, the wedding was done, apparently there was naught to be done by then. My father decided that after the groom and his parents' most noticeable absence, our appearance would clear things up. Your leave was excused as an indisposition, I have no idea what they said about mine and Aly’s.” 

Daemon was taken off guard, he had expected a long scolding and then a fight. But he supposed his father had a long time to cool off, like he did, and well, parents worried about their children, did they not? 

“When did they learn I was gone?”

He saw his father suppress a smile as he often did when he learned of something that made him equal parts proud and angry. 

“Well, grooms and maids are not the bulkiest fellows, are they?”  Baelon’s question was obviously rhetorical so he just waited. “Your mother’s…strongly worded refusal to attend the festivities was interrupted by ser Ryam who was sent by His Grace to escort me to your rooms and have you open it. They had tried, apparently, but no one knew how you locked it since your keys were not supposed to be in your possession.”

 Baelon paused, giving him a meaningful look. 

“Well, you had obviously bolted it somehow. I ordered the hall cleared to speak to you alone and Gods know how I convinced my father, but he finally left too. I had a hunch you were not there and I was not about to waste my time talking to an empty room, so I used the way I assume you used to escape to go inside.”

His father waited this time, perhaps to hear his answer, or merely to let the shock sink in. 

How does he know about them? 

“How did you know it was there? Why did you never tell me? Aegon and I looked everywhere for them, we never found the ones in the Holdfast!”

Baelon’s expression conveyed his thoughts on Daemon’s question very clearly. His face said ‘Do you think I am stupid?’

“You know, if the Keep was ever attacked that was a safe escape for all of us.” Daemon felt the need to defend himself. “I can’t believe you knew it was there the whole time and I didn’t.”

“That makes two of us. I thought for sure you would find them before there was hair on your face. I found it when I was eleven.”

“I bet uncle Aemon found it and you were just there.” Daemon mumbled. He could not believe he never noticed the damn door on his fucking wall. He’d been living in that room his entire life. 

Baelon ignored his jab and carried on. 

“Well, I did find your rooms empty, but my surprise was the broken furniture and most of all that massive dresser blocking the door.”

Daemon rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t see why, you know I can push things like that, it’s not something new.”

Baelon abandoned their recently found ease and adopted a stern look. 

“Daemon, you should not have left like that.”

Daemon scoffed. 

“What should not have happened was that stupid wedding!”

“Regardless, it did and however they explained our absence it was a blatant lie to anyone, but your leaving the capital entirely is a scandal that reflects poorly on all of us.”

Daemon could not believe his ears. Up until now he at least took some comfort in the knowledge his parents were on his side. He hated to see his father standing up for his grandparents’ wants. It was as if he had no one. 

“You just said you don’t approve of this marriage and now you change your mind! I can’t believe you are taking their side!” 

“Listen here” Baelon took a step forward. “This is not about sides, there is one side, and that is the Targaryens side. What happens in our family is our business. Your escape in the middle of that event, regardless of anyone’s feelings about it, exposes fracture, divide. And that is a weakness others would love to explore.”

Daemon hated to hear that. Mostly because he saw sense in what his father said. It did not make him regret his actions, for he took great joy in thinking he caused the King and Queen even a small fraction of the embarrassment he felt in having his name even associated with Rhea Royce.

“You don’t have to bed her, you don’t have to live with her, you don’t even have to see her in private ever in your life. But you do not expose it to the world! This is a family matter, Daemon, you should have come to me before fleeing like that. You are a prince, not a common criminal.”

It was easy for his father to say that, he was not married against his will. In fact, his marriage was the exact opposite of that, for every noble and peasant knew of the ardent love Baelon and Alyssa had for each other. Even their elopement is not such a big secret, no matter how the King tried to twist the story. 

“And what would you have done then? I did go to you, and apparently I’m still married to her!”

“How can I possibly do anything, when I was barely given time to think?” Baelon threw his hands up in the air. “I was on house arrest, as much as you since your mother’s last outburst with our mother, then the second I manage to leave I find out you have vanished not only from King’s Landing, but from the continent entirely! Your mother and I have been looking for you for the past seven months, and I know you have actively evaded being found!”

“Then perhaps you should take the hint that I did not want to be found!”

While Daemon never thought of his father as so easily explosive, like himself and his mother Alyssa, Baelon was not known for the patience and unperturbed coldness Prince Aemon had. However, it took a lot for his father to truly lose his temper in front of him or his brothers, but that had just happened now. 

Baelon scoffed, and was sarcastic now. 

“What is your plan then? Become a sellsword? Abandon your family to travel town to town trading your dragon’s service for gold like a mercenary? Give away what makes our family powerful for the highest bidder the first time you hit an obstacle and don’t get your way? Is this the future you want? You are not so royal here.”

“It’s better than stay married to that bitch and go live in that shithole of hers in the Vale! I already have a mansion in Pentos and a lot of gold. They allow poligamy here, maybe one day I’ll get married.” He defied smirking. “Perhaps to more than one woman, my grandfather’s rule has no standing here.”

“If you truly think that, then you are naive.” His father had regained his composure. “We have dragons, Daemon. A man doesn’t need to be King of this land to influence what happens here.”

Daemon shrugged. 

“He couldn’t even stop me from leaving. He can’t stop me from remarrying here either.”

Baelon stopped himself as he was about to retort and frowned. He looked pensive now, and it was a few seconds before he spoke again. 

“Is there someone you wish to marry? Have you met someone? Is that what all this is about?”

It wasn’t often that Daemon would be flabbergasted, but that is exactly the sentiment his father’s question brought upon him. 

Why in all the fourteen hells would he think that?

He scoffed. 

“Like there’s anyone for me to marry.”

His answer evoked a strange reaction from his father. Instead of being annoyed with his snide answer, or perhaps affronted with his impertinence, Baelon looked sad. Though he could not fathom why.

“There isn’t, is there?!”

Right. He thought of my sister. 

Rhaenyra was a strange subject for him, and one he didn’t like to think about. It evoked a strange feeling of missing someone he never met. Now and then he wondered what she would have been like. 

Would I have come here had she lived? 

Would she have come here with me?

He didn’t like to dwell in this, the past was the past and it didn’t change. Rhaenyra was dead, she never lived.

“I don’t want to go back to King’s Landing.”

His father sighed. 

“You can stay in Dragonstone. Aemon says you are welcome there, and given the scandal your departure has caused it is perhaps better. Summerhall is nearly ready, you can live there then if you wish.”

It was a good offer. While he enjoyed seeing the Free Cities the past months, he did miss home, his parents, his brothers and having company to fly. 

But not yet. 

“I don’t want to go back yet.” He put his foot down. 

He thought his father would order him to go back or even scold him again, but Baelon’s direction surprised him for the second time today. 

“You know, Aemma and Gael are with child, only a couple of weeks apart, the healer says. Aemon insisted Aemma spend her pregnancy there under the care of his healers where he can forbid maesters and Gael went with her, they are inseparable now.” Daemon did not know why his father was telling him all this. Telling him his brothers would have a child each would suffice, he had little interest in any details. “Alyssa was looking for you with me, but your brothers wrote begging her to return. Well, mostly Viserys, to be honest. Aegon merely wished for Gael to have a woman who’s been through this before to stay with her. She left not a fortnight past, right before I heard about your exploits in Pentos with the Dothraki, or she’d be here.”

“Alright.” Daemon truly did not know what his father wanted from him with this and his unbothered answer awarded him a stern look from Baelon. 

“Your brothers are in Dragonstone with their wives, Aemon, Daella, your mother. Everyone would like you there to meet your niece or nephew, they are due for the third moon next year, around your nameday, can you believe it? ” Baelon put a hand on his shoulder. “Your mother misses you, Daemon, and so do I.”

He did miss them too. When he left Westeros, he thought he’d have the best time of his life, but even when surrounded by people – by strangers – he felt loneliness creep in quickly. 

“If I go back, your mother will want me to move to Runestone, and I’m not doing that.”

Baelon did not pull his hand back from where it lay on his shoulder. 

“She won’t.” Baelon reassured him, the corners of his mouth  rising a little as if he suppressed a grin. “You have already proven to be a flight risk.”

Daemon scoffed, but then he noticed something his father said did not add up to him. 

“Why does Aegon want our mother to be with Gael? Does she not have her own mother? Alysanne barely lets her breath air she does not approve of, even now.”

Baelon pulled back his hand and frowned. 

“My father forbade her from going.” Baelon looked away and pondered something before he continued. “Don’t ask me why he did such a thing. He’s been very… unsettled ever since Gael and Aemma announced their pregnancies. These will be the first children born in a long time in our family, you were the last.” Baelon paused, for some reason Daemon could not comprehend, his thoughts clearly far away for a moment before he recovered and continued.  “He plans to join us in Dragonstone after the New Year celebrations in the capital in a little over a moon, but mother is commanded by the King to remain in King’s Landing.”

“Then you can’t assure me he won’t want me on the first ship to Runestone! Without Caraxes, no doubt” Daemon protested, then remembered something else. “Or ….. Is she there? Is that why you don’t think I’ll be sent to the Vale? Because Rhea is in Dragonstone too? She is Aemma’s lady in waiting, she is there, isn’t she?.”

Baelon looked up as if asking for patience. Daemon took note of how often his father did that when dealing with him. 

“Lord Royce was quite offended at, well, everything that happened, but mostly our absence from the wedding, you expelling the bride from your chambers not a minute together inside and last but certainly not least, your escape. The Royces stayed for the wedding festivities as they should, but Lord Royce took his daughter back to Runestone as soon as they ended to lick their wounds.”

Daemon could not help himself, he laughed for the first time in months about his current marital predicament and took some measure of satisfaction that he caused them even a small fraction of the chagrin they caused in his life with this ridiculous arrangement.  

“As they should. Fucking cunts.”

Baelon’s countenance became very serious, but he did not raise his voice.

“You will mind your language. Your sentiment might be justified, but you’ll speak well with me.”

Daemon did not respond, only waited. 

“Lady Rhea is not there and I doubt very much my father will even bring up sending you there for some time.” The strange expression returned to his father’s face, Daemon did not understand what it was or why, but he was not imagining things. There was something Baelon wasn’t telling him, but he hadn’t lied so far, his heartbeat was consistent the whole time. “So unless you do something else to infuriate His Grace again upon arrival, you can stay in Dragonstone.”

This was too good for him. Not news of an annulment from that pathetic marriage like he wanted, but it was better than what he had right before he left Westeros. 

It is not like he had anyone he wanted to marry, he had time to think of something. In truth, he didn’t think he would ever want that. Daemon had all the women he could want at his disposal, all Targaryens were already married and there was never anyone who caught his eye. He was obviously not blind to his aunts and cousins’ good looks, everyone in their family was favored in that regard, but he thought Viserra too self-absorbed and insufferable – and too old for him – and Gael and Aemma were way too submissive and boring. Rhaenys was spirited, but too haughty and annoying – not to mention the fact she could never bond with a dragon. If that was not enough to make him shy away from marital bounds, there was also the fact that all of those women were also already married. 

He could live unmarried, what other choice was there? Certainly not to swear off fucking and become a Kingsguard. Or worse, a priest.

The more Daemon thought about his family, the more inclined he felt to return. 

“I thought you’d come here to try and drag me back whether or not I wanted to go.” He blurted, without thinking, for he’d been certain of it, which is why he tried so hard not to be found. 

“I was.” Baelon admitted flatly. “But you are nearly a man, Daemon. So I’ll treat you like one so long as you act the part.”

__________

The 3rd moon of 97 ac

It was only a week before his own nameday that Daemon returned to Westeros. He did not stay long in Braavos, its native residents were not a very warm bunch towards valyrians, especially dragonlords. That added to the constant feeling of being followed, though with no evidence of that was causing him to question his judgement – or the type of drink he was being served – so he soon proceeded to Lorath, then Norvos and Qohor before turning back to Pentos a few weeks before. 

Daemon was stalling his return, that was the truth. While he did not doubt his father’s word, there was a part of him that found it hard to believe he would get to just walk away from the Vale after his grandparents went to such great – public – lengths to secure the alliance. But it was time to go back. He’d been gone for nearly nine moons, in fact, if what his father told him about the healer’s prediction, Daemon might arrive to the news he was already an uncle. 

He knew he was expected there much sooner. His father stayed a few days with him in Braavos before returning to Westeros since Daemon adamantly refused to return just yet, he wished to travel some more. “And then I’ll bring something exotic for my niece or nephew.”

Though that was a harder task than he anticipated, because what the hell does one give a child? No, a baby. He’d barely ever spent any time around children, and had never even held one. He’d seen Rhaenys’ children, of course, but aside from the fact that they fed on milk, cried and soiled themselves he knew very little of them. 

Which was yet another reason he returned to Pentos. Their markets were truly something else and Daemon had made friends there, magister Illyrio volunteered his favorite wife’s assistance in supplying the Prince with gifts suitable for a royal child of dragonblood. By the time he decided to return, he had sent ahead by ship a large chest with fine fabrics, several bolts of rare threadwool, some dangling toys that could be hung above a child’s crib along and a stuffed dragon each – one of Balerion and one of Sunfyre – as well as the gifts the magister and even the Prince of Pentos decided to send along to the Targaryen heir’s grandchild. 

There was one gift, however, that Daemon decided to take with him on Caraxes. He had no idea why he bought such a thing, the design was very evidently feminine, it was obviously made for a girl. Before the children were born, there was no way to know their gender, of course, so in hindsight, it was a silly purchase. They could be both boys, afterall. Or two girls, and then one of my brothers will have to keep their mouth shut. 

It was a bit of an impulsive purchase, but he rather liked the music box. It was expensive, the most expensive item he bought as a gift to anyone. The box was about the length of a long dagger, it looked like a jewelry box from the outside, but once one opened it and turned the winding key, music would play from it and a small faery looking lady – a ballerina, he was told – would move around the top, as if dancing while the music played, and by the end she folded into herself in the shape of a dragon. Even if Daemon had never paid such things much mind, he had to admit it was an exquisite piece, bejeweled inside and out, every bit worthy of a princess of their dragon blood. If there is one on the way. 

He remembered his mother saying – equal parts vexed and jesting –  that Daemon would cry his lungs out if someone did not sing him to sleep when he was a babe until Baelon got her a music box. The box made him think of his sister for some reason,  the second the watchmaker showed it to him. He wondered if his twin would have been anything like him, perhaps she would have appreciated such a piece. So he bought it. Maybe he would have a niece and she could have it then, and it would be a nice gift if the girl was anything like he’d been.

It was a late night when Caraxes landed on the Dragonmount, and he took flight almost immediately after being unsaddled and relieved of his rider, already restless eyeing the pearlescent silver-white form of Meraxes who’d been chasing them ever since they neared the coast of the island. Having hatched from the same egg, the two dragons were told to be seldom apart for as long as they’d been alive. Daemon supposed that this was probably the first time both dragons spent any significant time apart since perhaps the Conquest when Queen Rhaenys took her mount to war. 

He was immediately shown to his rooms by the castellan, who’d been very obviously roused from bed. 

Father was not lying, I really was expected here. He had to chuckle to himself. 

Daemon ordered a bath to be prepared for him, he’d traveled all day and was exhausted, but barely had time to take off his boots and coat when a hurricane in the form of Alyssa Targaryen very unceremoniously barged into his rooms and took him into a hug. 

“Hello to you too.” He said hugging his mother back. 

Though her hold tightened around him, she said nothing, which either meant he was already forgiven or really screwed. 

That question was soon answered when Alyssa pulled herself away from him and tugged on his ears next.

Screwed it is.

“What in the name of all the Gods possessed you to leave me for nigh on a year now without so much as a single word of your whereabouts, Daemon?” While Baelon’s limited patience did not often cause him to raise his voice, his mother was as explosive and loud as Daemon himself could be, if not more. “Do you fucking know all the things I imagined to have happened to you? Do you enjoy making your mother suffer? It is not hard to write a letter, Daemon, a missive, any fucking thing is better than silence!”

Her rant went on, from pacing to pointing an accusatory finger at him to more loud scolding that indeed made him feel bad for vanishing for all this time. He’d been so angered at his grandparents and that stupid marriage that his mother’s concern did not cross his mind. And then Baelon found him, he presumed surely his father told her he was alive and with no limbs missing, so he did not write to anyone. 

“I thought father told you I was well.” He admitted sheepishly, and looked around to ensure the servants had left and there was no one else there to see his mother giving him a dressing down.

“THAT IS NOT SUFFICIENT, DAEMON!” Alyssa looked incredulous. “You’d been gone for, what, six, seven moons when he found you? I imagined the worst every time we did not find you, only to breathe again when we heard that a red long necked dragon was indeed seen accompanied by a living man!”

Daemon truly felt bad now. Alyssa was the first to take his side against Alysanne’s plans with the Royces, she was the loudest voice along his own against his marriage and she was probably one of the people he loved most in the world. He wasn’t trying to distress her like this, but he felt stupid for not anticipating his actions would do just that. How the hell did I expect her to feel?

Daemon looked down. Apologising was not where he shined – not that he recalled ever doing much of it to begin with. 

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Damn right, you won’t.” She agreed, calmer now. Alyssa then sighed and hugged him again and kissed his cheek before she left. On her way out she whispered something to his father, whom Daemon just noticed was leaning in the doorway. 

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to find out you can in fact apologize.”

Daemon rolled his eyes. Of fucking course he would have heard it. 

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Yes.” Baelon sighed going inside and, much like Alyssa, he hugged his son. “Never do that again.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes again while his father couldn’t see, then smirked. “I thought there would be a second round of scolding for taking this long to return when I saw you here.”

Baelon merely narrowed his eyes, he had a severe look about him, but, to his surprise, he did not look angry at all. 

“I have a lot on my mind.” Was all he said instead of answering his jab. 

Odd. 

Baelon and Aemon had been talking non-stop about what to get their grandchildren. Baelon bragged he might get two in a row since two of his sons had married nearly back to back, and Aemon reminded him he already had two grandchildren in Laena and Laenor and therefore had more practice, which meant he would always be better at it. 

Which is why Daemon found it strange to not find his father filled with enthusiasm as the birth of both of his grandchildren approached. 

“Did something happen?” He asked right before Baelon closed the door behind him, worried now. He’d been away for many months. 

“Hm? No.” Baelon’s answer was truthful, his heartbeat did not change “Do not sleep in tomorrow, you are breaking fast with us. Your mother might come and fetch you herself by the ears if you don’t after all this time.”

“I’ll go. Good night, father”

“Good night, son.”

__________

Aemma went into labour early morning on the second day of the third moon of the year 97 ac, one day before Daemon’s own nameday. 

His mother told him they’d have a family feast to celebrate the date. Given his late arrival and the circumstances on which he left, there was no time – or the King’s willingness – to do anything more elaborate. But with Aemma’s labours any celebrations would evidently be postponed.

“How long do labours last?” Daemon asked no one in particular as they waited in a large living room as Viserys and Aemon paced, the first visibly anxious and excited, but both clearly distressed. Daemon, Baelon, Aegon and Jaehaerys were keeping them company, and drinking as men did on such occasions. At least, that’s what he imagined they did as he does not recall anyone close to him becoming a father. 

“Hours, days. There’s no telling.” It was Jaehaerys who responded, which caused Daemon’s eyebrows to rise as he turned his head to look at his grandfather from the settee he occupied, for the man had barely looked his way, much less spoken a word to him. 

Daemon could not hold back the chuckle though. 

“Hey, Viserys, how funny would it be if your child ends up sharing a nameday with me, eh? I’ll have the mother of nameday parties every year if that’s the same day as the king-to-be's first grandchild in line for the throne. ” He laughed again at his own joke, and to his surprise it was Aemon who followed suit. 

“So long as nothing goes wrong with my daughter and grandchild and my nerves don’t end me today, I might throw you the mother of parties every year.”

He laughed more freely. 

“That’s a deal, uncle. I hope you haven’t drunk too much to claim loss of memory come morrow.”

Daemon dodged an object that came flying his way.

“Baelon, have you taught that one no respect? I’ll have you know, boy, I was drinking since before you were in diapers.”

“It’s your own fault for making him too comfortable, now live with it.” Baelon responded, going to fill his cup. “Baelon, you are being too harsh on him. Baelon, let the boy be, there’s no need for that. Bael-” He switched to a mockingly high pitched voice that, though meant to imitate Aemon, sounded nothing like him. 

“Oh, gods. Do you think it will take too long? Why has no healer come out to say anything yet?” Viserys cut their father mid-sentence. 

“Calm yourself, Viserys.” Jaehaerys spoke. “There is probably nothing happening for a while. These things take time. If anything changes, they’ll let you know.”

Baelon went over to Viserys and passing an arm around his shoulders started moving him to sit down. “My father is right, son. It took Daemon two days to come, while you it was less than one. There’s no telling, but it will be some time. Eat something.”

“Easy for you to say, it’s not your daughter in there.” Though Daemon heard Aemon’s words as if he’d shouted them, he knew no one else could hear since he very lowly muttered to himself. He looked over at his uncle, who was now leaning against a pillar, looking at no one in particular. Though his words might not be so kind, there was no malice to his tone, it was merely a fact after all. 

Daemon briefly wondered if his father would be so at ease as he was now if it had indeed been his own daughter there, but he quickly brushed such thoughts away. It wasn’t Baelon’s daughter, it never would be, for his sister had died many years ago. He didn’t want to think about this, it was one of the very few things that truly made him sad and this was a day to celebrate, wasn’t it?

The presence who took a seat by his side suddenly pulled him out of his reveries. He didn’t need to look to see that it was Jaehaerys. He seldom had to look. 

“We have not spoken since your return.” The King’s tone was low, yet no less commanding. 

“You are wrong, your Grace.” Daemon answered, glancing at his grandfather. How long had he not called him that? Nearly a year now. It was only ‘my King’ and ‘Your Grace’ since his damned wedding. “We have not spoken since I was informed my wedding would proceed with or without my attendance. Ten moons now, if memory serves me.” 

“You have not changed your ways, it seems.”

“I never planned on it.” If Alysanne were here, she’d chide that he was being petulant and disrespectful, no doubt. But Daemon didn't care. 

“I feared as much.” And with that not-at-all cryptic line, the King got up and returned to where he’d been seated for hours. 

What the fuck was that?

Daemon could name a vast number of weird interactions he’s had so far in his life, and he was adding that one to the list. 

Viserys complained again, he’d been whining non-stop ever since Aemma was rushed to her rooms to give birth. Daemon could not understand why he wasn’t there if he was so worried. He never thought about having children, but if he were to ever have one he’d want to be there. He’d heard the story of how his father had killed a maester who made some very absurd suggestions when he was born, so he could be at the very least needed there then. 

“Viserys, you can just go there, you know?” It was Aegon who spoke now.

“It’s true.” Aemon agreed. “No woman would want her father there, but you are her husband.”

“Isn’t it women's business? I could not intrude like that.” Viserys slumped his shoulders. “Aemma is very private, I’m not sure she’d want me there. Wouldn’t I get in the way?”

Then stop fucking whining.

He couldn’t say that, of course, so he did something else. 

“For gods’ sake, chill a little. She’s fine.” Daemon saw every eye in the room stare at him as a silence fell over them. “No one is shouting in pain yet nor are there complaints about it at present, someone said the contractions are far apart – whatever that means. Some lady whose voice I don’t know just told Aemma to get in a hot bath for some reason and mother just cussed someone to let her walk if she wants to fucking walk because apparently, it helps.”

There was another long silent pause when he was done speaking. 

“How do you know that?” Viserys’ mouth slightly dropped open. 

“Can you hear them from here?” Jaehaerys asked, getting up and finally closing his book. “Have you been listening this whole time or just now on purpose?”

That surprised Daemon for more than one reason. One because Jaehaerys, who’d been even more weary of him this past week than ever before, was speaking to him as if nothing happened, as if he had not caused a mountain of diplomatic headache for the King with their vassal. And second because the King knew he could do that. There was a reason why Daemon was frequently sent away from the pavilion where the Small Council chambers were or when very private conversations were taking place – like the ones that firmed his betrothal to the Bronze Bitch. 

“I don’t know why the surprise. Everyone always knew I could do this.”

“Not from this distance.”

Of course. 

He’d not been exactly upfront these last few years about just how much he progressed, so he just shrugged. 

“Nothing changed.” Jaehaerys’ staring at him was odd, very odd, so he turned to Viserys and Aemon instead. “Do you want me to tell you what's going on in there or not?”

“Yes.” They both answered in unison, which finally broke the tension and caused some laughter. 

“Well, then, Aegon, my dear brother, you should know your wife does not sound very happy to know this will happen to her soon.” He got up and put both hands on his brother’s shoulders in a very caricature show of pity. “So I don’t think you’ll ever have sex again.”

“Fuck you.” Aegon scoffed then pushed him away, and even Viserys laughed. 

They’d been there for hours, dinner came and went, and though Daemon could hear there was more commotion in Aemma’s room now, there was no child yet.

“Looks like your kid will really share a nameday with me.” He joked.

“What’s happening there? Can you hear it?” Viserys ignored his jape and asked instead. 

“Someone said the contractions are a few minutes apart.” Daemon made a face as he said that, his knowledge on this matter was very vague and limited, childbirth had never interested him in the slightest. He knew it was painful and he was learning there were apparently contractions involved. “Mother and aunt Daella agree it won’t be long now, someone else said a few more hours.”

“How many hours?”

“Do I look like a midwife? How the hell should I know?”

Viserys would usually respond but this time he just ignored his brother. His nerves must have finally kicked in for good, he even refused dinner and had stopped drinking hours ago. But then again, so had his father. Baelon had been acting strange lately, Daemon thought. His father was never given to mood swings, but since he returned to Dragonstone, he noticed the Spring Prince alternated between excitement over his new grandchildren and brooding over something he would not speak of. Aemon too seemed nervous, but then again, it was his daughter bound to give birth and even he knew this was not without any risk.  

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be a father.” Viserys muttered to himself as he resumed his pacing. 

“Did you think about names?” Aegon asked.

“Some. I’m partial to Jacaerys, Aemma liked it so much she refused to think of other names.” Viserys let out a laugh.

“A fine name for a king.” The King himself spoke. 

“What if it is a girl?” Daemon asked this time, remembering the music box that now laid hidden in a chest in his bedroom. He heard a silent sigh from his grandfather and the man had a strange look when he chanced a glance at him to see what the strange reaction was about. Why is everyone acting strange?

“We have some options.” Viserys answered in a dismissive tone, and smiled. “But I really think is a boy. Aunt Daella says her stomach was round and high when she was with child and it was a girl, and mother says her belly was lower and pointier with all of us, which is how Aemma’s is. I have a good feeling it’s a boy.”

I was a twin with a girl, dumbass. What a great load of crap.

Daemon could not keep his eyes from rolling. 

“Is there any merit to that? I mean, Daemon was a twin with a girl.” It was Aegon who voiced Daemon’s own thoughts, which he thought was fortunate, because no one made a fuss when Aegon said things like that and he was curious now. Also, he didn’t like to speak of his sister in public, people always stared at him for some reason whenever it came up as if he’d have some great revelation to declare about the matter. Or as if they pitied him for the loss. They shared a womb, not a whole life.

“And Daemon is a man.” Viserys responded as proof to his argument.

Daemon did know what bothered him, but he did not like how easily Viserys dismissed their sister. If any of that nonsense about stomach shapes was true, surely he ought to take their sister into account. 

“Rhaenyra was not.” He hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words were out before he could stop them. He suddenly felt many eyes on him. His sister was rarely mentioned at all, her name even less so, especially by him. “What?” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “If any of that is true, surely she would influence mother’s shape too. She was in fact there.”

Viserys, it seemed, was not very pleased with his line of thinking for a small crease formed between his eyes as he frowned. 

“Do you think it’s a girl then, Daemon?” the King asked before anyone could say more.

He didn’t think anything. He brought gifts that could serve either a boy or a girl for that specific reason. 

Except for one. 

Why the hell did I buy that?

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Maybe. Who knows.”

Daemon regretted his answer almost instantly, for the King’s long standing preference for having sons over daughters was well known – especially where heirs and succession was concerned – and he was in no mood to be lectured on politics after gods know how much wine he drank. 

Jaehaerys stared at him for a solid minute before responding and no one dared speak over their King, less so because in the eyes of His Grace, Daemon was on thin ice. 

“Mayhaps you are right.”

Jaehaerys’ calm response, almost accepting, was a stark contrast to the man’s usual position on the matter. He greatly disliked Aemon’s resolve to both not have any more children and to keep Aemma as his heir instead of Baelon. He disliked even more the fact that there was very little he could do about it, for once he died and Aemon became King, he could very well disregard any law and or order his father ruled and do as he pleased. The man’s calmness over the possibility that his heir’s direct line might be composed of not one but two women was almost unnatural, nothing like his established behaviour.

Did I come back to the same family?

“Cool.” It was all he thought to say. “What about you uncle, you have one of each already, do you wish for another granddaughter or a grandson?”

Aemon was almost startled at being spoken to. He’d been silent for hours now. 

Uncle Aemon was usually a quiet man, he was well spoken like any prince and heir was expected to be and one of the best conversationalists Daemon could think of, but it was either when the situation demanded such a behaviour or when he was around friends and family – some family at least. But even for his standard, this was oddly quiet. 

“It’s not up to me.” He shrugged. “But my guess is a girl.”

“It is?” Jaehaerys asked surprised, eyebrows raising so much they nearly reached his hairline. 

“Why not? Everything else fits, why not this?”

“What?” He would have laughed at Viserys’ confused expression as he asked the question that rang in his head over Aemon’s bizarre answer, but Daemon was sure his own face was not much different. In fact, Aegon’s looked much the same. 

“Yes, what?” Daemon echoed his brother’s question, but no one answered. “Fine then. Aegon, you’re next. Do you think it is a boy or a girl?”

Aegon pursed his lips for a moment, thinking.

“I’ll take Viserys’ side on this. Gael’s stomach is like he said mother’s was. If his theory is right, then it should be a boy.”

“Do you think yours is a boy too, then?” Daemon followed up.

“To be fair, I don’t care either way.” Aegon seemed to mean it.

“Right.” Daemon turned to his father then, everyone else had guessed, they might as well finish their….what? Game? Gamble?  “Father, what do you think? Will Viserys have a boy or a girl?”

“Girl.” Was all Baelon said after exchanging a look with his father and brother. 

What the hells? I’m missing something. 

“Well, that wasn’t strange at all.” Daemon muttered, sitting next to Aegon, low enough that only his brother could hear. “I mean, you think so too, don’t you?”

“It really was.”

“Do you know what that’s about?”

Aegon looked from his father, to the King and then Aemon, all three lost in their own thoughts entirely unaware of the brothers’ eyes on them. 

“No idea.”

The hours passed and the massive valyrian clock that occupied a good part of a wall finally rang to announce the end of a day and the beginning of another. 

“Happy nameday.” Aegon said, clinking his goblet to Daemon’s. “I bet you did not expect to spend it like this, eh?”

Daemon chuckled. “No.”

“Well, cheer up. The law says you are an adult now.” 

“The law says you are an adult now.” Daemon repeated in a mocking imitation of his brother’s words in a high pitched voice. 

“Daemon, can you hear more?” Viserys interrupted them to ask. 

“There’s more commotion now, someone just told Aemma all is well with her – to which, might I tell you, your wife just replied with the most colorful language – and that the babe should come soon.”

Viserys got up again, and Daemon doubted he would sit back down until the child was born, Aemon never left his spot leaning against a pillar and his father was almost becoming a statue where he was seated and silence reigned over the room again – Daemon hated it. 

He hated the stupid silence, and he could not understand how the rest of his family present was so unbothered by it. They were royalty for fuck’s sake, his uncle could surely afford a bard to keep up the mood, it was after all, a cause for celebration. That would at least be better than stone dead quiet. 

It was an hour into Daemon’s nameday, at the hour of the owl, when Daemon finally heard the echo of a babe’s cry coming from Aemma’s room. 

“What the fuck?” He cursed in a low voice. Mostly to himself. 

He heard a baby cry, which meant Aemma had finally delivered her child. But along that very specific noise, he heard a strange humming that seemed to come from nowhere in particular and at the same time he knew it came exactly from his goodsister’s chambers. 

“What?” Baelon asked, rising suddenly to his feet. 

He didn’t know how to explain it, and while the noise was very noticeable, it was not unpleasant at all, it was more like a sudden awareness of something. Of someone? Well, it certainly is an improvement from this stupid silence. One would think they came here for a funeral!

But the more time passed, the more pleased he was, his usually restless mind was suddenly quiet, calm instead of looking for outside ruckus to silence the frenzy inside his usually restless conscience. 

“Do you hear that noise?” Daemon finally asked. Surely he wasn’t the only one to hear it.

“What noise?” Aegon asked. “I don’t hear anything. Is it coming from Aemma’s room?”

That caught everyone’s attention and suddenly there were four pairs of eyes on him. 

“Is it?” Viserys nearly ran to Daemon’s side. “Daemon!”

He snapped out of his snooping what was happening in Aemma’s room. 

“Yes…no….well, kinda.” He huffed, annoyed that he spoke out loud such a stupid answer, “I mean, yes, but not really. It is different. Do you not hear anything? I’m not hearing things!”

“Maybe it's too low for us.” Aemon interjected. Daemon disagreed, but did not comment lest he would be thought crazy. The humming noise was definitely there, like a background sound that let him know that there was something there, but the more he heard it the less it seemed to him like a regular noise made by anything or anyone ordinary. Could it be just in his head? What the hell was that? “Is my daughter well?”

“I think so.” He heard no evidence of the contrary, but then he remembered there was one other piece of information everyone was waiting for. “By the way, the babe is-”

But his words were cut by what he heard happening next, and Daemon’s head as well as his attention turned instantly to the direction of Aemma’s room.

“By the Gods!” Someone – a healer, he suspected –  exclaimed. 

“How is that-”

“Are those…. Are those scales?”

“But she is so beautiful. How can this be?”

That fully picked his attention. 

Scales? 

There was only one person other than himself whom Daemon knew to have been born like that.

Obviously, he heard about the eventful day he was born, it was a story hard to hide in court. Two strangely beautiful children with draconic features, a maester killed by a prince and a dead royal babe. It was everything those gossip-seeking leeches in court loved. 

Even if those features softened a lot before he could walk and had faded to only a few scars down his spine, there was no one else alive like him. Only my sister was. 

Except, now apparently there might be. 

“Rhaenyra?” He heard Alyssa’s surprised voice and then a sob that seemed to belong to his mother.

“Let me see my daughter. Give her to me this instant!” Aemma’s voice protested. 

“Here my sweet, your daughter is perfect.” Aunt Daella said. 

He was entranced in the events going on in Aemma’s room. 

“Why-” Aemma asked, her voice breaking as if she was crying. “Why is she like this? Will she be well?”

“I’m sure she will, my dear.” Daella’s voice spoke. “Daemon was just like that, wasn’t he Aly? And he was well and healthy. I’m sure your girl will be the same.”

He heard more words of comfort to Aemma and others of surprise coming from some healers or midwives, he didn’t know who was whom. 

“Healer Eleander, you took care of Daemon, do you mind checking my granddaughter?” 

Aemma protested her mother’s suggestion only once, but after a moment of silence the healer was speaking to the girl’s good health. 

“Have you and Viserys chosen a name? You told me a boy would be Jacaerys, but you never told me the girl’s name.” Daella asked. 

“Yes, I thought of some. I’ve always liked the tale of how Daenys saved her family by using her gift to guide her loved ones out of Valyria, but-” She stopped herself, voice hoarse, no doubt from screaming. “Aunt Alyssa, why did you call my daughter Rhaenyra when you saw her?”

“I…” Came Alyssa’s voice.

“Aly, I don’t think-” Princess Daella intervened.

“No, mother. Whatever it is, I want to know.” It surprised Daemon to hear Aemma use such a sharp tone, even more so to address her own mother. She’d always been the perfectly obedient lady. 

Seconds of silence passed before Daemon heard his mother answer. 

“I…I’m sorry, Aemma. It was a slip of the tongue.” Alyssa’s words came out weekly in a way Daemon had never heard before from his always firmly self possessed mother. “She looks so much like my Rhaenyra, it’s like she’s standing right in front of me. She is your daughter, of course, but I honestly cannot believe my eyes.”

Daemon frowned. It was not only what his mother said, but how she said it. Not once in his life had he seen Alyssa Targaryen in tears, but from how she sounded he was certain that he’d find her in tears if he could see her now. 

There was another moment of silence in there, except for healer Eleander telling them that the girl was well.

“Well, it is decided then.” came Aemma’s voice, resolute. “My daughter’s name is Rhaenyra.”