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For as long as Rhaenyra had been alive, the heir to the Iron Throne had been her Uncle Daemon. Every failed pregnancy of her mother's was another year that Daemon remained the heir, but Father seemed determine to replace him.
Rhaenyra didn't understand why. Daemon was fun to be around. He always brought her presents and talked to her about dragons. Her parents had no desire to talk about Syrax or the dragons that they'd ridden in the past, but Daemon was always willing to listen to her speak of Syrax and how it felt to ride her. In return, he would tell her of his own dragon, Caraxes. She was allowed to visit and touch, and he'd brought her riding with him when they had the time for it. Caraxes had taken quite a liking to her, and would call out to her in delight when near. Caraxes and Syrax would dance through the skies together, though when Rhaenyra rode her, she felt dwarfed by how much larger Caraxes was. Some day, Syrax would be nearly as large as him, and then they would all be equal. She liked the sound of it. Her and Daemon on more even footing, where she could do something for him instead of him alone bringing joy to her life and receiving nothing in return.
She was wandering the halls of the Red Keep and wondering when Daemon would visit again, when she heard her mother speaking.
"-will happen eventually," she said. "I do not hold faith that this pregnancy will be better than the last, though I hope for it to be well. We should be thinking of the future and securing Rhaenyra's position."
They were talking about her. She slunk closer to her mother's voice and quieted her own footsteps as best she could.
"She is not yet ten, Your Grace." Mother's handmaiden. She didn't care for Rhaenyra, and Rhaenyra didn't much care for her either. There was something cold in her eyes, no matter the topic at hand. "The loss of your last does not signify-"
"I only mean to be prepared," Mother interrupted. "It is not my wish to have her want for companionship in the world. She is a princess. The realm will not forget it, and neither shall I."
Was Mother trying to marry her to someone? Already? She knew that it was to happen some day, but Father had spoken like that day was far off-- ten years, at least. She didn't want for it to happen. If she married, she would leave King's Landing, as Daemon did when he got married. They saw each other so little as it was; that time would lessen even more if she were to leave the city, and she didn't want that to happen.
"A long betrothal would give her the chance to get to know her future husband before she is expected to start bearing children. It's precious time, time she will not get if she first meets him the moon before the ceremony."
That sounded better to her, certainly. Who would want to get married at her age? And true, Mother spoke only of a betrothal and not the marriage itself, so it would be a long engagement for her, but still, the thought of marriage was far too close for comfort.
Marriage would change everything. She didn't want things to change.
"Besides," Mother said with a small sigh that Rhaenyra was familiar with, "I still need to speak to the King on this matter, and it's possible he will not see the need to betroth her to someone at her current age." Mother might say she had her doubts of Father agreeing with her, but if she was already speaking of it, the possibility was closer than Rhaenyra would like.
She hovered nearby in case there was any other gossip about her life forthcoming, but that was the last Mother had to say on the subject. Rhaenyra shuffled away as quietly as she could, then broke into a run when she was far enough away that she wouldn't be caught for eavesdropping.
Marriage. Babies. What a load of tripe. She'd be grateful if she never had to hear about it again.
She did not get her wish.
The newest Targaryen babe did not survive. Mother was beside herself for the rest of the season, always wringing her hands together to try not to cry in front of Rhaenyra. She thought that maybe Mother didn't want Father to see her cry over it either, but she never knew what happened behind their doors once they closed for the night. It took Mother longer to get back to her usual self this time than it had over the last lost child of hers.
She did not expect the latest tragedy in their family to open the discussion of her own future, but it did. Once her parents recovered from the loss, they came to her.
"Rhaenyra," Father said with a smile-- the sort of smile that meant he was going to tell her something she didn't like.
If he was to give her bad news, she wished it wouldn't happen over dinner. She cut into her meat. "Yes?"
Her parents shared a look, and Mother was the one to respond. "You like your Uncle Daemon, don't you?"
"Of course I do." What a strange question. Her worries from Father's tone disappeared and were replaced with excitement. "Is he coming to visit?"
"Yes. Soon. We have a matter we wish to discuss with him. A matter we wish to discuss with you as well," Mother said delicately.
Rhaenyra didn't understand why they were tip-toeing around the subject as if it were fragile. If it meant seeing Daemon, she would be quite happy if they would be out with it, so she would know when he'd be here and for how long. "I'm listening," she prodded, eating with more gusto than before.
"You are our only child, so far, and Daemon is my heir," Father said. "It would do much to settle my mind if I knew the future of the realm was secure."
"The future of the realm is secure," Rhaenyra said, not understanding why he phrased it in such a way. Daemon didn't have any children yet, it was true, but he had a wife. If he spent time with her, surely the child issue would be resolved in short order. "Daemon would likely already have a son if he liked his wife more." She said it freely, for it was not a secret. Not in the realm, and certainly not within their family.
Father set down his utensils and knotted his fingers together in front of him, elbows propped up on the table as he searched for the way to phrase his thoughts. "You are correct," he said with a touch of hesitation-- why, she didn't know; she was often correct. "Daemon does not care for his wife. He has been telling me since the day I betrothed him to her, that he would not spend time with her if it was not forced. It has been on my mind for many years to annul his marriage and find a match for him that he would not run from."
For some reason, her parents shared another look. Mother jumped in again, placing a gentle hand on Father's arm as she spoke. "We would like for you and Daemon to wed. He is fond of you, and you of him. With you as our only child, and Daemon as the Heir, it would strengthen the throne to have the two of you starting your own family in the coming years."
Rhaenyra blinked at her mother, then turned and blinked at her father. Marry Daemon? She had suspected that she would be marrying another Targaryen, but she thought it would be a Velaryon, not her uncle. There were far worse fates, and the prospect was, admittedly, exciting to her. If they were married and he didn't run from her like he did his current wife, she would get to see him every day, not just when he deigned to visit King’s Landing. It was easier to imagine being married to him than it was anyone else she'd met, but that didn't mean all of her worries about marriage vanished. She was still a child. Womanhood was growing closer, it's true, but it was a few years away. The idea of bedding anyone wasn't appealing, even if the person in question was Daemon, who she liked so very much.
"What do you think?" Mother asked.
Rhaenyra shrugged. As Mother had said when she was pregnant with her last, they wouldn't be starting their family for a few years. That was plenty of time for her to grow up and figure out how to be a wife as well as everything else she was in this life. "All right," she said. Daemon was a worldly man. Surely, whatever she didn't know, he would have knowledge enough for the both of them and could teach her.
"You do not mind marrying him?" Father said, sounding cautiously hopeful.
"Why should I mind?" The idea was rather exciting, the longer she thought about it. She would love to spend all her days with Daemon. "Provided he also wishes to marry me, I don't see why I would mind."
"Excellent," he said. Mother withdrew her hand from his arm, and he reached for his goblet. "He should be arriving tomorrow. I'll speak to him as soon as he arrives and take care of the arrangements."
"Are we to be married straight away? Or is it a long engagement while I come of age?"
"Which would you prefer?" Mother asked.
"I see no reason to put it off," she said with another shrug.
Father's smile went a bit tight around the edges. "We shall see. There is no reason to hasten along a measure such as this. I shall speak to my brother and see what he thinks of all this. He can be contrary, but I'm sure once he hears you support the arrangement, he will agree to it as well."
Rhaenyra didn’t know about that, but she nodded all the same. She was certain she would like being married to Daemon. What she wasn't certain of, was that he would equally anticipate such an arrangement between them. He was a man grown, and she was a girl who hadn't bled for her first moon yet. She didn't know what interest he would have in her, beyond their shared love of dragons.
She would like being married to Daemon. There was much for her to learn, but she could learn it with him instead of on her own.
Daemon came to see her the same day that he arrived.
She was the first person he sought out, actually. He always did that. He would arrive, head straight for her, and give her whatever gift he'd brought with him. When she was younger, he brought her toys-- her favorite was a doll from the free city of Braavos. Now that she was older, he brought her other things. Last visit, he'd been gone for so long that she despaired of ever seeing him before she was a fully grown woman, but he returned with spices from Qarth. It was as far east as he’d ever been, and he’d thought of her while he was there, caring enough to buy the spices especially for her.
She was always happy to see him, but this time was special-- for many reasons. Their possible marriage was one of those reasons, but she knew that she wasn't to break the news. The lack of other children to the King and Queen was likely good news for him, but that wasn't what had Rhaenyra bursting with anticipation when she saw him. Her uncle showered her with gifts. This time, she had a gift for him in return, and she hoped, with all her heart, that he enjoyed it. It was not work of her own hand, it was true, but it had been her idea, her commission, and her love for Daemon that had brought it into existence.
"Uncle," she said in Valyrian, spotting him hidden away against the wall as if no one would see him there. Try as he might, he drew attention to himself every time he walked into a room. He commanded attention like the prince he was; she wished she could do that.
"Niece. Did you miss me?" he asked, also in Valyrian.
"Of course I did." She closed the book without care and got to her feet. "How were your travels?"
A small smirk was the only answer he gave. She didn't know if he refused to tell stories because he thought she wouldn't be interested, or if he thought his tales were too mature for her to hear.
Rhaenyra walked closer and gave him a hug, which he readily returned with one arm. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head before she let go.
"I brought you a gift," he said, bringing the other arm out from behind himself. It was a rather large package. Large enough that she should've seen it far sooner, but she'd been distracted by seeing him. He didn't wrap his gifts, for he had no need to. The announcement was anticipation enough for her.
True to form, a jolt of excitement went through her. As he held it out to her, she lifted her arms to accept it. The package was formless to her eyes, tied securely with twine and protected by brown linen. It looked unassuming, but she knew better than to believe it. Not once had he brought her a gift that didn't make her gasp with delight. "What is it?"
"New Naathan silk," Daemon said, and her eyes went wide. Naathan silk was said to be the best, but the only silk of theirs was from before the Doom. Naath was extremely wary of strangers who might sell them into the slave trade, making their silk trade since, insular. This wasn't solely a nice gift; it was an impossible gift. A gift all the noblewomen in Westeros would kill for, and he was giving it to her. He pulled one of the knots loose and worked to pull back the wrapping.
"Naathan silk? But that's- how did you- this is a gift for a queen, Uncle."
"It is a gift for you," he whispered, as if it were a secret between the two of them-- and it was. He tugged the linen wrapping it far enough aside that she could see a glimpse of the silk.
Her hand was drawn to it as if led by a string, and she stroked the priceless material as if it were spun gold. It was colored red, of course. Targaryen red. A deep shade, though lighter than blood. This would make her most beautiful dress yet, and she could only imagine how she would look in it. "Thank you," she breathed. "It's beautiful."
"It is not the only beautiful thing in the room," he teased in Common, eliciting a laugh from her. "I admit," he said as he rewrapped the silk for her, "I was surprised my brother summoned me. I cannot remember the last time he requested my presence. I was worried I wouldn't have this in time for you."
"A senseless worry, we now see," Rhaenyra replied.
He tilted his head towards her in agreement.
Mustering her courage, she said, "I have something for you as well."
"...For me?"
"It can't compare to Naathan silk, but I hope you like it. Come, help me put this away, and I can show you." She had, after all, stored the gift in her room. Where else would it rest? She wasn’t going to leave it with the smithy, where someone else could find it. It wouldn't have been taken because the blacksmith knew it was hers, but there was something private about it. Daemon didn't give her gifts in front of others; she would not give him this gift in front of others. It made sense to her; it felt right. It felt right in the same way taking to the skies with him and Caraxes did.
Daemon walked beside her on the path to her room without question, though he did carry the silks for her. Ser Westerling trailed behind the two of them, silent but present. He knew that she liked for them to be alone when they could, so he would wait outside the door as he’d done earlier for them.
As they walked, Rhaenyra's nerves grew. She hoped he liked it. She wanted him to like it so much it was a sweet taste on her tongue as sure as if she'd bitten into a ripe peach. When she thought about it logically, there was nothing to worry about. Daemon had always been happy with her and the things that she did. It stood to reason that that would continue now, but her emotions did not respond to logic. She worried. She wanted for him to love it as much as she loved his gift of silk. It was tremendously important to her, that Daemon like his gift.
To her mounting apprehension, they reached her room far too quickly. Ser Westerling took his position beside the door, and Rhaenyra closed it firmly behind Daemon after he stepped inside.
"You can set it on the table," she said, and Daemon did. He turned to watch her as she walked to the corner of the room where she'd stored it. She'd thrown a sheet over it, and now that he was finally here, she pulled it back.
Daemon straightened when he saw it, eyes roving over the breastplate.
"I commissioned it for you." He was never in King's Landing long enough to order a new suit of armor, and he refused to have it done anywhere else. The smithies in the city were among the best, she knew.
He walked closer as if enchanted, his eyes glued to the armor. Each step happened as if he were unaware of it until he was close enough to touch.
She bent down and picked up the helmet, which she was particularly happy with. The detail of the dragon on it had taken her breath away when she first saw it. Every inch of the armor screamed Targaryen, but the moment she'd laid eyes on the helmet, she knew that it wasn't simply Targaryen, it was Daemon. From the wings to the red and black hair trailing from the back, it was him. "I think it will suit you," she said, tilting the helmet so he could see it better.
Still, he said nothing.
Shifting her weight nervously, Rhaenyra asked, "Do you like it?"
"It's amazing," he said. When he looked to meet her gaze, his eyes were bright. Bright with love and a sort of surprise, like he couldn't believe she had done this for him. She knew the feeling well, for it was what she'd felt when he declared what gift he'd brought her. He raised a hand and put it on the back of her neck, pulling her in so he could place a soft kiss to her forehead.
Her cheeks warmed with pleasure. "I will have it sent to your rooms while you meet with the King."
"As my princess wishes," he said with a small smirk and a head tilt of acquiescence in her direction.
Rhaenyra was readying for dinner when there was a commotion outside her door. She could make out Daemon and Ser Westerling's voices through the wood, so she went to open it.
"-not let you in, Your Grace," Ser Westerling said.
"I will speak with my niece when I desire, not at your leisure," Daemon spat.
Ser Westerling made to reply, but Rhaenyra interrupted before the situation turned ugly. As neither of them seemed to notice the door opening, they both turned to her for the first time when she spoke. "It's all right, Ser Westerling. Come in, Uncle."
He stormed past her, and she shared a look with Ser Westerling that everything would be fine. She had nothing to fear from Daemon, and she knew it even if no one else seemed to believe it. She closed the door and turned to find her uncle pacing back and forth like a caged animal.
"Did you know?" he asked, rage lining his words.
"Know what?"
"So they didn't tell you," he sneered. "Then he lied to me about it. Unbelievable."
"Who didn't tell me what?" Rhaenyra asked, feeling lost.
"My brother thought to make a match for you," Daemon said, and her confusion cleared.
It cleared for a moment, only to return, because yes, now she knew that he was referring to their engagement, but why was he upset by it? She had thought that he would be happy to learn of it, as she was-- or perhaps he would be indifferent to the news, but not angry, like he currently was. "Yes, I know," she said, and he froze.
He turned to look at her slowly, his brow furrowing.
"They said the two of us should marry, and I agreed."
"You agreed?" he repeated.
Rhaenyra nodded.
"Why?"
"If we were married, I'd get to see you more. Besides, I must be married some day, as my mother likes to remind me. I would like for it to be to you, rather than anyone else."
Daemon stared at her, dumbfounded.
Rhaenyra met his gaze evenly and waited. She waited, and would wait as long as it took for him to respond.
When he finally found his voice again, he said, "You want to marry me?"
"I do."
"You're a child. You do not know what married life entails, what it would mean for you."
"I will only be a child for a few more years. Besides, Father said it would be a long engagement. We won't be wed until I'm of age."
"And you're all right with that?" he asked. "Being wed to me."
"You say that as if I should have some objection with being wed to you. If the choice had been mine from the beginning, I would've chosen you. Although I hadn't known that Father was willing to annul your marriage to Lady Rhea after so long of your complaints with no quarter given," Rhaenyra said. She was surprised by Father's willingness to do it, but she wasn't going to complain.
Daemon seemed stunned into silence again.
"Are you all right, Uncle? You look troubled."
"...No. I'm fine. My brother told me you were aware of the arrangement and had agreed to it, but I didn't believe him."
Rhaenyra blinked up at him. "Why?"
"The last time someone mentioned marrying you off, you didn't speak to them for a week."
She wrinkled her nose. "I would've had to move to the Twins. I've been there once. It was horribly cold."
"It was winter," Daemon said, and all she did was shrug. He looked at her for another long moment as if he was considering something. What he was considering, she had no idea. "I shall see you at dinner, then."
Rhaenyra walked into the throne room, unsurprised to see Daemon sat on the Iron Throne as if it were his. It might as well be. Father was convinced this child would be a son-- and one that lived-- but Rhaenyra wasn't as sure.
"I see you cut your trip short," she said in Valyrian.
"How could I not, when my beloved brother is holding a tournament in my honor?" Daemon replied, not moving from the throne. He looked right atop the throne, she thought.
"The tournament is for his heir," she said, walking closer.
Daemon raised an eyebrow, and she smirked.
"His new heir."
"The babe is born, then?"
"Not yet. It will be a matter of days."
"In that case, the tournament is still for me," Daemon said, with the casual arrogance that he held about his position.
Rhaenyra had heard others mock him for it when they thought she couldn't hear, but she thought he was right. How many pregnancies had her mother gone through? Even when a babe came out and took its first breath, it was dead before it reached its first year. Even if this child was a boy, there was no guarantee he'd live for long. That was what Daemon thought, and Rhaenyra thought it as well. The gods would never touch their lives with big signs, but little messages made their way through. The fact that so many children had come and gone with Daemon still lasting as heir had her convinced that her parents would never have a son that would live to adulthood.
Daemon stood, fiddling with something in one hand as he walked down the steps to meet her. "Did you miss me?"
"I barely noticed you were gone," she lied, and he knew it was a lie.
He lifted the hand, and a necklace hung before her, swaying gently from side to side. It was beautiful, interwoven circles at the base with a red jewel and two chains instead of one for the length of it. She looked at it, and it felt Targaryen to her. "It's Valyrian steel," he said.
"Like Dark Sister," she said, excitement coursing through her. There had never been a need to give her Valyrian steel before, for she was not a fighter. Daemon, of course, had a Valyrian steel sword. With this gift, she would also have a piece of their family's history, and beyond that, it was something that bound them together.
He inclined his head towards her. "Turn around."
She did, unclasping the necklace she was currently wearing. She held it with one hand and swept her hair away from her neck with the other.
Daemon's fingers were hot against her skin as he put the new necklace around her neck. He didn't work to keep their skin from making contact, but he also didn't put his hands directly on her like she wished he would. He surprised her a moment later. The necklace clasped safely, and he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck before stepping away.
Her skin was on fire in the best possible way, and she turned to face him, letting her hair fall free as she did.
Daemon's eyes roved over the necklace, then her face. "Beautiful," he said, and she smiled.
"Does that mean you're no longer nervous to marry me?"
"I was never nervous," he lied.
Her smile turned into a smirk. "As you say. Should I wish you luck for the tournament?"
"I doubt I'll need it, but I'll take your favour all the same."
"Be sure to ask for it after you win your first bout."
His eyes were intense on her own, and she wondered if his heart was beating as quickly as hers was. "I would never forget."