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Love was not a notion that Daemon felt particularly well acquainted with. As a young Prince, the attention naturally fell on his father’s firstborn, the heir.
Though his brother's attempts at bearing a son were futile and for a handful of years he was deemed to be the next in succession to inherit the throne, he was still a social pariah.
His impending titles were soon stripped of him and handed to his niece, but he did not place fault on her. The blood of the dragon ran thick in her veins and she, unlike her father before her, would become a memorable Queen.
Perhaps his wife, Laena, could have filled his loveless void, but even she was less of an impassioned partner and more of a woman appointed to raise his heirs and maintain appearances. His daughters were of significance to him, but who less suitable to be their lone guardian than him?
Daemon stood by the seaside, salty air whipping harshly across his skin, a shabby, sea-worn shack standing feet behind him.
And he felt overcome with love.
Perhaps it was indecent, ill-timed even, so soon following his wife's death. Perhaps so soon after her lover's passing was exploiting her vulnerable state. But Daemon had come to understand that no matter how intent you are on subduing an emotion, it will merely persist.
Attempting to flee from his unwavering sentiments had not previously been in his favor, especially when he spent ten brutal years severely forlorn and capable of journeying anywhere but the one place he hungered for the most.
Home.
Wherever she was.
So yes, Daemon Targaryen did love.
And his affections ran deep for one woman.
So as he stood by the shore, briny winds lashing across his face, the tide gradually beginning to loom nearer, he grappled with the knowledge he now bore. He could not merely run from her now. The deed they had committed, something Daemon had resisted, but coveted after for years, eternally bound him with her.
He could not evade her now.
Her delicate footfalls could be heard from behind, approaching. He did not shift when she fell into place beside him nor when her eyes lightly traced his silhouette.
"It's beginning to darken," She noted, voice quiet above the sound of the breaking tide, "We'll be missed."
He hummed.
He mulled over what he had missed in the ten years he'd been absent. She had evolved into a woman grown, motherhood transforming her from a mere girl to a woman. He pondered on the things she experienced without him, the previous unexplored ventures she had partaken in without him. The children she had without him.
Ah, so he finally circled back to Ser Harwin Strong.
Hand of the King’s son and father of his niece's children.
He clenched his jaw.
She had questioned if he had loved his lady wife, it was only fitting to reciprocate.
He cleared his throat, "Did you love him?"
Rhaenyra did not ask the 'he' in question.
She knew.
Of course, she knew.
She had only spent ten years running from the accusations, but now, she knew it would be a vain endeavor to conceal the truth from the man that lay inside her mere minutes prior.
"I did." She confessed with a subtle nod of her head.
Daemon let out a low, indiscernible sigh, finally facing her.
"And he sired your sons." The low-hanging moon cast shadows across his pale skin, darkening his already hardened features.
Rhaenyra looked into his eyes, hesitant, "He did."
"They do not know I presume?" He questioned, voice stony.
His emotions had always been concealed, and even now, his face was a mask. Yet, the subtlest trace of distaste flickered in his eyes, a telltale indication of his displeasure.
She laughed a low, lifeless laugh, "Jace has surmised as such, but Luke is unknowing of his true parentage."
Daemon smirked dully, "It seems he is the only one."
Rhaenyra's face was sober, "Yes, well —"
"They shall question their succession."
Rhaenyra was still, "They already have."
"They have no say in the matter," He continued, laying a steadying hand on her shoulder. Rhaenyra looked at him, "They are Targaryens. They carry their mother's blood, that is enough."
Their eyes, so alike in their hue, locked, incapable of glancing away.
"I was compelled into departing King's Landing," She confided to her Uncle, "My children's ancestry was continually scrutinized and the incessant whispers became overbearing."
"Hm," Daemon hummed, "Those who utter rumors were always the bane of my existence. I am pained that you must tolerate their vexation now, my niece."
"You must not face trouble for me," She merely expressed, the gleam of the full-bodied moon glinting in her iris', "but for my children. They have lost a father and Leanor is of little use to both me and them alike since his sister's demise. Even before, he was not there for them as he ought to have been. I fear he fueled the rumors."
"It is of little importance, Rhaenyra." Daemon stated, eyes never having left her face, "You are inheritor to the Iron Throne and your children shall follow in your footsteps. The Targaryen dynasty has stood for centuries and trivial whispers will never be the reason behind our downfall."
Rhaenyra refocused on him, "And what will be?"
Daemon's eyes were grave, containing a cold truth, "The only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon is itself."
"I fear her and I are at opposing odds," Rhaenyra admitted, pacing before the warmth of the hearth, "There is no salvaging our relation after what she has done. She wished to render my child bodily harm. He is merely a child! He was defending himself against vile indictments!"
Laenor sighed, rubbing a hand harshly across his forehead, "I don't understand where her disdain arises from."
"Perhaps if you weren't gallivanting with your devotees you would be capable of comprehending the motives behind her insufferable actions," Daemon sneered, leaning on the wall of Rhaenyra's bed chamber.
Laenor and Daemon gazed disdainfully in the other's direction, eyes full of molten.
”Enough.” Rhaenyra commanded, “There is enough infighting between the family as is. I will not condone the two of you furthering the strain amongst us.”
Daemon smirked, uncrossing his arms and moving about the room to stand beside her. She had truly grown into a commendable woman. Her very presence was sufficient enough to command a court, authority dripping from her as though she were already Queen.
Though she was not and Alicent made that known.
"I've had enough," Rhaenyra's face was void of emotion, hands entwined. She looked to her Uncle, his hooded gaze easily finding hers, "My claim to the throne, my birthright, has been too easily challenged."
Daemon nodded, a confirmation, looking to her husband, "Your union is a jest in the eyes of Rhaenyra's contenders. They will not respect her claim if you remain wedded to the Princess."
Laenor straightened in his chair, spine rigid, "I have fulfilled my duties-"
Daemon chuckled humorlessly, stepping forward, "Have you? You have provided no reinforcement to this union once you joined my niece in matrimony. Your lack of partnership has fueled her opponent's agendas. You have not fulfilled your duties nor are you of any use to her, let alone her children."
Rhaenyra placed a hand on her Uncle's forearm, "We are to relieve you of your obligations."
Laenor stilled, eyes frantically passing from wife to uncle, "Relieve me?"
Daemon would be an adept opponent if he wished to battle Laenor. He had acquired a reputation as a skilled warrior and this attribute did not console one countering the man equipped with Dark Sister slung across his waist.
Daemon detected his sudden apprehension, "Do not agonize over your looming fate. Rhaenyra has expressed the desire to keep you alive. We solely wish to proposition you."
Rhaenyra placed a palm on her stomach, considerably flatter than weeks prior, "We wish to liberate you from your responsibilities. An opportunity to flee from your undesired commitments."
"You wish for me to run?" Laenor asked, restless, "Be deemed a coward and an undutiful husband, father, and son?"
"Your impulsive departure would only initiate additional hearsay," Daemon responded, voice collected and unperturbed, "It would need to appear as though you perished."
Laenor stood, a breathy, dumbfounded laugh escaping him, "You want to feign my death?"
Daemon smirked, looking to his niece, "Precisely."
"Laenor," Rhaenyra started carefully, as though not to spook a startled horse, "With you as my lord husband, they easily challenge my claim. This alternative would be advantageous for both of us."
He looked to his wife, eyes containing hesitancy, "Rhaenyra, my wife, speak freely."
Daemon stepped beside her, extending his hand and interlacing their fingers, drawing her close to his chest. Laenor's gaze descended upon their joint hands, realization dawning on his face.
Rhaenyra spoke the truth, maintaining her hold on Daemon, "A marriage to my Uncle, my blood, would stabilize my succession. I would not be contested with such fervor. And you, you, my husband, could live freely with Ser Qarl, unrestrained by your true identity."
Laenor stilled, eyes calculative, "And of my children? I do care for them as my own."
"Rhaenyra's children will be tended to." Daemon answered with zero traces of uncertainty, "I will raise them as my blood. I have always wished for a son."
Laenor mulled over his words, slowly nodding as if an agreement was in order. He did love those boys as though they were his kin, but he undoubtedly knew he was not there for them as he ought to have been.
"I should have rebuked the claims regarding their lineage endlessly," Laenor expressed, eyes closed tightly, "I should have been a devoted father as I was a lover to others."
Rhaenyra stepped forward, taking her husband's face into her hands, "Now is the time to do what is right. Relinquish your titles and flee from your affliction, from your unwanted obligations. For once, pursue what you desire without remorse."
"But what of my parents? "He whispered, gripping her forearms. Daemon observed with critical eyes from afar, "A loss of a child so soon after another? The heartache will consume them. They will lose their heir and only son."
Daemon answered, "Luke was appointed to fulfill his position as ruler of Driftmark after your death. He will inherit Driftmark's throne after the passing of Corlys in place of you."
Rhaenyra rejoined Daemon, her arm snaking around his waist, "Rhaneys and Corlys will face sorrow, this much is true. But the future of the realm, as well as your own fortune, are at stake. You, too, can be satiated and if that fate is with Ser Qarl then I must insist you pursue it. I am certain he will have no objection."
The air was stiff with uncertainty, suspenseful.
"Relinquish my titles," Laenor appeared as though he were pondering aloud, ultimately coming to a consensus, nodding, "What is the strategy? How should we proceed?"
Daemon smirked, head tilting to glance at his betrothed. She glimpsed up at him, eyes alight with a fire that had not burned within her for a decade.