Chapter Text
RUNESTONE, early 111. A.C.
RUNESTONE STANK OF WET STONE, HORSE FECES AND SALT AIR.
It was a particularly ugly castle, as only buildings north of the Trident could be. A fortress of rough grey stone and circular towers, isolated on top of a cliff, on the northern peninsula of the Bay of Crabs. There was nothing but empty fields, mountains, and gray, murky sea around, the largest city in the region, Gulltown, and any sign of life was miles away.
Caraxes was as comfortable in Runestone as his rider. The scarlet beast landed on the pavilion with an uncharacteristic reluctance, its long neck stretching almost menacingly. With its tail, in a sudden movement, Caraxes knocked down one of the balconies of the fortress, injuring some guards who were there. Daemon dismounted with the same lack of excitement, shuffling his feet; he was not at all satisfied with having to come back to this place. From the courtyard itself, you could see the gleam of the bronze shields that decorated the halls of Runestone, the pride of the Royces.
For some long and arduous years Prince Daemon of House Targaryen - then a mere prince among many, and suddenly the heir of his brother Viserys I -, lived bitterly in this hollow, empty, dreary castle; a stone fortress in which absolutely nothing happened, ruminating hatred towards Viserys for not granting his request to annul his marriage to the Bronze Bitch. He would take that castle one day. He promised himself that when he'd last left it a few years ago. When the Bronze Cow closed her insolent eyes for the last time, he would come down with Caraxes and take this castle. And he would throw all that armor filled with false and useless runes into the sea. The Royces didn't know true magic, they weren't of the blood of the dragon. No matter how far the Royces traced their lineage, proudly proclaiming their descent from the First Men who first ventured Westeros, they were still men of the common blood of Westeros and the magic of their armor was no more than an illusion passed from father to son. Daemon despised them and their obsession with bronze.
However, Daemon was not yet there to claim Runestone, but rather to attend to Maester Ylos' raven, informing him that Lady Rhea was about to give birth, and summoning Daemon to meet the child. The tone of the letter had been urgent, but Daemon had waited a fortnight under Viserys's judgmental gaze before he mounted Caraxes and headed for the Vale. His curiosity to know his firstborn, his first offspring, was mitigated only by his distaste for everything that involved House Royce.
Upon his arrival, a haughty knight soon came to attend and escort him to the Lady of Runestone's chambers. The knight introduced himself as Ser Jon Egen, and looking at him by the corner of his eyes, didn't hide his contempt for Daemon; nor Daemon for him, surely the Vale was aware of how much he hated the place.
The Lady of Runestone's chambers were in the center of the castle, Daemon remembered well the way. Lady Rhea was in bed, wrapped in the sheets, but sweating like a pig. Dark hair spilled over the pillows and her skin was an almost feverish pink. It was peculiar to see her without the leather, bronze armor and riding clothes that Daemon hated so much, out of them she could almost be a beautiful woman. Tiredness was etched in her face, even with the scowl that formed when she spotted Daemon entering.
"Daemon." Her voice was acid and hard as the stones on which Runestone was built, the result of an unwanted marriage for both parties.
"Lady Rhea." He crossed the room, insolently. Daemon sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire and put his feet up on the table.
"Our daughter was born a fortnight ago, tired of waiting for you to come." She emphasized the gender of the child she had given birth with fire in her eyes, daring him to show displeasure.
Daemon didn't care about the child or her gender. If the child took after the Royces, he would hate her just as much, boy or girl, whether she was born with six toes or not.
Daemon didn't want this daughter. And he especially didn't want this daughter to be the offspring of the despicable union with Rhea Royce. He wasn't a man particularly averse to fatherhood, but he'd always had a very fixed idea of what his descendants would be like, the role he played in perpetuating House Targaryen and its Valyrian values.
All he ever wanted was a Valyrian bride, with whom he could perpetuate his culture and the blood of the dragon; the purity of Targaryen blood. But in his younger and unmarried days, sisters and cousins were scarce since the daughters of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne were dying one by one. It had been Queen Alysanne's idea to marry him to the heiress and Lady of House Royce, so he would always have his own stronghold. She meant well, but Daemon had never hated her so much. His cousin Rhaenys should have waited for him. Even though she wasn't purely Targaryen, she was still a dragon rider. But Rhaenys married Corlys Velaryon when Daemon was 9 years old. He was left with the simple, brutish Rhea Royce.
It was a doomed union from the start. When they met on the eve of their wedding, Daemon and Rhea immediately didn't sympathize with each other. She came to him in riding clothes, bronze armor and her face smeared with soot, talking about the well-trained horses of the Vale. He had a dragon, so he why would he want to know about horses. It wasn't long before he was cruelly calling her the Bronze Cow behind her back and then on front of her.
No children emerged from this unhappy union because they did not even consummate their marriage. On their wedding night, Daemon sought out the prettiest woman in the Vale to fuck; and even hinted that it had been difficult to find a beautiful woman in the Vale. Afterwards, he always spent as little time as possible in the Vale, making King's Landing his home and stage for his machinations. He conspired and warred and tried to conquer his own kingdom in the Stepstones, only to return to King's Landing and Viserys' court in the end.
When he surrendered his crown of King of Stepstones to Viserys and promised reconciliation with his elder brother, to further demonstrate his good faith, he returned to the Vale, grudgingly consummated his marriage, remained in that decrepit and unhappy land until Rhea became pregnant and then returned to the court of King's Landing with real intentions of serving his brother on the Small Council, without sacrificing his pleasures. Viserys was soft-hearted and forgave too easily. But six months later, the brothers' relationship soured again and Daemon flied back to the Stepstones.
He was in exile when he received the raven from the Runestone maester announcing that his unwanted child was about to be born. He lingered on purpose but then mounted Caraxes and crossed the Narrow Sea out of morbid curiosity; if this child didn't prove to be a true Valyrian, it was just another person to despise.
"And where is she?" he asked, looking around the room and seeing no cribs, no wet nurses carrying a newborn.
Rhea rose and leaned her back against the back of the bed, motioning for the maester to approach her. He came with cold compresses to put on her forehead and Daemon looked curiously at her. He wondered if she was suffering from afterbirth complications and if he was about to be widowed.
"Do not worry about me, Daemon. It's just a fever, my maesters say I'm out of danger now" Rhea said, denying her insinuations. "I'll be strong enough to raise my daughter. Maester Ylos, bring her to me."
The maester bowed and left.
However, it was not he who returned. To Daemon's further annoyance it was Lady Mellara Royce, Rhea's mother, who entered the room with the newborn in her arms, glaring at him as usual. Daemon had hoped that the old woman had dropped dead and saved him from having to suffer her presence.
If Daemon despised the daughter, his hatred for the mother was twice as bad. Mellara Royce was grumpy, nosy, conceited, contemptuous, and superstitious. She was quite suspicious of Daemon and of House Targaryen, even before she met him, though she knew how to disguise it in the presence of the loyalists. The late Lord Royce had a lot of respect for Queen Alysanne and Daemon was a prince, but he wouldn't have been surprised if she had been vocally opposed to the union. In the days when Daemon lived in Runestone, she was one of the reasons his life had been a living hell.
"Here is your daughter, Targaryen," Mellara said, handing him the baby.
Daemon tried to carefully cradle the newborn in his arms as he couldn't boast of experience in handling babies, especially when they were so young. The last child he had previously had contact with was little Rhaenyra, Viserys' daughter. The baby vaguely resembled Rhaenyra as an infant: pink, tiny, and big-eyed. To Daemon's surprise, and to his satisfaction, the Valyrian traits were evident. A vast hint of hair permeated her head, the thin strands almost invisible, the color not Daemon's grey but the pale gold he remembered seeing on his own father and his uncle Aemon. She had Queen Alysanne's lips too, with the cupid's bow well pronounced. He could see a bit of Rhea in his daughter as well, but luckily nothing that detracted from the beauty and grace she would develop in the future, Rhea was in the slightly averted eyes, the upturned nose.
She was a vigorous baby, even at her tender age; only a fortnight alive and she was strong and healthy. With the shock of being pulled out of the cozy warmth of her crib, she opened her eyes tentatively, gathering the energy to meet her father.
Daemon exhaled, taken aback.
He was so focused on appreciating her proud valyrian features, he didn't even consider she wouldn't inherit his violet eyes. But the curious eyes that looked at him at that moment couldn't have been more different. Mellara and Rhea both had common brown eyes, but the baby's eyes were different. Big and deep and black like the midnight sky, like the purest obsidian, like dragon bone; it was almost impossible to see the pupil.
"Blackwood eyes, black as the ravens on our banner, I haven't seen them in generations. The blood of the First Men is strong in her, and we have our own magic, Targaryen. Don't forget that," Mellara said. Daemon scoffed. She had been a Blackwood, he remembered, before she married Lord Royce. They were famous for their generational feud with the Brackens and for being one of the only houses to keep the Old Gods south of the Neck, but there was no magic in their blood. None that matched the magic of Old Valyria.
He didn't even deign to give the foolish old lady an answer, he didn't have time to listen to Mellara's bullshit. He was stunned by this little being that was valyrian for sure and she was exactly how he imagined his offspring would be. Daemon could already imagine the dragon rider his daughter would be; the fierce Targaryen she would become. She would need a proper Targaryen name.
"Have you named her yet?" He asked in Rhea's direction, but still looking at the baby in his arms.
"No, not yet. I thought it'd be common courtesy to let you choose, too." He smirked. Daemon lifted his daughter, bringing her closer to his face, but still careful with her small, fragile body. "Name her after Viserys. He's the only reason she exists. Visaera Targaryen."
"We'll call her Saera in the Vale," Mellara said.
"Call her whatever you want. She will be Lady Visaera of House Targaryen, even when she is living in the Vale."
Visaera made a soft sound, as if she understood what was happening. And Daemon couldn't help the smile that formed on his lips.
"There's something else, Daemon," Rhea said, licking her lips nervously. Mellara sent her a warning look. "The egg you left here... it hatched. Simple as that. When I was still with... Visaera in my belly, I was sleeping here and the egg was laid in the fireplace and when I woke up, there were pieces scattered everywhere and a little pale dragon crawling on top of me.
"Her egg hatched?" he asked in surprise. Viserys had allowed Daemon to bring a dragon egg for Rhea Royce to place in Visaera's future cradle, as was tradition.
"Yes. Is this not normal?"
"Not really. Dragon eggs normally only hatch on Dragonstone, or in a Targaryen's cradle after they are born, but the egg has never hatched before the Targaryen is born."
Daemon Targaryen knew his family history very well, especially regartind the dragons he so revered. The birth of dragons was still a nebulous topic and Valyria had went down with many of the secrets of how to create the majestic creatures. For a long time and until today, the Targaryens depended on fortune for their eggs to hatch into new dragons. At the moment, there were enough dragons for the living Targaryens, but how long would that be possible if they didn't have it under control? Princess Rhaena, daughter of King Aenys I, started the tradition of laying a dragon egg in the cradles of newborns, as she did with her siblings Jaehaerys and Alysanne, resulting in the birth of two new dragons and their bonding with the siblings. Every Targaryen child after Rhaena had an egg laid in their crib, in the hopes that more dragons would be spawned with proximity, but this feat rarely happened again. All subsequent dragon riders have claimed their dragon as an adult or claimed an hatchling born on Dragonstone, none have been able to hatch their own egg.
And none had been able to create such a deep connection that the egg hatched before the Targaryen was even born as Visaera managed to do.
"And where is this dragon?" Daemon asked, his voice hardened at the possibility that those men and women of the Vale could have harmed a dragon.
"In the dungeons, where it won't be able to hurt anyone, even if it's still very small. The servants are taking mice and cats to feed him, but this circumstance won't last forever."
"It can't stay there. Dragons need free space to grow and reach their potential. Nor can I send him to King's Landing or Dragonstone for it must stay close to Visaera," he pondered possible solutions "Have a stable adapted for the dragon built, far away and isolated, where no unsuspecting peasant will approach. I will write to Viserys asking him to send specialized dragon guards to the Vale to take care of the dragon while Visaera is not able to take care of it on her own. It is important that she makes connections with her dragon as much as possible, in daily lessons preferably."
Rhea glared at him for the audacity to be ordering her around in her own house.
"We can arrange that. For Saera," Mellara said, curiously conciliatory.
"You are full of surprises, aren't you, darling?" He gently ran his fingertips over Visaera's delicate little face, so small but so full of potential. He almost regretted leaving her here in the Vale to be raised by hard-headed, simple Royces; but he had to go back to the Stepstones, to his exile. At least for a while.
A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, especially one with a dragon.
Daemon Targaryen now had one more reason to return to Westeros.