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Daemon could not remember the first time he laid his eyes on the red beast the keepers called Blood Wyrm. He wasn’t the largest dragon in the pit, but he was the fiercest, the most feared. He had a fire in his eyes, not just his throat.
He remembered thinking that he wanted to be the fiercest and most feared, too.
…
Daemon had not been born alongside dragons like his niece, but he was not kept apart from them either. His parents were fond of riding, as was their older brother — and so he would sit on his mothers lap, even as a babe, and they would fly through the skies.
And then his mother died.
But she left that memory behind, and passed her love of dragons onto him.
He often visited the pit after she passed, taking comfort in visiting his mothers mount — Meleys.
He thought sometimes, only Meleys and Baelon could relate to his loss — and Meleys was easier to talk to. Of course she didn’t talk back, but as a boy he felt closer to the beasts than humans, for his emotions ran high and his temper hot.
Meleys was fast, swift and graceful despite her great size. She flew through the sky like an arrow, but was capable of so much more damage. Anyone would be lucky to ride her.
But Daemon would not.
…
He had been a boy of eleven when his uncle Aemon died.
He felt a man, at thirteen, when he claimed Caraxes as his own and flew him for the first time.
…
Daemon thought it was their similarities that drew them to each other. Their respect for each other was mutual, as was their shared hatred for most others.
The awe he had felt towards the beast as a child never faded. Caraxes was temperamental and violent, with a dislike for being chained and unpredictable moods.
Keepers said it was a miracle he had been ridden in the first place, but such a beast would never take a new rider. Or if he did — the rider would not live for long.
Daemon had always liked proving people wrong, especially the keepers who didn’t understand that Targaryen’s knew dragons in a way they never could.
…
Daemon looked at her with awe, too.
He had not been eager to become an uncle, and had not cared much for the title until he met his niece. But she won him over quickly, and soon she was his greatest joy.
She had been born with a dragon at her side, and so he did not feel the need to wait long to introduce her to the pit.
Despite everyone's objections, he could tell the dragons would take to her presence. For if he was a dragon and he loved her, then they would too. And he knew how much being around the creatures soothed him, and he wished the same for his infant niece.
He had been right, the dragons seemed to grow curious as opposed to furious in her presence.
This was not so odd — dragons could smell the Targaryen blood, legends said. It was why they were drawn to them.
What was odd was how Caraxes became nearly calm. He was usually eager to be freed, roaring and rearing up in his desperation to fly. Daemon could relate, for that is how he felt when contained to his place in the Keep or Council.
But today, he stood at the bars with his head tilted. When he approached, Caraxes remained still — eyes intelligent as they looked down at the baby carried in his arms. He made an unfamiliar trilling noise, before laying down, seemingly indifferent to the presence of this stranger.
He did not stay indifferent for long, though.
He swore the beast looked disappointed when he came to the pit the next day without her in his arms. As if flight was a poor substitute for her presence. He huffed little flames, before settling enough to be saddled.
Caraxes perked up like a puppy when he saw next Rhaenyra in his arms. He would fly faster when she was seated on his back, on Daemon's lap. More smoothly, too, as if trying to show off and please the young girl.
Daemon found he could not judge, for he also wanted to please her.
…
Rhaenyra grew, and with it so did Caraxes’ affections for her. Even as a small girl of three, she seemed uncaring of Carxes’ large size and sharp scales. She had no qualms about reaching her arms through the bars to pat him, as if he was a pony at the Keep’s stable.
She was rewarded with his preening under her attention. He seemed to press himself into her touch maybe Rhaenyra giggle and dote on the beast.
It was cute, Daemon thought.
Puzzling, but cute.
…
Caraxes acted like a puppy that had been kicked after Rhaenyra rode Syrax for the first time. He was well behaved during their flight, flying nicely alongside her with Daemon on his back. But after they landed in the pit, he slumped at the side of his cell, looking forlornly at Rhaenyra who had taken to unsaddling her own dragon.
He made what sounded almost like whimpers, as she bestowed affection on her own beast. Daemon tried to soothe him, but the dragon huffed smoke at him, a threat that fire would follow if he didn’t stop.
It was not Daemon’s affection the dragon wanted.
Eventually, he grew used to no longer having Rhaenyra as a companion to his rider. He became pleased enough with her flying beside her, and even developing a companionship with the smaller Syrax. Daemon often found them entwined in the pit, curled up together like kittens.
Still, when Rhaenyra approached, Caraxes lunged towards the door, desperate to see his favorite person. Rhaenyra would laugh, and feed him bits of dried meat from her palm — the beast taking them gently enough not to harm her small hands.
She would pat his snout and rub his scales, bringing forth all sorts of happy noises from the beast.
Daemon willed himself to think it was cute.
He was less convinced of this, now.
…
It became decidedly less cute as she grew older. She became taller, and then curvier, and soon it was not just Caraxes who craved her touch. Yet it seemed he was the one who was bestowed with it, her affection for the dragon unwavering and wholeheartedly returned.
The dragon transformed in her presence, chirping, nuzzling at hands and desperate for attention. He still flew for Daemon, but he seemed to live and breathe for his Niece.
…
Rhaenyra’s awareness of all things grew with her. And so It did not take her long to realize the love Caraxes had towards her.
She was aware of the creatures reputation, though she did not believe it. Not until she had watched from the balcony as Daemon saddled him, and seen him tolerant but not indulgent.
Then she had seen the Keepers attempt to tame him…
Caraxes thrashed, blew smoke, threw fits and tantrums not unlike the ones she had as a toddler. But of course, they were far more intimidating coming from a fire breathing beast than the young princess.
It made her all the more fond of the creature, knowing he was so fond of her.
…
As her fondness grew, so did Daemon’s jealousy. She wasn’t sure he recognized it as such, but she did and it was delightful. He seemed to sulk when his dragon turned to her! As Caraxes made chirps and trills in her direction, Daemon would cross his arms and pout.
It was as if every bit of attention she gave to his dragon, she took from the dragon's rider. But that was not true, she doted on Daemon as best as she could during her fourteenth year.
She doted on him in an entirely different way when they wed, during her sixteenth year.
She thought the jealousy would fade after that, now that he had her hand — what did it matter what beast she touched with it? But still, he still acted like a petulant child when she pressed her fingers to the Blood Wyrm’s scales.
And he preened for her.
She thought, much to her amusement, it was quite like how Daemon preened for her when she complimented him.
It was funny, how when Caraxes’ behavior improved, Daemon’s seemed to worsen. He was a spoiled prince, angry his favorite toy had been taken to another.
She was not sure if Caraxes or she, herself, was the toy in this situation.
She bit her lip to stifle a laugh, either way — she had little intention of giving it back.
…
It was not lost on her, how he always took her after they rode. As if he had to ensure she had not forgotten her duties to ride him.
…
“Does it really bother you so?” She asked him, as they lay in a meadow — someplace south of Dragonstone, though he was not entirely sure where. They had flown for the sake of it that day, not to a specific place.
Rhaenyra looked beautiful, as she always did. Hair unwound from her usual braids, and riding leathers discarded. She was left only in a thin chemise, with her skin and golden locks on display. They glittered in the sunshine of the day, making her glow with an ethereal quality.
He was pouting, despite the pleasure they had just shared together. For moments later Caraxes had wandered over to the pair and his great beast nuzzled Rhaenyra’s back until she paid attention to him. The dragon was close enough to her that she could reach out and kiss his nose — and she did!
“I do not fear either of my dragons.” She had once said, with a glimmer in her eye. He did not think she spoke of Syrax, in that statement.
He thought on her question for a moment, fingers dragging through his hair as he looked to the sky. “I suppose I just wonder, what bonds you so.”
She rolled to his side, fingertips placed upon his linen covered chest.
“My foolish prince, we bonded because we both love you.”
…
If only his jealousy was as easy to tame as his dragon, Rhaenyra thought.
But she had long since learned that dragons were generally more mature and better behaved than men.
She still loved her husband, though. More than anything.
She just loved Caraxes,too.