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Chapter Text

Daella stared at her reflection in the still waters of the riverbank, memories of the girl she was flickering before her eyes.

Once, her grey eyes mirrored steel, but now they were a grey so dark they were almost black. Arya Stark had a brother with eyes like these, a brother who lived and died for her. He pulled her back from the brink of nothingness, his very name bringing her across the Narrow Sea to her rightful place. To the place where the wolf girl with her father’s long face belonged.

But she was not that girl anymore. And yet, she was.

That girl was almost a woman grown when she died in her brother’s arms, the icy blade of the dead man who walked embedded in her chest.

She still remembered how he cried for her, Jon, how he held her as he wept with a pain so raw it brought tears to her own eyes to think on it.

“No! No!” He had pleaded.

“I cannot alter what fate has decreed. The ink is dry. You must remove the blade and save us all.” A boy with a face she knew but a voice she did not interjected.

“Her death will ignite the flame of life.” Another voice, rich and melodic, joined.

“There’s nothing worth saving if she does not live!” Her brother shouted, his sorrow turning to fury. “She’s your sister as well, Bran. Not a pawn for some greater purpose!”

She recalled the warmth of his embrace, her futile attempt to grasp at it as her Needle froze in her grip.

“Undo this!” He demanded. “Swear to me you’ll undo this, Bran. Find a way for her to live, or I'll perish alongside her and your envisioned future will remain unfulfilled. Swear it. Swear it now!”

A moment of silence followed, a void, until a warmth enveloped her - not painful but comforting, like home. And with it, she drew her final breath, slipping into oblivion.

But it wasn’t the end.

The grey-eyed wolf girl was reborn as Daella, named after a revered woman in the Vale, her second mother’s homeland.

Daella’s earliest memory was of Rhea Royce, her voice like a lullaby as she hummed her the Song of the Mountains.

Maternal love wasn’t foreign to her, she had known it before with the mother that had eyes as clear as the sky and hair a bright auburn, though memories of that love were fraught with nightmares so horrifying that as a child she was almost afraid to sleep.

Rhea Royce may not have possessed her river mother’s beauty, but she cherished her just the same. She was Daella’s world and she took so much from her that when she was younger, Daella often wondered if she even had a father.

The wolf girl did. He was a man devoted to his family, a man whose eyes used to soften with affection when he caught her misbehaving, akin to Lady Rhea’s now when she found Daella with a training sword that was not meant to be in her hand. Daella did not have a father like that in this life, though she did have one. She bore his name after all, Daella Targaryen, not that the Rogue Prince cared to acknowledge their shared blood.

Her mother forbade any mention of him, but Daella heard the whispers. She knew of her father’s disdain for her mother, how he claimed Daella couldn’t possibly be his child when she bore her mother’s features alone, devoid of any Valyrian traits. But she didn’t care for the Rogue Prince’s legacy, nor his love. She had all she needed here.

At nine namedays, Daella knew Runestone like the back of her hand. She had a family here, albeit smaller than her wolf pack, but hers nonetheless.

Her mother taught her everything from managing a household to horseback riding. She loved Daella as she was, wilful wildness and all. Her uncle, Elbert, cared for her as dearly as any father would, and her cousin, Darryn, was as good as any brother.

She had love here, a home. She needed nothing more.

Sometimes she found herself letting the last life slip away, the haunting memories were easier for a child to run from than to embrace. But then the memory of her brother’s cries would echo in her heart. It was not something she could forget, nor would the summer wolf let her.

“Stark.” The ravens cawed from the weirwood. “Arya.” Their words drifted on the breeze.

“Bran.” She whispered in return, her smile widening.

When she communed with the Old Gods it was always him she envisioned. She did not know if it was Brandon Stark she truly spoke to, but liked to think so. It made her feel safe, as though she could trust him to guide her no matter what she might ask.

Daella’s smile broadened at the sound of Darryn’s heavy destrier approaching.

“Don’t tell me, cousin,” she grinned, rising to her feet “Mother sent you after me again.”

“Daella…”

She wiped her hands on her cloak. “She worries needlessly.” She began, but the sorrow in her cousin’s eyes halted her.

Death lingered, an ever-present spectre in the wolf girl’s life. She had witnessed it, endured it, suffered from its dark shadow for as long as she could remember. She was ten when she lost her father, ten when she was thrown into a war that would see her lose her eldest brother and river-mother, that would see her heart hollow until there was nothing left. And it seemed the Stranger did not wish to let her go.

Nobody’s daughter. No one.

As they lay her mother to rest, her cousin and uncle standing beside her, all she could see, all she could feel, was was that hole that lay in her chest, festering like an old wound - growing, gnawing at her, until she could not face it any longer.

I can’t. She wanted to cry as they made to close her mother’s tomb. I can’t watch her go, not again.

So she did not watch. Instead, she ran.

She fled from her cousin’s pleas and her uncle’s cries. Fled from her mother’s men who had called her “little Daella” for as long as she could remember and the smallfolk who lovingly called her “underfoot”. She ran from them all, mounting the first horse she could find before she raced through Runestone’s strong gates.

She rode and wept, tears mingling with the rain, and did not stop until she reached a dead end, her horse rearing at the sight of a fallen tree.

“Why? Why must I go through this again?” She cried into the storm. “You should have chosen Jon. He was brave and strong. He would’ve known what to do. He-”

“There ain’t no Jon here.” A rough voice retorted, halting her words.

Daella fell silent, turning to find three shadows walking towards her. Death once again, she knew, but in a different guise.

Clutching at her reins, she steeled herself against the approaching threat. They were likely mere poachers or thieves, but in the storm’s fury, nothing was certain.

“Leave.” She commanded, her voice echoing her mother’s strength.

They laughed, as she expected, but their amusement soon turned to taunts and threats that held no mirth.

This would not be her fate, she decided. She would not allow it. All she had lost, all she had been through - it would not end like this.

She felt a heat burn within, her heart pulling her gaze upwards beyond the men and into the storm. She wondered if it was Runestone she was pulled to, or was it the grey-stone castle that was warm even in the coldest winter?

But Daella soon found it was neither when a creature as dark as night appeared from the clouds.

She stared, wide-eyed, as lightning illuminated a form larger than Runestone itself.

“You won’t touch me.” She breathed.

A hand on her leg drew her back to her attackers. She kicked the man closest square in the jaw and bit another as he tried to pull her down.

The men were determined, they would not lose to one little girl. But she was not just one little girl. Not anymore.

The ground shook as the dragon dropped before them. He let out a cry so fierce that Daella’s horse bolted, dropping her and trampling over one of the men that got in his way.

A licker of flame from the creature’s dark throat brought light to the darkness, burning, building, ready to destroy them all, but then those green eyes turned to her and his mouth fell shut.

Daella held his gaze, pulling herself to her feet as she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Her attackers cowered at the sight, but she did not.

There was nothing to fear. She was so sure of it, more sure than she ever was of anything.

He rumbled as she neared, the warmth of his breath fanning across her damp skin.

She raised a hand towards him, upturned, an offer, then suddenly he pressed forwards, pushing his hardened scales into her soft skin.

Unbidden memories flooded her mind - a queen with amethyst eyes, her friend, naming her dragons Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal.

A name.

“What is your name?” She asked the creature before her.

“Who are you?” Echoed words played in her mind. “No one.” She whispered the lie, though the words left her lips in the bastard Valyrian of Braavos.

“Daorys.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella took her first flight that night - high above the clouds into the chilling dark sky where even Daorys’ heat couldn't stave off the cold.

After hours in the air she was reluctant to leave, but even a dragon cannot fly forever.

They landed a league from her home, leaving her to walk the rest of the way.

At first, Daella had intended to keep him a secret. But hiding a dragon that size was near impossible, especially when her uncle and cousin would not take their eyes off of her in the days following her mother’s passing.

She confessed quickly, albeit reluctantly. Upon learning the truth her uncle had forbade her from leaving the castle, but her mother had always said that denying Daella something only made it her heart’s desire, so he soon learned he couldn't keep her from her friend for long.

Night after night he would return to her, Daorys.

“You've been alone for so long.” She'd whisper to him, her hand resting on his rough back as they glided along the water's edge, the soft winds tousling her dark brown hair.

The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

“But you're not alone anymore.” She'd say, smiling as he rumbled in agreement.

Daella once believed riders controlled their dragons, but after their first flight she knew that couldn't possibly be true. Daorys was no pet. He roamed where he pleased, sometimes north, sometimes south, yet she trusted their bond enough to know he would to keep her safe. But she could not control what he burned nor which animals he hunted. Once, he took her to his nest, a vast cave in the mouth of a mountain, where she found broken bones and charred flesh and even the remains of dragon eggs. She knew he consumed them too, just as he did the sheep and cattle.

There was a darkness to him, just as there was her.

“Wolf child. Blood child. Dark heart.”

That darkness, she would later find, followed Daella as much as it did the wolf girl. It rested in her and those around her - those of them that remained, the parts of them that survived after the war. It was an anger born of fire, forged in battle and blood. 

In Arya’s life that fire began when the Stag King came North, when her summer wolf was pushed from their tower. In Daella’s one might be forgiven for thinking it was when Rhea Royce passed, when she lost the only mother she had left to her, but in truth, it was the night she met Aemond Targaryen that began it all.

That night was no different from any other. Not initially.

She flew with Daorys under the cover of night, her dragon taking her south across the Bay of Crabs and Crackclaw Point.

He seemed to be leading them to his cave, but as they approached the island, another dragon's roar shattered the tranquility.

Daella looked up to see a creature as ancient as Valyria itself soaring above them.

It was immense, larger than anything she'd seen. She hadn't been afraid when Daorys first landed in that rainy field, but she was now.

She tightened her grip on the raised edges of his spine. “Let’s go.” She urged her dragon.

They had to be cautious. Daella had seen the scars that lay across his body, evidence of battles against creatures beyond her comprehension, but a dragon this size... She could not risk it. She could not risk him.

“We must leave.” She pleaded, but as a territorial rumble escaped his jaws, she knew it would not be that simple.

The other dragon descended, flying dangerously close. Daella clung to Daorys as he veered left to avoid it.

“No! Dohaeris, Vhagar!” A voice shouted.

She turned to see a boy clinging to the larger dragon's saddle. He couldn't have been much younger than her, yet his voice carried strength.

Vhagar. She heard him shout.

“Vhagar was her favorite.” Her brother had once told the Dragon Queen, his dark eyes alight with a rare smile on his lips.

“It was,” the wolf girl agreed “I dreamed of riding her into battle like Visenya did. Though I’m beginning to think Viserion may be better.” She spoke breathlessly as her brother guided her hand onto the green dragon's scales, the Dragon Queen watching with a soft smile all the while.

Daella shook off the memory and urged Daorys to steady himself.

“Gīda.” She spoke. Calm.

Her dragon halted before the mighty beast, a low sound leaving him as he faced Vhagar, a sound she seemed to echo. 

The two dragons locked gazes in a moment that felt endless.

Green and black.

Black and green.

“Gīda.” Daella repeated. But her words gave way to a gasp as Daorys suddenly soared upward, ascending to fly above the larger dragon.

Daella looked back at Vhagar, waiting for disaster. The she-dragon beat her heavy wings, lifting herself to follow. But quickly she realised it was no chase. There was no threat in the movements of the dragon beneath her nor the one behind. Instead, she found herself wide-eyed as the two creatures swooped down a mountainside. Laughter echoed from the boy, and when she met his gaze, she couldn't help but join, giggling as exhilaration washed over her. They glided between the large valleys and across the coast, sending clouds of sand in the air as their wings broke through the dunes.

When Daella’s feet finally touched solid ground, she was breathless though that smile had not left her face. She could not recall the last time she felt this happy, not since she had lost her mother.

Her eyes turned to the boy then. He climbed down Vhagar and raised his hands to his mouth, pale silver brows furrowing together as his fingers met the upturning of his lips.

“Do people not smile in Kingslanding, my prince?”

The boy’s mouth fell as he regarded her warily. “You know who I am?”

The wolf girl had known all of Vhagar’s riders by heart since childhood. There were only four before the great dragon died at the God's Eye.

Visenya, Baelon, Laena, Aemond…

She nodded her head. “You ride a dragon and possess the violet eyes and silver hair of your ancestors. You could only be a Targaryen or a Velaryon - a prince either way, I suppose.”

“I’m not a Velaryon.” He muttered, appearing almost insulted at the suggestion. “Jace and Luke look nothing like me.”

She hummed. “Prince Aegon then?” She teased, earning a narrowing of his eyes which was mirrored in Vhagar's gaze.

She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I know you must be Prince Aemond.”

When Daella first entered this life she was a babe that knew little more than her mother's love. But as she grew memories of her old life returned, and along with them, lessons from the winter castle's old, grey maester. It was tales of Visenya and Rhaenys the wolf girl yearned for, but still she learned of him all the same.

Aemond Targaryen, once grown, would be a formidable warrior and key player in wars to come. But for now he was just a boy no older than her wild wolf brother when she saw him last.

“And who are you?”

She brought her lower lip between her teeth. “You could call me Nan or Beth, if you like. Horseface, Underfoot, Lumpyhead… or Cat; I always liked Cat.”

“But those aren’t your real name.”

So broody, she mused, much like her dark-eyed brother.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“You can choose whichever you like.”

“But I want your real name.” He insisted, almost petulant.

“Spoiled little prince’s cannot always get what they want.”

“I am not a spoiled prince!”

An idea came to mind then, one accompanied by a wolfish grin spreading across her lips. “Then you'll just have to earn it, won’t you?” With that, she dashed toward Daorys, not needing to look back to know he followed. Laughter mingled with their footfalls as they ran across the sandy shore. They stumbled and tumbled, but then Aemond truly fell, grabbing her cloak as he did so he could take her with him.

Daella shrieked as they rolled, attempting to gain the upper hand on the boy who was only slightly shorter than her, laughter never leaving her all the while.

He was strong, but she was determined. She wrestled him until she was on top, his violet eyes wide with surprise.

“What kind of lady fights with a prince?”

“The bad kind.” She retorted, playfully tossing sand his way.

Soon, their scuffle gave way for silence as the prince’s eyes fell to where she lay atop him, cheeks flushing at the sight. Daella rolled her eyes, letting out a snort as she brought her legs over his waist so she could lay beside him.

As she let her gaze lift to the stars, she realised that at some point something had settled within her. It was a feeling she struggled to describe but found it akin to when she once held Needle at her hip - whole, complete, right, herself.

“Did people really call you that?” Aemond's voice broke her reverie. “Lumpyhead and Horseface?”

Her expression softened. Those names once cut her deep, but they were also a part of her. “Yes, they did.”

Outrage twisted his features. “They have no right to call you those words! You are the blood of Valyria. A dragon rider…”

“Would it be different if I weren't?” She interjected, watching him closely.

The wolf girl once knew a prince who saw all others as beneath him. He had taken everything from her - everyone from the kind butcher’s boy who she played pretend with to the father that was her whole world and more.

He swallowed, flushing with embarrassment. “No, I didn’t mean that.” He stammered.

“I should hope not.”

“Truly, I didn’t.” He apologised, honesty evident in his words.

She sighed. “Good. I’m glad.”

He isn’t the lion's cub, she reminded herself. He is a dragon, like her queen, and herself now too.

“People can be cruel, whether you're a prince riding the world’s largest dragon or a simple smithy or stablehand. It doesn't make it right either way.” She said.

The boy pondered her words.

“Aegon, Jace, and Luke... They mocked me for being the only one without a dragon.” He confessed, his voice uncertain. “My egg wouldn’t hatch, but Sunfyre, Arrax and Vermax did and they won’t let me forget it.”

The insecurity in his voice… it was as though she had been transported back in time, crying to her brother, wondering why she was not as good as her sister.

She reached for Aemond's hand.

“What they did wasn't right.” She reiterated. “But the people who called me Lumpyhead and Horseface, I grew to care for them. Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys are your cousins. They might surprise you if you gave them another chance.”

The prince frowned at her words, looking back to the stars to leave only the sound of the soft waves to fill the air.

Her eyes turned to the sky too, sighing as she noticed that the hour of the wolf was upon them.

It was late, and her uncle would send a search party if she didn't return soon, futile as it would be when a dragon could travel leagues in moments.

“Think on it.” She told him, rising to brush sand from her skin.

“Wait!” Aemond called, reaching for her once more though his hand only met air.

“I must go home.” She smiled, mounting Daorys. “But I truly enjoyed meeting you, Your Grace. I hope Daorys and Vhagar can fly together once more.” 

“You cannot leave.” He protested. “I don’t even know your name!”

Daella paused, looking back at him.

“You must swear not to tell anyone.” She shouted.

He placed a hand over his heart. “I swear it.”

She smiled at the gesture. “It's Daella.”

Chapter Text

“How did you allow such a thing to happen?” King Viserys demanded.

He leaned heavily on his cane when he walked. The limp to his step, the bowing of his back - his father grew weaker by the day, and yet when it came to matters that regarded his daughter, he always seemed to find a strength from somewhere.

But that strength only existed for Rhaenyra. Aemond had never seen it, never felt it. All his father’s children from his second wife were an afterthought, Aemond had known that since he was little more than a babe. Those proud smiles, the words of praise - they were for Rhaenrya and even her children, but never him, Aegon, Helaena or Daeron.

Aemond watched the man from where he sat with the maester, his eye traced his father’s form while the other was sown together with needle and thread, never to be opened again.

“Who had the watch?” He asked.

Ser Criston looked between his King and the sons of Rhaenyra. “The young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace.” Was his answer, though that only seemed to make his father angrier.

And his father’s anger was soon joined by that of his mother. “Where were you?” She accused, glaring at Aegon.

Aemond did not flinch as the maester’s needle met his skin, but he did at the sound of his mother’s hand coming down on his brother.

“What was that for?” Aegon cried, hand raised to cradle his now red cheek.

“That is nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups.” She hissed at him.

“Mother…” Aemond began, but his voice was drowned by the sound of the doors to the hall hitting the walls as they were forced open.

Princess Rhaenys called for Rhaena and Baela, and after her, his eldest sister ran in with Prince Daemon at her back.

She made for Jace and Luke immediately, kneeling before them to look over each of their wounds. “Who did this?” She demanded.

Aemond frowned. He truly did not mean for things to happen this way. He meant to give his cousins a chance, like Daella said.

“I did.” He admitted.

The sound of his father’s cane against the stone floor echoed out, only stopping one he was in front of him. “Speak, Aemond. I will have the truth. Now.” He demanded.

“I claimed Vhagar.” He spoke, looking up into the King’s eyes without fear. “When I came back, Rhaena, Baela, Luke and Jace were there. Rhaena was upset that I claimed her mother’s dragon.”

He had apologised to the girl for her loss.

“But Vhagar is mine now.” He told her.

“Vhagar was supposed to be mine!” She raged.

She had tried to push him, but Aemond was stronger. And when he did not move, Rhaena’s sister joined her, laying a punch square at his jaw.

Though even at that, Aemond did not retaliate, Daella’s words still ringing in his mind. But the girls did not let up. He had only meant to move them away to give himself enough room to leave. But when Rhaena fell face first into the dirt, Jace came at him.

And then Luke was suddenly there and Aemond no longer had an eye.

“This was a tragic accident.” Princess Rhaenys spoke after he had finished, but his mother would not have it.

“Accident? The princes, Lucerys and Jacaerys, have maimed my son. Your son.” She said, looking at his father. “I demand retribution. The eye of Prince Lucerys for the eye he took from Aemond.”

All in the hall looked on in shock, but soon their stunned surprise turned to into panicked shouts.

His mother was denied her justice but that did not stop her. She grabbed the blade from his father’s waist and made for Aemond’s cousin with a mad, desperate look in her eyes that he never seen before.

But Queen Alicent never made it to Lucerys Velaryon. Princess Rhaenryra saw to that, stopping her in her path, but blood was still shed that night.

His eldest sister’s arm bled from where his mother cut her with the Valyrian steel blade. Queen Alicent almost stumbled back when she saw what she had done.

Aemond could see the grief on her face - the sorrow and regret.

“Do not mourn me, mother.” He told her. “I may have lost an eye, but I have gained a dragon.”

“Let us end this.” His father proclaimed, his voice as tired as he appeared.

Men and women warily left the hall at his dismissal, rumours already beginning to spread as they stared at Aemond’s mother.

Aemond took her arm and made to leave too, but a whispered word from Ser Harrold to his father had him stopping in his tracks.

“Your Grace…”

“I am tired, Ser Harrold. Anything less than a catastrophe can wait.”

“Your Grace, it concerns the Cannibal.”

The King let out a heavy sigh. But when he did not object, Ser Harrold continued.

“Lord Corlys and the sailors of Driftmark have corroborated the tales we have heard from Dragonstone. The Cannibal is leaving the island almost every night.”

Aemond’s father raised a weathered hand to his brow, shaking his head at the news. “Then it is as we feared. The Cannibal is not a dragon that can be contained. We must send the Dragon Keepers after him before it is too late.”

He cannot mean Daella’s dragon… Can he? 

The Dragon Keepers were famed warriors known the realm. They were men born and raised on the Hill of Rhaenys that spent day and night with the most dangerous creatures in the world. Their purpose was to protect the dragons, but in times of need, they filled another role. They were trained to subdue a dragon, kill one if needed by order of the King. But such a thing had never been done before. The dragons were sacred. The last of their kind since the Doom. They were to be preserved at all costs.

And yet, something about this dragon unsettled his father so greatly that he considered sending the Dragon Keepers after him. But his father hadn’t seen Daella’s dragon like Aemond had. He could not kill him.

“You can’t, father.” He said, releasing his hold on his mother to turn back to the weakened man. “You mustn’t send the Dragon Keepers after him.” 

“You know not of what you speak, Aemond.” The King said, dismissing him.

“I do.” Aemond insisted. “I’ve seen him in the flesh.”

His father’s lilac eyes widened momentarily.

“You faced the Cannibal?”

Aemond nodded his head. Daella never told him who her dragon was, but he knew that there were only two living creatures that came close to Vhagar in size - Vermithor the Bronze Fury and the Cannibal. And Daella’s dragon was as dark as night, not the deep bronze of the Conciliator’s dragon, he matched the Cannibal's description perfectly.

“He won’t hurt anyone, father.”

“That dragon has killed hatchlings that flew too close to his lair, think what he will do now that he is leaving Dragonstone.”

“He won’t!” Aemond defended, not liking the way his father spoke of him. “I’ve seen him. He didn’t hurt Vhagar or I. And he was gentle with…” He stopped himself before broke his promise but even then Aemond knew that he had said too much.

He looked down, avoiding his father’s probing gaze.

“With who, Aemond?” The King asked, though Aemond kept his eye firmly on the floor beneath him.

His father’s hand came to his shoulder, forcing him to raise his head. “With who?” He repeated.

But Aemond would not break his promise.

“If you give me no good reason, then I will have to send out the Dragon Keepers.”

“No wait!” His fists clenched at his side. He knew what the King was doing, but he couldn’t let them hurt Daella’s dragon. “He has a rider.” He admitted. “The Cannibal has a rider now.”

The Keepers always said that a bonded dragon was far less dangerous than a wild one. It was thought that when a dragon claimed a rider, the wildness within them was settled some, making them more trusting around people and less prone to violent outbursts. That did not mean they were tamed like a stallion, however. They were still dangerous, clever creatures that knew more than any maester would ever be able to understand.

“Who?” His father asked.

Aemond frowned. “I don’t know.” He answered. It would not matter how many times the King tried, he would not get Daella’s name from him, he swore that to her and himself.

It were as though his father could see the promise in his eyes. “I want the Keepers to be notified. The dragon will not be hurt, but they will find its rider and bring him to me.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella frowned down at the castle ledgers. When her mother passed her uncle had taken on much of the ruling of Runestone while she mourned her loss. And he still did, holding a regent-like role while Daella was still in her minority. But despite her age, Daella had insisted she take back her responsibilities. It was what her mother would have wanted her to do after all, and besides, she liked running a household. She knew the people and they knew her. She knew how much they should be spending on grain and wood and cloth and how much they should be saving each moon from taxes. Her mother had shown her all this and more.

But her uncle, it seemed, was not as scrutinous as Lady Rhea liked to be. Daella was still trying to understand how he spent so much on new steel, staring at the figures as though she could will them away. House Royce could not boast of their wealth like the Lannisters, but they made do with what they had - when her uncle was not trying to bleed their coffers dry anyway.

Daella sighed, abandoning her desk. “Uncle!” She called out as she left her solar, making quick way towards his chambers.

The guards chuckled as she stormed up to his door. “Should I be concerned, little Daella?” One of the men asked.

“Not at all.” She gave them a wolfish grin as she reached for the handle. “Though if you do hear him shouting for help, I would be eternally grateful if you decided to ignore it.”

Daella found her uncle’s room devoid of any light. His curtains were still drawn and he himself still asleep, messily strewn across a bed that smelled of wine and other things she did not wish to imagine.

Daella loved her uncle. He was a good man. But even if he did not admit it, her mother’s death had crushed him just as much as it had her.

She opened his curtains and crossed her arms, standing over him until he finally decided to wake.

He groaned at the light, raising a hand as if to protect himself from it.

“Leave your poor uncle be, Daella.” He moaned.

Elbert was her mother’s second cousin in truth, but he was “uncle” to her since she knew how to talk. He was a good few years younger than Lady Rhea, but still treated her as his own, like he did Darryn. Though in moments like these, Daella often mused that it was her taking care of him as though she were the regent and elder and him the child.

“We are already past midday and you are in much need of a bath. You will get up and clean up before I make you.” She insisted, pulling the covers from under him. “And then you will tell me why you decided to use most of this moon’s takings on new steel when we already have plenty of it.”

Her uncle buried his face in his pillow. “Could you not annoy Darryn with your demands? He would welcome them I’m sure.”

“No.” She simply answered. Grabbing a foot, she began to pull.

“Stop! Stop, you feral child!” He kicked back.

Uncle Elbert always had a youthful charm about him despite his years, and while grief had changed much about him, it had not touched that at least.

“Will you get up?” She asked.

“Yes! Yes!” He said, admitting defeat.

Daella dropped his leg. “Good, I’ll call Carla and have a bath readied for you, then I expect to see you in the Great Hall before the petitions come in.”

He groaned again. “So demanding, just like your mother.” He muttered, though there was no venom in his voice. “Didn’t you hear? The Seven say a good lady should be demure and obey her lord.”

Daella giggled, walking around his bed. “Well it’s a good thing we follow the Old Gods then, isn’t it?” She teased before leaving his room.

While she waited, Daella took herself to the courtyard where she could practice with her bow and arrow. However, her time in the yard was short lived. Soon, a lot sooner than expected, she was summoned back into the Great Hall, where her uncle sat with the maester and Darryn. She was ready to smile and throw out some jape about her uncle’s mismatched clothes but then Darryn called her name and she saw that look in his eye. The same one he wore when her mother died.

“The King and Queen have summoned you to Kingslanding, Daella.” He said. “They know about the dragon.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Kingslanding was just as she remembered it, even the smell was the same. It hung over the city like a heavy cloud, the stench of death threatening to choke them.

Uncle Elbert held a handkerchief to his nose. “Gods, Daella. I should have insisted you ride in the carriage.”

The people stared up at them as they rode past. They were not the same starved souls the wolf girl had slept on the streets with, but many still lived in poverty - their houses stained with mud and blood, their streets lined with shit.

“Do you think the King knows how his people live?” She asked Darryn.

Her cousin shook his head, seeing the judgement in her eyes. “You cannot speak so freely in front of the King and Queen.”

“I did not say anything insulting.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Daella smiled. He knew her too well.

“Believe it or not, I can watch my tongue.”

The wolf girl often found herself hiding amongst the enemy. She knew how to look after herself, but now she had others to look after too. And Daella would not see them suffer for a mistake she made.

“I’ll believe it when we leave this city with our heads still firmly on our shoulders.”

While the city had not changed much from her memory, the Red Keep had. The black and red of House Targaryen hung proudly from the walls and draconic figures were carved, sewn and painted into almost every hall and corridor she walked by.

It was Ser Criston Cole that greeted them as they entered the castle walls - another name she knew but as for the significance, she was not quite as sure yet.

He led them to a great solar that was larger than even Runestone’s Great Hall. It was wide and open with a balcony that stretched across the back wall facing over the city, and in the middle of this large room sat a man with white hair and tired eyes that held a deep purple. To his side, Queen Alicent stood. She was tall with long curling auburn hair and a thin proud frame that almost reminded Daella of her river mother.

“Your Grace.” She, her uncle and cousin knelt before the King.

“Rise, please. All of you.” Their King commanded and so they did.

“Your Grace, may I present Lord Elbert of House Royce, his son Lord Darryn of House Royce and finally Lady Daella of House Targaryen, the heir to Runestone.” Ser Criston announced.

King Viserys leaned heavily on his cane as he rose.

“I thank you all for travelling so far and for meeting me when I am sure you are more than tired from your journey.”

He is the one that looks as though he has travelled a fortnight to be here. Daella thought as she gazed over his hunched form.

“We are loyal servants to the crown, Your Grace.” Her uncle proclaimed. “Anything you may need of House Royce, we would be happy to oblige.”

“I am glad.” The King said as his eyes fell on her.

He took a step towards her, gaze falling over her face as though he were tracing every inch of it.

Daella knew she should lower her eyes, but she found that she could not quite pull herself away. At the sight, a small chuckle left the King’s throat.

“Oh, the gods truly do work in mysterious ways.”

Daella remained silent at his words but her uncle and Darryn came closer to her side. “Your Grace?” She could hear the concern in her cousin’s voice, but the King ignored him.

“I see a wildness in you, girl. Just like my mother.” He said, his smile turning melancholy. “I have not seen her face in many years, but looking at you... It is like she is standing in front of me.”

It was on the tip of Daella’s tongue to tell him he was wrong. She was educated well in Runestone, well enough to know that the King’s mother looked nothing like her. But she was sure poor Darryn might die of a heart attack if she did, so Daella remained silent.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Her uncle answered for her.

The Queen chose to speak then. Hands clasped in front of her, she came to her King’s side.

“It has been His Grace’s greatest hope that he may know his niece for some time now.” She spoke, directing a look at her uncle.

Daella also curiously turned her eyes to where Elbert Royce stood.

Her uncle bowed his head. “Forgive me, my Queen. The King and your own condolences were greatly appreciated after my cousin passed. I had hoped accept your invite on Daella’s behalf sooner, but the loss took a toll on us all.” He said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

Daella fought not to raise a brow. He never told her of any invite to Kingslanding before this one. But one look at Darryn told her all she needed to know. It was to protect her. Her uncle would only ever act to protect her.

“Yes,” the Queen spoke gently “such a tragic loss. But still, you should not have kept the girl from her family.”

“Alicent,” the King spoke, silencing his queen with a word “what’s past is past. It is only important that she is here now. Though in truth while I am glad you are here, niece, we must discuss another more serious matter first.”

And there it was. The real reason she was here. The King and Queen may wish to speak of family but Daella knew they only commanded her presence to learn of her dragon.

“Of Daorys, Your Grace?” She finally spoke, bringing another smile to the King’s face.

“That is what you have named him, is it?”

“Yes.” She stated, and could almost feel how badly her cousin wished to scold her in that moment for her poor manners.

And from Daella’s quick glances at the Queen, it seemed she shared much the same sentiment as Darryn did, though her lips remained pursed together as she watched Daella speak to the King.

“You know none of the maesters nor the Dragon Keepers know which clutch he comes from,” the King said “though many have tried to guess. But what we do know is that he is a danger to the other dragons. He has killed hatchlings and destroyed clutches that were laid near his cove.”

Daella swallowed. “That was before. He was alone then and learned to do what he needed to to survive. But he’s not alone anymore… Your Grace.” She quickly added.

The King watched her closely for a moment, as if he was looking for the truth of her words on her face, but then something settled in his eyes.

“Very well.” He said, surprising both her and the Queen it seemed.

“Your Grace?” Queen Alicent looked to her husband.

“Daorys will be left as he is.” He declared.

“Was is not you who told me of the dangers such a creature can pose? Would you not heed your own advice?”

“Those words are as true now as they ever were.” He admitted, but then he turned to look at Daella, the corner of his lips turning up as he did so. “But to make such a dragon our enemy would be even more foolish, I believe. Wouldn’t you agree, my lady?”

Daella smiled. “Very much so, Your Grace.”

“Ser Criston.” King Viserys addressed his Kingsguard knight. “Show Lord Elbert and Lord Darryn to their rooms, Lady Daella will join them shortly after she and I have spoke.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella had never once imagined what Valyria might have looked like in its prime. But the King, it seemed, had. He had thought of every detail, each part laid out in the model in front of them.

She walked around the table slowly, feeling the King’s eyes on her all the while. He had taken her to the adjoining chamber once her uncle and cousin were seen away and the Queen left to greet her other guests.

There had been a recent wedding, or so Daella was told, and a feast was to be held tonight to celebrate.

Daella had been silent since they entered his solar, but the King spoke of his work as she looked, pointing out each piece she passed by.

Eventually she stopped, taking the seat before him.

“Why did you invite me here, Your Grace?” She asked, apologising to Darryn in her mind for not being more cautious with her words. “If it’s about Daorys, I promise-”

“It’s not about him.” The King waved her off. “It is as the Queen said, I wish to know more of you. My other nieces were presented to me in court when they were half a year old. I have known them since they were babes, but not you.”

“But not me.” She repeated.

Daella bit the inside of her cheek, her mistrust making her hesitant.

“There is not much to know.” She said, picking up an abandoned figure of a dragon. She ran a gentle finger along its wings as she spoke. “I was raised in Runestone amongst the mountains and the trees, praying to the Old Gods. Then one day my mother died and Daorys came and that has been my life since.” Her words were short, one might even call them rude, but the King only wore a look of amusement as he listened to her.

He opened his mouth as if to say more, but suddenly the doors to his solar were opened and Ser Criston entered with a man and a woman at his back.

Both of them bore the same colouring as the King but the man held an aura of danger to him that the older Targaryen did not. It was one Daella was taught to recognise as the wolf girl, one that she knew to be wary of no matter who he may be.

She stood as they entered the room, bowing her head and taking a step back as the woman immediately went to King Viserys.

“Father.” She sighed, reaching for his hands.

She is beautiful, Daella thought. Even amongst the other-worldly Targaryens she stood out. And as the King breathed the name “Rhaenyra” she understood why.

This was the Realm’s Delight, the woman who’s father loved her so dearly he placed her above her half-brothers in the line of succession.

And the way the King looked at her, it was so soft, full of love and pain, touching some part of her heart that Daella did not think could not ache any more. But here it was, hurting as fierce as it did the day she lost her grey-eyed father.

“I hear you were wed.” King Viserys said to his daughter.

“Yes.” She stood to her full height, reaching a hand back which the other man took. “I hope we can have your support, father. We wished for you to be there, but given recent events…” Her voice tailed off.

Daella saw the flicker in the King’s eye as he looked to the other man, though whatever he was thinking he did not say.

“Alicent has arranged a feast tonight in celebration.” He said instead.

The other man scoffed and rolled his eyes. “A feast will not right what has been done.”

“No, but it is a start.” The King reasoned.

His eyes then turned from the other man to Daella, as if just remembering she was still there.

“Who is this?” Rhaenyra asked softly.

“The other reason I insisted you return home so soon. Rhaenyra, Daemon, this is Daella Targaryen. Your daughter, Daemon.” He said, his voice directed to the Prince.

Daemon.

Daella looked to her father for the first time in her life, watching him as he watched her. The auburn-haired sister the wolf girl once had would have described him as dashing, a true Targaryen Prince, but Daella saw the dragon lurking beneath his eyes, ready to burn the world with a single look.

Princess Rhaenyra appeared stunned by the introduction, lips parted as she stared at her. But the Prince, the man she had heard of in whispers but never met until this moment… his shoulders shook as he silently laughed. It was a cruel gesture. Almost as callous as the sneer on his lips.

Daella’s jaw clenched.

“Daemon.” His wife scolded him at the same time as his brother, but the Rogue Prince only raised a hand to stop them.

“Oh, brother. This was your Queen’s idea, wasn’t it? What is this meant to be? Some power play from her and her father? Well, you can tell her it was nothing but a waste of time. We are leaving, Rhaenyra.”

The princess reached for his arm, light eyes beseeching as she begged him to stop.

The Rogue Prince sighed as he looked to his new wife.

“What is it you want, girl?” The man finally said, turning to her. “Gold for that shithole of a castle in the Vale? Jewels? Power? I promise you will get none of it from me.” He hissed. “Go home.”

She hadn’t realised she was still holding the King’s dragon figure until it was crushed beneath her fingers.

Daella glared at him, sporting a frown she did not care to hide. A million words for him ran through her mind, but instead she directed her gaze to the King.

“Your Grace, by your leave I would take the Prince’s advise and return to my… home in the Vale with my uncle and cousin. I thank you for your hospitality.” She made to curtsey but stopped when the King spoke.

“You do not have my leave.” He said. “Daemon, this is your daughter.” He implored his brother.

The Prince laughed once more. “I don’t know what lies she is feeding you. She may be that drag of a woman’s spawn but she is not mine.”

At that Daella snapped. He could speak of her and her home, but not her mother. Never her mother.

“How dare you?” She hissed, walking right up to him despite her good sense telling her to stay away. “My mother is worth a thousand of you. Even in death she is more than you ever will be or could ever hope to be.” And oh, he looked practically vicious in that moment but Prince Daemon was going to learn she could be dangerous too. “You are an arrogant, self-centred, cruel, heatless little…”

“What?” He raised pale brow - daring her, goading her. “Say it.”

“Say it.” He repeated.

But then suddenly a roar sounded above them, one so loud even the King stood to see what it was.

The Princess soon joined him and after one more glance as her, Prince Daemon did too.

Daella did not need to follow to know it was Daorys who circled above them, she watched the Prince instead, watching as his eyes traced the skies, following her dragon’s form. And then his gaze dropped, finally turning to look back at her.

He stared at her in a moment that seemed to stretch on for minutes until he finally spoke.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

“You can’t keep glaring at the royal family.” Darryn hissed from her side as they slowly made their way down the steps to the Throne Room. “They will think you want to kill them.”

“I don’t want to kill them.” Daella whispered in return. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing a certain prince choke on his wine.”

Her uncle gave her a stern look over his shoulder as he led them between the tables. They walked in procession behind other noble families, one by one, eventually reaching the end of the hall where the King sat in his high seat with the Queen, their children, the Hand, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon.

As they were announced to the room, Daella sank into a curtsey while her cousin and uncle bowed deep.

As she rose again, Daella's eyes caught a deep violet that she recognised well. Aemond was here. And he was hurt. Her brows pinched together at the sight of the new eyepatch that covered a red, angry scar stretching from above his left eye down to his cheek.

She wanted to go to him, to ask him what happened but a small tug at her arm reminded her that now was not the time.

Darryn brought her to the end of a long table that lay closest to the royal family. Across from them, men and women in dark green with burning towers at their chest were seated.

“Play nice.” Her uncle whispered to her, shooting the balding man across from them a genial smile.

“I can play nice.” She told him under her breath.

His dark eyes briefly flickered to her. “You look miserable.”

“My dress is too tight and that man over there is staring at me like I have a second head, I have reason to be miserable.”

Her uncle’s mouth flickered as he fought a chuckle. “I will get you home soon as I can, Daella.”

Once the King’s guests were settled and the food served, Viserys Targaryen raised his cup to toast to his daughter and her new husband.

“And in the spirit of family I would also like to welcome my niece, Lady Daella Targaryen, to Kingslanding. She will always be welcome at court and in my home.”

All in the hall cheered and Daella wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow her whole then. Even Uncle Elbert looked tense as all eyes turned to them.

Without realising, she found her gaze wandering to the high table where her father's eyes caught her own. He was staring at her with a smug smile stretched wide at the face of her discomfort.

And oh, how she wished she could scratch that smile off his face.

She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to look away, though her mood was thoroughly soured.

Daella knew she was lucky to have her uncle and Darryn with her at least. They charmed the Hightowers through her silent brooding, significantly making up for her lack of enthusiasm.

Soon, the servants cleared the way for the dancing to begin and the man who had spent all night staring at her finally approached.

“That’s Ormund Hightower.” Her uncle whispered as the lord in question rounded the table and walked towards them. “He is heir to Old Town and has just lost his lady wife to sickness.”

Daella could not hide her surprise. “Since when did you know so much about the other great houses?”

Uncle Elbert raised his cup to his lips. “Since always, sweet Daella. When your mother passed, I swore I would do all I could to protect you.”

“And knowing these things protect me?” She frowned.

He patted her hand. “A conversation for later. Lord Ormund.” He greeted, rising to shake the young man’s hand.

“Lord Elbert.” The man bowed. “It is an honour to meet you.”

“And you, good Ser. May I introduce my son and my niece?” He said, the young lord’s gaze flitting to her.

Daella rose to her feet despite her reluctance and held out a hand for the Hightower man. 

A sweaty palm clasped her fingers. “My lady.” As he leaned down to kiss her lightly, Daella’s eyes caught sight of Prince Daemon above his head.

He was frowning from his place at the high table, whispering rushed words to Princess Rhaenyra as he watched her.

He has no right to be angry. Daella thought, narrowing her eyes. He lost that right fourteen years ago.

“I noticed your beauty the moment you entered the hall,” Ser Ormund spoke again, turning her attention back to him as he rose to his full height “and promised myself I would not leave tonight before asking you for a dance.”

Daella almost rolled her eyes. Almost.

She was a child in his eyes - one that he hoped to please with flattering words and a handsome smile.

The true part of her wanted to deny him, but she knew she had no choice. It was either dance with him or embarrass her uncle, and that was the last thing she ever wanted to do. She could grin and bare one dance for him at least.

The tune was a fast one, but that did not help her much. The lord was insistent on trying to make conversation - he spoke of Old Town, the Citadel, the Starry Sept, even the flowers that bloomed in the spring. 

“I think you would like the Reach very much, my lady.” He finished.

Daella could only smile in return, not trusting her words enough to speak.

The wolf girl was taught how to lie, she spent years learning it as though it were an art, but in the end she grew tired of it, tired of pretending to be No One when she was always someone. Always Arya Stark.

A throat cleared next to them as the song drew to an end and Daella turned to find Aemond there, hands clasped behind his back, looking at her.

In the moons since she had seen him last he had sprouted, standing taller than her now by at least a few inches. 

Daella’s dark eyes held his own. She saw his lips move as he spoke with the Hightower lord but did not register the words said until he was standing in front of her, taking her hand to lead her into the next dance.

“What are you doing?” She asked as he moved them into the first steps.

He raised a pale brow at her, violet eyes never breaking from her gaze. “Dancing.”

She frowned, purposefully missing a step to stand on his toe. But when Prince Aemond did not flinch she stood on it again for good measure.

“Is there a reason why you are set on bruising my feet?” He asked, mirth dancing behind his stern gaze.

“You told.” She accused.

“I did not break my promise.” He swore. “I never gave your name. But my father had received word that the Cannibal was seen flying from Dragonstone every night. He would have sent the Dragon Keepers after him had I not told him he had a rider.”

Daella gnawed on her bottom lip. “The Dragon Keepers?”

“Men trained to protect the dragons. From people and from other dragons, if needed.” The Prince said as he spun her out before bringing her back into side with a gentle tug.

Despite the stoicism in his features, his face was open to her. He spoke true.

“Do you swear it?” She asked.

He rested a hand over his heart and bowed, Daella dropping into her own curtsey with the final notes of the song. “I swear it.” He promised just as he had on the night they first met, bringing a smile to her face.

“His name is Daorys.” She told him. “Not the Cannibal.”

“He is no one?” Aemond asked, pale brows furrowed in confusion.

“He is no one.” She repeated with a wolfish grin playing at the corner of her lips.

▁▁▁▁▁

“Daemon, please.” His wife implored him as his grip on his chalice became impossibly tight.

Daemon Targaryen had always been quick to anger, he thought even the gods knew that. But if they did then why would they send him a daughter that would test him so?

He could grit his teeth and bare watching her dance with that lecher, Ormund, but he would not sit through this. Not with the Queen and Hand staring at her as though she were a prized mare for that boy Aemond to mount.

“Lady Daella’s dress is quite lovely tonight.” Alicent stated.

Rhaenyra’s hand went to his own, she knew he was barely holding on by a thread.

“It is.” His wife spoke, her voice strong and her head high as she turned her gaze towards the Hightower woman. “The dark red suits her complexion well. Much better than the green she wore earlier.”

His brother made a soft sound of agreement, oblivious to the battle that was happening right beneath his nose.

The Queen cleared her throat, directing her attention to Viserys. “She and Aemond make quite the couple, do they not? You should speak to Lord Elbert and see whether he has considered any matches for her.”

And that was it.

He would see the Seven Hells freeze over before he let any man with Hightower blood have his daughter’s hand.

Daemon kissed the inside of Rhaenyra’s wrist and left the table without another word. Descending the dais, he walked by couple after couple, the men and women parting with bowed heads as he passed by. He could feel their eyes follow him, whispers of their hushed words echoed across the hallowed hall, but he paid them no mind. He had one focus. 

“I will take the next dance, nephew.” He stated as he finally came before Aemond and his daughter.

The girl frowned at the sight of him, as did Viserys’ boy. But Daemon was not asking.

He took Daella’s hand and led them into the middle of the floor as a simple Riverlands tune began to play.

His daughter practically glowered as she stared at him. She tried to stand on his toes, more than once in fact. And she was fast, but Daemon was faster.

“Are you done?” He drawled.

Her frown only deepened and she used a particularly hard step to try again.

“You’ll have to be faster than that."

“Why are you even here?” She hissed.

He let out a curt laugh. “The feast is in my name. I would think my presence could almost be assumed.”

“Not here.” She sneered. “Here. With me. You made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me yesterday and I want nothing to do with you.”

Stubborn little thing. The gods were truly testing him.

“That was before…”

“Before you saw the dragon. That is the only reason your can bring yourself to even acknowledge me.” She spoke as though she were a woman grown and not a slip of a girl standing in front of him.

He drew himself back, watching with amusement as she went on.

“You wouldn’t even care if it wasn’t for him and you still don’t care, not really. You only see me for what I can do for you.”

He raised a brow. “You think you have me all figured out? Go on, tell me who I am.” He dared.

His daughter looked between his eyes before her gaze fell to the dragon embroidered on his chest.

“You’re dangerous.” She finally spoke. “I knew that from the moment you entered your brother’s solar yesterday.”

Daemon lifted her in time with the other dancers, placing her back on her feet, she was then spun around by Jason Lannister before returning to him. 

“Your selfish.” She said next. “You only care about yourself and those you deem worthy of care.”

Daemon turned to face Vanerra Celtigar, raising a hand they circled each other until she was returned to her partner and him to Daella.

“You are quick to judge.” His daughter continued.

They clapped, turning back-to-back, Daemon allowed her to continue her game as the song began to pick up in speed. “And quick to anger.”

“And…” She came around to his front, resting her small hand in his own again. “You hate weakness.”

“All that after one meeting?” Daemon smirked. “I really have made quite the impression then.”

Daella frowned, lips turning down in a way that reminded him of Rhaena when she begged him to see Caraxes.

“I am many things.” He said. “Selfish, impulsive, quick to anger and yes, dangerous. But you are wrong about your assumptions when it comes to my children, you included.” When she tried to pull away, Daemon only held her tighter. “You are my daughter. You could be as weak as a wilting flower and I would not care because you are my daughter. Mine. I protect what is mine, Daella. The only person that need fear my wrath is the one that stands in your way.”

“I saw the way you danced with Hightower and that boy, Aemond.” He continued. “Were you raised with your sisters, you would not have even spared them a second glance. Alas, you were raised by sheep. But I will not have it anymore. You will return to Dragonstone with Rhaenyra and I…”

“Never.” She hissed, cutting him off.

There was a rage in her eyes then, one that reminded him so much of himself it almost gave him pause.

“I will never go anywhere with you. When this feast is over I will go home with my uncle and cousin and I will never see you again.”

She pulled away then and Daemon let her as the song ended. Returning to his seat he drained the wine from his cup.

This would not be easy.

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella wiped furious tears with the sleeve of her dress, watching over the hall from the gallery above.

She wished they had never come here. Bad things happened to her family when the wolf girl left her home and now she could not help but feel as though it was happening again. Like a shadow in the dark, Death was waiting for her, waiting for the moment when she least expected before he took everything once more.

“Daella?” 

She did not turn but still Aemond’s slender form found her, sitting by her side behind the carved balustrades of the gallery.

“Who did this?” He asked at the sight of her tears, speaking as though he were a white knight from one of the songs the wolf girl’s sister loved.

The thought lifted the weight on her heart some.

“I don’t want to think on it.” She eventually said. “Would you tell me something else instead?” She asked.

She turned to find him watching her, the violet eye that was not covered trained on her face. But then her attention turned to the other.

She lifted a hand, tracing the scar above his brow.

“What happened?”

“I lost my eye for a dragon.” He answered as though it were so simple.

An eye for a dragon.

A dragon for an eye.

Daella’s hand fell. “Did someone hurt you?” She asked.

The corner of his mouth flickered.

A soft breath left his lips in an almost-laugh. “Do you intend to seek justice for me?”

“Maybe.” She whispered in return. 

They were friends after all, weren’t they? The wolf girl would do such a thing for a friend, as would Daella.

The Prince dropped his gaze. “Well, if you intend to seek justice for me, then I intend to do the very same for you. Will you not tell me what happened to make you so upset?” He asked, but before he could continue, Daella heard a voice at the entrance of the gallery.

“Daella?” Her uncle called out, a hint of concern laced within his gaze as he came into view.

She stood, hands clasped in her skirt as she went to meet him. “I’m here.” She said, walking to where he stood by the doorway. “Forgive me, uncle. The room was becoming stifling so I thought I would sit by the gallery instead. Prince Aemond kindly came to keep me company.” She turned back to where Aemond remained.

The Prince rose to his feet, a guarded look slipping over his face as he turned his gaze to her uncle.

Uncle Elbert smiled as he bowed his head in greeting but it was not one of his true smiles. “Ah, I must thank you then, Prince Aemond. You have been most kind.” He said.

Were she anyone else, Daella would have struggle to find fault in his words or his manners but she was not any other person. She felt the edge in his tone and reached for his arm out of instinct.

“I’m tired.” She said. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you walk with me back to my chambers?”

The tension in his arm loosened beneath her hold.

“Of course, niece.” He smiled. “We must bid you a goodnight then, my prince.” He spoke and with that they left the gallery, Daella sparing Aemond one last smile before they were gone.

▁▁▁▁▁

“You’re not angry at me for speaking with the prince, are you?” Daella asked once they entered her chambers.

Her uncle sighed as he sat back against one of the chairs, the wood creaking beneath his weight.

“I’m not angry.” 

Daella removed her slippers, tucking her legs beneath her as she sat on the end of her bed. “But there’s something.” She knew. “What is it?”

A weathered hand ran down his face, his eyes laying on the dancing flame of the hearth before him.

“I always knew this day would come. Your mother knew too, I think. I tried to keep you from it for as long as I could, but the moment you bonded with Daorys, it became inevitable.”

“What did?”

“There is a great game afoot, Daella. Princess Rhaenyra, the Hightowers… they are on either end of the board. And now you have been introduced, a new piece that comes with the second largest dragon in the realm. And they will do all they can to tie you to their side.”

She felt the unease settle into her bones. The great game… The War of the Five Kings, The Dance of Dragons. There was a war coming, a war was always coming, her uncle did not need to know the future to see that.

“I don’t want to be a piece.” I don’t want to fight another war.

She had already seen enough to last her previous lifetime and this one.

Elbert Royce reached out for her hand. “I know. But you saw them today. Ormund Hightower wished to make an impression on you and me as your guardian. And Prince Aemond…”

Daella shook her head. Aemond was her friend. He would not do that to her, she was sure.

“It was not like that with the Prince.” She told him.

“Daella.” He warned.

“It’s not.”

He did not look happy with her response but did not push it further. “And then there is your father.” Daella grimaced at the word. “The to-be-Queen’s King consort.”

“He spoke about taking me to Dragonstone today.” She admitted. “I won’t go with him. I won’t go with any of them. I just want to go home.”

She hated how small she sounded in that moment. But to her uncle she was small, still the little girl he had helped Rhea Royce raise.

“I know, sweet girl.” He smiled sadly. “I will do all I can, I will speak to the King. But whether you are in Runestone, the Red Keep or Dragonstone you must be ready for what is to come. And we will be ready.” He promised. “No matter where you are or how many years have passed. We remember,” he said, quoting their house words “House Royce remembers and I will see to it that every man and every sword we have stands at your side no matter where you are.”

Her grip on his fingers tightened. 

“What do I do?” She whispered.

The wolf girl would have asked her grey-eyed father the same had he lived. He would have known what to do, what was right. When he passed she felt as though she was left alone in the world, without a guide to lead her down the dark roads that lay ahead. Many men and women had come into her life in those years but with them she always had to be someone else, or no one else. And never Arya Stark. Never valiant Ned’s little girl.

Daella had Elbert and Darryn Royce now. And the summer wolf was there too. Somewhere. Watching over her.

“For now, you live. You are still a child, girl. I would not have you worry about these things yet.”

“But to be prepared I must consider them.” She thought on his words, on the way Ormund Hightower looked at her that night. “They will bring forth matches for me.” She hated the mere idea of it, but it would come. She knew it.

“And we deny every one unless you wish for it. I would never force you to wed. But…”

“But?” She raised her dark eyes to meet his own.

“Should the need arise, should you find you wish to take yourself off of that playing field altogether, then there is one option which I believe is worth consideration.”

“Which is?”

“Darryn.”

“Darryn?” She could not hide the shock in her voice. “Darryn is my brother.”

Her uncle gave her a soft smile. “A brother to your heart, yes. Just as you are a sister to his. But you are distant cousins to the rest of the realm. Love is never guaranteed no matter how good the match is, but at least with this one I know you would be with a man who would care for you and protect you. One that would always have your best intentions at heart.”

Daella let his words sink in, but no matter how she thought of it, wedding Darryn made something inside her twist uncomfortably.

She couldn’t. In her heart of hearts it felt akin to the thought of wedding the wolf brother that was once King in the North. It was wrong.

“I can’t.” She told her uncle.

But he was not disappointed as she might have feared with any other man. He only patted her hand and smiled. “Then you won’t. I swear it, Daella. I would not force your hand, nor take your choices from you. Your future will always be yours to choose so long as I have breath in my body.”

Her lips lifted. “I know.”

Chapter Text

There was little place for the Old Gods in Kingslanding. It was the Seven who were worshipped here with their great Sept atop Visenya’s Hill for the entire kingdom to see.

Despite this, there had always been a Godswood within the Red Keep, in both the wolf girl’s time and in Daella’s.

A weirwood had not been seen this far south since the Andal invasion, but the Godswood was filled with trees of elm and alder and oak. And instead of wild flowers, it was dragon’s breath that lay in rich soil, the dark red flowers packed neatly around each tree and root.

Daella supposed that in essence it was still the same. There was still peace to be found here, a quiet place for her to connect to the gods of her Royce mother and grey-eyed father. A place for her to listen to the summer wolf.

Though as soft footsteps fell onto dried leaves, Daella knew that today her peace would be short-lived. Her head remained bowed in prayer as she listened. It was not someone trying to mask their presence, nor were they trying to announce it.

Soon, a form fell next to her, kneeling by the large oak as Daella did.

Scents of lavender and a sweetness that reminded her of honey drifted through the air. Turning, Daella found Princess Rhaenyra there, head bent and eyes closed with her hands clasped together in her lap.

The woman muttered a hushed prayer, the sound blending with the rushing waters of the Blackwater below and the soft breeze that flowed through the leaves above.

Daella watched her and waited until those light lilac eyes opened again.

“I always liked this place.” The Princess spoke, running a hand through the dragon’s breath before picking one out.

She ran a gentle finger over the dark petals before handing it to Daella.

“I would come here all the time as a girl. I wasn’t particularly pious but it is rare to find a place so quiet in the Red Keep.” 

There was a breath before Daella finally spoke. “But that is not why you are here now.”  She said.

The Princess smiled, a gesture full of warmth. “No, not exactly.” She admitted. “Your uncle told me where I would find you. He and Daemon are speaking with the King now, I believe.”

“About me. About where I should go.” She said as she turned the flower between her fingers.

One would think if it were a conversation about her then she should be involved, but it was never that way for a noble lady. And time does not change that. Not in the next two centuries at least.

The woman hummed. “You do not wish to come with us.” She stated.

And while both she and the Princess knew it was the truth, Daella still found herself flushing at the statement. Darryn would be appalled by her severe lack of subtlety when it came to this matter.

Rhaenyra Targaryen laughed, the sound a light tinkle like that of a bell. “I think my husband specifically recalled something about you going home to the Vale and wishing to never seeing him again? You need not apologise for it, I promise he has said far worse of others before.”

“I would not apologise for saying it, it was the truth after all, but I would… well, I do not know why I would apologise but I feel as though I should.”

Something soft settled over the Princess’ face then.

“Your mother raised you well.” She said, reaching out to smooth down an errant lock that had escaped Daella’s braid. “Mine did the same. It was not just womanly arts, she made sure I knew politics, histories and economics as well as my manners.” She grinned, Daella found her own lips lifting at the words.

She could easily see why men from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms would fight and die for a woman like this. She was beautiful, regal, and yet still kind with a warmth that drew others in, Daella included.

But was she just another piece to her too? Her smile fell as the question prickled at the back of her mind.

She did not wish to be suspicious of every man and woman that came into her path, but the wolf girl knew the consequences of trusting the wrong person.

Images of her grey-eyed father and brave king-brother echoed in her memories. It cut at her heart like a thousand tiny needles, leaving her bleeding and aching, but now she did not have her mother to make it all better.

Her face must have given some part of her thoughts away as the Princess reached for her. With a light touch to her shoulder and a reassuring smile, the woman tried to soothe her fears. But she did not know what Daella truly dreaded, she did not understand the things that she had seen.

Not yet anyway.

Rhaenyra lost much in the war, she remembered. As much as the wolf girl did and more than one soul should ever have to bare.

As they sat there in silence with nothing but a shared look between them, Daella could not help but feel strangely tied to the woman in front of her - connected through the losses that were yet to happen for both the Black Queen and the wolf girl.

“Thank you.” She mumbled after a moment, looking back to the flower in her fingers.

“I understand your reluctance.” The Princess spoke again, her voice as gentle as her smile. “My husband… I have loved him for so long, before I even knew what love truly was, but even I can see that he is far from perfect.”

Daella would have snorted at that but even she still had the good sense not to do it in front of the Prince’s wife.

“Do you believe he truly thought I was a bastard?” She asked instead.

The Princess’ lips thinned. “I think it was what he convinced himself to be the truth. It was easier for him that way, so he let himself believe it.”

Daella raised a brow, words left unsaid though her thoughts were clear.

Rhaenyra laughed. “Like I said, he is far from perfect. Gods…” she shook her head “he is selfish and impulsive, rash, arrogant, and once he sets his mind on something you are better asking for snow in Dorne than for him to change.”

“But,” her features softened “when he loves, he loves fiercely. He would do anything for his family and I know if the time ever came, he would fight for his daughters, my children and I until his last breath.”

Fight for you or himself? Daella could not help but think. She had yet to see anything that would to support the former.

She knew fragments of the Dance from what the wolf girl learned of her histories. Prince Daemon truly did fight and die for Rhaenyra’s cause but whether that for his wife or for his own gain was not clear.

“I know this will be difficult for you.” The Princess continued. “I will not ask you to love your father, but I hope in time you will come to care for your sisters and my sons as much as you do your uncle and cousin. We could be your family too.”

Daella was silent as she mulled over the words.

Family.

She already had a family, a small pack of four turned three.

The wolf girl had eight before her and here the Princess was promising Daella even more than that. 

Despite her silence, Rhaenyra Targaryen rose to her feet and held a hand out. “Come,” she beckoned “walk with me?”

Daella took the Princess’ hand. “Where are we going?”

The woman smiled, the corner of her lips lifting into a mischievous grin though she left the question unanswered.

She led Daella through the woods into another area on the outskirts of the castle walls where a large stable lay.

The western portion of the stable was covered by a thick roof but the rest was open to the air which allowed the golden creature within to lift her head and inspect who approached her den.

“Are you trying to bribe me with dragons?” Daella could not prevent the accusation from leaving her lips.

The Princess laughed again, reaching a hand up for the golden she-dragon to rest it against her lowered head. “I don’t think it’s possible to bribe you with a dragon when you have one as large as your own.”

She took her other hand which still held Daella’s onto the dragon’s neck, allowing her to stroke the glimmering scales.

“She’s beautiful.” Daella whispered as she ran her fingers where Rhaenyra’s hand guided. “But it feels an awful lot like you are trying to use her to convince me to come to Dragonstone.” She said, looking at the Princess from the corner of her eye.

Rhaenyra’s eyes shone as bright as the she-dragons scales. “Sweet girl, I could no more do that than I could force you to come to the island, and I have no wish to do either. In truth, no one could make you to do anything your Cannibal.”

“Daorys.” Daella corrected. “His name is Daorys.”

“Yes, Daorys.” She apologised. “These dragons,” she looked up to Syrax, “they give us a power that cannot be matched by anything else. We are kings because of them. The Iron Throne would never have been forged without Balerion’s breath.”

“And Vhagar and Meraxes.” Daella added. “It was not just Aegon riding his dragon. It was Rhaenys and Visenya too.”

The Princess’ smile widened. “It was.”

Her eyes turned to Syrax again. The she-dragon looked to her rider, spreading her wings wide as though she wished to fly.

“Without Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes Westeros would still be seven separate kingdoms, but it was the might of dragons brought them together. Torrhen Stark knelt without bloodshed because of them, as did the Arryns, and when the rest of Westeros stood against Aegon and his sisters, it was the dragons that brought them victory.”

“Your father, my husband…. you have never seen him ride, but even amongst our own there are very few that could rival him on dragonback.” She sighed. “Daemon is a selfish man, it is true, but he uses the power he has to fight for his brother, to fight for me and our children. He would fight for you too.” 

The Princess’ eyes were beseeching. Daella could hardly bare to look at them for more than a moment before she had to turn away. To deny her felt like denying her own mother,  a feeling she did not quite understand given Rhaenyra looked nothing like either of her mothers.

“Rhaenyra.” At the sound of the Princess’ name both of them turned to find Prince Daemon approaching the stables with an unhurried pace.

He stopped in his steps as his eyes found Daella’s, the corner of his lips lifting as he rested his hands lazily on the sword at his waist.

It was Dark Sister, she knew. Visenya’s sword. It had went missing by the time the wolf girl was born, but that did not stop her from dreaming that she would one day find and wield the Targaryen Queen’s blade.

“I see you’ve been busy, wife.” The Prince said, amusement laced within his words as he looked to the woman next to her.

Rhaenyra only shook her head in fond resignation. “I was only introducing Daella to Syrax.”

Daemon Targaryen hummed. “I can see that.”

His eyes then flickered to her again. “It’s good you’re here, girl. Go pack your things and say your goodbyes. I don’t plan on staying in this viper’s nest any longer than needed.”

Daella’s lips pulled into a frown. “What?” She shook her head. “My uncle…”

“Has submitted to his King’s will.” He interrupted. “Go pack your things.” He said again as though he expected her to forget all about her family in the Vale and obey.

The King may have made his choice, she thought, but Daella certainly hadn’t agreed to it.

She marched straight up to the Prince, standing face-to-face so she could glare at him.

“No.”

“No?” He raised a pale brow. “Disobeying your father and the King? Rebellious little thing, aren’t you?”

Daella’s eyes fell to his sword as he spoke, the condescending tone almost made her want to reach for it.

The Prince seemed to catch her gaze. And suddenly, Dark Sister was drawn. The Valyrian steel shone in the daylight, ripples of an almost copper-red shining through the blade.

He tossed the sword, flipping it so his gloved hand now held the steel while the hilt was turned to face her.

“Go on.” He goaded. “I know you have wanted to do this from the moment you met me. Take her. I’ll even close my eyes to give you a chance.”

Without thought, Daella found her hands clenching into fists, an act that only seemed to amuse the Prince even more.

He leaned down slightly. “Do you even know the first thing about sword fighting?”

“First lesson…”

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

Daella’s eyes widened as she heard the words, only realising a moment later that they had fallen from her own lips.

The Prince’s grin grew, and suddenly he was laughing. Daella turned to see Rhaenyra was too, the two of them sharing a look between each other before Daemon Targaryen sheathed Dark Sister.

“Yes.” He said, eyes glimmering. “I suppose that is the essence of it.” His voice was softer then, the sharpness to his words lost along with that goading smirk of his. “Go speak to your uncle.” He did not demand it as he did before. “We will be ready for you once you are done.” He only said, making Daella’s brows furrow together in confusion.

She left the Prince and Princess without another word then, almost running through the grounds and into the Keep.

Once she finally made it to her uncle’s chambers, she found both him and Darryn there waiting for her.

They look so sad, she thought. She did not want them to be sad.

“I won’t go.” She told them. “He can’t make me. I won’t.”

Her uncle reached out a hand for her, but Daella didn’t want to take it. She knew what it would lead to. Once she took it, that was it. She would give in. He would convince her. And she couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t.

“I can’t go.” She whispered, eyes falling to the floor as a lone tear dropped down her cheek. “Bad things happen when families are separated from each other.” She wanted to say, but the words would not leave her lips.

Suddenly, she was pulled into a strong chest, broad arms wrapping around her frame. 

She looked up and Darryn was there. “We must obey the King but this is not forever, underfoot.” He softly teased, raising a hand to wipe away the tear that lay on her skin.  “It’s not so bad, I promise. And at least you still get to keep Runestone. You know the King considered offering father it so you would remain with the dragons?” He said, trying and failing to hide the mirth in his gaze.

Daella pulled back in his hold to land a soft blow at his shoulder. “Darryn!” She hissed. 

Her cousin’s smile widened at her fury. “There she is.” 

A large hand fell on her back. “He is teasing you, Daella.” Her uncle said, shaking his head. “What your cousin means to say is that the King’s Hand made a suggestion in an attempt to appease me, but I refused. It was the one thing your father and I agreed on, in fact.”

Daella’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Her uncle hummed. “He was rather insistent on it.”

“Because he wants it under the Targaryen name.” She concluded, not trusting it to be anything more than that.

“It does not matter either way. Runestone is yours. It always has been and will be. And the King was made to understand that as its heir, you cannot be expected to spend so much time away from it.” He said, his lips turning.

“What did you do?” She asked, unable to prevent her smile at the sight of his own.

“I did nothing.” He answered. “It was the King that decreed that Daella Targaryen should spend just as much time in Runestone as she does Dragnostone if she is to remain its ruling lady by the time she reaches her majority as Prince Daemon so keenly insisted she be.”

Darryn nodded his head. “You will go to Dragonstone for now, Daella. But our home will always be there waiting for you.” He gave her shoulders one last squeeze before his arms fell.

As he let her go, Daella turned to face her uncle, wrapping her arms around his midsection and burying her face in his chest as she had done since she was a little girl.

A soft hand ran down her hair. “We will watch the skies every night,” he promised “looking for the dark shadow of your dragon,” he leaned down, kissing the top of her head “longing for the days that you are returned to us. For the day we can be together once more.”

“I will long for those days too.”

“Not as much as I, child.”

Chapter Text

Daella turned the small wooden horse between her hands.

The piece was carved intricately with every fine detail perfectly placed down to the smallest strand of hair.

“It’s beautiful work. Was it by your hand?” She asked the merchant.

Daella loved the eastern ports of Dragonstone. It was visited by all manner of ships from across the Narrow Sea on their travels to Kingslanding. They reminded her how a girl called Cat once lived, selling oysters, clams and cockles by the water. But more than that it reminded her of home. Sometimes if she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was there, the smell of the sea and the cold winds bringing her back, if only for a moment.

It had been close to a year since her uncle and Prince Daemon petitioned the King for her guardianship. Much had changed since then. Daella now split her time between Dragonstone and the Vale, flying every few moons between the two castles. When she was away, Daella longed for home terribly but the grey island of her father and his father before him had grown on her in the time she spent here.

The merchant bowed. “The Princess honours me. I spent seven days and seven nights on this piece.”

She reached for her coin purse. “I am not a princess, thank the gods, but I will happily pay you for your hard work.”

She turned to her guards, showing off her latest purchase.

“What do you think?” She asked. “Aegon will love it, won’t he?”

“That he will.” Pate Coldwater smiled.

House Coldwater had been sworn to House Royce since before the Andal invasion, and Pate had served as her mother’s loyal man long before he travelled south at her uncle’s behest to guard her.

“You have bought Prince Aegon his toy, Lady Rhaena her silks and Lady Baela a fine pair of new leathers. Your poor stepmother won’t have any gold left by the time you’re done.” He teased.

Her Targaryen guard frowned at the informal way Pate spoke with her but Daella paid him no mind. Pate was Uncle Elbert’s friend, he could speak to her any way he liked.

“Oh, you are just sour that you lost our race.” She grinned, reaching for her horse’s reigns from his grip.

She tucked Aegon’s toy into the pouch by her saddle before mounting her mare with one swift movement. 

“You needn’t worry though, old man. I’ll spare you your dignity and be sure ride slow on the way back.”

Dragonstone sat at the foot of the dormant volcano, Dragonmont, where the dragons preferred to make their lairs. The maesters said it was the eruption of the volcano centuries ago that brought forth the island and that the dragons still chose to remain there due to its lingering warmth.

And it was the volcano itself that made Dragonstone impossible to reach by horse. Daella and her guards left their mounts by the stables before the mountain rose, walking the rest of the way along the winding stairs and stone bridge to where the castle lay.

She thanked the two men as the Stone Drum tower came into sight and made quick work of reaching Rhaenyra’s solar from there. She did not want to be late. The whole family, with the assortment of children from different mothers and fathers, would always feast together before the youngest turned in for the night. And Daella wanted to be sure she was there in time to give Aegon his gift.

“Dada!” A voice proclaimed as she entered the solar.

Little Aegon Targaryen was the Princess’ fourth son. He was just shy of reaching his first nameday and while Daella wasn’t supposed to have favourites amongst her siblings, the babe quickly became the first face she looked for when she came back from Runestone.

She placed her other gifts on her chair before going to him. He sat on his mother’s lap, reaching his hands up with that wide, innocent smile she had come to love.

“Dada!” He said again as she lifted him into her arms.

“Yes, little prince.” She grinned. “Did you miss me?”

Her youngest brother had begun speaking only a moon ago and once he started, he could not be stopped. Aegon was saying new words every day. Even the maester was impressed, though he had not quite mastered names yet in truth. Everyone was “dada” to him - Daella, Baela, Rhaena, Jace, Luke, Joff and his father. Only Princess Rhaenyra had her own name. She was “muña”, his first word, which was not surprising given little Aegon completely adored his mother.

“How was your time at the ports?” The Princess asked, smiling up at them as Daella presented Aegon with his present.

The toddler grabbed the wooden horse from her hands immediately, waving it frantically at his mother, he was almost jumping in Daella’s arms.

She set the boy back down into the Princess’ lap with a laugh. “Well.” She smiled as she returned to her seat. “Our lessons ran into the afternoon so I did not have much time but the silk merchant from Yi Ti was back, Rhaena.” She said, handing over the soft lilac fabric to her sister.

“And my leathers?” Baela asked, looking pointedly down as the remaining piece in Daella’s hands as she sat between her sisters.

“What? These leathers?”

Her sister’s gaze narrowed. “Daella…”

She raised her hands in mock surrender, Baela playfully snatching the leathers in a manner not too different from Aegon and his horse only a moment ago.

Rhaena and Baela, Daella quickly learned, were like the sun and the moon. Rhaena reminded her of the wolf girl’s sister sometimes. She was beautiful, effortless in her elegance, and loved to dance and play the high harp. Baela was also beautiful, but her interests lay in riding and hawking and she wasn’t afraid to wrestle with the squires in the courtyard when provoked. But both of them were Prince Daemon and Lady Laena’s daughters, of that there was no doubt. Both equally as fierce and wilful as their parents.

When Daella first came to Dragonstone, they had been unsure of her. She was strange girl they knew nothing of until she landed before them on Daorys’ back. But one word from their father was all it took for the girls to accept her. It was not easy, she knew. They still had much to learn of each other but that did not mean they did not love her.

Baela often took her riding. It was her that introduced Daella to the port villages and local fisherman that worked nearby. And Rhaena never failed to sneak her cakes and treats from the kitchens. The servants of Dragonstone loved to spoil her and she always made sure to include her eldest sister when she went to enjoy the gifts she had received.

“And my sword?” Luke raised a dark brow.

Lucerys was the Princess’ second son and Daella’s unlikely sparring partner.

She had been rather wary of the boy at first - some may call it unfairly so but Daella knew better than most that children who were cruel could become even worse adults. And Luke had hurt her friend.

“Is that why you don’t want me to go?” She had asked Aemond all those moons ago.

He had been reluctant to tell her what had happened between him and his nephew but when he learned of her father’s plans to take her to Dragonstone, he insisted she could not go.

The Prince nodded his head. “You don’t belong with them.” He said. “If you had to go anywhere, why couldn’t it be Kingslanding? I would look out for you. I could teach you about our house and the dragons and anything else the King might want.”

Daella had smiled. She knew he would, but King Viserys had made his choice and so she left for Dragonstone that very same day with one last goodbye to her friend before they were gone.

And while she had initially tried to avoid Lucerys, Daella inevitably came to know him through her sisters’ love for the boy. And through them she learned the young prince was as far from the cruel lion as his mother was from the green-eyed Queen that had smiled at the destruction of her family.

Luke was a shy boy who seemed rather unsure of his place in the world. He looked up to his older brother and Princess Rhaenyra, wishing to be like them but never feeling as though he could quite live up to their image.

He had found Daella one evening in the empty courtyard with a forgotten sparring sword in her hand. She had been practicing the drills she had seen the boys learn earlier that day but found herself struggling with harsh forms that relied on brute strength. Her mind and body returned to the lessons the clever man from Braavos had taught her like the tide returned to the sea.

Her river mother never allowed her to partake in swordplay. And Lady Rhea Royce, for as much as she accepted Daella’s love of riding and archery, did not allow her only child in the sparring ring with her cousin.

“To be a ruling lady in her own right is already difficult enough in a kingdom surrounded by ruling lords. Do not make things harder for yourself, Daella.” She would say.

But the wolf girl had her lessons and Daella had her will. She always found a way and her mother knew that, choosing to turn a blind eye to the time she spent in the godswood.

Luke never mocked her wish to wield a blade. When he came to her that night, he simply picked up a sword of his own and brought it against the one she held.

“It’s nice to be able to spar with someone without constantly worrying whether I am as good as Jace.” He had said.

Since then, it was not uncommon for the guards of Dragonstone to hear the sound of blunted steel against blunted steel as the sun settled beyond the horizon. They all knew it was Prince Daemon’s daughter that sparred with the Princess’ son though none of them said anything against it.

And it was not just the guards. Daella sometimes caught Daemon Targaryen watching them every now and again. He would stand in that lazed stance he always held, with his hands resting on Dark Sister and his lips pulled into a slight smirk. And despite the darkness, Daella knew there was not a thing those lilac eyes missed.

He would watch them silently and when her eyes finally caught his, he would only give her the slightest nod before turning away and walking back into the castle.

“What sword is this?” Princess Rhaenyra asked, looking between Daella and her son as the final dishes were placed on the table.

“She promised me a sword.” Luke answered, reaching for a bread roll.

Daella rolled her eyes. “If you beat me in our bout.”

“Which I did.”

She raised a brow.

“I did!” Luke insisted.

To her left, Rhaena attempted to smother a laugh behind her hand. The pretty sound caused Luke to flush as he sent shy glances her sister’s way.

The boy shook his head. “Fine, if you won’t admit it I guess you won’t want these then?” He said, pulling from his pocket two unopened letters marked for Daella.

She turned her narrowed gaze to her sister, knowing there was no way he could have managed to get his hands on them without Rhaena’s help.

Her poor sister at least had the decency to look sorry, Luke was only smug in his victory.

“Give me the letters, Luke.” She warned.

“Are you going to admit I won?”

Daella’s silence was all the answer he needed.

“Well, that’s a shame. One appears to be from the Vale, and the other… our good uncle, Aemond.” He smirked, knowing exactly what hell he had just unleashed.

Daella was sorely tempted to walk over there and dump the rest of her cup on his head. She decided against it, but did not drink any more of her water in case she changed her mind.

“One day very soon you are going to find dragon shit where you least expect it, Lucerys Velaryon.” She promised.

Joff and her sisters could not hold back their laughter but they were soon silenced by the sound of her father’s voice.

The Prince had been silent up until then, but Daella saw the way his eyes flared at the mention of the King’s son.

“Hand me the letters, Lucerys.” There was a deadly calm to his voice that had even Luke’s smile falling.

“Daemon, there is no harm in letters.” Princess Rhaenyra said, words turning to High Valyrian as she bounced a blissfully unaware Aegon on her lap.

“And they are my letters. They have nothing to do with you.” Daella stressed, matching the Princess’ High Valyrian as she turned to her father.

The Princes’ grin turned vicious. “They have everything to do with me when that swine, Otto, has his grandson chasing after you like a dog in heat.”

The boys looked on with furrowed brows as they spoke. They had all began to learn the language not long ago, Jace being the most eager, but even he struggled to follow along with their conversation.

Daella stood, glaring at her father she rounded the table to take the letters from Luke’s hands.

“Daella, I’m sorry.” The young prince began to apologise.

She sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t worry.” She promised. “I’ll retire early tonight, I think.” 

“Dada!”

Daella rested a hand on sweet Aegon’s head as she made to leave, but as he called out the name yet again, the sound of a wooden chair scraping against the stone floor rang out and Daella knew she had been followed.

“Daella!” With quick steps and a long stride, Prince Daemon caught up to her with ease.

He grabbed her arm, pulling her to face him. “You know, despite what you might believe I do not say these things simply to infuriate you, as easy as it is.”

Her nostrils flared. “No, you say these things because you see anyone that holds a drop of Hightower blood as the enemy.”

There would be a time where the world would hate House Targaryen in a similar manner. A time where, without their dragons, any greatness they may have held gave way for madness. They were killed for it, babes murdered at their mother’s breast, or exiled and hunted, fear following their children like shadows.

“Am I wrong to?” Daemon challenged. “Tell me you think Otto Hightower will stop his ambitions at a Hightower queen. Tell me true, girl.”

“He won’t.” She was reluctant to admit it but she knew what he said was true. 

“That man…” Her father sneered. “He thinks he can bring the second largest dragon in Westeros to his side by tying you to Alicent’s boy.”

A sad laugh slipped from Daella’s lips before she could prevent it. “Is that not what this is too? You brought me here so I might love my sisters and the Princess’ sons so you could tie the second largest dragon in Westeros to yours. You need not pretend it is anything else.”

The Prince’s lips opened for a moment before they closed again and for the first time since they had met, he looked unsure.

He cannot even deny it.

It hurt, despite everything in her willing it not to.

“You need not worry.” Daella spoke before he could come up with some sorry excuse. “I would never fight against my sisters and I love Aegon more than anything. I would always stand with him… and his mother.”

She did not want another war, but if it had to come, there was only one place she could stand.

And yet…

Daella could not help but think of Aemond then. The thought of ever having to face him on opposite ends of the battlefield made her stomach turn. It was not fear that made her feel this way, it was something else that lay deep within, something that told her it was wrong.

“Aemond isn’t Otto Hightower.” She mumbled, unable to bring herself to look at the Prince again.

There was silence for a moment but then Daella felt strong fingers grip her chin.

Her father forced her gaze up to meet his. “Are you truly so blind? Do you not see him for the threat he is?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. The wolf girl knew Aemond One-Eye to be the Black Queen’s enemy.

But was her friend that man?

The boy she knew enjoyed flying on his dragon and learning his histories. He loved his sister fiercely and was her greatest protector. And he was Daella’s friend, someone that wanted to know her before he knew he could have anything to gain from it.

She pulled away. “I see all I need to.” She said, turning back without sparing him another glance.

▁▁▁▁▁

The stars were bright that night, just as they were the first night she and Aemond met.

Daorys let out a tired rumble as he rested his large head next to Vhagar’s on the sandy beach.

Daella giggled, stroking the hardened scales at his flank. “You fly to Runestone and back without so much a sound, but a flew laps around Dragonstone and you are exhausted?"

Daella looked back to find Aemond watching them, an almost unnoticeable smile lifting his lips.

She reached into her cloak to pull out a green dragonglass broach.

“Happy nameday, Aemond.” She grinned, placing it in his hands.

Obsidian was normally as dark as night but the miners on Dragonstone knew where to find the rarest colours to sell on the markets.

The broach was another purchase of hers that day, though one she did not share with her guards as she did the others.

Aemond ran his thumb over the flying dragon carved into the green glass. “Thank you.” He mumbled, placing over the jerkin at his breast.

“So,” she hummed “what else did you get for your nameday?”

Daella sat down on the soft sand, her back heated by Daorys’ unrelentingly warmth.

“Helaena weaved me a tapestry.” He came to sit beside her, shooting her dragon a hesitant glance as he slowly rested against Daorys’ side as Daella did.

“Aegon promised he would bring me into the city again as he did before. I didn’t enjoy it much last time,” he frowned “but knew if I agreed, I would get the chance to take Vhagar and see you again.”

“Your mother will be wroth when she finds out.”

Aemond shrugged his shoulders. “I’d rather spend my nameday with you than out doing whatever Aegon likes to do. She’ll forgive me eventually.”

Daella smiled, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Well, I’m glad I could spend your nameday with you too.” She said. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re still frowning?”

Her friend hummed, rolling his eyes though he lightly nudged her shoulder in return.

“Helaena is to wed Aegon soon.” He eventually admitted, his face turning solemn again.

Daella’s eyes widened though she remained silent.

“My brother will never be loyal to her.” He continued. “Helaena is too sweet to say anything, but she deserves better. We all know it.”

In the year since they had met, Daella and Aemond often wrote to one another, mostly when she was back in Runestone. The one constant in her friend’s letters was always Helaena. He loved his sister, just as much as the wolf girl loved her dark-eyed brother.

She reached for his hand. “We will protect Helaena.” She promised. “Runestone is my keep. She could stay there for as long as she liked, somewhere far away from undeserving older brothers and the mothers that would make her marry them.”

Aemond smiled. 

“Thank you, Daella.”

“I mean it.” She swore. “Always.”

She looked up to the stars, hesitating for a moment before she spoke again. “I hope we can always be friends, but I want you to know that even if you hate me one day, you and Helaena will always find shelter under Runestone’s roof.”

She could feel his gaze on her, watching her closely.

Despite her words there was so much left unsaid, and not only on her part. She could feel it with him too. The tension between their families lay between them, threatening to tear them apart.

“I’d never hate you, Daella.” Aemond eventually spoke, a promise sworn as solemnly as any oath.

Chapter Text

It rained the evening Daella left Dragonstone to return home.

Aegon wept as she kissed his rosy cheeks. He reached for her from his mother’s arms and with small words begged her not to go.

Princess Rhaenyra smiled sadly, running a soothing down her son’s pale silver hair.

“My little dragon, your sister will return to us.” She promised.

But Aegon was not satisfied.

“No, Dada! No!” He cried, trying to free himself from his mother’s hold.

Daella swallowed the swell of emotion that thickened within her throat. As she took her brother into her arms, the little prince buried his face in the crook of her neck, gripping her cloak tight beneath his small fists

“Aegon…” She tried.

“No!” He huffed into her skin.

Her gaze lifted. As she looked over his head, Daella found Baela trying to hide her sadness behind hardened eyes that were so similar to that of their father. 

“You shouldn’t go.” Her sister stated.

Rhaena nudged her twin’s shoulder before turning back to Daella, a fond smile curling at her lips.

“She’ll come back. She always does.” She said softly.

But suddenly those lavender eyes widened when both she and Baela were pushed back. Jace stood in front of them, hand resting on his sword as a large shadow passed above their heads with a loud screech. The ground shook beneath her dragon’s weight as Daorys landed on the cliff’s edge. He turned to face them, emerald eyes narrowing at the sight of so many strangers.

Between the grey clouds that lay above and the dying light of the day, the black beast was almost invisible in the darkness aside from the smoking green tendrils of his flaming breath that glowed like wildfire.

The Targaryens had never truly seen him so close. No one had aside from Aemond and even then it was only in the dead of night. While the waters surrounding Dragnostone still glittered with the light of the shrouded sun, her dragon remained hidden away in his lair surrounded by only the darkness of his cave and his own solitude.

“He won’t hurt you.” Daella promised. “He won’t hurt any of you.”

Despite her words Jace and Luke looked terrified, their eyes speaking of a fear that cut deeper than any sword. Joffrey clutched at his mother’s skirts and little Aegon turned in her arms to look to his father. 

“Dada?” He almost whispered.

Even as young as he was, he knew to look to his father for protection. Daemon would be Aegon’s first and most ruthless champion no matter whether he was on Caraxes or only had Dark Sister at his side.

The Dragon Prince stepped forth, resting a hand on his son’s head. 

“The dragon is claimed by your sister. So long as she rides him, he will fight for you, Aegon.” The High Valyrian slipped from their father’s tongue like a melody, his eyes resting on Daella all the while.

She frowned as she listened on, resolutely avoiding his lilac gaze to focus on Aegon instead.

Daorys rumbled impatiently in the distance, causing her little brother to grip her cloak tighter.

She leaned down. “He’s my friend.” She told him. “He will bring me back to you. Watch for me, little brother. I will be back before you know it. I promise.”

Aegon’s lower lip began to tremble, but Daella handed him to their father before she could do something stupid like take him to Runestone and never let go.

She looked to the Princess’ sons and her sisters once more before walking towards the cliff's edge where Daorys waited for her. Little Aegon’s cries haunted her every step but still she forced herself to walk on.

The black dragon lowered his wing as she approached, helping her onto his hardened back. She hesitated once she was settled against him, turning back to look to her family one last time.

“Why would you do this, Bran?” She asked the empty air. “Why would you send me into another war when you know I would never be able to sit back and watch them suffer?”

The whistling of the winds was her only response. It picked up, howling like the call of a direwolf. Daella’s lips parted as the sound surrounded her, whipping through her dark locks and caressing her skin like a soft embrace. It was cold like the winter winds the wolf girl loved and smelled like fresh summer snow, making her shiver and yet filling her with warmth at the same time.

“Help me.” She begged him, resting against Daorys’ back as he lifted off into the night.

▁▁▁▁▁

For a man to travel from Dragonstone to Runestone a ship might take five nights, but on dragonback it was only one. She and Daorys landed before the castle gates at the darkest part of the night after a whole day of flying along the eastern winds.

The guards welcomed her warmly and suddenly, her uncle and Darryn were running down the stairs from the Old Keep to greet her.

“You should be asleep.” Daella laughed. “You needn’t have woke for me.”

“Nonsense.” Her uncle grinned, pulling her into his strong arms.

Darryn ruffled her messy hair. “We couldn’t wait to see you, underfoot. Sleep can wait.” He said.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, her cousin pulled her to his side and led her into the castle with her uncle following shortly behind.

As she walked through the familiar hallways of her home, Daella noticed that a surprising amount of the servants bustling about the corridors.

She smiled at them as she walked by, but when she caught sight of Marya, one of Runstone’s longest serving maids, walking from her chambers with folded dresses in her arms, even her tired mind knew something was wrong.

“Are you going to tell me why the whole castle is awake at the Hour of the Wolf? Please tell me you don’t have poor Marya working so late because of me.”

Darryn snorted. “So self-absorbed, cousin.” He teased. “Not everything is about you.”

Daella levelled him with a glare, but her cousin only laughed again.

He looks happier. She noticed.

Darryn was never unhappy, but he looked lighter somehow.

Like a man in love.

“There’s a girl?”

His smile became impossibly wider. “There’s a girl. We’re going north, Daella.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“Say it again.” Uncle Elbert demanded as they rode from Castle Cerwyn.

“Bennard Stark is acting Lord of Winterfell until his nephew, Cregan Stark, comes of age. Lord Cregan’s mother, Lady Gilliane, was a Glover before she wed into House Stark. Her sister wed Halys Tallhart, the Lord of Torrhen’s Square, and she is Erena Tallhart’s mother.” She sent a teasing grin Darryn’s way at the mention of the name.

They had sailed for White Harbour only a day after she returned to Runestone. Daella was reluctant to leave after she had only just returned but didn’t require any convincing. It was Darryn’s happiness they spoke of. She would travel to the ends of the known world without question if it was for him.

Her cousin had supposedly met the young Tallhart maid on an excursion to the Redfort. The castle’s young heir and a good friend of his had wed an Arryn of Gulltown, and despite his heavily drunken state, her cousin had managed to refrain from scaring off Erena who was fostered under the Redfort’s care. She had returned to the North to live with her Glover aunt not long after the wedding and Darryn was set on following her.

He had written to her almost immediately after her departure to Deepwood Motte. One letter quickly became two and soon he was writing to her father and here they were, riding to Winterfell to meet Lady Erena’s Tallhart, Glover and Stark kin under the Warden of the North’s roof.

Daella’s heart raced at the thought of seeing Winterfell in the flesh.

She dreamed of it - of the laughter of innocent children playing in the soft snow, of the warm walls and the people that were yet to come. This was not that home, she knew. But still it was a part of it.

As they crested a larger hill, the grey-stone castle finally came into view.

From such a distance it looked the same as she remembered and for a moment, Daella struggled to remember who she was. Was it Arya Stark or Daella Targaryen that was to enter the castle walls that called to her very soul?

“I will announce the lady’s arrival.” Her guard said.

She turned to him with a blank gaze, unable to speak.

He was Ser Hugh Waters, her father’s chosen knight. Just as her uncle sent Pate Coldwater south for her while she was on Dragonstone, Prince Daemon sent his own man north to accompany her on Runestone.

Ser Hugh had black hair and blue eyes, bright like sapphires. The wolf girl knew a knight with the black hair of his father and similar eyes.

He was a Waters too, wasn’t he?

“Daella?”

She turned to the voice to find her uncle watching her with worried eyes. She could see the question in his gaze.

“I’m well.” She promised, spurring her horse on to ride slowly behind the knight, but her uncle would not have it.

“Daella.” His voice was almost stern as he brought his mount next to hers. Taking ahold of her reigns, he forced them to stop just before Wintertown while Ser Hugh rode on to inform the Starks of their arrival. 

She brought her lower lip between her teeth as she gazed at the village and the castle that lay beyond it.

“Before, when we spoke of the great game… I was being naive when I said I did not want to play."

She heard her uncle sigh. “Is that why you are behaving so strangely? Did something happen on Dragonstone?”

Daella shook her head. “Not exactly. I only learned that I was always going to fight, that war will always come, and this…” She looked to Winterfell. “It feels like the beginning of something. Something big.”

“The Stark’s are honourable lords, Daella. But if you are worried, I promise we will be vigilant.”

“It is not the Stark’s I am concerned about.”

“Then what is it?” He asked as Ser Hugh gave them the signal to move on into the village.

“What comes after.” She answered.

▁▁▁▁▁

Margaret Karstark had loved Winterfell since she was a girl. She once dreamed of wedding Lord Rickon Stark, a man worthy of the title of Warden of the North. Alas, it was Gilliane Glover he married and a match between Margaret and Bennard, his younger brother,  was drawn instead.

She was wary of her husband when they first wed, he was a mere stranger and certainly not the maiden’s fantasy she had wished for, but in time she grew to love him and more so in this last year than ever.

Who knew death could be such a blessing?

When Rickon Stark, the Grey Wolf of Winterfell, passed with an heir too young to take the North, her husband took the mantle of Lord Regent and Warden of the North. Bennard bloomed in the role, lordship bringing out a side to him she did not know existed. Even the people of Winterfell saw it. Bennard may not have been born holding Ice in his hands but it fit in him all the same.

And their happiness only grew with Margaret’s third pregnancy - another boy, she believed.

But one wolf threatened to take it all.

It was not Sara Snow, Rickon’s bastard daughter. Margaret paid little mind to her. What harm could a bastard do anyway? A boy maybe, but not a girl, her boys would always inherit Winterfell before Rickon’s illegitimate child. No, the threat lay in the man who stood next to her as they prepared for the arrival of their guests.

Cregan Stark.

Despite all of Bennard’s efforts, there was no one more loved in Winterfell than Lord Rickon’s oldest and only son. But they did not see him as Margaret did, they did not see the cold-hearted monster that lay beneath his grey gaze.

He reminded her of the stories of the Winter King’s of old, the men that destroyed each and every opposing king until the North was united under House Stark’s rule, leaving a mountain of blood and bodies in their wake. 

She told Bennard to send him to foster with her own Karstark kin who would keep him in line while they used the Royce’s visit as an opportunity to impress her husband’s continued rulership on the Tallhart’s. House Glover would never side against Gilliane’s wild boy with wolf’s blood running through his veins, but the Tallhart’s were not lost to them yet. And every day that passed was a day closer to Cregan’s sixteenth nameday. They had to act fast. However, her husband refused.

“I cannot send him away. House Glover has already called for Cregan to take Winterfell now, despite his age. If they suspect foul play they may call their banners.”

So, here they stood with the Glover’s and Tallhart’s and Cregan Stark between them all, watching the gates as Lord Elbert Royce rode through with his son and Daella Targaryen at his side.

Margaret grinned as she looked to the girl, eyes briefly finding that of her husband and youngest brother.

The Tallhart’s could take Elbert Royce’s son. The boy stood to inherit nothing, but the girl that rode next to him was another story altogether.

A ruling lady needed a lord husband if she wished her line to continue. And if Elbert Royce was fool enough not to tie his son to a match that brought not only Runestone but also a dragon, then Margaret could only pity him, but they would not make the same mistake.

“Lord Royce.” Her husband stood tall and firm as he greeted the Valeman. “I welcome you and your kin to Winterfell. Our home is yours, as is our guest right.”

Salt and bread were passed out between the two lords and the young lady before Elbert Royce stepped forth to greet them. He kissed her hand and paid his dues to her boys as well as Cregan, Lord Tallhart and Lord Glover before introducing his son and niece. Darryn Royce looked much like his father, the Blood of the First Men ran strong through his veins with his brawny build and thick brown beard. And Daella Targaryen… Well, there was not much Targaryen in her. One might think she almost looked Northern in a certain light, but she did have softer features that could only have come from her Valyrian father.

The King’s niece greeted them with a strong look that was as serious as any Stark’s. “Thank you for inviting us into your home.” She said to Bennard and Margaret but then her eyes turned to Cregan as though to include him. “It is beautiful.”

It is not his. She wanted to tell the girl, but instead she forced herself to smile. “You are most welcome here, my lady.” She said, trying to pull her attention away from the wild wolf. The young lady’s interest in him was the last thing she and her husband needed. But her words had no effect.

Lady Daella pulled away from Margaret and her husband with little more than a barely-present smile before moving to greet Cregan and even his bastard sister, Sara, missing her brother altogether.

Arthor frowned.

Margaret’s brother was the spare to their eldest brother, Harrold, who held Karhold. They were always close with one another. So much so that Arthor was willing to join her household in Winterfell to care for her when he could have been starting a family of his own.

He was a great swordsman, her brother. Battle-tried, he had fought against wildlings and the Ironborne, the skull of the first man he killed still remaining in his old chambers in Karhold amongst his other hunting trophies.

They had started looking for matches for him not long ago, but had no luck in the North. None of the Northern lords were willing to wed their daughter to him after the misunderstanding with the Mormont girl. 

Margaret rested a hand on Arthor’s arm at the thought, shaking the unpleasant memories from her mind.

“You are seated next to each other at the feast.” She reassured her brother. “She is lucky if you even look at her. Do not worry, Arthor.”

Chapter Text

Aemond,

You will be glad to know we arrived safely.

The North is beautiful, I wish you could see it with me.

And Winterfell is so warm. It is like living inside a dragon with the way the waters from the hot springs are pumped through its walls.

There is so much to explore, I will tell you of it all in my coming letters.

I hope you are well. How is Helaena faring now she and Aegon are wed? My offer still stands. You and her are welcome in Runestone at any time, no matter where I am.

Your friend,

Daella

Daella rolled the parchment, sealing it with the hot red wax that had melted under the heat of her candle.

She clutched the small scroll between her fingers when she was done, grabbing the cloak that lay thrown across the back of her chair before leaving for the rookery.

Her chambers in Wintefell were on guest floor of the Great Keep, directly below where the wolf girl and her family once slept.

Daella’s feet immediately took her up there without thought.

She passed her dark-eyed brother’s room first, the one she would sneak into in the middle of the night just to see him. Then, after a few more doors, it was the summer wolf’s room. Beyond that, the chamber that belonged to her older sister. And across from them both was hers.

She rested a hand against the wood. It was darker than she remembered. And the little chip at the bottom the wolf girl had made when playing with her direwolf was not there.

All of a sudden, the wood beneath her fingers fell away and the door was opened from the other side.

Sara Snow looked at her with furrowed brows and curious eyes.

She looks like me, was her first thought when she met the girl in Winterfell’s courtyard. Not as I am now, but before.

The resemblance was subtle, though noticeable. But this close, the differences were clear. As clear as their differently coloured eyes.

“Can I help you, my lady?” Rickon Stark’s daughter asked.

She masked her surprise with a small smile. “I hope so. I was looking for the rookery and seem to have gotten lost.” She gestured to the parchment in her hand to support her case. It was not truly a lie. She was heading to the rookery, she just took a slight detour along the way. “Forgive me, Lady Sara.”

“I’m not a lady.” The girl replied instantly, her gaze narrowing with the words.

Daella bit back a wince.

“Snows are not ladies.” Sara went on. “I don’t know how things work in the south but in the North, bastard girls do not hold arms or titles.”

Daella’s lips parted.

“Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister."

Jon.

“I’m afraid it’s much the same in the south.” She hummed softly. “But my mother taught me that a man's worth is not dictated by what title they hold.”

The corner of the girl's lips lifted, the sternness of her features giving way slightly. “Aye.” She stepped out her room and closed the door behind her. “Come, I will show you where the rookery is.”

She led Daella up the winding steps to where the ravens were held, sparing her little more than fleeting glances as they walked.

Once the letter was delivered, Sara Snow stiffly curtsied to her, muttering something about seeing her brother before she made to leave.

“Wait!” Daella called out.

The girl turned back, brow raised as she looked to her.

“Thank you for your help. And I am sorry for my choice of words earlier. Truly, I am.”

The late lord’s daughter watched her hesitantly.

“You’re a lady and the King’s-“

“That does not mean I can speak to you in a manner that might hurt you. No one can.”

The girl looked down, shaking her head. “It was just a word.”

“And it hurt all the same. So, I apologise for it.”

Sara’s mouth flickered. “You are forgiven.” There was a moment of silence and then- “Would you...”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to join me in the courtyard? To watch the men spar, my lady? Cregan was looking forward to his bout against Lord Darryn.”

Daella grinned. “I would love to join you. But only if you call me by my name. Daella will do just fine.”

“Lady Margaret would skin me alive if she learned I was not using your title.”

“Lady Margaret does not have to know then, does she?” She said, looping her arm through Sara’s. “To the courtyard then, Sara?”

A small smile graced the girl’s face. “To the courtyard, Daella.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“Who do you think will win?” Daella asked the Northerner.

The two girls stood on the outskirts of the crowd that had gathered to watch the men fight.

Sara pulled her up atop a bale of hay so they might get a better view.

Above the heads of the Northmen and men from the Vale, Daella caught sight of her cousin. He looked between the swords and shields laid out on the racks in front of him as Lord Cregan did the same.

Daella waved to him and, as his eyes lifted to find hers, Darryn whispered something to the Stark heir before approaching her and Sara.

“Have you come to grant me your favour, underfoot?”

Daella grinned. “Are we in a tourney now? Or are you so frightened you might lose that you will seek any piece of luck you might find?”

He rested a hand over his heart. “You wound me.” He deadpanned, making her laugh.

“This is Sara.” She said, introducing the girl. “Rickon Stark’s daughter. Sara, this is Darryn Royce.”

Her cousin leaned down to kiss Sara’s fingers. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The girl blushed prettily. “And you, my lord. I wish you good fortune in your bout.”

Darryn smiled. “Thank you. Speaking of,” he nodded to them both “I should head back, I wouldn’t want to keep Lord Cregan waiting.”

“So, that is Erena’s Darryn?” Sara said once Daella’s cousin was gone.

Erena’s Darryn. Her cousin would have been over the moon had he lingered long enough to hear those words.

“You know Lady Erena?” She asked the Northerner.

“Yes, she is Cregan’s cousin through his late mother. She visited Winterfell often as a girl.”

Daella hummed. She had barely met Erena Tallhart when they first arrived at the castle but heard much of her from Darryn on their journey north.

She wished to ask more, but suddenly a hushed silence fell over the crowd as Daella’s cousin and Sara’s brother began to circle one another.

“You did not answer my question earlier.” She whispered instead. “Who do you think will win?”

Sara Snow grinned. “If you have to ask that question then you have never seen Cregan Stark with a sword.”

As quick as a snake, and far too quick for someone as built as the Northerner was, Cregan Stark struck out with a strong blow that her cousin only just managed to avoid.

Darryn gave back a strike of his own but Cregan Stark met it head-on with his blade and his fist, delivering a swift punch to her cousin’s side.

At the sight of Daella’s wide eyes, Sara Snow giggled. “My father always said Cregan was born to wield Ice. He was fighting before he could walk.”

“To the untrained eye,” a voice interrupted their conversation “Cregan Stark may appear like a demon with a blade but the trained one might see the mistakes he makes. He is rash and impulsive and fights like a man that has never seen true battle.”

Daella looked to see a group of three men approaching them, at the head stood a man with a sunburst at his breast.

Karstark, she knew.

Sara almost withdrew as he stopped before them, sinking back as if to hide from his sight.

The way she acted made Daella’s hackles rise, the hairs at the back of her neck standing on end.

“My lady,” he took her hand before she could speak, leaning down to kiss the back of it “I am Arthor Karstark. I had hoped to be introduced to you yesterday, alas you were otherwise occupied.” His gaze to briefly fell on Sara, though he ignored her and turned back to Daella without a word.

She frowned. “Well met.” She took Sara’s hand. “Sara and I will not keep you. I am sure you have much better things to do than listen to us girls chatter.”

He grabbed her arm before they could leave and Daella felt her blood run cold.

She looked down at the offending limb with narrowed eyes. "My lord, I will warn you only once, if you do not remove your hand, it is not my knight behind me you must concern yourself with but me."

Nearby, she heard Ser Hugh shift, her shadow taking a step closer. "You heard the lady." He said.

Karstark's jaw clenched, a dark fury written beneath his gaze. But as he looked to where Ser Hugh stood, he reluctantly withdrew his hand, a mask of calm slipping over his face.

But Daella knew what it looked like when a man wore another face. This was not him, the anger was.

“Forgive me, I forgot myself.” He said with a charming smile. “I only wished to speak to you more... Please, let me introduce my friends. This is Torrhen Boleyn and Thomas Frostborn.”

“Are you enjoying the bout, my lady?” One asked.

I was. She wanted to say, but only hummed instead.

“Despite what your good friend here says, I believe Lord Cregan is most skilled with a blade.” She stated, not caring whether her disagreement insulted the Karstark.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw the men share an amused glance between each other.

“That is… kind of you to say.” Arthor spoke, his voice as condescending as his smirk. “But had Lord Cregan faced a true Northern opponent, then you would understand.”

Daella almost wanted to laugh at the bold insult to her cousin but restrained herself.

“Then show me.” She said, her tone calm as still water.

Karstark’s brows furrowed together for a moment, as though he did not understand what she had said. “What?”

“Show me how a true Northerner fights, my lord.”

“My lady…” He began to shake his head, but Daella ignored him. She stepped down from the bale and walked towards the centre of the training grounds where Cregan Stark stood with his sword pointed at Darryn’s chest and a cheering crowd around him.

She rested a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “A wonderful match.” She said, drawing the lord’s grey eyes to her.

“Come to congratulate the man that bested me?” Darryn teased.

Daella laughed. “It was a great match from both of you.” She said, patting his shoulder. “Though I do have one request, Lord Cregan. If you do not mind?”

The lord was only five-and-ten, of age with her, but already he had thick layer of stubble that covered his sharp jaw, pronouncing the stern look on his face.

He did not speak, but raised a curious brow.

“Lord Arthor wishes to be your next opponent.” She said, gesturing to where the man stood with the tilt of her head. “He promised me a match I would not forget.”

The Stark lord looked from her to where Sara Snow stood, then to Arthor next to her and back to Daella again. “Very well.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Are you coming, Karstark?” He called out.

Arthor Karstark’s eyes widened as all in the crowd turned to him. Daella could see his hesitance but they both knew he could not back down now.

“What’s this about?” Darryn whispered to her and they moved aside to allow the men their space.

“Nothing.” She answered sweetly. “Hush, now. They are starting.” She said.

And Daella savoured every second of their fight, especially when it ended with Karstark on the cold ground and a Stark sword at his neck.

▁▁▁▁▁

The Stark’s feasted their guests in the Great Hall later that evening. Daella’s misfortune only seemed to continue, however, as she found herself sat between Arthor and his sister, Lady Margaret.

Darryn, at least, seemed to be enjoying himself next to Erena Tallhart and her father. And Daella’s uncle too was grinning at the attention one of the castle’s maids was paying him.

“My little Brandon begged to hear of the dragons at your arrival, my lady.” Margaret Stark chattered. “He has badgered his governess and our poor maester with as many questions as he can think of.”

“Brandon is a nice name for a boy.” Daella said in return. “If he has questions, I would be glad to answer them.”

“I always knew I wanted a boy named Brandon.” She practically gleamed. “And a Brandon Stark too, how perfect? Just like the first.”

Daella did not have much of a taste for wine, but found herself reaching for her cup. 

“And what about you?”

She froze.

“What about me, my lady?”

“Have you thought of children? Sons?”

If she had the time to drink her wine, she would have choked.

Even Cregan Stark and his uncle seemed shocked by the question.

“Lady Daella is still young, my dear.” Bennard Stark laughed. “She has plenty time to think on these matters.”

“Nonsense. I wed you when I was her age.” His wife replied. “And a lady needs a lord husband.”

Daella was sure that somewhere her Brandon Stark was laughing at her in that moment.

Arthor Karstark hummed in agreement. “And the world can be most cruel to women that are left without protection.”

“I doubt any man can protect a woman better than a dragon.” Cregan Stark said, surprising them all.

The corner of her lips lifted at his words.

But Margaret Stark was not nearly as pleased. “By the gods, Cregan. You are beginning to sound like those Mormonts. A lady needs a husband.”

“The Mormont women have survived Ironborne raids for centuries with nothing more than the bears to keep them company.” He challenged.

Arthor Karstark let out a scoff, disguised within laughter. “If our good lord knew his history he would know Bear Island lives under the protection of the North because of a man. His ancestor, Theon Stark.” He turned his eyes to Daella then and leaned close, lowing his voice. “It is as I told you earlier. He is impulsive, still a greenboy. You would do well to stay away from him and his bastard sister too.”

Her brows furrowed. “Sara?”

He hummed. “Spending time with bastards will do a lady such as yourself no good.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you hope to find a good husband, you should stay away from someone like her.” He said slowly, as though she were a child.

Daella scoffed and made to stand but Karstark’s hand shot out, holding her arm to the table to stop her.

“My lady,” his mouth lifted into a smirk “you cannot keep leaving our conversations like this.”

And there it was. His true face. The amiable mask finally gone.

“Yes, I can. Let me go.” She hissed.

Behind her she could hear Lady Margaret vaguely speaking but her focus was on the man in front of her.

“I said, let me go.” She insisted.

"Karstark." Lord Cregan was staring at where Arthor held her, a frown pulling at his lips. "What do you think you are doing?"

Arthor's gaze briefly turned to meet Cregan’s.

Daella used the opportunity to slip the steak knife into her left hand and under the table.

“Do not concern yourself, boy.” Arthor dismissed.

“Cregan,” Lady Margaret huffed “enough. You are making a fool of yourself.” She said but the Stark heir ignored her.

The sound of wood scraping against wood reached her ears.

“My cousin told you to release her.” She heard Darryn say, his voice moving closer.

And then Ser Hugh was there, his hand resting on his sword’s hilt. “Once is a mistake, but twice, my lord…”

Daella pointed the steak knife at the juncture between his thighs, raising a brow. "It makes me wonder how House Karstark raises their sons."

Karstark looked between the four men and then finally her. His rage was palpable, and yet he had no choice but to raise his hands in surrender. “I was just going to ask the lady to dance, but I can see she would rather be left alone.” He said between gritted teeth.

He stood then, leaving the table to make his way down the dais to where Thomas Frostborn and Torrhen Boleyn sat.

Daella left not long after. She could only sit and bare Karstark and his friends’ glares for so long.

She kissed her uncle’s cheek as she bid him goodnight.

“I will walk you back to your chambers.” He insisted.

But with Ser Hugh already assigning two Royce men to watch over her that night, she managed to convince him that his escort was not needed.

As she left the Great Hall, Daella slipped the steak knife she had tucked away back on the end of the table. The act did not go unnoticed, however. Arthor Karstark watched her all the while.

▁▁▁▁▁

Sleep eluded her that night. No matter how much she tossed and turned she could not settle.

She sat up in her bed and ran a hand down her face. If Daorys were here, she could tire herself with a flight amongst the stars, but her dragon was leagues away, resting far from the cold winds of the North.

She sighed, grabbing a tunic and loose leather trousers.

“I thought I might walk through the Godswood.” She told her guards as she slipped from her chamber doors, wrapping a thick fur-lined cloak around her shoulders.

They sighed, looking between each other. “Little Daella, it is the middle of the night.”

“I won't be long.”

The men shared a look of resignation, knowing she would leave with or without them no matter what they said. "Lead the way, my lady."

Their light grumbling accompanied her every step.

"You know, you did not need to come." She teased.

A deadpanned stare was all she received in return.

Daella laughed as they crossed Winterfell's empty grounds, the gates of the Godswood looming before them.

She stopped to gaze at it as they came close, her heart tugging at the familiar sight.

"My lady, are you well?"

She swallowed the swell of emotions that had lodged itself in her throat. "Yes." She coughed. "I am."

She brushed past the men and walked down the familiar path the wolf girl once knew, but her steps quickly faltered when she realised they were not alone.

She paused behind a large oak gesturing for her guards to do the same.

“Leave me be.” She heard a voice say. Sara. “Did you not learn your lesson from earlier, Karstark?”

Laughter followed.

“Who taught a bastard to speak to a lord in such a manner?” A voice hissed.

“From that cocky brother of hers likely.”

“There are consequences when a bastard acts above their station, you know?”

“Touch me and Cregan will have your heads.” Sara promised.

“That boy is not Lord of Winterfell.”

“And who would believe a bastard anyway?” Torrhen Boleyn added, grabbing Sara’s hair and pulling back. 

“Enough, my lord." Daella hissed at the sight, her guards stepping from the shadows as she did. "Take your pups” she gestured to the men next to Karstark "and leave now."

Lord Arthor snarled. "You." He hissed, his tongue heavy from ale and wine. "You humiliated me in that hall."

"You humiliated yourself. And you do so again."

The man barked out a laugh. "Who are you to judge me, you frigid cu-"

His words were drowned out by the sound steel. Her men had drawn their blades, and Karstark's dogs answered by drawing steel of their own.

"Your men do not know what it means to threaten a Northman, my lady." Boleyn warned.

"We see no Northman." Daella answered. "Only cowards."

"Cowards." Arthor Karstark repeated, venom in his voice. He moved to stand on Sara’s other side and grabbed her jaw, forcing her to face him despite Boleyn’s hold on her hair. The sharp movement causing the girl to wince. "Let us see who the real cowards-"

His words fell when Daella ran forth, jumping onto his back. She wrapped an arm around his throat, pulling back with a force that had him falling back and releasing Sara.

He leant into the movement, crushing her beneath his weight as they fell to the ground.

She was winded but unrelenting in her grip, tightening her legs around his waist and her arm around his neck.

"Bitch." He cried, reaching back until he found her braid, pulling hard.

Daella cried out, her voice mixing with the sounds of steel clashing against steel.

Arthor Karstark twisted from her hold and raised a fist, but the hit never came because the wolves did first.

Men baring the Stark crest broke the fighting men apart, but it was their lord that handled Arthor Karstark. He brought his body against the other lord's form, tackling him to the ground and then raining his fists down on upon Lord Karstark's face.

“Cregan!” She heard Sara shout.

The man stopped at the sound of her voice, lifting himself from the groaning lord but not before promising to take his head for what he had done.

Sara wrapped her arms around her. "Are you hurt?" She asked, but Daella could barely hear her above all the noise.

Lady Margaret was there and she was screaming. Lord Bennard was shouting- everyone was shouting. Between it all her eyes caught the clear blue of Ser Hugh.

She shook her head, removing herself from her friend's arms to reach him.

“Don’t.” She begged the knight.

“I have to, my lady.” Was his solemn answer. “Even if he takes my head for my incompetence, your father must know.”

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra’s fifth son was born on a warm summer’s day. There was not a cloud in the sky, nor a whisper of the wind. The world was quiet, tranquil, as was her babe.

Viserys was named for her father for he was a sweet boy with King Viserys’ calm disposition. He loved to be held, loved to be loved. And such affection was not hard to come by. His brothers and sisters adored him, but no one more than her and Daemon’s Aegon.

Daemon scooped their son up from his nursemaid and sat him on the cushions between Rhaenyra and himself where her boy peered down at his newest brother.

“You were this small once.” She told him, handing Viserys over to his father as she took Aegon into her lap.

Her boy shook his head adamantly. “No, muña!” He insisted. “I’m big!”

Jace ruffled his silver hair as he walked past. “Very big. You’ll be a knight one day soon, little brother. I know it.” He said, grabbing an apple from her table to break his fast.

“The bravest warrior in the realm.” Baela agreed, grinning at her father as she joined Jace.

Aegon gleamed at the praise. Turning onto his stomach, he shuffled from her lap onto the cushioned armchair and then down again until his feet touched the stone floor. He then turned and toddled up to Baela, pulling at her dress to get her attention.

“Yes, little brother.” 

“Dada come see baby?”

His sister raised a silver brow. “Rhaena can come play with you and Viserys later.”

“Dada too!” He pouted.

“I think he means his other sister.” Jace chuckled, standing from his chair to kneel in front of Aegon.

“Daella is in Winterfell, she can’t come yet. But Rhaena, Baela and I will play with you.” He promised.

“And then Dada come?” He tried to bargain, as if agreeing with Jace would then earn him Daella somehow.

Rhaenyra smiled. “He’s rather stubborn, isn’t he?” She said to Daemon, leaning against her husband’s side.

He hummed, looking from Viserys to where Aegon stood. “Like his sisters.”

“Like you.”

He raised a pale brow at her comment, making her laugh.

A knock at her solar’s door pulled her gaze away.

“Your Grace, a letter for the Prince.” A voice said.

“Come in.” She called out.

A young steward entered then and handed a small scroll over to Daemon. Rhaenyra took Viserys to into her arms as her husband broke the seal to the parchment.

“From the North?” She asked, peering over his shoulder.

He frowned. “It seems so.”

Aegon ran over as they spoke, asking her and Daemon for the scroll with those sweet words of his.

“Not now, my love.” Rhaenyra told him. “The letter is for your father.”

But that did not deter her son.

He had come to associate letters with his sister for Daella often wrote to him. It was usually left to Rhaenyra or Rhaena to read them but Aegon knew what Daella’s handwriting looked like. So, when he climbed up the armchair to see it for himself, he frowned at the sight of Ser Hugh’s sprawling letters - a scowl that matched Daemon’s own.

But where Aegon’s was the simple scowl of an upset child, Daemon’s held a fiery anger that reminded her of Caraxes.

The dragon has woken.

“Go to her.” She told her husband.

Those three simple words were all he needed.

“Someone bring me my damned sword!” He called out. “Now!”

“Father!” Baela ran to him. “What is happening? I can help. I have Moondancer.”

Brave Baela. Rhaenyra smiled.

Daemon lips also pulled up at his daughter’s offer. “Stay with your sister and brothers.” He told her. “I’ll see to this.”

And with those last words he was gone, leaving Rhaenyra to think on a time where she once would have joined him, flying away on Syrax without a moment’s notice. Alas, those days were long since gone. A sacrifice she was more than willing to make, she knew as she looked to her sons around her.

▁▁▁▁▁

“You cannot do this, Bennard!” Margaret cried.

“I have no choice." Her husband told her. "Your brother gave me no choice!”

It was not yet dawn. Most in the castle were likely still asleep, but she would not sleep, not while such an injustice was being permitted.

Arthor, her dear brother, was locked away in his chambers like some prisoner while the woman who did this roamed free in her home.

“The Targaryen girl attacked him first!” She hissed. “You heard what Arthor said. She attacked him over Sara Snow of all things! And that demon, Cregan, beat my brother half to death for it! It is them that should be punished, not my brother. The girl… She spent the whole day teasing him… He…”

Her lord laughed in disbelief. “You want me to tell Daemon Targaryen his daughter was asking for it when Arthor lay his hands on her not once, not twice, but three bloody times with witnesses to each one?” He let out a sigh, grief flickering in his grey eyes. “Margaret, you must understand who’s daughter it is we are speaking of. Your brother’s lack of self-control has brought the Prince to our door. If the rumours are true, he will not let what has happened go unpunished. But if we give him Arthor then-”

She sobbed, cutting off his words. “Do you hear yourself? Give him? He is my brother not one of Benjen or Brandon’s toys!”

Bennard slapped his hand against the wooden table beside him. “It is for our boys that I am doing this!” He shouted. “Daemon Targaryen won’t care who struck first, only that his daughter was struck. If we give him Arthor then your brother is lost, but if we don’t then we lose everything.”

“House Karstark won’t stand for this!”

“If your father acts, he will not save Arthor. All he will do is ensure the name Karstark dies as Greystark did.”

“I cannot, Bennard. Please, I can’t… I…” More sobs racked her body, her words failing her as grief overwhelmed her body.

She felt rough hands take her by the shoulders. “Look at me. Look at me!” Her husband demanded, stifling her cries. “The girl, Sara, Cregan… They may think they have won. We will give Prince Daemon Arthor because we must do so to survive. But we will not lose Winterfell. It will be ours, and Benjen’s after us. I swear it. By the Old Gods I do. And one day Arthor shall be avenged.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Caraxes’ screech was loud and piercing, ringing across Winterfell's great walls. The children stared up at him in wonder as he circled above, the men in horror. None more so than Bennard and Margaret Stark.

The Blood Wyrm swooped low, dropping behind the castle walls with a loud thud.

“Open the gates.” Cregan Stark called out.

“You forget yourself, nephew. You are not lord here.”

Daella turned to see Lord Bennard’s hand on Cregan’s arm, holding the other man back.

“Yet.” She answered for him.

Both men turned to her. “He is not Lord of Winterfell yet.” She smiled. “Is that not right, my lord?” She asked innocently.

A tight smile pulled at the lord’s lips though the older man did not answer her.

“Open the gates for the Prince.” He said instead.

Daemon Targaryen was a lone man, and yet he was one that cast a large shadow. He walked into Winterfell as though he had an army at this back, though in truth Daella was sure that Caraxes was worth more than most armies.

The castle was silent aside from the sound of his footsteps in the fresh snow and when the Lord of Winterfell bowed, the rest joined him.

“Winterfell kneels to King Viserys and House Targaryen, Your Grace. You are welcome under its walls.“ He proclaimed, only to splutter when Daemon Targaryen ignored him, choosing to walk straight to where Daella stood instead.

He was silent as he looked between her dark eyes, a hundred unspoken words held within his gaze.

She had not even seen him look down, and yet he reached for her hand still, running his thumb over the cut that lay to the side. The skin had been torn during the scuffle. She had suffered far worse in her scraps with Lucerys but that did not seem to matter to the Prince.

Dark Sister sung as she was drawn from her sheath.

He came to stand before Lord Stark, planting her end in the soft snow while his hands rested on the hilt.

“Who dares harm a daughter of the crown? Tell me now, Lord Stark.” His voice held a deadly calm, but Daella did not miss the way his fists tightened around the Valyrian steel.

“My Prince, mayhaps we could discuss this matter in my solar? A private audience-“

“You will bring me the man that touched my daughter. There will be blood to pay for this treachery. One way or another, there will.”

“There were three men, Your Grace.” Cregan Stark spoke when his uncle did not. “Men that agreed to serve under the Stark household and yet broke our Guest Rite. Two of these men still live, but I cannot let you kill them if you mean to use dragonfire.”

Daemon Targaryen’s cold gaze turned to the wolf. Most men would cower beneath it, but not Cregan Stark. Even as young as he was, his eyes held no fear as he took a step towards the Prince.

“You cannot?” Her father sneered. “Who are you, boy?”

“Cregan Stark, son and heir to Rickon Stark, the last Lord of Winterfell.” He bowed his head respectfully. “Our way is the old way, my prince. By the laws of His Grace, King Viserys, the men will die. But this is the North, they will die by the sword of the man that sentences them in front of the Old Gods, not by dragonfire. I would see to it myself for it was my sister they attacked too but if you wish to carry out the King’s justice then it must be done this way.”

Prince Daemon raised a pale brow, his eyes looking to her then for a reason she could not quite decipher.

Eventually he spoke. “Very well. Let it not be said that House Targaryen does not respect the people of the North and their customs. Bring these men to the Godswood, Dark Sister will feed their blood to the Old Gods this day.”

With that, Lady Margaret sunk into the soft snow as though she were too weak to stand. “Your Grace, please reconsider! I beg of you! The Watch, let them take the Black!” The woman clutched at the bottom of the Prince’s cloak making Daella wince. Her begging would do nothing for him, nor the other Northmen around her, Glover and Tallhart looking upon her with disapproving gazes. 

“It is done.” Bennard Stark said reaching down for his wife to bring her to her feet. “Go to the boys, I must see to this.”

Prince Daemon stalked off to the Godswood then without another word and Daella made to follow though her uncle held her back.

“You do not have to see this either, Daella.” He said. “You could go to your chambers. Darryn would keep you company.”

She shook her head. “I do not fear the sight of death, uncle. I played a part in this, I will see it to the end.”

“You are still young, a child under my protection.” He tried to reason.

“For what is to come that child must grow up. I see that now more than ever.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Dark Sister rippled against the reflections of the morning light in the hot springs.

Daella moved to stand by her father’s side as he inspected the blade.

A silver brow lifted in muted surprise at her presence next to him though he did not question it. He only nodded his head, an act which Daella returned.

Thomas Frostborn was brought forth first.

He kneeled before the block without an ounce of fear, Daella would give him that.

His name would be forgotten to most in the moons to come, but she would remember. She would always remember, just as the wolf girl did.

Arthor Karstark did not die with the same dignity as his friend. He spewed venom at Daella, Cregan and Sara, cursing them for what they had done. Despite his words, Daella could only find it in herself to pity him. For she saw the fear behind those words. The way he trembled as he was forced to his knees, his breath hitching as he spoke.

Dark Sister cut clean. He was dead within the flicker of a heartbeat and yet even as the light faded in his eyes, the fear was still there.

The bodies were cleared, as where the people, but Daella lingered.

“I will be with you both soon.” She told her uncle and Darryn before walking to where the Prince cleaned his Valyrian steel blade by the roots of the weirwood.

She sat down on the white wood, watching the man in front of her silently.

His lilac eyes briefly flickered to her before he turned his attention back to Dark Sister.

“Are you well?” He asked, words almost stilted, bringing a laugh from Daella’s throat.

For a man that had raised two daughters years before he had met her, he seemed so unsure on how to speak one. Or maybe it was just her he was unsure of how to speak to.

“Did you fear I would swoon at the sight?” She asked instead.

The corner of his lip flickered. “You do not strike me as the swooning type.”

Daella hummed. “I was not sure you would come.” She eventually admitted.

Her father sighed, lowering the blade that rested across his knees to look at her. “And yet here I am.”

"Here you are."

She picked up a lone red leaf on the snow covered ground, it was speckled with blood though whether it was Thomas’ or Arthor’s she could not say.

“We must support Cregan Stark when he makes his case for Winterfell. After what has occurred, he will not see his uncle hold his seat any longer.” She said.

The Prince did not say a word, though she knew she had his attention.

“Bennard and Margaret Stark will never forgive what has been done today, not on our end nor his. And they will not just hand him Winterfell which means…”

“War between the Northern houses. Though likely a short one.” Her father predicted.

“But war is war. It is costly no matter how short. And the North is a powerful kingdom, one the Princess needs.” 

Prince Daemon’s brow raised at the mention of his wife. “The North swore to Rhaenyra when she was named heir.”

“Rickon Stark swore and Cregan will see his oath fulfilled. The North remembers, or so they say. If the Iron Throne backs Lord Cregan’s claim now then we may yet prevent this infighting and the Princess will have a stronger North at her back, one we know will honour their vows.”

The Prince looked almost amused at the fact that those words came from her mouth.

“You speak as if you know there is a war coming, and not just in the North.” He probed, seeking answers within the words that were said.

Daella wondered what it was he saw then when he looked between her eyes.

Did he think her words lies? Or was it all a test? For a moment she feared he saw more than that. That he saw the wolf girl hidden within.

“My mother told me I should always be prepared for anything.” She said, avoiding his questioning gaze.

The Prince let out a terse laugh in response. He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. “Lies.” He smirked. 

Daella could not prevent the involuntary twitch of her muscles. The wolf girl would have been scolded by her kindly master for how she let her father read her. But this body had not been trained as the last was, even if the memories of it still lived in her.

“Keep your secrets, daughter.” She heard Daemon Targaryen say, drawing her eyes up. He rose to his feet, returning Dark Sister to her sheath. “I do not need to know them… Yet.”

Daella frowned, her gaze turning to the still waters of the hot spring before her. The wolf girl’s grey eyes looked back at her, those sad eyes that had seen far too much at such a young age. She dropped the bloodied-red leaf onto the surface, the ripples turning her eyes black then grey then black again.

And you never will. She promised herself.

▁▁▁▁▁

Cregan Stark bowed to Prince Daemon as they readied to leave.

“Winterfell, as always, is King Viserys’. And will be Princess Rhaenyra’s when the time comes. May the King have many long years until then.”

Daella’s father nodded his head, eyes flitting to where she stood in the courtyard. 

“See her safely to Runestone, Royce.” He said to her uncle, pulling his thick riding gloves over his hands. “I expect to see her in one piece on Dragonstone soon.”

“Your Grace.” Elbert Royce bowed.

And one final nod of his head, Daemon Targaryen marched through the gates of Winterfell, mounting Caraxes once more.

Daella slipped her hand into her uncle’s as she watched him leave. 

“I’m sorry, Daella.” He began.

“Don’t.” She told him, shaking her head. “All of this. Everything that has happened has me thinking...” She smiled. “I want to make Darryn’s first child my heir when the time comes. I cannot think of anyone better than a child raised by him as their father and you their grandfather.”

Her uncle squeezed her hand. “Sweet girl, I appreciate it more than you can know, but Runestone will be your child’s. You,” he sighed “will marry a king someday and rule his castle as well as your own, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords.”

Daella laughed. “A king?”

No. That’s not me.

Chapter Text

Daella watched a falcon fly by the crystalline waters of Alyssa’s Tears, wishing she could fly with him as he dropped down the shoulder of the Giant’s Lance and into the clouds of mist that lay below.

“You know when my cousin visited our home, she favoured this seat also.”

Daella turned, standing as she caught sight of the Lady of the Vale walking towards her. 

If she was a rarity in Westeros, Jeyne Arryn was almost mythical - a lady of not only her own keep but also an entire kingdom, something that was unheard of outside of Dorne.

She was left as her father’s last surviving heir at the mere age of four when Harrold Arryn and his sons were slain by the mountain clans. But Daella’s grandfather, Lord Yobert Royce, was named her regent until she came of age. Lady Arryn held a fondness for the Royce’s of Runestone ever since. When Daella’s mother passed, Jeyne Arryn was the first to send her condolences and when she finally turned six-and-ten, she was the first to offer her congratulations. She invited Daella to the Eyrie that very day, insisting she should finally meet her new Lady of Runestone.

“We are tied by our more than our womanhood.” Jeyne Arryn had written.

“When I lost my father, it was your grandfather that took me in as his own. We remember. He taught me those words. I remember him every day. I also remember my cousin, Queen Aemma, and her love for her mother. It is my deepest wish to not only have a Royce of Runestone grace the halls of the Eyrie once more but also another Daella Targaryen. And I know if my cousin and your grandfather still lived they would have wished for the same.”

And, as her uncle taught her, when one’s liege lady calls they must answer. So, Daella came.

“Sit.” The Lady of the Vale ushered her, perching herself on the wooden ledge of the large window that overlooked the edge of the mountain the Eyrie sat upon. 

Jeyne Arryn wore a dress as blue as sapphires with jewels of morganite across her fingers and neck. The bright daylight from the window fell across the woman’s face as she lowered herself, making the blues that sat on her skin shine.

“Queen Aemma wed the King the year after I was born.” She told Daella. “I first met her when my father and brothers were taken from me, and she visited once more when I reached my sixteenth nameday. Both times, I remember her spending hours sitting by this ledge."

Her warm eyes turned, staring out at the horizon. “I think it was the dragon in her, in both of you. Dragons long for the skies, just as falcons do, that is why we made our home here.”

“It is a beautiful home.” Daella hummed. There was no flattery in her words, the Mountains of the Moon were truly beautiful and none more than the Giant’s Lance with Alyssa’s Tears falling from it.

“It is.” The older woman agreed. “Though amongst the kingdoms, ours is often overlooked. We do not have the largest land, nor are we the most fertile. There are kingdoms that are richer, warmer, safer… but House Targaryen always saw our value. We are a people that hold an honour as high as the very mountains around us. It is why your great grandmother and His Grace, the King, chose your mother for Prince Daemon.”

Daella’s breath caught at the mention of Rhea Royce and her father, wary eyes watching the Lady of the Vale as she felt the conversation turn.

Since she had arrived at the Eyrie, she had spent most of her time with the woman in front of her at her liege lady's behest. Everything from court to sewing circles - Daella had followed Lady Jeyne, no matter how much she may have wished to be out in the yard watching the knights spar or exploring the mountains on dragonback. In that time, the older woman made no effort to talk to her of anything beyond pleasantries… Until now. Until she had Daella alone.

“Do you know why I brought you to my home, my lady?” Jeyne Arryn continued, bringing out a small letter from the folds of her dress.

Daella saw Aemond’s distinctive cursive letters immediately.

“You told me you wished to meet your Lady of Runestone.” She raised her eyes to meet the lady’s own without hesitance, her face an image of placidity.

“I did.” Jeyne Arryn hummed. “And yet I took you to afternoon tea and to stand behind me while I held court. I have a dozen other ladies to do that, but I took the Lady of Runestone when I would never do such a thing with any of my other lords. Why?” She asked, though the words were more like a challenge.

Daella frowned. She did not like these games. Give her a sword and she would happily face any foe. At least then she would know who her enemy was. But this was a different game all together, and one she was being forced to play yet again.

Her womanhood was the first answer that came to mind. But in her head, the wolf girl’s sword-master told her to see, to truly see.

She looked to letter that lay in the woman’s taunting grip and listened to her words - the mention of her house, of her father.

“My name.” She answered. “You have done this because I am a Targaryen.”

Lady Jeyne let out a shallow breath. “My dear Yorbert’s house is now ruled by a dragon, and not just any Targaryen. You are Daemon Targaryen’s daughter. The man that lay insult at our feet by refusing to wed Rhea for years, and then abandoning her after he finally did.”

Daella cursed her father wherever he was. She could have been in Runestone now, or Dragonstone, or visiting Darryn in the North, but instead she was here enduring Lady Jeyne’s scrutinising gaze because of his actions. 

“I am not my father.”

Jeyne Arryn almost looked amused. “And yet I hear despite you reaching your majority your dragon still flies south every few moons to see the man that insulted you and your mother. I do wonder what it is you see in him. I wondered the same with my cousin’s daughter. They say Princess Rhaenyra is a worthy heir to the Iron Throne, but she chooses him just as you do.”

Daella’s jaw clenched.

“With respect, my lady, you know not of what you speak.”

When she first met Prince Daemon, Daella meant the day she turned sixteen to be the last day she saw him.

But then that day came.

Daorys waited for her on the cliffs of Dragonstone as he always did, ready to take her home. But this time Daella did not make the short journey to him alone. Daemon Targaryen joined her on the muddied path.

There was little that frightened the Rogue Prince, not even Daorys as he rumbled at Prince Daemon’s approach, but he was not stupid. He never let the dragon out of his sight, nor did his hands ever leave Dark Sister’s hilt, even as his gaze lay on Daella.

She remembered her words then as though she had said them yesterday.

“You should speak to Jace in High Valyrian.” She had mumbled as she rested a hand on her dragon’s hard scales. “He wants to learn the tongue of his forefathers and you are one of the very few who can speak it fluently. You should help him.”

The Prince raised a pale brow in muted surprise at her sudden outburst but did not respond.

“And you should ask Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys to spend more time with Luke. He’ll never feel like the rightful heir to Driftmark if he is never there. He could go with Baela next time she is sent to be with her grandmother.”

Once she had started she could not stop.

“Joff… He doesn’t remember his father like Jace and Luke. Gods know why, but he looks up to you. You could indulge him a bit more, like you do Aegon and Viserys. Do it for Princess Rhaenyra if nothing else will persuade you.”

“And Baela might not say it but she would like more time with you too. She told me once of her first time flying Moondancer in Pentos with you and Caraxes by her side. She speaks of those memories fondly. She misses them, and those moments she spent with you.”

She sighed. “But Rhaena doesn’t have those memories. She can’t have them, not yet anyway. But that doesn’t mean you should leave her behind. You’d be a fool to. She’s a dragon through and through, my sister.”

“Viserys and Aegon…” Her voice broke at the mention of her brothers, the words unable to pass from her worried lips for fear she might cry if she let them. And she would rather fly off to the end of the world than cry in front of Daemon Targaryen.

“You speak as if you won’t return.” There was no emotion on her father’s face as he spoke.

Her gaze fell. “I am six-and-ten now.”

The Prince let out a harsh laugh, eyes burning with a fire as scalding as Caraxes’ flames. He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. “Do you hate me that much, daughter? After all this time does your hatred for me still eclipse the love you have for your brothers and sisters?”

Daella’s stubborn jaw ticked, her sadness giving way as his goading stoked her own fire within. He always had a way of doing that, her father. Always knowing exactly what to say to bring her to anger. Princess Rhaenyra once said it was because they burned the same, she and him. Cut from the same cloth, just as her sisters were.

“You flatter yourself if you think that you inspire that much emotion from me.” She said in return.

A sly grin came to Prince Daemon’s lips. “Then why are you running away?”

“I’m not running.” She insisted, the words slipping from her before she had time to think on them.

Her father’s gaze turned triumphant. “No? Well, then I expect to see you back on Dragonstone in a few moons, or I will know that my daughter is a coward.”

Her nostrils flared at his jibe but the Prince only laughed, turning on his heel to leave her with no choice but to return.

And she had, visiting Dragonstone whenever her duties allowed.

She did not regret it. The time she spent with her brothers, sisters and Princess Rhaenyra’s sons were worth any and all taunting she received from the man. She would endure that and any judgement she might receive from those like the woman in front of her if it meant she could be with them.

“I will not apologise for seeing my brothers and sisters.” She told Jeyne Arryn. “They are my family, not even the Black Dread himself could keep me from them.”

“I am not my father.” She continued. “I understand why you may doubt that but it was Rhea Royce who sat me upon her knee and showed me how to run our household and rule our lands. Everything I know comes from her and my uncle, Lord Elbert. But I am Prince Daemon’s daughter,” she said after a breath “that is the truth just as it is that I am my mother’s rightful heir. I am not ashamed of it. It is who I am. I am his daughter and Princess Rhaenyra is his wife. I cannot speak to why Her Grace chose him, but she did and she is still a more worthy heir than any man you could think to put in front of her. You will see that for yourself one day.” Daella promised, her voice sure even if her certainty in the future had never been so in doubt.

She stood then, not wanting to waste another moment answering for the sins of her father nor having to justify her own actions as though she had committed some heinous crime against gods and men for loving her siblings.

The dragon does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep, nor should a wolf. Arya Stark’s Dragon Queen had once told her that when she was faced with the scrutiny of those who questioned how a little girl survived during the war.

Those words were what she reached for in times like these, words she used to survive the endless politicking that came from being Daella Targaryen.

“I thank you for your hospitality, but it is time I return home.” She told Lady Jeyne. She was not asking for permission, she did not need to.

Light feet fell onto the stone floor as Jeyne Arryn stood. She silently came before Daella then, those watchful hazel eyes peering between her own all the while.

“You wish to leave?” The Lady of the Vale’s voice echoed across her empty hall.

Daella looked to the letter still held within the older woman’s delicate grip before her gaze lifted again. “I have said all I can.”

The corner of her liege lady’s lip flickered. “Maybe you have.” She responded, handing over Aemond’s letter. “But I do not think you have shown me all you can yet. Fear not, I will not keep you here. I look forward to seeing it in the years to come, however.”

And with that, she strode past Daella with long graceful steps. “I hope you enjoy your visit to Kingslanding, my lady.” She said, waving her off with a delicate flicker of her wrist.

Daella’s brows furrowed together, her fingers tracing the seem of Aemond’s letter.

Kingslanding?

She unfolded the parchment, sparing one final moment to glare daggers at Lady Jeyne’s retreating form for the broken seal before looking back at the letter.

Her eyes skimmed her friend’s words, lips pulling up in the way they often did when he wrote her.

“Kingslanding it is then.” She whispered.

▁▁▁▁▁

Helaena was struggling. Aemond did not have to be a woman to know that. Since the birth of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera she had not been the same. Aegon offered her no support. He would rather spend his days in the bed of every whore in Kingslanding than with his wife. His mother was only marginally better. She never left Helaena's side during the birth, but since then the time she spent with her daughter and grandchildren was few and far between. And when she did visit… When she would see Helaena bouncing the twins in her lap with that far off look in her eye, Queen Alicent looked as though she was seeing a ghost. 

His mother loved Helaena, he knew. She loved them all. But she had seven kingdoms to rule and a legacy to secure. It was for them that she did it, that was what she said. But legacy and love often never aligned with one another.

She struggled to see it, what she had done to Helaena in wedding her to Aegon. Aemond struggled with it too. He loved his brother, but he never understood him, nor his mother’s actions when she chose him for his sister.

Aemond was not made for softness, but when Helaena was left like this without a husband by her side or mother to hold her hand it was not something he could simply ignore.

Sometimes he would watch over Jaehaera when Jaehaerys demanded her attention. His niece never truly cried, not even when she hungered or was woken from sleep. It was odd and Helaena worried for her, but Aemond paid it no mind, reading the babe of only a few moons histories and studies from maesters while her mother soothed Jaehaera’s brother.

And when the twins finally slept he would keep his sister company as she sewed or weaved one of her tapestries, letting her chatter about whichever animal or insect had captured her attention when no one else would. Sometimes, in return, he would tell her of his own progress in the yard with Ser Criston or Daella’s letters. She much preferred hearing of the latter rather than the former, asking him everyday if he had received a new one.

It was Helaena's idea to invite her to the Keep, an innocent comment made during one of their evenings together.

“It would be nice if she came to visit us in Kingslanding like she does Dragonstone. Maybe if she did, she could bring Jace and Luke with her too? It would be like it was when we were children.” His sister smiled.

Aemond did not have the heart to do anything but give a non-committal hum. While he certainly wouldn’t bring Jace and Luke here, Daella he could.

He wrote to her that night, asking she come to keep his sister company for so long as she had time to spare away from Runestone. It would do Helaena well, but Aemond had to admit he had other more selfish reasons for wanting her to visit. He didn’t tell Helaena that, but he was sure she knew. She always did.

His sister’s amethyst eyes were full of mirth as they waited in the courtyard for his friend. 

Daorys’ large shadow had passed over the Keep not long ago, landing by the Dragon Pit before lifting off again.

Daella’s dragon would not tolerate chains, Aemond knew. He and Vhaghar were made for the breeze and seas, not the cage constructed by his ancestors, no matter how big that cage might be.

He could almost feel Vhaghar stir wherever she was. Mayhaps she felt their presence too.

He ran his fingers over the dark dragonglass broach that sat beneath his jerkin, before clasping his hands behind his back.

The gates of the Keep began to shudder open, pulling his gaze towards the rider that came through with a trail of guards at her back.

For the first time in years, Daella Targaryen had returned to Kingslanding.

Chapter Text

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were cute. Not as cute as Aegon or Viserys but Daella supposed she might be slightly biased.

She brushed a leaf gently over Jaehaera’s face. The girl watched her with wide, curious eyes all the while.

“I have to earn your laughter it seems.” She mumbled to the babe.

She had Jaehaerys giggling within seconds of running the leaf under his nose, but not his sister. The girl did nothing but pout no matter how hard she tried.

“Just like your uncle.” Daella proclaimed, sending a teasing glance Aemond’s way. “So very broody.”

Helaena laughed, as did Jaehaerys though she doubted the babe understood any of what was said.

She looks so young when she laughs, Daella could not help but think as she looked to Aemond’s sister, only to be saddened when she remembered that Helaena was young. Four-and-ten, just like Aemond, only nine moons older. 

Daella turned away to hide her grimace.

Four-and-ten and yet already wed with two children birthed from her very body, and raising them alone, if the rumours about Aegon were anything to go by.

“You are good with babes.” Helaena said softly, lavender eyes glancing from Jaehaerys to where Daella sat by the large oak tree of the Godswood. “I remember the one you held in the snow. You called him Rickon.”

Daella’s brows furrowed together, lips parted as she looked between Helaena and her brother. 

“Helaena has dreams.” Was Aemond’s explanation.

He sat on the oak’s widest root, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. The long strands of his silver hair fell over his shoulder as he ran stone over steel. His violet eye lay on the blade before him but Daella knew he did not miss a single move she made nor a word she said.

“Dreams?”

She supposed it should not surprise her that someone with a blood so closely intertwined with magic would be a dreamer. The wolf girl’s Brandon Stark had dreams laced with magic too though his were tied to those of the Old Gods and not that of Valyria.

Arya Stark also had unexplainable dreams, but hers were not of others. Instead, she dreamed of the direwolf she was gifted as a girl. Of running through the forest on four paws with a giant pack of wolves at her back.

She smiled at Aemond’s sister. “Your dreams sound far more exciting than mine then. Though I cannot say I have met a Rickon. Maybe I will someday?”

The girl’s eyes lit up. “You already have.” She said innocently. “You were a girl and you looked so happy. The babe had auburn hair the colour of fallen leaves, but you said his eyes were like a storm.”

Daella’s heart stopped.

Auburn hair. Eyes like a storm.

She could almost see her youngest brother then. His ghost stood next to the oak, sending her a teasing smirk as he walked to the other side only to disappear with the wind.

“Are you well?”

She turned to find Aemond watching her. There was concern there, written across his features, though whether it was for her or for fear of what she might say to his sister she could not say.

“Yes.” She shook her head. “I must have forgotten him.” She told Aemond’s sister, searching the other woman’s gaze for answers she was almost scared to seek.

Did she know? Did she see it? Dream it? Dream of who Daella Targaryen once was?

But the girl only smiled in return despite her stilted response, moving on from Rickon as though she had never spoke of him.

She picked up a small spider then, allowing it to run along her fingers. “It has eight legs.” She told her son who lay in her lap. “And eight eyes too.” She mumbled.

Daella took the opportunity to move and sit beside Helaena’s brother, taking Jaehaera with her.

She nudged Aemond’s shoulder with her own. “Why did you never tell me? Of the dreams?”

Her friend did not speak but he did not need to. Daella saw how his shoulders tensed and the frown on his lips deepened.

“Stupid.” She said fondly, pushing the sword from his grip to place Jaehaera in his hands instead.

He should know by now she would not judge his sister.

She sat by Helaena, holding a hand out. “Would you show me?” She asked.

The Princess’ eyes widened. “Are you sure? Mother says other ladies do not like them as I do.”

“Some of us do.” Daella grinned. “My uncle will tell you I spent half my time as child rolling about the forest floor. I think I am quite well acquainted with them.”

Helaena giggled, placing the small creature in Daella’s palm.

She twisted her hand, following the spider as it scurried across her skin. “Eight legs and eight eyes? That must make him rather formidable amongst the other insects.”

The Princess’ smile widened. “Yes!” She exclaimed, going on to speak of them with a wealth of knowledge that would rival any maester’s.

Daella listened to her all the while but did not miss the small smile that graced Aemond’s face as she did.

▁▁▁▁▁

“Thank you… for coming.” Her friend said.

Together, they walked from the Godswood across to the courtyard, catching the attention of plenty of onlookers as they passed by.

“Don’t thank me, stupid.”

Aemond’s pale brows came together. “That is the second time you have called me that.”

He almost looks like Jaehaera when she pouts. Daella could not help but laugh at the thought.

“It was only a soft stupid.” She teased, a wolfish grin on her lips.

“What does that mean? How can a stupid be soft? It is an insult.” He answered so seriously.

Too seriously.

Daella rolled her eyes, pushing his shoulder. “It means I don’t actually think you’re stupid. But thanking me is stupid. As is the face you are currently making.” She said, knowing exactly which way to poke to get what she was looking for.

Before he could protest she took off, running past the bustling crowd with laughter slipping from her lips. Aemond made chase, just as he did the first night they met on the beaches of Dragonstone. But this time his legs were longer than hers.

She rounded the corner to the stables, hoping to lose him by jumping over the end of the stalls but he caught her within moments, sending both of them tumbling into the hay with peals of laughter.

It was nice to see him laugh. Nice to see him act his age.

“I cannot believe you made me chase you across the courtyard.” He grumbled half-heartedly that smile she had earned not lost yet.

“I did not make you do anything.” She batted her eyelids innocently.

“You insulted my honour!”

His words sent her into another fit of giggles. “A terrible crime indeed.”

He hummed. “I should make you sit through one hundred afternoon teas with Lady Tarbeck as punishment. Even Helaena cannot stand her.” 

Daella snorted. “You know I would fight my way out of that room with a butterknife if I had to.”

The corner of his lips lifted further.

“I am getting good!” She insisted. “Luke and I train most every day I am on Dragonstone.”

At her words, his smile suddenly fell, but Daella did not have time to think on it as the sound of a throat clearing pulled both of their gazes.

There, at the entrance of the stables stood Queen Alicent with Ser Criston Cole.

The Queen frowned. The disapproving look that lay across her features made Daella blush. She did not have a septa in this life but still remembered how it felt to have her every action judged by the pious woman. And with the large seven pointed star that sat below Queen Alicent’s neck and the less-than-pleased frown that lay on her lips, Daella was very much reminded of that feeling.

And if she thought the Queen’s gaze was bad then she only needed look to Ser Criston to remind herself it could be worse. She had never seen a stranger look at her with such disgust before.

She and Aemond quickly hurried to their feet. Daella curtseying before the Queen even though she only wore an old pair of Darryn’s trousers underneath her cloak.

“Mother.” Aemond breathed. “Lady Daella and I were-“

“His Grace has heard of his niece’s arrival and wishes to see her.” Alicent Hightower spoke, silencing her son’s words.

“I can take her-“ Aemond began, but his mother would not have it.

“You will come with me.” She said, pinning her son with a look that made Daella shift uncomfortably on her feet.

Her friend bowed his head, cowed by his mother, an action that did not sit well with her.

“Your Grace, do not blame Prince Aemond. I goaded him into this.”

She was willing to take all blame, even if she did not think they did anything wrong.

Alicent Hightower raised a brow. “Well, at least you are honest. Ser Erryk will escort you to the King and we will speak of this no further.”

Daella nodded her head, sending Aemond one last an apologetic look before she was forced to leave.

▁▁▁▁▁

Aemond Targaryen watched Daella go with a heavy, unsettling feeling in his chest.

“What were you thinking?” His mother scolded.

What was he thinking?

He didn’t know. He didn’t think when it came to Daella.

“Were only playing.” He mumbled, hating how childish he sounded in that moment.

“Playing?” The Queen let out a short sound of disbelief. “She is an unwed woman and you an unwed man. The people will now whisper of your… familiarity with one another.” Despite her harsh tone she still reached for him, resting a hand on his forearm. “Aemond, this isn’t like you and it worries me.”

He frowned.

It was true. It wasn’t like him to act this way with anyone else. He never once forgot his duty, his responsibilities, the image he had to uphold. He was the brother that studied histories, politicks and foreign policies while Aegon drank himself into a stupor. The man that practiced bladework as diligently as any knight without asking for a single ounce of recognition like his uncle. The Targaryen who's egg remained cold in his cradle and yet he still found himself bonded to the largest surviving dragon in the realm.

And yet, with Daella, it was like none of that mattered. With her, he did not have anything to prove.

“You need not worry, mother.” He tried to brush away her fears but the Queen would not let the matter go. 

“No, Aemond. I do. You must understand.”  She said, eyes beseeching his own. “She reminds me of a girl I once knew.” Aemond caught the way she looked at Ser Criston then. “A girl who would not only scoff at the face of duty and sacrifice but also led others into her depravity. I know a man who almost took his life for it. Because of her.”

She brought her hand up to his cheek. “I could not bare to see you suffer because of someone like her.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched beneath her hold. “Daella would not hurt me.”

Ser Criston scoffed and his mother’s eyes fell in disappointment.

“She wouldn’t, mother.” He insisted.

At his words, Alicent Hightower’s disappointment turned into curiosity. It was a look that made him frown for it was one that reminded him of his grandfather whenever he was planning something.

“Listen to what I say, Aemond. Everyone that is not us is an enemy until we know otherwise. Until we can be sure of her, she is the same.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Viserys Targaryen looked a shell of the man he was when she saw him last. Dark circles lay under his lilac eyes and his face had sunken as though he were a man starved.

He leaned heavily on his cane as he made to stand for her, Daella almost winced at the sight though made no comment.

She curtsied before him, hoping he did not take insult at her choice of attire. In truth, she would have changed had she had the chance, even if she much preferred the freedom of trousers and riding leathers to dresses.

“Dear niece,” the King let out a shaky breath “you have hay in your hair.”

She blushed, immediately raising a hand to find it to which her uncle gave a tired laugh, retrieving it himself when she could not.

“Thank you.”

He waved her off. “Think nothing of it. Please,” he gestured to the table and chairs that lay in his solar “sit.”

He moved slowly, legs unsteady though he did not show any signs of pain if it was there. 

Daella joined him, waiting until he was fully seated before sitting herself.

“You will forgive me for not greeting you at your arrived.” The King said, reaching for his wine. “I am more tired of late.”

An understatement in the least, she thought as she looked over his haggard form.

Daella knew that Viserys Targaryen would pass someday and leave the realm in turmoil when he did. That day was yet to come, but looking at him now she could see it was not so far any longer.

She looked to the bandages that peaked out from beneath his fine jerkin and wondered how many more were hidden underneath all those layers he wore. One on his left wrist had slipped loose, giving her view of the damaged skin it was meant to conceal.

“There is nothing to forgive, Your Grace. May I?” She asked, unable to look away from the angry reds, deep purples and dark blacks that lay before her.

The King followed her gaze, hand shooting up to cover the affected area when he caught sight of what she was looking at.

“Ser Erryk.” He sighed. “Call for the maester.”

But Daella stood from her seat and picked up the loose ends of the bandage before he could protest.

“There’s no need. I can fix this.”

Her uncle was silent but when he did not speak against it, Daella continued, wrapping the pieces of cloth around his wrist.

“’Tis not a pretty sight.” The King stated.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I have seen worse.”

He let out a breathy laugh at that. “Pray tell where? As vain as it sounds it would do me good to see something uglier than I.”

Daella could not tell him of the walking dead or the decaying body of her mother she had pulled from a rushing river so instead she told him of something from this life.

“A ship from Pentos once visited Gulltown with a menagerie. My mother took me to see it. Only one the animals was not truly an animal. It was a man infected with Greyscale.”

Daella was only four at the time but she remembered it well. She had been horrified. Not from the sight but for the fact they would keep a man who suffered caged like a rabid dog, allowing him to live in pain instead of giving him the mercy of death.

Her mother felt much the same, even bringing the issue to the Arryns of Gulltown. But they would not do anything. They needed good relations with the Free Cities so turned a blind eye. Daella had been wroth when her mother told her of it, not speaking to her for almost a fortnight when she insisted there was nothing else they could do.

The King let out another laugh. “Well then, at least I am better than a man with Greyscale.”

Daella's eyes widened in realisation. “Your Grace, I did not mean to insult-”

He waved her off. “Nonsense. There was no offence taken.” He grinned.

She gnawed on her lower lip, turning back to the bandages to tie them off before returning to her chair.

“You know my daughter writes of you often.” The King stated.

Her lips parted in surprise. “She does?”

“She says her sons are quite taken with you.”

She could not prevent the smile from forming on her lips. “They are good boys and will make good men one day.”

“I am glad you think so.”

She brought her lower lip between her teeth again, debating how best to proceed.

“The last time I visited Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra told the princes and I of the ceremony in which you named her heir.” She settled on, noticing the way warmth seeped into the King’s features as he relived the memory.

It was as though mentioning his daughter gave him new life. He sat straighter, the tiredness in his eyes abating for a few moments.

“Yes,” he breathed “my Aemma would have been proud of her had she been able to see her that day and the days since.”

He spoke Queen Aemma’s name as though it were the most precious in the realm, and for a flicker of a heartbeat, Daella saw the look her grey-eyed father held when he would gaze at her river-mother.

Her chest ached at the sight.

“I am sorry for your loss, Your Grace.”

His eyes saddened. “We have all lost much, child. But we still have much to live for. Tell me, how goes matters in Runestone and the Vale?”

“Well." She hummed. "I just came from visiting Lady Arryn in the Eyrie. It is a beautiful castle.”

Uncle Elbert had been most displeased when she had declared she would fly straight to Kingslanding. Baela had written that her father was too. As much as they were as different as the sun and the moon, both Uncle Elbert and her father were similar in that respect.

“Yes,” the King smiled “Aemma often spoke of it fondly.”

“Lady Jeyne recounted the Queen’s visits to the Vale when I was there. She only wished Princess Rhaenyra could have visited also, or that she could have come south when the Princess was named your successor so she might know her better. But my grandfather was still her regent then.”

King Viserys looked off to the model of Valyria that lay across his large table, picking up a fallen figurine and placing it on one of the walls.

“Yes, I believe I remember Lord Yobert though it has been so long.” He said absentmindedly.

“But now Lady Arryn rules the Vale in her own right though she has not had the chance to declare herself for your chosen heir as my grandfather did.”

The King’s lilac eyes flickered back to her.

“It is the same in the North." She went on. "Lord Rickard Stark came south but it is his son, Cregan, who now rules Winterfell. And in the Westerlands, Lord Jason-”

“Men and woman who’s fathers and regents declared for Rhaenyra in name of their house. Please, I would rather speak on more pleasant matters… Unless you worry about treason, niece?” The King asked with pale brows pinched together.

“’Tis not that, Your Grace, but-“

King Viserys sighed silencing her words. “You worry like my Aemma did, but the realm knows my wishes. Come now, you rarely visit Kingslanding. Tell me of your brothers and sisters.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella left King Viserys’ solar frustrated and disappointed.

How could one man love his daughter so much and yet be so completely blind to the daggers that were being sharpened behind her back?

She had tried time and again to turn her conversation with the King towards the succession but nothing came of it. How could it when, to him, she was little more than a child? She was not his Hand, his advisor, nor his councilman. Just his brother’s daughter. Eddard Stark would have listened to a niece, but Viserys Targeyen was not him. He closed his eyes to anything unpleasant, choosing not to see or hear it.

She sighed as she made the long walk back to her chambers from the King's solar. Her anger consumed her thoughts though not so much that she did not hear the soft footsteps that followed her along each hall and corridor.

She kept her head forward and her steps measured but when her stalker did not relent she took a sharp turn into a small alcove where she could pull herself into the shadows.

She reached for a small dagger sheathed at her waist and waited with bated breath for the person to follow.

The echoed steps eventually slowed and a dark silhouette came into view. But Daella knew she had to wait before she struck.

As her shadow finally walked into darkness, she was able to see that the person who followed her was a woman. Though that did not make her any less of a threat, the wolf girl’s scars were given to her by just as many women as they were men.

She lashed out, pushing her stalker into the wall with her knife at her throat.

The woman let out a strangled yelp, shaking hands raised in surrender. “No, please.” She whimpered.

“Who sent you?” Daella demanded, her voice low, barely above a whisper in the other woman’s ear.

“My mistress.” Was her answer. “She wishes speak with her friend’s daughter.”

Her brows furrowed though her grip on the dagger never loosened. “Friend?”

“Prince Daemon, my lady. She is a friend of your father.”

Chapter Text

Daella knew Flea Bottom. Not in this life, but the last. The wolf girl slept on its roofs and lived in its stables when she was hiding from the Red Queen and her cruel son. She had nothing here, just like everyone else, living off the mere morsels she could scavenge and the pigeons she was able to catch with her bare hands.

And now she had returned to this place, hiding herself once more though this time she was not on the run. Instead, she was entering of her own free will on the promise of information that would change everything.

Daella pulled the hood of her cloak up high as she followed Lady Tanda through the winding streets. 

Tanda Ashford was lady-in-waiting to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and yet it seemed she also served another master.

Mistress. She reminded herself.

A mistress who also knew her father. That could be just as good for her as it was bad, the latter being far more plausible when it came to Daemon Targaryen.

“This way, my lady.”

She was pulled into a small alcove where two guards waited by a tall stone house. All it took was one look from Lady Tanda for them to step aside, the laughter and moans held within pouring out as they opened its wooden door.

The lady turned back to Daella and blushed. “Forgive me, I know it is not a place for women of our standing but it is one of the few establishments in the city that does not hold unwanted eyes and ears.”

Daella was no stranger to brothels as much as it might scandalise both her mothers had she ever admitted it. In the Riverlands, the wolf girl and the outlaws that had taken her had spent more than one night under a mistress’ roof. And in Braavos she was friends with many courtesans. But a courtesan was revered, treated almost as highly as a lady. These women… Daella shivered. She knew exactly how these women could be treated.

She followed Lady Tanda into the brothel reluctantly, her head low though her eyes scoured each and every corner looking for any threat that might lay hidden in the darkness.

She was eventually led towards a room on the highest floor, behind silk curtains and dark corridors. But before they entered the sealed doors, Daella found her gaze landing on a very familiar face.

Tyland Lannister looked rather stupid with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth so widely agape as he enjoyed whatever pleasure the woman before him was giving.

It surprised her to see someone with the wealth of the West in the lowest area of the city. Most visited the Street of Silk if they sought this type of company, but as she looked around Daella noticed the fine clothes of many of the men who visited.

This was a place for secrets, she knew, just as much as it was for pleasure.

She lowered her head as she saw the man’s green eyes slowly open. His attention was on the woman before him, but as she and Lady Tanda walked by, she could almost feel that emerald gaze turn to follow their cloaked forms.

“In here, my lady.” Tanda Ashford whispered, making her frown.

The words were hushed, but this was the quietest part of the brothel. Not silent. But quiet enough that Tyland Lannister might hear.

The corner of Daella’s lip flickered though she said nothing. Instead, she let the lady open the doors to the final chamber, hands resting on the dagger under her cloak as she took cautious steps after the young woman into the candlelit room. 

She knew something was wrong the moment she crossed the threshold. Were she a direwolf her hackles would have risen and her lips pulled back to bare her teeth. But Daella was not a direwolf. And yet, she still had claws.

She grabbed Lady Tanda’s long hair from behind and pulled back, baring her neck for her dagger.

The lady gasped but Daella ignored her, eyes focussed on the lone figure that sat at the table before her with two guards at her side.

The woman had skin as pale as snow and features that spoke of a blood that lay far beyond Westeros.

She stood at Daella’s sudden movement and raised a brow. Her men reached for their swords but a slight raise of the woman’s hand stopped them.

“There is no need for that. I assure you, my lady. I do not intend to hurt you.” She spoke, a lilting melody to her voice.

“Why am I here?” Daella demanded.

The pale woman’s lips lifted. She reached down, pouring wine into two chalices before holding one out to her. “You came of your own volition, Daella Targaryen. Now, come. Sit. Drink. You will find what you came here for.”

“Send your men away.”

A light laugh left the woman’s mouth. “Very well.”

She waved the men off and it was only when the doors were closed again that Daella finally lowered her blade.

She came to sit on the other side of the large wooden table, ignoring the offered wine.

Her eyes fell back to Lady Tanda who was rubbing the mark Daella no doubt left on her neck before returning to the pale woman. The stranger raised her cup to her lips, placing the other chalice in front of her.

“My name is Mysaria.”

Daella frowned. It was not a name she recognised. Not one her father spoke of anyway.

“You already know who I am. I would ask you again, why am I here?”

There was a breath and then- “Because you are Daemon Targaryen’s daughter.” It was the simple answer that seemed to be the reason behind why anyone took any interest in her these days.

Kingslanding, Dragonstone, the King, the Queen… She would have never left her mother’s home in the Vale had there not been indisputable evidence that she was her father’s blood.

“And what is it you want from Prince Daemon?”

Mysaria’s eyes seemed to glow even in the darkness. “Freedom.”

The woman stood, walking towards a small window where she gazed out into the city. “I have lived here since I was a girl.” She said. “I was a dancer, a slave, sold from hand to hand until I came before a prince of the realm.”

She turned back to Daella. “He was as lost as we all were when we he first came here. But this city found him and in return, he set us free. Free from the men that bled us dry. Free from fear.” Her lips lifted. “It is poetic, is it not? A dragon-riding Valyrian prince breaking the chains that bound the people. He showed the criminals of the city what true fear was. When he was Captain of the Gold Cloaks girls like those you just passed could walk through the streets in the dead of night without a single worry aside from what she might eat when she returns home.”

A Targaryen breaking chains.

Daella could have told her that the idea what not as rare as she might think, but Daemon Targaryen was no Daenerys. Anything he did was for his own benefit and not that of others unless they were tied to him.

“I have asked you to come because since he has been gone this city has returned to what it once was, and I will not stand by to watch it any longer.”

“And so you want my father to come back? I am not sure who it was you met all those years ago, but he is no white knight. No great hero. He is not some saviour that would tear the city apart at the word of your suffering.”

Mysaria’s lips lifted. “Oh, I know who your father is. To him we were a means to an end. It is the same with all you that venture from your high towers to walk amongst those of us that live so low. You come and take what you want before you leave, returning to your families who are none the wiser to the darkness that sits in your hearts.”

Daella raised a brow. “Why bring me here then, if you think I am like all those that have come before?”

“Because power lies in but two places in Westeros. In fire, and blood. I need you. The King, the Hand, the Queen… They have no reason to listen to me. But you do.”

The woman’s eyes lifted to look above her head. “Bring him in.” She told Lady Tanda.

Tanda Ashford was gone for but a moment before Daella heard her return, only this time she was not alone.

She was accompanied by the sound of growling, but it was not that of an animal. She turned to see the woman pulling a boy by the arm. In the shadows she could not make out any of his features but the child was snapping and snarling as though he were a direwolf. Daella froze at the sound. It was wild. Feral. A warning if she ever heard one. And as if to prove her point, the boy clamped down on Lady Tanda’s forearm with his teeth.

The lady cried out, screaming. Daella stood as did Mysaria but before either of them could act, Lady Tanda pushed the small child back with all her might, causing him to fall onto the hard wooden floor with a loud thump.

She heard whimpering then and, without thought, reached for a candle by Mysaria’s desk. She brought the flame up causing the light to fall across his small form but almost dropped it at the sight that greeted her.

“Aegon?” She whispered in disbelief.

He was of age with her brother. The same height. The same silver hair and beautiful, wide lilac eyes. But he was dirty, covered mud and blood. He looked up as she said his name and began to growl again, looking at her as though she were a stranger and not the sister that loved him. And that was when she saw it, his teeth... They had been sharpened to points.

How? How had they done this to her little brother without her father and Princess Rhaenyra burning the realm to the ground for it?

“Aegon, it’s me.” Daella tried, voice breaking as she came closer.

“That is not your brother, my lady.” Mysaria’s words cut through her clouded mind.

She looked at him, truly looked at him.

He had Aegon’s colouring. In her surprise and panic, all she saw was her brother but as her eyes traced his features she knew the woman was right. He was not Aegon. But then who he?

Her hand flexed around the hilt of her dagger.

“What is this?” She asked between clenched teeth.

“This is the fate that befalls many children in the poorest parts of Flea Bottom. Their mothers cannot afford to keep them, so they sell them to the vilest men for whatever coin they can get. The children lose everything. Their names, their safety, their innocence. They are forced to fight one another for the entertainment of those low and high. The boy…” Mysaria whispered. “He is Prince Aegon’s. The Prince knows it. He visits the fighting rings, not too often, but often enough that I have heard of it.”

Daella felt a furious rage sweep through her bones, searing her skin.

“I could never act on what I knew before.” Mysaria went on. “The Queen and Hand would never have given someone so low a moment of their time, even if it was to end something as abhorrent as the fighting rings. I had thought to threaten them with the boy’s existence, but they would have simply killed me and the child also. But now that you are here, I have the chance to change that.”

She let those words sink in as she kneeled down, coming face-to-face with the child.

It did not matter that he was not Aegon, nor that his father was a monster. She would not leave him here.

She sheathed her dagger and held both her hands out, so he could see them. “I won’t hurt you.” She promised with soft words.

She did not come any closer, did not dare touch him. She only sat and waited.

"Where will he go?" She asked Mysaria.

"The orphanage. As will the others once they are freed."

Daella shook her head. “No. He will be safe with me.”

“What are you doing?”

“I won't leave him.” She answered, her eyes never straying from the lilac of the boy’s. She smiled at him, despite his growls, despite his anger. “You can be angry. You can be scared. But I promise I will never let anyone touch you again.”

“What of his mother?” She asked Mysaria. “I will give her and the boy a place in my household at Runestone.”

“Dead.” Was her faint reply.

Daella swallowed. “’Tis no matter, I will take him anyway, if he will allow it.”

Silence followed. The child did not speak, but continued to watch her with suspicious eyes. Aegon was at an age where all he did was talk, asking her a hundred and one questions any time she came back to Dragonstone, but this boy was simply silent. And yet, she saw his words in his gaze. The fear that he masked with fierce growls.

His lips twitched as he looked between her and her hands. The growls eventually stopped and with hesitance, he crawled forwards. At first only an inch, but when she did not move he took another small step.

Daella waited patiently all the while, whispering promises that came from her very heart. Ones she intended to keep.

And when the boy eventually slipped his small hand over her own, Daella gave him one last promise that she left it unsaid. She promised that Queen Alicent’s eldest son would never sit the Iron Thorne so long as she had breath in her body.

She moved slowly, her eyes remaining on his as she lifted him into her arms. “We are going to go now.”

She turned to find Mysaria and Lady Tanda watching them both curiously.

“Does he have a name?” She asked the women.

The brothel owner shook her head. “The men that owned him do not give their children names. He was simply known as ‘Fine Hair’ for his pretty silver locks.”

Her jaw clenched. If she could, she would take each and every one of their heads, but first she had to get the boy somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from here.

She made to leave, but something held her back.

She looked back at Mysaria. “You sounded so sure before,” she spoke “when you said that something could be done now. How could you be so sure of what I would do? I will speak for the children.” She clarified. “But I could as well have just came here, taken your information and left. Or worse, told the Queen that Lady Tanda is spying for another woman.”

Mysaria took a long drink from her chalice. “It was luck, really,” she said as she swallowed “that one of Daemon’s daughters came to the city. I suppose had I found something that the Hand or Queen wanted then I would have went to them first. But I had nothing for them. What I have would only benefit the Princess Rhaenyra.” Mysaria let out a short laugh. “But it is like you said, I could not be sure of you even after everything I have told you. So, I gave you no choice. You will leave my lady’s name from your lips unless you wish for further claims to be made against you.”

Daella let out a slow, steady breath. Her eyes fell closed in disappointment as the realisation slowly coming over her.

“Tyland Lannister.” She huffed, cursing herself for not trusting her instincts.

She should have left the moment she saw him. But then as she looked to the boy in her arms, she supposed she would never have met him had she turned away.

The pale woman nodded her head. “He saw you just as you saw him, my lady made sure of that. She tells me of his allegiance to the Queen and Hand. Such a loyal man will no doubt feel compelled to tell his queen of what he has seen in this brothel tonight.”

“And I will have to explain myself, forcing me to bring up the fighting rings or face humiliation. This was never about Daemon Targaryen at all.” Daella finished for her.

Mysaria raised her cup. “Exactly. You will tell the Queen why you were here, of the boy and fighting rings. What you wish to do with the information about Prince Aegon and the boy himself, I will leave to you, but you will leave my name and that of my lady's name from your lips lest worse accusations find themselves to the Queen.” With a small gesture to Lady Tanda, the doors to the room were opened once more. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lady Daella. Send Prince Daemon my regards.”

Daella brought her lower lip between her teeth. She did not know whether to rage at the woman or be glad someone cared enough about the pits to do something about them. 

She spared Mysaria one last glance, ensuring her face was one she would remember before she left.

She would think on what to do with her tomorrow, but today she had to get back to the Red Keep.

Daella kept one hand on the boy at her hip and another on the hilt of her dagger as she walked between the dim corridors and sweaty bodies that danced around one another.

The boy held her cloak with impossibly tight fists as the dark shadows moved around them.

“All will be well.” She told him, though she was just as on edge as he was.

And rightfully so, for when a hand reached out to grab her arm, Daella had her dagger out and pointed up at her attacker before she could breathe.

“My lord wishes to speak with you, girl.”

In her arms, the boy stiffened. She saw his head turn, looking up at the man with wide eyes before they turned into narrow slits as he caught sight of the way he held her.

Daella frowned, her dagger remained firmly pointed at the man’s unarmored stomach. “I am afraid I do not work for this establishment. Your lord will have find someone else.” She replied, trying to remain calm so as to not attract more attention to them.

“Listen, whore. My lord wishes to speak with you, so he will. Put the boy and the blade down and come-“

Suddenly, he let out a shrill cry as the child pounced on him, biting at the exposed juncture between his shoulder and his neck. The screams and cries of others followed but Daella was only focussed on the boy.

She made a promise that no one would touch him. So when those large hands reached for his body she acted on instinct, stabbing him through the hand that lay closest.

He screamed again, cradling his injured limb which gave her just enough time to retrieve the child before he could be hurt.

And then she ran. Between the bodies, the cries, the shouting. All she knew was that they had to leave. Hands reached for her, reached for them both. But the city never slept, so once she made it out of the brothel, it was easy enough for her to blend in within the crowds.

The journey to the Red Keep was a blur. She was breathless, disheveled and covered with matted specks of blood by the time she arrived at the gates. The guards looked at her as though she were crazed, but with the state she was in she could not quite blame them.

“Go back to where you came from. This is no place for a madwoman.” They told her.

“Call for Prince Aemond then. He will tell you I am who I say I am.”

▁▁▁▁▁

The boy looked at the water in the copper tub suspiciously as though it was made to hurt him.

“There’s no need to worry.” Daella put her hand in, cupping some of the warm water so she could run it over her face before doing the same to his own. “See? It feels nice. Come on, let’s clean you up so you can sleep.”

He still looked quite the sight. As did she.

Her maid had looked utterly horrified when she first saw them, as did most of the servants they passed by. But not Aemond. Daella had never seen such a fury as his when he found them by the castle gates.

He came to her then, threatening the guards that dared keep her out, and then, at the sight of the blood, he quickly turned, swearing he would kill anyone that had touched her with that quiet anger of his.

But when his eyes fell to the boy, his anger fell to silence.

“I know you have questions. Please, let’s get him inside and fed first.” She had begged and he did it, not a single protest passing from his lips.

Daella helped the boy into the tub, cleaning his face from the dried mud and blood as Aemond remained back, watching them from his place by the fire.

“Did you have a name before?” She asked the child who remained silent, wary eyes flickering to Aemond and then returning back to her.

“His name is Aemond.” She told the boy. “He is my friend. And mine is Daella.”

She was careful with him. He did not seem to like touches much so she opted to use a small bowl to slowly run the water over his head and back.

“If you don’t remember your name, then how about we choose a new one?”

Many came to mind. She listed them, each and every one, her words filling the silence of the room, but no matter how many she thought of there was always one she seemed to come back to.

“What of Jon? Do you like that?”

When those lilac eyes lifted, Daella knew she had her answer.

The thought that a part of her brother would live on in this lifetime made her heart swell.

“’Tis a good name.” She smiled. “Jon.”

After he was cleaned and well fed, she brought the boy to her bed, humming the Song of the Mountains to him as her mother once did for her when she was young.

Once she was sure he was finally asleep, she turned back to her friend.

He stood as she did, approaching her with long strides.

“What is this, Daella?”

“Please tell me you did not know.” She begged him.

His violet eye flickered between her dark ones. “Know what?”

“He is your nephew, Aemond. A boy your brother left to suffer in something I could only describe as akin to one of the Seven Hells.”

His pale brows furrowed together and his jaw clenched. “Aegon has a bastard.”

At his words, she let out a watery laugh. “If only that was his worst crime. Aegon left him in the hands of criminals who forced him to fight other children in some sick form of entertainment that your brother supposedly frequented.”

Aemond took her hands in his own, shaking his head in disbelief. “Aegon is many things, but this…”

“It is true. You saw his teeth. His bruises. The way he acted. He was treated like an animal.”

“I… I don’t understand.” He mumbled. “Who told you of this?”

“This woman. A brothel owner who brought me to Flea Bottom to see him.”

“You went to Flea Bottom at the word of a whore? Are you mad? You could have been hurt.”

“But I wasn’t. If you had heard what I did then you would know I couldn’t just ignore it.”

She told him of Mysaria then, of what she learned and what followed, how she ended up back in the Keep. But she did not mention the woman's name nor Lady Tanda’s. She was not sure why. Their threat meant little to her, and she owed them nothing, but still she kept their anonymity.

“This could all be lies.” Her friend insisted. “She could be using you, Daella. Using the child to soften your heart so you might do as she wishes.”

“To what end?” She asked. “She wants to put a stop to the fighting rings. She ensured that I would have to do something about it. Now that Lord Lannister has seen me there, I will have to stand in front of your mother and grandfather and speak to it or the whole court will question me and my position in Runestone. A lady who visited a brothel in the dead of night.” Daella let out a harsh laugh. “They will tear me apart.”

Aemond let out a slow breath from between clenched teeth. “I won’t let them question you. But this woman… You cannot trust her word.”

She squeezed his hands between her own. “I don’t trust her. But I do trust what I have seen. Your brother can never be king, Aemond. He is not worthy. You must have seen that. Your grandfather will not care. He only wants a Hightower sits the Iron Throne even if it goes against his King and what is best for the realm. But you are better than that, I know you are.”

Aemond dropped her hands and took a step back. “Will you truly tell the court of the lies you heard today?” He breathed.

“Aemond…” She tried reaching for him again.

“No,” he shook his head, pulling his hands away from her “you cannot seriously trust the words of a whore over me?”

Daella walked forwards, taking his face in between her hands. “Tell me. Tell me you truly trust Aegon had no part in these rings. That you truly think he would be a good king for the realm. Look me in the eye and tell me.”

His jaw was clenched and his violet eye darkened but he did not speak. He could not.

“I wish it was not true.” She sighed. “For your sake and Helaena’s, I wish it wasn’t. But I have no choice.”

Aemond’s eye hardened then and he pushed her hands away. “You always have a choice, and you have chosen to believe lies in order to help a family that did not care for you until they saw your dragon.”

His words stung, but the way he pulled away from her hurt even worse.

He did not understand now, but one day he would know why she did all that she had. She would tell him, even if he thought her mad or a liar. She would do it to protect him and Helaena. But as she looked at him, Daella knew that now was not that time.

▁▁▁▁▁

The following morning she was brought before the Queen, Otto Hightower and the Small Council which included the Master of Ships, Lord Tyland Lannister. With one hand in Jon’s, Daella listened as Lannister threw accusations her way.

Aemond was there too, insisting upon his presence when his grandfather was ready to deny him. The Queen eventually allowed it when he told them of his part in this - finding her and Jon before the castle gates in the middle of the night. So, he remained, his dark gaze never far from her even if he stood on the other side of the room.

“For a lady of your standing to even enter such an establishment,” the Queen shook her head “and then to hear your attack on Lord Tyland’s man… Explain yourself.”

Daella had not slept the previous night. After her conversation with Aemond she thought on what she was told in Flea Bottom over and over again. In the end, she knew that there was no doubt as to who Jon’s father was, nor Aegon’s part in this. Even if Aemond did not believe it, she did not hear any lies.

“’Tis as I told Prince Aemond, Your Grace. I was led into the city under false pretences but when I was there, I learned of the horrific acts that occurred at night. I would not believe it, but then I was taken to see Jon and that was all the proof I needed. Please. You have seen the boy. These fighting rings cannot be allowed to go on or more children like him will suffer.”

The Queen folded her hands in front of her. She looked from her to Aemond. Daella looked to him too. Both of them waiting silently for his response to the Queen’s questioning gaze. He did not speak, but he did give a subtle nod of his head as conformation.

“Very well." Alicent Hightower sighed. "An investigation will be conducted and if evidence of these places are found to exist then all those involved will be tried as abusers and murders as the Seven would deem fit. But it was not your place to get involved in such a matter, my lady.”

The Hand of the King was less interested in the rings than he was Jon. “And who is this boy exactly?”

She watched as the Queen and Hand exchanged a glance.

“An orphan.” Daella lied. “But it matters not. He is my charge now.”

Jon’s grip on her hand was tight. He hated this. She had known him less than a day but she knew that. He glared at the men and women that watched him. Daella was only grateful he did not growl. Her thumb ran over the back of his knuckles in soothing sweeps, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Lord Tyland scoffed. “You sound almost proud, my lady. Have you no shame for what you have done?”

“Yes, there has been an assault to Lord Tyland’s man that must be answered for.” The Queen agreed.

Daella raised a brow. “I was simply defending myself and my charge.”

Lord Tyland stood, fury in his rich green eyes. “That boy bit him. I have seen the marks, he is an animal. And you-“

“She is the King’s niece, my lord,” Aemond reminded him “and Lady of Runestone. You would do well to remember that.”

Lord Lannister’s resentful glare never left her, however. “A simple apology then, my lady. It is all I seek and all will be forgotten.”

She raised a dark brow. “I will not apologise for protecting myself and the boy from a stranger who threatened us.”

The Hand shook his head in disappointment. “Such impertinence is not acceptable, my lady. You have acted in a manner most unbecoming of your station and have brought shame to your family. You have not only brought yourself into question but also your house. The King’s house.”

But Daella would not be cowed. “I have only done what I know to be right. If His Grace has issue then he can speak to me of it.”

Alicent Hightower frowned. “His Grace is unwell and to deal with such folly is beneath him. You leave me no choice, my lady. I will write to your father and uncle. Mayhaps with repentance and a good husband at your side you can be guided to serve the realm and your king well. But until then I cannot in good faith let you leave as things are. Your father and uncle will attend court and a good match will be made for you. Until then you will be accompanied by a septa of my choosing.”

A match.

Daella’s eyes finally found Aemond’s. 

No.

Chapter Text

A match.

The Queen and Otto Hightower wished to force her hand just like they did Helaena’s when they wed her to that monster of a man they called a prince.

The beady eyes of the men of the council chamber turned to her and Daella wanted nothing more than to laugh. It was just as her uncle predicted all those years ago. The great game was truly afoot. But she would see the Others come again before she let anyone here use her as a pawn.

To her side she felt Jon shift, his light eyes bounced across the room as he stepped closer, flashing his teeth in a silent threat to those around them.

“As Lady of Runestone I represent my own house, Your Grace. No decision will be made about my hand without my say lest it is that of the King’s. But if you wish to hear from my uncle and father with regards to this matter, then who am I to deny a queen? A dragon travels much faster than any raven. I will have Elbert Royce and Daemon Targaryen in an audience with you in the time it takes a ship to travel from the Bay of Crabs to the Blackwater.”

The Queen sat with her head high and proud, but even from across the table Daella did not miss the subtle scoff that left her lips.

“The King has decreed that I speak for him in all matters that regard the realm while he is abed. The decision has been made, my lady. You will not leave.” She said sharply. “Ser Criston, see to it that the Lady of Runestone is escorted to her new chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast.“

Daella’s gaze never wavered.

“The King has decreed that I speak for him in all matters that regard the realm while he is abed.”

Maybe it was time that changed.

She gently tugged at Jon's hand as Ser Criston approached.

The knight reached for her but Daella sent him a glare so venomous it gave even him pause.

She left the council chambers without another word then. Ser Criston’s heavy footsteps followed behind diligently but she ignored him in favour of the boy beside her.

“We will leave soon to see my home and my family. But first I need you to be brave and do as I say.”

“My lady…” The knight warned, but Daella would not look away from Jon.

She kept her steps measured, calm, turning into a hallway that bustled with servants and soldiers alike.

“Can you do that for me?” She asked the child.

Those innocent eyes widened but the boy quickly nodded his head, leaving her no doubt he would listen.

She felt Daorys before she heard him. He had come for her, without a single word or command, knowing she needed him.

As his dark shadow swept across the Red Keep, she leaned down to whisper in Jon's ear. “When the ground shakes, we will run. If you lose me, go to the black dragon but do not approach him until I have found you. Yes?”

She squeezed his hand, an act which he returned.

Ser Criston frowned at them. A fist lifted to rest on the hilt of his sword as he glared at her. “What-“ He began, but suddenly a roar as loud as thunder echoed out through the air, silencing him and drawing his gaze to the open balustrades of the walkway.

As mighty as the Red Keep was, the castle still shook beneath her dragon’s weight.

Steel was drawn as soldiers ran from where they were stationed to inspect the sudden threat.

She took a step back, eyes turning the two men posted at the door beside them. They followed the rest of the castle guards, moving between where she and Ser Criston stood to reach the balustrades.

Swift as a deer. Strong as a bear. Her dancing master’s words rang out in the back of her mind as she lashed out, pushing the man closest with all her might once he came within reach.

At the unexpected jolt, one guard fell into the other and both of them tumbled into Ser Criston, forcing him to the ground.

“Run.” Daella told Jon, and suddenly, they were weaving their way between the crowds and down the corridors.

“Stop them! She must not reach the courtyard!” She heard the Kingsguard knight shout.

She knew she would never be able to outrun them, not in a pinched dress with slippers that were falling off her feet. But she and Jon didn’t need to outrun them. They just needed to be smarter.

She pulled the boy into her arms as they reached the end of the walkway, closing the door behind her before she approached the spiral staircase.

Her eyes turned up.

"The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a man with open ears.  Clever girls go barefoot." It was another master that taught the wolf girl that lesson, though this man she was not as fond of as the last, and yet, she learned much from him all the same.

Daella put a finger to her lips as she looked to Jon.

She took off her last remaining slipper, tossing it down a few steps before she began to walk up on silent feet.

As she reached the next landing, the door to the staircase flew open. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sudden impact but she kept moving, only letting herself truly breath as the sound of their rushed footsteps retreated into whatever hallway they thought she ran to.

She turned to Jon and smiled. “You were very brave. We are almost there.”

She stopped before another door and leaned down to put the boy back on his feet. “When I open this door, we won’t run. Just hold my hand and walk. And no matter how many people look at you, you must ignore them.”

Again, the sweet boy squeezed her hand.

She pushed at the wooden door, entering the hallway with slow, unhurried steps, Jon firmly at her side.

Those they passed paid them no mind, too consumed by the shouts outside to spare them more than a fleeting glance.

“He’s going to burn them alive!” She heard one man say to another, heart racing as her black dragon's angered cries echoed across the walls. So, when they finally stepped out into the daylight, Daella began to run.

“Daorys!” She called out from her place on the walls, seeking him out between the tall towers of the keep. “Daorys, māzigon naejot issa!” Come to me.

Her dragon stood in the outer yard, growling and snapping at anyone fool enough to approach. His large head turned at the sound of her voice and Daella could not help but smile when his emerald gaze landed on her.

“We are going home.” She told Jon, but her voice quickly fell at the sound of swift footsteps coming from behind.

She pulled the boy behind her and turned, ready to face whoever approached. But it was not just anyone that walked towards them.

“Aemond?”

Jon peaked out from behind her skirts as she said the name. She put her hand on his shoulder, warily pushing him back.

Her friend saw her hesitance and stopped before he was within reach.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

Daella shook her head.

“You shouldn’t have run.”

“I won’t stay.” She said, over the sound of her dragon landing beside the.. “Not like this.”

Daorys let out a shriek, lifting his head above the parapets to reach her.

“Gīda, Daorys.” Calm. She told him, resting her hand above his scarred mouth. “īlon jāhor sōvegon istin tolī.” We will fly once more.

“I need to go, Aemond.”

Her friend shook his head. “Not like this. It will only give my mother more to levy against you. Come with me, let me speak to her. She is not this evil woman you think she is.”

“Your mother made up her mind about me long ago. She has no right to try to force my hand like this and she knows it. This… What happened today you must see it for what it is.”

His silver brows came together. “What are you implying?”

Daella closed the gap between them, resting a hand on his arm. “I don’t say these things to hurt you. That is the last thing I want to do. But we both saw how your mother and the Hand reacted to the news of the fighting rings. The Queen must know what Aegon does when he visits the city. He is the man she and her father want to make king, do you think they would ever truly take their eyes off of him? They know and yet they do nothing. In fact, they do worse than nothing in supporting your brother.”

Aemond frowned. “You are letting the lies that whore told you cloud your judgement. You speak of my mother as though she is some scheming witch who would destroy the Seven Kingdoms for her own selfish gain when we both know which of our parents far better fits such a description.”

Daella’s hand fell, dark brows raised at the accusation. “I never said my father was a good man, but he will not sit the Iron Throne. Princess Rhaenyra will. Why are you fighting me on this? For Aegon?”

One look at his violet eye told her that was not the case.

“For your mother.” She knew. “And for Helaena. That is why you stay quiet while your mother and grandfather plot treason behind the Princess’ back.”

Her friend’s jaw ticked. He did not deny it.

“You would let the realm suffer that monster for it.” She breathed, the realisation washing over her.

She thought her friend different to the man she had learned of from history. Could she really be so wrong? So foolish?

“I will not fight against my family.” He finally spoke. “I will certainly not abandon them on the word of a lie.”

Something in his face softened as he saw the hurt on her face. “We need not be like this, however. If my mother wants you to wed then why not me? Between you and I, Daorys and Vhagar, we could settle the matter between our houses once and for all.”

Daella blinked. “You want me to wed you?”

He tried to reach for her then, but she stepped back away from his hold.

“You know I won’t abandon my family.” She said in disbelief.

His face fell at her rejection, but as soon as it was there it was gone. Any hurt masked by that stone face he often wore.

“Is that not what you are asking of me?” Aemond countered, hands clasped behind his back. “Rhaenyra will not be the queen you think. She does not know duty, nor sacrifice and yet you ask me to chose her and her bastards over Helaena’s son. Over Jaehaerys.”

Daella flinched at the word. “Jaehaerys is a babe who wants nothing but his mother. He certainly does not want a war fought over his claim. You may not know the Princess and her sons as I do but if you gave them a chance you would see that they are better for the realm than Aegon could ever be.”

His mouth twisted then and he reached up, pulling his eyepatch off to reveal a jagged scar beneath with single deep blue sapphire where his eye once was. “That is what happened the last time I gave them a chance.”

“My prince!” A voice called out.

Guards ran up to them on either side, but held back at the sound of Daorys’ threatening roar.

“My prince, are you hurt?” She heard Ser Criston say from somewhere within the cluster of polished steel but could not take her eyes from Aemond.

He put the patch back on and commanded they stay away.

Jon’s fists tugged at her skirts, finally pulling her gaze.

He wanted to leave, she knew as soon as she looked at him. “We will go now.” She promised, resting a hand on his silver hair.

Her eyes fell back to Aemond’s then. “If you cannot see what I’ve said is the truth then you have closed more than one eye, my prince. I… I don’t know what else to say.”

With a heavy heart, she leaned down to pick up Jon once more, telling him to hold her tight as Daorys lifted a black wing onto the parapets. The dragon was still as she settled herself and the boy on his back, allowing her to nestle Jon between her own body and the hard spikes raised either side of his spine.

The men pulled back as he spread his wings but Aemond remained, unafraid. Despite everything, he knew she would not hurt him. Daella only wished she could say the same.

▁▁▁▁▁

Jon smiled up at her as Daorys circled Dragonstone.

“Hold tight.” She reminded him.

She leaned forwards, tucking them close to her dragon’s back as he dropped onto the grey cliffs of her brothers’ and sisters’ home.

Jon had taken to flying like a fish to water. He could not tell her how much he loved it, but he did not need to. His smiles were rare and when they first landed in the Vale, he could not stop. The sight lifted her heart some, as did that of her uncle.

Elbert Royce knew something was wrong the moment he saw her, and then his eyes fell on Jon. His shock was almost comical. Daella often came back to Runestone with a trinket or two but a child was something different entirely.

“The Bronze King will be readied to sail in the morning.” Her uncle swore after she told him of all that occurred. “We will stand by our lady.”

Daella knew not to expect anything different, but his unwavering support always had a way of making her feel stronger.

When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. Those were her first father’s words and they were as true now as they ever were.

And her pack was growing.

Daella had offered Jon the chance to remain with her uncle while she travelled to Dragonstone. There was no one else she trusted more to take care of him, but when Daorys came again she found the boy would not let her go. And in truth Daella did not have the heart to tell him to.

Together, they made the longer journey towards the Targaryen ancestral seat. For a creature with such a reputation, Daorys could be rather gentle when he wanted to be. He flew softly along the southern winds for her benefit as well as Jon’s and was slow to land, keeping them steady on his back.

She helped the boy down once they were firmly on solid ground. She caught him looking up at the dark castle in the near distance and wondered whether he knew this place was in his blood just as much as it was in hers. 

Daella ran a soft hand along his hair. He smiled up at her at the touch and she smiled in return.

“Come,” she said, leading him to Dragonstone “there’s someone important I want you to meet.”

They barely made it two feet into the castle gates before that important someone came running out.

“Daella!” Her little brother screeched.

Gone were the days where she and everyone else was “dada”. Aegon Targaryen was a grown boy now, or so he would claim. Though some things had not changed.

He was still the first one to greet her when she came back to Dragonstone. He knew Daorys’ call like the sound of his own name and ran down the steps to the castle to greet her with his poor nursemaid trying desperately to keep up behind.

She knelt down and spread her arms wide, catching him when he fell into them as he always did.

“My sweet brother.” She hummed, kissing his temple. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He muffled out from the crook of her neck, his breath tickling her skin.

She pulled back, reaching a hand out for Jon. The boy took it, looking at Aegon curiously.

“Jon, this is my brother Aegon. And Aegon…” She grinned at her brother. “This is Jon. He is our family now.”

The two little boys gazed at one another with wide eyes, likely wondering how they looked so similar.

“Iksos ziry nykeā zaldrīzes tolī?” Is he a dragon too? Aegon eventually asked. 

“Kessa.” Yes. She hummed. “Sepār raqagon ao.” Just like you.

Her little brother shrugged his shoulders and took Jon’s hand declaring that they would be friends in the easy way that children do.

Daella thanked him, kissing his soft hair before taking Jon’s other hand and letting Aegon lead them to his nursery.

“I will stay with them.” She told Aegon’s nursemaid. “Would you tell Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon of my arrival?”

The maid dropped into a curtsey. “Of course, my lady.”

Aegon brought out his figurines and decided to show Jon how to play with them. The boy looked enraptured by the small toys as though he had never seen anything like it before.

Her little brother gave him his favourite knight while he took another and gave Daella a wolf.

“Look, Jon! It’s a big wolf!” Aegon proclaimed, pointing at her. “We have to stop it. For Dragonstone!”

Daella giggled. She could have told him that there were no wolves on Dragonstone, but where would be the fun in that?

She raised her hands and playfully declared she was going to catch them both, chasing them around the small room.

Jon looked hesitant at first but with some soft encouragement from her and Aegon they soon had him silently laughing. She was gentle with him, they both were. Her little brother was clever, when he saw Jon flinch the first time he shrieked he knew to be quieter, or when he saw how soft Daella was with him, he mimicked her, doing the same.

That was how Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen found them, two children and the Lady of Runestone rolling around on the nursery floor, playing pretend.

“Muña! Kepa!” Aegon ran to his mother and father at the sight of them at his doorway, hugging their legs.

Princess Rhaenyra softly greeted her son, but her wide eyes never left Jon.

“It seems we have much to speak on.” The Princess said.

“Yes,” Daemon Targaryen coughed “it seems we do.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella sat in Rhaenyra’s solar with her father, sisters, the Princess and her oldest sons.

Daemon Targaryen stood by the hearth with his second serving of wine.

“Alicent Hightower demands I attend the Red Keep to what? Answer for the hole you put in the hand of Tyland Lannister’s man?” He scoffed. “I will go, just to spite her and Otto Hightower. Despite what that self-righteous cunt of a Hand might think, he and his daughter have no say in this matter. They are lucky if I let that gold-shitting Lannister leave the Red Keep alive. And Mysaria…” Daemon laughed. “I will see that woman loses her tongue for trying to use my daughter for her own scheming.”

“I went of my own free will.” Daella sighed. “And if I am honest I understand why she used such measures. You didn’t see Jon that night. The boy has been tortured for years and many others have suffered like him.”

Princess Rhaenyra shifted uncomfortably in her seat, letting out a tired sigh. “If my father were well he would never have let such depravity to run through his city. I struggle to believe Alicent would too.”

“She rules in your father’s stead, supposedly at his behest, Princess. King Viserys rarely leaves his bed chambers nowadays.” Daella explained. “She and Otto Hightower must know where Aegon goes at night, and yet they still work to turn the council, the people, to them. To him.”

Baela’s jumped from her seat. “That is treason!”

“Who spoke of such things?” The Princess frowned, hands clasped tight together.

“It was never said aloud, but written everywhere. In every seven-pointed star that hangs on the walls and every face in the Red Keep. The Hightowers have had years to turn the tides, using your absence and that of the King’s to plant loyalty into the minds of the men and women that surround them.”

She stood, coming before the Princess. “You must return to the Red Keep and take your place as your father’s heir. Speak to him, he will listen to you. He will grant you his seat with his full support when he cannot sit it himself. Let the people see you as their next queen and Jace as your heir.” She said, looking back at the boy. “Because right now all they see is burning towers and Viserys Targaryen’s silence.”

Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eyes fell to her husband, lips dropping into a frown as she turned back to Daella. “I left the Keep long ago and swore I would not return until I could take my throne and have all those that made a mockery of my family leave. I will not endure it again.”

“But you must.” She pleaded. “For your throne, your sons, the realm… You are a dragon. We are dragons. And someone once told me that a dragon should not be cowed by the opinions of sheep. Come to the Red Keep. See it as I did. Truly see it, and you will know you cannot leave things as they are.”

There was only silence in return as the Princess looked between her dark eyes, and then- “Jace, tell the steward to ready our fastest ship.” She said.

“For all of us, mother?”

The Princess nodded her head. “For all of us. We have much to see to, it seems.”

Chapter Text

“You know this is becoming a habit of ours.” Daemon Targaryen said.

They stood in the Throne Room before the whole court with the Hand of the King on the Iron Throne and the Queen on the dais before him.

Alicent Hightower was not alone. Prince Aegon looked smug where he stood by her side, as if this whole matter was rather amusing to him. Daella wanted nothing more than to walk over there and scratch that smile from his face. Aemond stood to his right, silent and stoic as always. She could feel his violet gaze on her as she glared at his brother but refused to meet it. She did spare Helaena a small smile, however. The girl looked so happy to see her as she entered the Throne Room, how could she not?

“What is?” She frowned, looking to her father.

The King’s brother smirked. “Me protecting your honour. First in the North, and now here. And you call be a terrible father.”

She rolled her eyes. “May the Old Gods give me strength.”

“My prince,” Elbert Royce spoke from her other side “I would ask that you focus your attention on those that stand against your daughter rather than the quips you mean to vex her with. And Daella keep your eyes from the princes lest you say something that Otto Hightower would use against you.”

Her father rolled his eyes. “I do what I like Royce.” He muttered as Daella hissed her own retort.

“Why should I have to watch myself?” She said. “It is Aegon that should be standing here. Him that should be facing the judgement of the court. But instead he is allowed to swan about as though he has done nothing while my position is being questioned.”

Her uncle sighed, taking her hand in his own hardened one. “I know it is unjust. But we must answer injustice with justice. We will find our own way to fight this even if we cannot be so bold as to do what we might like.”

She gave him a faltering smile. It was the right answer even if it was not the one she wanted. She knew it just as well as he did.

A cough sounded to her side, turning her attention back to the Rogue Prince. He was looking down at their joined hands with a frown though quickly masked his displeasure as his gaze lifted to meet hers.

“I will take care of this matter with Viserys’ son.” He said, uncharacteristically serious for the man she had come to know over the years.

She did not quite know what to say to that. Taking care of Aegon could mean anything from the threat of death to the act itself though she supposed either one was more than well deserved.

She nodded her head, deciding that if she trusted him to handle this it did not mean anything more than that. A prince would get away with far more than a lady ever could, the past few days had taught her that if nothing else.

The doors to the Throne Room opened one last time and all turned to see Jace and Luke enter with their mother, Princess Rhaenyra. The boys went to stand beside Baela and Rhaena while the Princess came to her husband.

“Viserys?” Daemon Targaryen asked his wife.

Rhaenyra sighed, twisting a ruby ring on her finger. “My father will not come. The maester insists he is not to leave his chambers while he tries some new concoction from Essos.”

Since their arrival to the Red Keep the Princess had not left the King’s side. Daemon visited him, as did the boys, but none stayed longer than Rhaenyra.

The Rogue Prince scoffed. “Quite the opportune time for the maester to start his treatment.”

The Princess rested a hand on his arm. “Indeed.” She sighed. “I scarcely recognise this place anymore, Daemon. They,” she frowned as she looked to Otto Hightower and his daughter “have found a way to change everything. But the way they look at me remains the same. I will not have my boys suffer through their judgement again.”

“Nothing will change if we do not make it.” Daella spoke.

The Princess’ eyes widened at the sound of her voice. She had been speaking to her husband, her words were not for Daella and yet she heard them all the same.

“The girl speaks true.” Her father said. “We have let those cunts sit in my brother’s seat so long that they now see it as theirs. My mother would have brought Meleys’ red flame down upon this hall had she lived to see what it has become.”

He did not say it outright. He made no demands of his wife. But Daella heard what was left unsaid. It was a call to action. And as she looked at the thoughtful look on Princess Rhaenyra’s face, she could not help but think that for the first time in her life she was grateful for her father’s presence. What was once set in stone was now changing, she was there to ensure that. But she could not do it alone, and as much as she might hate to admit it, Daemon Targaryen always had been and always would be an important piece in Princess Rhaenyra’s life as well as the wars to come.

The hall was hushed into a silence as Otto Hightower raised his hand.

“The last matter of the day is not a petition but one of upmost importance that must be brought before the court.”

Those golden eyes fell on her. “Lady Daella Targaryen, your actions over the past few days have raised concerns with the crown. You have disobeyed Her Grace, the queen, fleeing the city on dragonback against her wishes. In that very day you also cost the castle one of its most loyal guards and an innocent family their father when your dragon burned him alive.”

Her eyes fell momentarily. She had not seen it herself, but knew Daorys could have done that and more. It was what he had done for decades, how he protected himself.

“And that is not all.” The Lord Hand continued. “You came before the council not long ago and confirmed the rumours that you were seen visiting a brothel in the darkness of night, putting virtue and good sensibility into question. There is also the matter raised by Lord Lannister. Accusations have been made that you have insulted his house and harmed one of his men. These charges must be answered for and with them there are those that have questioned your suitability to hold the title of Lady of Runestone.”

The murmurs within the court rose with each accusation. They meant to humiliate her, she knew, but Daella kept her head high. She would not be cowed by the Greens and their gossiping puppets.

“May I speak to these accusations, Lord Hand?”

She took a bold step forth, ready to deliver her lines like the well-versed Braavosi actress the wolf girl once pretended to be.

Otto Hightower gave her a nod of his head.

“I apologise to the crown for any insult it may have perceived on my behalf.” She took a breath. “However, you, my lord, as well as Her Grace and the councilmen present in court today know the reason I went to the city that night. I was most distressed to hear of what was occurring under the crown’s nose. Men paying to watch children harm one another…” Her eyes moved to Aegon Targaryen. “The Old Gods and the New can both agree that those who enjoy such atrocities truly are the most vile of criminals that must be found and punished.”

The Prince's pale lavender eyes fell to her own then, his mouth falling as he met her gaze.

In all the years she had known Aemond, Daella had never once truly spoken to his brother. They had been introduced in passing, never sharing more than a fleeting glance, but now he could not seem to look away from her.

She wondered if he heard the truth in her words - whether he saw the hatred in her eyes. She wondered if he would even care.

“I was raised by the last Lady of Runestone, my mother, Lady Rhea Royce.” She spoke, her words loud enough for the whole court to hear. “She taught me that a true lord or lady owes a duty to their people. A duty to provide safety and security from those that would harm them. This may not be the Vale but Kingslanding was founded by a King who bore the same last name as I. It is in my blood, and I will not sit idly by while there are children that suffer in it. My only regret was that I have only been able to protect one boy and not more.”

She pulled her gaze from Aegon Targaryen to meet that of the Lord Hand.

“The matter of the fighting rings is currently under investigation, my lady.” He spoke above the hushed whispers of the court. “The crown has heard your defence in this case. But how do you answer the other charges?”

“Very well.” She said, hands clasped behind her back. “As for the man who lost his life, Runestone will see to it that his family and the crown is compensated. Gold will not make up for the loss of a father, but I will gladly offer his family a position in my castle and a home in the Vale should they have need for it.”

“And is that a price Runestone and its people are willing to pay?” Otto Hightower questioned. “You leave them with a hefty fine in your mistakes.”

Daella’s hands tightened into fists.

Behind her, she heard her father scoff but it was her uncle that spoke first.

“Runestone, as always, stands behind its lady, Lord Hand.” Elbert Royce said.

“But it is not only House Royce that must be considered here.” Otto Hightower countered. “As I am sure you are aware, Lord Elbert, Runestone is a keep of great historical significance. It is responsible in providing and protecting for its own sworn houses as well as serving its liege in House Arryn. And it needs a good lord who can do that.”

Her uncle sent the Hand of the King a tight smile. His strong eyes fell to Daella’s then as he pulled out three letters from his cloak.

Behind her she heard the heavy footsteps of Ser Pate Coldwater approach. Her knight had travelled with them from Dragonstone to the Red Keep without her even needing ask. The Lord of Coldwater Burn’s brother had sworn his support the moment he heard of the crown’s charges. 

“Your unwavering loyalty is much appreciated, but is something I am not sure I can ever truly repay.” She had told him as they sailed along the Blackwater.

He had only smiled and her then, letting out a hearty laugh. “Little Daella, you have spent too long away from home if you think such loyalty requires repayment. When your uncle charged me to act as your sworn shield on Dragonstone I promised I would not let anyone stand against you. If I have to face a queen and the wealth of the Hightowers to do so, then so be it.”

She was lucky, she knew. More than lucky to be raised in a part of the realm that valued fealty as much as the wolf girl’s North did. And she was lucky to have him, she thought, as Ser Pate came to her side, bowing before the Hand of the King.

“Lord Hand, may I introduce Ser Pate of House Coldwater.” She said.

“Queen Alicent. Lord Hand.” Ser Pate greeted. “I doubt most in this court would know of House Coldwater. We are a small house, but we have lived on these lands since before the first coming of the Andals. We have always stood beside House Royce and we stand beside them now with Lady Daella Targaryen as our lady.”

Daella sent him a grateful smile, one which he returned.

“My uncle has been kind enough to also bring word from Houses Tollett and Shett should the court wish to see it.” She told the Hand, presenting the letters to the nearest guard so he might take it to the Reachman.

The Hand of the King raised a grey brow but still accepted the letters as they were passed to him.

Her uncle let out a low sound to clear his throat. “The Hand of the King also mentioned Lady Jeyne Arryn. My niece has spent much time with the Lady of the Vale as of late and she was more than willing to write in support of her Lady of Runestone. You will find word from her own hand within the parchment present, my lord.”

Daella raised a dark brow, unable to hide her surprise. She had gained much from her conversation with Lady Jeyne but her support, she thought, was far from that list. However, it seems she had been wrong in that. She had been wrong in much as of late. She could not help the way her eyes wandered to Aemond then, but withdrew them almost immediately before they could meet his unrelenting gaze.

“The lords sworn to Runestone stand with my daughter as does Lady Arryn.” Her father spoke, irritation laced within his words. “Does the court, or the Hand, require further evidence? Is there any man here that still wishes to stand against the Lady of Runestone's claim?” He said in a way only Daemon Targaryen could. A threat that was not directly spoken but heard all the same.

Otto Hightower frowned as the Throne Room remained silent, his golden eyes searched the crowd but not a single protest was found.

“There is the matter of Lord Lannister…”

“Lord Lannister can speak with me if he wishes to discuss insult. His man lay hands on my daughter, a lady of royal blood. There are other far more serious insults to be answered for. The court should know this.” The Rogue Prince said, the corner of his lips pulled into a grin.

As the Hand of the King looked between Prince Daemon and Elbert Royce, Daella could almost see the moment where he decided to withdraw from the fight. It was like the golden gleam in his eyes had dimmed as he realised there was nothing left for him to gain. Oh, she was sure the court would gossip about her visiting the brothel for moons to come because of his actions, but that would be his only victory this day.

“Very well. If no man in the court holds any protest, the matter is settled with a fine for House Royce to be payed as recompense for the damage caused by Lady Daella Targaryen.” The Hand of the King decided.

The battle was won, but the war was only just beginning.

▁▁▁▁▁

“My child, you are back already.” Viserys Targaryen smiled.

He looks lighter. Better. Rhaenyra could not help but think as she sank down onto the seat next to her father and took his hands between her own.

“I wish you were there at court. You would have put an end to the accusations without need for all that farce.” She sighed.

Her father let out a light chuckle. “My niece has the blood of the dragon in her veins, just as you and Daemon do. I am sure she was able to handle herself. Otto and Alicent were only doing their due diligence.” He said, waving off any concern for Rhaenyra’s good-daughter.

Her own smile faltered momentarily at his words, an action which he picked up on.

“Something troubles you. What is it?” He asked, thinning brows furrowed together.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Being back here, with you,” she squeezed his hands “seeing all that has changed… It made me realise just how much time has gone. And with it I have begun thinking that mayhaps my time on Dragonstone should come to an end.”

“Father,” she breathed “I wish to take my place as your representative on the Small Council. The Queen has done you well I am sure, but she is not your heir. Neither is her son. It is time the realm saw that.”

“They see it. You are my heir.” He emphasised, giving her that warm look she had known since she was a babe.

“I am. But I am also a woman. There will always be doubts when it comes to the inheritance of a daughter over a son.”

“I will have the tongue of every man who dares say otherwise.” Her father swore.

Her heart swelled with his promise. For the longest time after he wed Alicent Hightower there had been an estrangement between them, but he never stopped loving her and she never stopped loving him.

“I know you would.” She leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “But people will always speak and we cannot silence each and every one of them, no matter how much I might wish for it at times.” She grinned. “Let me take your seat on the council when you cannot sit it, father. Let them see me as I am, as your heir. I will find my place in the keep and the court and make it my own. I also want Jace to take the position you once gave me as a girl.”

Her father let out a fond sigh. “I miss those days. I only needed look a few feet over to find someone as tired of taxes and incessant lords as I.”

She joined him in his laughter then.

“Dear girl, having you back home would be a dream come true.” He said. “Anything you wish for you only need ask and it will be yours, as it always has been and always will be.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “Thank you, father.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Mysaria peered over her shoulder again. She could not help it. She had been on edge since she heard of the Rogue Prince’s return to the city. She knew playing with his daughter had painted a bright red target on her back and Daemon Targaryen was not a man to forgive nor forget. He would take his shot, it was only a matter of time.

And tonight appeared to be that night. 

As she finally closed her chamber doors, isolating her from the rest of her brothel, a pale hand wrapped around her throat and pushed her back against the wall.

She knew it was him immediately, even in the dim candlelight she would know those wild eyes anywhere.

“Daemon.” She choked out.

“What did you think you were doing when you brought my daughter here, Mysaria?” He seethed.

Oh, how she once loved to get him angry. Her lips flickered up into a teasing grin. She knew he recalled their time together just as well as she did.

“I seem to remember you bringing your princess to a place like this when she was around your daughter’s age.” She laughed between gasped breaths. “Mayhaps I only wished to show her the same pleasures.”

It was a taunt that only made his hold on her tighten, so much so that lights began to dance in front of her eyes. But just as she thought the darkness might take over, he dropped her, causing her to fall to the hard floor like she was little more than a sack of potatoes.

“If you wanted me dead you would have killed me the moment I entered the room, Daemon.” She was barely able to speak, but he heard her still.

Her once-lover practically snarled at her words, stalking off across the room to take some of her wine.

“You won’t.” She breathed, pulling herself up on shaky legs. “You won’t because you know I have more to offer.”

She walked towards him and, despite everything, kept walking until she was only a hair-widths away. 

He smelled just as she remembered, like cinder and blood.

“I can help you and your princess.” Mysaria whispered, resting a hand on his strong chest. “I hear songs from places lowborn and high. From the deepest pits of Flea Bottom all the way to the Queen’s chambers in the Red Keep.” She saw that fire in his eyes flare at the mention of his brother’s wife. “You know I am of far better value to you alive than dead.”

She raised the hand that rested on his chest up to cup his jaw but his own hand caught her wrist before she could touch his skin.

“You went after my daughter.” He repeated.

She looked between his rich eyes. “I did.”

He searched her gaze for a long moment, an unreadable frown placed on his lips.

“I want every man and woman in the Red Keep talking about Aegon Targaryen’s less than savoury appetite by sundown tomorrow.” He eventually said.

“What?”

He pulled away from her. “You heard me well enough. I am not in the habit of repeating myself.” 

“And if I am not able?” She asked, but he only grinned in return, brushing past her to reach for her chamber doors.

He did not even spare her a second glance. Daemon Targaryen left, but Mysaria knew this was far from the last time she would meet with the Rogue Prince.

▁▁▁▁▁

The morning following was bright. Rhaenyra smiled as the sunlight kissed her skin.

She turned in her bed and pressed her lips against her husband’s bare shoulder.

Daemon stirred at her touch but only for a moment before he burrowed himself further into their furs the way their Aegon did when he did not wish to wake.

She grinned, placing another kiss against his silver hair before she left the warmth of their shared bed. As much as she might have wished to laze about all day, she had other duties to attend to.

At her summon, her maids made quick word of getting her ready. Her hair was pulled up, highlighting the rubies that adorned her ears and neck.

She visited her youngest sons first. Joff slept in the adjacent room, while Viserys and Aegon still slept in the nursery with their nursemaid, where Daella’s ward also lay.

At first, Rhaenyra was uncertain of the boy. He had formed such a strong bond with her Aegon. In their short journey from Dragonstone to the Red Keep, the two were inseparable. Were he any other child, that fact would not have bothered her. But he was Alicent’s grandson, not just any other child, no matter how much they might pretend otherwise. What happened if one day he started asking questions about his sire? They say blood runs thicker than water. What if he chose her half-brother over them? 

She shook the thoughts from her head. The boy was only a few namedays old, little more than an innocent babe. She would not deny her good-daughter his presence nor her son. And she supposed it should soothe her some that Aegon’s hatchling, Stormcloud, tolerated him well enough. Dragons were protective creatures, even the newborns. If Stormcloud did not like Jon, they would know.

She lay a gentle kiss on Aegon and Viserys’ brow and then woke Joff with a soft hand through his hair, helping him ready for the day before she made the short journey to the Small Council chambers.

The guards placed at the chamber doors bowed at her arrival. “The council is to begin their meeting, Princess.” One said. “Mayhaps if you return later-”

“I know.” She spoke, halting his words. “I am to lead it. Now,” she gestured to the doors “if you would, good Ser.”

At their hesitance, she only let herself smile. She truly did have much to change around here.

She raised a silver brow, lilac eyes meeting each of their own expectantly causing the men to spring into action.

“Her Grace, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne and Princess of Dragonstone.” She was announced to the council as the heavy doors were pulled open.

The lords at the table all looked surprised by her presence but quickly stood, bowing as she walked into the solar. All but the Queen.

“Princess,” Otto Hightower spoke “we had not received word that you intended to join us today.”

Rhaenyra grinned. “Forgive me, Lord Hand. The King and I must have forgotten to inform you.” She said. “I will be sitting in on this council meeting and all those to come. As His Grace’s heir, he has decreed I take my rightful place as his representative on the Small Council while he is receiving his treatments with the maester.”

Her eyes fell to Alicent’s then and she revelled in the deep frown she saw there.

“Ser Harrold.” She turned to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, purposefully ignoring the looming presence of Ser Criston Cole. “It is good to see you well.”

“And you, Princess.” The knight bowed.

“Would you please see to it that a spare seat is brought for Her Grace, the Queen?”

At her words, the tension in the room increased tenfold.

All looked to Alicent Hightower for her reaction, but ever the righteous lady, the Queen remained silent despite the displeasure that marred her features.

“There is no need for the seat, Ser Harrold.” She snapped, her wooden chair scrapping against the stone floor as she stood. “I will go see to the King instead.” She declared, head high as she rounded the table and left the room. Her lapdog of a white knight sent Rhaenyra a venomous glance as he followed her but, she paid him no mind.

She let out a slow breath once the chamber doors closed behind them, slipping into the high seat with ease.

“Well,” she addressed her lords “now that is settled, shall we begin?”

Chapter Text

Daella wiped the sweat from her brow.

“You did well today.” Old Ser Richard said, taking the wooden blade from her hand.

They stood in Runestone’s courtyard, the rhythmic sounds of blunted steel against blunted steel accompanying them as the castle guards practiced their drills.

“It still does not feel right.” Daella sighed, frowning at the sword.

“It is too big for your slender arms, little lady.” Her master-at-arms told her with a wry, withered smile. “You need something smaller, thin like a-“

“Needle.” She finished for him.

Yes. Her Needle was just what she needed, but that sword lived in another lifetime. That did not mean she longed for it any less, however.

“Indeed.” The knight nodded his head. “You know as well as I that your lady mother, may the gods rest her soul, did not approve of such practice. But I am nothing if not loyal to House Royce. If you insist on continuing with this then I can speak to the smithy.” He sighed. “Maybe find something a bit more suited to your hand…”

Daella grinned at his reluctance. “I think you enjoy our lessons more than you care to admit, Ser. I will think on the blade, but for now I will not keep you from your men any longer.”

She turned, walking towards the archery range where Ser Hugh stood with Jon behind a rather disgruntled Rhaena.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” Her younger sister sighed, knocking her arrow. Daella guided her arms, raising them higher and closer to her chest. “I’d much rather be inside sewing. It is so cold out. And grey. Why is it always grey here?”

She released her arrow, both of them following it until it landed on the outer ring of the target.

Daella laughed, ruffling Jon’s hair as he went to retrieve it for them.

“It is grey on Dragonstone too.”

“But at least it is warm on Dragonstone.” Rhaena argued, drawing her bow back once more as her eyes fell to the target.

While Baela was fostering on Driftmark with the twin’s grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, Rhaena had joined her in Runestone for a time. Her sister’s presence was more than welcome, if not slightly unexpected. Any keep in Westeros would be more than proud to house her, a daughter of Prince Daemon, but it was House Royce’s seat she insisted on for which Daella put up no argument. She would house her sisters and brothers here forever if she could. Alas, that was a dream for a summer child. And as the bitter winds from the Narrow Sea blew through her dark hair, Daella had to remind herself that winter was always coming.

“You have more than enough dragon’s blood to keep you warm, sweet sister.” She countered. “The fresh air will do you nothing but good!”

She walked to the bails of hay that lay beside the range, watching from a distance as Rhaena landed her next shot on the other side of the target. Her sister sighed but she was nothing if not determined. She grabbed another arrow as Daella sat on the largest bail, reaching for the heavy tome waiting for her, and pulling it into her lap along with the quill and ink.

Jon came to her side, her quiet ghost peering over the records as she did.

“What do you think?” She whispered to him, careful not to be too loud lest she distract Rhaena. “Twenty cords of stacked firewood from House Coldwater, who live here.” She pulled out a map for Jon, pointing out the small keep to the north. “And then another fifty from our friends in Winterfell in their last shipment.”

She watched the clever boy bring up two fingers and then another five and grinned. “Yes.” She dipped her quill into the ink and handed it over to him, guiding his hand so he might draw the numbers for seventy.

He was thriving here, her ward. He had taken well to his lessons, the castle, and its people. And they had all taken to him. But still, despite the many moons that had passed, he remained silent. Her new maester, Grafton, had called it peculiar which earned him a vicious scowl from Daella. Jon did not need to speak for her to know what he was thinking and it did not make him any less clever or capable.

The boy looked over his work proudly before pointing to the page following which Daella left unfinished. 

“Trout.” She told him, reading the first word of the page. “A new shipment from the Tully’s and Myrish glass we bought from a merchant in Saltpans. We will send the some of the glass North as payment for the wood and some to the Shett’s so they might use them to make glasshouses.”

While Daella had enjoyed the peace that had come in these these last years, she had hardly been idle. Rhaena was not the only one of them that could find herself in any castle thanks to their father’s name.

“I have something to ask of you, dear girl, and it is not something I ask lightly.”

Princess Rhaenyra had sought her out only days after she was summoned by the Queen and Otto Hightower to stand before the court. Together, they stood by Balerion’s bones with nothing but shadows and candlelight to keep them company. Well, that and her father’s ever-looming presence smugly leaned against the stone archway, watching them both with those sharp eyes of his.

“It appears that in my absence from court, Alicent Hightower has turned this place into another Old Town. The lords, the council, the people… they look to her and her father for answers and guidance, not me.” She sighed, a frown pulling at her full lips.

“My father named me his heir. The realm seems to have forgotten that, and I have let them forget - that I am the crown, the continuation of Aegon’s dream, the blood that ties the realm together.” She said absentmindedly, looking at Balerion all the while.

Daella’s gaze met her father’s then, only find him just as perplexed as she was.

“But no more.” The Princess spoke, drawing her attention.

“You think I can help with this?” Daella asked, unsure whether to be flattered by her trust or suspicious of it given the way Prince Daemon was looking at her.

Her goodmother’s mouth flickered into a smile, her soft hands resting on Daella’s shoulders. “I think you can do much more than that. Daemon told me of your time in the North - that you were sure Cregan Stark would uphold his father’s oath.”

She nodded her head. “I am. And the North will always follow House Stark.”

The Princess hummed in agreement. “And the Vale will follow my cousin, Lady Jeyne, should she ask them to. With both her and you in such high seats, I can trust that any who would dare turn their backs on the promises sworn to King Viserys would face true justice.” She sighed. “But that still leaves much of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Hesitance flickered across Rhaenyra Targaryen’s features before she continued on. “My husband will bring me this city, but you, I think, can bring me the rest.”

Daella laughed. “The Seven Kingdoms?”

It was a plan that was more than just ambitious, it was impossible.

The Princess smiled at her amusement, tucking an errant lock behind Daella’s ear.

“You might think me mad, but the Queen’s attempt at setting a match did hold some merit.”

Her smile fell almost instantly at those words. “What?”

“It is not what you think.” Rhaenyra promised, her amethyst eyes falling to that of her husband who let out a soft snort. “I would not force you to wed, nor could I. But an unwed woman, an unwed Targaryen, will be invited into every hall in every kingdom. I know this better than most. Get the measure of these men for me, Daella. Find us squires and ladies-in-waiting, ways that we might tie ourselves to the realm and the realm to us so that when the time comes for me to take my throne there is no doubt about who will be supported in the line of succession.”

Sealing the succession. There were those houses she knew would never bend the knee, but to know an enemy was just as important as knowing ally. It was Arya Stark that had learned that lesson after all. Those years she spent as a child amongst the Boltons and Lannisters and even the House of Black and White had taught her that no matter how much she might hate the thought of entertaining her hand there was much to be gained from it.

And it was because of the wolf girl that Daella visited the Riverlands first. 

She had taken Jon and her uncle with a score of Royce men in her journey west, sailing first to Maidenpool, then Saltpans and Castle Darry, taking shelter with each of their lords. But to her surprise, her visit to the Clanking Dragon proved just as fruitful any castle east of Riverrun. Arya Stark had once known it as the Inn at the Crossroads, but two hundred years before her the Clanking Dragon was given its name for the way the black dragon that lay above the front door banged against the wood day and night.

They folded their banners and Daella kept Jon’s hair hidden beneath a large hat and black hood. But even then the men at the inn were reluctant to speak with a woman around. The wolf girl had it easier when she could pass as a boy, but Daella still had her ways and drunken men did not care to listen for the quiet sound of bare feet against hardened wood.

And as men often do when they are in their cups, these knights and squires began to boast. One thing led to another and eventually the conversation turned to Ser Harwin Strong and the rumours about his relationship with the Princess. It was there that she listened to a Bracken man repeat a bawdy joke he had heard from his lord about the Realm’s Delight. 

“It is for the good of the realm that the King now has a son.” He proclaimed. “Women were not meant to rule let alone a woman like her. They say that the Princess is as lusty as her aunt, Saera, though twice as ambitious to want the throne. Poor Ser Harwin was once called Breakbones, but one hour with the Princess was all it took for her to break him.” He laughed along with men Daella spied wearing the red stallion of House Bracken.

And as time would prove to be everlasting, when there was a Bracken ready to declared for one side, there was a Blackwood ready to declare for the other.

“That is treason you speak!” A man that bore the white weirwood slurred. “Though I would expect no less from Bracken scum.”

Daella did not need to remain to watch the fight that would follow. She had already learned more than enough.

In the Riverlands the rivalry between Bracken’s and Blackwood’s is infamous. She wrote her goodmother in a letter she drafted at Riverrun.

Neither will be pleased if we are seen to show favour to the other but both houses individually can raise more swords than even their lord paramount. They are important lords to consider in the years to come.

I have had the pleasure of meeting a Lady Alysanne of House Blackwood as of late with her brother in Riverrun. She is a girl with Baela’s spirit and only has a year on her in age. You asked me to look for ladies that might accompany myself and my sisters and in truth I cannot think of anyone better for Baela.

Lord Samwell, Lady Alysanne’s elder brother and Lord of Raventree Hall, even spoke fondly of when he first met you at the Trident, Princess, though I cannot say the same of Lord Amos Bracken.

Lord Bracken holds a close friendship with the elderly Lord of Riverrun, Grover Tully. If I were forced to put it politely I would say both men hold to the values of the Seven as devoutly as any Hightower.

Daella had been rather disappointed to meet Catelyn Tully’s forefather. It was hard to believe the wolf girl’s mother could come from a man who did naught but preach and exhort her during her visit to his keep. He told her in no uncertain terms that she and Runestone were doomed lest she find a match soon, as though they would both go up in flames without a lord husband to save them.

Though Daella was glad to see Ser Elmo did not share in his father’s beliefs. He and his wife, Lynesse, formerly of House Mallister, had both shown a keen interest in Runestone. Between the three of them they were able to make a trade agreement that was beneficial for both houses. The Riverlands were not only teaming with trout but also fertile and Daella was more than happy to trade in crab, cockles and clams for crops they would never be able to grow in their own hard soil.

Ser Elmo’s son, Kermit, is a kind boy that would do well as a squire to a good knight. She continued, careful not to smudge the ink as she brought her left hand across the parchment.

I might have even suggested him for my father but I would not wish to subject the poor boy to such a fate, mayhaps Ser Harrold if you think him trustworthy?

As much as I have enjoyed travelling through the Riverlands, I tire of the constant attention and shall be glad to return home soon. There is much more I could write of my time here but this letter has already reached the end of its second parchment so I shall leave the rest for when I see you next. I miss my brothers and sisters dearly. Send them my love.

Daella.

She raised her head as she heard the thunk of her sister’s arrow against the target.

Slightly off centre, but it was still an impressive shot.

Daella clapped. “Nicely done!”

“Indeed. Well done, Lady Rhaena!”

She turned to see her uncle dismounting his destrier. He handed the reigns to their stablehand before he approaching, ruffling Jon’s hair as she did only moments ago.

“How fares the village?” She asked.

“Well enough. They are flourishing with the new trade their lady has brought them from Riverrun. I have never seen so many crabs. All of them boxed up and ready to be shipped west.”

She smiled. “I could have come with you.”

Her uncle leaned down to lay a kiss atop her head. “It was nothing that required the attention of the Lady of Runestone. Trust me, dear girl.” His eyes flickered to the tome in her lap. “Is that the records for the castle stores?”

Daella grinned. “Yes. Your good Lady of Runestone is keeping them up to date while she teaches her sister archery.”

Her uncle let out a hearty chuckle. “By the gods,” he shook his head “never has there been a lady like you and never will there be one to follow.”

She snorted, but still joined in his laughter, as did Jon in his own silent way.

“Now, not that I do not wish to stay and watch my niece tackle further great feats of impossibility” Daella rolled her eyes at his words “but I believe I am in dire need of a bath. If you will excuse me.” He bowed.

Her sister tucked a long silver lock behind her ear. “Once you are rested, you must join us in the Great Hall. I hear we are to have the most wonderful venison tonight, Lord Elbert.” She said, practically batting her eyelids.

“Oh, I would not miss it for the world, Lady Rhaena.” Her uncle grinned.

Daella raised a dark brow, turning her sister’s way.

“What was that?”

Rhaena giggled. “Harmless. Alas if he was ten years younger or I ten years older-“

“Stop, please! You are a child and he is my uncle!” She said to her sister’s laughter.

Rhaena looped her arm through Daella’s and held a hand out for Jon. “Come, sweet sister. Grab your ledgers and let us retire. Or I may have to threaten you with further talk of how handsome your uncle is.”

Together, they returned to the Great Keep, but not before being stopped by Maester Grafton.

Her ward frowned at the sight of him, as did she. Her old maester, the maester that served her mother before her, had been called back to the Citadel one year ago after he developed a terrible cough he never quite recovered from. Maester Grafton had been brought in to take his place.

To say she and the maester had got off on the wrong foot was far from an understatement. He had questioned Daella’s every decision, her every word bringing some sort of frown to his face that was usually accompanied by a comment beginning with “my lady, you are young and do not know the ways of the world…” It was not his questioning which she was opposed to but more so the dismissivity in his tone. Eddard Stark would never have stood for such behaviour, neither would Daemon Targaryen.

She had pulled him aside to discuss it almost as soon as he had arrived and was very clear that Runestone had no need for a maester who did more to hinder the day-to-day running of the castle than help it. Should she need to, she was more than willing to send him back to the Citadel so he might find a keep better suited to him. He settled some after that. And at her uncle’s request, Daella decided she was willing to give him another chance. She was still wary of him, however, and kept more than a close eye on his behaviour but beyond his fascination with her dragon she could not find anything untoward.

“Maester Grafton.” She sighed. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The balding man frowned at her tight-lipped smile but still bowed his head as he greeted her. “A raven from the Red Keep, my lady.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“You have to come with me!” Rhaena demanded, her words hushed beneath the ruckus that always seemed to fill Runestone’s Great Hall at this time of day. “You rarely visit the Red Keep anymore!”

News of Helaena’s labour and the birth of Maelor Targaryen had spread throughout Runestone. And while the people shared in the King and Queen’s joy, word of the tourney they wished to hold in celebration lingered on their lips far longer than any word of the babe.

“Our younger brothers will both tell you I visit the Red Keep quite often.” She said to her sister.

Rhaena’s face fell in a deadpanned look. “You and Jon flying in for a few hours every moon does not count!” She insisted. “Aegon and Viserys miss you. Jace, Luke and Joff miss you. Please, Daella! If we take Daorys we can leave in a few days and still be there with plenty of time. Baela will be there too, I am sure. And my grandmother, who you must meet!”

Daella brought her lower lip between her teeth. It was not that she did not wish to see her brothers or the Princess’ sons. If it was just them, she would have no issue. But it never was.

It was not that she was avoiding Aemond, it was only that she did not know how to act around him any longer. Everything had changed after she found Jon. They did not even write to one other. Once, not long ago, it would have been him she heard the news of Maelor’s birth from, but now all word she received from the Red Keep came from maestors and messengers if not her brothers.

But one look at her sister had her resolve crumbling. 

Rhaena never asked for much. She had a good heart, her sister, and Daella never wished to deny her anything.

“If I agree…” Her sister’s lips spread into a slow smile and she sprang onto Daella before she even had the chance to finish her sentence.

“Yes, anything you want!” Rhaena squealed. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She giggled.

And Daella could not help but share in her excitement, even if in the back of her mind she could not quite rid herself of the thought of seeing the Queen’s son.

▁▁▁▁▁

“Paez, Daorys.” Slow. Daella commanded between Rhaena shouts of joy and Jon’s delighted little gasps.

The Dragon Keepers came out in full force as they circled above the Hill of Rhaenys, their black armour glittering even in the setting sunlight.

Daella clutched Jon and Rhaena tight as Daorys dropped before the Dragon Pit.

She ran a hand along the hardened scales of his back, silently thanking him while keeping a wary eye on the Dragon Keepers that gathered nearby.

“That was wonderful!” Rhaena breathed with a beautiful smile on her face that made her heart sing.

Jon nodded his head up and down in agreement.

Daella climbed over to her dragon’s lifted wing, holding a hand out for Rhaena and Jon to help them. “Come.” She laughed. “As much as I wish we would remain with Daorys, we do have a feast to attend to.”

Her black dragon lowered them to the ground but was not happy of it. He sent the Dragon Keepers a warning in the form of a low rumbling growl, green tendrils of smoke threatening to leave his mouth.

“Gīda.” She said to him gently. Calm.

He huffed, almost as though he were a pouting child, emerald eyes glaring at the men in polished suits once more before he spread his wings and lifted off into the dark sky.

“He should remain with the others, my lady.”

A man approached them. Tall with piercing blue eyes, he appeared to be only a few years older than her. “This place once housed Balerion in his last years with my grandfather as his watcher. The Cannibal might not be so hostile if he were made to live amongst the Keepers and the other dragons.”

“Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.” A dragon is not a slave.

It was Arya Stark’s friend that once taught her that. Her Dragon Queen had lived with many regrets, as had they all, but putting her children in chains was one of her greatest.

“A dragon is not a slave.” The Keeper translated, removing his helm to reveal a full head of dark brown curls.

“You speak High Valyrian?” She asked, brows raised in surprise.

The man nodded his head. “I have been taught since birth. It is how we speak to the dragons.”

“You speak it well. But I promise it does not matter how fluent your tongue is, Daorys will not tolerate chains, nor will I allow it.”

The man’s lips lifted into a grin that confused her. “It is an interesting choice of name. I like it.”

Daella felt her sister’s arm link through hers, Rhaena sending her a teasing smirk. “And what is your name, good Ser? It is only proper to introduce yourself when speaking to a lady as fine as my sister.”

His smile lifted even further. “Forgive me.” He bowed, kissing the back of her hand in a way that had even Rhaena blushing. “I am Vorian Hagaron, my lady.”

“Hagaron?” Daella could not help but ask, it was not a family name that was common to Westeros.

“My great grandfather hailed from Lys. He used to claim his line had a drop of dragon’s blood that came all the way from Old Valyria, not that you would be able to tell from looking at me.”

“Most would say the same of me but I am still a Targaryen.” She said without thought.

“If I may be so bold, any man who does is a fool. You are a natural on dragonback, my lady.”

She raised a brow, her sister jabbing her with her elbow when she did not answer. “That is very kind of you to say.” Rhaena spoke for her. “I am Rhaena Targaryen, and this is my sister, Daella. Oh, and this is Jon.” She said, resting a hand on the little boy’s shoulder.

“Well met my ladies, and you, young knight.” He said, sending a wink Jon’s way. “I will personally see to it that you are escorted to the Red Keep safely.”

Daella shifted uncomfortably. “There is no need…”

“I insist.”

And insist he did.

Vorian Hagaron rode with them all the way to the castle gates with a set of city guards at his back despite her promises that it was not required.

“He liked you!” Rhaena laughed as they both quickly readied for the feast.

Daella had dropped Jon off in Aegon and Viserys’ nursery beforehand. Her brothers had almost refused to let her leave. Aegon eventually settled for two stories before he reluctantly let her go for the night so he might sleep.

“Should you ever need anything of the Dragon Keepers feel free to ask for me, my lady.” Her sister imitated the Keeper’s deep baritone, although she could not hold it, especially not when Daella hit her with a fur cloak.

“I will hear no more of it or I will return to Runestone and leave you to deal with Aegon’s disappointment.” She playfully threatened.

Her sister giggled. “Come on.” She said, holding her chamber doors open with a foot as she slipped delicate golden bracelets over her wrists. “We are so very late!”

Daella shook her head in dismay, but could not hide her amusement, running past her sister as fast as her dress would allow.

Together, they raced down the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast and across to the Great Hall.

“Ladies Rhaena and Daella Targaryen.” Her sister told the guards by the door as she ran a hand down her silver locks one last time.

The men moved immediately at her word, pushing the heavy wooden doors to the hall open, announcing their names to all inside.

Oh, they truly were so very late.

The feast was already well underway with space being made for the dancing to begin. The high harp was plunked into the first notes of a melody she couldn’t quite place as Rhaena took her hand, confidently leading them between the dancing couples and up to the high table that lay before the Iron Throne.

Daella had been surprised to see King Viserys there. The skin of his face held the same sickly tinge to it but it did seem slightly fuller than when she saw it last.

She and her sister dropped into a curtsey as he greeted them.

“My nieces.” He said warmly. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Forgive us for our belated arrival, Your Grace. It is my fault. We left Runestone rather late.” Daella apologised.

The King waved them off without issue. “None of that now. It does me good to see my family all together, no matter how late they might me. Come, join us.”

The table was already full but at Viserys Targaryen’s word, two more seats were placed at either end - one next to Baela and Princess Rhaenys and the other next to the Hightowers.

Daella bit back a grimace. “Go sit with Baela. Both of you will have to introduce me to your grandmother later.” She said, releasing her sister’s hand.

Rhaena’s amethyst eyes flickered over to where the Greens sat. “Daella…”

“Go.” She insisted.

At her encouragement, Rhaena reluctantly left but not before greeting her father and Princess Rhaenyra where they sat next to the King, with Jace, Luke and Joff beside them.

Daella did the same, greeting the boys warmly before turning to the Hightowers.

“Your Grace.” She dipped into another brief curtsey as she faced the Queen. “Congratulations on your joyous news.”

Alicent Hightower gave her little more than a “Lady Daella” with nod of her head in acknowledgement.

Daella forced the pleasant smile to remain on her face. She turned towards the last empty seat and thanked the servant that held it out for her.

“Daella!” Helaena smiled, brightly and beautifully. “I was hoping you would come.”

“I am glad to see you again, Princess. I hope your labours were easy.” She said, purposefully ignoring the two brothers that sat on either side of her.

“It was much faster than with the twins.” Helaena hummed. “And Daeron returning home made it even better.” She said, reaching out for a boy that sat to Aemond’s right.

It was only then that Daella realised there was another Targaryen present.

Daeron Targaryen looked just like his siblings with his Valyrian eyes and pale hair, though the golden hue hinted at his Hightower blood in a way it did not for the rest of the King's children.

“Prince Daeron.” Daella bowed her head in greeting which the boy returned.

“Well met, my lady.”

“And this is my mother’s cousin, Lord Ormund.” Helaena continued. “He plans to compete in the tourney with Daeron as his squire.”

“We have met before, niece.” Lord Ormund grinned. “But my wife, Lady Samantha has not had the pleasure. Nor has my nephew, Ser Gwayne.”

“I always forget how large House Hightower is.” Daella tried to smile as she greeted each one of them.

“And my cousins sit in the table to our right.” Helaena gleamed, innocently pointing to one of the tables below. “There must be ten now with the birth of Bethany!”

“A blessing.” She mumbled, reaching for her wine.

“Long may they continue.” Lord Ormund said, raising his cup.

“Hear, hear!” Prince Aegon chuckled, draining his wine before pouring himself some more. “And mayhaps we should be wishing my good cousin here her own blessings and fortune in her search for a husband. Should you ever need guidance on a match, I am sure my mother is more than willing to help.”

Daella froze just as her chalice was about to reach her lips, dark eyes meeting that of Prince Aegon’s.

His shoulders shook as he silently laughed at his own little joke. The jibe was clear to everyone that heard it aside from Helaena, that is, who lifted her cup obliviously. 

“Yes, I heard mother say you visited the Riverlands.” Her friend hummed. “I hear there are many fine knights there!”

Her travels clearly had not went unnoticed, she thought, as her gaze turned to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms who appeared to be more intent on looking at the bare wall across the hall than at her. But for the briefest moment her eyes flickered to the tables below and Daella followed them to find a hunched lord leaning heavily on a cane, his gaze holding that of the Queen’s.

Who is he? She wondered, tracing his dark features for anything she might recognise.

“It’s not so bad.” Helaena sighed, reaching for Daella’s hand across Aemond and Daeron. She turned back to the Princess and smiled, but that smile quickly fell as her friend continued. “Marriage that is.” She clarified. “Mostly he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he is drunk.” She hummed, causing Lord Ormund to choke on his wine.

All turned to help the purple-faced lord, servants rushing to hand him water while his wife rubbed his back, but Daella could not tear herself from the woman before her. Not until she caught that familiar violet gaze beside her.

She looked to Aemond then, her anger as clear as day. This is the man you and your mother wish to fight for? She wanted to scream at him. The man that treats your sister this way? 

But before she could speak she was saved a prince far more worthy of the title than any of his uncles.

“Daella.” Joffrey interrupted, wringing his hands nervously together as his eyes flickered between her and the men at the table. “Lady Daella, I mean.” He corrected himself. “Would you like to dance?”

And for the first time since she entered the Throne Room, Daella felt like she could finally breathe.

“I would be honoured.” She stood from the table without wasting another moment, taking Joff’s hand as he led them into the crowd.

“Joff, I owe you a hundred lemon cakes.” She said with a tired laugh, falling into the first steps of the dance.

The boy was barely eleven namedays and was a head shorter than her with full cheeks that made his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiled. “I am not sure why, but I will take the lemon cakes.”

They spun, Daella bending low to pass under his arm. “Because you, dear boy, have just saved me from death by dull conversation with the Greens and their kin. I do not know how poor Helaena can stand them all.”

Joff giggled then, his dark curls bouncing with each step. 

“Well, I will take the lemon cakes then. But I suppose I should share them with Uncle Daemon.”

“Daemon?”

The boy nodded his head. “It was his suggestion, though it was more of an order. Uncle Daemon never really asks.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She lifted her gaze and found him there at the high table, watching them as though he knew who they were speaking of. He raised his cup in her direction with that smug smile playing on his lips.

She grumbled. “I suppose I could spare him one.” She admitted, albeit reluctantly so.

▁▁▁▁▁

As Aemond watched Daella dance with his nephew he felt his knuckles clench tight around the end of his chalice, unable to rid himself of the image of her anger as she looked at him only moments ago.

His mother had arranged this whole feast and tourney in hopes of restoring Aegon’s favour with the people, but Aemond was not here for Aegon. He didn’t care one wit about feasts or tourneys but he knew if he came he would see her.

He had almost laughed in his grandfather’s face when he and his mother first began discussing the rumours that Daella was searching the Riverlands for a husband. His friend would rather gouge out her eyes than spend a day entertaining pompous lords in their plight for her hand.

Even when he learned the rumours were true and Daella had ridden west, he still did not believe them. That was until his sister spoke.

“You have been so sad of late, brother.” She had whispered as he helped settle the twins into their cribs. “It is because she is gone, isn’t it?” She sighed. “I think it is our fate, you know, to burn for that which we cannot have. Ice and fire. Fire and ice. The wolf and the dragon were always meant to dance around one another.”

He had asked her what she meant a hundred times over, but his sister would only smile and shrug her shoulders as though she had said nothing at all, but still he could not forget.

Ice and fire.

Daella laughed at something his nephew said, her dark eyes alight.

Wolf and dragon.

She smiled as she was spun into another boy’s arms who held the trout of Tully on his chest.

“I think I shall have a dance with our cousin.” Aegon said, breaking his thoughts.

Aemond turned to see his brother watching Daella just as intently as he was. Aegon held no true interest in her, not in that respect anyway. But while his brother often like to spend his days in a stupor, he was no fool. He knew the rumours that spread around the city started with her and the boy she took from it and as much as he might try to hide it, it irked Aegon as much as it did their mother. 

Aemond stood before his brother had the chance, a firm hand on Aegon’s shoulder forcing him back into his seat.

His mother sent him a wary glance which Aemond ignored. He leaned down to his brother’s ear. “You will not go near her or her ward.” He said between clenched teeth.

Aegon’s eyes widened momentarily before he settled into his seat once more. “First Helaena and now her. Dear brother, I am beginning to think you do not trust me.”

Aemond only growled in return before stalking off to where the dark-eyed girl danced before the Iron Throne, Helaena’s words playing in his head all the while.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra rested a hand on her husband’s forearm, the muscles beneath were tense, taunt like a bowstring.

Daemon was often quick to anger, Caraxes’ mirror in human form, but nothing could quite get under his skin like Otto Hightower and his ilk.

At her touch, his lips pulled up. It was an attempt at reassurance, but Rhaenyra saw it for the savage grin that it was.

Below them her half-brother, Aemond, stood between Joff and Daella, watching Rhaenyra’s good-daughter silently as she hissed something unintelligible at him.

“Lucerys.” Daemon spoke, a deadly calm to his voice. “It seems the nuisance is intent on placing himself where he is not wanted. Help your brother and cousin deal with it before I do.” He commanded.

Luke’s eyes jumped to her then, the question beneath left unsaid.

She silently shook her head and with that her son remained seated much to Daemon’s chagrin. He turned his fiery gaze her way then, but Rhaenyra lifted her chin and held her head high in defiance which brought a grin to her husband's face. He knew she would not be cowed, and he did not expect any less from the woman he would one day call his queen.

“Is all well?”

She turned to find Alicent watching them.

“More than well, Your Grace.” She grinned in the face of her probing gaze. “But I cannot say the same for my half-brother. I wonder why he saw fit to interrupt Daella’s dance with Joffrey?”

Alicent was silent, pensive, lips pursed in that disapproving frown that only deepened as she aged, but Viserys, ever the peacemaker, spoke in her stead.

“I am sure he meant no insult, dearest.” Her father placated, the term of endearment causing his wife’s grip on her cup to tighten.

Those words were never for her, she was “Alicent” to him or “lady wife” while Aemma Arryn was declared his heart and Rhaenyra his dearest girl, his only child. Her father may have tried to remain passive but he made declarations with those words alone and she would never let the Queen forget that.

Across the table, she felt her half-brothers’ eyes on her. They envied what they could not have, just as their mother did. Helaena paid it all no mind. Her sister lived in a world of her own, one where feelings such as jealousy and hatred did not exist. But the others did. Aegon sought to drown his longing in wine and whores while Aemond used the blade and his books. And she did not know Daeron like she did his brothers but she knew that look in his eye, she had seen it often enough after all. 

She should pity them, and when Aegon was a babe she almost did. But boys grew into men and hatchlings into dragons. They were a threat. They had not always been, once maybe when they were young there might have been hope, but the Hightower’s ambitions closed that door long ago and now Rhaenyra was sealing it shut. But as she watched Aemond follow her good-daughter out of the hall, she could not help but wonder whether someone was trying to pry it open again.

“They say desire can drive even the most steadfast from their path.” Princess Rhaenys spoke, wise eyes following the scene before her just as Rhaenyra did.

Her aunt’s sapphire gaze fell to her then, the deep blue warning her as if to say “you should know this, did my son not die for your desire?”

The question haunted Rhaenyra, Laenor haunter her, even if he was not truly dead. She saw him in her aunt’s cold anger, in her sons’ gentle manners or their bright smiles. She saw him in Laena’s girls, in the beautiful braids that were so similar to the ones she once spent hours weaving in Laenor’s locks. She saw him in the seas, in the winds. Sometimes if she closed her eyes she could still picture him on Seasmoke, taking Jace on their first flight together. Rhaenyra never loved him, not like she did Daemon, but she cared for him. As a husband he infuriated her, disappointing her time and again, but he was a good friend and a good man. And yet for love, for desire, she willingly let him die even if only in name.

Baela’s mouth twisted in disgust in a look that mirrored her father’s. “My sister does not-” She began, but Rhaenys hushed her with a single look.

“I said naught about your sister, child. But him, Vhagar’s rider… I wonder how many corpses he will leave in his wake for her.” She said to Rhaenyra alone then, High Valyrian with an accent that spoke to her Westerosi mother tongue.

Rhaenyra looked back to the closing doors of the Throne Room, a sense of unease burrowing deep within her bones. Aegon was always the brother that stood between her and the crown. He was the culmination of Otto’s machinations and Alicent’s designs - all their scheming tied up in one unworthy, vile little creature. Aemond was never more than a fleeting thought in her mind in truth, even after he bonded with Vhagar it was the threat to Lucerys she had focussed on more than the boy who lost his eye.

“Īlon līs gaomagon mirros bē se valonqar.” Her husband whispered in her ear.

We must do something about the boy.

▁▁▁▁▁

“Leave me be!” Daella snarled as she stormed out of the Throne Room.

“It was a simple question.” Her shadow spoke, long, languid strides making up one step for her every two. “If it means nothing then why do you insist on running from me?” 

Her hands curled into fists at her side.

Running? He thought she was running?

She hissed, spinning to face him. “You have no right to ask anything of me. You embarrassed us both, Joff and I, all for what? So you can amuse yourself teasing me with rumours you heard from your mother’s spies?”

Aemond scoffed. “Since when did you care for propriety?”

“I don’t, but I care for the Princess’ sons. If you ever speak to Joffrey like that again-“

“The bastard?” Aemond mocked. It was a cruel laugh. One that felt so out of place on the face she had grown to know.

Anger flared across his features as deep and dark as Daella’s own dragon, but if he was angry then she was furious.

She brought her hands to his chest and pushed. Hard. “Call him that again! I dare you!”  

He stumbled back a mere step before straightening out, his anger falling as he watched her.

“You defend them so fiercely. You once did the same for us, Helaena and I.”

“I still do! Why do you think I am so angry with you, stupid? If there was one thing I thought I could rely on was that you would always protect Helaena no matter who it was from.”

“I do protect Heleana.” He insisted with such fierce sincerity that made her want to believe him.

“You heard what she said at that table just as well as I.“

“Aegon,” the man before her breathed “will not go near her again. He already has his heir and a second son now though he deserves neither. Drunk or not, he will not touch her again, no matter what my mother or grandfather say. He knows what I will do if he tries.” There was a pause and then- “And he will not bother you or Jon.”

And there he was, the glimmer of the boy she first met on Dragonstone all those years ago. She hated him for it. She wanted to be angry, furious, but the thought of that boy almost had her resolve crumbling. Almost.

“And yet if the time comes to choose between him and Rhaenyra, you will still choose Aegon.” She whispered. “I can see it on your face. You will choose him for your mother, even after he touched your sister with the same hands he used to hurt others. Aegon the Cruel. Is that not what the city whispers?”

“Rumours courtesy of your princess.” He frowned.

“All smoke comes from fire. A dragon should know that better than most. You’ve seen it. You saw Jon.” The words pricked her skin like a dagger that sliced at old wounds.

“And what of the rumours of you then?” He challenged. “I did not believe them when they said you were searching the Riverlands for match, and then a host of Rivermen’s daughters and sons took positions in court and I knew it was not true. But Cregan Stark…” It was Daella’s turned to scoff now though that did not deter him. “They say that ravens are often seen flying between Winterfell and Runestone, that the last time Lady Daella visited the northern keep Lord Cregan beat a man bloody for touching her. A Targaryen and a Stark. Ice and fire.” He spat, a concoction of words that sounded half-mad spilling from his lips.

Her dark brows furrowed together, and for a moment she was too stunned to speak. But then her lips parted and she lifted her voice with the calmed practice Mercy learned in Braavos.

“All smoke comes from fire.” She repeated, though the lie made her chest burn. She once told him she never wanted to hurt him, and that was true, but Arya Stark was as vengeful as Daella was. She would tell herself she did not know why she said it, but as she saw the wounded look pull at his face momentarily, a part of her knew exactly why she did.

Dark heart.

The wolf girl had once been told she had one, and Daella wondered if hers was just as black.

▁▁▁▁▁

Aemond did not believe her. He should have told her that at the time, but instead he spent all night playing over the image of her dark, angry eyes.

He did not know how he was so sure of the lie, she did not give anything away, she never did, but he felt it. He felt the lie even though everything in her told him it was the truth.

A distraction was what his mother called her.

“It is for the better that she is gone.” She would say when Helaena complained of missing her. “You must forget her.” She insisted, her eyes seeking Aemond’s though he never spoke a word.

Forget her. Protect your brother. Choose him, choose us, his mother would beg with all but words.

And maybe in another life Aemond would have listened. In another life, he would have done all he could for her, for the only parent that tried to care. But in this life when Aemond looked at Aegon all he saw was his bastard, Jon. And without meaning to, his mind would turn to her. To Daella. To how she looked that night at the castle gates, wild and fierce and determined, mud and blood across her clothes and the broken boy in her arms.

Aemond always thought his heart a dark one for he never truly cared for much beyond his sister and her children, and in that small circle he would include his mother and brothers, though the latter more out of duty than the former. But that night he found himself thinking he would do all he could to protect an unclaimed bastard if it meant he could keep Daella by his side. It was not a new thought, a prince with two eyes once entertained the idea of getting along with his nephews simply for her smile. That was before everything fell apart, before she left him with nothing but unsent ravens and a thousand words to burn in his hearth.

And then she returned, bright and furious, burning with the heat of a thousand suns and Aemond found himself walking down that familiar path, one he knew he never truly left.

Were he the faithful man his mother wanted him to be he would repent, he would beg her forgiveness, but Aemond was a dragon and they answered to neither gods nor men.

“You should be competing in the tourney, my prince.” Ser Criston said as he followed dutifully behind Aemond and Helaena. “I know many of the knights that have entered the melee, they would be of no challenge to you.”

His sister gave him a knowing look, one which he answered with a silent roll of his eye. He led her to her seat in the royal stands, beside their brothers, and those knowing, teasing, amethyst eyes, remained on him as he stood there searching for the one face that haunted him.

She was not there. He did not know where she was and did not dare ask, instead he left the stands without another word. People flocked the grounds - merchants seeking to sell their goods, smallfolk hoping to catch a glimpse of one knight or another, all would turn their heads as he walked by, all would whisper.

Aemond pushed past them, the fearful eyes and the horrified frowns, even ignoring Ser Criston as he begged him to return. He kept walking on until finally he heard her laugh - light, tinkling like a bell, one he had not heard in years.

He followed it without thought, letting it take him like a man possessed. And at the edge of the stands was where he found her, leaning over the lowest bannister to share a smile with a knight below.

Her dark hair was held in one long, simple braid that tumbled over her shoulder like something from a painting he once saw, though the demure smile on the painted woman was far from the wolfish grin that lay on Daella’s lips.

“I am afraid only the winner of the joust can name a Queen of Love and Beauty.” She mused to the man, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“I do far better with two feet on the ground than atop a horse.” He chuckled in return. “But the winner of the melee is granted the chance to stand before the King, is he not? Mayhaps I shall ask him to make an exception, if only so I can crown you.”

Aemond wanted her to hiss at him, wanted her to tell him she had no need for his pretty words nor his flowers. Who was he anyway? This unknown knight that would dare speak so informally before a dragon that would rather burn his crown than wear it in her wild hair.

Daella only rolled her eyes, however, that smile never left her lips. “I have no need for it.” She eventually said. “I would bind my hair with grass before I put a crown in it.”

“I would give you a crown of grass if you would prefer.” The fool persisted. “Would you let me? If only so I could announce to the realm that I would be crowning the true victor of the melee had they let you fight.”

Daella snorted out a laugh as Aemond sneered. “You have never seen me fight.” She corrected him. “Even I am not fool enough to believe I could win.”

The man was not deterred, however. “I have no doubt you would.”

Daella shook her head, but not in abhorrent disapproval at his blatant attempt at flattery as Aemond would have hoped, instead it was almost fond as she sent him off with little more than a few words.

“I wish you luck, Vorian Hagaron.”

Somewhere far away, he felt Vhagar stir, the old dragon lifting her mighty head as a fiery fury warmed her belly.

Vorian Hagaron. Aemond recited the name in his mind, remembering it, remembering him. If dragons could speak, she would have said it too. Vhagar would have burned his name into the air with a great flame that could topple cities and destroy kingdoms if Aemond asked for it. But he did not. Instead he made his way to the tourney grounds, pushing past knights and lords alike until he came before the steward.

“I will compete in the melee.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella watched the knights stream out from the main tent one by one. She held little and less interest in all the pageantry but would endure it, if only for Joff and Baela who bounced with excitement beside her.

Her brothers and Jon had been most distraught at not being allowed to attend, but she was glad for it. As much as the tourneys were all pomp and peacocking the blood was real and she did not know how her little ward would react to such a sight.

As the men lined up before the King, Alicent Hightower let out a sudden gasp that had all heads nearby turning.

“No, Viserys.” She almost whimpered, staring in horror at the knights before them. “Tell him he must withdraw. Tell him now!”

Daella looked down. Tall and short, old and young, dark and light. There were many faces she recognised and many she did not but as she reached the last of the list, she finally understood why the Queen was so distressed.

What are you doing, you fool?

Aegon Targaryen let out a loud boisterous laugh, clapping his hands as his brother bowed to the King.

“Come now, mother, he cannot withdraw now or the realm will call Aemond a coward.” He said, the glee evident in his voice. “Finally some true entertainment.” Daella heard him mumble as he drained his cup.

“The boy is right.” King Viserys spoke solemnly, but Alicent Hightower would not have it.

“No! Ser Criston-“

“Calm yourself, daughter.” Otto Hightower demanded in a way that had his daughter swallowing her words.

She was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but one look from her father had her quiet as a mouse and picking at her nails.

The men spread out amongst the grounds, one chosen weapon in each of their hands, waiting for the King to release them.

“The Prince will do well, Your Grace.” Ser Criston tried to appease. “I have never trained anyone better.”

Behind her she heard the distinct sound of Daemon's mocking laughter though it was quickly stifled by a hiss from Rhaenyra.

“Please, Viserys…” Alicent whispered.

All looked to the King then. All waited. And the King… He looked between his wife, his son and his people. For a moment, Daella wondered if he would truly pull Aemond out, she hoped for it even, but then his hand rose and the sound of steel singing quickly filled the air.

The decision was made, the fight would go on, with Aemond in the middle of it all.

▁▁▁▁▁

Aemond pointed the end his blade at the fallen Dondarrion knight. “Yield.” He said between harsh breathes.

He watched the other knights in his periphery. Seven more left, eight if he counted this one who stubbornly refused to admit defeat.

“Yield!” He shouted again, avoiding the man’s poor attempt at tripping him with a sweep of his heavy leg.

The Stormlord’s head dropped back, eyes falling as he reluctantly whispered the word Aemond had waited for. 

“Ser Arlan Dondarrion yields to Prince Aemond Targaryen!” A steward announced and the crowd cheered as though Aemond had just won a war and not simply pointed his sword at some overconfident knight’s throat.

He shook his head, moving to the next man. He weaved beneath his sword, swinging to strike with his own. It was a rhythm, a pattern perfected by years in the training yard. Instinct with no complications, no feelings, just him and his blade.

He took down one man, and then another, and another. It was a blur of steel and bodies. There was no longer a crowd, no longer the King, or the Queen, or even her. Nothing mattered but his next opponent until there was only one left. But as he faced the man, he faced the eyes that Daella smiled at and the lips that spoke words that did not belong to him. And one look at them brought it all back - the feelings, the complications, her.

Aemond struck out first with a snarl, his sword meeting the broader man’s shield. He did not need to turn his gaze to know that there was a blade coming to his side in retaliation.

There was once a time where he saw his missing eye as a weakness - one side of him that would always be vulnerable because he was a foolish child that missed the blade coming towards him. He promised himself after he lost it that he would never miss another again, no matter how long he had to train, nor how hard.

He used his own shield to push out against the man’s sword while twisting his sword-arm in an attempt at weeding out a weak spot to exploit.

But steel met steel, and what he hoped would be a quick match turned into his greatest challenge yet. His opponent was good, he would reluctantly admit, the strength in his blow chipping Aemond’s shield and the next one breaking it altogether, but Aemond was better.

He stepped back, staving off each attack, avoiding each of the knight’s attempts at bringing him within reach. All the while Aemond watched his feet, learning how his eyes shifted or his mouth turned before he set upon him. He let him tire, let him frustrate, remaining patient all the while until he was ready. And when that moment came at last, Aemond was breathless, aching, bruised and bleeding, but moved as though they had just begun. A feign to the left and then another, the man swung up and Aemond down, but in the last moment, a flicker of a heartbeat, with one simple twist of his wrist he let the other man’s force run through, his sword meeting nothing but air as Aemond’s met his neck.

There was silence for little less than a second before a deafening uproar filled the air. The smallfolk cheered, the lords cheered, hells even his father cheered. Aemond couldn’t remember the last time his father even smiled at him let alone looked so proud.

It should have meant something to him. It should have meant everything to him, but as he looked up at those pale lilac eyes and bowed, Aemond felt nothing.

His grandfather’s approving nod, his mother’s relieved smile, Aegon’s laugh, Daeron’s shining eyes - he saw them all, he felt them, but they were all fleeting, the bloodlust in his veins the only sense of satisfaction he received.

He wondered if there was something wrong with him. He should be happy, should he not?

“You fought well, my prince.” The man, Vorian Hagaron, laughed.

He lost, and yet even he seemed happier than Aemond was.

Before he could blink, the knight had taken his hand to raise it in the air, and if it was possible the people lifted their voices even louder.

“I fucking hate tourneys.”

An amused sound followed his words. “Then why did you fight?” His opponent asked.

Aemond’s gaze fell to her then without thought and Vorian Hagaron followed it all the way to the royal stands where Daella sat with her fists clenched in her skirts and her lower lip worried between her teeth.

“Ah.” He surmised. “Well, whichever one of the ladies it is I am sure she will be most impressed.”

Aemond would have laughed but his mood was foul and his ribs terribly bruised.

“No.” He spoke. “That’s not her.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella rushed from the stands the moment the fight was declared over.

It was not the maester’s tent she ran to, nor the tourney grounds. Instead she rode back to the castle and made her way up the familiar path to Maegor’s Holdfast.

She would kill him, she decided, taking what she needed from her rooms before walking up to the royal apartments.

She slipped into Aemond’s chambers before anyone noticed, sitting by his window as she waited.

He would come, she knew he would. He was too proud and too stubborn to let himself sit through the maester’s fussing so he would pretend all was well while he suffered in his room in silence.

Gods, he infuriated her.

And just as she expected, the low timbre of his voice soon filled the hall. “I am well, Ser Criston.” She heard him say as he pulled his chamber doors open.

It took him a moment to realise she was there, too long for someone that was normally so vigilant, but when he finally did, he froze in his place.

There was a beat before suddenly he slammed the door shut. “Are you mad?” He hissed as he came towards her. “You cannot be in my chambers alone!”

His lip was bloodied and he favoured one side as he walked. Daella did not doubt there were more injuries hidden beneath.

She wanted to wrap her hands around his throat. All this for what? There was no reason, no cause, just pride and ego.

“You fool, I knew you would not see the maester!”

“You must leave!” He insisted.

“I will not!”

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

He went to the door, only opening it enough so he might speak to Ser Criston on the other side. “Return to my mother and brothers, Ser. They will have more use for you at the joust than I will here.”

There were some sounds of hushed protest on the other side but eventually the knight’s large shadow retreated from the doorframe.

Aemond waited for a few seconds longer before he held it out for her. “There, he is gone. You must go now.”

“Aemond…”

“Now, Daella!” He snapped.

▁▁▁▁▁

She left, but he should have known she would return.

Only a few minutes later she barged back into his room with Helaena, the twins and Maelor at her side.

There was not even a question of whether she could stay. She simple helped his sister settle into one of the chairs as she began filling a small basin with steaming water.

He raised a pale brow at the sight. “What is this?”

“You said I couldn’t be in your chambers alone. I had thought to bring Jon and my brothers but happened to pass Helaena in the nursery and she kindly agreed to join instead.” She said with a feigned innocence - they both knew exactly what she was doing.

“Sit.” She commanded, soaking a clean cloth in the water.

“No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You are lucky I am not trying to add to the collection of bruises you no doubt have after your foolishness!”

Little Jaehaerys’ eyes widened at those words. He shuffled over to his mother, grabbing her hand. “She won’t hurt Uncle, will she, mother?”

His sister let out a light laugh, moving Maelor into her left arm so she could bring her son closer. “No, sweetling. It is ice and fire.” She hummed. “It is always ice and fire.”

Those sparkling eyes that knew too much too many did not understand turned to him then. “Let her help, won’t you, Aemond? If only to keep her from the joust. We do not need another laughing tree.” She joked, though it was one that he could not even begin to understand.

But it seemed Daella did. Her breath caught in her throat and even she could not hide the surprise from her face. “Laughing tree…” Her voice was barely raised above a whisper but still he heard it.

“What is it?” He asked.

She lifted her lips then into what he could only describe as a smile that sung of melancholy. It was soft, unguarded, full of love and sadness.

“A story.” She answered. “One of loss and heartbreak.”

“It does not need be.” Helaena spoke, her words almost a promise.

Daella walked to his sister then, kneeling by her side. “Do you see her? Do you see them?” She asked, another question that left Aemond’s head spinning.

Who? He wanted to say, but did not dare speak as he watched the two women look at each other.

“Of course.” His sister hummed, raising a hand to cup Daella’s cheek. “It is ice and fire.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“We must do something about the girl.” Alicent’s father sighed as he stood by the lit hearth.

The Hand’s solar was warm, stiflingly so. The Queen closed her tired, heavy eyes. Plots and ploys, one after another. Sometimes it felt that no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she did to serve the realm, to serve her house, she could never win.

“The Hand speaks true, Your Grace.” Larys Strong gazed at her from the plush armchair he sat on at the end of the room.

He often gazed at her, the Breakbones’ brother. There was once a time where Alicent revelled in it. She had only ever seen people look at Rhaenyra that way, as though she hung the very stars in the sky. Alicent used to look at her that way once. The Realm’s Delight - charming, and playful, and beautiful. It felt good to have someone see her like that, have someone value her as more than just a docile replacement for his dead wife or her dead mother.

But Alicent soon learned the difference between the way people looked at Rhaenyra and the way Larys Strong looked at her. Larys tempered himself when he was in the presence of her father but still it made her feel dirty - that faded smile, the beady eyes that drilled into her soul. She would beg the Mother for forgiveness time and again, and the Mother answered her with beautiful grandchildren, a continuation of her line, a sign that she was doing what needed to be done as any mother would.

She sighed. “The girl is wilful and stubborn, you know she will not accept anything we put before her. She made a show of force last time, summoning her dragon, bringing lords and knights loyal to her house, and her father and uncle to boot. She will likely do the same, or worse, should we try again.”

Her father shared a look with the other man that had her clawing at her skirts.

I am the queen, she wanted to say. You are both nothing without me and yet you overlook me so easily!

“What?” She snapped. “What is it?”

“There are other methods…” Otto Hightower answered and for a moment Alicent was stunned.

“You cannot mean…” She could not even say it, the words would not leave her lips. “The girl is a nuisance, I know what she does to Aemond, but my son is loyal. He will choose Aegon when the time comes.”

“She is more than just a nuisance and this is about more than just that rogue, Aemond.”  Her father scolded. “You know the Rivermen at court are her work. The Princess Rhaenyra has hardly been subtle with the favour she shows them. What happens when she visits the Stormlands next? No doubt she will not find a husband there too lest it is one who will give her Princess a sizeable army. Do we let her go West after that? To the Reach? Dorne even?”

Alicent swallowed. “She is going to the Stormlands?”

Larys Strong nodded his head. “I have it on good word that she is. Princess Rhaenyra thinks she is securing her throne, Your Grace. If the king’s firstborn son is to take the position you have spent decades building him for then we must act now.”

Act?

Alicent wanted to laugh, she wanted to scream. They made it sound so simple, the death of a lady, a woman of royal blood. Her life meant nothing to them, it meant nothing to Alicent in truth, just another piece in the game. But still to have that blood on her hands…

She could almost picture the girl’s lifeless corpse in front of her then. She blinked and suddenly the image was not of Daella Targaryen but Daemon bringing Dark Sister across her neck.

Her hands flew to her throat.

“You are both mad if you think this is the answer. Her death will only ensure war comes to us, not prevent it. And I will not have her life on my soul, I will not!” She insisted.

Lord Larys put his weight through his cane as he stood, reaching for her cup so he might fill it again. He handed it back to her in an act that she would have considered gentle had it been done by anyone else.

“Death is too much, too soon. To act so rashly would risk us all if the truth were discovered. For now, we only need put an end to this charade that the Lady of Runestone and Princess have concocted.”

“And how, pray tell, do you suggest we do that?” She hissed at the condescension.

But it was not Larys that answered.

Her father came before her then, looming over her like a dark shadow. “You were a fool when you went for the Princess’ son directly in payment for the eye Aemond lost. I would have given you your vengeance, daughter, if only you were patient.”

And that was when Alicent realised it did not matter what she said, whatever it was these men had decided… It had already begun.

“What have you done?”

▁▁▁▁▁

That night when Alicent slept, she saw Dark Sister again. The bloodied blade was held before her in her dream before Rhaenyra withdrew it, handing it to a slender figure shrouded in darkness.

“It did not have to be this way in truth." The girl that was once her closest friend said. "But you betrayed me again for your own selfish gain. You left me no choice.”

“That is not true!” She cried. “What I did I did for the realm!”

Rhaenyra laughed. “You only did it for yourself, you know that as well as I. You did not even do it for them, for your children.” She brought a hand to Alicent’s cheek and for a moment it was simply a tender caress but then she took her chin between her thumb and her forefinger, turning her gaze towards the massacre behind them.

Aegon, Aemond, Daeron - they were cut into pieces, limbs strewn across the bloodied ground in the most grotesque way imaginable. And between them sat her sweet Helaena, weeping as she clutched her brothers’ heads, all three laying in her arms as though they were her babes. She rocked them, sung to them, cried for them and Alicent cried too. Cried as she watched Daemon Targaryen approach her daughter covered in her sons’ blood, cried as he lifted his unnamed blade and removed her head clean from her body while Alicent could do nothing but watch. 

“I suppose it does not matter anymore.” Rhaenyra finished, turning her gaze back to her.

She lay a gentle kiss on her tear-stained cheek and stepped back, allowing Dark Sister’s wielder to finally come into view.

Daella Targaryen looked a walking corpse. Her skin was pale, lifting in clumps to reveal the bone beneath. Her hair was damp, clothes torn, and she limped as she walked, leaving a trail of blood-stained footprints in her wake. But worst of all was the hole in her face where her right eye had once been, all that was left was a horrid, dark emptiness that she could not look away from no matter how much she tried.

“You did this.” The girl groaned.

“No! I did not tell them to do this. Rhaenyra, please, make her stop!”

But the girl did not stop.

“Rhaenyra!” She pleaded.

She asked for her forgiveness, promised her anything. She begged, and begged, and begged. But nothing stopped Dark Sister’s path, no one was coming to save her. As Daella Targaryen lifted her arms Alicent tried one last time, calling Rhaenyra’s name, but all she received in return was the sound of the Valyrian steel singing as it met her neck.

And then Alicent woke.

Chapter Text

Prince Maelor’s tourney was the talk of the Red Keep days after it ended. Not for the grandeur that was thousands of dragons in the making, nor the final victor of the day, Lord Joffrey Arryn, Knight of the Bloody Gate and Defender of the Vale, who valiantly defeated Ser Arstan Selmy of Harvest Hall in the final joust. It was not even the Princess Rhaenyra who was named the event’s Queen of Love and Beauty by the man who loudly and proudly proclaimed her “Princess of the Vale”. No, instead it was the reclusive Prince Aemond’s participation in the melee that remained on the tongues of smallfolk and lords alike.

That was until Lord Corlys fell ill.

“They say the fever could kill him.” The maids would gossip. “The High Septon prays for him night and day at the King’s behest.”

“Prayers will do naught for a curse.” Another said so assuredly as though she knew it to be true. “The death of the son and the daughter, and now the Lord of the Tides himself… The gods must be punishing House Velaryon.”

Daella wanted to scoff, the gods did not care for petty houses and their squabbles. As a child, the wolf girl believed the only god that interfered with life was Death. She learned to say the words “not today” to him before she truly understood what they meant. But as she grew, and Arya Stark returned home, she learned that the gods of her father and his father before him held just as much power in this life as the Stranger’s touch. But where Death was simple, a mercy that eventually came for all men, the Old Gods were riddles tied by blood. It was their gifts that allowed her to see through the eyes of her direwolf, and them that gave Daella Targaryen her life through her brother’s will, but it was also their magic that created the great darkness in the far north, a darkness that would take so many including Arya Stark in the years to come.

“A true king must understand it is his duty to hold the realm together.” She had heard Rhaenyra tell Jace once. “We must protect it, no matter the cost, Jace.”

“From what?” The boy asked.

The last enemy, Daella would have answered. One we might have had a chance against had the kingdoms seen the truth in Jon and Daenerys, had the dragons not been lost for centuries and their house not torn apart. 

“When I am queen you will understand, just as Aenys and Jaehaerys and Viserys did before you.” Rhaenyra promised instead.

It was a sweet moment, she remembered, one that was quickly soured by word from Driftmark.

“What is it?” Jace frowned. “Is grandfather…?”

“No,” Rhaenyra hissed, her eyes ablaze with an anger Daella had never seen on her before “that cunt, Vaemond! I will have his head for this. I shall feed his bones to Syrax!” She stood immediately, tossing the letter into the fire. “Someone find me Daemon!” 

Ser Vaemond’s case never came before the court, the King would not allow it, but another trial did. His Grace was more than agreeable when his daughter dispatched Prince Daemon to seize the Sea Snake’s nephew in the name of treason.

Vaemond Velaryon was brought to Throne Room in chains.

Her father never looked so smug as he did then, pushing the knight to his knees before the King. At the sight of his gaudy armour, Daella could not prevent the untimely, muted laughter that left her throat. Black, swirling with dragons of all shapes and sizes were embossed with the darkest blood red rubies that shone in the torchlight. She did not know why she was surprised, it was loud and glaring and so very him.

Baela raised a brow in question.

“Your father could not have chosen something less… showy?” She whispered in her sister’s ear.

Baela snorted. “Our father.” She corrected. “And this is less showy. He could have just as well went with the plumed helm.” She said as though it were only natural Daemon Targaryen had a helm with pretty feathers to decorate his head.

“Enough, both of you.” Rhaena chided from her other side. “This is not the time for japes.” There was a pause and then- “And I think father looks rather dashing.”

Daella’s eyes met Baela’s then and soon they were both trying to smother their laughs behind raised hands and bitten lips.

Rhaena did not laugh, however. The corner of her lips lifted into an attempt at a smile but she was too worried to do anything more. Ser Vaemond’s claim had rattled them all, not just her, though Rhaena wore her heart on her sleeve and the thought of the two sides of her family at odds with one another troubled her greatly.

Daella reached for her sister’s hand as the King breathlessly put forth the charges laid against Ser Vaemond.

“How do you respond to these claims, my lord?”

Bastardy.

Lies.

Adultery.

The knight was a fool to declare it so brazenly, to call the King’s favoured child a whore and her children illegitimate. It was a death wish. No man would act so recklessly unless he had reason to believe his risk would be met with reward.

Daella felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She turned, eyes searching the crowd.“Bastards.” They whispered. “Could it be true?” Her gaze stopped at a familiar face amongst them all. A hunched man with a golden cane that spoke to no one and yet watched everyone.

“Who is that?” She asked Rhaena and Baela as their father drew Dark Sister from her sheath.

She tugged on her sisters’ hands insistently, trying to pull their gaze.

Rhaena’s wide eyes flickered to her, lost and dazed. “What?”

“The man with the cane.” Daella gestured with a tilt of her head. “Tell me who he is. Don’t look at Ser Vaemond.”

The death of kin weighed just as heavily on the wolf girl’s heart as it did Daella’s. Her father’s head, Robb’s direwolf, her Tully mother’s drowned body, her Royce mother’s cold one - they all remained with her through years and lifetimes. Her sisters may not have been close to Ser Vaemond but he was still their blood, their mother’s kin, and she would not have them haunted by him as Daella was her ghosts.

“Tell me who he is. Don’t look.” She urged.

It was a fraction of a second, less than the time it took for her to breathe, but in that moment she had both Baela and Rhaena’s attention as Dark Sister sung, cutting Ser Vaemond’s head clean from his body.

“Larys Strong.” Rhaena whispered, her grip on Daella’s hand tight. “He is Larys Strong.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“Daella! You’re not looking!” Aegon huffed.

She turned her gaze back to her pouting brother. He had begged her and Jon to join his lessons with Maester Mellos that afternoon. The proud little dragon was determined to show his sister how good he was getting and more than determined to claim all the time she had left while she was in Kingslanding.

Jon was more than happy to sit with the boys, always eager to learn and eager to spend time with Rhaenyra’s sons, and Daella longed for nothing more than time with her brothers and sisters when she returned to the city. But while her body was here, her mind was not and Aegon took note.

She could not remember hearing of a Larys Strong in Arya Stark’s lessons, but in truth her greying maester most likely spoke of him and the wolf girl would not have paid it any mind. Petty lords seeking power were not hard to come by in history but this one was important for this time. If only she knew why.

“Daella!”

She focussed her attention back on the boy before her, laying a hand on Aegon’s soft hair. “Forgive me, little brother.” She mused.

He let out a dramatic sigh in return as though it were very hard for him to do so, a sound that had most in the room laughing including Helaena and the twins. 

The younger children often took lessons together according to Jace. He claimed it was his grandfather’s idea and that the queen’s disapproval could still be heard across Maegor’s Holdfast to this day.

“I am sure Daella would love to see your sums, Aegon.” Helaena hummed.

And that was all the encouragement her little brother needed. He grabbed her hand and dragged her to his desk between Viserys and Jon so that she might see his hard work.

Daella made a show of looking thoroughly at each piece before doing the same for Jon, Viserys, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

“All so clever.” She grinned. “Helaena and I shall need to practice our numbers or you will be better than us in no time.”

Helaena blinked at her, not quite understanding, but after a few moments a short giggle left her mouth. “Oh, yes!” She smiled. “Of course!”

Daella had to admit that while she had come to the maester’s lessons with the intention of spending time with her brothers, she had also attended for another reason. She rarely had the chance to find Aemond’s sister alone. Her ladies were always there with her, and if not them then Aemond himself, or his mother, and the questions she had were not for anyone’s ears but her own, especially not the prince with the probing violet gaze that always seemed find her and her it.

She had not seen Aemond since the tourney, since she forced herself into his rooms and spent a large part of the afternoon cursing him as she cleaned what wounds she could find, threatening to add more if he did not sit still. Helaena had been amused, Jaehaerys frightened and Jaehaera more than confused but Aemond was simply silent and yet she saw the questions in his eyes, the thousand and one that lay there threatening to bubble to the surface. Daella was glad he did not ask them. She did not know what she would have said if he did. Her mind had been a clouded fog since his sister spoke of the Laughing Tree. No one could have known that unless they saw, but then how much did Helaena see?

“What do you dream of?” She asked to her friend after they settled the children back in the nursery. The King had invited them all to dine in his solar that evening - daughters, sons, grandsons and nieces though the youngest were put to bed before it would begin.

Helaena looped her arm through Daella’s and shrugged her shoulders. “I dream of a lot of things.”

Daella brought her lower lip between her teeth, slowing their steps so they might fall a distance from the guards in front of them. “Would you tell me of the one you spoke of in Aemond’s chambers?”

Helaena’s silver brows furrowed together. Her mouth opened and closed and then opened again as she struggled to put to words what ran through her mind. “It is difficult.” She explained. “It is like a spider’s web, that one. A thousand pieces of string all connected to one another. It is dark and light, and life and death. It is not an easy one to see, or hear. But…”

“But?”

Something settled across Helaena’s face then. “You must understand the beast is made, not born.” Her friend said, her gentle words barely above a whisper.

She looked to the guards before turning back to Daella, using their linked arms to pull her away.

“I see blood at the feast.” Her friend continued. “It was once blood and cheese I dreamed of. But then you came,” she hummed, drawing her close “and now it is blood and steel and my boys breathe. But still… but still… Hand turning loom; spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread and your thread is both and neither.” She stopped, raising a hand to Daella’s face. Her fingers danced across her skin in a ghost of a touch that caressed her features. “You tie black and green and you see, but you do not. You do not see that the monsters are not born, they are made.”

There was danger in prophecy. She wondered if that was what this was. Not dreams, not sight, but prophecy. Was it a warning? One she either heeded or fell into? Or was it a fate she could not avoid? 

She swallowed, taking Helaena’s hand between her own.

“What do I do?” She did not know what that meant exactly, what she was asking. Her friend’s words were not made for answers and they both knew that.

Helaena smiled. “You try.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Aemond watched Daella enter the King’s solar arm-in-arm with his sister.

Helaena grinned in that unbound way she often did when she did not have to worry what people might say or how she should act. It was rare when she was in the company of others, but Daella was not just any other. She leaned into Helaena’s side with a practiced ease, as though they were sisters that had been this way for decades.

If the greenboy with two eyes had his way, this would have been their life. It was a thought that had Aemond sneering at himself.

She was distracted, Daella, gnawing at her lower lip in that way he did not mean to notice and yet always seemed to, as she had been since the tourney. And she was avoiding him. Even when she was threatening to skin him alive for the spur of irrationality that was his participation in the melee, she could not seem to meet his gaze.

Helaena’s dream had affected her, but Aemond was yet to understand why.

A servant pulled out a seat for her between her sisters. Daella looked the boy in the eye, smiling at him, thanking him, this person that was no one, and yet she still could not bring herself to look Aemond’s way. And it plagued his mind as much as Helaena’s words did her.

They sat there, a fragile silence held in the room as they waited for the King to arrive.

His mother stole glances at Rhaenyra. He stole glances at Daella. His grandfather glared at Prince Daemon who, in turn, sent a snide grin his way that only had Otto Hightower’s face souring even further. And Aegon… The only thing Aegon cared to look at was his cup, even when Daeron tried to speak to him, their little brother who was almost a stranger, Aegon paid him no mind.

“Enough.” Aemond hissed at him, moving his cup away before he could ask for another.

Their mother and grandfather may have destained Aegon’s habits, but in all the years since he had been a boy they did naught to stop it and Aemond hated them for it. Even if he loved his mother, he hated the coward she and her father made his brother. And he hated Aegon even more for it, for how weak he was, how he let the boy that did not flinch or cry whether it was a hand or a voice raised to him become this drunken, depraved, shell of a man who fell into their sister’s bed when he knew she would not deny him no matter how much she did not want it.

He tore his thoughts away from Aegon as the King’s presence was announced. They all stood, watching as he was carried into the room by four men lifting his chair.

His mother would call it one of her husband’s “bad days” but as of late every day seemed to be bad and worse.

“It does me good to have this time with you all.” Viserys Targaryen groaned as he was set in his place at the centre of the table.

His mother smiled at him, resting a gentle hand atop the King’s discoloured arm. “A prayer before we begin?” She asked.

At his approval, she bowed her head and the rest of them followed, listening as she begged the Mother to smile down upon their gathering and the gods to give Vaemond Velaryon’s soul rest.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” The King followed. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena.”

Word had come from Driftmark itself where Princess Rhaenys tended to her dying husband. A match between Aemond’s nephews and Corlys Velaryon’s granddaughters were set to seal the two houses that were already meant to be tied. 

It was a desperate move made to make up for mistakes made over a decade ago, but it worked. Driftmark was secured with Lucerys as its heir, as the King proudly reminded them.

They all raised their cups, toasting each other and playing at a happy family in a performance that would rival even the mummers in Braavos.

And then when the music began Jacaerys took it one step further, dancing with his betrothed before offering his hand to Helaena in an act that had both Aemond and Aegon tensing but the rest of the table smiling and cheering.

All but Lucerys… The boy was half his size with a dragon barely large enough to ride but still he was bold enough to let out a curt laugh at Aemond’s expense as a blinded pig was placed before them.

Aemond’s grip on his cup tightened. He could have wiped that smile from his face. It would have been easy, one word was all he needed, but suddenly his nephew’s face fell and he let out a yelp as a swift kick was delivered beneath the table.

“Don’t.” Daella warned with a tone that the boy’s face falling in shame and Aemond’s hand falling from his cup.

Her eyes met his then and for the first time in a long time they were not angry or hurt, they just were. And Aemond did not dare look away from them. Even when his grandfather called for the room’s attention, when all fell silent as he spoke of family and droned on about legacy. But then Aegon’s name was brought in.

“Your Grace, I am afraid I do not have a toast but words that Prince Aegon and I wish to share with his family all the same.” 

His brother’s eyes widened momentarily and Aemond caught them, a sense of unease turning his lips.

With the King’s approval, the Hand went on.

“Through much searching and consulting with Grand Maester Mellos an important truth has revealed itself. We have all seen the boy Lady Daella has taken to ward. The maester himself confirms his remarkable features could only have come from a Targaryen. The boy’s mother left him in the most dire of circumstances but the gods work in mysterious ways and through his discovery he now has the chance to know his father.”

His brother ran his hands down his face, fingers twitching as he shifted in his seat.

“With the King’s blessings, Prince Aegon wishes to acknowledge the boy as his natural born son. He will be raised in the same castle as his half-siblings and one day might serve his house as loyally as Lord Orys did King Aegon.”

There was silence for a moment. And in that silence, Aemond let his gaze wander to his mother.

She picked at her fingers, breaking the skin around her nails, eyes flitting nervously between the different faces at the table. But they kept returning to one. To Daella.

And that was when Aemond knew exactly what his grandfather had planned.

“Is this true, Aegon?” The King asked.

Deny it, he tried to tell him as he searched his brother’s gaze. The boy means nothing to you, no matter how he was sired. Deny it. Leave him be.

But Aegon only laughed, a tired laugh, full of resignment and took his cup back from were Aemond left it. “Apparently so.” He mused, filling it to the brim before draining it in one. Everyone in the room watched him as he did, but Aemond’s gaze turned to the only person in this that truly mattered then.

“No.” Daella spoke, her voice calm as still water.

She lowered her fork, resting her dark eyes on the Hand of the King.

“Jon stays with me. His mother has passed and his father…” She shook her head. “He has no father.”

Otto Hightower frowned. “My lady, you cannot deny a prince nor the boy’s true-“

“True nothing!” She snapped, jumping to her feet. The thunderous fury hidden beneath her gaze finally spilling over.

“Ziry jaelagon aōha vēdros” Aemond warned, ignoring all others in the room but her. He seeks your anger.

For a second she turned to him, watching him as he watched her. She knew he spoke true, he could see it. But the match was lit and now the fire burned too bright.

“Nyke jāhor tepagon zirȳla tolī sepār issa vēdros.” She said in return. I will give him more than just my anger.

She looked to Aegon and the Hand then with a burning gaze that would have seared into their skin if it could. “If either of you come near him,” she seethed “if you so much as breathe in his direction, I swear by the Old Gods you will not live to see the next day.”

His grandfather pushed his chair back, bringing his fists down on the table as he stood. “You are mad! To threaten the King’s son and a prince of the realm is treason of the highest order! Guards!” He called out.

And suddenly, they were all standing.

Baela and Rhaena surrounded their sister, shielding her from the uncertain knights that hesitantly approached. 

Aemond stood in front of Ser Arryk before he could join them. “You will not get involved. Go back to your post, Ser.” He commanded as the table erupted with voices.

“Father, this is a severe overreaction. Please, let us sit and speak of this as a family.” His half-sister begged the King while Alicent Hightower demanded justice in his other ear. 

“She threatened our son, Viserys. Your son!” She said, visibly shaking. “I won’t have her here! I won’t!”

“Mother, what do we do?” Joffrey asked Rhaenyra. “They can’t take Daella!”

“They won’t.” She promised in return as Prince Daemon rounded the table, standing between his daughters and the knights with his hands clasped in front of him, daring eyes meeting those of the men in front of him.

At the sight, the guards stopped, no one brave enough to make the first move against the Rogue Prince.

“Stand aside, Prince Daemon.” They demanded but his uncle only laughed.

“Father!” Rhaenyra begged the King again who was groaning in a tired exhaustion. Slumped in his chair, he buried his face in his hands.

“Enough, you fools!” Aemond hissed at the knights, pushing the closest man back when he reached for the hilt of his sword.

Daeron made to join him, but hesitated, turning to their eldest brother for guidance. “What do we do?”

Aegon snorted. “Enjoy the show, little brother.” He said, pouring himself yet another serving of wine. “All this for a bastard.” He mumbled, shaking his head. “A damned bastard.”

In the grand scheme of things, it was a few words that should have meant nothing between all the madness. But those words meant everything when Daella Targaryen heard them.

Aemond could have stopped her when she left her sisters’ side and stalked over to where Aegon lay. He could have stopped her when the guards failed, but he did not.

“Say it again.” She growled at Aegon. “Say it again, I dare you!”

His brother chuckled, the fool finally putting his cup down to meet her where she stood.

He raised his arms, shrugging his shoulders. “It is the truth, is it not?” He said to the suddenly silent table. “That is what he is.”

Aemond saw the way Daella’s fists clenched and unclenched. “Leave it be, Aegon.” He warned, but that did not deter his brother from leaning close to Daella’s ear and whispering “Does he even know what he is?” He slurred. “No? Mayhaps I shall be the one to tell him. Mayhaps I shall even get the bastard to call me father.”

And that was it. As soon as the word left his lips, Daella’s fist met his jaw with a force that had Aegon stumbling backwards. She pounced on him them, forcing him to the ground. Aegon tried to push her off, but Daella only grabbed his wrist and twisted it back to an unnatural angle that had his brother screaming.

“Stop her!” His mother shouted as Otto Hightower called for the Kingsguard to do the same.

Ser Criston was the first to make it to Aegon’s side and when he placed his hands on Daella, Aemond moved without thought. He barely made it more than a step, however, before Jace and Luke were at him.

Aemond scoffed, pushing the youngest of the two out of his way but then a sharp pain bloomed across his cheek. 

He stopped, turning to see Jace gripping his now reddened knuckles. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of him and were it not for the sound of his mother’s shouts, Aemond would have returned the blow in kind.

He looked back just in time to see Daella bring her elbow back onto Ser Criston’s nose as he tried to pull her off Aegon. In the next moment, she twisted and pulled a dagger from the knight’s waist and held it up to his throat when he would not let go.

Ser Criston stared down at her, lips curled in disgust but he still raised his hands in surrender though Daella would not lower the blade.

“Enough!” King Viserys groaned. “That is enough!” 

“Drop the blade, my lady.” Otto demanded. 

But she did not hear them. He saw it in her wild eyes that did not stray from the white knight’s neck.

“Nyke could mōris ziry ry gō ziry rhaenagon.” She muttered to herself more than anyone else. I could end it all before it begun. “Mōris zirȳ lanta se sagon gaomagon rūsīr ziry.” End them both and be done with it.

Aemond walked towards her as she rambled, as the Hand shouted his demands and his mother shook in her place and Aegon wiped his bleeding nose with his broken fingers, but he did not see them. He only saw her.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, not surprised when she whirled around to face him and brought the dagger to his neck instead.

“Step away, Ser Criston.” He demanded though his gaze remained with the woman in front of him.

There was a moment where she did not see him. She saw a person, another threat, but then the flicker of recognition came to her eyes and Aemond let himself bring his hand up to the steel, wrapping his fingers around the blade despite the sharpened end cutting through his skin. He pulled it aside and Daella let him. She saw him then and did not apologise for making him bleed nor did she beg his forgiveness, and he did not ask for it. He never would. Instead, he threw the dagger wordlessly aside and stood between her and Cole.

“I want her gone, Viserys!” His mother demanded. “She attacks my sons! They are bleeding! Your Kingsguard is bleeding!”

“Men that cannot defend themselves against a slip of a girl.” The Rogue Prince scoffed. “Some knight you have there, brother.” He sneered.

“Your Grace, this cannot be allowed to go unpunished.” The Hand of the King called.

“She is the King’s niece,” Rhaenyra reasoned “protecting a boy she sees as her own. What would you have His Grace do, flog her in the streets?”

“No one is beyond the King’s law, not even his niece.” Otto Hightower argued.

But the King was not listening to them. Instead he was focussed on Aemond’s mother who knelt before him and gripped at his hand so tight it was a wonder it did not break. “I will not have her here, Viserys!” She cried, looking at his father in a way Aemond had not seen since he lost his eye. “She brings blood and death to this house. Twice. Twice, she has done this now. She burned your people, hurts your sons, and now she threatens their lives! When will it end, Viserys?”

“Enough with the theatrics!” Prince Daemon called out. “They use this as an excuse to separate your family, brother, just as they have always done.”

His father let out a breathless sigh. “Otto is right. The King’s laws cannot be disobeyed.”

“No!” Daella’s sisters cried out though that did not deter him.

“It grieves my heart to have to say this… but until such time as Lady Daella has atoned for her actions, she is banished to Runestone and will not return south of the Mountains of the Moon lest she be punished.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“You played into Otto’s hand tonight.” Daella’s father told her as she waited in the courtyard of the Red Keep.

“I know.” She sighed, tightening the straps of her horse’s saddle. “I suppose a tour of the Stormlands is not possible now, is it? Though I cannot say I am too sad, entertaining the Riverlords for four moons had me ready to hang myself.”

Prince Daemon snorted. “Woe to the poor Lady of Runestone.”

“Woe to the poor Princess Rhaenyra having to put up with the likes of you.” She returned to which he only laughed.

“You will look into Larys Strong, won’t you?” She asked once a silence settled between them.

She had named the Lord of Harrenhal to Rhaenyra too before she left but saw what the mere mention of House Strong did to her, what it meant. This Larys was no Harwin, however, Daella did not need to know much to know that.

“I will.” He waved her off in that nonchalant way of his. “So,” he raised a silver brow “was it worth it?”

Daella scoffed at the question. “Which part? Breaking Aegon’s fingers or bruising his jaw?”

That particular act had cost her the most painful of goodbyes. Daella thought of her sisters then, of Helaena, of Joff’s angry tears and Luke’s sad smile. She had written a note for Aegon and Viserys though it would do little good. Her brothers would be most wroth when they woke to find her gone and it hurt her more than she could say.

But then she thought of Jon. Sweet, kind Jon, who still smiled with hesitance as though he were scared his happiness would be taken from him without a moment’s notice.

“For Jon’s sake, it was worth it.” She answered. “I will take banishment if it means the Hightower’s understand they cannot use him.”

Her father grunted, taking the leathers from her hands to buckle the final strap. “And what of the other Hightower?”

Daella did not need to ask to know which man he spoke of. 

It was Aemond - the Hightower who had stood by her side as she received her punishment from the King, the man who promised to bring her Jon despite his grandfather’s protests.

They could not have kept the boy from her, all in the room knew that, but even her uncle did not protest when Daella said she would leave with him.

“My son may visit him in Runestone if he wishes to know the boy.”

Daella would have laughed if she could. Aegon would not step foot in her keep while she lived and breathed though she did not say it aloud.

She shook her head, facing her father. “We are not discussing this.”

“I was not aware I took commands from-“

“Daella!”

They both turned at the sound of racing footsteps to find three boys running across the courtyard with Aemond’s tall shadow following behind.

Before she could blink, Jon was there silently falling into her arms with Aegon and Viserys joining not long after.

“Prince Aemond said you and Jon had to leave, Daella!” Aegon raged. “You can’t go. Kepa, Viserys and I will fight for you.” He declared. “So will Baela, and Rhaena, and Jace, and Luke, and Joff.” He peaked over his shoulder to where Aemond Targaryen stood with his hands clasped behind his back, leaning close to her he whispered conspiratorially. “Maybe we could get Prince Aemond to help too. He looks very mean but he brought me and Viserys to see you when we asked so I suppose he cannot be so bad.” Aegon decided. “Grandfather could not force you to leave then.”

Daella’s eyes found Aemond over his head. “He did?”

Aegon nodded.

He brought them to her.

“The youngest is a perceptive thing.” The Prince spoke, reading her thoughts. “He woke as soon as I came to retrieve your ward.”

“Daella says clever boys always keep their eyes and ears open.” Viserys argued with a wisdom beyond his years.

She could not help but smile at that. She leaned forwards, kissing each of her brothers' brows. “And you are the cleverest boys.”

As she pulled back she took Jon’s hand in her own. “I do not know how much you have heard, but I will not be able return to the Red Keep for some time…”

“No!” Aegon protested, his lower lip wobbling as tears filled his eyes. “You can’t! I will miss you and Jon too much.”

“And we will miss you. Both of you. But we must return to Runestone.”

“Kepa says Stormcloud will be big enough to ride soon. If you can’t come here, I will take Viserys and we will come to see you!” Her brother resolved with all the ferocity a seven year old could muster. 

If the wolf girl had a dragon she would have done the same for her brother. She did try, when she was lost in the Riverlands. She begged every sailor in Saltpans to take her to the Wall. She would have done anything to see Jon's smile and have him muss her hair, fondly calling her “little sister”. That girl did not make it further than Braavos but the young woman she grew into clawed her way to the Wall tooth and nail when she heard what they did to him.

She would do all that for these brothers and more, but the thought of their little bodies falling from Stormcloud’s back had her clutching at them tighter.

“You must promise you will not do anything foolish. If your mother and father agree,” she said, looking to Prince Daemon “then perhaps they can take you to visit Runestone. But only then and never before. Swear it to me, Aegon.”

Her brother frowned unhappily but swore it all the same.

She kissed them once more. “I love you, and will miss you terribly but Jon and I shall write you, won’t we?” She said, looking to her ward. He nodded his head in agreement but then his bright eyes lifted to trace something above her.

He took his hand from hers and hooked thumbs together, spreading his fingers out wide. Against the torchlight, the shadow of them made a winged beast - a message she understood.

“It is time to go.”

She gently pushed him towards Aegon and Viserys then, urging him to say goodbye to his friends as she turned to the other man that waited in the courtyard with them.

“I told you not to wake them.” She said to Aemond. “But I am glad you did. Thank you.” She looked down to the arms tucked behind his back, remembering the feeling of her steel against his skin. “For everything.”

Her eyes then fell to the bruise blooming below his right eye then.

“Jace or Luke?”

The corner of his mouth flickered for a moment. “Jacaerys.”

She hummed. “I would tell him to apologise though I doubt he would listen.”

“It is unlikely.”

“I hope I will not have to hear of the heir to Dragonstone being battered and bruised in the training yard in the weeks to come. I would have to set Baela upon you if I did and that would be an unfortunate fate for any man.”

Aemond’s jaw ticked, his uncovered eye dancing with a barely concealed amusement. 

“You have questions.” She eventually said, speaking to what lay between them.

“Yes, but you will not answer them.”

“Not right now.”

“But one day?”

She smiled. “Maybe one day.”

He hummed and took a step back, bowing at the waist. “Safe travels, Daella.” He said before turning away.

She watched him leave, reaching for her horse’s saddle. “Look after yourself, Aemond.” She whispered though he did not hear.

Chapter Text

The iron gate creaked as it was forced open.

“Wait for me here.” Mysaria told her man. Casting one final look over her shoulder, she entered the tunnel beneath the Red Keep.

Everyone in the city knew the tales behind it - how men just like them were conscripted by Maegor to construct the intricate maze. And then, when all was said and done, the King killed each and every one of them to ensure it remained a secret.

With Maegor’s passing, all knowledge of the hidden tunnels were lost, as he had hoped. But what the cruel king did not account for was the curiosity of man.

For years now, the children of Kingslanding had made games of discovering passages hidden within the city. And every time they did they came to her, knowing Mysaria would pay them well for it.

She knocked twice on the heavy wooden door that lay beyond her final turning, listening to the sound of steady footsteps that fell against the stone floor.

Soon, the door was pulled open and there, on the other side, she found the prince.

Daemon barely acknowledged her, only letting out a soft grunt before he turned his back and retreated to his balcony.

He was in one of his moods, she knew. His shoulders were tense and eyes hard as he stared out at the city beneath them. It was not an uncommon sight. Mysaria had seen it herself half a hundred times over and judging by the whispers that came to her that night she more than likely knew what had caused it.

She came to his side silently, following his gaze to the Hill of Rhaenys. And, as if to confirm her suspicions, a great black beast lifted from the hill and flew above them, Daemon's gaze following it all the while.

"What have you heard?" He spoke though there was no request in his words.

"What of?" She could have asked in return, but now was not the time to test him.

“The King has banished his niece, just as he once did her father, over an insult to the crown. But, more interestingly, they say Prince Aemond stood by Lady Daella's side throughout the whole ordeal.”

Daemon's jaw clenched.

"Does that not please you?"

"Why should it?" He sneered. "That Hightower spawn should not be anywhere near my daughter, not that she listens, insolent girl."

Mysaria could not help the laugh that escaped her then though the prince did not appreciate the irony of the situation in the same way she did.

"Were Rhaenyra's position not so precarious I would teach him a lesson myself.” He muttered.

Now, that did truly surprise her. Not the threat to his nephew, but the restraint.

"You do love her.” She sighed. “Your princess.”

All this time, all these years, she had thought Daemon incapable of selfless love. He was passionate, lustful and obsessive. He always had been. But in the end it always came back to himself - what he wanted, how he felt, what he desired deep inside.

Mysaria had thought Rhaenyra more of the same. In the Realm’s Delight she saw Daemon’s ambition for the throne, his ever-longing struggle to reach his brother, his fight to prove himself. But mayhaps she had been wrong.

“What does love have to do with this?”

“Everything, does it not? If you wish to help your princess, use the boy’s feelings for your daughter. Wed them, and Daella shall bring you Vhagar without the need for bloodshed.”

“I would rather feed my daughters to the dragons than have them in bed with a Hightower.”

Mysaria’s brows came together. “I had not thought you would care. Do not forget, I was there the day you heard of her birth. A sheep peddled with a dragon’s name was what you called her.”

Suddenly, a voice cut between their conversation. “While we value your advice, you should not make such presumptions when it comes to my husband and his children. You have seen, yourself, how far he will go to defend them, my lady.”

Mysaria turned to see Princess Rhaenyra standing by the door, delicate fingers toying with the ruby necklace that lay above her chest.

“Princess.” She took her skirts in hand and dropped into a short curtsey.

“Lady Mysaria,” Rhaenyra acknowledged, walking towards them “how does the King’s city fare this evening?”

“Well, Your Grace. Bards in every corner of the city still sing of how brightly the Queen of Love and Beauty shone at the little Prince’s tourney.”

The Princess’ mouth flickered. “For the people to see me as their future queen my symbol of authority cannot be held in jewels and gowns and pretty flower crowns. It must be the shield and the sword as it was Aegon’s before me.”

“A difficult feat for any woman to achieve, even a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra hummed though she did not appear any less determined. “We have a name for you, Lady Mysaria. Larys Strong, what do you know of him?”

“A man that casts such a large shadow comes with a hefty price.”

“One we are willing to pay.”

She looked to Daemon. “Your Gold Cloaks that patrol Fishmonger’s Square are being paid off. They look the other way as friends of mine have their wares stolen-“

“Friends.” Daemon scoffed, drumming his fingers against the stone railing impatiently. “Men who pay you for protection, you mean. Very well. Those that have been paid off will lose their hands and their livelihood for acting against my order. Now, speak.”

Mysaria returned his words with a withering glare. “I am not some dog for you to bark orders at.”

“You are not.” Princess Rhaenyra apologised. “Forgive us. It has been a long day and my husband forgets himself at times.”

“Your husband forgets nothing,” she returned “but no matter, I shall give you what you wish. The Lord of Harrenhal is an advisor to the Queen. But he is more than that. He has a reach that extends into the city and mayhaps beyond that; a powerful man that holds Alicent’s ear and her attention. My lady tells me Her Grace is more than willing to grant him a private audience when asked.”

She watched as a shared glance was exchanged between the dragons.

“I know what you are thinking,” Rhaenyra said to the man “it is not possible. Alicent would never be unfaithful. It goes against everything she believes in, and she would never risk her family acting so foolishly.”

“You and I both know she is more than capable of deceit and betrayal.” Daemon argued before bringing his gaze to her. “I want him watched day and night. Every word that passes from those weaselly lips will come to me. Every raven he sends, every place he visits, even if it is Alicent Hightower’s bed, we will hear it all.”

On that much, the Princess and her prince seemed to agree. As if to finish his sentence, Princess Rhaenyra held out her hand to Mysaria.

“Do we have an understanding?”

Her lips lifted at each corner. “Larys Strong for Fishmonger’s square? We do, Princess.” She said, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in her own.

It was settled. And with their agreement, Mysaria had no reason to linger.

She pulled her hood above her head and walked towards the tapestry that covered the hidden door, but before she could reach it, she looked back at the dragons one last time.

“You should think on what I said, Your Grace. There is more than one way to win a war.”

▁▁▁▁▁

The Red Keep had an incessant quality about it, Aemond found. It was always full of people, an infuriating melting pot of courtiers, royals and servants alike grasping for a place closest to the Iron Throne. And because of that it was never silent. But if there were a time when it could be described as anything close to such then dawn would be that moment - when daylight began to peak over the Blackwater, before the servants began to go about their day and the lords woke in preparation for theirs.

Aemond often chose this time to train, dawn bringing less eyes and less foolhardy men to the courtyard. 

He was alone this morning, giving him the pick of weapons to choose from - greatsword, bastard, longsword and short. The bastard sword was his first choice. It always had been since he had seen Blackfyre in his father’s hands as a boy. Not that King Viserys ever truly wielded the blade. It was a distraction, a shiny toy made to make the weak man look strong, though now he doubted anything could make Viserys Targaryen look strong.

Aemond flicked his wrist, testing the weight of the blade as he headed towards the straw man. Only he never made it that far. The light scuffle of leather against wood had him halting in his steps. He turned his gaze to what was supposed to be the empty courtyard, his uncovered eye immediately falling to the stacked crates held by the entrance where a small shadow peaked from behind the wood.

His mouth fell into a displeased scowl as he stalked towards it. He tightened his hold on the blade, ready to cut down the man that dared spy on him.

He shoved the heavy wooden boxes aside and raised his sword but at the sight of the perplexed little boy crouched behind them, he froze.

“Fuck.” He cursed, throwing his blade to the ground. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He glared at his nephew who only frowned in return.

He was not even scared, the foolish child. He should have been. Aemond could have cut him down, maimed him, or worse, and yet the boy only looked at him as though he were mad.

“I came to see you.” Viserys Targaryen said, as though it were obvious. “The maids gossip when they think Egg and I aren’t listening. They say you always train at dawn. They also like to talk about how the top of your tunic falls open when you practice and that makes them giggle a lot, but I don’t understand why.” He muttered, cocking his head as his gaze dropped to Aemond’s tunic.

For a moment, there was silence. It had been a long time since someone beyond of Daella or his family had spoken to him in such a manner. Were it anyone else, he would snarled at them but for Daella’s brother he gritted his teeth and simply turned away.

“Little princes should not run away from their nursemaids to speak to strange men. Go back, boy.” He said, picking up his sword.

“No!” His nephew shouted, giving him pause.

“No?”

He looked back at the frowning child who had jumped up and was trying to follow him.

“You’re not a stranger, you’re my uncle, and I came here to speak with you!” The boy insisted.

The corner of Aemond’s mouth fell. “A spoiled little prince then. Did your mother not teach you manners?” He said, resolutely ignoring the child’s grumbling in favour of the wooden opponent in front of him.

“My mother did teach me manners.” He insisted. “She doesn’t like you, you know.”

Aemond did not hold back his laughter at that.

“My kepa does not like you either.” The boy went on, undeterred. “Jace and Luke too. And Baela and Rhaena.”

He scoffed. Out of the mouths of babes.

There was a passage in the Seven-Pointed Star that spoke of children and their honesty. Aemond only wished more of them were like his Jaehaera. Mayhaps more of his house would have survived if they were.

“But Daella does like you. Why does she like you?” The little boy asked.

He certainly was an observant thing.

“I said leave me be, child.”

“And I said I wouldn’t. I want to know why she likes you.”

“Ask her, then.”

The boy huffed. “I can’t. Grandfather made her leave, you know that. You were there.” There was a moment and then- “Do you like her?”

“It’s important.” His nephew persisted. “Daella says good brothers protect their family, so I need to know, especially if what my muña and kepa said was true.”

That certainly peaked his interest.

“What did they say?”

“I can’t tell you!” Was the child’s appalled response.

But before he could go on, they were interrupted by the panicked shouts of his nephew’s maid.

The woman was short and plump and practically stumbled down the stairs at the sight of the little boy with Aemond.

“Oh, Prince Viserys! Thank the gods you are unharmed!” She cried, clutching at the boy, and Aemond almost felt sorry for him the way he was suffocated at her bosom.

“Bertha, I must speak to-“

The small woman went from coddling to scolding. “You must nothing! Just wait until your mother and father hear of your behaviour, young prince.” She tutted. “Now, say farewell to His Grace and come along.” 

Aemond received a forced bow in response. Little Viserys was silent but those curious eyes had not dimmed since the beginning of their conversation.

If only that had been his last run in with his nephews. Alas, Aemond was not so lucky.

That evening as he read in the library, he could not help but notice the little head peaking at him from between the bookshelves.

“Can I help you, Prince Aegon?” He called out.

The boy slinked out from the shadows with a sheepish smile on his face and a large tome in his small hands. And yet again, not a nursemaid in sight.

Aemond raised a pale brow, waiting expectantly.

“I miss Daella.” The child blurted out, walking towards Aemond without the slightest bit of concern. “Do you miss Daella?”

He pulled out the chair closest to Aemond’s and sat down, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Once more, Aemond could not help but wonder what his half-sister and uncle had been teaching these children. 

His jaw ticked, but before he could say anything the boy continued. “Daella always reads to me.” He said, placing the tome on the table and pulling it towards Aemond. “Jaehaera says you read to her-“

“No.” Aemond hissed.

He did not know what they were doing, him and his brother, but he was not in the mood for childish games.

The boy pouted but when he saw Aemond would not relent, he slid out of the chair and ran off.

But in a move that reminded him very much of Daella, he returned almost immediately though he was not alone. Jaehaera was with him, hand-in-hand the prince led her to where he sat.

His little niece was in her sleeping clothes and rubbed her tired eyes as she walked though she did not protest in the slightest. She only took Aegon’s chair and pointed at the book expectantly as Aegon took up another seat beside her.

“Jaehaera…” He sighed. “You should be abed.”

But his niece only tapped the book impatiently in return.

He frowned, turning his gaze to the little prince.

“Why?”

“Because Viserys heard muña and kepa speaking yesterday.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

The boy folded his arms. “Can’t tell!” He looked to Jaehaera then, a silent conversation passing between the two before Helaena’s daughter pointed at the book once more.

And Aemond… He was going to kill his half-sister and his uncle and was ready to tear his own bloody hair out with all this nonsense, but with one more look from his niece, he picked up the damned book.

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella,

In the days since you have been gone your brothers will not leave me be. They have taken to following me rather persistently and I have little patience for it. The princes have no sense of self-preservation. I have threatened them, on multiple occasions, but they care not. Should I be surprised when their mother and father are who we know them to be?

I believe all of this has something to do with my half-sister and her husband, the cryptic words the boys have let spill suggest as much.

I ask that you tell them to stop.

Helaena sends her love.

Aemond.

Aemond,

I am well, thank you for asking. Unfortunately I cannot provide any further insight into why my brothers have taken to following you. Your warm and inviting personality perhaps? 

I should hope that you have not truly been threatening them. Aegon, like me, is not above using his dragon in response to such threats.

Furthermore, I do not appreciate the insult to my brothers’ parenting, but I shall write to Baela and ask her to speak to them.

Aemond, has Vhagar ever send Helaena and the children my love in return.

Daella.

Daella dropped her quill in the inkpot, gnawing at her lower lip.

“Any sign of him?” She asked Jon who was diligently sitting at her window.

The boy frowned, shaking his head.

It had been days.

Something was wrong.

Chapter Text

Alicent wiped the sweat off her husband’s brow, carefully applying the maester’s salve to his wounds.

Viserys groaned at the touch. She begged him to take more Milk of the Poppy to ease his pain, but the King refused.

“I cannot bare to sleep through another day. I must help Rhaenyra. She needs me, she cries for me.”

"Your daughter is well, my King." She promised though it did little to ease his pain.

“No, Aemma, you do not understand. Aemma… Aemma… Forgive me, Aemma.”

Alicent sighed. When Viserys became this delirious, he often spoke of his daughter before his words turned into a strange garble of apologies to his late wife, Aemma.

“I am terribly sorry. Please, you must forgive me.” He went on, breathless from the mere effort of trying to speak.

She took his hands as they tried to reach for her. “You are forgiven.” She said as she always did, as a good wife would, because Alicent was a good wife. No one could deny her that. All saw the sacrifices she had made.

She left the King in Grand Maester Mellos’ capable hands, retreating from his humid chambers.

“Have the maids draw a bath for me.” She told Lady Tanda, the lingering smell of sweat and salve making her skin itch. The reminder of Rhaenyra making her fingers twitch.

The dream of her children laying cold and dead at her feet still plagued her mind, waking and in sleep. She could not escape it. It would have been easier before, easier when Rhaenyra secluded herself on Dragonstone and left Alicent’s soul be. But now, every corner she turned, she saw her. Even if she was not physically there, Alicent saw the princess in her brood of boys that flocked the Keep. She heard her in the dragon’s calls and felt her hand in the changing faces that had come to court. And she feared it. She feared the day when she walked through Maegor’s Holdfast, and it was not just the sight of those dark-haired princes that greeted her, but instead, fire and blood, sword and steel.

“We have no choice in the matter.” Her father had repeated those words over and over since Rhaenyra’s return to court, as if it would ease her torment if he did. “The princess has shown us exactly what she will do if she becomes queen. You have known it from the beginning, daughter. You know it better than anyone. Rhaenyra will burn our house to the ground if allowed the chance. We cannot let the sacrifices we have made be for nothing.”

What sacrifices have you made, father? She wanted to ask, but the words would never leave her mouth.

“Rhaenyra has a good heart.” She would tell him instead.

“You let your love for your childhood friend cloud your judgement. You must let her go, Alicent.”

“What do you know of love?” She whispered to herself as she lay in the copper tub, her fingers gliding back and forth along the water’s edge.

“Did you say something, my Queen?” Lady Tanda asked.

“No.” She hummed, shaking her head. “Have the maids put more wood to the fire and fetch Ser Criston. He will guard my door tonight.”

Her loyal knight - the only other person in this world who knew what it meant to love Rhaenyra and be hurt by her, cast away, discarded as though they were nothing. He was who she needed now.

▁▁▁▁▁

The Lord’s solar in Runestone held a history to it that rivalled most castles in Westeros. From this room, House Royce had declared war, made peace, and sealed alliances with friends and foes alike, securing their legacy in the annals of time.

Daella always felt her mother’s presence most keenly when she sat in the large oak seat that lay in the centre.

She traced her fingers over the runes carved into the arms, lifting her finger to the matching ones on the desk before her.

Rhea Royce did not know what they said. “The meaning has been lost to the centuries, my love.”

Daella had not been happy with that. “Someone must know!” She had insisted.

Her mother only smiled, a gesture full of fondness and exasperation. “I am sure if there is, you will find them, Daella.”

She turned her eyes to her uncle then. Rhea Royce always had Uncle Elbert's council, just as Daella did. He and Ser Richard were the only two of her mother’s advisors left. Maester Grafton now sat where Maester Randyll once did, and Lyle Fern had replaced his father as castellan twelve years ago with Rodrick Wellman receiving the position of steward from his great-uncle.

“What do you think of this, Lord Elbert?” Maester Grafton asked from his seat across the table, holding out the raven for her uncle to take.

“Dark wings, dark words indeed.” Her uncle muttered.

Jeyne Arryn had sent word across the Vale - a call to arms but not for the war that Daella had expected.

“The mountain clans grow bolder, recklessly so.” Ser Richard frowned. “Do they not remember what Yobert Royce did to the Stone Crows after they murdered Lord Arryn and his sons?”

She knew the story well. The day Yobert Royce led the Vale forces in revenge for his liege was named the Great Lamentation. The singers has dubbed it so for the sorrow it brought to the Storm Crows, but also because it was the last time her grandfather wielded House Royce’s Valyrian steel sword. It was the last time anyone had wielded Lamentation. The greatsword now lay on Lord Yobert's crypt, as it had since his death.

“These aren’t Storm Crows.” Rodrick Wellman spoke. “The people from the villages say they are wildlings that worship some fire demon, the Storm Crows have never been known to do such.”

“Does it matter who they worship?” Lyle Fern asked. “They have attacked innocents and a number of our own people travelling to the Eyrie. They have cut off all food and supplies to the Giant’s Lance and soon Lady Jeyne will starve if her houses do not help her.”

Maester Grafton rolled his eyes, an act Daella did not miss. “So, we should risk even more of our people by fighting in the most treacherous terrain in the Seven Kingdoms?”

Elbert Royce rested a hand on Daella’s arm, drawing her attention back to him. “You are quiet, niece. Unusually so.”

It was unusual for her. She was never usually one to brood; she left that to Aemond or Jon Snow, but Jeyne Arryn’s letter was a niggling reminder of the part of her that had been missing for moons now.

The Lady of the Vale had written to Daella asking for her help specifically. Not House Royce’s, but Daella’s.

“I beg you bring Fire and Blood to the men that would dare harm my people.”

But even if she wanted to, she could not.

She had not seen a glimpse of Daorys’ shadow in far too long and it ate away at her, piece by piece.

Was this how the last Targaryen’s felt? She wondered. Was this how Rhaena felt everyday?

“I am simply listening and thinking.” She answered instead.

The men at the table turned to look at her, waiting expectantly.

She sighed. “Lyle is right. House Royce remembers its oaths to House Arryn. When our lady calls, we must answer. You taught me that, uncle.”

Maester Grafton shook his head. “I must disagree.”

She sighed. “I am no oathbreaker, maester, however I am also not ignorant to the risk I am putting us in by promising our men to Lady Jeyne’s cause. I am not suggesting we run headfirst into the mountain clans’ clutches.” She leaned forwards, taking the wooden Royce shield figurine and placing it over Iron Oakes. “But south of the Eyrie we have large houses with a great number of men, like the Arryn’s of Gulltown, House Waynwood and House Redfort. There are also the Melcom’s, Waxley’s and Shett’s. Together, we can-”

“We?” The maester interrupted, eyes widening. “Do not tell me you mean to go with them?”

Daella’s brows came together. “Of course, I do. Our way is the old way; I will not lay in Runestone while our men fight.”

“My lady,” old Ser Richard sighed “I know you wish to honour the ways of your ancestors. I stand with your decision to join our countrymen in protecting the Eyrie, but risking yourself is not necessary.”

She sent him a fond smile. “I know you worry. I do not intend to be a hindrance, Ser. I do not need special treatment. I will ride with our men, eat with them, fight with them if need be, and when all is said and done, I will see them home.”

Her maester looked at her as though she had two heads. “My lady, you cannot be serious.”

“I am. I do not say this lightly, nor have I made this decision on a whim. The truth is, if I am there, then that means Daorys is there too. I do not intend to mindlessly burn the tribesmen from the back of my dragon. Should the time come, I intend to look my enemy in the eye before I take his life, but a dragon is worth a thousand soldiers. He is a protection I will not have my men go without.”

Grafton’s mouth flickered though his mouth remained closed.

“You may speak, maester. I would not have you here if I did not wish to hear your thoughts.”

“The truth, my lady?”

“I should hope so. I detest liars.”

“Very well. Your men here may not say it because they are either your kin and love you, or they fear you, but the truth is we know your dragon is missing. At first, I thought it may have been a blessing of sorts. It has given you a chance to settle into your role as lady of the keep instead of flying south every time a raven comes from Kingslanding. But now, you wish to leave again and recklessly endanger yourself in doing so.”

Silence followed after his voice fell and once more all eyes turned her way.

Fear. The word played in her mind. Could they really fear her? These people that have known her since she was a babe at her mother’s hip?

“You go too far, maester.” Her uncle growled.

She turned her gaze to the balding man then. A beat of sweat fell from his brow as his gaze flickered between her own and the table, barely able to meet her eyes.

He speaks of fear because he fears me, she realised.

“No.” She said. “Not too far. The people of Runestone should speak freely.” She put her hands on the table and stood. “But my mind is unchanged, I will prepare a raven to send to the other houses and we will ready to march.”

She rounded the table, sparing the grey-robed man one last look.

Why did he fear her?

▁▁▁▁▁

“Shrykos will not grow.”

Aemond lifted his head from his book to look at his sister.

Helaena did not appear so bothered by her statement as she continued to push her needle in and out of the sewing circle.

“See.” She said, cutting the thread and lifting the cloth to show him.

The dragon looked just like Jaehaerys’ grey beast. The little thing was too small to ride but his nephew loved him all the same.

“You promised Jaehaerys he would be able to ride him soon, but he never will.” His sister pouted.

Aemond ran his fingers over the neat stitches, frowning at the thought of Shrykos being stunted.

He handed the circle back to her. “Then he will ride Vhagar with I any time he should wish.”

“I know.” His sister said in return.

“Her Grace, the Queen.” Ser Arryk announced, drawing both of them to the chamber door where Alicent Hightower stood.

His mother bore a frown on her face, the tips of her fingers as red as the flush on her cheeks.

What had she been doing? He wondered.

“Mother.” Helaena greeted warmly though she did not rise. Neither of them did.

Alicent’s mouth flickered into an attempt of a smile.

“Sweet girl, where is your brother?”

Helaena looked at him and pointed, pale eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“No Aegon, your husband. Where is he?”

His sister blinked. “Not here. He never is.”

The queen’s eyes came to him then.

“Aemond, please, if you know where he is, you must tell me. His chambers are empty and the guards have not seen him. I worry for him.”

He closed his book over, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees.

“Something has happened.”

His mother shook her head. “Nothing yet. But the King… No matter how much I pray, his condition has only worsened. I fear the Stranger shall take him from us soon, and I fear what is to follow.”

She came before him then, resting a hand on his arm as she knelt by his feet.

“Please, Aemond. When the King passes we must protect your brother from any threat that may come his way.”

She reached for his cheek with her other hand but Aemond pulled away.

“What will you do when the King passes?” He asked instead. “What do you and grandfather have planned?”

The queen was hesitant, saddened by his coldness. She came to sit beside him, raising both her hands to his clean-shaven jaw to pull his face towards her.

“Your grandfather tells me little and less of his plans.” She said, a deep sorrow laced within her voice. “I have so few people I can rely on these days, but you… I know you hold love for our enemy. I will do what I can to push Aegon into a peaceful treaty with Runestone when the time comes, but we must find your brother first before Rhaenyra’s spies do. I will handle the rest.”

Aemond took her hands and brought them from his face. “Like you have handled things since my half-sister's return to the Keep?” It was cruel, he knew, but it was no lie. “If you wish to speak of love for the enemy then you should look at yourself first, mother.”

Alicent's eyes widened at the accusation, but it did not deter him.

“You think I do not see it? How you have acted since she returned to court?”

“Aemond, you do not know of what you speak.”

“But, I do. She has swept across this castle like a plague, taking everything in her grasp and you have let her.”

His mother withdrew her hands from his hold, pain written across her features. “What was I meant to do? I have tried, Aemond. You have no idea what I have had to endure. All I have done, I have done to serve the realm and you, my children!”

Helaena cowered at her raised tone, but he did not.

“Serve us? You have left us weak, and worst of all you have left my sister and her children vulnerable.”

“And what have you done?” His mother cried, tears forming in her eyes. “Since you were a boy, since she came into our lives, you have followed Daella Targaryen like a lost pup. No matter what she did, how she acted, you went to her. You always went to her. We are your family, Aemond!”

“The difference between you and I, mother, is that Daella was never my enemy.” He stood. “But you need not look so worried, Aegon is likely in the city, where he always is. I am sure your men will know where to look.”

She took his arm once more before he could leave. “Where are you going? What will you do?”

“What you could not.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Larys’ queen was suffering. He found her in her chambers with tears in her eyes, and he knew what he had to do.

She never asked anything of him, not with words anyway - she was too good for that. But he knew what she needed, even if she did not know herself what was best for her.

“Tell Lady Tanda her mistress has need of her.” He told the child, placing the coin purse in his hands.

Tonight, he was going to burn a brothel.

Chapter Text

Ironoaks was one of the few castles in the Vale old enough to remember the Andal invasion.

“They say King Robar Royce killed the Andal king that built it, m’lady.” An old footman told Daella as they marched towards the castle.

She smiled at the weathered man; one hand holding her horse’s reigns, while the other rested by her side. Her grey stallion let out gentle breaths with each step, grateful for the reprieve as Daella walked with her men.

“The Waynwood’s and Royce’s were bitter rivals for years after.” She hummed.

The man gave her a toothless grin. “Aye, the last of the First Men refused to forget their ways.”

Her lips curled. “And we never shall.”

“Here, here!” He laughed, a few others joining.

“Tom!” Elbert Royce called out as he rode up beside them, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I hope you are acting nothing but proper with your lady.”

“Aye, m’lord.” He winked at her. “Wouldn’t dare dream otherwise.”

She missed this, the unbidden thought came rushing into her mind. The freedom of the wilderness; freedom from the constraints and expectations of the Red Keep, she had not realised how much she had missed it until that very moment. She felt guilty in thinking so. She was marching her men to battle, not some tourney or feast. It made her wonder how the wolf girl’s father or king-brother could bare to face their Northerners knowing the danger they were made to lead them to.

She found her gaze turning up to the skies then, as it often did these days, hoping to catch a glimpse of Daorys’ shadow between the overhanging clouds.

He would come if she needed him, she knew. He would not leave her in her time of need, but something was keeping him away in that moment as it had been for days on end.

Jon would likely be watching for him from his window in Runestone just as she did now. Her sweet ghost had all but promised he would with his silent words, after all. She had been loathe to leave him behind. But with Ser Hugh watching over him she knew she could rest easy, and war was no place for a child; everything Arya Stark had endured taught her that.

Soon, the eastern facing gate of House Waynwood’s holdfast came into view. Daella mounted her horse as they came before it, sending Tom one last smile before she rode to the front of their party with her uncle.

“Lady Daella of Houses Royce and Targaryen brings Runestone’s forces to join the Knights of the Vale.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“Do we have word from Strongsong?” Joffrey Arryn asked.

They were gathered in Gerard Waynwood’s Great Hall - lords as close to Lady Jeyne as her own kin and those as far from the Eyrie as the Ruthermonts and Waxleys.

“House Belmore monitors the eastern mountain range.” Kevin Redfort answered, pointing to the map that lay before them. “My brother holds Redfort and will send word of any activity in the southern hills and valleys. We have not heard much from the Corbray’s, but their last raven reported little movement north of the Giant’s Lance.”

Lord Melcolm stepped forwards. “That leaves the Bloody Gate, the Gates of the Moon and the three waycastles as well as the Eyrie itself. We have enough men here to reinforce each amply. Once we do, the wildlings will not dare lift a finger against us. We will bring all Seven Hells down upon them if they try.”

Daella frowned. “Reinforcement of the gates and waycastles may be of some value, but the mountain clans are not attacking the keeps, they are slaying the defenceless.”

There was a silent exchange of glances between the men as she spoke though she did not let that deter her. If she was to commit her forces, they would hear her out.

Lord Redfort coughed. “My lady speaks true, as bold as they are, they have not come within a league of the Redfort, nor any of the other castles. But still, Stone, Snow and Sky are good vantage points for us to base our men.”

Daella hummed. “Vantage points for a few scores, but keeping entire armies behind castle walls does nought to protect those that are being hurt.”

Ser Joffrey Arryn, the young heir to the Vale, nodded his head. “I agree with the Lady of Runestone.” He said, surprising her. “My lords must remember that the waycastles are small with limited supplies thanks to the mountain clans. Not only that, but the journey north is treacherous, especially past Stone. With the narrow path, we would be sitting ducks to an ambush.”

“What do you suggest we do then, cousin?” Isembard Arryn scoffed. “We must secure each of the waycastles in order to see Lady Jeyne safely from the Eyrie before winter comes.”

“Or we simply eliminate the threat to the waycastles and our lady once and for all, cousin.” The younger man proposed, something of a challenge hidden within his words.

A tension filled the room as the two men stared at one another - Lady Arryn’s chosen successor and the other, the distant cousin she had never once considered.

Lord Isembard’s hands tightened into clenched fists. “You would lead our men to their deaths.”

“And did I not just explain how sending an army up the Giant’s Lance would also mean certain death?”

“Beyond the beaten path the Mountains of the Moon are best known to the mountain clans. They would rip us apart if we tried to find them.”

“But what if we knew where they lay?”

“And how would we know that?”

Joffrey Arryn rolled his eyes at his cousin’s condescension. “Lord Waynwood, if you would?” He said, turning to the Lord of Ironoaks.

Gerard Waynwood looked rather reluctant to step between the two lords’ and their metaphorical pissing match, but as all eyes turned to him, he had no choice but to speak.

“My scouts report seeing smoke day and night from a peak west of the Gates of the Moon.” He supplemented. “We have all heard word that these wildings worship a fire heathen - the survivors that find their way to Ironoaks confirm as much. Where else would the fire-worshiping savages lay but where the fire is?”

“It may be a trap.” Lord Waxley frowned.

“It may be.” Lord Melcom agreed. “But as Ser Joffrey stated, the threat to Lady Arryn may also be one. They could laying in wait as we speak.”

Daella found her gaze wandering back to the map then, eyes fixed on the tallest peak next to the Giant’s Lance.

“I will have my men travel from the Bloody Gate to scout the area.” Ser Joffrey suggested, unwilling to back down. “Once we know where they are and their numbers, we can cut them down once and for all.”

She saw a resolve settle into the eyes of the men around her, a resolve that was mirrored in Lady Jeyne’s heir, and when the vote was put to the table, even Isembard Arryn did not stand against them.

▁▁▁▁▁

“I am sorry, my Queen.” Grand Maester Mellos scurried after Alicent as she all but ran to her husband’s chambers. “I have tried all I can, but His Grace has not responded to the treatment.”

She paused as she came before his chamber doors. “How long does he have?” It was a question she was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know.

“This day, maybe the next, but no more than that, I believe.” 

She nodded her head. “Then leave us.”

A harsh wave of heat fell over her as the King’s chamber doors were pulled open.

Alicent gathered her skirts, stepping over the threshold but did not get much further as the sight of bright silver hair the colour of moonlight greeted her.

“Rhaenyra.” She breathed.

The King’s daughter was sitting at her father’s side, wiping the decaying flesh covered his brow.

“Look, my King.” Her gentle voice accompanied her touch. “Your Queen has come to see you.”

“My Queen…” Her husband gasped. “Ae-“

“Queen Alicent.” Rhaenyra softly corrected.

“Alicent?”

“Yes.” The princess hummed, finally turning to look at her. “Your lady wife.”

She looked a picture of serenity then, Rhaenyra. Alicent never understood it, even as a girl, how someone could look so peaceful and fierce all at once.

She remained stuck at the doorway, her feet unable to move under that amethyst gaze.

“Did you take her?” The King asked between staggered breaths, drawing the princess back to where he lay.

“Take her where, father?”

A ghost of a smile formed on his lips. “On Syrax… To eat honeyed cakes in Lys.”

Alicent watched as Rhaenyra’s eyes widened momentarily and felt her heart stop.

“That was many years ago, the dreams of a little girl.” The princess whispered.

“You could still go.” He let out a loud hacking cough. “Come back, and tell me of it.”

Rhaenyra laughed. “Maybe. Though last time I did something not so dissimilar, I recall you confining me to the Keep for weeks.”

The King attempted to join her in her laughter. “Yes, reckless girl… Stubborn girl. My daughter with dragon’s blood.” Alicent thought it an insult but Rhaenyra only smiled as her father went on. “You shine so bright sometimes I can barely look at you. You were what was promised to me, not a son. You.”

Suddenly, the King gasped as another fit of coughs wracked over him.

Alicent rushed over immediately, reaching for his water as Rhaenyra did the same. When their fingers brushed against each other, it was all she could do not to drop the cup.

She forced her eyes away, focussing on Viserys as she brought the cup to his lips, but still those words played on her mind.

“You were what was promised to me, not a son.”

She shivered.

“I am glad you came.” Rhaenyra said so unexpectedly that for a moment Alicent had wondered if she made the words up in her head.

“I would not leave my lord husband when he has need of me. I will always do my duty by him.” She answered, cold even to her own ears.

Her eyes then fell to the swell of the Princess’ stomach. “You should not be here, Rhaenyra. You should not put the King’s grandchild at risk.”

The other woman only shook her head. “You needn’t worry for her, Your Grace. My Visenya is strong.”

“Visenya. Mother has said if she has a girl she will let me name her Visenya.”

Only Queen Aemma never had a girl. That babe died, and Alicent had held Rhaenyra as they both mourned her together.

With that memory, a grief she thought she had quelled long ago began to rise within. It tore at her heart as though the King had announced their marriage yesterday and not two decades ago.

“If you wish to speak of love for the enemy then you should look at yourself first, mother.”

“You think I do not see it? How you have acted since she returned to court?”

It hurt. Gods, it hurt so much. Alicent felt tears well in her eyes.

Suddenly, a soft hand fell onto her own and she looked up to find Rhaenyra watching her with the same gentle look she held for her father.

“Stay with me.” She said, words so simple, yet they tore at her very being.

But no matter how much it might have pierced her soul, Alicent did not pull away. She sat hand-in-hand with the princess, sobbing as her King’s breaths grew shallow, until eventually they were no more and all that was left was silence.

▁▁▁▁▁

They had split up. A third of their forces made camp at the Bloody Gate while the rest, Daella included, were based at the Gates of the Moon, waiting for their scouts to return east.

The nights were beginning to get colder but not so much that it prevented her from venturing out when the halls proved too stifling.

She stood on the ramparts with Joffrey Arryn, Elbert Royce and the watchmen, all of them looking west to the faint glow of light that had not diminished since their arrival.

“It must be a great fire for it to burn so long and so bright.” Ser Joffrey said.

“Indeed.” Her uncle hummed.

“Do you think it is a trap as Lord Waxley said?” The knight asked, turning to her.

“It may be. But…”

“But?”

“A trap like that requires patience, and from what we have heard the mountain men are nothing of the sort. But that,” she tilted her head towards the light “is beyond bold. It is reckless, fatally so, giving away their location like this.”

Elbert Royce rested a hand on her shoulder. “Mayhaps they think themselves invincible because of this god they worship. Faith emboldens men like nothing else.”

Daella’s eyes caught sight of one of the watchmen next to her. He was leaned over the parapets staring at something.

“Is all well, Ser?” She called out.

The man lifted his head, a dazed look in his eyes. “I think there’s something down there.”

Her uncle held out his hand for a torch as the three of them peered down into the darkness.

“It’s a body.” The young heir said.

And if it were not for the reflection of the polished steel against the torchlight, Daella would have missed it, but indeed it was a body.

“Bring him in!” Joffrey Arryn commanded.

They made their way down to the castle gates, following Royce and Arryn soldiers as they parted the gathering crowd. A thunderous uproar of voices came with them.

“Make way!”

“Hold the portcullis!” 

“Heave!”

“Pull them in!”

Daella stopped before the gate, hand resting on the hilt of her short sword as five bodies were dragged through.

Cries of disgust filled the room as the smell of burned flesh followed.

“By the gods.” She heard her uncle whisper.

The men were lined up on the stone floor and all could see that whoever they once were, these men were unrecognisable now. Melted chainmail was seared into what little flesh remained, the rest blackened like coal. Not a single piece of cloth was left on their bodies; no sigils, no crests, nothing. They were barely human, any signs of life turned to ash. All aside from one.

Daella knelt by the only man to remain unburned. The Hardyng sigil that lay on his breast was torn like his torso by the large gashes that lay there; too wide to be from a sword but strong enough to tear through metal and bone all the same.

“Monsters.” She heard people whisper. “Heathens.” “Savages.”

But it was not the mountain clans that did this.

▁▁▁▁▁

Alicent stumbled from Viserys’ chambers with the Mother’s name on her lips.

“Gentle Mother, show me your mercy. Protect my children. Help us. Guide us. Guide me.” The words fell from her lips as though she knew no other, saying them over and over while her feet blindly took her from the room.

She did not know how she made it to her father’s solar. It was like she blinked and suddenly she was there, standing before him.

“The King is dead.” She said.

It felt wrong to speak such a thing aloud.

Wrong. Wrong. It all felt wrong.

Otto Hightower let out a tired sigh. “May the gods rest his soul.” He said as though it truly grieved him, as though he could feel more than ambition and pride.

Alicent took his arm. “We must reconsider peace with Rhaenyra.” 

Her father’s grey brows came together, his saddened eyes turned hard. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” She breathed. “But the King would have wanted us to seek every opportunity for peace with his daughter, you know that as well as I.”

Otto Hightower looked at her as though she had gone mad. “The King would not want his true line extinguished. These doubts are natural, daughter, especially after experiencing such sorrow. But foolish notions of misguided mercy will not protect your children from that woman’s pride. She denies the natural order of things. She denies Aegon, your son.”

“Mayhaps if we speak to her and-“

“Daemon?” He laughed, a cruel bitter sound that had Alicent flinching. “You think that man will bow his head in submission if we ask?”

“He would listen to Rhaenyra.”

A flicker of disappointment she knew well passed across his eyes. “Daemon listens to no man. I spent years showing Viserys that. And what is it you expect the Princess to do exactly? Pass the throne to Aegon? For her childhood friend?” He scoffed. “I never thought you a fool daughter, do not act as such.”

“I am no fool, I am trying to avoid spilling blood, the blood of my children!” She cried.

“Your children’s blood, or hers?”

Any possible response died on her tongue then. She hated the way he looked at her, hated what she saw reflected on his face.

“Father, I-“

“Your Grace!” Lady Tanda burst into the room, her hair spilling out of the high bun she wore, her chest heaving with every breath.

“What has happened?”

Alicent was almost scared to look at her father, scared to see the answer in his eyes.

“You must come to the Throne Room at once.” Was all the woman could say before she ran off again.

“What have you done?” She hissed at him.

But Otto Hightower only shook his head. “What had to be done. Now, come. Let us bring your son his throne.”

Alicent followed him, despite everything in her wanting to run the other way.

But she could still honour her husband, she told herself. Aegon would listen to her. She could implore Rhaenyra to bend the knee and her son would gift her Dragonstone or whichever other holdfast she might like. Viserys would want that, he would be happy with it.

Despite her reassurances, Alicent’s fingertips were raw and bleeding by the time she entered the Throne Room.

The castle guards surrounded them, tall and proud like the sentinel trees that held the perimeter of the godswood. And at the centre stood Rhaenyra, her silver hair as pale as a weirwood and her red dress as bloody as its leaves.

Her sons stood dutifully by her side, all five brave and strong, even the youngest two who clung to her skirts.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra demanded. “Why have my sons and I been brought here?”

“Yes, what is the meaning of this?” Ser Harrold Westerling questioned as he and Ser Erryk stood by their charges.

“The bells toll, Princess.” Her father spoke. “His Grace has passed, you have my condolences.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth twisted into a frown. “And yet as my sons and I grieve, you have your men force His Grace’s grandchildren, princes of the realm, into this hall for what? What is this farce you have concocted?”

“It is not a farce, Princess Rhaenyra, it is the future of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Alicent’s heart sunk as those bright purple eyes turned to her then. “That is what this is then? A conspiracy against me?”

“Rhaenyra, please-“ She began but her father silenced her with a harsh look over his shoulder.

“Aegon is the King’s first born son. I implore you now, in the name of your father, in the name of all that is good and right, bend the knee to your rightful king and you will have a place of honour beside him as he is crowned before the masses. Your sons will keep their titles. They will be gifted lordships while the youngest will graced with the offer to squire for His Grace and his brother, but most importantly they shall all be protected.”

Rhaenyra pulled the youngest two closer to her side - the silver haired babes that looked so much like her, while her brown-eyed boys with those sharp, non-Valyrian faces, stood in front of their mother as if to protect her, wearing matching scowls as they glared at the Hand of the King.

“I will die before I see my sons carry cups and shields for your drunken, cunt of a grandson.” A voice called out.

Daemon Targaryen entered the hall from the far corner, one hand on Dark Sister while the other dragged a bloodied form. His daughters strode in behind him. Brazen Baela with her boyish short hair and meek Rhaena who always seemed too gentle to be his daughter.

He passed by his wife and came to stand before them then, but the castle guards blocked his path.

Despite the threat, being out-numbered a hundred to one, the prince only smirked. He dropped the body on the ground, kicking the man around so that they might see his face.

Larys Strong was bloodied and bruised but he still breathed, as short and pained as his breaths were.

“You truly are mad.” Otto Hightower frowned. “Guards seize Prince Daemon at once! Princess this is your last chance, bend the knee.”

Rhaenyra rested a gentle hand on her eldest two’s shoulders, pushing them back as she came to meet Alicent’s gaze once more.

“Baela. Rhaena. Go to the boys.” She commanded, taking their place by her husband’s side.

She looked almost as grief-stricken then as she did when they watched her father pass.

“Did you really think I would leave my sons unprotected? Did you think I would not fight for them? You, who has known me since I was a girl? I had hoped it would not come to this. After today, I had hoped that some semblance of understanding might have returned.” Sorrow gave way for cold disappointment. “But it appears not.”

“Gold cloaks!” Prince Daemon called out.

And suddenly, steel was drawn, scores of men turning their swords not to Daemon and Rhaenyra but to where Alicent stood with her father.

“Release your weapons now and you will be spared.” Rhaenyra promised the few that remained against her.

The men shook where they stood and Alicent was not much better. Her ears rung as her heart raced, a white noise that washed all else out, flooding her mind.

Where had it went wrong? She did not understand. It was not meant to be this way.

Rhaenyra continued to speak, the men dropped their blades, Daemon laughed and her father raged but she heard none of it, not until the touch of a soft hand fell against her shoulder.

“Rhaenyra, my children…”

The heads of her sons in her daughter’s arms, blood dripping from Helaena’s throat, Dark Sister coming towards her...

Were the gods punishing her? Why were they punishing her?

“Will be protected. As will you.” The Princess promised, the cruel twist of her father’s words silencing her spiralling thoughts. “Ser Harrold, see the Dowager Queen and my father’s Hand are returned to their chambers. You and my husband’s Gold Cloaks will guard their doors. I shall speak to my brothers and sister.”

A hand came to pull at her arm but Alicent was numb to the touch. Her vision blurred as her breathing intensified and suddenly a blackness took over, bringing her to the cold, stone floor.

▁▁▁▁▁

Aemond held Jaehaerys and Jaehaera tight as they rode up the Street of the Sister, keeping a watchful eye on Helaena who rode in front with Maelor bound to her chest.

His sister was not a skilled rider, but still they managed well, reaching the crest of the Hill of Rhaenys before dusk settled.

The bells continued to ring out, a constant reminder of what they had lost and what little time they had left.

The guards watched cautiously as their hooded forms passed by but none said a word.

Aemond stopped his horse before the entrance to the pit, dismounting first to help the twins down before reaching for his sister.

“My prince, I have done as you asked. Vhagar waits for you and Dreamfyre has been beckoned from her nest.”

Vorion Hagaron spared a kind smile for the children and Helaena but his face turned sour as it came to him.

“You did not, however, mention anything of the King’s passing when we last spoke.” He whispered so only Aemond would hear.

“I did not think I needed to. The command was simple, ready the dragons when the bells toll.”

The other man frowned. “I obeyed the King, and I shall obey the Queen that will follow.”

If she follows. Aemond still had no inkling as to what his grandfather hoped to achieve in the hours following Viserys’ death. But no matter who sat the Iron Throne, the city they stood in was about to be the centre of a conflict that would inevitably put his sister and her children at risk.

He rested a hand on the hilt of his blade. “Do you intend to stop me?”

The broad man’s mouth flickered into a hint of a smile. “I already know what a fool’s errand that would be. No. But should someone ask where you went-”

“Then you will tell them.” Aemond finished for him. “And you will tell them I intend to return to ensure the safety of my family.”

The Dragon Keeper hesitated, but only for a moment, before he bowed his head. “Very well then. Follow me.”

The only light in the Dragon Pit was from the torches that hung along the walls. The pit itself extended far down into the depths of the Hill of Rhaenys where most of the dragons lay, but for training or riding, they were brought up, led by only the most experienced Keepers that had survived years at their side.

Shrykos and Morghul let out light chirps at the sight of his niece and nephew but one word from the dark-knighted men had them firm in their position next to Dreamfyre.

The slender pale blue she-dragon let out her own sounds, wings flared out as though she knew what was to come.

The beast lowered herself without a single command and Aemond took Maelor so her rider could mount.

“What about Aegon?” Helaena frowned, reaching for the babe once more. “We cannot leave him.”

“He was not in his chambers.” He sighed. “They must not have found him.”

Helaena reached for her saddle, steadying herself as she loosened the cloth wrapped around Maelor once more.

“What are you doing?”

“We should find him.” She insisted.

“You and the children must be seen to safety first. Even Aegon cannot begrudge that.”

“But we can’t leave him!”

“Helaena,” he brought a hand to her leg to gain her attention, waiting for her eyes to find his “I will come back for him, but we must have you far from here. I will not have it otherwise.”

His sister frowned, unpleased by his answer. And as much as he detested making her unhappy, Aemond could not give her a choice in the matter.

She rebound Maelor to her chest without another word while he reached for the twins, carrying each one up to Vhagar’s saddle before settling there himself.

She had been restless as of late, his Vhagar, with an anger to her that Aemond felt all the way from the Red Keep.

“Where will we fly?” His sister whispered, her voice hollow as she brought Dreamfyre to his old dragon’s side.

Aemond turned his gaze to her. “North.” He said as the largest gate of the pit was slowly pulled open. “To Runestone.”

Chapter Text

It was not until the hour of the nightingale that the Gates of the Moon settled into some semblance of peace, though Daella found no rest; not that she tried.

She pulled the hood of her cloak up high, tucking away the loose locks that had escaped her braid before slipping from her chambers on light feet. She made quick work of reaching the main gate from there, catching up with the men that had been sent to bury the bodies.

She grabbed a shovel. “Wait!” She called out, her voice deepened to a baritone that would match their own while her face remained hidden in the shadows. “M’lady has commanded I help." She told the guards.

The men did not question her sudden appearance, not with the Royce sigil clear on her breast.

“Come on then, lad.” One of the soldier’s gruffed. “They ain’t going to bury themselves.”

She began to dig with them, laying each of the bodies to rest in unnamed graves.

"Hold on." She said before the last of the five was laid with the others.

She reached for the dagger at her waist, cutting the torn Hardyng sigil from the man's jerkin.

She noticed the questioning gazes of the other men. "Will Lord Hardyng or Ser Joffrey not come?" She asked. "They were their men after all."

To her right, she heard a scoff. "Why would they bother?"

She had to bite her tongue at that. "I had thought the lord might want to take this to his man's family, but..." She let her words fall off as she tucked the tattered cloth into her pocket.

"Should we say something?” Another man asked after they put the final man to rest.

"The Old Gods don't care for it." Daella answered. "I don't know about the new ones."

"Aye, can’t say I know much about them either.”

“I do.” The youngest of the group spoke. “My mother took my sisters and I to hear the Septon preach every Maiden’s day.”

“Go on then, boy.”

The prayer came from the young man’s lips like a whisper on the wind. He was no older than Luke and spoke with the same soft strength Daella associated with Rhaenyra’s second son. 

She sighed, patting the boy’s shoulder as his words gave way to silence.

They stood there for a moment longer until the man to her right lifted his shovel, declaring they all needed a drink. The rest of them followed his lead, turning back to the holdfast.

Daella hung to the back of the group, waiting for them to pass through the large stone gate before she tore away, making for the treeline.

Her uncle would be wroth when he woke to find her gone. She had left a letter by her bed explaining she did not intend to be away for long.

"They cannot burn a dragon. Daorys and I shall scout from the skies."

Elbert Royce would not believe it, but the others would, and that was what mattered. Her uncle would understand eventually. He knew she would not be able to rest until she found the answers she sought, and they both knew she could trust him with her men in the meantime.

"I shall return soon. You must ensure the lords do not march before then."

It was more than wishful thinking to hope that she could find her dragon and return in mere days, but Daella knew Daorys was here. She knew it the very second she saw the Hardyng scout’s body.

She ran her thumb across the torn fabric in her pocket before reaching for the short sword at her waist. She rested her hand on the hilt, eyes flitting across the dense forest that had begun to wake with the sliver of sunlight on the horizon.

With dawn, a vague memory of Aemond came to mind. If she tried hard enough, she could almost see him there, sword in hand, as he trained against some unnamed foe at daybreak like he always did. It was an odd comfort to think on, one she did not quite understand, but still she let it play in her mind’s eye as she ventured out into the brush.

▁▁▁▁▁

She could not say how long she had been walking when she finally heard it - the sound of dried leaves crushed beneath footfall that was not her own.

She lowered herself behind a large oak, steadying her breath as the noise continued, a rhythmic beat to accompany the endless songs of the forest.

Three men, she thought. Maybe four.

She drew her short sword, straightening up as she waited for the steps to come closer. Peering over the edge of the wood for less than a moment, she grasped her only throwing knife with her other hand.

The wolf girl would have been able to use it blind. She had done. Beth had spent endless nights on the streets of Braavos with little more to do than practice while her masters decided what the Many-Faced God would have of her next.

She took a breath, waiting until one of the four came close enough to be within reach.

He was broad and had a head on her in height at least. Were it a matter of strength alone she would be dead, but stealth and surprise had always suited her far more than force alone.

She threw her knife at a man to her left, a distraction that allowed her to approach the mountain man nearest from behind. She brought her short sword across his neck, his blood drenching her leather-covered hands. It happened in a flicker of a heartbeat, such little time that the two men still standing had not yet drew their weapons.

As the broad man dropped before her, Daella ran for the next one. She was fast, fast enough that she was able to reach him before he could put a hand on his axe - but not fast enough to stop his fist.

Giving him the blow was a mistake the wolf girl would have been punished for were she still with her faceless masters. It winded her, weakened her, a strike so hard it forced her to the ground - giving the two men a chance to close in.

They spoke amongst themselves in words she knew and words she did not; the Common Tongue and something else, though she did not have the time to decipher it. She reached back until her right hand found something hard.

She brought the rock down onto the first man’s knee in a sickening crack that was followed by his curses. However, the other tribesman did not dally despite his friend's pain. He swung at her with his axe. Daella raised the short sword in her left hand on instinct, narrowly blocking the blow. But the axeman did not stop there. He pressed on, using his strength to push against where his axe met her blade. She raised another hand to support the first and tried to kick out, but he only descended further, knees falling on either side of her torso, his full weight driving her onto her back and her own sword towards the sensitive skin at her neck.

It was only then, when he was that close, that Daella truly saw him. Half his face had been burned like the old dog that had once captured Arya Stark.

“Kill her!” The other man demanded of him, but she knew today was not her day.

She crashed her head against her attacker’s skull, black spots dancing across her vision at the sudden impact, but as the pressure on her neck lifted, she did not waste a moment. She slashed her sword across the burned man’s flesh, clumsily across his face at first before she met her mark, lodging it between the juncture of his neck and shoulders.

She tried to stand again. There’s still one more, she told herself. But the headache that pounded across her skull only bloomed and grew, taunting her even more than the man that limped her way.

As nausea gripped her, she stumbled back, but she was not scared.

Not today, she repeated.

And finally, that screech she had come to love so greatly sounded out; a call so terrifying, yet one that brought a smile to her face and laughter to her lips. Even as she felt herself slipping, her eyes falling as her mind clouded, Daorys’ cry had her breathing ease and her heart lift - a welcome sound that lulled her to sleep as well as her mother’s own songs once did.

▁▁▁▁▁

“It is good to see you well, Ser.” 

Criston Cole peered over his shoulder, ever-vigilant, before he took the torch offered to him.

He leaned close, slipping the coin purse into the other man’s pocket. “You have done well.” He whispered.

“I only wish to serve the rightful king.” 

Cole’s mouth fell, the sharp reminder of betrayal twisting in his gut like a knife. There were so few left that could truly rely on. Most had turned their backs for that harlot; the spider who had ensnared so many in her web.

Rhaenyra. Her name echoed in his mind, a curse that brought fire to his veins and rage to his heart.

“Then you are one of the few true knights left to us.” He said as he was led down the damp staircase into the Black Cells. “Look how easily the rest have forgotten themselves.” He hissed. “Men I trained to hold honour and dignity now stand at the Bastard Queen’s back.”

“There are more of us than you think.”

Yes, he thought. There was still hope.

When he was sent by Her Grace to find Prince Aegon, when the King still lived and the realm still held true to its values, Cole quickly learned who he could trust.

Ser Arryk had been a surprising knight of that order. He followed Cole and shielded Aegon when the city’s bells tolled and the Gold Cloaks came for them. Between himself and Ser Criston they had been able to pull the prince from the brothel and cut down any man that stood in their path.

And he remained faithful even now, guarding their King despite where his brother swearing to the Usurper.

But his loyalty will not keep Aegon safe forever. They had no time, and yet Cole could not leave, not without Queen Alicent.

He looked at the guard from the corner of his eye. The man was known to Ser Arryk, someone he swore could be trusted. It seemed his promises held true though he still had his doubts.

“Where is the gaelor?” He asked.

The guard let out a short laugh. “Eron is a good friend. You need not worry about him, Ser.”

Cole frowned though did not speak to his mistrust. The last thing he needed was more enemies.

“Very well. I thank you for taking me this far, but for what is to come next I need you back at your post.”

The man nodded his head, turning to leave without question. The familiarity of his obedience settled his misgivings.

“Wait.” He called out, and again, with no word of protest, the guard stopped.

“If you truly wish to show your loyalty to Aegon, I have a task for you and your friend. If you complete it, I can promise you will both be rewarded greatly.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Muffled voices filtered through Daella’s clouded mind, drawing her back from the depths that held her.

Her eyelids fluttered open to find dark stone above her. Light glittered against it, drawing her gaze to a great fire held at the mouth of the alcove.

She drew steady breaths as she tried to move. Her fingers twitching as she suddenly noticed the sharp edges that lay beneath her. She winced as they scratched against her legs and arms, even through her thick leathers she felt them, grating on her skin like glass.

She brought her arms under her, lifting herself, but as her eyes finally caught sight of what lay below, she froze.

Eggs, hundreds of pieces of crushed dragon eggs were scattered across the ground. She sat up, running her fingers across large shard of emerald green.

It feels like stone, she realised. Cold, lifeless, and wrong.

A low rumble sounded out. She turned to find Daorys, her black dragon surrounding her and the broken pieces. At the sound of her movement, he lifted his head, his glowing eyes meeting her own.

“Skoros iksos bisa?” She whispered. What is this?

“You are awake.” A voice spoke.

Daella’s head spun at the sound. She reached for her short sword on instinct, only to find the scabbard at her waist empty.

“We will not hurt you.” 

She lifted her gaze from her waist to the man that stood above her.

He wore thick fur across his shoulders and deerskin below his waist, and on his chest… Daella frowned as her eyes fell to the breastplate across his wide chest and vambrace fitted to either arm. And beneath that she saw seared flesh, red and raw from a burn so fresh she could smell it.

“Eldurinn mikli brought you here.” He went on.

Eldurinn mikli.  

“Who are you?”

She leaned against Daorys’ side as she stood, her feet steady despite how weak they felt.

“Finnandi elds. Chieftain of Burned Men.”

Mountain clan territory. She took a step closer to her dragon, eyes briefly flickering to him. Why was he nesting in mountain clan territory?

She looked back at the man. “It is you then, who has been attacking innocents travelling through the High Road.” She accused.

His mouth lifted in barely concealed amusement. “Innrásarher Andal.” He hissed. “And it is you, falcons, who have taken our land and our ways.”

Her fists tightened at her side. “I have taken nothing from you. Those people you killed took nothing from you either.”

He laughed. “You have much spirit for an Andal. I had wondered why Eldurinn mikli claimed you.”

Her gaze fell to Daorys once more, who let out a low rumble. Despite his presence, everything about this place made her feel uneasy.

“I am no Andal, but I am a Valeman and I have a duty to this land.” She said. “Take your people and return west, or the might of the Vale shall descend upon this mountain seeking justice for what has been done to their own.”

She turned to her dragon. “Daorys, ivestragī īlva jikagon.” Let’s go. 

He heard her, letting out a short sound in return, but he did not lower his wing as he usually would. Instead, he dropped his head, resting it against the hard stone.

“Daorys.” She said his name again, but he did not rise; only letting out a long, tired breath.

She slowly turned to the burned man, wariness giving way for anger.

“What did you do?”

▁▁▁▁▁

The Black Cells echoed with the screams of broken men. 

It was not torture that turned the prisoners to madness. The darkness, the solitude, men living in their own filth, freezing against iron bars while rats gnawed at their rotting flesh - that was what destroyed them.

Criston Cole brought his hand to his nose as he passed through, ignoring the begs for mercy, the pleads for death.

He held his torch out, looking for a familiar set of eyes amongst the damp cells.

Eventually, he found the huddled form he was looking for.

“Lord Strong.”

Larys Strong raised his bruised face, wincing at the movement.

“I had wondered when you would come.”

“I am sorry to see how you have suffered under Rhaenyra’s cruelty, my lord.”

The Lord of Harrenhal let out a weak laugh. “I am sure.”

Cole frowned, lowering himself so he might look the man in the eye. “Her Grace has always relied on your loyalty. She needs it once more. King Aegon needs it.”

The man scoffed. “King Aegon needs dragons, not cripples.” He said, those cunning eyes mocking his choice of words. “I assume you must have him then.”

Cole ignored the teasing, reminding himself why he was here; who he was doing this for.

“I do. He requires information which you and I both know is your speciality.”

“Once.” The man coughed. “But the White Worm has made work of eating my birds, it seems.” He shook his head. “Come now, Ser, even you must see the irony in that? Her brothel was meant to burn that night, but they were waiting for me. Tanda Ashford handed me over to Gold Cloaks herself.”

Cole’s eyes fell. “Her Grace’s lady?”

“The very one.”

Traitors. He heard the word in the heavy silence, felt it in the damp air. They turn to her. They all turn to her.

“Do you think the realm will ever accept me as their queen?” She had asked him once. Rhaenyra looked at him so earnestly then, and he believed… He thought… Cole shook his head. It did not matter what he thought. She betrayed him; forcing him to forsake the only thing he had to his name. His honour. 

He still remembered her face the day she rejected him. She took everything from him then, and yet she still finds more to take.

He forced his breaths to steady, trying to shake all thoughts of her from his mind. “What else do you know?” He asked the man in front of him.

The lord raised a dark brow. “Have you seen where I am, Ser?”

“I have. And I have also seen the fresh bandages on your leg and the plate that lays by your feet. Most of the smallfolk outside these walls have never been treated so well.”

“My gaelor has been kind.”

“This is more than just the gaelor. What do you want?” He asked, frustrated with this cat-and-mouse game the lord always seemed to be playing.

She liked games too. His jaw ticked at the reminder. Rhaenyra.

“Out, of course. My position by the Dowager Queen and King restored. That would certainly be a start. I assume you do have a plan to get them out of the city?”

“Where are Her Grace and the Hand? Where are Prince Aemond and Princess Helaena?”

The man tutted at his harsh tone. “Really, Cole? We are meant to be allies, are we not? This is not how allies treat one another.”

He slapped his hands against the metal bars, rage spilling over. “Answer the question, Strong.”

The Lord of Harrenhal raised his hands in surrender. “I am afraid the only words I hear are blacker than these cells.” He sighed. “Do you really wish to know that Prince Aemond has fled the city with his sister? That with him King Aegon has lost his largest dragon?”

Cole almost flinched. Aemond… Aemond, who he had trained. Aemond, who he had protected, encouraged and raised. Aemond, who… who stood beside the girl who put a dagger to his neck.

Daella, the cells creaked. Rhaenyra, they whispered. Traitors.

“Where is the Queen?” He said between clenched teeth, hands tightening around the iron bars.

Daella. Rhaenyra. Traitors.

“How exactly do you plan on getting her and the Hand out, Cole?”

Rhaenyra. Traitor.

“Where is the Queen? He asked again.

“I will tell you.” Was the man’s reply. “I will ensure the wealth of Harrenhal is at His Grace’s disposal too once I am relieved of my current accommodation.”

Rhaenyra.

Traitor.

Traitor.

Traitor.

“Where is she?” He hissed.

“I understand your haste. But-“ Larys Strong gasped, hands shaking as they reached for the ones Cole had wrapped around his throat.

The Lord of Harrenhal tried to choke out broken words, he tried to plead, but nothing came from between Criston’s fists.

Cole blinked and suddenly he was bringing the man’s head against the metal bars, again, and again, and again.

The sickening sound of his skull breaking felt like justice. It was right, fitting, an end he deserved. That was what he told himself over and over.

He closed his eyes and saw silver hair there; he saw her face, the same one that rejected him, but when he opened them again, it was only Larys Strong that lay before him.

“You were right.” He told the dead man. “It is dragons I need, not cripples.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella looked upon the great fire. The winds blew harsh this high, but the hard stone that made these mountains protected it and what lay within.

The egg was a deep red, darker than Prince Daemon’s Caraxes, and the only one to remain whole.

Daorys watched it night and day, as did the Burned Men.

“Nyke ȳdra daor shifang.” She told her dragon. I don’t understand.

The day had given way for dusk, though the mountain was still full of life. The clansmen feasted, hunted and celebrated - their spirits high as more and more of their men came back with meat, gold and other prizes.

They lived amongst the mountainside like Daorys did, making their homes in the scores of alcoves carved into the strong stone.

“He needs time to gorge after what you and your people did to him.”

Three lambs were lain out before them and the men quickly retreated as Daorys lunged at the meat, a satisfied rumble leaving his throat.

The chieftain then dropped a small rabbit at her feet.

The warriors at his back snickered, teasing words shared between them in their tongue.

“My men wonder if they should have their children show you how to prepare it.” He explained, a grin pulling at his lips.

While the tribesmen looked upon her dragon with great wonder and reverence, they only spared her looks of disgust and curses spoken in their own tongue.

Daella snarled at his words, reaching for one of the broken egg shards, a piece sharp enough to cut with. She skinned the rabbit in front them, throwing both the meat and fur at the chief afterwards.

It hit his arm unceremoniously and for good measure she threw the egg shard too, watching with satisfaction as it cut the deerskin at his waist.

“Me?” She walked up to the man, glaring at his dark brown eyes. “You did this to him!” She cried, pushing his chest with the palm of her hands. “You!” A push quickly became a punch. She lay it square at his nose, her wrists seized immediately by rough hands following.

“You think I do not see?” She went on, struggling against his hold. “You hold crates of castle-forged steel. Your people spit at the mere mention of an Andal, do they know you have been paid by them?”

The vambraces, the breastplates, the axes, the greaves and the swords - they were identical. Even now as she looked between the chieftain and his men she could see it.

“Who?” She seethed. “Who paid you to do this to him?”

There were no physical wounds, whatever they had done to her dragon lay deep within.

The chieftain’s nostril’s flared, his amusement falling into anger. “Heimsk Andal.” He sneered. “You know nothing.”

He released her wrists, the look of loathing clear on his face. “Eat. Starve. I do not care.” He said, turning his back to descend the mountainside.

Daella watched him go, cursing him with each step he took. She returned to Daorys then, dropping next to her sleeping dragon.

That was all he had done since he brought her here - slept and feasted.

She looked down at the broken eggs beneath her feet once more.

“Nyke ȳdra daor shifang.” I don’t understand.

▁▁▁▁▁

By the next morning, Daella’s hunger had worsened though she ignored it, refusing anything that was brought before her.

Daorys, however, had no such qualms. He did not tolerate the clansmen, but at the sight of their offerings he settled some. The food was no guarantee of protection, however. Daella woke that very day to the screams of a man. He cried terribly as the flames of her dragon engulfed him, but any sound he made ceased when Daorys consumed him and the lamb he offered whole.

And yet, the tribe was not deterred, they were never deterred, nor their devotion strained in the slightest.  

The children, especially, scaled the mountain night and day in hopes of seeing the black dragon, though they remained far beyond the perimeter of the alcove, the wounds of their fathers and brothers lesson enough alone as to why they should not attempt to come closer.

When she first ventured beyond her dragon’s nest, she found a score of them waiting there, whispering amongst themselves and staring at her.

Eventually one brave enough to separate from the gaggle.

“Er það satt?” The girl asked, almost jumping up and down with delight. “Andals koma?”

Daella shook her head. “I do not speak your tongue.”

The child frowned, running to the ledge to call out to someone.

An older girl answered the call. She frowned as she caught sight of Daella, though her features softened as the other girl took her hand, leading her to where she stood.

The child repeated her words, pointing to her.

“She asks if it is true, that the Andals are coming.” The older of the two explained.

Daella frowned. “If your chieftain does not cease in this madness, then even I will not be able to stop them. What is your name?”

The elder ignored her question, turning to speak to the other child instead.

Daella wondered if something had been lost in translation then as the little girl practically gleamed, responding in rushed, excited words.

“Do all mountain clans speak the same tongue?” She asked, halting their conversation.

The girls turned their attention to her. There was hesitance on the eldest’s features while the youngest was blissfully unaware, eagerly tugging at the other child’s arm so she might understand.

“No.” The former answered. “Only we remember. The rest forget, even Painted Dogs.”

Something twisted on the girl’s face at the mere mention of them.

Daella raised a dark brow. “Why did your chieftain bring you here?”

Communication between the Valemen and the tribes was nonexistent, but they had shared common land for a millennia - the lords of the Vale knew more about the clans than any maester could.

Since the Andals came, the tribes’ territory had been cut to the mountains between Grey Glen and Strongsong and those west of the Bloody Gate. The peaks this far east had not been theirs in hundreds of years.

The older girl seemed angered by her words. “This is our home now as it was before.” She insisted, only turning those fiery eyes away at the insistent pull of the younger.

More words were exchanged between the pair before the smaller girl directed some at her.

“She wishes to know where your Andal tail is?” The eldest muttered.

Daella almost choked. “My what?”

“Your tail. Our mother tells us all Andals have twisted tails. That is why they wear such silly clothes, to hide it.”

“My tail?” She repeated, stunned for a moment before laughter left her lips.

The children appeared perplexed by her sudden outburst, though their confusion turned to indignance when she informed them that she had, in fact, no tail and that no Andal did.

“And besides,” she went on “the Andal blood in House Royce is thin. It comes from marriage alone. We are First Men, like you.”

“You are not!” The older girl insisted. “You are not like us!”

“I am.” Daella promised. “I can prove it.”

She retreated to her dragon’s alcove. Daorys appeared more himself as the day went on - alert, restless, but she could see how his hunger persisted.

She watched his nostrils flare as he smelled the children. He shifted, as if to retrieve his next meal.

“Ao jāhor daor ōdrikagon zirȳ.” She said firmly. “Umbagon.” You will not harm them. Stay.

He was displeased but lowered himself once more with a loud thud.

Daella leaned down, retrieving a broken egg that lay at his feet.

“You should not have come so close.” She told the girls once she returned. “If I was not here, he would have killed you.”

They both frowned at her - the eldest for her words and the youngest for lack of understanding them.

“He lets you near him, and you are just an Andal.”

“He and I share a bond, he will not hurt me. But he holds no such loyalty to others. He was weaker before, when your people brought him deer and goat and lamb. He is not now.”

“What does it mean? A bond?”

The younger girl whined as her sister spoke, though the other child only batted her away with a dismissive hand. “What does it mean?” She insisted.

“Our blood is tied.” Daella explained. “Through the blood of my father, it is. Our blood is tied too, you and I, though that blood comes from my mother.”

She sat on the stone beneath her using the shard she had retrieved to scratch runes she had known since she was a babe into it.

“See,” she told them “it is the Old Tongue, is it not? The language which you still speak now.”

The girl’s eyes widened and her lips parted. Daella watched those eyes trace each mark over and over. There was wonder there. She reached out to touch them, as though she could not believe what she was seeing. But she caught herself before her fingers met stone, that wonder fading into something else.

Slowly, that dark gaze lifted to look at her once more. “Then why did you let them take our land from us?” The words were whispered, but soon rage filled her voice. “If you are one of us, why did you fight us? Why do you fight with them?” She spat. “It does not matter who your mother was, you are Andal now.”

She ran off, taking the younger girl’s hand and dragging her away too. Daella brought her lower lip between her teeth as she watched them go.

She speaks as if it is so simple, she thought, as if the world is made of black and white, good and bad. Arya Stark once believed such a thing, but as she grew the list of people she could not take off her list did too.

She as brought from her thoughts by a new presence at the entrance of the alcove.

She turned to see the gaggle of children had disappeared, and in their stead, the chieftain stood with two men behind him.

Daorys roused at their smell, lifting his heavy head in the darkness once more.

“I would not come closer.” She warned them from where she sat. “My dragon is hungry and most displeased that I denied him a meal.”

The chieftain stopped in his steps but the others did not. 

“Fools.” She whispered.

Green flames flickered behind the light of the great fire, building at the back of Daorys’ throat. One man tried to approach with a skittish pig in hand. He pulled the animal towards her dragon by the rope tied around its neck, forcing him forwards no matter how much the little thing cried.

“Daor zirȳla.” She spoke. Not him.

But then Daorys’ gaze shifted to the other man that followed him. True to her command, he did not burn the first but he brought his jaws down upon the second before she could say a word against it.

Her eyes never left the chieftain’s then, nor his her’s. “Tell your man to leave. You should go with him.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer before he turned to his warrior. The order was clear. Daella understood it even if she did not understand the words themselves.

But when his man left, he did not.

“You are either very brave or very stupid to stay.” She told him. “Daorys cannot be subdued by the promise of food.”

The fading daylight bathed him in the same hues as the fire. Even from as far as she was Daella could see the way his lips pulled as they often seemed to do. But this was neither happy or sad, she did not know what it was.

“I know that.” He spoke, turning to look at the great fire that lay near her. “Do you know what Finnandi Elds means?”

His words gave her pause. She shook her head.

“It is Finder of Fire in my tongue.”

He then turned his gaze to the darkness behind her, where her dragon lurked.

“My people gave me that name. Many nights ago, he came to us. Eldurinn mikli. The Great Fire. Only days before we left our homes in the west, left the clans who let themselves forget, settling here.” Anger swept across his face at the mention of them, just as it did the young girl’s before him. But as soon as it was there, it was gone. “When he came, he could barely fly. He landed here, on the summit, burning all those who lay beneath him. My people were scared, but I was not.”

“I killed my horse.” He went on. “Skinned him and dragged his body up the mountain. Eldurinn mikli was weak, but even then he was strong. He brought his flames down on the horse, and on me. I did not feel it at first, not until he swallowed my horse and turned his face towards where I stood. I ran then. I survived, as did he.”

“I brought him a horse everyday. And everyday I received another burn. My people thought me mad for it. They wished to leave, but they did not see what I did.”

“What did you see?”

“A message from the gods. A blessing that has never been given to any other. He is their power, their fire, their gift to us. With him watching over us, my warriors and I took greater and greater spoils from the Andals. We won victories we had only heard of in the stories of our elders. And finally, my people saw Eldurinn mikli for what he was.”

Daella frowned, standing to meet him. There was only truth on the chieftains face, and that left her mind racing with more questions than she had started with. “Say I believe your tale. Why would you let more of your clan burn?”

“Only the mighty can survive the fire.” He stated. “From the flames, men are born again, better, stronger than before.” 

“And the rest?”

“The mountains are no place for weakness. Eldurinn mikli sees that just as we do.” He nodded his head in the direction of the broken egg she had left behind. “He crushed those that were weak and deformed, just as he took those from us that were not meant to fight.”

Daella took in a heavy breath.

He had done it before, so many times. The other dragons learned not to lay clutches near him for it. But this felt different. The chieftain’s words had buried themselves deep in her bones, seeping into her bloodstream and clutching at her heart.

“The gods will honour those that have passed for their sacrifice.” The chieftain went on.

She scoffed, not hiding her contempt. “Your people died screaming. They died in pain. No one deserves that. No god would ask for it.” She thought of the girls then, the faith they held that was so plain to see. “If you care for your clan at all you will return west. Daorys and I will leave soon and an army of Valemen will come in our place, an army which you cannot hope find victory against with faith alone. Leave now and survive. Let your people survive.”

It was his turn to frown. “Eldurinn mikli will not leave us.”

“And when he does?” She challenged. “What will you say to your people then? Will you run to the Andals that gave you your weapons and beg for their protection?”

She sought anger with those words, and that is exactly what she received.

The chieftain hissed at her with such venom she was surprised it did not drip from his tongue. “You Andals have cut your own palm so many times, why should I not take the knife when it is offered to me? I will see that your people bleed and then I will cut down those that tried to use me.”

“Who? Who did this?”

He did not hurt Daorys, his clan did not - they could not, even if they had tried, that much was clear. But that left one question.

“Who hurt him?”

The man’s anger gave way to spite, a mocking grin falling over his features. “Maybe it is two shadows, maybe they are one and the same. It matters not to me, they both bleed Andal blood. The blood of my enemy.”

He was unwavering, his hatred inviting the Stranger to his door. Daella could feel him closing in, the seconds counting down with each beat of her heart.

“You will lead your clan to their death.” She told him.

But he only laughed. “Your people are weak, hiding behind suits of metal and stone walls. You may bring a thousand, thousand men to us, it matters not. We will destroy you all. You will burn in our fires and lay as ashes under our feet, the stain you leave on this land removed once and for all. I will see to it.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Rhaenyra gazed upon the Iron Throne.

Her father had once told her that no man was ever meant to sit it comfortably. That was before Baelon and her mother passed, before he considered that the next Targaryen to sit it could be his daughter rather than the son he had always wanted.

Rhaenyra still remembered those words. The duty he had passed to her was not one she bore lightly. She knew what it meant to wear the crown and what must be done to keep it.

“Baela, one day very soon you and Jace shall wed and you will be Princess of Dragonstone.” She spoke.

Her son’s betrothed stood beside her, clad in Targaryen black and red.

“As far as the realm is aware, your queen is sending you to care for your betrothed’s rightful seat until he can join you. But between us, my reasoning in sending you east holds a different purpose.”

The corner of the girl’s lips lifted. “Whatever you need of me, Your Grace.” She swore without fear.

“Your father and I need you and Moondancer patrolling the Gullet. I have written your grandmother, she will join you on Meleys. You must watch for Vhagar and her rider. I do not know when but they will return.”

The Dragon Keeper that told her of Aemond and Helaena’s visit to the Pit swore as much.

“It came from the Prince’s mouth himself.” The dark knight solemnly said. “Forgive me, my queen. My order is sworn to the crown, had I known of your wishes Dreamfyre and the young dragons would never have been allowed from the Pit.”

He did not speak of Vhagar. The old dragon would have destroyed the Hill of Rhaenys and everyone upon it if she was kept from her own will. The Dragon Keepers had some semblance of control over the she-dragon but their order would fall before any of them could get close to stopping her.

Daemon had wanted to take the man’s head there and then for letting her brother and sister escape with the children. But one look from her had him returning Dark Sister to her sheath.

“You only did as your prince commanded.” She said in return. “But as your queen, I command that no other dragon is to leave the Pit without my permission. Sunfyre, especially is to be guarded night and day.”

While she had heard of her younger brother and sister’s escape, Aegon had remained a mystery to her. Her husband’s Gold Cloaks were scouring the streets for him and the missing Kingsguard that might be harbouring him, but it was as though he had disappeared into thin air. Not even her new Mistress of Whispers could find him.

“I must advice caution, Your Grace.” Lady Mysaria had warned after her first council. “The people will not take well to having their houses torn apart in search of the Prince. They will mislike you for it. More than that they will make assumptions.”

“And what assumptions might those be?”

“That you are scared of him. It brings into light his position as King Viserys’ firstborn son and the claim that comes with it, his claim.”

Rhaenyra had hissed that he had no claim, which the pale lady did not disagree with. “But with each home you search you bring his name to more and more people’s lips, and you make him more than he is.”

She saw the merit in those words, in truth, but what the White Worm did not understand was Rhaenyra had no choice. She had to find Aegon. She could not let the very threat to her legitimacy as queen walk free and name himself king. It would bring war, a war that would tear the realm apart, and tear the duty her father entrusted in her asunder.

“If you see Vhagar, or even Dreamfyre for that matter, you are not to engage.” She told Baela. “Moondancer is faster than both of them. You are to return to the Keep at once and warn us so we might be prepared.”

Her stepdaughter’s eyes widened. “You mean to face Vhagar?”

“We may not have to. The Dragon Keepers told me she flew north. There is only one keep north of Dragonstone that would even know what it meant to harbour a dragon, let alone be one that Aemond would turn to.”

Baela drew in a soft breath. “Daella.”

“Indeed. It is my hope that your sister will aid in bringing us towards a peaceful path forwards, but we must prepare for all possibilities.”

“Daella would never betray her family!” The girl insisted fiercely. 

Rhaenyra hoped so, she prayed for it to be so.

She and Daemon had fought over her relationship with her Alicent’s second son for moons now.

“I will not have it!” He had hissed. “If you wish to subdue the threat he and Vhagar pose then send Caraxes and I. I shall run Dark Sister through my nephew’s other eye.”

“And make yourself a kinslayer? Mar what will be the beginning of my reign with the blood of our own kin? I am protector of the realm, Daemon. The whole realm. I must seek peace before I turn to Fire and Blood, and wedding your daughter to him is my best chance at keeping the Hightower’s in line. Aemond may hold no love for us, but if he loves her, he will never turn Vhagar against us. They will know that just as well as we do.”

Daemon reached for her hands then, gripping them tightly. “Something as fickle as love will not protect your throne. What if he turns against her? Or worse, what if he turns her against us?”

Rhaenyra did not know the answer to that question, none of them could know, but Baela was so sure in her sister’s loyalty that it gave her hope.

“I trust your sister.” She told the girl. “But I do not trust him. That is why we must be prepared.”

“When you leave, Luke and Arrax will join you as far as Driftmark. Your grandfather has recovered well, I hear, and I thank the gods for it, but we need his fleet ready. You know I love my sons much more dearly than anything else in this world. When you are flying out there, I want you to remember it is Luke you are protecting beneath you on Driftmark, it is his brother and your sister that are you protecting, here, in Kingslanding. It is not easy, what I ask, but like your sister, I trust you, Baela.”

Resolution came over her stepdaughter’s face then. “I will not let you down, Your Grace.”

“I know.” Rhaenyra raised a hand to cup the girl’s cheek while the other went to the swell of her own stomach, cradling her child that lay inside. “I know.”

▁▁▁▁▁

“Why would you do it?” Daella whispered to her dragon as she gazed at the broken egg held between her fingers.

“They were yours.” She knew it. She did not know which she-dragon laid the clutch but he fathered them. He would not have bothered taking them so far otherwise. “They were yours.” She repeated. “Which meant they were mine. I would have cared for them, no matter how they hatched or what they might have looked like.”

She felt a lone tear drop to her cheek. She wiped it away furiously. “We will have justice for them.” She promised him. “I will have justice for you.”

Her eyes fell to the lone egg within the pyre. “But there is something here we must do first.”

Chapter Text

“Dragons!” The men below shouted as Aemond and Helaena circled above Runestone.

The guards rushed to man the scorpions fixed upon the grey stone walls but held their fire, watching Aemond steadily bring Vhagar to land, Dreamfyre following close behind.

“We’re here.” He told his niece and nephew, unbuckling the ties that held them to his dragon’s saddle. “Keep close to me and your mother, but Shrykos and Morghul must remain with Vhagar.”

Jaehaera’s lips tightened into a frown, but she obediently gave the command for her dragon to remain, Jaehaerys mimicking her.

Aemond lifted them from Vhagar before approaching the other she-dragon at her side.

Helaena gripped her dragon’s reins tightly as she looked upon the unfamiliar walls.

“Come, sister.” He said, holding out his hand for her to take.

“I don’t know this place,” she whispered “I don’t know its people. I know the Red Keep.”

She looked scared. He supposed it must be difficult for someone who saw so much to be faced with the unknown. The Red Keep was far from perfect, but at least there they knew where they stood. Here, they found themselves on less certain ground.

“But you know Daella.” He reminder her gently. “She’ll be happy to see you, you know that. This is her home and her people. She would not let them hurt you or the children.”

Helaena ran a hand over Maelor’s silver hair, thinking over his words.

“And Jon.” She said eventually. “We know Jon too.”

He smiled. “Yes, we do.”

He offered his hand once more and this time, she took it. 

She was careful as she dismounted along Dreamfyre’s flank, but despite her patience, Maelor began to wail.

Helaena rocked him, softly whispering words of comfort as Aemond approached the closed gate.

“Who goes there?” A voice called out.

“Aemond Targaryen.” He replied. “I come with my sister, Princess Helaena. We seek your lady.”

There was silence for a moment before he heard muffled words from the other side. “Let them in, you fools.” A different voice commanded. “This is a prince of the Seven Kingdoms.”

But the gates remained firmly closed.

Soon, another man appeared above the parapets.

“I am Lyle Fern, castellan of Runestone. I am afraid Lady Daella is not here, my prince.”

Aemond frowned. “Then where is she?”

“Attending to her duties in the west.”

Duties? What possible duty could have taken her from her home?

“I will speak with Lord Elbert then.”

“He is not here either.”

he blinked, glancing up at the sky for any sign of Daorys, but while neither the dragon or his rider were there, another face he recognised suddenly appeared atop the castle walls.

Jon’s mop of silver hair peeked up above the parapets. At the sight of them, his eyes widened and he disappeared for a brief moment before coming back with Ser Hugh in tow. That only further added to his bewilderment. 

Where would she go where he and Jon would not follow?

“I am surprised to see you here, Ser, and not your lady’s side.”

“Not as surprised as I am to see you, my prince.” The knight said in return, hands resting on the hilt of his longsword.

“I seek shelter under the Lady of Runestone’s roof. You have spent more time with her than most. You know she would not deny my sister and I this request.”

The tall man frowned but did not disagree. “Prince Aemond speaks true.” He said to the castellan.

“But Lady Daella is not here, nor has she expressed wishes regarding this matter. What she has done, Ser, is entrusted me the safety of this keep and her people. I mean no disrespect, my prince,” he rushed out, hastily “but how can we be sure of your intentions?”

Aemond fought the urge to sneer. Had he wished to, he could have put Runestone to the torch with one simple word. He would think that the castellan of a dragonrider would know that.

Ser Hugh had no such reservations, however. “You see those dragons, do you not? If harm was intended, we would know. Now, will you open the gates?”

Silence filled the air for a moment, but eventually the call went out, and the heavy wooden doors were pulled opened.

A grey-robed maester waited for them on the other side, bowing his head and mumbling a hundred apologies.

“Forgive them, my prince. I begged them to greet you in a manner befitting your station, but the people of this castle have lacked guidance for some time. However, I swear on the Seven that I will do all I can-“

His words fell as Aemond walked straight past him to meet Jon, the small boy running towards them.

He wore tanned leather the colour of Royce-bronze and looked so much like Aegon that Aemond struggled meet his gaze.

“Gōntan ziry bodmagho ao valyrio eglie?” Did she teach you High Valyrian?

The boy nodded his head, Aemond’s eye falling to the soft waves that bounced with the movement.

Just like Jaehaerys.

When they first met, he did not see much beyond the sharp teeth and mud, and then, afterwards, he was too busy looking at her to truly notice the boy that clung to her side like a shadow.

But he saw it now - that face a reminder of what he had left behind in Kingslanding.

“Does the castellan speak true?” He asked in the tongue of their ancestors. “Has she went west?”

Again, the boy nodded his head.

“Why?”

Jon took his hand then, the caws of crows welcoming them as he led Aemond into Daella’s home.

▁▁▁▁▁

She ran between the trees, moving as fast as her four legs would take her. They raced towards flesh and smoke, ready for the hunt, ready to feast.

Her brothers and sisters slowed ahead of her, shifting uneasily as a new scent filled the air. 

She lifted her head, the beast's smell filling her senses. There were few animals that could challenge her pack. Together, they could tear down most foes. But this one she knew to be wary of. 

He was surrounded by death and metal, humans lingering near him, filling the mountains with their awful noise.

Her brother let out a displeased sound. He was hungry. So, very hungry. And so was she.

Daella woke with that hunger plaguing her mind and gnawing at her gut.

The ravens seemed to laugh at her sorry state, their voices rising in a sharp chorus.

Daorys shifted around her as she sat up, meeting her gaze with his own.

“Arya Stark had a friend as fierce as you.” She murmured to her dragon, casting a sharp look the ravens' way as she huddled closer to his side. “Her name was Nymeria.”

Something about this place brought those old dreams back to her, echoes of them playing out as she slipped from the waking world.

The Red Woman had once told her dragon queen that magic existed in many - places, people, and objects.

At first, Daella had thought the dreams simply memories, the magic shared between wolf and girl bleeding into this life. But even now, she could not shake the feeling that it was more than a memory.

Cheers echoed up the mountainside, drawing her eyes downward.

The clan had gathered towards the base, their torches a hundred tiny stars from where she sat.

She could hear their merriment. Even after she warned their chief of what was to come they still laughed, holding no fear of death. 

“I had an odd dream.” She told Daorys, resting a hand below his eye. “It was the same one I had last night. Arya Stark had those dreams, but I had not had them until I came to this place.”

“There is magic here, I think.” She mused, turning her eyes back to the ravens. “Mayhaps that is why you chose it. You were drawn to it, or it is drawn to you. Either way, I think they saw it too.” She said, gesturing to the clan below. “But whatever they think they have here will not protect them when the Knights of the Vale come. They will die if they do not leave.”

She only received a soft huff in return, those cunning green eyes telling her what he intended to say. Daorys had seen hundreds and thousands fall in his lifetime. To him, their death was no different from the rest.

“I care.” She argued, despite his lack of words. “They don't need to die. But they won’t listen to me.”

Her mind drifted to her dream again. To Nymeria.

“I won’t let them die.”

▁▁▁▁▁

Aemond glanced down at the courtyard from where he stood on the wooden walkway by the Old Keep.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera ran through the main gate, wide smiles brought on by visiting their young dragons. Jon and Helaena followed closely behind with Ser Hugh trailing them. The knight had secured enough meat from the butcher to keep the hungry beasts satisfied for the next couple days at least.

His niece and nephew seemed more at ease since their arrival, but Helaena remained perturbed, her amethyst eyes boring into every face that crossed her path.

“I never saw us leaving Kingslanding.” She had confessed to him that morning. “Not before. And not now either. It is odd to find another part of the web.” She said.

“Is it a good part or bad?” He asked.

She only smiled in return. “I don’t know yet.”

The rattling of chains quickly brought his mind back to the present.

“My prince.” The maester of Runestone bowed as he approached Aemond’s side.

He frowned, ignoring the toad-faced man.

He did not like him. He did not like the way he looked at him, the way he constantly spoke about everything and nothing, seeking to appease with each word.

“I apologise for your loss, my prince. You have my deepest condolences.”

“I have no need for condolences, maester.”

“Well, we are glad to have you here. Your visit is, of course, unexpected, but Runestone’s hospitality is yours.”

“I do not believe that it is yours to give.”

“I shall do all I can to ensure you and the princess are comfortable in any case. If there is anything you should need I will see to it above all else.”

“Even above your own lady’s need?” He asked, towering above the other man.

Grafton flushed red then, mumbling and bumbling about a maester’s duties to the realm, but spoke nothing of importance. Aemond quickly grew tired of their conversation, walking away, but the maester, it seemed, was far from discouraged.

“Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Jaehaera have captured the hearts of the people.” And still, despite his silence, the man went on. “They have had so little to smile about as of late, what with the wildling attacks and then the tragic news about His Grace, the King. It has been a difficult time for many.”

Aemond turned his gaze west where the land rose into the Mountains of the Moon - where she was.

The maester followed his gaze. “Lady Daella is-”

“Her ward informed me of where she is.”

When Jon told him, Aemond had wanted nothing more than to take Vhagar and find her -  his mistrust of Helaena’s safety to strangers being what little that held him back. Daella would not have appreciated it. She would, in fact, have raged at the very idea of him riding in on Vhagar to protect her. Although, they both knew he was no white knight and she no gentle Alysanne in need of saving. She was Visenya, ready to cut his cheek and remind him of his place. And he… Well, Aemond was not sure what he was. Not a conqueror nor a conciliator, not peaceful as the bards had dubbed his father, but not a kinslayer either.

“If the boy’s presence bothers you, I will tell Ser Hugh to keep him from the Prince and Princess. I told him the presence of a bastard was an insult to the royal family-” 

Aemond raised a hand, silencing him. “Enough. Your lady’s ward does not bother me with his presence half as much as you do.”

The grey-robed man flinched as though he had hit him.

“What do you want?” Aemond asked, impatiently. “Why are you here?”

The maester bowed his head once more. “Only to serve. I…” He hesitated for a moment and then- “I do not know your intentions in coming here, Prince Aemond, but House Hightower has always been kind to the maesters of the Citadel. I feel that I must warn you, Lady Daella… her loyalties will likely lie with Princess Rhaenyra-“

Aemond smiled then, an act that only made the maester stutter as he tried to speak.

“Go on.” He encouraged, hands tightening into fists at his back. “What is it you wish to warn me of?”

“That your life and that of your brother’s heirs are at risk while Daella Targaryen is Lady of Runestone.” Grafton said, beseeching him with those beady eyes.

Sweat rolled down his splotchy cheeks and he quivered where he stood. A pathetic sight, yet the man likely thought himself rather brave for coming to him as he did.

Aemond hummed. “You have given me much to think on, maester.” He said, and with that, left the grey-robed man, brushing against his shoulder as he walked past.

“Sister.” He met Helaena down in the courtyard, the twins at her side.

“Jon is taking us to the godswood.” She smiled, though cautiously so.

He cast his gaze back up to the walkway. “I will come with you.” He decided.

Jaehaera took his hand then and Aemond let himself be pulled as the children chattered amongst themselves.

“Is it like the one in Kingslanding?” Helaena asked.

“It holds a true weirwood, Princess, and is a place for all to pray.” Ser Hugh spoke, though gently so. “The smallfolk visit it day and night, and the children often like to play there.”

Helaena’s face fell just as Jaehaerys shouted “I want to play too, Mother!”

His sister hid her worries behind a kind smile. “Then you shall.” She promised.

Aemond took her arm. “I can take them. You wish for quiet. Go, I will watch the children.”

She needn’t have said it; the look on her face was as loud as any words.

“Go.” He insisted.

With a persistent tug from Jaehaera, he was off once more, but before he could take more than a step Helaena grabbed his arm. 

“There is a masked man here. We have one and another beyond him but Aegon is surrounded by many. We should have brought him with us.”

He searched her light eyes, trying to understand. “I… will return for Aegon, Helaena. I promise. Once Daella returns, I will go.”

A silent look of agreement passed between them as his sister’s hand fell. Helaena smiled once more, though it was faint and flickering. “Not alone.” She whispered, before turning back to the Keep.

▁▁▁▁▁

Daella descended from the summit with cautious steps. Her legs trembled but she did not falter.

Men and women stared, but she spared them little more than a glance, her focus the valley below. There, the largest group of Burned Men had gathered, their chieftain at the centre.

He sat upon a white tree stump, laughing with his men before turning to smile at a woman beside him, his hands resting on the shoulders of two children at his feet. The little girl from earlier was one of them and the angry, dark-eyed girl the other.

The Burned Men’s cheer fell at her approach, but the crows still called out, filling the silence with their noise.

“I apologise for interrupting, though I find I have little choice.” She said, standing between the circle they made. “The Knights of the Vale ride. They will come for you with numbers you cannot defeat. Your chieftain will not head my warning, but I ask that you do. Do not let your children suffer for the sake of pride. Return west before-“

She was cut off by a knock to her shoulder, a harsh shove that sent her sprawling into the dried mud.

Laughter erupted from the crowd and Daella felt her face flush with embarrassment though she was no less determined. She rose, eyes catching sight of the woman at the chief’s side and the girls at his feet. They did not laugh. Worry, instead, resided on their faces.

She turned to the man that pushed her - an elder with scorn etched into his eyes, and ire in the words that fell from his lips.

“He says it is you who should leave.” The chieftain explained, coming to stand before them. “Leave while you can. Do not die for your pride.” He mocked, cruelly turning her words against her.

“I am trying to help you!” She hissed. “All of you!”

“When will you listen? We have no need of your help. Leave.”

She glare up at him in defiance. “No.”

That earned her a blow to her jaw. The taste of her own blood filled her mouth, twisting at her stomach. She had not expected it; from the others, maybe, but not from him.

The hand that bruised her came up, clutching at her red cheeks, fingers biting into her skin as he forced her to face him. “If you will not leave, you will die. We will not spare you any longer, Andal.” He swore, all grace he had once given her gone with the wind.

Daorys misliked the threat as much as she did. He did not make a sound, but for the first time since he had brought her here, her dragon descended from the summit.

Beneath his weight, rocks that had held their perch for a thousand years slipped and fell down the mountainside, a shower of death terrifying the people below.

“Keligon, Daorys! Keligon!” Stop, Daorys! Stop!

His green eyes narrowed, tendrils of emerald smoke menacingly blowing from his nostrils but he listened, not moving any further.

She removed the chieftain’s grip from her face. “I will not leave here until you do.” She insisted.

The man drew back, looking between her and her dragon, but there was no fear; his resolve firm.

“Well,” she spoke “what will you do?”

He did not respond but his people did. It started with one voice, but then more and more joined as the Burned Men called out to their leader. The cries reached a crescendo when the man they called Finnandi elds grasped the fur around his shoulders, pushing it to the ground.

He reached for her then, seizing her forearm with a death-like grip and dragging her through the parting crowd.

Daella lashed out, laying hands and feet across his body in an attempt to break free, but it was as if she were hitting a stone wall. He went on without even a flinch, leading her towards one of the many fires lit.

In one sudden movement he forced her arm into the flames, and the pain that followed was unlike any other she had known. Her chest heaved and her throat closed up as the smell of her own burning flesh filled her lungs and the feeling of the fire invaded her senses. The heat seared her skin, tearing at her nerves and veins and bringing tears to her eyes, but despite the pain, she refused to scream.

“Keligon, Daorys.” She choked out instead. “Keligon.” Stop.

He would burn this entire mountainside for her if she let him, but she would not. All this will have been for nothing if she did.

She tried to focus on anything else instead - family, friends, Runestone, Dragonstone, Winterfell.

And then, without thought, a flash of Aemond’s image came to her mind. As it did, she found herself staring up into the chieftain’s dark gaze. It was so different from her friend’s violet one. It was angry and full of a hatred Daella had never seen Aemond wear when he looked at her. And in her clouded, delirium-striken mind, she whispered “it’s wrong.”

“What?” The man asked.

But his quickly words turned to cries of pain when Daella reached up for his left eye and pushed, hard. 

She felt something soft give way beneath her thumb, and the grip on her arm loosen with it.

Faintly, she could still hear the Burned Man’s shouts, but her gasps for air and the cawing of the crows were louder than any cry.

She fell back, clutching her burned arm as a hundred shadows descended upon her. She closed her eyes, but when she opened them again she stood on four legs once more.

She leapt onto the largest of the humans, his lifeblood warming her tongue. The soft flesh of his neck easily gave way to her teeth as she bore down, bones breaking and muscle tearing.

Her pack surrounded her, guarding her. Her brothers tore at the man as he fell, sating themselves while her sisters snapped at the others, daring them to come close.

They wished to go on, tearing down the humans until they had their fill, but the large beast was there. The ground shook as he came to stand over an unmoving girl, threatening them with low growls and bared teeth. 

She let out a light gruff, clamping her jaws around another man that pointed his metal claw towards her sister, before commanding her pack to leave.

But they would not go empty-handed. Her brothers pulled the large form of the human she hunted into the treeline while she and her sisters protected them. The crows cawed at their victory, their many eyes following the trail of blood her pack left behind.

She spared the winged-creatures one last look. Within their hundred eyes she saw bright blue ones, the colour of the sky, and she smelled the oddest scent - the scent of man.

Daella woke in a haze, her mind struggling to find itself between all the white noise.

Slowly, other sounds began to filter through - the wind blowing against the mountainside, the crows flying above her, children crying in their mother’s arms and something else… A cracking from above.

She tried to stand but as her right hand touched the ground, pain tore at her limb causing her to fall back.

Something warm slipped beneath her, lifting not only to her feet but higher.

Daorys let out low, rumbling sounds as he raised her up towards his back.

She cradled her burned hand against her side, gripping the raised edges of his spine with her left hand once within reach. She cried out as she pulled herself over to her usual seat, arm shaking at the mere effort.

Tears threatened to cloud her vision, but she wiped them away as she looked below.

The clan was still there, still whole - except for one.

Their leader was gone, dragged away by the wolves.

But it was not just the wolves, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.

The youngest children wept, staring in horror at the trail of blood left, but none more so than the two girls who had only moments ago sat at the chieftain’s feet.

His children, she knew.

She saw it so clearly then; the features shared between father and daughters. She did not know why she hadn’t seen it before.

Monster, the voice in her head said, a voice that sounded so like Eddard Stark her chest began to ache.

She could picture his disapproving grey eyes. How could you? They asked to her, cursing her for what she had done.

“No.” She tried to say. “I did not want this.” 

I did not want to hurt them.

Daorys shifted beneath her; men, women and children cowering at each movement he made.

But it was not him they feared. When they cowered, their eyes clung to her.

“Norn.” They called her, the elders bowing their heads, looking at her like she was a harbinger of death.

They were never going to love you, a different voice said. One that was smug and sure and could only have belonged to Daemon Targaryen. His words so clear, as though he were speaking High Valyrian right in her ear. The Faceless girl, the vengeful spirit, the ghost of Harrenhal with her list of names, he laughed. Let it be fear.

▁▁▁▁▁

Ingrid watched the Andal woman close her eyes.

She reached for her daughters, pulling them close as they wept for their father.

Val’s clutch at her waist was tight and her dark eyes were sharp, full of anger and sorrow.

She and Kira were like the sun and the moon. Val had her father’s fire while Kira was given his wonder.

When the Andal girl was first brought to them, broken and bruised, Ingrid saw that wonder not only on her youngest daughter but also her husband. She almost felt jealous, of an Andal of all things, but she understood their curiosity. Eldurinn mikli was powerful. Why would he chose to protect a slip of a woman when he burned and killed all others?

Ingrid’s husband had been sure there was a reason for it, but he always saw what they did not.

“The other eggs were deformed, tainted by whatever the Andals did to him. But the one the great beast spared is not, I know it.” He told her so many nights ago, holding her to his chest as they lay beneath the stars.

“For him to kill his own kind-“ She began but her husband would hear none of it.

“He hoards fallen branches and broken trees in his alcove.” He went on, eyes alight with excitement. “I think he means to make a fire for it. It is clever, is it not? I have never seen any other beast do such a thing.”

He held no fear, their chieftain. Not of any creature, or Andal, despite how wary the rest of them were, even Ingrid herself.

But his strength often emboldened his short temper.

“Blóðsvikari.” He had hissed after Val returned from the summit in tears, dragging Kira by the hand.

He had ignored Ingrid’s concerns and Val’s words about runes that had not been seen since the time of their ancestors, choosing instead to scale the mountain to confront the Andal, returning with war on his lips.

The people would have followed him had it come to it, as they always had, but now he was gone and they had no one to follow. And yet even in death her husband was still right. Eldurinn mikli had chosen the woman for a reason. She was norn - a witch, something that had not been seen in this land for a thousand years. And she was not only norn but one that fought for the Andals.

“What do you want from us?” Ingrid asked. She stood strong, firm, despite the weight of her grief.

The girl blinked. “Nothing.” She said, breathless and disheveled. “I never wanted anything from you, only to stop a war between the your clan and the Valemen, my people included in that. It was your chieftain that wanted war.”

“Because you would have us give up our land one more!” She accused. “My husband-“

“Finnandi elds is dead.” An elder silenced her. “Only the strongest can speak for us. It is our way.”

The eyes of the clan turned to look between themselves and Ingrid wondered if there was truly any man left that could stand against the norn and her beast.

And then when no one spoke, she knew she had her answer.

▁▁▁▁▁

His son was dying, and Hugh had never felt so lost.

Cat, his wife, could barely look at him.

She hated him, he knew. She blamed him for everything.

Hugh had once believed that all he needed in life was her and his hammer. The extravagance his mother and half-brothers once lived for was nothing compared to them, and all their wealth never made him feel as rich as he did when he first held his son in his arms.

Even when Tor fell ill, Hugh was able to find light in the darkness. But it wasn’t enough for Cat, and as the days went on it became clear that it never was.

“Can’t you ask your half-brother for coin? You said yourself that your mother wanted the wealth of her pleasure houses to be shared between all her sons when she passed.”

She spoke those words to him every day, and every day he rejected her.

He was no beggar, and he certainly would not stoop so slow as to ask for money from a whore.

He earned what he did with good, honest work, and that would be enough. They would make it enough. If they had to make sacrifices to afford the herbs and poultices Tor needed, then so be it. They would do so until their son got better. It was simple, but Cat never saw it that way. If it wasn’t coin she was complaining of, them it was something else.

“I need to go out, Hugh. For my own sanity, please.” His wife begged as he made to leave that morn.

“Someone needs to look after Tor.” He said dismissively, reaching for his jerkin.

She grabbed him by the arms, eyes wide and frantic. “It’s all I’ve done.” She choked out. “Every day you escape this place-“

“Escape?” He scoffed. “I burn my skin by the forge’s fires to keep our son alive. What do you do?”

He shrugged her off, pulling the fabric over his head.

How could she not see? He seethed. Why did she never see?

“Please.” He heard her cry.

It tore at his heart almost enough to make him turn back, but then he heard Tor cough and he could not stop himself.

He left their home despite his wife’s cries, walking across the sewage-lined streets towards the Street of Steel.

He pulled to the side of the road as the Gold Cloaks rode past.