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The cave swallowed sound, save for the distant, rhythmic rumble of Meleys’ breaths. Each step carried Rhaenys deeper into the earth, her torch casting flickering light on the stone walls that seemed to close in with every twist and turn. The air was heavy, laced with the scent of minerals and dragonfire, a suffocating blend that mirrored the weight pressing on her chest.
She shouldn’t have come here.
The thought pricked at her a hundred times as the warm, stifling air thickened around her, sharp and insistent, but it could not stop her descent. Her legs moved of their own accord, her body driven by a purpose she had not yet fully made peace with.
The torch in her hand cast flickering light, the shadows on the walls shifting like restless ghosts. Each breath she drew was tinged with the sharp scent of minerals and dragonfire, the heaviness of it pressing against her ribs. The deeper she went, the more she felt the weight of the stone above her, as if the mountain itself bore witness to the secret she carried.
The world above was chaos—war councils and raven-delivered threats, the sharp edges of grief and duty cutting her to the bone. Yet here, in the depths of Dragonstone, there was only the quiet hum of life. The warmth of the cave reminded her of Meleys’s fiery heart, her one constant companion in a life marked by loss.
Her fingers tightened around the torch, her knuckles whitening as the flame danced in her periphery. She needed to tell him. She needed to say the words aloud and let them fall between them, no matter what might follow.
The thought alone was enough to steal the breath from her lungs.
Guilt and hope churned within her, a storm that refused to settle. She should have been thinking of Corlys, her lord husband, the man who had shared her bed and her burdens for decades. She felt that she owed him her loyalty, her trust, despite what he had done. And yet…
The faintest flicker of relief warmed her chest.
This was a gift, unbidden and unexpected, but a gift all the same. After all she had endured—the losses, the betrayals, the constant weight of duty—this was something for herself. A quiet, fragile joy had taken root, defying the grief that had defined her for so long.
She rounded a corner, the tunnel widening into a cavern lit by the faint glow of dragonfire. She knew what she would find before the scene fully unfolded before her.
Daemon.
He sat slouched against the cavern wall, one knee drawn up, his arms draped over it with an air of practiced nonchalance. The torchlight glinted off his silver hair, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. He looked much as he had the first time she’d found him here—head tipped back, eyes closed, as if the weight of the world above had driven him to the sanctuary of the earth.
Rhaenys paused, her breath shallow as she lingered in the shadows. For a moment, she simply watched him, the silence between them as heavy as the mountain above their heads. He hadn’t noticed her yet—or perhaps he had and was choosing to say nothing.
There had been a time when she’d been able to read him effortlessly. Every flicker of his gaze, every twitch of his lips had spoken volumes. But those days were long past.
The words she had rehearsed a hundred times still hadn’t come to her lips. She could hear him scoff in her mind, a phantom echo of his irreverent charm: I am not hiding, cousin. I am merely… resting.
She felt the ghost of a smirk tug at her lips, quickly buried beneath the gravity of her purpose.
The Red Queen’s steady rumble reached her ears, the sound like a distant thunderclap echoing through the cavern. Meleys lay at the far end, her crimson scales glinting in the dim light, her head tucked against her massive body. Her presence was a comfort, a reminder of the bond that had carried Rhaenys through the worst of her losses.
Rhaenys hesitated in the shadows, her breath catching.
It would be so easy to turn back, to let the silence stretch on for another day, another week. To keep her secret tucked safely within her.
But she was here now, and there would be no retreat.
Rhaenys took a step forward, her boots crunching softly against the gravel.
The faintest twitch of his lips betrayed his awareness of her presence. “Twice now you’ve found me here,” he said, his voice low and lazy. His eyes slid open, fixing her with a look that was equal parts amusement and curiosity. “Do you always wander the dark alone, cousin, or do you enjoy chasing ghosts?”
The words were light, but there was an edge beneath them, a challenge meant to pull her closer or drive her away. She did neither. Instead, her gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer before stepping instead toward the sleeping form of Meleys.
The Red Queen stirred as she approached, her crimson scales gleaming in the firelight, her massive head lifting slightly before she let out a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through Rhaenys like a heartbeat.
Rhaenys placed her hand against Meleys’ warm hide, her fingers tracing the familiar ridges of the dragon’s scales. The warmth seeped into her palm, calming the tempest within her chest.
One amber eye cracked open, fixing on Rhaenys before sliding past her to Daemon, her gaze sharp as the dragon let out another low growl.
Rhaenys rested a hand against Meleys’s side, the heat of the dragon’s skin seeping into her palm. "Lykirī, ñuha riña." she murmured. "Ziry daor ōdrikagon iksos." Be calm, my girl. He means no harm.
Daemon shifted behind her, scoffing from his place against the wall, his boots scraping against the stone floor as he leaned forward slightly. "Ōdrikagon? Naejot ao? Dokimari iksāt?" Harm? To you? Are you serious?
"Nyke rūnan tolvȳni, dubys" (I remember everything, cousin), she replied softly, her voice steady despite the rush of blood in her ears. She pressed her cheek against Meleys, her eyes slipping closed as she drew strength from the dragon’s presence. The vibrations of Meleys’s breaths soothed her, a steady rhythm that calmed the storm within her chest.
For a moment, she let herself linger in the warmth and the silence, the words she needed to say gathering like stones at the edge of a cliff. Her fingers traced the familiar ridges of Meleys’s scales, grounding her in the here and now.
Daemon shifted behind her, the scrape of his boots against stone pulling her back into the moment. She opened her eyes, the torchlight glinting off the dragon’s spikes as she straightened.
"Kesir iā daorūbilez" (It is now or never), she murmured, though whether to herself or to Meleys, she couldn’t be sure.
Her voice broke the stillness, soft and raspy but clear. "Nyke ābrazȳrī issa."
I am with child.
The words left her in a single breath, her tone unwavering even as her pulse thundered in her ears. She didn’t turn to face him, choosing instead to anchor herself in Meleys, her cheek pressed against the dragon’s warm, steadying scales.
Behind her, she heard the faint scrape of gravel as Daemon shifted, but no words came.
Not yet.
The words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding as steel. For a moment, the cave seemed to hold its breath, the silence stretching thin and taut between them. The only sound was Meleys’ deep, steady breathing and the faint drip of water somewhere in the depths of the cave. Rhaenys kept her cheek against her dragon’s scales, her eyes closed, as if bracing for impact.
Daemon didn’t respond right away. He sat frozen, his silver hair catching the torchlight as his brows drew together in disbelief. The flicker of the flame illuminated the sharp angles of his face, but his expression was unreadable.
“What?”
His voice broke the quiet like a blade against stone—sharp, incredulous.
She didn’t turn nor answer immediately. Her hand remained pressed against Meleys’s side, her palm absorbing the dragon’s steady warmth, her fingers stroking Meleys’ hide, trembling slightly despite herself. The warmth steadied her, grounding her as she felt Daemon rise behind her. She heard the crunch of his boots on the stone floor, the rustle of his clothing as he straightened. She closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders rising and falling with the weight of her breath.
“You are what?” His tone was low now, almost a growl, his footsteps moving closer.
Still, she said nothing. Behind her, she heard him grunt softly, the sound of his boots shifting as he paced. Daemon Targaryen was not a man who dealt well with the unexpected, and she had known her revelation would strike him like a blade. Still, she had not been prepared for the heavy silence that followed.
She heard him move then, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he took a step closer. “Say it again.”
There was something in his tone—something raw, teetering on the edge of anger and disbelief.
“Rhaenys.” Her name came like a warning, and she felt his presence just behind her. His hand closed around her arm—not forceful, but firm enough to demand her attention. “Look at me and say what you said the first time.”
Her jaw tightened. For a moment, she considered pulling away, retreating into the silence she had always wielded as a shield. But this time, there was no armor to protect her, no distance she could place between herself and the truth.
She turned slowly, letting him guide her. When her gaze finally met his, his face was etched with something uncharacteristic—something raw. She hesitated, her throat tight, before she spoke again.
“I am with child.”
The words came slower this time, measured, as though they might be easier to grasp if spoken deliberately.
Daemon’s hand fell from her arm as though the words had burned him. He took a step back, his expression shifting between disbelief and something she couldn’t quite name. His mouth opened, then closed, as if struggling to form a response.
“It cannot be.” His voice was a whisper, rough and unsteady.
Rhaenys raised her chin, defiance flickering in her amber eyes. “Alas, it is.”
“How do you know?” His question came quick, almost desperate, his voice low and strained, as he began to pace in a restless circle, his movements jerky and uneven. “You cannot be certain—”
“I know.” Her voice cut through his, quiet but unyielding.
Her succinct answer only seemed to unsettle him further. He turned away abruptly, his boots crunching against the gravel as he resumed pacing. The orange glow of the torches painted his figure in shifting light and shadow, the movement highlighting his tension.
“This cannot be,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Not now. Not in the middle of this damned war.”
He stopped mid-step, spinning to face her with a sharpness that sent his silver hair flying, an intensity that bordered on accusation. His expression was conflicted, anger and disbelief warring with something else—something he wasn’t ready to name. “When?”
She folded her arms, her gaze unwavering. “A week past.”
“You waited this long to tell me?” His voice rose, sharp with incredulity, though there was no mistaking the undercurrent of fear.
“I waited because I needed time to think. To decide what I wanted.” Her words were measured, but her hands gripped her arms tightly, betraying the tempest beneath her calm exterior.
Daemon’s laugh was humorless, bitter. “And now you’ve decided? To bring a child into this chaos? Into war?”
Rhaenys did not flinch at his tone. Instead, she took a deliberate step forward, her hand falling from Meleys to hang loosely at her side.
“I decided nothing,” she replied, her voice soft but cutting. “The gods decided. Or fate. Or some cruel twist of the universe. Whatever you wish to call it, this was not planned, Daemon. But it is here, and I will not cast it aside.”
Daemon stared at her, his pacing slowing but his eyes still wild, restless. He shoved a hand through his hair, the silver strands catching the torchlight as he muttered, “Do you think the war will wait for this? Do you think Rhaenyra can afford—”
“Do not speak to me of what Rhaenyra can or cannot afford,” Rhaenys interrupted, her voice rising. “You think I do not know the cost of this? You think I have not thought of what this means for the realm, for the war, for everything I have fought to protect?”
Rhaenys’s eyes narrowed, her hand tightening against Meleys’s side. “I do not need you to tell me what I already know, Daemon. I have weighed this in my mind a hundred times. A thousand.”
He stopped pacing, his head bowing slightly as he struggled to gather his thoughts.
“And yet you came here,” he shot back, stepping closer, his voice quieter but no less strained. “To me. Why?”
Her lips tightened, the flicker of guilt in her chest barely contained beneath the surface. “Because you have a right to know.”
The words seemed to unsteady him further, striking him harder than any blow. He faltered, his gaze flickering to her stomach for the briefest of moments before returning to her face.
“A right,” he echoed bitterly, his voice low. “And what would you have me do with this… knowledge? Celebrate it? Ignore it? Curse it?”
Rhaenys tilted her head slightly, chin lifted, her amber eyes glinting in the torchlight. Her expression softened but her resolve remained unshaken. “I would have you accept it, Daemon. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Behind her, Meleys stirred again, the dragon’s head lifting slightly as her deep rumble filled the cavern. The dragon’s amber eyes locked on Daemon, a silent warning wrapped in the sound. The vibration of the sound rolled through Rhaenys like a second heartbeat, grounding her as she stood firm.
Daemon’s gaze flicked toward the dragon, his lips tightening. “Even your beast disapproves,” he muttered under his breath, though the sharp edge in his tone was gone and had softened.
“She reflects my own unease,” Rhaenys said quietly, her hand moving to trace the ridges of Meleys’s scales, brushing over them in a soothing motion. “But she also reminds me of what I fight for.”
Daemon’s gaze softened at her words, his pacing slowing as the depth of her revelation settled over him. Her words seemed to weigh heavily on him. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he looked away, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself against some unseen force.
“You said nothing for weeks,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Why tell me now?”
Rhaenys inhaled deeply, her hand stilling against Meleys’s side before falling to her side. “Because I could not keep this secret any longer. Because it is not just mine to bear.”
The silence returned, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the crackle of the torches and the faint sound of their breaths. Rhaenys met his gaze evenly, waiting for his response, even as her heart thundered in her chest.
Daemon’s gaze moved back to her, his expression raw and unguarded in a way she had rarely seen. He took a step closer, his movements hesitant now, the firelight reflecting the vulnerability in his eyes. “And what do you expect of me?” he asked finally, his voice almost a whisper.
Her answer came without hesitation, her voice steady despite the storm within her. “I expect nothing, Daemon. Only that you know.”
For a moment, his composure cracked. He looked at her with something raw and unguarded, his mouth opening as though to speak before he closed it again. The walls he had so carefully constructed around himself were crumbling, and she could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in the way his hands twitched at his sides.
And yet, he said nothing.
Rhaenys turned back to Meleys, pressing her cheek against the dragon’s warm hide. The weight of the moment hung heavy between them, unspoken words filling the cavern like smoke. She had done what she came to do. What came next would be up to him.
Daemon stared at her, the firelight carving shadows into his face, hollowing his cheekbones and casting his eyes into sharp relief. For a moment, the cave seemed impossibly vast, yet too small to contain the enormity of her revelation. He took a step back, as if creating distance would lessen the weight of her words, help him make sense of it.
His pacing resumed, faster now, his boots grinding into the gravel with each restless step. His fingers curled into fists, then loosened, his hands rising to drag through his silver hair in a rare show of frustration.
“This is madness,” he muttered under his breath, as if trying to convince himself, his words half-swallowed by the cave’s oppressive acoustics.
Rhaenys remained where she stood, her hand steady on Meleys, whose low rumble echoed through the cavern. She didn’t speak, watching him quietly as his thoughts warred with one another.
His pacing stopped abruptly, and he turned to face her. “Why me, Rhaenys?” His voice was sharp, but beneath it was something fragile, something he was trying desperately to hide. “Why tell me now? What am I supposed to do with this?”
“You already asked that question,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And my answer remains the same: this is not yours to fix. I needed you to know. That is all.”
Daemon shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “As though knowing changes nothing.” His gaze was piercing as it landed on her, searching her face for cracks in her resolve. “You’ve given me this burden, cousin. And now what? What do you want me to do? Stand idly by?”
“You can stand wherever you wish, Daemon,” she replied, her chin lifting slightly. “But I will not apologize for this. Not for telling you, and certainly not for what the gods have given me.”
Her defiance struck him harder than her words. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply as he turned away. His hand rose to grip the hilt of Dark Sister at his side, though he didn’t draw the blade.
“You think this is a gift?” he said, his voice quieter now. “A babe in the middle of war? Do you even know what you’re asking of yourself?”
Her expression softened, though her voice remained steady. “I know what it means, Daemon. Better than you ever will. I carried Laena. I carried Laenor. My body bears the burden, as it always has. And now, it will carry this child, whether you accept it or not.”
His shoulders sagged slightly, and for a moment, he looked utterly lost. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?” he said again, his voice quieter, almost a whisper.
Rhaenys stepped closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath her boots. “And what, pray, do you believe I am asking of you?”
He turned to her then, his mask of defiance slipping just enough for her to glimpse the boy he had once been—the boy who had soared alongside her on dragonback, who had shared her triumphs and secrets, and whose gaze had always held a quiet, unspoken reverence, as though she were the center of his world.
“To be a father to a child born of… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. His voice broke slightly, but he forced himself to continue. “To stand beside you while the world burns around us. To risk everything we’ve built—”
“We?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “What have we built, Daemon? A dynasty of ashes and blood? A legacy of death?” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “Do not think to lecture me on what I am asking of you when I have already given everything I have left.”
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches and the rhythmic rumble of Meleys’ breathing.
Daemon took a halting step toward her, his hands twitching at his sides as though he wanted to reach for her but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “You think I don’t know what you’ve lost?” he said quietly, his voice heavy with something she couldn’t quite name.
Rhaenys blinked, her composure faltering slightly. She didn’t answer.
Daemon turned his back to her, his hand gripping the hilt of Dark Sister at his side. His knuckles whitened as he fought to suppress the storm rising within him. He thought he had buried this yearning, this impossible pull she had over him. For years, he had convinced himself that what they had shared was fleeting, a flame that had burned too hot to last.
But now, she was here again, tearing through the walls he had built around his heart as if they were nothing more than paper.
Slowly, he turned back to her, his movements hesitant. “If this is what you truly want, cousin… then so shall it be.”
Her breath hitched, surprise flickering across her face. She searched his eyes, looking for the lie, but found none.
His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Do you truly not see it, ñuha ūndegon jelmazmo? What you are to me? What you’ve always been?”
My lifelong love.
She froze, the question hanging between them like a drawn blade.
“You loved me,” she said finally, her voice soft and trembling, as though the realization had only just dawned on her.
“I love you,” he corrected, the admission raw and unguarded, falling between them like a stone into a still pond, its ripples reverberating through the space.
The firelight danced in his eyes, and for the first time in years, she saw glimpses of the boy she had once known so well and loved so fiercely—the boy who had trailed after her with tireless devotion, who had eagerly orchestrated their elaborate pranks on the unsuspecting courtiers of King’s Landing, and who had hung on her every word as if the gods themselves had spoken through her.
Rhaenys stared at him, her amber eyes wide with shock. She thought of Corlys, of the life they had built together, of the vows she had made and the years they had shared. But she also thought of the boy Daemon had been, the man he had become, and the way his presence had always pulled at something deep within her.
Slowly, he stepped closer. Before she could say more, his hand rose, hovering near her face, as though afraid to touch her, hesitating for a moment before brushing against her cheek. When she didn’t move away, his thumb traced the curve of her jaw, brushed against her cheek, tentative and trembling, like a man touching something sacred.
His lips met hers, not with the fire and chaos that had defined their last encounter, but with a tenderness that unraveled her. She closed her eyes, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if to anchor herself against the tide of emotions threatening to sweep her away.
It was over too soon.
Rhaenys exhaled, breathless and trembling as she slightly stepped back, her fingers pressing lightly against her lips as she met his gaze. “What of your wife, Daemon?” she asked softly, her voice raw with emotion. “What of my lord husband?”
His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though it held no humor. “Do you truly think I’ve ever cared for such conventions?”
She inhaled sharply, her thoughts spinning as memories of their youth flashed before her eyes. His attentions, his words, the fleeting moments when his affection had bordered on something more. Pieces of a puzzle she had ignored for years now fell into place.
She swallowed hard. “Oh, Daemon…”
For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into him, to forget the world beyond the cave and the war that raged on. But reality came crashing back like a cold wind, and she pulled away, her fingers pressing lightly against his chest.
“We cannot,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”
Daemon rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “Then tell me what you would have of me, mandia. Say the word, and I will follow.”
Her eyes fluttered open, her amber gaze locking with his. “Be here when I need you,” she said finally. “For me. For this child. Promise me that.”
He nodded, the movement slight but resolute. “I swear it.”
For the first time since entering the cave, Rhaenys felt the faintest glimmer of peace. But even as she stood there, her forehead pressed to his, she knew the road ahead would be long—and fraught with dangers neither of them could yet foresee.