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Published:
2024-11-27
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2025-07-07
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4/?
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Not a mother's son not a father's son, simply your child

Summary:

ficlet of Rhea Royce,Daemon Targaryen and their child

Loathed and loved.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: Mine to have

Chapter Text

   Rhea Royce, ruling lady of Runestone, Head of House Royce, and even though she loathed it, princess of House Targaryen by marriage, wife of Prince Daemon Targaryen.

   Motherhood has not come easily for her

 

   She doesn't plan to be with child, even less with him yet her son had come to be  

   Her heir came into the world like any other babe, red and ugly was her first thought and his father's son was her second much bitter one

   It has his eyes his nose the shape of his face, all of it is his

   How unjust, it is she who carries the babe for nine moons and bare the pain of birth and the one who will care for its, not its cunt of a father who all he did was dishonor her

 

   She brushes the tufts of hair on its head

 

   She named him Albar after a moon after she knew he would remain, Albar was the name of her ancestor, a bronze great king named in the far past, a great name

   Albar was a quiet child, always finding contentment in her arm and crook of her neck

   He was a sweet child

   After some time his face looked less like his sire, it became Albar's eyes, Albar's nose, and Albar's face, one with she kiss and care with love and tenderness she had thought died away with her mother and sister

   She brushed back his curls and planted a kiss on its stead, an act she could allow in the privacy of her solar

   She loathes the day she has to send the letter announcing the birth of her child to the realm

   

   Daemon Targaryen, prince of Targaryen, second child of Prince Baelor, the heir, and even though he loathed it, Prince consort, husband of Lady Rhea Targaryen.

   Fatherhood has not come easily for him.

 

   It has come for him in a fit of rage and fury. How dare she hide the birth of his son!

   After a few destructions of courtroom decor, he mounts on Caraxes to the land of his Bronze Bitch

 

   The servants and Royce man are as displeased with him as ever

   He dismounts, demanding an audience with his oh-so-dear wife

   Every venomous insult that could have been thrown got choked back, it lay heavily on the tip of his tongue

   In his wrench of a wife's arm, sits so perfectly still, the shape of his ear, thin mouth, curly dark tuff of hair, so much like her, his jaw tightens

   How unfair she took what was his to have over and over must she take his son as well?

 

   Pale lilac bore into his

 

   She named him Albar, the nerve of this woman

   Albar was an adorable babe, not a pure Valyria babe Daemon had wished for, too much his mother's son, he thought bitterly, half of him was of the old vale

   Yet he still can't help but find it dear

 

Chapter 2: Sonnapping

Summary:

Daemon kidnaps his six-month-old son out of the nursery for fresh air and quality time, Rhea is not amused

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

   She going to kill that good-for-nothing cunt, she really going to do it this time

   She left Albar in his cradle for no more than five minutes

 

   Five goddamn minutes.

 

   Then come back to an empty crip and a pale with worry wet nurse who informed her

   'Prince Daemon take the young lord out, my lady.'

   That bastard, she's going to gut him and feed it to his bloody beast

 

   Rhea shouted for her men to find them

 

   They found them twenty minutes later, under the shade of a willow tree behind the castle

   She is fuming and then deflated when she hears her son's sweet laughter

   That kind of breathless laugh that could only be achieved by a happy infant

   Albar has grown, from a red ugly thing to a pale and chubby healthy babe in six turns of moons, he has just begun to say gibberish words, a nonsense sound, and keeps grabbing anything within the small reach of his arm

   He was a happy baby although not so much at bath time, which he hated with all of his tiny little body and would scratch and bite the one who dared make him go to such torture that is a warm soak

 

   Demanding little Thing

 

   His favorite place is his parents' arms and lap, his favorite food is whatever they are having and his favorite thing to do is whatever they are doing

   She had lost half a dozen of fine quilts in that chubby grip when she sat him on her lap and did work at the same time, who knew baby had such strength when they got their hand on things that they should not

 

   She comes to a stop before her cunt of a husband, blocking the light that has sneaked its way down the rustling leaf of the willow tree

 

   "Did I give you permission to take him out?" She said in a stern tone, although it had lost most of its bite when she ducked down to brush a smudge of dirt off her son's hair

 

   The inbred bastard scoffs at her, eyes still looking at her son who tries to eat each of his fingers dutifully

   "As if I need it, he is my son, I can spend time with him as it pleases me."

   Oh how she so wishes to grab hard on that neck of his and never let go

 

   Rhea sat down, a hand reaching space separating them

   Her son is occupied by a silver stain of his sire's hair, he seems fascinated by the way it catches the light, hand to grasp at it, Daemon takes it out of the way every time

   Probably has learned firsthand how hard a baby can yank

   Daemon has not cut his hair ever since.....ugh their wedding day, had let it grow down past his shoulder. Now, most days, he is content with letting it down. Someday, he will tie it up or, if he is feeling it, braid it.

   Sometimes it was a loose straight down braid, sometimes it was a tighter braid that got pinned into his head, or that one time a braided hair that looked so much like a lady's style

   Damn those face, he should look ridiculous and out of place in it not—

   A sound interrupted her line of thought, Albar gave a long yawn, she could see his gum and teething

   After he was done yawning he squinted his nose in displeasure, seeming to think how dare his body demand he sleep now

   She found a smile on her lip, adorable, and she took the babe into her arms with less resistance than she thought

   "....He was about to take a nap before you took him."

   Her words come out whispered, she rests her son's head on her chest, and holds him in a comfortable position before standing up

 

"Next time, take two escorts with you."

She turns around and walks back with her son cuddling close to her warmth

Notes:

Baby bites and scratches are so unnecessarily painful, like my guy you weigh less than a rice bag what do you need those for

Chapter 3: For the babe of my heart a star and sun seem befits

Summary:

Presents and outing with ours favorite bitter man child

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

   His first feelings regarding the child were fury, for its mother had lied and disrespected him

   Second was disappointment and bitterness, for the child had its mother's look and color

   Third was a feeling that was not that instant rush of love, care, and connection that he felt when holding his dear niece

 

   It was....contentment he supposed, a calmness that soothed the rage in his lungs and the resentment in his heart, one that made him feel more sure to his step like he had not been in many years

 

   Fourth.....Fourth was a sense of belongness.

   Albar was not as bad a name as he thought

 

   Not when it was attached to a bundle of warmth that fit so perfectly in the crook of an arm

   Not when it comes with a giggle or a laugh so cheerful

   Not when it is with a palm so tiny, that it can bearly wrap around his finger

   Not when it was Albar's

   "You are not getting him a dagger."

   Daemon rolled his eyes, weight the blade in his hand, and fully ignored the nagging bitch

   "I had a dagger when I was one."

   "No, you did not." No, he did not.

   "Leave me be, woman."

   He buys the damn thing anyway just to annoy her, not that he will give it to him, too poorly made for his first from him

 

   The evening market was buzzing with life as it always was, a merchant group passed by Runestone this week, and new and exotic stalls were open temporarily to offer many things at double the price where it was made

   The smell of foreign spice blends well with the sweetness and crispiness of the Vale mountain air pot of warm and spicy lamp stew does him well when the weather has been colder and colder when it is near the end of the year

 

   Daemon tucks his wool-lined robe around himself when the mountain wind passes over them all

   Few servants, half a dozen of the guard, and a handful of bronze knights all surrounding their lady and prince on their outing

   The small folks make way as their group passes, a wave of well-meaning words, bow, and curtsey tail after them

   The lady of the house is well loved among her people, for she is fair and just it isn't a surprise when they have come to dislike their consort prince

   After all, the thing he did at the lady's wedding is still well remembered, not fondly, even if it has softened with the birth of the heir

 

   They have forgiven yet not exactly forget, cold eyes and a downturned lip when passing, hushed words trade behindhand

 

   Pale fingers grind past a set of gold jew, a necklace a Bracelet an Anklet a hairpin....oh a hairpin, maybe he should have one for himself

   He spends coins away, for it isn't his he spends, points and grabs then turns, A Rhythm that comes to be, there will be one who pays for him, be it the servants, be it the lady, a coin that never his yet his to spend but at what cost? A pride for a price for a prince with not a thing to his name

 

   A son whose name was not of blood and fire but of bronze and rune, his in all the way but one, one that truly matters in the high lords' eyes

   A son who will not be called a prince

   A son who will not have a chance to mount a dragon of his own  

   A son who will not be what he dreams of in a marriage he did not want

 

   They come back to the castle wall when the sun is nearly gone hawk lets out a screeching sound as they ride back

   Warm wool, because of course, it is a fucking wool he swears the bitch and this damn house is obsessed with it, gets passed around for them, seeping back the warmth that spills away with the wind

 

   The nursery tucks away in the most secure hall, with renowned knights and the most gentle handmaid, where the sun seems to resign to, a room blended of bronze, black, and red

   A wooden dragon and a flock of wooden sheep are placed onto the cradle next to a fine wool blanket of embroidered bronze a reminder of love, a token of care.

Notes:

I wrote the first and last half months ago and just filled in the middle now

I was half afraid of writing Young Daemon, or Daemon's pov in general, Rhea was easier because we don't know quite a lot about her, but there he is, I guess.

Chapter 4: Bitter ginger tea

Summary:

This one is a bit darker than the rest, just a tap, I think.

Rhea has a moment about her pregnancy.

Daemon has his with plum.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

   Rhea had been taught at the lap of her septa, at the hand of her measter, and at the feet of her father

   She is the way she is because she chose to be, as honorable as she must be, as wise as she ought to, as dutiful as she was

 

   Each step of her life was taken with sureness that she will it to be

   She will not flatter by the storm she will plant her feet, dig her heels, and carry on through the rage of winds

 

   Her tea was warm in her hand, bright and gingerly with a spoon of honey stirred into it

 

   The sight of the plane of land, of her house, her home, familiar and known beautiful in its simplicity, wonderful in its quiteness, a land which one day she will rule after her father, as was her right, as was her duty

   A home that will one day be ruled by her child after her, as was their purpose, it will become their duty as well, in times, they will learn it's at her feet

 

   A hand slips down from the warm cup, rub gently and distractedly over the plane of her stomach, feel the unfamiliar bump, as wonderful and as horrific in its equality

 

   A child, a living thing, a being.

 

   It'll be hers, from her flesh it will bloom and grow and ripen

   No words have ever come close to preparing her, no stories, no lessons, no dreams, no nightmares.

 

   She has grown up with a ghost of a mother, too young to remember the woman who fell at the battle she now must fight She hears of her tale, of her kindness, of her laughter, of her great love

   She haunted her lord father still, even now, with the shape of Rhea's own eyes, of her own smile, and her own voice

 

   She wonders oh how she wonders would she also be remembered well, as loved, as beautifully as her long-gone mother if she came to fail the same way she does, the same way many women did

   Would they know of her if she did falter? 

 

   It was everything she hoped and everything she had not

   How wonderful, how marvelous, how horrifying, how terrible.

 

   She still has not yet decided whether it was a good new or a bad one

   Can she dread it but also long for it?

   She sips her cold tea, washes down acidic bile at the back of her throat.

   Two moons after Daemon came back from Runestone he started feeling off

   It starts with an mild nuisance one morning, which he pass off as a hangover form nights of wine and whore catch up to him

   Then it's getting odder.

 

   He could not walk past a group of sweaty stinky knights from the train yard without feeling green

   When the wind catch the stench of shit from down into the city it was worse for him then in the summer, when normally his hardly bother by it


   And he could not stand plums, he did not know he could not stand plums, but by the fourteen he did hate them, foul, foul thing they were

   They are foul, somehow, meat too mushy, skin too firm, too sweet and too tart, it just tastes bad, smells wrong, in his mouth

   It is not a good picture when he vomited to the side of his chair when a cut plum was served at the table

   Well, at least he managed not to dirty himself or his good-sister who sits near him

 

   She pulled his hair back for him, as he emptied his stomach on the fine red carpet

   She was so round those days, heavy and slow with child, his nephew or niece, she was kind still, both her words and her touch, so kind, she came to visit him in his room with her parade of ladies in waiting

   Daemon felt like death was knocking at his door, so he hardly made an effort to be a decent prince and instead curled into himself on the bed as they spoke

   She offered him ginger tea, saying it was helpful with her morning sickness and generally used for nausea

   Which Daemon should have been offended, probably, technically but he will do that when the room stops spinning every time he stands or when he stops gagging at the sight of plum

   The ginger tea helped somehow, even when it left behind a slight bitter earth on his tongue

Notes:

It's an Eh chapter, this one, it was not good but it was also not embarrassingly bad either, I've never been confident in my grasp of character. It was never my strong point, so it is an Eh

She must be scare tho, must have been, your father was close enough but still far away, busy with his own duty, your husband a cunt and now you carrying a babe your duty demands of you, you would happy doing it but god was your husband a cunt and how you hate him but you need a heir and it-- and she go on in a loops.

Daemon's bit comes from a Myth that was actually a real medical symptom called Couvade Syndrome, which in reality comes from when the expecting father was worried for his wife and child so much so that the stress mess with the hormones and few other different things, Daemon doesn't know so it is inaccurate because he can't worry about something he did not know but eh they live in a where with dragon and somewhat one himself let's blame it on magic or something*shrugs*

Notes:

I do not know how to use ao3 or how to write a fic really, hope you enjoy my thought anyway.

I love Rhea Royce, shame she died
I love Daemon Targaryen, shame he was a fucking cunt, and can't for the life of him have someone who truly loves him unconditionally