Chapter Text
The Red Keep is buzzing with noise. More and more lords, noblemen and other dignitaries arrive in King's Landing, preparing for the fast approaching festivals. A big tournament will be held and the King called all important houses of the realm to join the royal family in celebration of the impending birth of the son. Maids and servants bustle along the hallways, taking care of everyone's needs.
You ascend the stairs of the castle, the long skirts of your dress held in your hand, preventing you from tripping over them at your fast pace. The urgency to finally remove yourself from the chaos after the long day quickens your steps. Once at your destination, you let the dress fall and catch your breath, before opening the big wooden door.
“Mother,” you announce your presence with a bright smile, the tension off the day already easing.
Queen Aemma looks up from the book resting on her lap. Her tired eyes soften in an instant. “Y/N!” She calls you warmly. “Come, my dear. Come, sit with me.”
You’re already half across the room. With a soft smile, you carefully sink onto the plush lounger opposite her. Your eyes flicker for a brief moment to her rounded belly before swiftly focusing back on her face. With genuine concern, you ask, “How are you feeling, Mother?”
The queen exhales deeply, closing the book before shifting to get a bit more comptable. “I’ll manage, dear.” Her faint smile can’t hide the exhaustion in her voice. “But I cannot lie, I’m looking forward to the end of this most unpleasant pregnancy.”
Your brows knit with sympathy. It has been her most difficult pregnancy by far. Everyday has been a battle with overwhelming sickness and the relentless fatigue bound her to her bed more times than not, her usual vitality sapped. You’ve tried to help where you could, though your mother’s stubborn independence often made it challenging.
“How are our guests, dear?” she asks, shifting in her chair again for comfort. “Have you greeted them?”
Now it’s your time to sigh. “Yes, mother.” Hosting guests from so many noble houses had been exhausting. The endless pleasantries had been draining. “My cheeks still ache from all the forced smiles.” This elicits a faint chuckle from the Queen. You glance at your hands, hesitantly admitting, “I wish Father had let go of the idea of the tourney.”
Aemma raises an eyebrow at that. With a teasing grin tugging at her lips, she says, “You sound like you’ve been sentenced to some dreadful punishment. This tourney is in celebration of your brother, dear. Surely you don’t begrudge him that?”
Your head snaps up at the accusation. “Mother, no. Of course not.” Leaning forward, you take her hand in yours. “I am worried, mother. My little brother has yet to be born, and with all the stress surrounding the pregnancy and the preparation for the tournament... I can't help but to worry for him but especially for you.”
“I’m lucky to have such a devoted daughter,” she smiles warmly at you before brushing her knuckles against your cheek. Her hand moves to a loose strand of your hair hanging in front of your face, slowly her eyes wander to your hair. “Your braids are coming loose.”
“It’s been a long day,” you admit, shifting slightly to give her better access. The Queen changes sets, coming to sit next to you. She undoes one of the braids, her fingers carefully running through your hair. A soft sight escapes you. “The sons of Lord Baratheon were relentless.” You let her know, looking at your hands. “They spent the morning showering me with compliments and little gifts. If I’d taken a drink for every time one of them called me beautiful, I’d have passed out before noon.”
Aemma chuckles softly, shaking her head. Her fingers weave your hair with care when she asks. “Ah, to be admired by young men. Surly it’s been flattering, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose.” You shrug nonchalantly. “But their compliments felt hollow, forced. I’d prefer sincerity.”
Aemmas hands pause as she is leaning slightly to the side to see your face. “But Y/N, what makes you say that? You are beautiful.”
You turn your head around, looking over your shoulder to meet her eyes. With a slight hint of suspicion in your voice, you tell her. “Even so. It felt like they were saying it not because they meant it, but because they had to.”
Aemma’s eyes travel through the chambers, looking at the servants walking through the room. Her attention turns back to you before speaking to you in your ancestors' tongue. “You are a smart girl, Y/N. You knew this tournament was not just for your brother.”
The weight of her words makes your shoulders sag slightly. Unable to hide the disappointment in your eyes, you look back at your hands again. “I assumed as much, but I was still hoping.”
Aemma continues with the braid, her voice soft as she says, “You’re of age, dear. In only a few moons, we will be celebrating your twentieth name day.” Your eyes fall to the ground while you force yourself to stay quiet. “Your father and I invited houses from all the Seven Kingdoms. We want your husband to be someone of your own choosing.”
A bitter snort escapes you. “So I get to pick my own cage?”
Aemma sighs deeply, her hands stilling again. When you turn to meet her gaze again, your heart clenches at the hurt you find in her eyes. “Mother, I’m sorry. I… I just wish you’d give me more time.”
Aemma ties off the braid, her fingers lingering briefly before laying it over your shoulder. “We’ve given you time, Y/N.” Her voice is gentle, almost wistful. “Nine years more than your father and I ever had.”
“I know, Mother,” You reach for her hand, holding it gently in yours. “And I’ll always be grateful for every single one of those years.”
Your mother caresses your hand, not meeting your eyes. Slowly, her knitted brows are easing as a soft grin. “Am I right to assume you haven’t greeted all of our guests yet?”
You blink at her, your brow furrowing in confusion as you quickly run through the names and houses in your head. “No, Mother. I don’t think I’ve missed anyone.”
“Oh, my dear, you most certainly have. You’d be in much higher spirits if you hadn’t.” She huffs a small laugh, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Would you do me a favor, my sweet?”
You nod, waiting expectantly. “Of course, Mother.”
“The dragons seem rather restless today,” she says, her grin widening. “Why don’t you visit the dragonpit?”
“The dragonpit?” you repeat, puzzled. “What kind of guest would-”
But your words trail off as realization dawns.
Your mother chuckles, clearly delighted by your reaction. She gives your arm a playful tap. “Go, dear. Don’t keep him waiting.”
The afternoon sun is slowly dipping behind the horizon, painting the sky bright red and orange when you are descending the Red Keeps halls. Your heart races as you hurry through the corridors. It’s been months since your uncle left for the Vale and thought he'd be gone for even longer.
Hiking up your skirts, you make your way towards the dragonpit. The guards recognize you as once and step aside, letting you through without questioning. Your heart takes on speed as you near the pit. Your ears catch Caraxes before your eyes do.
There he is.
The Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen stood near his beast. His Blood Wyrm is roaring loudly, as if announcing the prince's return to the court. Daemon's hand glides along the dragon's scales, calming it. But his attention shifted immediately when he noticed someone approaching him.
“Daemon!” You call out, your voice ringing with joy. Ignoring all etiquette, you break into a run.
When his eyes find you, his expression softens in a way reserved for no one else. With a wide grin on his face, your uncle lets go of his dragon. At once he closes the remaining distance between you. “There’s my princess.” His voice carries across the courtyard. He opens his arms just in time to catch you as you flung yourself into him.
His arms wrap tightly around you, lifting you from the ground as he’s spinning you in a wide circle. Your laughter fills the air as you cling to him. When he finally sets you down again, his hands linger on your waist. His purple eyes drink you in as if he’d spent a lifetime away.
“How is the most beautiful woman in the kingdom feeling today?” The prince asks in a playful voice.
The warmth on your cheeks spreads, your heart’s skipping a beat at the way he looks at you. With mischief in your eyes, you tell him. “Mother is doing better these days.”
Daemon arched an eyebrow, his lips curling into an amused smirk. “And what about the most beautiful princess?”
While smiling from ear to ear, you say. “You should ask that Rhaenyra.”
Daemon’s laughs loudly at your games. The sound only intensifies the fluttering in your stomach. “Well done, Y/N.” His thumbs rub small circles on your waist. “And what about you?”
Finally you answer his question. Still holding his arms lightly, you smile softly at him. “I’m well, Uncle. Better now that you’re here.”
His expression on his face falters momentarily, the playful edge melting into something deeper. He lifts a hand to brush a strand of your hair back, his touch lingering just a moment too long. “Good,” he murmurs. “I’d hate to think I’d left you in misery for too long.”
“Oh, you overestimate your importance,” you tease, your voice carrying humor and no bite.
Daemon let out a deep chuckle, “Do I?” He asked you with amusement in his voice. “I’ve missed you, Y/N.”
Your breath hitches slightly at the intensity of his gaze. Eventually releasing his arms, you clasp your hands in front of you and step back, giving yourself the space to breathe. “And what about you? How was your journey?”
Daemon shrugged his shoulders, his softened demeanor changing back into his usual confident charm. “Tedious. Dull. But all worth it to see you again.”
You roll your eyes at him, though you can't suppress the need to tease. “You’re hopeless."
“Hopelessly devoted, perhaps,” Daemon shots back, the corner of his mouth moving upward. “How was the court life during my absence?”
“Dreadful,” you admit truthfully. “If not for Lady Rhaenys Velaryons visits every now and then, I might have flung myself off the Keep.” Your eyes drift to Caraxes, the beast's eyes are also on you. His head moves closer, his snout almost nudging your arm. You accept the invitation to pet him. A low growl of approval rumbles through the air.
“Without you stirring up chaos, it’s all pretense and pleasantries.” You recall, "The same empty conversations, the same dull faces. No scandals, no rumors, no uproar. Just endless monotony.”
Daemon huffs a laugh. “So you missed me for keeping the court on their toes?” He holds his hand to his cest in feigning offense. “Not for my charm or my wits?”
“Oh, of course, Uncle,” you tease him with your voice in a soft mocking tone, “The most charming prince there ever was.”
“You wounded me, dear niece,” he exclaims dramatically. “But I’ll take the compliment, even if it’s buried under mockery.”
You two look at each other for a quiet moment. His eyes carry a softness you barely recognize. A small smile grows on your lips, you’ve truly missed him. Daemon takes a step towards you, offering you his arm and you take it without hesitation. “Come, walk with me to the Keep, princess.”
As the two of you move towards the gates of the dragonpit, the stablehands approach Caraxes with caution. They share a knowing glance, not daring to speak, saying the obvious out loud. The bond between the Rogue Prince and his niece has always been close but for a long time now, the air around them seemed even more intimate.
The rumors the princess wished for will spread faster than she anticipated.