Chapter Text
She sighed as she looked out at the sea before her, small hands clinging to her black skirts. Her own hand moved anxiously to her brow, pressing it as she closed her eyes, thinking about what she would do now.
Laena was gone.
The Velaryon woman had not endured the labor and, upon realizing she would not survive, had thrown herself toward her dragon, Vhagar. The flames had not taken long to reach her, incinerating her body completely until nothing remained but ashes, lost among the sand.
Now, all of Driftmark was in mourning, including the maesters who had been present during the birth. After Daemon’s fierce and threatening reprimand, they had been left deeply guilt-ridden; they now made their final appearances before the entire family, in order to bid Laena farewell before returning to the Citadel.
Daemon had spent the entire time shut away until the moment came to cast the coffin into the sea. At that point, he appeared only to boast—or at least to pretend that it did not hurt him as much—and to sneer when mention was made of the Velaryon name in the blood of his political nephews.
The irony was that it amounted to nothing more than a show of disrespect, since everyone knew him well enough to anticipate his behavior. Rhaenys could not have cared less about Daemon’s emotional state at that moment; her focus was on her granddaughters and on watching her cousin fail to contribute anything at all.
Or at least, that was what Deynna thought as she noticed the woman casting furious looks in his direction until he withdrew early to the courtyard, rather than making any effort to be present for his children—especially considering that Rhaenys had lost a daughter.
And not a lover.
The situation was, quite frankly, a shit.
Deynna only wanted to take Cannibal and flee to some corner of Westeros where no one would ever bother her again. Instead, she found herself watching warily as the two dark-skinned girls with white, curly hair cried without pause, smearing snot all over her mourning dress.
The girls did not want to separate from her at all, and Rhaenys, realizing her discomfort, was trying to get them to give her space, but they ignored her.
The woman alternated her gaze between Deynna and the children, offering apologetic looks barely visible beneath her black veil, while she tried to distract them. She looked exhausted and restrained, like someone holding everything together while being unable to show how shattered she truly was. Deynna could not understand how, after everything she had lived through and was still enduring, she could remain so composed.
Ever since she was little, she had admired her, despite the fact that the older woman often looked down on her and barely acknowledged her presence when they shared the same room. The only time she remembered receiving even a trace of attention from her was when she had chosen to renounce her claim to the throne and leave with Daemon to gods-knew-where; and for a brief time—before suffering the consequences of her actions—that moment had given Deynna a sense of self-worth she never knew she possessed.
Back then, and now.
She did not truly know what Rhaenys thought of her. She could imagine it: She must have seen her as pathetic and naive, perhaps even ridiculous. But she no longer cared. She had heard far worse words spoken directly to her face and, over time, had learned to recognize the way people looked at her. Still, she continued to admire her, even after the attitude her own daughter had chosen to take.
She had never been one to blame mothers for the actions of their children, and perhaps she never would be. That was why seeing her like this affected her.
Just a little—nothing like the impact it would have had years earlier. But it affected her. Because she herself felt nothing about the situation.
Only relief.
Relief that she would no longer have to deal with the couple in the hallways, nor with Laena trying to coax her into opening up and interacting, nor asking her for forgiveness under the effect of wine for the whole situation she caused. And certainly not with a drunken Daemon attempting to consummate anything while keeping Laena as a lover at the opposite end of the castle, utterly abandoned.
At that thought, her arms fell limply to her sides; but in the span of a second, something in her faltered, and she chose instead to rest her hands on the girls’ small shoulders. They sought her support—her comfort—as the closest female figure besides their father, who, cough, cough, was conspicuously absent, cough, cough.
At the touch, both girls startled, then slowly lifted their tear-streaked faces from her dress to look around.
They remained like that for a moment longer, breathing unevenly, until they gradually began to calm.
Deynna held them as best she could: one hand on Baela’s shoulder, the other on Rhaena’s, occasionally tracing small, tentative movements with her palms, trying to offer a comfort she did not understand why they sought from her. She could not help but wonder what words Laena had left them that made them run into her arms like that.
Eventually, when they let go, they ran straight into their grandmother’s arms, where Rhaenys stood silently assessing the situation. Deynna watched as they shared an embrace and saw Rhaenys hesitate upon looking at the twins’ faces.
She understood—and felt a strange relief in knowing someone else did too: the girls were unmistakably Laena’s daughters. For Rhaenys, realizing that now—when she no longer had her own child—must have been a pain impossible to put into words.
Seeing Laena’s face reflected in those little ones must have felt like a wound that would never close… or perhaps like a bitter comfort.
For Deynna, however, ever since Baela and Rhaena had begun to mature and resemble their mother more and more, they provoked an immediate rejection. A rejection born from having to avoid not only her husband’s lover, but also her two living copies roaming the halls.
Every time she saw them, there it was: Laena’s unmistakable face staring back at her. And that vision stirred a rage Deynna could not put into words—a silent fury that ate away at her, though she would never admit it aloud.
Jealousy.
Rhaenys composed herself before instructing them to go to the courtyard with the rest of the family. The twins hesitated before nodding and entwining their hands, walking off together.
The space was left in an awkward silence. Deynna thought she could finally retreat to her chambers and sleep, until a voice stopped her.
“Deynna,” Rhaenys said, stepping forward and lifting the veil from her face. “I am sorry for what Laena did.” She paused. “For years… I did not know how to carry that.”
A shiver ran down Deynna’s spine, and instinctively she crossed her arms. She did not want her apologies. Nor her pity. What was done was done, and though she knew she should say something, she could not find the words.
Rhaenys, on the other hand, read her immediately.
“I am not seeking your forgiveness—it would do me no good. But I am not blind. You carried Laena’s recklessness as though it were your responsibility. You were an obedient child while everyone else did as they pleased.”
Rhaenys’ eyes shone, and for a moment, Deynna stood frozen in place.
“She is gone. You are still here.”
Rhaenys did not wait for a reply before leaving. She knew it would not come. But for the first time, Deynna felt that someone had said exactly what she needed to hear.
By the time the sun had set over Driftmark, a sense of dread had settled in Deynna’s stomach. She had not gone to the courtyard after Rhaenys spoke to her, and her appetite had vanished as well.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts, and rose awkwardly from the bed, regretting that she had lain down in her dress instead of something more comfortable.
Her braided bun also pulled painfully at her scalp.
She walked slowly to the terrace to get some air, and after standing there for a few minutes, she reached a conclusion.
"I need a drink…"
As she made her way through the halls, she noticed how deserted everything was, until a maid rushed past her, nearly running, a basket clutched to her chest.
From the scent of herbs and the clinking of vials, Deynna recognized them as supplies for the maester.
“Something is happening.”
She caught up to the maid and placed a hand on her shoulder. The woman jumped in fright and, upon seeing her white hair, went pale.
“Princess! I’m sorry!” she apologized with a clumsy bow. “I-is there something I can help you with?”
“Excuse me, but… what is happening? Where are the guards?”
“Prince Aemond has been attacked by the Velaryon princes!” the woman blurted out without hesitation
“Attacked?”
“They took out his eye, Princess! I was on my way to bring this basket to the maester.”
Deynna stood there, stunned. What could have caused such a transgression?
The maid looked at her, waiting for instructions. Deynna, meanwhile, did not know whether to let herself be guided to where everyone surely was, or return to her chambers and avoid interacting with anyone.
“They took Aemond’s eye, and one of your nephews could pay dearly for it—and even so, will you go to bed?”
She rolled her eyes before asking her to guide her to where the others were. As they moved forward, the murmurs turned into shouts when they finally reached the hall. She immediately regretted it.
They were all scattered throughout the room, wearing expressions of disgust, pity, rage, and sorrow.
Her eyes wandered until they found Rhaenys, who looked completely undone, while Baela and Rhaena shouted and gestured wildly and Corlys tried to calm them.
Beside them stood two brown-haired boys with bruised faces; one of them clutched his nose, blood dripping down his wrist.
By the gods.
Were those really her nephews? They looked different compared to just a few hours ago.
She continued to take in the room until her gaze met eyes identical to her mother’s.
A girl stared at her; her hair was wild and abundant, like a lion’s mane. It was beautiful. Her skin was dusted with freckles, and looking at her was like looking at Aemma.
From there, everything happened quickly.
The doors burst open, and Rhaenyra and Daemon entered, both disheveled, clothes wrinkled.
Deynna let out a silent laugh.
Chaos returned. Alicent raised complaint after complaint, her voice trembling with fury as she tried to restrain Aemond.
She learned that the girl with the lion’s mane was Helaena, and that the older one was Aegon. She vaguely remembered Daemon once mocking how uninspired the names were, but it had been so inconsequential she had never paid it much mind.
Ah—and her nephews were named Jacaerys and Lucerys.
The argument escalated quickly, and her father, true to form, merely muttered something about avoiding further discord, without demanding a real apology.
What a surprise!
Alicent exploded, snatched the dagger from the king, and wounded Rhaenyra’s arm.
After that, Deynna stopped paying attention. Everything became so absurd, so ridiculous, that she simply decided to leave before being dragged into yet another drama.
The following morning dawned bright and sunny. Deynna had been awake for hours, rehearsing what she would say, when she saw her father emerge from his chambers, leaning on his cane. She stepped forward.
“Father.”
Viserys lifted his gaze, and his expression softened.
“Deynna…” Viserys murmured, offering her a weary look. “I thought you still held resentment toward me.” After a brief silence, he sighed heavily. “Family should remain united… especially now, after everything that has happened.”
She nodded with the automatic patience she had learned over years of listening to him. “Yes, yes… of course. I know.”
“I’m glad you came to see me. Yesterday you were distant. I feared you did not wish to speak with me.”
Deynna pressed her fingers into her dress. “It’s not that.”
Or it was—but explaining it would be like reopening a wound that never truly healed.
She saw him open his mouth to say something she could not quite hear, his voice cracking slightly as he repeated it.
“I need to know that you are still here for us.”
There was something in his tone that sought firmness but achieved the opposite. Deynna watched him for a moment. The king she remembered—the one who had once seemed larger than life—was no longer there.
“I am here, Father. I just… wanted to tell you that I cannot remain in Driftmark for now.”
Viserys frowned, confused.
She could not stay there, surrounded by children, watching Rhaenyra and Daemon reunited after what they had done the night before.
Viserys seemed relieved.
“I would like to return to King’s Landing with you.” She did not add the real reason: I cannot stay here, I cannot see them together—not again, not with my own sister.
He understood and seemed relieved, even pleased. “Of course, my daughter. If that is what you wish, we will go together. You will be better in the capital—more surrounded, less alone.”
She doubted it. She had spent many years there and had felt the same as anywhere else, only worse. Still, she kept those thoughts to herself.
Deynna kept her gaze fixed on him. “I assume that there I will be able to speak with you more calmly about certain matters.”
“Whenever you wish, Deynna. I am here for you.”
When he continued down the corridor, she was left alone.
In King’s Landing, she would ask for what she truly wanted. She would no longer remain bound to anything that humiliated her. Not to him. Not to anyone.