Chapter Text
Rhaenyra spotted them through the French doors before either of them noticed her.
At the far end of the garden, beneath the old oak tree that cast a generous patch of shade across the lawn, Daemon sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket with Aegon nestled comfortably between his legs.
She smiled to herself.
From where she stood, she couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but she recognised the familiar cadence of Daemon's voice. Calm. Patient. The same tone he used during lectures, only infinitely softer whenever he spoke to their son.
Curiosity got the better of her.
She stepped outside without announcing herself, careful not to disturb them.
Only then did she notice the little excavation site Daemon had apparently created.
The blanket was littered with smooth stones, handfuls of soil collected in little piles, twigs, feathers, a small hand brush that looked suspiciously like one missing from Daemon's study, and several wooden dragons standing proudly around what appeared to be an "ancient ruin" built from flower pots and loose bricks.
Trust Daemon to turn an ordinary afternoon into an archaeological dig.
"...and what do we do first?" she heard him ask.
Aegon frowned in concentration.
He looked down at the tiny pile of earth in front of him before enthusiastically patting it with both hands.
Daemon's lips twitched.
"Not quite."
He gently took Aegon's tiny wrists.
"We brush."
He picked up the little brush and demonstrated slow, careful strokes across the soil.
"Very gently."
Aegon copied him immediately.
Well.
Almost.
His version involved enthusiastically brushing dirt everywhere except where Daemon intended.
"There we are," Daemon murmured with exaggerated seriousness, as though they were uncovering the greatest archaeological discovery of the century.
"What do you think it is?"
Aegon stared for a long moment before triumphantly pulling a smooth stone from the dirt.
"Dagon."
Daemon let out a quiet laugh.
"A dragon?"
Aegon nodded so enthusiastically that a curl fell into his eyes.
"Dagon."
"I'm afraid," Daemon said, carefully inspecting the completely ordinary pebble, "that this is, in fact, a remarkably well-preserved rock."
Aegon blinked.
Then looked rather disappointed.
Daemon leaned closer.
"But..."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"Every archaeologist needs a bit of imagination."
Aegon's face lit up again.
"Dragon."
"Exactly."
Rhaenyra bit back a laugh.
It never ceased to amaze her how effortlessly Daemon could disappear into whatever world Aegon wanted to create.
To everyone else, he was Professor Daemon Targaryen.
The historian whose books filled university libraries. The man who spent months travelling across Europe and the Middle East chasing fragments of Old Valyria. The one who gave sold-out lectures and somehow made ancient civilisations sound exciting enough to captivate an audience for hours.
But here...
Here he was simply Aegon's father.
Patient. Gentle.
Perfectly content to spend an afternoon pretending an ordinary pebble was the fossilised egg of a dragon because it made a one-year-old smile.
She had always known Daemon possessed an extraordinary mind.
It was one of the first things she'd fallen in love with.
What she hadn't expected was discovering just how naturally that brilliance translated into fatherhood.
He never spoke down to Aegon. Never dismissed his curiosity simply because he was a baby. Instead, he encouraged it.
Every question became another story. Every walk another adventure. Every ordinary object another piece of history waiting to be uncovered. Sometimes she wondered if Daemon even realised he was doing it.
Probably not.
Teaching came as naturally to him as breathing.
The familiar sound of Aegon's delighted laughter pulled her from her thoughts.
Daemon had apparently made one of the wooden dragons "discover" another pebble, complete with dramatic gasps and an entirely unnecessary narration that had their son giggling so hard he nearly toppled over.
Daemon caught him before he could fall.
"There you are," he murmured, settling Aegon back onto his lap.
"My little explorer."
As though sensing another presence, Aegon suddenly looked towards the house.
His entire face brightened.
"Mama!"
Daemon turned.
The moment his eyes found Rhaenyra, the smile on his face softened into something entirely different.
There it was.
The expression reserved only for her.
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. One look was enough.
Rhaenyra crossed the lawn, unable to stop smiling.
"And what remarkable discoveries have my boys made today?"
Daemon held up the very same pebble with all the dignity of a museum curator unveiling a priceless artefact.
"I regret to inform you," he said gravely, "that we've uncovered the last surviving dragon egg in England."
Rhaenyra gasped theatrically.
"My goodness."
"I know."
"We're considering contacting the British Museum."
Aegon clapped enthusiastically, having absolutely no idea what either of them was talking about.
Rhaenyra laughed as she crouched beside them, pressing a kiss to Aegon's cheek before leaning over to steal one from Daemon as well.
He smiled against her lips.
"I missed you."
"I was gone for three hours."
"You still count."
His fingers found hers without thinking, intertwining them as naturally as if they had always belonged together.
Rhaenyra looked at the tiny excavation, at the dirt covering both of their clothes, at the dragons scattered across the blanket, and finally at the two silver-haired boys she loved more than anything.
She had spent years believing happiness would arrive with promotions, victories, impossible ambitions.
Instead, it had quietly found her here.
On an ordinary afternoon.
In an untidy garden.
Watching the love of her life teach their son that even the smallest stone could hold a story, if only someone cared enough to look for it.