Daemyra Rewrites - Tumblr Posts
Dreams Didn’t Make Us Kings, Dragons Did
A rewrite of that Daemyra scene in 1x10. This will use some dialogue from the original scene, because it had potential, but it will be (hopefully) more in character.
“The enemy have declared war! What are you going to do about it?” The room fell silent. Rhaenyra looked up, meeting her husband’s eyes. She could feel her Small Council watching her, waiting to see what she would do with such defiance. Daemon held her gaze, the rage in his beautiful lilac eyes fading slightly. She could have sworn she even saw a flash of regret, buried as quickly as it came. “Clear the room.” She did not look to see that the command was obeyed, her tone had left no room for argument. Daemon paced near the hearth. Rhaenyra could feel his frustration, it filled the room like smoke from a funeral pyre. Rhaenyra crossed the room, drawing closer to him. “Does the promise of war excite you?” Daemon turned to face her, “You cannot bend the knee to the Hightowers. They stole your birthright.” His voice was softer than before, but it still carried the edge of his anger. But it is not me he is angry at, she thought. He believes the Hightowers had my father killed, and he blames them for Visenya’s death. He seeks revenge, and he wishes for me to do the same. She had hoped he would be able to put aside his bloodlust, at least until they could be sure peace was not possible, but Daemon had never been one to deny himself vengeance. “If you could take the Iron Throne without putting Otto Hightower’s head on a spike, would you?” He responded with a question of his own, “Are you not angry?” The sharpness had returned to his voice, but with it came confusion, as though he genuinely believed her to hold no resentment over the taking of her throne. “So I should declare war because I’m angry?” She let an edge creep into her voice, a reminder that she was a dragon as well, and his Queen. “No. Because it’s your duty as Queen to crush rebellion.” At that Rhaenyra felt her patience ebb. Yes, it was her duty to crush rebellion, but was it not also hers to hold the realm together? Her husband seemed to have, rather conveniently, forgotten that particular obligation. “You know that my oath reaches beyond our personal ambitions.” Daemon said nothing. He simply looked at her, a question in his eyes. “A Song of Ice and Fire,” she clarified. The understanding she had expected did not dawn on his face. Instead, he went completely still, fire beginning to kindle in his eyes. “What?” He moved so that he was behind her. “The coming war against the darkness in the North,” Rhaenyra turned, forcing him to look at her, “The Conquerer’s Dream.” Still there was no recognition in his face, no sign that he knew what she spoke of. “Viserys shared it with me when he named me heir,” she added. The flames in his eyes flared at that. For a moment, Rhaenyra thought he would shout, or break something, but then the rage in his gaze flickered out, like a torch in the winds. All the energy seemed to leave him at once, and he stalked to the nearest chair, throwing himself into it with an angry scoff. Rhaenyra said nothing, but she was beginning to suspect the reason for such a reaction. She watched as Daemon took a pitcher of wine from the table, waiting until he had drained a glass. “He never told you, did he?” The silence that followed was answer enough.
She bit back a wince. Daemon had spent most of his life attempting to earn his brother’s trust, only to lose it with stupid jokes and moments of drunken foolishness. Rhaenyra knew better than anyone how much each banishment had hurt him. Learning that her father had never trusted him with this crucial piece of information had to be salt in the already painful wound his death had caused. She drew closer to where he sat, glaring at the fire, and took his hand in hers. “Daemon-” “No,” he cut her off, “He never told me.” He laughed bitterly. Rhaenyra ran her thumb over the back of his hand. His grip on her fingers tightened. “He was often…wary of you,” she said softly, “but he loved you. Every time he banished you, he was desperate to have you back within a moon.” Daemon laughed again, the sound full of grief and pain. Rhaenyra felt her heart clench. “He loved me, but he did not trust me. Do not try to deny it, Rhaenyra. His whole court knew it. Those fucking Hightower cunts knew it.” He stood suddenly, one hand going to her waist, the other coming up to cup her face. “My brother,” he said softly, “was a slave to his omens and portents. Anything to make his feckless reign appear to have purpose.” Rhaenyra frowned slightly. “I do not think-” “You saw it for yourself, Rhaenyra. He killed your mother, or do you not remember?” She flinched at his words, and regret flashed in his eyes. “Iksan vaoreznuni, ñuha prūmia,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. She felt herself relax at the familiar touch, and the High Valyrian from his lips. “Nyke gīmigon, ñuha jorrāelagon.” She whispered back. He drew back slightly, so that he could look her in the eye. “But you cannot deny that prophecies did your father no good. He tore our house apart, left us divided.” Rhaenyra sighed. “Yes he did.” The admission took something out of her. She sighed again, leaning into her husband’s touch every so slightly. Daemon looked at her, a sudden intensity it his eyes. “I will not allow the same to happen to our family,” he vowed. “Kirimvose,” she whispered. Daemon pulled her close, the hand that had been holding her face moved to cradle her head. Rhaenyra buried her face in the crook of his neck, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. “Dreams didn’t make us kings,” he murmured against the silvery-gold strands, “dragons did.”
High Valyrian translations
Iksan vaoreznuni, ñuha prūmia: I am sorry, my heart.
Nyke gīmigon, ñuha jorrāelagon: I know, my love.
Kirimvose: Thank you.