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Re-watching HOTD 1x10 has made me realize just how incredibly OOC Daemon choking Rhaenyra is. Like wow! I remember it being bad but not THIS bad. Do I think Daemon is a saint? No, absolutly not, but he would never harm Rhaenyra. The writers just hate him and are trying to get the audience to hate him to, a problem that only gets worse in season 2. Again, Daemon is by no means a good person, but he is certainly not an abusive husband, and, despite what the hotd writers want you to believe, he would never betray Rhaenyra.

One thing I think is really important when it comes to understanding Daemon and Rhaenyra's relashionship is the fact that Daemon doesn't show his love through words, he does it through actions. Quite frankly I'm not sure he knows how to verbally express love. He can't support her emotionally, but he can still do other things for her.I think this is shown really well in season 1 episode 10 and season 2 episode 1.

When Rhaenyra learns of her father's death and the Green's usurpation of her throne, she goes into premature labor almost imediatly, so there is no time for her to start planning her bid for the Iron Throne. Daemon takes the liberty of starting to plan the beginings of the war, and in doing so leaves Rhaenyra to endure childbirth alone. There is a very memorable scene in which Daemon schemes with Rhaenyra's small council at the Painted Table, whilst Rhaenyra screams in the background, even calling out for him at one point. Daemon makes no move to go to her and simply continues to plan a war, at least until Jace informs him that Rhaenyra doesn't want anything done until she is able to join them. Even then he does not join her. He goes to threaten two members of the Kingsguard with Caraxes, so as to ascertain that they will remain loyal to Rhaenyra. Now, when I first watched this scene, I, and probably everyone else, assumed that Daemon was taking the opportunity provided by Rhaenyra's premature labor to seize control and have the war start on his terms. Rhaenyra also seems to believe this, as when Jace inquires about Daemon's wherabouts she says "Off planning his war." However, upon rewatching that episode, I think that think that Daemon refusing to attend Rhaenyra in her labors and instead planning a war for her, is actually his way of trying to help her. Daemon is thinking that, while he does not know how to comfort her, and hold her hand, and help her through childbirth, he does know a thing or two about war. In his mind, he's essentially saying something along the lines of "I cannot help you there, so let me remain here where I am of use to you," because, as I said above, Daemon expresses love through his actions, not his words. I think at least part of him wants to be there for Rhaenyra, but he just doesn't know what he can say or do that would help her, so he focuses on what he can do: getting the council together and starting to plan, so that when Rhaenyra comes back he can show her that he's done something of use.

Then, when the child is stillborn, Rhaenyra once again needs comfort and reassurance that Daemon just does not know how to give. There is a scene of them, standing in front of their daughter’s funeral pyre, and you can see him give her this very concerned look, and kind of glance over like he wants to say something, but he doesn't, because he just does not know what he's supposed to say. Then Ser Erryk (or maybe Arryk, I can never remember,) arrives with the crown, and Daemon is relieved because he might not be able to offer her kind words, but he can be the one to put that crown on her head. A gesture that is even more meaningful if you consider how much he wants that crown. By being the one to physically place the crown on her head, he is telling her "I'm sorry that I can't be there for you, but I love you and I will support you." Then they go back to the war council, and Rhaenyra is asking about their numbers, and Daemon is the first one to speak. He starts talking almost before Rhaenyra finishes asking, he seems almost eager (even though their numbers are nothing to be eager about,) because she's finally asking him for something he can give. This is his chance to show her that, even if he cannot be there for her emotionally, he can still do this. He can organize this war and help her win, and do damn good job of it. This is really how Daemon says "I love you."

Then fast forward to 2x01, and Luke is dead, and Rhaenyra once again needs a level of emotional support he's simply not equipped to give, only this time, there is nothing else he can do to help her. He tries to convince Rhaenys to fly to Kings Landing, but she refuses, so he can do nothing except sit around, helplessly, while Rhaenyra mourns. Then she comes back, and he tries to be supportive, by asking if she "found what she needed," but she doesn't answer him. Instead, she declares that she "wants Aemond Targaryen." In Daemon's mind, she has essentially told him that to comfort her, he must have Aemond killed. So he uses his contacts in the City Watch to arrange it. I think one of the reasons he gave Blood and Cheese such vague instructions as to what to do if they can't find Aemond, is because he needs something for Rhaenyra. He can't be helpless any more. (Note: I am in no way condoning Blood and Cheese, or saying that Daemon did the right thing. I am simply trying to understand him and his choices better. Please dont come after me.) But then it fails. Catastrophically. And not only has Daemon failed to help Rhaenyra, he has made things much worse.

So he goes to Harrenhal to get the support of the river lords. But, so far, he has achieved next to nothing. (Obviously he's been busy with the hauntings and home renovations.) But he will not admit to Rhaenyra that he's failing miserably, so he ignores her ravens and sends none of his own. (I don't believe any of the bullshit Ryan Condal is trying to spin about him betraying her.) Because he will not go back to Dragonstone empty handed. Because to Daemon, that would be like telling Rhaenyra he doesn't love her anymore.

At this point I've just accepted that Daemon and Rhaenyra aren't reuniting until the last episode, and even then it'll probably just be one shot at the end with no dialogue. God forbid Ryan Condall and Sara Hess actually let them talk to each other.

I cannot believe that Daemon hasn't had a single vision with adult Rhaenyra. Imagine something similar to the second one with Viserys from episode 6, only this is with Rhaenyra after (or even during) Visenya's birth. (For non book readers: Visenya is the stillborn daughter born on Dragonstone in 1x10. Her name is given in the books but never in the show.) I would have loved to see him realize that he should have been with her and try to comfort her, and I also would have liked to see a bit more of his grief for his daughter. It could also have been a great way to explore his guilt about leaving her to deal with her grief alone, and would set the stage for their reunion and Daemon potentially apologizing to Rhaenyra. They definitley could have cut the visions of him fucking his mother and cosplaying as Aemond in favor of something that would actually help develop his character and his relationship with Rhaenyra. All in all, the visions have a lot of wasted potential, but I'm still holding out hope for next weeks episode.

https://x.com/hileonizm/status/1822210012602597753?t=7zsm8WiP2dvawOuMt2Vvjg&s=19

help this is so-

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.

So I’ve just learned that people are saying that the fact that Daemon wasn’t there while Rhaenyra was giving birth to Visenya means that he wasn’t there when Aegon and Viserys were born either.

This is just baffling to me because the first half of episode 10 was absolutely full of proof that he actually was there for both.

When Jace asks where Daemon is, he seems angry that he isn’t with Rhaenyra. If Daemon hadn’t been present with Aegon and Viserys, then Jace would presumably be used to him not being with Rhaenyra while she’s in labor. But that’s not what we see. What we see is Jace being pissed that Daemon is not there. Now I’m sure that there will be people who say “Oh he just expects Daemon to be there since he’s Rhaenyra’s husband” but Rhaenyra’s first husband, Laenor, wasn’t at Joffrey’s birth and probably (although this isn’t confirmed) wasn’t at Jace or Luke’s birth either, so Jace wouldn’t expect Daemon to be there unless he had been there in the past.

Rhaenyra also seems to expect him to be there, seeing as she literally calls out for him. If there’s one thing we know about Rhaenyra, it’s that she’s proud. If she doesn’t think her husband will be with her while she gives birth, then she’s not going to scream for him for all the castle to hear. But she does. At this point she’s lived in Dragonstone for 6 years, so she probably knows that her screams will echo through the whole castle. The fact that she calls out for Daemon, even though she knows that literally everyone in the castle will hear her, means that she expects him to heed her call, and expectation she would not have if he hadn’t been with her for their previous children.

Even the Small Council seems a bit surprised that he’s not with Rhaenyra. Every time she screams, they kinda look at him like they think he’s about to leave and go to her. Obviously most of them would not have been on Dragonstone when Aegon and Viserys were born, but they still seem to have heard rumors about Daemon staying with Rhaenyra, because they clearly expect him to react in some way. Remember, in HotD/GoT its pretty uncommon for the father have anything to do with the birth, much less be there, so the fact that they seem to expect it from Daemon suggests his presence at Aegon and Viserys' births.

Obviously, Daemon is not present for Visenya's birth (my analysis of that is here) but using that to say that he's a bad father and husband, and then trying to justify it by saying that he wasn't there when his sons were born (when all evidence points to the contrary,) is doing his character a disservice. I'm not saying that him leaving Rhaenyra alone while she was in labor was the right thing to do, but I think people need to remember that the circumstances during which Visenya was born are extremely different from the circumstances when Aegon and Viserys are born. Stop inventing things to demonize Daemon. We get enough of that from Ryan Condal.

My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand

The deleted/missing scene of Daemon and Rhaenyra after they lose Visenya, and Rhaenyra’s POV of the funeral. Title is from Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Rhaenyra Targaryen was no stranger to pain. Six childbirths, the death of her mother, her closet friend’s betrayal, and ten years trapped in a loveless marriage had served to make her well acquainted with all manner of pain. She had thought herself hardened. Not invulnerable to pain, but acclimatized enough that she could bear it with little struggle. But as she cradled the twisted, scaly body of her first and only daughter, Rhaenyra knew all the pain in the world could not have prepared her for this.

Daemon was about to lose another child. He knew it. Had known it since Rhaenyra had revealed her bloody hand, and memories of her siblings bleeding out of Aemma’s womb moons before their time had hit him like arrows. He should have stayed with Rhaenyra. Should have followed her to their bedchamber, and held her hand as she labored. And yet he hadn’t. He could not bear to watch her scream and suffer for a child unlikely to survive while he did nothing. He could not be helpless. But neither could he be idle. And so, as his wife labored alone, he had called together her Small Council and set about preparing for the coming war. They were uneasy about it, Daemon could tell. They believed he was making a power grab, seeking to undermine Rhaenyra and establish himself as the true authority. Daemon didn't care. How they perceived him mattered little, so long as they followed his orders. Rhaenyra's scream echoed through the Castle. Daemon tightened his grip on Dark Sister's hilt. You do not want me there. He wanted to scream. I cannot help you there. Let me remain here where I may be of use to you. He forced his attention back to the Painted Table. He could not actually call any banners, that would be tantamount to treason. He could, however, see to Dragonstone’s defenses and send ravens to their allies. “We’ll send ravens to our nearest allies,” another scream rent the air, and Daemon forced himself to keep talking “Lords Darklyn, Massey, and Bar Emmon.” “Daemon!” It took every ounce of control he had to keep up his unbothered facade. But he managed. Even as guilt and grief were sawing him apart from the inside. The Small Council glanced at him anxiously. Perhaps he didn’t appear as unconcerned as he’d hoped. “Do you want to speak to the maester, my Prince?” The inquiry had come from one of the Kingsguard (no, Queensguard,) but all of the Small Council nodded along encouragingly. Daemon glared at them all. No, he did not want to speak to the maester. At best he would hear what he already knew: it was too early. The babe was unlikely to survive, and he should prepare himself. And at worst…Daemon didn’t want to consider to worst. “I will fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tully’s support.” “You will do no such thing.” Rhaenyra’s eldest son strode into the council chamber. “My mother has decreed no action be taken while she’s abed.” Daemon glanced at Jacaerys, then looked away. “It’s good you’re here, young Prince. You’re needed to patrol the skies on Vermax.” “Did you hear what I said?” The distraction might have worked on another boy, but not Jace. He was far too focused. Daemon felt a flicker of pride. Rhaenyra screamed again, and the feeling guttered out. He could not continue his preparations here, Jace had made that clear, but he could not bring himself to face Rhaenyra, especially not now that he had left her for so long. He looked up. “The ravens, Lord Bartimos,” he said. The other man hesitated for a moment before giving in. “I shall see it done.” Daemom grabbed Dark Sister, and turned away from the table. “Summon Ser Steffon,” he said as he walked away, “our Kingsguard are needed on the Dragonmont.” Queensguard. He should have said Queensguard. “Come with me,” he said as he passed Jace, “I’ll show you the true meaning of loyalty.

Daemon’s steps were slow as he walked back to the castle. To any observers, it would seem as though he were simply taking a leisurely walk from the Dragonmont. In truth, he was doing everything he could to delay his return. It was pathetic and cowardly. He was Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince, Rider of Caraxes, Wielder of Dark Sister, King of the Narrow Sea. And yet, here he was. Wandering about Dragonstone because he was afraid of what awaited him at the castle. But despite the fear, he couldn’t silence the foolish, innocent part of him that whispered that there was still a chance of his daughter living. She was a Targaryen. Targaryens were nothing if not fighters. He ended that line of thought quickly. For all that Targaryens were fighters, his family has also lost its fair share of babes in the cradle. Daemon thought of his little brother. Syrax screeched, and Daemon looked up. He was used to Syrax’s calls, he had lived near the dragon for six year, but something about that one had jolted him. It had seemed almost…familiar. Daemon shook himself. Syrax was probably just hungry. It meant nothing. Still, he couldn’t shake the cold tendrils of fear that had wound their way about his ribs. Syrax let out another shriek, and suddenly Daemon was three years old again, face buried in Queen Alysanne’s skirts while his mother died behind a closed door. He hadn’t understood at first. He and Viserys had been going to visit their lady mother, but when they arrived at her chambers there had been a score of maids and maesters congregating about the door. Daemon could dimly recall glimpsing his father’s boots as the Spring Prince paced within the room. His grandmother had come out then, and upon seeing him and his brother she had gathered them close to her. Perhaps she had been murmuring words of comfort. Daemon could not recall. What he did recall was the terrible, agonized dragoncall that had echoed through the Red Keep. For a moment his young mind had imagined it to be the Doom come again. He would later learn that it was Meleys, mourning the death of her rider. Daemon had no memories of the rest of that day, and only fragments of the funeral, but he remembered that cry. He could hear echoes of it now, in Syrax’s wails. Rhaenyra. He had to get to her. He quickened his pace, heart hammering in his chest. Another cry rent the air. Daemon was running now. What if he wasn’t fast enough? What if she was already gone when he got there. Gods, why had he left her? He had a been a fool and a coward and now he might never see her again. No. She would live. She had to live. If she didn’t he would burn them all. He’d take Caraxes and burn the whole fucking court of vipers, the leech Otto Hightower, his whore of a daughter, and all her half breeds. Kinslaying be dammed, he’d burn them all.

He was at the castle now. The sentries were opening the gates for him and he was speeding past them without an acknowledgment. The way to his chambers was familiar as breathing and in what felt like seconds he was in the hallway and Maester Gerardys was standing in front of him. He looked haggard. Daemon’s pulse beat in his ears. “It’s over, my Prince,” he said, eyes on the floor, fingers twisting together. “And the Queen,” his voice sounded wrong. Strangled and breathy. “She lives? She is well?” “She is alive, my Prince. She does not seem to be in any danger at the moment.” He said something else but Daemon didn’t hear. He already shoving past him, towards Rhaenyra. Although it couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds, the walk seemed to take hours. Rhaenyra is alive. Thank the gods, she’s alive. And if she’s alive then our girl could… The thought died as Daemon stepped into the room and beheld the scene there. Rhaenyra was sitting slumped against the side of their bed, shift stained red, and bloodied to the wrist. (Why were her hands bloody? Had she drawn the babe out herself?) Her head was bent so he couldn’t see her face, but he could see what she held. Their daughter was in her arms. She had dragon scales. Even bloodied as they were they still gleamed faintly. Rhaenyra held her as though she were alive, head pressed against her breast like she wanted her to drink. Daemon bowed his head. The grief was crushing, all consuming. He was still standing in the doorway. He looked up and Rhaenyra’s eyes met his. She said nothing. She looked so hollow. She rose, unsteady on her feet, and took a few shaky steps towards the balcony where she sat, legs crossed, dead daughter in her arms. Daemon couldn’t move. She rocked the child, the way she had with Aegon and Viserys. Daemon came up behind her, tentative. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Rhaenyra.” “She was my only daughter,” the brokenness in her voice nearly sent him to his knees. “She was my only daughter and they killed her.” The words brought Daemon a confused sense of relief. Vengance was preferable to pain any day. “We shall burn them all,” he whispered. She said nothing. He knelt behind her, arms going around her shoulders. Not quite drawing her to him, but holding her nonetheless. She leaned into him. “We must burn it.” He could only nod.

Daemon stumbled out of the room, head spinning as though he were drunk. He was dimly aware of calling for a funeral pyre to be built and for the inhabitants of the castle to assemble on the Dragonmont. He felt strangely removed, as though he was watching somone else control his movements. Colors and sounds blurred together, and suddenly he was on the beach and his knees were hitting the sand. He had drawn Dark Sister at some point. The sword's point was buried in the sand, and Daemon was leaning on it the way his brother had leaned on his cane. He had known. He had known, he had known, he had known. He had known he was going to lose the child, so why did it still hurt so much? His head was full of memories. Rhaenyra's delight as she told him she was with child again, her surety that she was finally carrying a girl, the first time he had felt his daughter kick, the egg he set aside for her cradle, retrieved the day Baela's letter arrived and everything went to hell. He clung tighter to his sword, trying to drown out Rhaenyra's voice in his ears. I want a girl, Daemon. A daughter

We must burn it

She was my only daughter

My only daughter

She was my only daughter and they killed her

They killed her

They killed her They killed her They killed her And yet, they had done worse than kill her, hadn't they? If he closed his eyes, Daemon could still see the scales that covered her skin, and the hole where her heart would have been. He had heard stories, as a child, about Maegor's children, how they had all been born dead, and with dragon features. He had never expected it would happen to him. Otto Hightower's voice rang in his ears. A second Maegor the Cruel, or worse. Daemon felt a laugh bubble up im his chest, but when it slipped from his lips it was a sob, and then he was weeping. Shoulders shaking, body wracked with agony, Daemon clung to Dark Sister the way he had once clung to the Good Queen's skirts as his mother's body cooled. Caraxes had come at some point. Daemon hadn't needed to look up to know. He had felt his dragon's presence like tug on his soul. He could feel him now, circling the beach, protecting him while he grieved. There, on that beach, with no one but his dragon as a witness, and nothing but a sword for comfort, Daemon wept.

The pyre was tiny. More of an alter than a pyre really. Rhaenyra stood just in front of it. Daemon was at her side, and their children stood a short distance behind them. Her ladies had done their best to neaten her up, but she knew she still looked a sight. They had scrubbed the blood from her skin, tied her hair back in a simple style, given her a fresh dress and cloak to wear (black lined with red,) and even slipped small earrings through her ears. But they could not hide the grief, nor could they take away the pain. The walk from her chambers had been agony. Rhaenyra could not help but recall another walk, just after a birth. For a moment she almost longed for it. At least then she’d had a child to hold. She watched the flames devour her only daughter’s body. Daemon turned to look at her. He wanted to say something. She could feel the words gathering between them like storm clouds. She did not know where he had gone after he left her. Presumably somewhere isolated, where he could grieve without the risk of being seen. She wished he had stayed. She wanted to mourn with him, united by a pain few could understand, but openness had never been Daemon’s strong suit. That was why he had left, and that was why she had labored alone. She was well aware of his need to do, to help her, but she wished he would realize that staying would have helped her more than any war council. He was still looking at her, but he said nothing. She continued to watch the pyre. Someone was approaching behind her. Her Queensguard moved closer, and Daemon turned to face the stranger. Rhaenyra watched the pyre. She heard the drawing of steel. “I mean not harm, brothers.” She knew that voice. Ser Erryk. Twin to her sworn shield. She heard swords slide back into their sheaths. She turned. Erryk knelt. He reached into a leather satchel at his side, and drew out her father’s crown. He held it up to her. “I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength, and give my blood for hers,” Rhaenyra watched him. It almost felt like a dream. Daemon stepped forward, taking the crown. “I shall take no wife…” Her husband held the crown. Rhaenyra couldn’t see his face. Her father had always said he wanted it, but throughout their marriage he had seemed perfectly content with being her consort. “…hold no lands…” Daemon was still looking at the crown. She remembered the tenderness with which he had placed it upon his brother’s head. Had he ever truly wanted it? Or had he merely wanted trust? “…father no children…” No one moved. “…I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands…” He looked up. The hand holding the crown fell to his side. “…ride at her side and defend her name and honor.” Daemon glanced at the crown in his hand, then turned to face her. She nodded, ever so slightly. He closed the gap between them. She kept her gaze steady, looking into the lilac eyes she had known all her life. Gently, oh so gently, he placed the crown on her brow. The metal was cold, but warm where he had held it. It sat heavy on her head. Daemon knelt. She watched him. He looked up at her. Their eyes met. “My Queen.” His face was open, eyes swimming with love and devotion, but grief shadowed it all. He looked down again. Her eyes went beyond him, to the rest of her court. One by one, they all followed his example. Even her boys, and Daemon’s girls. All knelt, save one. The Queen Who Never Was remained standing. Rhaenys met her eyes, and something passed between them. Rhaenyra looked back at her people, all on their knees. For me. Not for my father, or my husband. For me. They kneel for me. And as her daughter’s pyre burned behind her, Rhaenyra knew, she was a Queen in truth now.

DAEMON AND RHAENYRA ICONS [SOME MATCHINGS] | DAEMON AND RHAENYS – 2.02 (PART 1)

screencaps by @neverscreens <33