Rhaenyra And Daemon - Tumblr Posts

I Vowed Not to Fight Anymore (If We Survived the Great War)

After Daemon’s vision of young Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne, he flies back to Dragonstone to check on his wife. Based on a post by @daemyra-fire. Title is from The Great War by Taylor Swift.

“Bisa iksis skoros ao va moriot jeldan, iksis ziry daor?” This is what you always wanted, is it not?

Daemon woke with a gasp, Rhaenyra’s words ringing in his ears. For a moment he could feel her blood on his hands, but when he looked they were clean, and the feeling vanished. He took deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart, but to no avail. The dream, or whatever it was, had left him thoroughly shaken. Rhaenyra. Gods it had looked so much like her. Rhaenyra as she was nearly sixteen years ago, when he had kissed her for the first time then abandoned her, only to return so he could watch her wed another man. And he had killed her. Cut her head off as though she were a common criminal, and not the love of his life. Quite honestly, he wasn’t sure how it had happened. One moment he had been frozen, staring at a ghost of the past as it spoke all the words he’d always feared hearing, and the next, Dark Sister was in his hand, and her head was rolling on the floor. Daemon felt vaguely ill. He could still recall the way Dark Sister had gone through her slender neck. It had felt horrifyingly familiar. A stark reminder that, even with her dragons blood and the crown on her head, Rhaenyra was still mortal. She could be killed. He needed to see her. The thought spurred him into action, and he slipped from his bed, pulling on a loose shirt and breeches. He made a move towards Dark Sister and then thought better of it. The odds of him encountering an enemy at this hour were slim, and the dream was still too fresh in his mind. He knew that he was being ridiculous. Surely he would have heard if something had happened to his Queen. Flying to Dragonstone, at this hour, with nary a word to anyone or a raven sent ahead, was sheer madness. But, try as he might, he could not rid himself of the sight of her body on the floor, divested of its head. He would not be gone long. Harrenhal to Dragonstone was a relatively short flight, and Daemon did not plan to linger. He would simply see her, remind himself that she still lived, and leave. She would never even know he had been there.

The halls of Harrenhal were mercifully empty. Daemon had not expected to meet anyone at this hour, but it was still a relief when he reached Caraxes without anyone stopping him. The Blood Wyrm was sleeping just outside the castle walls, his wings tucked in and tail curled tight around him, looking rather lonely. Daemon felt a surge of guilt at the sight. His dragon was mated to Rhaenyra’s Syrax, and for the last six years, the two could often be found wrapped around each other, as though embracing. Caraxes stirred slightly at his approach, but did not wake. “Caraxes,” Daemon murmured gently, running a hand over the scales on the top of the dragon’s head. His mount’s eyes flickered open, and he let out an irritated hiss. “Lykirī.” Daemon pressed his forehead to Caraxes’s snout. “Lykirī, Caraxes.” He waited until the hissing subsided before he spoke again. “Īlon sōvegon syt Zaldrīzesdōron. Kesā ūndegon Syrax.” The last part seemed to get his attention, because he stopped glaring at Daemon and screeched softly. Daemon chuckles and climbed into the saddle. “Sōvēs, Caraxes!” The Blood Wyrm was all too happy to obey.

It was still dark when they reached Dragonstone. A less experienced dragonrider might have balked at the notion of landing with such little light, but it was familiar to Daemon. He and Rhaenyra had often gone flying at sunset, usually staying out till dusk. Admittedly, they had always returned before night truly fell, but Daemon was confident, and they landed on the Dragonmont with little difficulty. The Dragonkeepers were nowhere in sight, likely still abed, but Daemon did not mind. The less people who saw him here the better. He dismounted smoothly, stepping back to allow Caraxes entry into the tunnels of the Dragonmont. The Blood Wyrm slunk off into the caves, presumably seeking Syrax. Daemon watched him go. With a sigh, he turned away from the caves and faced the doors to the main keep. He paused for a moment on the threshold, steeling himself against the memories that threatened to engulf him. He could still turn back. Caraxes would be most displeased, but he could do it. If he called him back now, they could return to Harrenhal in time for breakfast. Only the dream was stopping him. The image of Rhaenyra’s head on the ground was burned onto his eyes. If he left now, it would continue to torment him, worming its way into his every thought and rendering him even more useless than he had been. No, he could not leave. Not until he saw Rhaenyra. Gathering his resolve, Daemon put his hand on the door, and entered the castle.

The halls were nearly deserted at this hour, but Daemon tried to stay in the shadows. Not that he was hiding. Why should he? He was a Targaryen, a prince of the blood. He was welcome in Dragonstone whenever he pleased. But all the same, he would prefer not to encounter anyone. A guard would surely wake Rhaenyra, who would demand to see him, and within an hour the whole castle would know of his return. It was better to stay as quiet and invisible as possible, even if he hated sneaking through the castle he had lived in for six years. He could not, however, avoid Rhaenyra’s Queensguard. One of them, Ser Steffon Darklyn, was stationed outside her door. Daemon saw the man’s eyes widen as he approached. “Prince Daemon,” he said warily, “I was not aware you had returned.” “Nor is anyone else,” Daemon replied, “I arrived only moments ago.” Ser Steffon nodded, but the wariness remained in his eyes. “I shall wake the Queen,” he said, turning towards the door. Daemon held up a hand “No need, Ser Steffon. I shall not be staying long, and I am sure the Queen is weary. Do not disturb her for nothing.” He moved towards the door, only to find the White Knight blocking his way. “My Prince, the Queen has commanded that no one is to be allowed into her chambers. Perhaps it would be better if-” “You might remember, Ser Steffon, that my wife and I share chambers? Surely you would not bar the Prince Consort from his own rooms?” Daemon tried to keep his tone even, but he doubted he had done a very good job. The knight hesitated, and he felt a surge of irritation. Did they truly think he would murder Rhaenyra in her bed? He was not even armed, much less equipped for regicide. Ser Steffon seemed to realize that, because he stepped back. “Apologies my Prince.” Daemon put his hand on the door, then paused and turned back towards Ser Steffon. “You will speak nothing of my presence here. I will not be the subject of the latest court gossip.” He nodded. “Yes , my Prince.” Daemon turned back towards the door, and slipped into his wife’s rooms.

He saw Rhaenyra first. He always did. She demanded his attention simply by existing. Her presence was a call that he was utterly helpless against, not that he often tried to resist it. Her hair was spread out on the pillow in a patch of moonlight that made it glow like beaten silver. Daemon moved closer. She shifted in her sleep, turning her face to his. His breath caught in his throat. Rhaenyra had always been beautiful, exquisitely so. But now she was incandescent. Daemon did not know if it was a result of their prolonged separation, but it seemed as though she had become more lovely over the past weeks. He knelt at the side of the bed, but made no move to wake her. She looked peaceful in sleep. At ease in a way Daemon had not seen since they left for Kings Landing. He sent a silent thanks to the Fourteen for allowing her to at least have peace in the night. The Fourteen, it seemed, did not want to be thanked, for at that moment, a furrow appeared between her brows, and her eyes flickered open. “Daemon?” Her voice shattered his any resolve he might have. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest with a desperation he hadn’t felt in years. “Rhaenyra.” His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears. “Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.” Daemon said her name the way some men recited their prayers. He pulled away to look at her, both hands coming up to cradle her face. Her deep violet eyes, almost black in the candlelight, were wide with confusion, and still cloudy from sleep. “Daemon what—” She broke off, then started again. “Why are you here?” There was no accusation in her voice. Only confusion, curiosity, and a heartbreaking amount of hope. She is still half asleep, he realized. Else she would not have greeted me in such a way. She likely will not even remember this when she wakes again. It was perhaps the last thought that allowed him to answer so honestly. “I needed to see you.” She hummed contentedly and buried her head in his chest. Daemon blinked. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. She seemed barely aware of what she was doing. Almost as if… Daemon glanced around the room, searching for proof of the theory that was starting to form. He found it on the low table near the bed. A small flagon, open and likely empty. Daemon was willing to bet a considerable amount of money that it had once contained dreamwine. He held Rhaenyra tighter, chin resting on her head. “Rhaenyra,” he said gently, “Have you been sleeping well?” Daemon felt her exhale against his neck. “No.” Her voice was starting to slur, dreamwine fighting to drag her from the waking world again. “Not without you.” The world froze. Daemons throat constricted to the point of pain. He knew what he should say. The words rose up in him like dragonfire, ready to be unleashed. I am sorry. I should not have left you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you… He knew what he needed to say, and still he could not do it. Instead what he managed to choke out was, “I’m here now.” Rhaenyra hummed again and nestled deeper into his arms, oblivious to his inner turmoil. She yawned, the familiarity of it making Daemon’s heart tighten. She would not stay awake much longer. Already her eyes were drifting closed, and her breathing was beginning to even out. It was time to go. He should leave, let her sleep. Gods knew she would need it. He pressed his lips to her hair and laid her gently on the bed. “I am sorry, nũha prūmia. I must return to Harrenhal.” Daemon did not think she had heard him, he had spoken softly and Rhaenyra seemed to have fallen back asleep, but as he turned to go, he felt a hand on his wrist. “Stay.” It was so faint, that for a moment Daemon wondered if he had imagined it. But Rhaenyra’s hand around his wrist was warm and undoubtedly real, and when he turned, she was looking up at him through half lidded eyes. “Stay.” The second time was not a request, it was a command. One that Daemon, who had never been able to deny her anything, had no choice but to obey.

Slowly, as though in a trance, Daemon walked back to the bed and slipped beneath the covers. His hands found their usual places: one around Rhaenyra’s waist and the other cupping the back of her neck. When had he last held her like this? Viserys had still been alive, so had Luke. Visenya had still been nestled safely in Rhaenyra’s womb. He had nearly forgotten how well she fit in his arms. How right it felt to hold her. He let his mind wander, reveling in the silken feel of her skin and the way her soft breath brushed his neck. She was made for him, and he for her. And he had to leave her again. The thought cut through the fog in his mind. Daemon glanced toward the window. How long had he spent here? The sky was still dark, but he thought he could see hints of grey. He had lingered too long. He had to return to Harrenhal and finish what should have been done weeks ago. It was the pragmatic thing to do. The thing that would help Rhaenyra the most. He knew this, and yet, as he untangled himself from her arms, it felt as though he were making a fundamental mistake. In the Stepstones, Daemon had known a man who had taken several arrows to the arm. It should have been a relatively easy recovery, but they had been low on medical supplies, and eventually infection had set it. When it became apparent that he would loose the arm, they had given him milk of the poppy and removed his arm with a well sharpened axe. Daemon still remembered the look on his face when he had woken, the horror that had dawned in his eye as he realized a vital piece of him was gone. Leaving Rhaenyra felt something like that, only he was wielding the axe. Daemon knew he being a touch dramatic. He would return to Rhaenyra, he would reclaim his missing piece. But for now, the phantom pains would grow stronger as the distance between them became ever greater.

He said nothing to Ser Steffon on his way out. To his great relief, the knight did not question him, only nodded in acknowledgement as Daemon passed. Caraxes was already waiting him. The sight nearly made Daemon smile. His mount always knew precisely what he needed. "Vēzot, Caraxes," he called once he was saddled, "naejot." As they approached the tunnel opening, Daemon bit back a sigh. It had begun to rain. Caraxes whistled angrily. Daemon patted the bright red scales on his neck "Lykirī, dokimarvose." The Blood Wyrm quieted. "Sōvēs.” Caraxes launched him himself into the downpour.

Daemon watched as Dragonstone grew smaller beneath him. Rain and darkness hid most of the castle from view, but he could still make out the lights of guards patrolling the walls. The sight reassured him slightly. He turned away, forcing the memories of Rhaenyra in his arms to the back of his mind. He would see her again. As soon as he secured the Riverlands he would see her again. He would have to meet with the Lord Paramount of the Trident and remind him of the oath he had once sworn to Rhaenyra. Daemon detested the subtleties of negotiations, but he was skilled enough at it, and he could certainly stomach the Lord of the Trident if it meant an army for his Queen. With a plan in place, Daemon felt more focused than he had since his departure from Dragonstone. He would get his wife her army, and with it would come the return of her trust. He held on to the image as Caraxes flew: Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne, and Daemon in his rightful place at her side. Queen and Consort, ruling together.

High Valyrian translations:

Lykirī: Be calm

Īlon sōvegon syt Zaldrīzesdōron. Kesā ūndegon Syrax: We fly for Dragonstone. You will see Syrax.

Sōvēs: Fly

Ñuha prūmia: My heart

Vēzot, Caraxes: Up, Caraxes

Naejot: Forward

Lykirī, dokimarvose: Be calm, focus

I honestly can’t believe I’ve never noticed this before, but did anyone else realize how they completely gloss over the fact that Rhaenyra literally just gave birth in episode 10? I mean sure we have that whole scene, and then Visenya’s funeral, and it is mentioned in 2x02, but it doesn’t seem to physically affect Rhaenyra at all. Now I have never given birth, so I can’t speak from personal experience, but it feels pretty reasonable to assume that she’d still be in a decent amount of pain for the rest of the episode, and maybe even early season two. Obviously Rhaenyra would want to hide it as much as possible because she doesn’t want to the men around her to think she’s weak, but just a shot or two of her needing to sit down, or hold onto something, or wincing slightly when she moves, or even taking a tiny bit of milk of the poppy, (or better yet being offered some and refusing because she remembers what it did to her father,) would really help remind everyone that she just went through a very emotionally and physically painful childbirth. It would also have the potential to add to the Daemyra conflict. Let’s say that at some point after her coronation, maybe when they’re arguing about the TPTWP prophecy, (I refuse to call it the choking scene anymore. I have rewritten it in my own personal canon.) They’re both getting steadily angrier with each other, to the point where they're both practically screaming at each other, and then Rhaenyra does something that makes Daemon realize just how much pain she's in. It can be small, a wince or even just a particularly sharp inhale, but it's enough to remind him that even though she's pretending to be fine, she's still recovering from giving birth. He immediatly feel guilty for not realizing it earlier, and then he'd probably drop the argumen in favor of telling her to rest a little. (He wouldn't exactly concede, but he'd be willing to drop it for the time being.) Rhaenyra is going to be pretty against this, because she can't have people see her as weak, but eventually Daemon will convince her, ("their views will be of no consequense if childbed fever takes you because you refused to rest" something like that maybe?) It would be a nice little moment between them, and it would remind people how much Daemon loves Rhaenyra. But there is still the small problem of the greens taking the throne and Daemon knows time is of the essence so while Rhaenyra is resting, he gathers the small council to discuss potential plans. I don't think he'd actually do anything without her, at most he'd send a raven or two, but it's still enough to look like a power grab. When Rhaenyra hears she'll be understandably pissed because how dare he tell her to rest and then start making plans without her? Daemon on the other hand doesnn't think he did anything wrong: his wife needs to rest so she'll be ready when the war properly kicks off, and instead of sitting around and doing nothing, he's making sure that he has a few plans in place for when she comes back. He'd definatly be aware that most of the small council probably think he's trying to undermine Rhaenyra, but he doesn't care because she knows thats not what he is trying to do. Or at least he thinks she does. I honestly think that Daemon just kind of assumes that Rhaenyra will understand his motivations, because historically she has always understood him better than anyone. So when he finds out that she thinks hes using her to get to the throne, he'll feel pretty betrayed. It'll remind him a lot of his relationship with Viserys and he really doesn't want to relive that. All of this will set up a post-B&C confrontation really nicely.

But I'm not asking for all that. All I wanted was for Rhaenyra to actually seem like she was recovering from her sixth childbirth. The showrunners might have thought that it made her seem "stronger" if she wasn't in pain (or maybe they just forgot) but it actually would have hit harder if we saw that she was still recovering while so much was happening around her.

Ok thats my little rant. Let me know what you think!

I have a feeling they’re saving the return of Rhaenyra’s necklace from Daemon to after he dies. I know I’ll be heartbroken whenever she finds/wears the necklace again 💔

oh…

Rhaenyra getting a raven with news of Daemon’s death and opening a long forgotten drawer with the necklace inside. Rhaenyra holding on to the last piece of her husband while she cries. Rhaenyra wearing it when she faces Sunfyre for the last time, and it being the only thing that survives since Valyrian Steel doesn’t melt. Aegon finding it after and holding on to that last piece of his parents.

oh…

Guys I miss Daemyra

Am I hallucinating or is that the same dress? And if it is the same dress, what do we think it means?