Rhaenyra X Daemon - Tumblr Posts
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.
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!
Daemyra and terms of endearment
I was rewatching 1x07 and realized that Rhaenyra calls Daemon “my love” in front of Alicent and it sent me down a rabbit hole. Long story short I know have a list of all the terms of endearment (in High Valyrian and Common) I think they use for each other. It goes in order of the ones I think are most frequently used starting at the top.
My love (ñuha jorrāelagon) and My heart (ñuha prūmia) I think they like these two the most because of the possessive particle. After spending so many year apart I think both of them really enjoy being able remind people of their claim on each other. When it comes to High Valyrian vs Common I think both are used pretty interchangeably, although High Valyrian is probably a bit more intimate. From a more political standpoint, using High Valyrian could also be a way of alienating anyone who doesn’t speak it (so most non-Targaryens) and a subtle reminder that they are blood of the dragon and whatnot. On the other hand, using Common could also be a somewhat political move, because it would ensure that everyone understands them. For Daemon it would probably be a way of saying “she’s mine don’t fucking touch her or I’ll feed you to Caraxes,” whereas for Rhaenyra it would be more like “yeah I just called the Rogue Prince my love, what of it,” because remember most people are still terrified of Daemon.
Husband/Wife (Valzȳrys/Ābrazȳrys) Their reasons for liking this one are probably similar to their reasons for liking my love/heart. I could totally picture them going through a phase at the beginning of their marriage where they almost exclusively refer to each other as husband and wife, because they're just so happy to finally be together and married. I think eventually they do start using my love/heart more because it's slightly more personal than just husband or wife, but they do still use it from time to time. As for the language, I think this is also pretty interchangeable.
My Queen (Ñuha Dāria) Before Viserys's death, he probably never called her this except in private since it would be ever so slightly treasonous, but I feel like he would definatly use it in the bedroom. After Rhaenyra actually becomes Queen he probably starts to use it in a more official capacity. Language wise I'd say High Valyrian in the bedroom and Common in public.
Princess In the first few episodes of season one, Daemon calls her princess quite often, but it seems to fall out of use after their ten year seperation. He might use it a little bit, but it's mostly been replaced. The High Valyrian word for prince/princess/heir is dārlilaros, but from what I can tell, Daemon never uses this. As for Rhaenyra, I can't really picture her calling Daemon by his title in a non formal setting. I can however picture her teasing him about his "Rogue Prince" moniker.
Zaldrītsos (little dragon) Personally I think Daemon only ever called her this when she was much younger (like 5 or 6) but I've seen lots of people talk about it so it's on this list. Even if he did keep using it as she got older, I think he definately stopped after they got married, because I can't imagine that he would call his wife "little dragon." They could use it for their children though.
Ok, well that's my list of Daemyra terms of endearment. Let me know what you guys imagine them using.
Ok so this may be slightly insane, but I feel like Wildest Dreams could totally be a Daemyra song. Like in the aftermath of Daemon’s death and even just while he’s in the Riverlands and Rhaenyra thinks he betrayed her. Honestly it could probably work for their ten year seperation to.
He's so tall, and handsome as hell
He's so bad, but he does it so well
Need I explain this one?
Say you'll remember me
Standing in a nice dress
Staring at the sunset, babe
Red lips and rosy cheeks
Say you'll see me again
Even if it's just in your wildest dreams
This feels like it what I imagine the vibe was when Daemon was leaving for the Riverlands to go find Aemond, especially since it seems like Daemon knows he'll die at Harrenhal. I could imagine this being Rhaenyra's thoughts while he's leaving, but I honestly like it better as Daemon's, cause then it can be leaving, knowing he likely won't return, wanting to know that the love of his life will remember him when he's gone. It also kinda feels like Rhaenyra during their ten year seperation.
And his voice is a familiar sound
Again, need I explain this?
And when we've had our very last kiss
My last request is
This can also apply to Daemon leaving for the Riverlands and Rhaenyra during the ten years. I think if they had been given a chance to say proper goodbyes after her wedding, it could have looked something like this.
You'll see me in hindsight
Tangled up with you all night
Burning it down
Someday when you leave me
I bet these memories
Follow you around
This is 100% Rhaenyra when she thinks Daemon is cheating on her with Nettles.
Ok thats all I have for now. Let me know if there's any lines you think I missed, or if there are other songs you'd like me to do this for.
DAEMYRA COMFORTING THEIR SON VISERYS
Is that her wedding ring?
Rhaenyra's gold ring in S2
This love is good This love is bad This love a life back from the dead
This Love//Taylor Swift
Whatever happened to the necklace?
I hope in season 3, we get a scene of Daemyra braiding each others’ hair before the sacking of King’s Landing
YES!!!!!!
Rhaenyra will be horrified by how much Daemon has neglected his hair in Harrenhal. Daemon is just happy he finally gets to touch her hair. They probably won’t do anything too complicated since hair is usually handled by maids, but I think they’re both capable of doing some simple hairstyles. I would love to see the return of Daemon’s war braids from the Stepstones, and Rhaenyra will definitely want something Visenya-like. Bonus points if they match each other.
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
Do you have any daemyra AU recommendations on Ao3???
Do you have a specific AU in mind? Personally when it comes to Daemyra the only AU I read is canon divergence and maybe the occasional time travel. My recommendations for those two are as follows:
Conspire by RoselynnThornwood
Shameless by daemyraspower
Our Secret Moments by Luminous_ Being
Until the end of our story by bevesy
The Red and the Gold by RhaenyraTargaryensLawyer
Am I hallucinating or is that the same dress? And if it is the same dress, what do we think it means?
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.
ok I wasn’t going to say anything but this is really starting to get on my nerves
IF YOU DON’T LIKE INCEST SHIPS THEN YOU SHOULDN’T BE WATCHING THE INCEST SHOW
Funny things I noticed re watching Season 1 of HOTD:
Daemon- where did you get those squire cloths for Rheanyra to wear to flea bottom? They obviously belonged to someone because she sniffed them and they were stinky.
Rheanyra is hella dressed up for Leana's funeral- girl has on eyeliner, her hottest dress and red stockings. She watched Daemon the whole time and made her kids go to bed at like 7pm so she could follow him to the beach.
Daemon knows milk of the poppy by smell.
Daemons "Getting eggs for my baby" outfit.
