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aemondsbabygirl · 6 months ago

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I’m finally making time to start this beast of a fanfic and I’m so glad! What a perfect angsty start 🥲 Poor Daenera, I can’t imagine growing up knowing this prophecy. It would haunt me 💔 I’m already attached to her little fierce personality. She seems so aware for her age. I love her relationship with Harwin and it pains me at the same time because I know it is doomed 😭. I can’t wait to read more!

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you," the witch said....

Daenera Velaryon returns to King's Landing with the intention of bolstering her mother's position and reminding both the Greens and nobility that Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne. She has a specific goal in mind: to be a constant source of annoyance to the Greens and is willing to play the political game without hesitation.

However, what catches her off guard is the way Aemond gazes at her and seems to relish in her suffering. He openly expresses his desire to bring about her downfall, her ruination.

This situation leads to a tense game of cat and mouse, with each move escalating the already high stakes. Will their precarious situation crumble as the dragons soar above, or will fate intervene?

After all, love often demands the sacrifice of duty, just as duty can sometimes lead to the demise of love.

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X OC, HOTD characters.

Chapter 1: A prophecy foretold

AO3

“Be careful, princess,” Ser Harwin warned as Daenera slipped on the leafy ground of the Kingswoods, her arms flailing in an attempt to stabilize her. She quickly waved him off, eyes focused on the bush of dark berries. She trotted towards the bush and began to pick the berries, brows furrowed in concentration, the apple of her cheeks bright pink in the fresh cool air.

“Are you my true father?” Daenera asked suddenly, the question thrown out into the world as if it weren’t a loaded, dangerous question.

Ser Harwin froze against the tree he was leaning on, his eyes scanning over the little princess and her dark hair that was so much like his own, curling around her chubby face and spilling down over her shoulders and back. The princess seemed wholly unbothered by the question.

“Why would you ask such a thing?” Ser Harwin questioned back, trying to gauge the princess's reaction.

Daenera shrugged, the frown deepening and the pace with which she was picking berries slowing. “I am not stupid. I don’t look like Laenor nor do I look much like my mother, but one cannot deny that she birthed me, so the only reasonable conclusion is that Laenor isn’t my true father… And… I look more like you.”

The rationality with which she spoke astonished Ser Harwin. Yet, it was clear that the reason behind the questions was a soft prayer to understand and to have explained why she was different from her uncles or cousins.

She was far too perceptive for a girl her age.

“Would it disappoint you?” Ser Harwin asked, his voice gentle and warm.

Daenera pursed her lips in thought, trying to put words to her thoughts. It wasn’t easy to be faced with the possibility of being a bastard. “Do you love my mother?”

“I do,” Ser Harwin answered without a question, the devotion he held for Rhaenyra evident in his voice and burning in his eyes. He looked at Daenera with fatherly devotion.

“Then no, I should think not. If you love each other, then I don't see a reason to be disappointed… But Laenor is still my father.” Daenera said, finally looking up at the Commander of the City Watch.

Ser Harwin smiled. “Of course. I can never replace your father.”

It was true in multiple ways. He could never replace Laenor. The truth could never be revealed.

Daenera went back to picking berries, the tip of her fingers painted burgundy. “I would like you to be my father as well.”

“You know I can’t really be your father, right?” Ser Harwin pushed off the tree to kneel down by the princess, placing his hands on her shoulders to make her look directly at him. Her big blue eyes blinked up at him. “You cannot tell anyone this. Not even your brothers. It will put you all in a dangerous position.”

“I know.”

“You can’t treat me any different. Laenor is your father, in name and blood, do you understand?”

“I do, I know.” The princess grumbled, pouting a little. “I can’t tell my brothers. I can’t tell anyone. And I can’t acknowledge you as my father.”

“It is a secret that will protect everyone you love.” Ser Harwin said, making sure she knew.

“Try these.” Daenera handed him a handful of berries, before walking back to pluck some more.

Ser Harwin inspected the berries. “Are they poisonous?”

“No,” Daenera answered. Ser Harwin propped the handful into his mouth, the taste sweet. “I don’t think so, although I cannot be sure, they look like blueberries but they could also be nightshade.”

Ser Harwin choked, coughing on the juices and spat out, trying to catch his breath. It was only then he noticed the sly, mischievous smile on Daenera’s lips. “Are you sure you do not wish me dead?”

“I’m only teasing, they’re regular blueberries.” She answered, putting a few berries into her mouth for emphasis. A big grin split across her face.

Ser Harwin shook his head. “You could have killed me.”

“I took the chance.”

“You’re a wicked little princess,” he chided, beating on his chest to try and loosen whatever lingered in his chest after choking. He glanced towards the sky, looking past the green rustling leaves of the trees to the blue expanse of sky. “We should head back to the Keep.”

“Must we?” Daenera whined, shoving the remaining berries she had picked into a tiny satchel by her hips.

Ser Harwin held out a hand for her to take.

Wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress, she smeared the purple juices onto the fabric, staining it irrevocably. It wasn’t an expensive dress, but Joyce wouldn’t be happy with her. She took Ser Harwins big hand, finding comfort in his warmth.

They walked across the forest floor, the sun streaming through the trees as morning became noon, warming the air. There was a sudden shift in temperature then, the sun seemingly unable to pierce through the thick growth of trees, casting everything below it in cool shadows. Among those trees was a wagon, one of those used to live in as one traveled across the land.

Daenera slowed her pace, eyes stuck on the red and purple painted wagon, the same color the tip of her fingers were. Along the roof of the wagon hung clusters of talismans and trinkets. The sight of it made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Ser Harwin tried to pull the princess along with him, uneasy by the whole thing, but Daenera wouldn’t budge, eyes fixed on the dark-haired woman with kohl smeared around her eyes, a deep red that seemed almost black. Ser Harwin’s hand found the hilt of his sword.

“Are you a witch?” Daenera asked.

“Come princess.” Ser Harwin beckoned her. She pulled her hand from his grasp as she turned fully to the woman.

“Some may call me a witch, others will claim me a fraud, and a few a priestess. It is all in the eye of the beholder.”

“I don’t understand.”

The witch smiled. “I tell people their futures… if they’re willing to pay the price.”

Daenera’s eyes widened in intrigue. Who wouldn’t want to know their future? “Can you tell me mine?”

Ser Harwin was less intrigued by the woman. “Daenera. We really should get back to the Keep, your mother awaits you.”

“But I wish to know my future,” Daenera said stubbornly.

“Whatever she may tell you, it will only serve to sow doubt and discord. We are not meant to know our futures.”

“If you’re afraid you can stay out here and keep guard, but I’m going in,” Daenera told him in all her princessly authority. She picked up her skirts and made her way towards the woman, who smiled slyly.

The witch led the princess through a ruffled veil of string and glass beads, into the darkness of the wagon. It was only when she had entered that her heart began to drum in her chest as the shadows crept over her skin making a shiver go down her spine. Doubt and uncertainty seeded themselves in her chest.

What if her future was boring? What if she were to marry some ugly, old, fat man? What if she were told she’d never have children? or find true love?

The witch sat behind a round table. The only candle in the room was unable to light up the entirety of the space, only serving to deepen the shadows and make them dance with each flicker, almost mockingly. Daenera clutched her hands nervously.

“So you wish to know your future, little princess,” In this lighting, the kohl around the woman's eyes only served to make them seem hollow, the flame dancing in the darkness of irises. Something else looked back at Daenera from the depths. “Knowing one's future comes with a prince.”

“I have money,” Daenera answered, trying to unfasten the pouch of coins at her hip.

The witch laughed, coldly. “It is not money that I want.”

Daenera looked at the woman in confusion.

“The price of knowing your future is one of blood.”

Fear gripped Daenera and she anxiously took a step back, wondering whether she should call for Ser Harwin. “Blood?”

“One drop and I will give you a prophecy of your future. You will be able to ask three questions, no more.” The witch removed a long thin hairpin from her hair. At one end there was a red ruby, gleaming like fire, while the other end was thin like a needle. Something in the back of her mind told her to turn around, to heed Ser Harwin’s warning, to go back to the castle and forget it all.

But like a moth to a flame, she could not turn back.

She was rooted to the floor, the shadows clawing at her, tugging her forward like a puppet on a string.

The witch's grin widened. She held out her hand for Daenera to place her own in. Once she had the princess's hand in hers, she pressed the hairpin down on her finger, breaking the skin. A drop of blood welled up as she squeezed the finger, the same deep red as the ruby, the flame of the candlelight flickering in it.

Daenera was shocked when the witch brought her finger to her mouth, sucking the blood off her finger. She tried to pull her hand to her but found the witch's grip on her wrist unyielding. It wasn’t until Daenera used all her force that she was able to break free, gripping her wrist and holding it to her chest.

The woman closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose, leaning back in the chair. When she opened her eyes again, they seemed black. They fixed Daenera to her spot, unable to break free of their spell. Her heart hammered in her chest, like a little bird trying to break free.

“I see your future being woven, black and green, red and blue, a grand tapestry. Your future is one of great trials and tribulations. You will be tested by fire and betrayal as those around you seek to use you for their own gain. So many threads, so many possibilities.” The witch's voice was low and melodic, like a hymn echoing in the dark of a crypt. It crept over Daenera’s skin, burrowed into her bones and settled there, forever a part of her. “The Dragons will dance and fire shall rain from above. Terror rides the wind. The Stranger will visit you many times, he follows you and you will see some of those you love in his care. Some you will pass over to him yourself.”

Her bones felt like ice, and she shivered, wanting nothing more than to warm herself by the candlelight.

“You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you.” The witch hummed, closing her eyes again as she ran her tongue over her lips, licking at the traces of the princess's blood. “Blood will play a significant role in your life, with debts made and paid in equal measure. Pain will be your constant companion as the cursed power in your blood will be wielded with the precision of poison. But remember, poisoned cups may be turned around on yourself, and the power of curses always has a price.”

“Mmm,” the witch hummed, eyes rolling as she searched her mind. “Love will come to you, a double-edged sword. Your first marriage will be loveless and your second cloaked in betrayal. Who will you be able to trust?”

The witch laughed at Daenera’s crestfallen face. “But through both of these unions, you will find love that burns bright and fierce.”

The witch tapped on the table, a rhythmic tempo, like the beating of a heart. Her eyes opened again. “What is your first question, princess of flowers?”

Daenera let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her mouth had gone dry and she glanced down at her hand, finding red crescents littering her skin from where her nails had dug into it. Her mind whired with thoughts. “Who is this love of mine?”

It was such a childish question, but Daenera was just a child. She still dreamed of knights and boundless love.

“The boy with the stars in his eyes will capture your heart, but be wary of the danger that he represents. Twin flames, one soul. This is the love that awaits you. You will be torn between the desire for love and the fear of being consumed by it. What is your second question, princess of poison?”

It was hard to choose one. There were so many. She could ask more about this love, about the marriages, about whether she would be happy. Or she could ask the more foreboding questions.

“Who will betray me?”

The witch laughed, roared with it. “Betrayal will come from all sides, from enemies and loved ones alike. Even your own heart and blood will betray you. Ultimately, the choice will be yours. Will you succumb to the fire and the betrayal, or will you rise above it and find power? The path ahead is fraught with danger, but there is hope for a brighter tomorrow if you are willing to fight for it.”

It had been a mistake entering the witches' wagon. A big mistake indeed. She did not wish to know any more from this witch. Fear had sunk its claws into her, uprooting her from the spot in the wagon. Daenera took a step back, tears stinging in her eyes. Why did her future sound so horrible? This isn’t what she wanted to hear.

“What is your final question, princess of curses?”

“I don’t want to know anymore.” Daenera answered, voice quivering and breaking.

The witches' eyes sharpened. “You started this. The deal is not done yet.”

“I don’t want to know more!” Daenera yelled at the witch, loud enough to summon Ser Harwin. He bound into the wagon, far too big for its size, and yet he stood there, between Daenera and the witch, hand threateningly on the hilt of his sword. The witches' eyes narrowed at him.

“We are not done yet.” She insisted, a feral look in her eyes. “You must ask the final question.”

“I don’t have one!” Daenera yelped, hiding behind Ser Harwin.

“The princess is ready to leave, so you will allow her to.”

The witch flicked the hairpin at Ser Harwin, the sharp end of it grazing the hand that gripped the hilt of the sword before it embedded itself in the wood of a cabinet. The witch took a deep breath, her dark eyes burning into Ser Harwin, who slowly backed away while she followed, the princess being pushed out of the wagon.

“The fireflies will burn your future to the ground. Leave that landing of kings and you shall not return.” Despite the clear threat of Ser Harwin’s hand on his sword, the witch remained unbothered, following them out into the fresh air, the sun having yet to penetrate the crown of the trees. “All strong men shall fall. Even the strongest. Even the cleverest. Even the small, the first, the sweet. And it shall all begin with you. So beware the fireflies and their ambition.”

Daenera ran a little way away before turning, waiting for Ser Harwin as he walked backward towards her, never losing sight of the witch.

“If you do not ask your question now, princess, you will leave the contract unfulfilled.” The witch said forebodingly. Reaching up to one of the trinkets, she grabbed on, tugging at a few branches and rope to release the golden coin held in suspension in the middle. She looked back at the princess and flicked the coin at her. It flew in an arch and landed at the feet of the princess.

Daenera picked up the coin. On one side a spiral had been carved into it, while an eye ordained the other side. She looked back up at the witch with confusion written all over her face.

“When you are finally ready to ask that question of yours, bury this in the woods and come back when there’s no moon in the sky.” The witch said in a foreboding tone. “But know this, the question will haunt you until you ask it.”

Ser Harwin turned around and picked Daenera up. He wanted her out of the forest. Daenera watched as the witch smiled and waved at her before disappearing into the wagon.

Daenera remained quiet until they were sitting on the horse, crossing the treeline out into the open field, with Kingslanding in sight. It was comforting. Only then did she give voice to the thoughts in her head.

“Do you think what the witch said was true?”

“What did she say to you?” Ser Harwin asked gently, not wanting to frighten the princess anymore than she already was. For he knew the encounter had shaken her.

“She said that my future would be one of betrayal and fire. That… that blood will play a role and that mine is cursed.” It was hard to put words to. Her mind skipped parts and sowed others together. How could she explain it all? “I will find love, but he will betray me. Everyone will. And that the Stranger follows me… I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone to die.”

“The Stranger follows us all,” Ser Harwin spoke, trying to calm the child in his arms. She may act grown and be perceptive for her age, but she was a child still. The notion of death was a far out concept one didn’t think much of at that age. “Everything that lives must die in the end. That is what makes us mortal.”

Daenera went quiet, trying to blink the tears away.

“We must all die. Did the witch tell you when and how people died?”

“No.”

“Then it could be when we’re all old and in bed for all you know. Death is what lets us know we’re living. Don’t put too much thought into what the witch said. Things like these are vague for a reason. You’ll find that it can be fitted onto most people. She just wanted to scare you.”

But the witch hadn’t been all vague, had she?

“But she also said that I’d be betrayed.”

“By who?”

“Everyone.”

“People like the witch make a game out of telling the future, they tell you riddles and let those haunt all your future actions. You can’t trust anything she said for the future isn’t set in stone,” Ser Harwin explained. “To know the future is to tie a noose and hang oneself with it. Forget what the witch told you, don’t let her riddles tie you a noose.”

“To know the future is to tie a noose and hang oneself with it,” Daenera repeated his words back to him in a musing, thoughtful tone. “So you don’t believe what she said to you?”

“Fireflies cannot start fires,” Ser Harwin dismissed the witches' prediction. He wouldn’t give it any more thought, just as he told her not to. His future was with the city watch and the royal family, however, they needed him. There weren’t even any fireflies in King's Landing.

“If you do not believe her, then I won’t either.”

The Red Keep has always been a great big thing looming over King's Landing with its high, towering walls built upon the highest hill. Daenera had often wondered how they had managed to build it so tall. Her and Ser Harwin rode through the gate into the tiltyard. Ser Harwin swung down from the horse and then helped Daenera down, the girl brushing out her dirty and crumbled skirts, hair in a tissy around her face. She was handed her bigger satchel and the few books she had taken with her before Ser Harwin led the horse towards the stables.

Daenera didn’t wait for him and began up the steps to the keep, following behind Aemond who had been sparring alone in the tiltyard, trying to improve his skill. They silently fell into step with each other.

“Out foraging in the forest again?” Aemond questioned.

“Out training alone again?” Daenera questioned right back.

“Training alone is better than training with your brothers. They seem to lessen my skill rather than improve it.”

“Maybe that’s because they’re better than you, and if so, then you should keep at it.”

Aemond narrowed his eyes at her as they turned the corner, beginning the long journey up the steps towards Maegor's holdfast where both of their rooms were.

“I would have thought that the Commander of the City Watch would have better things to do than to babysit you,” Aemond argued. “Like commanding the City Watch for example.”

“And I would think Ser Criston Cole would pay more attention to teaching you, but I suppose not, given that you’re training alone,” Daenera mused back with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“And as for Ser Harwin babysitting me, it is a great honor to be entrusted with a princess is it not?”

“That is what we have the Kingsguard for,” Aemond pointed out. “Strange that you won’t be entrusted to them, but are with the Commander.”

Daenera swallowed, eyes darting over Aemond to try and see what he was thinking. At the moment he was a stone wall with hair standing in tots around his head and dirt on his red cheeks. No, she would not reveal anything either. “I like Ser Harwin. He’s a good man and if it wasn’t because he was the heir to Harrenhall, he too would be a Kingsguard.”

“I see, so it’s because he’s to have kids he’s not wearing the white cloak,” Aemond hummed, his words sharp and prodding. “I suppose he didn’t want to be an oathbreaker…”

“Besides, could you imagine Ser Criston with me in the woods?” Daenera continued, trying to conjure up the image of Ser Criston standing among the trees in his white cloak, glaring at her and sneering at her to hurry up, the embodiment of ‘I don't want to be here’. He always hated her and her brothers. Daenera didn’t understand why. “He treats us badly and without respect.”

“He treats you badly and without respect.”

“I like Ser Harwin much better,” Daenera said.

“Hm, you’d have to, wouldn’t you?” Aemond muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t know what it's like to like someone and be liked back,” Daenera shot at him. They had come to a standstill outside her mothers rooms. They regarded one another.

“You smell of sweat,” Daenera told him.

“You smell of horse,” Aemond answered right back. A smile grew on both their lips, the tension in the air dispelled immediately. “Are you coming to the dancing lessons later?”

“Of course, are you?”

“Unfortunately,” Aemond grumbled, waving as he walked away.

Daenera had often wondered when things had changed between them. When they were younger all of them were friends and played with one another, but slowly Aegon and Aemond had withdrawn, beginning to shoot snide comments towards her and her brothers. It was as if a chism had opened up between them. She didn’t understand it, but she had learned that people grew apart. And she wasn’t really that upset over not being good friends with Aegon. He had turned into quite the asshole, always ready with a malicious jape or prank. And her brothers, her stupid and naive brothers, fell for Aegon's scheming every time.

Between her and Aemond there was either constant war or truce. They constantly jeered one another, constantly poked at each other's weak points, sparred with words, and yet, they could smile at each other and call it a day. It was a strange sort of rivalry. And maybe it stemmed from a silent understanding of one another, second borns, dragonless, buried in books and duties.

Daenera entered her mothers rooms finding Laenor sprawled out over the chamise, an arm over his eyes, boots still on his feet, quietly snoring. Rhaenyra was buried in a book in front of the fireplace, hand on the swell of her stomach. It wouldn’t be long before Daenera got another sibling. Rhaenyra looked up from her book, smiling softly at her only daughter.

“How was the woods?”

“Enlightening,” Daenera answered, feeling the grip of those shadows linger on her soul like a bruise. She shook the feeling off and hurried to her mother, opening the bag to reveal her treasures and findings, which all looked like shrubs and weed to Rhaenyra. “I got some Dandelions, Musk Mallow, Pennyroyal and some Thistle. And some herbs and mushrooms, though I didn’t pick a lot of those because I’m not entirely sure of them yet. I also got some blackberries, which I fed Ser Harwin.”

“And told me they were nightshades,” Ser Harwin recalled, sliding into the rooms. His eyes went soft at the sight of Rhaenyra, her hand cradling her stomach, while her other gripped Daenera’s hands. His child and their mother. Rhaenyra raised a brow at her mischievous daughter.

“They weren’t,” Daenera reminded him. “Or you’d be dead.”

“I could have died choking on the berries you gave me.”

“It was a harmless prank, don’t take it to heart Ser Harwin,” Daenera told him. Ser Harwin tried to hold back his smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling.

“Forgive her, Ser Harwin, it seems my daughter has quite the mischievous side,” Rhaenyra said, shaking her head at her daughter, a smile on her lips, knowing it was all in good fun.

“Already forgiven.”

Rhaenyra’s water broke a fortnight after Daenera’s adventure in the woods. When Luke was born Daenera was there, sitting quietly in one of the chairs, trying to understand what was happening while Laenor held her mothers hand, trying to calm both his daughter and his wife at once. Rhaenyra had waved him off then, sending him to the teary eyed Daenera to comfort her. Now she had a bigger role to play.

With her interest in healing and medical practices, she stood beside her mother, steeling herself for what was to come, trying to be as brave as a dragon, despite the fear clawing in her chest.

Rhaenyra was covered in a sheen of sweat, trying to breathe through the pain of labor, hair sticking to her skin, made wavey by the salt of sweat and the humidity of the room. One of the midwives kept patting her forehead with a wet cloth, the constant touch and fussing beginning to irritate the heir to the throne.

Rhaenyra swatted the midwife's hand away. “Stop patting my head as if I were a sick child.”

“The wet cloth will help with the heat of childbirth and will calm you,” The midwife explained, wetting the cloth again and bringing it back to pat at Rhaenyra’s chest.

Another contraction went through her, body tensing up with pain, a guttural groan ripping through her throat. She again swatted the nurses hand away, this time growling. “Stop it you cunt!”

The oldest midwife gestured for the other to leave, not wanting to add to the tension and irritability that childbirth often brought upon women.

“Is it awfully painful?” Daenera asked, her voice low and filled with concern.

Rhaenyra turned her head to the side and forced a smile, looking at her daughter. She extended her hand and pushed aside a strand of dark hair falling into her daughter's face. Her hand rested on the curve of her daughter’s cheek, and her thumb brushed gently over the skin.

“It is. Awful and painful.”

“Then why do you do it?” Daenera asked, confused. Why would anyone willingly go through that sort of pain? It seemed like an awful lot of trouble, and an awful lot of blood, sweat and tears. Daenera couldn’t imagine wanting to go through that. The concept was so strange to her.

“Because it is worth it. You and your brothers are worth every second of pain,” Rhaenyra told her. Another wave of contractions rushed over her and she pulled back from her daughter, gripping the bed sheets with enough force to turn her knuckles white.

“Do not push yet, my lady,” the midwife ordered, looking under the fabric of her mothers dress.

There were no Maesters present, she didn’t trust them after what happened to her mother, she saw them as rats. Instead she put her trust in her midwives, the ones who had helped her through the birth of her first three children and had served as her maids for years. She trusted them.

“Why did the gods make us like this?” Daenera asked. “Why couldn’t we just lay eggs like the dragons?”

Rhaenyra chuckled at her daughter's words, as did the midwives. “Laying an egg doesn’t seem all that fun either, Dae. They are about the same size as a newborn baby, the pain would be the same.”

“Hm… I suppose it would be boring having to keep the egg warm until it hatched. I just think the gods are cruel to put us through that much pain.”

“The gods give us this pain so that we know we can endure,” Rhaenyra said.

“But not all endures,” Daenera whispered.

“No, not all can endure it. But I will. Do not worry for me, my flower,” Rhaenyra comforted her daughter, who squared her shoulders and straightened her back, determination edging her otherwise soft features. She might not look all that much like Rhaenyra but the shape of her eyes, but she possessed the same fire that all Targaryens had.

“You don’t need to comfort me, mother, I do not doubt that you shall survive. I should be the one to comfort you.”

“Give me your hand, sweet child.”

Daenera gave her her hand, holding it tight as another contraction hit. This time Rhaenyra was told to push. And she did. She breathed in deeply, Daenera following her mothers lead, and pushed as hard as she could.

The fat midwife came up behind Rhaenyra for support, holding her other hand and helping her to sit in the right position on the bed . Pain and effort flashed across Daenera’s mothers face, contorting it and making grimaces, and yet, in the pain of birth, Daenera thought her mother the most beautiful woman in the world, even when her face turned red.

There was a sound Daenera hadn’t heard before, of dripping water, soaking into the sheets. Childbirth was terribly messy.

“You are doing great, mother,” Daenera encouraged once her mother breathed a little easier after the contraction. Rhaenyra smiled at her daughter, proud that she hadn’t turned away.

It felt like forever before the baby came, water and blood squirting everywhere on the bed as the child slid out, her mother falling back into the bed, body wrecked by exhaustion.

Rhaenyra half cried, half laughed, relieved that the child had come rather easy. Daenera’s eyes were big and focused on the grimy baby in the midwife's hands.

“A boy, princess,” the fat midwife announced.

Daenera grinned widely at her mother. “A brother. I’ve got another brother.”

Rhaenyra smiled, relieved to see that there wasn't a hint of disappointment on her daughter's face. Instead she beamed like the sun, excited at the prospect of a new family member. The newborn let out a strong cry, taking in air for the first time, as Rhaenyra released her daughter's hand to welcome the baby into her arms. “Healthy?”

“Kicking like a goat, princess,” the midwife answered, just as happy as the rest of them.

Rhaenyra cried with relief and happiness, the babe squirming in her arms, crying its heart out with life. Daenera looked over her shoulders at the baby. It looked like a baby should, she supposed, but she couldn’t yet tell all its features. What she could tell was that Laenor wasn't likely to be the father.

“Look at his tiny hands!” Daenera gushed, reaching to touch it. The baby wrapped its hand around her finger. “It's so strong.”

The midwife that had disappeared out the doors to bring the tidings forth came back, worry evident on her face. “Princess…the-the queen has requested that the child should be brought to her… immediately.”

Daenera’s face fell in confusion and Rhaenyra’s in apprehension and suspicion. They both echoed at the same time. “Why?”

The midwife held no answer.

Rhaenyra pushed herself to her feet, the movement labored and painful, a groan falling from her lips. It was wrong. She shouldn’t be standing, she had only just given birth. Why would the queen send for the baby the moment it was born? What was so important? Why was she so impatient? Daenera felt anger on the behalf of her mother. The baby was still attached to Rhaenyra by the umbilical cord.

“It’s not right,” Daenera said, unable to hide her dissatisfaction. “You’ve just given birth, can the queen not wait?”

“Evidently not,” Rhaenyra uttered, she wasn’t ready to hand over her newborn just yet. “I’ll take him myself.”

“You should remain abed, princess-,”

“Yes, I should! Bring me my dress!” Rhaenyra yelled in aggravation. It was egregious to force her to let go of the child she had only just given birth to, and even more so to expect her to just hand it over for some sort of inspection. Bitterness and anger burned within Rhaenyra’s chest. It wasn’t right what Alicent was doing. It was humiliating and demeaning.

The midwives fussed around Rhaenyra as Daenera watched with big, concerned eyes. The sounds her mother made were the same as when she was giving birth. Was there another? Rhaenyra reluctantly handed over the baby to a midwife.

Daenera tried to get the excitement back, but the worry overshadowed the feeling.

The midwives peeled off Rhaenyra’s underdress she had worn throughout the birth, the wet fabric clinging to her skin, coloured by blood and the water of the womb. Every movement seemed a great effort and very painful. Her baby brother cried for his mothers loving warmth.

They then helped Rhaenyra into a blue underdress before putting another dress over it, the bodice loose and of a different fashion than what she usually wore. She tried to calm the child with shushing, all the while feeling the painful contractions pull at her insides. “Mhmm, mm, it’s coming.”

Daenera watched her mother fold over in pain as the midwives sunk to their knees, pushing the princesses skirts up. “The afterbirth!”

This time water drippled to the floor as Rhaenyra pushed, trying to get the thing over with. Daenera’s eyes had gone wide. “Are you giving birth again?”

“No, no, no,” Rhaenyra groaned, licking her lips as her face contorted in pain with another push. “It’s… the afterbirth. It’s like a protective sack for the child.”

“You give birth twice?!” Daenera exclaimed in exasperation and disbelief. Did all women give birth twice for one baby?! The gods are truly cruel.

Rhaenyra laughed through the pain, though the laughter got as distorted as her face. Blood ran down her legs with each push.

“Here it comes,” Rhaenyra hissed through clenched teeth.

Once the afterbirth had come out, one of the midwives examined it to ensure that nothing was left inside the princess, while the other two servants assisted in lacing up the dress. Only then, the baby was carefully placed in its mothers arms, wrapped in a soft silk blanket, with gold embroidery at the edges.

Rhaenyra waddled though her rooms, heading towards the doors when they were suddenly swung open by Laenor, his face revealing his excitement.

“A boy. I’ve just heard,” he greeted them, relief joying the excitement on his face.

“Yes.”

“Well done… Where are you going?” Lanor asked, confused at his wife's persistent walk.

“ She wants to see him,” Rhaenyra bit out.

Daenera was the one to elaborate. “The queen wants to see the baby immediately, she said.”

“What, now?” Laenor asked in the same disbelief as Daenera felt. “I’m coming.”

“I should hope so.”

“I’m coming as well,” Daenera joined in.

Rhaenyra came to a halt, casting her gaze down at her second born, a daughter who adored her and would be at her side wherever she went. However, this time she could not accompany her.

“No, you’ll stay right here,” Rhaenyra told her.

“Why?! I want-,”

“Stay, Daenera. This isn’t a child's game,” her mother cut her off. Trying to quell the anger she drew in a deep breath, then looked upon her daughter. “It is best if you stay. Go find your brothers and tell them the news.”

Daenera knew she wouldn’t make any difference in arguing, so she instead nodded and ran down the halls, picking up the skirts so as to not fall in them. Jace and Luke had just arrived at the tiltyard with Ser Harwin following suit, two dragon keepers carrying a brazier between them, the heat of which distorted the air around it.

Daenera huffed and puffed, cheeks red. “Its-it’s a boy.”

Jace and Luke jumped with excitement, gripping onto one another as they jumped around in a celebratory circle. Ser Harwin’s eyes were beaming, though the smile on his face was small.

“Come on, let’s get back to mothers chambers!” Jace yelled, gripping Luke’s arm, pulling the younger with him. “Let’s see who’s fastest!”

Jace ran off, Luke right at his heels, yelling about how unfair it was because he had a headstart and longer legs.

“Please, Ser Harwin, would you join us in our celebration?”

“I would like that very much, Princess Daenera.”

The two of them walked up the steps and into the hall once more, meeting a fleet of people, all congratulating the princess on her new brother. Daenera accepted their congratulations with a smile and a nod. It was only when the halls were less crowded she began speaking again. “The queen sent for the child immediately after he was born. Mother refused to let him go, so she went along with him.”

“Your mother walked all the way to the queen's chambers?” Ser Harwin asked. He knew of the animosity between the queen and the princess, knew of the bad blood and the rivalry, but he had not thought that the queen would force a woman who had just given birth to walk all the way through the castle to see the child.

If anything, as a woman herself, she should have let the princess heal or come to her herself.

Ser Harwin found it vile, and he couldn’t blame Rhaenyra for the spite that seemed to course through her veins.

“Yes,” Daenera’s voice quivered with the single word.

“Your mother is strong. Stronger than any woman I’ve ever met, do not worry for her,” Ser Harwin told the young princess.

“How can I not, when she was still bleeding when she left,” Daenera said. She would never forget this slight, nor would she forgive it.

By the time Daenera and Ser Harwin entered Rhaenyra’s apartments, the brothers had resumed their play with their toys. Each had two lines of wooden soldiers marching against one another. Luke was flying a wooden dragon in the air, attacking Jace’s troops. Ser Harwin knelt down to observe the game while Daenera sat on the settee, one leg bouncing in impatience, not listening to her brother's play.

“And he sees a big, scary dragon!” Jace told Luke, holding up the biggest dragon to combat the one Luke had.

It was then when the doors opened again, letting in Rhaenyra and Laenor. Ser Harwin was the first on his feet, then Daenera, Jace and Luke. Jace hurried over to the brazier containing the dragon egg that he, Daenera and Luke had chosen for their new sibling.

“Look!” Jace presented for their mother.

“We chose an egg for the baby,” Luke elaborated, looking down at the big, copper coloured egg.

“Ah, that looks like the perfect one,” their mother told them, allowing Ser Harwin to help her sit down. She sounded exhausted.

“I let Luke choose,” Jace told their parents.

“Thank you, Jace,” Luke thanked his brother. Jace had after all chosen both Daenera’s egg and Lukes. It was only fair that he too should choose one for his sibling.

“It’s not everyday an egg leaves the dragonpit, princess,” Ser Harwin began, slowly walking towards Laenor and the baby. “I thought it best to escort the lads.”

Ser Harwin looked down at princess Rhaenyra, who in turn looked up at him. They gave each other a look that Daenera didn’t fully understand, it was the look of a shared secret, a look of devotion, loyalty and love. One not easily replaced or forgotten. It was subtle, but it was there.

And Daenera couldn’t understand it.

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” Rhaenyra replied.

“Another boy, I was told,” Ser Harwin said. Rhaenyra flashed the father of her children a smile, hand brushing over the deflating swell of her stomach, trying to alleviate the pain within.

“What a fine knight you’re going to make, eh?” Laenor mused at the baby, gently rocking it.

“Might I?” Ser Harwin asked. He knew it was overstepping his bounds, but he wished to hold the child he helped make. Daenera looked at her mother, who was watching the two fathers, one in name and one in blood. Laenor had to know, and if he knew, then they all had some sort of silent agreement.

“Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey,” Rhaenyra spoke, her voice smooth and quiet, not at all the same as when she was straining with pain.

“Of course,” Laenor said, handing over the baby.

“Joffrey, is it?”

“Mhm.”

“Father, please may I hold Joffrey?” Luke asked, reaching for his brother, no longer able to stand the wait. Laenor dismissed the notion, guiding the two boys out of the rooms.

Daenera remained for a moment, looking from a smitten Commander of the City Watch, to her loving mother. Their eyes med and Rhaenyra gestured with her head for Daenera to follow the boys out. Daenera nodded in agreement and headed out.

The boys went ahead of Daenera and Laenor, even in their reluctance of leaving their newborn brother, they still felt excitement at their lessons at the dragonpit. Daenera was less excited only because she herself didn’t have a dragon.

“Can I skip today's lesson at the Dragonpit?” Daenera asked her father.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a dragon to train with for one,” Daenera argued the same point she had used so many times before. Being at the Dragonpit, having lessons in dragons, how to train them and how to speak to them and eventually ride them, were a continuous reminder of what she did not have. It always left a bitter taste in her mouth. What good are dragon lessons when you don't have a dragon?

“Neither do Aemond and he’s still there,” Laenor reminded her.

“He doesn’t want to be there either,” Daenera argued back.

“You are a Targaryen and Velaryon both, it is part of our traditions and you should take part in them, even when you do not see the point,” Laenor told his daughter. “My sister-,”

“Didn’t have a dragon either,” Daenera finished his sentence, knowing it by heart. “And now she rides the biggest and mightiest dragon of them all, Vhagar. I know, I know. But perhaps I’m not meant to ride dragons! Perhaps it’s all a waste.”

“I don’t think that, Daenera,” Laenor said, holding out a hand in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. He knelt down on her level, his face not at all reflected in her own. “I think you’ll ride a dragon one day, and to do that you’ll need the lessons. Being a dragonrider is in your blood.”

“Can I just… skip today, please? I promise I’ll go next time and the time after that,” Daenera pleaded.

“You’ll promise not to make it a habit?” Laenor caved, unable to fully refuse his daughter.

“I promise,” Daenera answered.

“You know you’ll have to keep your promises. You need to be a lady of her words.”

“I am.”

“Good. What will you spend the time on then?”

“I’ll go see Helaena,” Daenera told him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a big hug. She kissed his cheek and turned on her heel, running towards the library to pick up the book she had been thinking about, before heading towards the queens chambers where she knew Helaena would be.

Daenera knocked on the door of the queen chambers, cradling her book in her arms, rolling back and forth on her feet as she waited for it to be opened. The heavy wooden door, so finely carved, creaked open to reveal the queen in her fine green dress, a deep emerald, curls of hair pinned up with ringlets falling down her back like a waterfall. Daenera smiled politely, leaning a bit forward to peek inside, catching a glimpse of silver hair.

“Princess Daenera shouldn’t you be at the Dragonpit?” Alicent asked, lips pursed in disapproval.

Daenera would mirror the queen's face, if it wasn’t for the fact that it would make it unlikely that she’d be allowed to stay with Helaena. She also had to bite back sour words that were filling her mouth as she wished to give out a tongue lashing to the queen for her treatment of her mother. It wouldn’t do any good either.

“I’ve been allowed not to attend today and thought I’d instead spend my time with Helaena,” Daenera answered, eyes shifting back to Alicent trying to convey innocence and sincerity. “I’ve brought a book that I wish to read to her.”

“And what book might that be?”

“It’s about the warrior princess Nymeria and her life,” Daenera told the queen. There was a flicker of emotion flashing across the queen's face before she was able to conceal it beneath her carefully crafted mask. Alicent smiled shortly and stepped aside allowing Daenera to enter.

Daenera hurried over to Helaena and positioned herself in the chair beside the settee, legs inches off the ground, the thick volume of Nymeria’s life heavy on her lap. Helaena didn’t acknowledge her friend's presence, eyes transfixed on the centipede climbing from one hand to another, its many legs tickling across her pale skin. Daenera didn’t mind the lack of acknowledgement, she was used to it. Helaena might be in her own world most of the time, but she knew of her presence, Daenera was sure of it.

“This one has sixty rings and two pairs of legs on each. That’s two hundred and forty,” Helaena told no one in particular. Alicent at sat down beside her daughter, looking at the girl with a wistful look in her eyes. “It has eyes, though… I don’t believe it can see.”

“Why is that so, do you think?” Alicent asked her daughter, with a wish of understanding edged upon her face, softening her otherwise hardened features.

“It is beyond our understanding.”

“I suppose you’re right, some things just are.”

Daenera flipped through the pages of the book, the scent of old paper wafting up from the pages. Some of them were painted with images. She stopped at the page where they had left off the last time and Daenera picked up from there, beginning to read out loud.

“What is this?” Daenera suddenly said, frown tugging at her brows, her hand turning from one page to another, trying to figure out what had just happened in the story. “A page is missing.”

“ A love irrefutably torn, a path not taken, yet still fondly remembered ,” Helaena mused, her last words being nearly cut off by the abrupt opening of the doors.

Alicent got up, her heels clicking over the stone floor, while Daenera continued to try and figure out how she was to piece the story together without all of the pages. Who would do such a thing? It was obscene, that was what it was. In her wonderings, Daenera vaguely heard the guard speak.

“Your grace.”

“Aemond? What have you done?” Alicent breathed aghast at the sight of her second son, hair mussed up, dirtied and rumpled, with a sad look upon his face. Daenera glanced up to catch sight of him and his miserable expression.

“He did it again,” Helaena responded, her eyes suddenly present and looking upon her brother. Aemond’s presence always seemed to bring Helaena back down to earth, an anchor keeping her present. Sometimes it annoyed Daenera that she couldn’t always do that.

“After how many times you’ve been warned, must I have you confined to your chambers?” Alicent chastised.

Daenera pursed her lips, split between feeling elated of the chastisement and bad for the boy. It was an odd, conflicting emotion. She didn’t want him in trouble, that was why she hadn’t told her mother about his jeerings, the veiled accusation of her bastardry. But she couldn’t deny the contentment she also felt when he finally got chastised for something.

“They made me do it!” Aemond argued, miserable and angry. Hurt . Bullied .

“As if you needed encouragement,” Alicent asserted, knowing well how many times Aemond had snuck down into the depths of the Dragonpit and how many times the dragon keepers had to save him. By now it was a common occurrence. “Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding.”

“They gave me a pig!” Aemond blurted, tears in his eyes. Helaena looked back at Daenera, her eyes dimming as she disappeared into her own world again, flickering down to the centipede in her hands, tiny legs drilling over her skin as it tried to escape. Daenera made a confused grimace and too forced her eyes back to the book, though ears keenly listened in.

“A what?”

“They said they found me a dragon,” Aemond continued distressed, the hurt and anger pitching his voice high, face scowling. Daenera pressed her lips together, keeping the words from tumbling out. They had pranked him. Mocked him. And he so willingly jumped in with both feet. While Daenera had resigned to her lack of a dragon, Aemond had not. It was his greatest wish. He already felt lesser than and with Aegon’s cruelty and emasculation, the anger that he didn’t have a dragon, burned spitefully and wrongly in his veins.

Daenera pitied him.

“The last ring has no legs at all,” Helaena mused quietly to herself.

“But it was a pig.”

“You will have a dragon one day,” Alicent assured her son. “I know it.”

“ He’ll have to close an eye ,” Helaena continued musing, eyes fixed on the many legs moving in tandem. Daenera looked up at the girl confused, but shrugged it off for one of her many oddities.

Daenera leaned in, voice low. “What will I have to do to get a dragon?”

Helaena looked like she pondered the question, head tilting, though eyes still focused on the insect. “I do not know yet… But fire will take your blood soon. Fire set by the fireflies.”

Daenera felt her heart sink into her stomach.

“...They all laughed,” Aemond said barely above a whisper. “They called it the pink dread.”

Daenera couldn’t contain the snort, the sound cutting through the room and striking an already wounded Aemond, who glared over at her in fury. A boy wronged. Daenera laughed though. “I’m sorry, but the pink dread is funny! It’s a brilliant name.”

“It’s not funny,” Aemond growled at her, indignant and annoyed. He stepped out of his mothers arms, angrily stomping the ground as he seethed.

“Did you really believe Aegon found you a dragon?”

“It wasn’t just Aegon! Jace and Luke were in on it as well. They strapped wings and a tale on a pig-,”

“Must have been a fight,” Daenera interrupted with her musings, flipping the page, unbothered by Aemonds deadly glare.

“They made you one as well,” Aemond sneered, his words bringing her eyes back on him, a brow lifting, the perfect picture of being unbothered by it all. It infuriated him even more. How could she be so dismissive? So unbothered? Was it because she was a bastard? “The Pig of Harrenal.”

A flash of disappointment crossed her face, nose scrunching up sourly. “Not as good a name as the pink dread.”

The Shadow of Harrenhal, an elusive dragon said to roam the vicinity of Harrenhal since the reign of Maegor The Cruel. Ser Harwin had frequently shared tales of this formidable dragon, portraying it not merely as a beast of flesh and fire but as a cunning creature. His words painted a picture of a creature that moved like a shadow, its presence felt yet unseen, like a ghost haunting the ancient ruins and the sacred woods alike.

“They’re mocking us-,”

“They were mocking you!”

“That is enough, Daenera,” Alicent chastised Daenera.

“Don’t let them bother you,” Daenera shrugged. “If you don’t take the bait, if you don't show that it bothers you, they’ll eventually grow bored.”

“How can you be so dismissive?! We’re Targaryens without dragons! Everyone laughs at us.”

“They may be laughing at you, Aemond, but they’re not laughing at me,” Daenera snapped the book shut, getting to her feet. She looked down at Helaena placing a quick kiss on her head, before bowing shortly at the queen. She passed between the table and the settee, heading up the few steps and towards the doors, meaning to pass Aemond by, when she paused. “If they laughed at me, I’d make them regret it.”

Aemond’s hands balled into fists at his sides. He felt his mothers hand on his shoulder, a silent command not to lose his temper at the princess once again. He watched her go, grinding his teeth in effort not to spew out his misgivings and grievances. She was so stupid and annoying . A bastard girl . Did she think she was better than him?

#a vow of blood #fanfic #fic rec #fanfiction #aemond fanfic #hotd fanfic #fanfic comment

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