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merlot-and-chardonnay · 10 days ago

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons Bonus Chapter: The Haunting of Daemon Targaryen

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I'm getting a little ahead of myself here, story wise, but I really needed to get this written down.

I want Daemon to suffer and face the consequences of his actions.

Also I realize if I publish this right now, it would actually be perfect for a Halloween special since that is literally around the corner.

So enjoy and All Hallows Eve!

Also general content warning for curses horror themes, some societal metaphors that are often explored in said themes, and body horror as well as allusions to domestic abuse, miscarriage, and everything else in between.

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Bonus Masterlist

----------the Riverlands: Harenhal------

It was midday in the castle- oh no wait, it might be a little later than midday. Daemon was serving himself some food as he listened to Ser Simon Strong droll on about negotiations that still needed to be carried out to rally the River lords to Rhaenyra's side, despite their liege lord Grover Tully being incapacitated at the moment due to his failing health.

Daemon, having not gotten a full decent night's sleep for who knows how long- probably since he landed in this castle and being away from Rhaenyra- found himself beginning to dose off.

As he drifted into slumber, the faint sounds of a woman's voice echoed off the wall.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees..."

Daemon's eyes widen, fully alert than he was mere moments ago, "What was that?" he demands. "Whatever was what, your Grace?" Ser Simon asks with concern. In another corner of the hall, Alys Rivers was busy crushing herbs and adding them to a cup of wine she intended to serve Daemon with hopes that perhaps it might help him get a full night's sleep this time around.

"Didn't you hear that?" Daemon questions as he looks around. "I don't believe I quite follow, your Grace," Simon admits. "I thought I heard singing," Daemon insists, "a woman singing." "That can't be," Simon assures, "unless it was Alys over there, but I'd have known." "It came from over there, I'm sure of it," Daemon points in a random direction, not even sure where the vaguely familiar singing voice was coming from.

"Perhaps it wasn't a woman at all," Alys suggests, "perhaps it was a songbird...a nightingale, or a robin...or perhaps a little lark." At the mention of that last particular bird name, Daemon sat straight and gave Alys an indecipherable look as the witch hands him his cup of wine, "I added a little something extra to this mix," she tells him, "perhaps it might help you sleep tonight."

Daemon looked at the herb laced wine and then looked up to see Alys walking away, "when little birds who've known true freedom are caged, they refuse to sing...and slowly begin to decline."

------------later that night----------------

Deep inside the walls of Harenhal, in the dark of night, Daemon laid in his bed chambers, doing his best to sleep in spite of the haunting nature of this cursed place.

The king consort had been in Harenhal for weeks now...or was it months? Daemon had this feeling he was losing his sense of time in this haunted castle. He's heard the rumors, that Harenhal was cursed from the moment of its inception. He didn't exactly believe these stories to be true, but after spending some time and seeing the visions of a young Rhaenyra and Laena, he has come to believe that maybe this was so.

Either that, or maybe he needs to lay off whatever potions that witch Alys has been giving him to help him sleep.

Daemon closed his eyes, intending to let sleep take him, hoping that negotiating with the river lords will be done soon and he can return to Dragonstone, and return to his old bed with his queen niece-wife at his side. In peace.

"Wolves asleep amidst the trees..."

Once again, that familiar yet eerie voice sings out, faintly reverberating against the decaying walls, forcing Daemon to open his eyes. The Rogue Prince looked around. No one was in his room, and he couldn't hear anyone outside at the door. Daemon closed his eyes once again, hoping he could finally sleep.

"Bats all a swaying in the breeze"

This time, Daemon bolted from the bed. "Hello?" Daemon calls out, hoping someone might answer, "is someone there?!" No answer. With an excessively tight grip on his sword, Daemon approached the door. He looked down to see the shadows of someone passing by down the hall. Daemon kicked the door open, sword pointed at whoever was waiting for him.

No one was there.

The king consort then heard the pattering of tiny footsteps. He looked at one end of the hall to see a small figure turn a corner. It appeared to be a child. Against his better judgement, Daemon followed.

But one soul lies anxious wide awake Fearing no* manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

The voice sounded closer. Daemon recognized that siren's call anywhere, as it was a voice he became familiar with a long time ago when he was still young and reckless. Keeping his sword in hand, Daemon saw the child like figure run into an unoccupied room. The child looked familiar, it almost reminded Daemon of when Aemma was still that size, when she was a girl of at least three years, roughly the age and height she was when her mother attempted to take her away from him that night in King's Landing....

The night the witcher came to take the both of them away from the Rogue Prince. The voice continued its lullaby as Daemon cautiously stepped into the room.

For your dolly Polly sleep has flown Don't dare let her tremble alone For the witcher, heartless, cold Paid in coin of gold

Inside, by the burning hearth, sat a woman, holding some kind of bundle in her arms, rocking it as if it were a newborn babe. The woman wore a dress of black, her long dark hair flowing down to her waist, back facing Daemon as she continued to rock the sleeping babe in her arms. She also wore a veil that shrouded her face from view.

He comes he'll go leave naught behind But heartache and woe

As Daemon approached, he noted the pool of blood the woman was sitting in that seemed to have come from nowhere, but she continued to sing regardless. He wasn't a fool; even if he couldn't see her face, her voice made it clear that this was the Lady of Larks. The Rogue Prince has yet to determine if she was real or if this was the curse of Harenhal resurrecting her spirit for the purpose of further haunting him to the brink of madness.

Deep, deep woe

"Mama?" a young Aemma's voice got Daemon's attention. The girl in question approached her mother in a curious manner. "Shh, little love," vision you softly addresses your daughter, "we don't want to wake up your brother, now do we?" You look to the bundle in your arms, then briefly turn your gaze up to Daemon, "there are monster lurking outside these walls, after all."

You looked back down at your son,"He has his father's eyes." You continue to hum your melody as Daemon came about to get a better look. Initially he was confused as to why you had another child in your arms in place of Aemma. But then he recalled that earlier on the day of your escape, when he initially came to you to with hopes of having his way with you, but you had stopped him when you announced that you were pregnant once again.

With this in mind, he saw the child in your arms. It was a boy. The son and heir he had hoped you would've carried for him. The babe had tufts of silver hair on his head, and he slept peacefully in his mother's arms. "What shall we name him?" Aemma asks, leaning over her mother to get a better look.

Daemon looked down to see that the blood that pooled around you was seeping from under your dress...from between your legs. When he looked up, he saw the baby in your arms was completely deformed, looking similar to baby Visenya when she was prematurely expelled from Rhaenyra's womb when news had reached the both of them of Viserys' death. He saw the blood stains on your arms as you look up, the veil lifted off your face to reveal the dark spots under your eyes as well as your gaunt, ashen face.

"...I was hoping your father would name him..." "My father?" "The White Wolf."

On that cue, Daemon looked up to the mantle of the fireplace to see the reflection of someone standing behind him...with white hair and glowing, gold eyes. Daemon immediately turned around to see it was the Witcher himself, eyes burning with seething rage.

Before Daemon could react, Geralt stabbed the man through the gut. Daemon braced himself, expecting there to be lots of pain and lots of blood spilling from his wound. Instead, when the king consort opened his eyes, he found he wasn't in Harrenhal anymore, but in what appeared to be some kind of dusty crypt, a mausoleum almost.

Birds* are silent for the night Cows turned in as daylight dies

At the sound of your voice, Daemon looked ahead to see you and Aemma standing by a shroud covered body on a table, almost as if you and her were keeping vigil, the both of you dressed in black, your veil lifted to show your face, which somehow looked even more gaunt and ashen as before. Aemma, he noticed, looked a little older now, roughly now a girl of nine, maybe ten years old.

Ten years might be more like it, Daemon surmised, as that was the age Aemma's dragon was first fitted with a saddle, and Aemma was currently in her riding leathers. Daemon approached the table to inspect the body as you continued to sing.

But one soul lies anxious wide awake Fearing no* manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths

"What happened to him, Mother?" Aemma asks as Daemon leans over, moving about with the intention of removing the shroud so as to get a better look at the body. "I wish I knew, little love," you sigh, "it all happened so fast in the dead of night...but he's in a better place I think...at least now, he can't hurt us anymore."

Daemon pulled off the shroud to see the body was his own, naked, eyes missing, his torso revealing scars of some kind of beast that slashed him opened. Daemon eyes widen once more at this reveal. "I know what had happened," a gruff voice spoke. Daemon looked up to see Geralt had appeared from nowhere once again. Realizing this time, he was defenseless, Daemon braced himself, expecting the mutant to stab him in the gut once again.

Instead, the witcher walked through him, placing a hand through the autopsy incision to investigate the cause of death. "His heart is missing...along with his liver," Geralt states, keeping a neutral expression, "there's only one creature I know who is that picky an eater...a striga."

"No, that's a lie!" Daemon accuses, though no one seemed to hear him. He turned to you and Aemma, "he's lying, he's the one who committed the deed. This MUTANT is a kingslayer, Little Lark, you cannot trust him! He cannot be trusted with our daughter!" "What's a striga?" Aemma asks, clearly not having heard her father. "A rare creature that was created by means of a curse," you answer, now facing up at Daemon with a clear look of contempt, eyes bloodshot as if you've been crying for quite some time. "Who enacted the curse, mother?" Aemma asks.

You didn't answer right away. Daemon put it together right away, realizing YOU were the one who enacted it. "Little Lar- (y/n)?" "I did what I had to do," you say, voice starting to become distorted with rage, "I did what I needed...in order to finally be free..."

A high pitched screeching sound reverberated throughout the crypt. Daemon looked around frantically, trying to figure out where that sound was coming from. He looked back at you and Aemma, only to see your daughter had all but vanished. "Aemma?"

"Strigas are female," you say, causing Daemon to look back once more to your again, your countenance now expressing sorrow. "The striga is a princess," he heard Geralt say behind him in realization.

Tears fell from your eyes, regret showing clearly on your countenance, "It should have been me," you sob, "it should have been me..."

The striga screeched once more, and the scene changed. You and Geralt vanished as Daemon found himself in the halls this time around. He frantically looked around to realize he was back in Dragonstone.

None of the torches were lit. The darkness in the halls was pitch black, giving a foreboding ambience. Daemon looked ahead to see a dim light in a room down the hall, similar to what he saw before back in Harrenhal.

As he approached, he heard you resume that woeful lullaby once more.

My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries

As the witcher, brave and bold Paid in coin of gold

He peaked into the room to see bodies lying on the floor, covered in blood and gore as if they were massacred by some kind of beastly animal. Bodies belonging to his stepsons Jace, Luke, and even little Joffery. He looked to see the corpses of his daughters as well. Seeing Baela laying next to Jace and Rhaena next to Luke caused several tears to fall from Daemon's eyes. More still would flow forth when he saw the little bodies of Aegon and Viserys laying right next to each other, clutching the sides of their mother who also laid dead.

He'll chop and slice you Cut and dice you Eat you up whole

Daemon approached Rhaenyra's body, kneeling down to touch her face. She was cold, and he wondered she has been this way. How long had it been since the striga came in and slaughtered them all?

No...! It wasn't the striga. It was the witcher who did this. It had to be him. HE had to be the one, he's a Butcher, that's what a witcher does. They kill indiscriminately without feeling and steal children from their beds as these sterile, freakish mutants cannot reproduce like regular human beings can. They take those same children and turn them into witchers, robbing them of their fertility and twisting their bodies into something unnatural.

No doubt, if Daemon had not come for you and Aemma, the witchers of Kaer Morhen would have put his daughter through a similar fate.

It had to be the witcher...it had to be...he had to be the one who did this to Daemon's family. He slaughtered them like animals and stole Aemma from her bed as recompense, with the intention of turning her into one of his kind.

In shock, Rhaenyra opened her eyes, taking Daemon by surprise. How was it his niece-wife survived? "You did this..." Rhaenyra weakly says, handing reaching out to touch one of her dead sons, "you brought this on us." "No...no, it wasn't me," Daemon insists, "it was the mutant bastard that did this. He slaughter our children and made off with Aemma."

"You brought this upon us, Daemon," Rhaenyra insists, "as you brought upon my ruin." "No, I had nothing to do with that," Daemon shakes his head in denial. "You should have just let her go..." Rhaenyra continues, "you should have let them both go..."

Eat you whole

Sensing there was someone behind him, Daemon turned to see a beastly grotesque creature standing before him. It resembled that of a rotting corpse, making high pitched clicks as it approached him.

Daemon reached for his sword once again, but again realized he was unarmed. Unarmed and defenseless. Even if he did have a weapon on hand, Daemon actually wasn't sure if he would survive anyway.

Daemon saw some kind of trinket hanging off the striga's neck. He recognized it to be a silver necklace, the same one he sent to Aemma for her 14th nameday...the same one he placed on Aemma the day of the Driftmark petition before she yanked it off and replaced it with the witcher's medallion.

"Byka zaldrīzes?"

The striga, whom Daemon now recognized to be Aemma- whom he presumed had the curse brought down upon her by your doing in a desperate bid to get away from him- tilted her head in a curious manner, making a small chirp in response.

Daemon found himself starting to cry, finally realizing what had happened.

He looked past striga!Aemma to see you at the door, still gaunt looking, still dressed in black, fresh tear stains from your eyes.

"What have you done?!" Daemon demands with an accusatory tone. "I freed myself from your cruelty...it appears to have cost us both everything..." you answer, covering your face with the veil once again, "you should have let us both go..."

With those final words, the striga howled with a rage that was deafening. She lunged at Daemon, ripping a chunk of his neck, forcing Daemon to fall, landing right next to Rhaenyra. He laid in agony as blood poured from his wound.

The striga/Aemma stood over Daemon, raising her long claws before slashing through his gut, his visceral organs falling out as a result. As Daemon laid there dying, he found it surprising that it was not as painful as he would have anticipated.

As his vision darkened, he saw the striga vanish, that witch Alys taking her place. "When songbirds who have known true freedom are caged, they start to decline," Alys says to him, "and sometimes...they will brings others down with them," She leaned further in, "tell me, Your Grace...was it worth it? Was caging your Little Lark worth all this carnage? Worth the lives of your children? Of the child you sired with the Lady of Larks?"

Sounds of knocking at the door forced Daemon to bolt upright from his bed, cold sweat breaking out as he panted in terror. The Rogue king consort looked around to see he was back in his bed chambers in Harenhal. He checked his hands in case he cut himself in his sleep again.

No new cuts on his palms this time. But remembering what the striga had did to him in his nightmare of a vision, he began to assume the worse.

Daemon hastily jumped off the bed and quickly removed his night clothes to inspect his body for any fresh wounds in those areas, not paying heed to Ser Simon opening the door.

"You Grace, I thought I should inform you, a raven has...oh dear."

Simon stood there, speechless as a naked Daemon used his hands to inspect for any potential wounds on his torso. "Uh, your Grace?" Simon speaks up, bringing Daemon out of his panicked state.

Daemon stood straight and turned to face Simon, pretending like he didn't care that this man had caught him in such a vulnerable state. "I assume you barged in without permission for a reason, Ser Simon," Daemon says with a snappy, inpatient tone.

Simon shook himself out of his embarrassed state before he addressed the king consort, "oh uh, I meant to inform your Grace, that uh, another raven had just arrived."

Daemon gave Simon an indecipherable look. In his irritable state, Daemon informs the Strong knight that he will read the message momentarily, and has Simon dismissed while he gathered his clothes for the day.

When a fully clothed Daemon walked out of his rooms, he looked over to see Alys standing in one corner of the hall, looking all strange and mysterious like as usual. Daemon frowned a bit, starting to wonder what exactly was in those herbs she gave him the other day. Whatever it was, he would need to lay off that stuff for a while...possibly for the duration of his stay in this haunted place.

Daemon turned and walked away, but not before he heard Alys speak up while he was still within earshot.

"So was it all worth the cost, Your Grace? All that to keep your little songbird trapped in her gilded cage?"

Daemon made a 90 degree turn to confront Alys on that question, only to see the witch had disappeared from the hall.

Deep down, much as he didn't want to admit it, he knew Alys' question was a valid one. If Daemon had continued to entrap the Lady of Larks, if he had stopped her from escaping with the witcher, if he had continued to force her by his side...if he had stopped her from leaving King's Landing in the first place...would he have paid an even heavier price for his actions?

Daemon felt like he had already paid plenty for his selfish recklessness already. For stealing you from the witcher's keep in the first place. For forcing her to remain on Dragonstone and King's Landing when he was fighting in the Stepstones. For forcing you to wed him and forcing you to consummate their marriage with the hopes that you would give him a male heir. For ripping Aemma from your arms the night of your escape with the White Wolf.

All those things Daemon had tried to bury deep down and go to great lengths to ensure his oldest daughter would never learn of those things.

All the lengths he went through had all been for nothing as Aemma had eventually found out after 16 years...and she disavowed her father for it as a consequence.

How different things could've been if had been kinder to the Lady of Larks...how different things could've been if he never pursued her to Kaer Morhen in the first place...

If he had just let her go...and allowed her daughter to live a life that was vastly different then the one she was forced into.

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#hotd #house of the dragon #the witcher #daemon targaryen #geralt of rivia #oc #rhaenyra targaryen #the Lady of Larks #halloween #horror #striga #Youtube #alys rivers #simon strong #harrenhal

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