Chapter Text
Rhaenyra Targaryen grows up in a court filled with vipers.
The Red Keep is a vicious place. She spends her childhood carefully untangling each snake den, sorting through each serpent to determine the dangerous ones from the ones she can tame with a sweet smile or a sharp word. She looks at the lords and ladies sitting at the King's table and sees the greed in their eyes when they look at the iron throne.
"It's a funny thing to lust for", she blurts out once when she is seven. "A throne made of sharp and twisted swords. It's not even comfortable to sit on."
Two lady's maids exchange a long look and Queen Aemma shushes her. King Viserys smiles indulgently and pats her head absent-mindedly. But uncle Daemon throws his head back and laughs loudly, not caring about the sudden unrest among the lords sitting at the table. Rhaenyra hides her smile in her napkin. Dinners are always so much more fun when her uncle is present.
"Right you are, Rhaenyra," he grins. "Just imagine all the sores on your father's backside! Let us pray you never have to endure such torment."
She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. Men are stupid and don't make much sense to her. But she's old enough to know not to dismiss the rotten desires of selfish lords, for it makes them dangerous. Being the King's eldest daughter is dangerous, she knows. They are a family of dragons in a den of vipers after all, and although dragons are mightier, vipers can be deadly too. But Rhaenyra is quick-witted and by her ninth birthday, she's already fluent in the language of treacherous lords and their two-faced court ladies.
She survives.
She plays the game and she's good at it. They call her the Realm's Delight by the time she's twelve. A nickname she has earned by smiling at the right people at the right time, by laughing at the right jokes loud enough to be heard across the room.
Sometimes she thinks that surviving comes to her easier than it comes to her father, King Viserys. Rhaenyra pours wine to the King's council and plasters a vapid smile on her face, but she listens. She keeps her ears and eyes open and notes the way her father responds to Otto Hightower's subtle, but ambitious suggestions, and how he sometimes flinches when The Sea Serpent hits the table in frustration. His wine cup empties often, but Rhaenyra cannot blame him for it. They must all find their own ways to survive the vipers. If her father finds his peace on the bottom of a bottle, well- there are worse ways to cope.
Years go by and her family persists.
Her mother is often tired or ill, with the numerous pregnancies and miscarriages taking up most of her energy. Rhaenyra feels a terrible foreboding stirring in her when she looks at her mother's swollen belly, so she keeps her distance. The King is busy with his duties and Daemon is away more often than not. Rhaenyra is left to her own devices. Inevitably, loneliness becomes her most loyal companion. On the bad days, the Red Keep grows hostile and restrictive, more like a prison than a home.
When the bad days start to outweigh the good ones, she starts taking Syrax farther and farther away from King’s Landing.
Flying is freedom. Flying, soaring across the skies, breaking through clouds. When Rhaenyra rides Syrax, she rules the world. The sturdy leather saddle under her is a much better seat than the iron throne.
Blackwater Bay is where she finds her peace. The open seas bow to her as she soars above the waves. Syrax's roars vibrate through her entire body and- she's alive. The wind gets caught in her silver hair and the sheer euphoria of the flight consumes her.
There are no snakes above open waters. There's no one here who can hurt her, no one she must please with perfect manners or empty conversations.
The problem with flying high is not the cold, she has discovered. Though the temperature gets more freezing the higher she flies, it doesn't bother her. How could it? It's the landing that's the tricky part. Not because she doesn't know how to do it, but because she never wants to. She doesn't want to turn back. She wonders what would happen if she kept flying on and on until the horizon swallowed her whole.
She wonders if her father would even notice.
She never goes far away enough to find out, the invisible strings tying her to King's Landing keep straining and pulling her back before she can give in to the desire to disappear entirely.
She lands in the dragon pit. Alicent is waiting for her and the sight of her standing there coaxes a small smile out of Rhaenyra. There is someone here for her still. Just for her. It feels nice.
Alicent links their arms together and sniffs the air. "You stink of dragon."
"We could stink of dragon together if you'd just let me take you for a ride," Rhaenyra shoots back. Alicent squeezes her arm lightly and Rhaenyra doesn't have to look at her to know she's rolling her eyes.
"Syrax wouldn't mind," Rhaenyra adds quickly. It would be nice, flying together. She could wrap her arms around Alicent's waist and show her that little island she had found in The Narrow Sea. They could fly far away and forget about the court for a moment. Just Alicent and her. The thought of it awakens something warm and hungry in her belly and Rhaenyra knows her voice is laced with it when she says: "Please, Alicent."
But her friend shakes her head, her warm brown curls bouncing with the movement. Rhaenyra wants to twist them around her fingers. She doesn't.
"No thank you, i like my feet firmly on the ground." And that's that. Rhaenyra swallows her disappointment and tries to come up with something to lighten her post-flight bad mood.
"Are you excited about the tournament?" she asks. The grand tournament for the future heir. Her future brother and the son her father has always wanted. She swallows down the bitterness of the thought. She really needs to go see her mother soon, to make sure she's taken care of properly. The days before birth are always the hardest for her.
"Of course! The city hasn't been this lively in ages. Now, who do you think will win?"
Rhaenyra gives it some thought as they walk through the busy halls. "Your brother is competing, is he not? I do hope he does well, of course, but i have to bet my money on-"
"Your uncle, yes, yes! Why did i bother asking when i already knew," Alicent interrupts with a teasing glint in her eye. It's Rhaenyra's turn to roll her eyes.
"Please, it would be disloyal not to. We dragons must stick together," she says easily.
It's true enough. She loves her family dearly. It has always been them against the world. They are the only people she can trust without fear of betrayal. They belong together. Despite Visery's fears and Daemon's absence, despite Aemma's grief and her own loneliness, she has always known this to be true.
Then she adds: "Though, i do not know if my uncle will be there. We haven't heard of him for a while now. Who knows if he'll be back for the tournament. But let us speak no more of him, what about you?"
Alicent may not be family, but Rhaenyra is grateful for her company. She's dear to her in a way that scares her sometimes. It is one thing to care for a friend and another thing entirely to feel the way she does. Rhaenyra is a dragon, and dragons love greedily, possessively. She doesn't wish to overwhelm Alicent with her affections, not when it hasn't been long since her friend lost her mother, but holding back gets harder and harder each day as their friendship deepens.
She finds herself looking too long, finds her touches lingering longer than necessary.
It makes her feel stupid. She is stupid. King's Landing is not a place where love like this is allowed. It is not something that's talked about. Expectations of marriage hang heavily on her shoulders and even if she was lucky enough to form an arrangement similar to what her great-great-aunt Rheana Targaryen had with her lady lover, it would not free her from the chains of marriage. So Rhaenyra makes her heart small and swallows it.
It will pass, she is certain. Sooner or later, it will pass.
*
Later, when Alicent has left and Rhaenyra has attended to her duties for the day, she finds herself marching towards the doors of the throne room. Despite the exhausting day, she still feels a surge of excitement when they get closer.
"He passed through the Red Keep's gates at first light," Ser Harrold Westerling says. The Commander of the Kingsguard cuts an intimidating silhouette in the shadows of the hallway. Rhaenyra has to quicken her steps to keep up with his long strides.
"Does my father know he's here?" she asks in a hushed whisper. He shakes his head.
"No."
"Good."
She's pleased to hear that Daemon sent for her and not Viserys, that she's the one he chooses to see first. There are certain things only Daemon understands about her, certain things she understands about Daemon that Viserys never could. Also, if Viserys doesn't know, then Otto Hightower doesn't either. And if Otto doesn't know, they will all be spared from his vocal displeasure.
The massive doors glide open and the light of the hallway streams into the dark room. It illuminates the throne and reveals a dark figure sitting on it.
"Gods be good!" Ser Harrold's voice is full of disapproval. Rhaenyra cannot stop the corners of her mouth from turning up, but she keeps her voice steady as she dismisses the commander. Forget about Otto Hightower, even father would have a fit over this if he saw, she thinks as she walks closer. It's so audacious, so bold and so, so Daemon Targaryen.
Even the way he’s sitting is aggressive. Gods be good indeed, Rhaenyra thinks with a newfound lightness.
"What do you think you are doing, uncle?" She slips into High Valerian easily, the syllables rolling on her tongue effortlessly. This is how it usually is with Daemon.
"Sitting," he says lazily. "This could well be my seat one day."
"Not if you're executed for treason. You haven't come to court in an age." It feels like forever since she's last seen her uncle.
He must have been busy with the City Watch, she supposes. Daemon is nothing if not efficient and he throws himself into his tasks with vigor. It's one thing Rhaenyra has always admired him for. His passion and his craftiness.
She walks forward, passing by countless family tapestries. It’s a good thing that she doesn’t have to look at them to know the tales they display- she has no patience for them now.
To a stranger, the throne room would probably look intimidating with its high ceilings and massive stone pillars, but her years spent in the court have lessened the awe of it. This is her home, and the throne is her family's birthright. Daemon sits on it as if he belongs there, so why should she feel small in the face of her heritage?
"Court is so dreadfully boring," he states simply. His voice is indifferent, and it's not fair, not at all, Rhaenyra thinks. Not when she's the one who has to endure the dullness of it. To be trapped in the Red Keep and constantly be careful not to step on any toes. To keep her tongue inside her mouth and bite on it when she gets too snarky, too brave.
The fire in her is not meant to be stifled. Some days it burns so hot she can barely contain it.
Daemon doesn’t have to contain his own fire. He can come and go as he pleases, when and wherever his heart desires. There's nothing keeping him in King's Landing. Rhaenyra’s jealousy is a tangible thing in her throat.
"Then why come back at all?"
She is surprised to hear the hard edge of her voice. She tries to push the jealousy back where it belongs, down to the pits of her stomach. It's not her uncle's fault. He must pay his own price for his freedom.
"I heard your father was hosting a tournament in my honor."
"The tournament is for his heir."
"Just as i said," Daemon hums and leans forward. The light hits his silver hair and for a moment it looks like a glowing crown on his head. What a picture he makes, she thinks abruptly. Not at all like Viserys, who has always looked a little scared of the throne. Daemon doesn’t look scared.
Rhaenyra smirks up at him. "His new heir."
He gets up and walks toward her, a wicked look in his eyes as he says, “Until your mother brings forth a son, you are all cursed with me."
"Then i shall hope for a brother," she says lightly, though she does not pause to think if she means it.
Daemon stops to stand a few steps from her and for a moment Rhaenyra has an overwhelming urge to close the distance and hug him. It's been so long since she's last seen him. She's grown taller in that time too- she can tell because she doesn't have to strain her neck to meet his violet eyes anymore. Yet, she stays still.
Silence fills the narrow space between them. It gives her a chance to look at him properly. She looks for injuries and bruises, any marks of old wounds or new scars on his face, and finds none. Just his steady gaze on her. She lets herself relax under it. His presence is as warm and solid as ever and- gods, how she has missed him.
As if sensing her thoughts, he pulls something out of his pocket. Something small that creates a clinking sound as he stretches his hand out to her.
"I brought you something."
Rhaenyra almost smiles at that. He always does. It's a tradition at this point, him bringing her all kinds of treasures from across the Seven Kingdoms or beyond the Narrow Sea. This time he hands her a heavy chain. She fingers it carefully. The metal is cold under her touch. Cold and familiar.
"Do you know what it is?"
"Valyrian steel. Like Dark Sister," She tries to withdraw her hand but Dameon snatches the chain out of her reach. She's about to protest, but he stops her with a look.
"Turn around."
She turns her back to him.
A memory rises to the surface of her thoughts. A voice saying, never show your back to your enemies, Rhaenyra. They will not hesitate to strike.
It's Daemon's voice from a long ago, from a time when she was still learning how to survive the court. Turning your back is the ultimate show of trust. King's Landing is filled with her enemies, all of them vicious and bloodthirsty, ready to stab their knives into her weaknesses to dig them out and pull her apart secret by secret. This, she has known since she was four.
Yet, she turns around. Rhaenyra does it with the knowledge that any enemies she has in this city will be torn to shreds by the man standing behind her if they lift even one finger to hurt her.
She moves her hair out of the way and shivers when the cold metal touches her neck. Daemon is gentle and his fingers work deftly. The steel feels heavy and comforting on her skin.
"Now, you and i both own a small piece of our ancestry." Daemon's voice is soft. Private. It's as close to a hug as she's going to get so she relishes it while she can. Then the moment is over and she turns back around to face him. Their eyes meet.
"Beautiful," is all he says.
And it is enough.
*
Rhaenyra should have known not to hope too much.
She stands in front of her mother's corpse and watches as her father fails to call on the dragon fire. She cannot tear her eyes away from her little brother. He looks so tiny on the pyre. Small and weak.
The son her father always wanted. Rhaenyra has spent months trying not to resent her unborn brother for being more wanted, more welcome than she has ever been.
“I wonder if during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness.”
It’s a bitter, bad thing to say and it tastes strange on her tongue.
“Your father needs you, now more than ever,” Daemon murmurs.
Rhaenyra doesn’t want to think about her father. She wants to be selfish and scream, she wants her mother back and she wants to be seen for more than her sex. She wants Alicent to hold her hand under the breakfast table, on the streets in front of everyone. She wants to be enough for once in her damn life.
“I will never be a son.”
But it doesn’t matter. This lesson is a harsh one, but she will not forget it. Grief may consume her now, but she will not let it destroy her.
She takes a last look at her father and sees a broken man wearing a crown. This will not destroy her. She will not allow it.
"Dracarys."
She loses both her mother and father that day. Her brother too, she supposes, but she never really had him in the first place. She tells herself that it doesn't count.
Only a few hours later, she loses her uncle too.
King Viserys' thunderous voice echoes in the hallway and Rhaenyra presses herself against the stone walls outside the throne room. She's never heard her father so angry before. Daemon sounds angry too, but his anger is quiet and mingled with hurt.
"I see Otto Hightower for what he is," Daemon says.
"An unwavering and loyal Hand?" her father asks.
"A cunt," Daemon hisses. "He doesn't protect you. I would!"
Rhaenyra leans her forehead against the cold stone and breathes. She wants to storm into the room and knock some sense into her father. She wants to yell at them both for tearing their already broken family apart. But she feels too weak and too tired to move. If only mother was here, she thinks. But her mother is gone and the rest of the family is breaking under the weight of her absence.
Let them hurt each other, she thinks. Let them. It's the only thing they know how to do.
"You're weak, Viserys. And that council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends."
The following silence is terrible.
Rhaenyra has never had to fear her father striking her, but now she fears for Daemon. Her uncle has always been the honest one in the family, but his honesty cuts deep, maybe too deep for Viserys to see the truth in his words.
"I have decided to name a new heir."
Her heart stutters. What?
"I'm your heir."
"Not anymore. You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once and you are to do so without quarrel by order of your King."
It's cold.
Rhaenyra pushes herself to stand. Her feet falter, but she barely notices. All her blood rushes to her ears and she feels scared like a little child in the dark of her room at night. She is so scared.
That is how Daemon finds her only a moment later when he storms out of the throne room. His face is terrible, and Rhaenyra doesn't know what her own face is doing, but it must be doing something because Daemon stops in his tracks when he sees her.
"Rhaenyra," he lets out. His expression goes blank, and he strides forward to take her hands in his.
"Your hands are cold. You shouldn’t be here."
She looks up at him. "You cannot go, uncle. Don't leave me here alone."
Daemon looks stricken by her words. He takes a deep breath and bows his head closer to hers.
"Listen to me, Rhaenyra. You are strong. You will endure. You are the best of us, and they all know it." His words are firm, and she wants to believe them, but she's just so tired. She looks down at their intertwined hands.
Then she forces herself to speak. "But i cannot protect him by myself. They will eat us alive, uncle. You are right, father is weak. With both mother and you gone, he will break!"
Otto Hightower is a snake with more venom than Rhaenyra can handle at the moment. He will dig his claws in Viserys’ grief and twist it in his favor.
"You'll take care of him. Remember what i have taught you. Never trust anyone who isn't us. Fire and blood, Rhaenyra. Remember this."
Daemon is squeezing her hands hard enough to hurt, but Rhaenyra doesn't care. Physical pain is secondary to the greater hurt she feels when he finally pries his fingers off and drops her hands.
"Fire and blood," she whispers back. Daemon gives her one last look before turning away and striding past her. She's left in the hallway alone.
She doesn’t know how long she stands there until one of the guards finally spots her and escorts her back to her rooms.