Chapter Text
“Over the centuries, House Targaryen has produced both great men and monsters. Prince Daemon was both. In his day there was not a man so admired, so beloved, and so reviled in all Westeros. He was made of light and darkness in equal parts. To some he was a hero, to others the blackest of villains.”
—George R. R. Martin
***
If only I had known it would be the death of her, I would have put a baby in my bronze bitch years ago, mused Daemon, lips twisting into a sneer.
It was nearly a year since his brother had banished him from King’s Landing, commanding him to return to his wife at Runestone. To his wife he had obediently gone -for one night only. Sunk deep in his cups and already raging from his brother’s betrayal, his wife’s sneers provoked him to finally consummate their marriage. She’d called his manhood into question, so he’d shown her exactly what kind of a man he was.
He'd left the very next day, and hadn’t returned to the Vale since, nor had there been any communication between the unhappy couple. They both preferred it that way. But now…
Daemon’s harsh glinting eyes re-traced those magical words:
The Lady Rhea Royce is dead.
The remainder of the hastily scribbled message informed him that Rhea had died during her labors, but that the baby had survived her. A girl apparently. Daemon was about to toss the scroll aside, as little interested in this supposed daughter of his as he had been in his late lady wife when she still drew breath. But then a thought occurred to him.
Runestone.
Should neither the mother nor the babe have survived, Daemon would have been hard pressed to claim his wife’s seat. House Royce would certainly have challenged him, and Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale could not be depended upon for support. But this child, she would be her mother’s undisputed heir. Until she came of age, she and Runestone would need to be under the guardianship of someone. And who better to care for the girl and manage all Runestone on her behalf than her very own father?
A sinister smile spread across Daemons pale face.
I suppose my bronze bitch granted me one kindness after all…
***
The baby is crying. The repulsive sound echoes down the stone hallway. Daemon is yet to even set eyes on his firstborn and already he grows weary of her. In the dimly lit nursery, he peers down at the child, mind already set upon disliking the offspring of the woman he was forced to marry.
He expects to find a baby with dark hair and tanned skin, to serve as permanent reminders of the wife he despised. Instead, he sees the face of a daughter unmistakably his own, with porcelain white skin, fine strands of silver hair and striking violet eyes.
Shocked, Daemon instinctively gathers his daughter into his arms and cradles her against his chest. Soothing clucking sounds only Caraxes has heard from him before slip from his lips. The baby’s tears cease. Her wide eyes blink up at him. He gazes back, transfixed.
One dragon recognizing another. Bonded together through fire and blood.
“Mine,” Daemon whispers, “my own.”
“Lady Rhea passed before she could give the babe a name,” the maester gently hints.
“Her name,” Daemon pauses, considering. He smiles down at his daughter with a tenderness that would astonish those who know him best. “Her name is Visenya.”
***
Princess Visenya Targaryen, Lady of Runestone, had mixed feelings regarding her father. She loved him, she feared him, she worshipped him. There was no one whose attention or praise she craved more, nor whose displeasure or censure she most dreaded. But something else boiled in her blood too, a rebelliousness. She frequently knew a temptation to defy him, though she’d never yet dared to try.
She felt she ought to be grateful to him and she was. Most fathers cared little for daughters. They saw them only as empty vessels waiting to be sold and bred for the benefit of men. But her father did not treat her this way.
“You are the blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the dragon,” he had told her over and over again, and she believed him.
He spent several hours with her every day. In Runestone’s library they poured over books, Daemon instructing Visenya in both history and philosophy, and filling her head with tales of Old Valyria and of mighty conquerors. In the Great Hall, he showed her how to walk with confidence and to dance with grace. In the training yard -despite protests from every other noble in Runestone- he taught her to fight with a sword, and how to defend herself without one.
On her seventh name day, he gifted her a small dagger, bejeweled with rubies, that he’d personally designed for her. This she kept constantly by her side, wearing it on her hip during the day and sleeping with it under her pillow at night. It made her feel close to her father, though her most treasured moments were when he spoke to her in High Valyrian. When he did so, she knew his words were for her ears alone. It made her feel special, having their own secret language that no one else in the Vale could understand. Daemon had brought her up to speak it as naturally as the Common Tongue.
He delighted in her fluency. She delighted in delighting him.
***
In only one respect could Visenya be found lacking in her father’s eyes: she did not command a dragon.
No egg had been sent from King’s Landing upon the birth of his daughter. There were none to be had. Not even the King’s own son Aemond, born only a few months before Visenya, could be given a second egg after his first had failed to hatch.
This was a matter of great displeasure to Daemon, but he did not hold his daughter accountable. To claim a dragon was her birthright, and in time she would do so, just as he had claimed Caraxes as a young man. In preparation for this day, Daemon had taken Visenya for many rides on Caraxes, and his daughter's enjoyment of these flights assured him that she was born to be a dragon rider.
In the meantime, his most pressing concern was to present her to court. Visenya was his prized jewel, his greatest hope for securing his own power and position. Already a bright and pretty little thing at only nine, she would attract offers of marriage from every corner of Westeros before she came of age. Not that he was in any hurry to betroth her; his daughter was meant for greater things than to merely be the broodmare of some paltry lord.
But it was essential she be raised at court. It would establish her royal status and allow her to form important connections. Thus, after a decade of silence, Daemon wrote to his brother the King, begging leave to present his daughter to court, and to receive a royal blessing.
***
When Daemon informed his daughter that they were to leave Runestone for King’s Landing, no fits of shyness or anxiety troubled the little princess. Her father had taught her to fear nothing but his own hand. He had trained her carefully, and she felt prepared to meet whatever destiny had in store for her.
She would miss her home yes, but she had no doubt that she would return one day. After all, she was the Lady of Runestone. A title, an inheritance that could not be taken from her. This place would always be her home. But for now, she longed for adventure and excitement, and she was certain both could be had in King’s Landing.
With her trunks packed and already aboard a ship sailing for Blackwater Bay, there was nothing to do but farewell her friends and attendants in Runestone and climb up onto Caraxes back as she’d done so many times before. Arms wrapped tightly around her father, she felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as Caraxes took flight, red wings powerfully propelling them into the sky.
***
Aemond stood mutinously silent beside his siblings, awaiting the imminent arrival of his uncle and cousin in the courtyard of the Red Keep. He had watched in awe as Caraxes soared above them on route to the Dragonpit. The famous Blood Wyrm, who had once been ridden into battle by his great uncle Prince Aemon. The dragon that had reduced the Dornish fleet to ashes along with Vermithor and Vhagar!
Aemond sighed longingly. He had seen other dragons of course -each of his siblings had one- but not him. Even his little brother Daeron, a boy of only six, had Tessarion. Along with all his nephews…
Aemond’s lips pressed together in a thin line as a fresh wave of anger swept over him. They had given him a pig, a pig! Those black-haired bastards, who’s very existence was an insult to their family, had the audacity to give him a pig. Any other father in the realm would have at the very least disinherited, if not banished or executed, a daughter for bearing a bastard, let alone three! But not his father, no. Viserys cared only for his precious Rhaenyra!
Aemond clenched his hands into tight fists as rage threatened to overpower him. Sucking in a deep breath through his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to calm down. He must not think about all that now. Rhaenyra was gone along with her brats to Dragonstone. No longer would they taunt him. Later, he would channel his anger into his training as Ser Criston had taught him. But for now, he must be on his best behavior. He wanted to make a good impression on his uncle Daemon; rider of Caraxes and wielder of Dark Sister.
The carriage finally pulled into the courtyard. Aegon yawned loudly beside him while Helaena picked anxiously at her nails -a nervous habit she’d inherited from their mother. Aemond flexed his hands. I am in control! I am in control!
“All hail Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, and his daughter, Princess Visenya Targaryen, Lady of Runestone.”
The door of the carriage swung open, and a true Targaryen prince emerged; tall and strong, with sharp features and silver hair. Excitement stirred in Aemond’s heart. Finally! A man he could truly look up to.
Then his breath caught in his lungs as he beheld his cousin.
Princess Visenya alighted nimbly from the carriage and took her father’s outstretched arm. The blood rushed into Aemond's cheeks. He saw his mother move forward to greet her guests, followed by Aegon and Helaena, but he didn’t seem to be able to make any of his faculties obey him.
Then Visenya was standing right in front of him, holding out her hand in a friendly way, a radiant smile lighting up her face.
“Aemond?” that was his mother's voice. He swallowed hard, trying to make his mouth work. “Aren’t you going to say hello to your cousin?”
Startled, Aemond seized Visenya’s hand in a vice like grip. She did not wince or pull away, but her violet eyes twinkled playfully up at him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aemond.”