This Love Is Alive Back

by CharlieLeau

Summary:

“She came back for him. She lives for him. That’s love, as true as I’ve ever seen it.”

Notes:

Hi!
Ahead of tonight's disastrous episode, I give you a fic about our favorite dysfunctional dragon family. The fic is set between episodes 4 & 5 of the show because I'm a sucker for Daemyra and thereof will come up with loads of scenarios that ensure they spend their lives together!
I hope you like it!
Title from the song "This Love" by the rightful queen of the music industry, Taylor Swift.

Chapter 1: Viserys

I.

Viserys

 

Viserys doesn’t think much of it when his daughter asks to be excused from the council meeting. So, what if she looks a little paler than usual? She’s been that way ever since that situation with Daemon.

Thoughts of his brother make the king’s blood boil in his veins. He’s in a sour mood for the rest of the day, and he carries his fury to bed with him—damn his brother! Damn him to seven hells.

xxx

The sun is high in the sky when a servant informs Viserys his daughter has yet to rise from bed. Maesters have been sent to her room, and still, he thinks nothing of it.

As much as he hates to think of it, his daughter is much like his brother. The blood of the dragon is strong in their veins. He doesn’t doubt for a second that she will overcome whatever weakness is plaguing her.

xxx

Rhaenyra’s condition doesn’t improve.

It worsens.

xxx

Viserys has never seen his daughter like this. Pale as snow, still as stone, skin clammy from the fever that is consuming her.

He barely recognizes her.

She reminds him of his wife in her last moments, and the thought breaks his heart.

He knows, even before the maesters tell him, the situation is dire.

His daughter who’s always been so full of life is now on the threshold of death.

xxx

Viserys spends every moment of the day and night at Rhaenyra’s bedside.

He refuses to leave her for even a second, thoughts of all the time he’s already wasted haunting him. He hasn’t been the best of fathers, he knows, especially in the midst of his late wife’s death.

Aemma would have stayed at her daughter’s side. She would have held her hand and refused for anyone to tend to her child.

She’s no longer here to do it—because of him, because of his damned dream—but Viserys is.

So, he stays with Rhaenyra, takes her hand in him and prays.

He prays to the old gods and the new, to anyone who might be listening.

He begs for his child’s life—Aemma’s only remaining child.

The king is on his knees, no longer a dragon, no longer a king, but a father.

xxx

The maesters’ grim looks tell him the end is near before their mouths do.

Viserys retires to his chambers for the first time in days and weeps.

xxx

Once he’s cried his eyes dry, Viserys reaches for ink and paper and starts composing a letter.

His hand is shaking, his penmanship atrocious.

He is losing his child. He is losing his child. He is losing his child.

Still, he writes.

He writes to his brother and calls him back to King’s Landing. His anger has turned to dying embers, burned out by the fever killing his daughter. He remembers the grief in his brother’s eyes when he was too late to see their father before he died.

He never got to say goodbye.

Viserys is not so cruel that he will deprive his brother of another farewell.

So, he writes a letter and summons him back home.

xxx

Night has fallen when Viserys hears the high screech of Caraxes.

His roar doesn’t carry its usual might. It doesn’t make the walls of the Red Keep shake.

It’s a plaintive cry, and the fractures on Viserys’ heart widen at the sound of such raw grief.

xxx

His brother enters the Red Keep with murder in his eyes, his hand resting on the pommel of Dark Sister.

It’s no use, of course. This fever is no enemy Daemon can slay with Valyrian steel.

His brother doesn’t speak a word to him, he just strides to Rhaenyra’s room, the sound of his boots echoing loudly in the grieving halls of the Red Keep.

Daemon’s steps falter when he nears her door. He stops entirely and rests his hands on the dark wood, steadying himself.

Viserys watches how his shoulders fall from afar. His younger brother has long since outgrown him, but in this moment, he looks a small child again.

Daemon takes a shuddering breath and pushes the door open.

Viserys follows after him. He doesn’t step inside the room—this moment is Daemon’s alone—but he still watches him through the half-open door.

Gone is the purpose in his brother’s steps. He’s hesitant, and he can’t bring himself to look at Rhaenyra. It’s like he knows this is a fight he cannot win and wishes to delay its inevitable beginning.

He reaches her bed, eventually, and stands by Rhaenyra’s side, watching the reflection of the flickering candles on her skin for a moment.

He strokes her forehead with a tenderness Viserys hasn’t known him capable of—he tries not to think about the last time they were together, and all the ways his brother touched her.

Then, he falls to his knees beside her, and cradles her hand against his chest.

Viserys’ eyes burn at the sight of his brother, so tall and strong, on his knees before his niece. The fire has deserted him, so has the fight.

That’s when Viserys leaves. He’s seen too much already.

xxx

The king doesn’t sleep that night.

He fiddles with his late wife’s ring, brushing his lips against it as he would his daughter’s forehead.

“Forgive me, my love,” he whispers when the night is darkest, starless.

He has failed as a husband, failed as a brother.

He has failed as a father too, first and foremost.

“Forgive me, Rhaenyra.”

xxx

His daughter passes the night.

Daemon is still with her when Viserys visits shortly after dawn. His brother hasn’t moved since he saw him last.

His eyes are red and empty.

He hasn’t looked so broken since their father’s passing.

Viserys settles on his daughter’s other side and takes her hand in his—maybe it’s him, but it doesn’t feel quite as cold as it did the previous day.

xxx

Rhaenyra lives through the day. Daemon never leaves her side, not even to eat or rest.

Viserys has never seen his brother so devoted to someone—except her, Rhaenyra.

His brother stays with her through the night again, and Viserys wakes up to find his daughter still alive.

xxx

Duty keeps Viserys away from his daughter’s side. He may be grieving, but his people still require his attention.

The sun is setting when he finds his way back to her.

He has spent the day dreading the abrupt entrance of a maester bearings the news of her passing.

It never came.

He’s nearing her room, and the air feels different. For days on end, it’s been heavy with sickness and death. Now, there is a lightness to it that hasn’t been there since Rhaenyra’s illness.

Daemon is still with her when he comes in, but he has moved to hover over her. He’s still tightly clutching her hand—“Rhaenyra?” He roughly whispers, the hope in his voice fragile.

Viserys rushes in.

He sees it then.

The way Rhaenyra’s eyelids are moving as she struggles to open her eyes.

Viserys’ breath hitches when she looks at Daemon with glassy lilac eyes. “Kepus,” she weakly whispers.

I’m here, Viserys nearly says. But he’s not the one she’s calling, so he doesn’t.

“I’m here,” his brother says, brushing Rhaenyra’s hair away from her forehead. “I’m here.”

“I’m here too.” Her voice is barely audible, but the sound of it nearly brings Viserys to tears nonetheless. “Didn’t want you to be mad at me,” she adds, her eyes fluttering close.

“I’m not mad,” his brother says. “I promise.”

She doesn’t answer, she’s fallen asleep again.

And that’s what it is, Viserys recognizes.

Sleep.

Not the deadly unconscious state she’s been in for the past week, or so.

She’s sleeping, her fever broken and breathing regular.

“What did you tell her?” Viserys asks. There are the first words he’s spoken to his brother since he came back.

Daemon’s reply is long to come. He doesn’t look at Viserys when he answers, his entire attention on Rhaenyra. He’s still stroking her forehead, the way he did when she was being a fussing child.

“That I’d be mad at her forever if she left me like that.”

Viserys laughs. The sound comes, unbidden, and startles his brother who looks at him with wide confused eyes.

He doesn’t explain himself, merely shakes his head before leaving.

xxx

Rhaenyra passes another night.

xxx

Life is an odd, funny thing, Viserys thinks.

Not a moon ago, he was cursing his brother away from King’s Landing. Now, he couldn’t have been more grateful for his presence back home.

Odd, funny thing.

The door to the small council’s room opens and closes.

“You asked for me, Your Grace,” Lyonel Strong, his newly-appointed hand, asks.

Viserys motions at the half-written letter on the table before him.

Lord Strong picks it up. His eyes widen at the content of this first draft. “You mean to end the princess’ betrothal to Laenor Velaryon? Why, Your Grace? Has something happened to the princess?”

Viserys shakes his head.

Rhaenyra is growing stronger with each day that passes. Today, she left her room for the first time and walked to the godswood. It won’t be long until she asks to ride Syrax, Viserys knows.

“The princess’ health has much improved, Lord Strong. The maesters say it’s a miracle.”

“If they say it, it must be so.”

Viserys doesn’t believe much in miracles. But he believes in the stubbornness of dragons. “I will not waste my daughter’s second chance at life on an arranged marriage, not when there is another match that could both strengthen her claim to the throne and make her happy.”

It’s all Viserys has ever wanted for his daughter. For her to be happy, content. He’s failed in that aspect so far.

No more.

“Who, Your Grace?”

“Prince Daemon.” Who else but his own brother? Rhaenyra’s fire matches his, he’s always known it, always feared it—things were always going to end this way.

Perhaps that was why he was so hard on his brother, at times. Viserys always knew he would be the one to take his daughter away from him.

“The prince already has a wife, Your Grace.”

This is something Viserys knows. This is something he can change, and he will. “She came back for him. She lives for him. That’s love, as true as I’ve ever seen it,” he says, his voice slightly trembling.

“Lord Corlys—”

“It is I who slighted Lord Corlys, my lord hand. I will be the one to mend this bridge.”

Not my child.

She’s suffered enough the consequences of his actions.

“Things shall be as you wish, Your Grace,” Lyonel Strong bows before him.

Chapter 2: Daemon

Summary:

He’s always been very good at ruining things for himself. He revels in it, this self-inflicted pain, the consequences of his own dubious actions. It makes him feel alive, feeds his inner fire.

II.

Daemon

 

Daemon hasn’t been in the Vale long when he receives his brother’s raven.

He can barely read the content of the message, his brother’s penmanship is truly atrocious.

But he recognizes the name of his niece and the word “illness”.

His blood rushes south, and his whole world collapses.

xxx

He pushes Caraxes harder than he ever has before.

His dragon feels his anguish and snarls, spreading his wings widely, deftly surfing the wind’s currents.

Daemon is already in King’s Landing, if not in body, then in thoughts. He remembers the last time he saw Rhaenyra, he remembers the feel of her against him, the heat of her skin reflected in her lilac gaze.

She’d wanted him as certainly as he’d wanted her.

He hadn’t meant to. But she’d been so different from the girl she used to be, a woman grown in truth.

A beautiful, willful, powerful woman.

He hadn’t stood a chance.

When the realization came, it robbed him of everything, and he ran away before he could do something he would forever regret.

Daemon tightens his grip around Dark Sister. Darker thoughts filter through his mind. Regrets fill him.

He shouldn’t have left her that night. He should have taken what she was offering, should have given her what she was asking for.

He shouldn’t have left King’s Landing without talking to her again, without explaining himself—I want Rhaenyra.

What if he never gets to speak to her again?

What if that night in King’s Landing was the first and last time he got to taste her lips?

He can’t bear it. He thought he had time—to regroup, to plan something, to return to her—but time is now slipping through his fingers like fleeing water.

“Faster, Caraxes, faster,” he commands, leaning forward in his saddle.

xxx

Daemon enters the Red Keep as though he owns it. He’s still holding on to Dark Sister, and the people who cross his path turn their eyes away, quivering in fear.

His brother is waiting for him, looking like shit. Daemon doesn’t trust himself enough to speak to him, so he wordlessly moves past him.

He makes for Rhaenyra’s room, walking with renewed purpose.

Surely, his brother is overreacting. Rhaenyra is one of dragonblood. She’s strong and healthy. Surely, the situation isn’t quite so dire—yet, he recognizes that pungent smell in the air. He’s been in enough battles to know it by now.

It’s the smell of death.

His steps falter, as does his heart in his chest.

Too late. He is too late, like he was for father…

Daemon steadies himself on her door. He should push it open, but he doesn’t dare. He has stood before an army of men without feeling an ounce of fear, but as he stands in front of his niece’s door, he falters.

And he’s afraid.

Afraid of what he’ll find on the other side.

Death.

Loneliness.

Regrets.

A world without her.

xxx

Her labored breaths are the first sounds that register with him.

He notices other things—a basin of water there, a book on her fireplace’s mantle, rings on a table.

A fond smile stretches his lips. His niece loves her jewelry, a passion he has always indulged—how satisfying it is to see his necklace on her.

Slowly, Daemon makes his way to her bed.

The atmosphere in the room is suffocating, the smell of incense potent.

It doesn’t do much to cover the smell of sweat and sickness.

He reaches Rhaenyra’s bed, and he can’t go back, he has to look at her—she lies very still, and that’s how he knows something’s wrong. Rhaenyra has always been restless.

She’s also frightening pale, paler than the moon in the sky. She reminds him of the dead men in the Stepstones, with the light gone from their eyes.

He strokes her forehead. His fingers are trembling. She’s burning up.

He trails his fingers down the side of her face, and further down until he can take her hand in his. He lowers himself on his knees, gently cradling her hand against his chest. His thumb searches for her pulse.

It’s weak, but it’s there.

Not a moon ago, he felt her heartbeat against him. He was the reason for the pounding in her chest and the heat in her veins.

Not a moon ago, she was full of life.

Now, she’s barely there anymore, one foot already over the threshold of death.

xxx

Daemon is silent for a long time. He holds Rhaenyra’s hand close and watches the flickering shadows of the candles on her cheeks.

He watches her and remembers.

His father died suddenly. One day, he complained about an itch in his belly. Five days later, he was dead.

Daemon wasn’t there for him at the time, and he’s always regretted it, carrying with him the heavy weight of the thousand things left unsaid between them.

He has a chance for a different ending with Rhaenyra, but he doesn’t want to seize it. Doesn’t want to say the words burning his lips.

Saying them will be like signing her death sentence, for if he’s said his farewells, she will have nothing left to do but leave.

He doesn’t want her to go.

So, he stays silent.

xxx

The night darkens, and Rhaenyra’s breathing worsens.

That’s when Daemon breaks his silence. He can’t bear for her pain to be the only sound in the room.

“Just so you know, I’ll be mad at you forever if you leave me like that.”

That’ll get her to open her eyes.

Daemon waits.

Surely, Rhaenyra is about to wake up, furious, but alive, so alive. Surely, she’s about to call him out on his callous treatment of her.

He pictures her in his mind, her lilac eyes molten with anger. She looks every bit the queen she’s meant to be as she yells at him. She’ll never forgive him for what he did, but he doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t mind if she’s mad at him forever.

He doesn’t mind, so long as she’s alive.

xxx

Rhaenyra doesn’t wake.

She doesn’t die either.

xxx

His brother joins him at dawn.

Daemon watches as he settles on Rhaenyra’s other side, and he can’t help but think that it should be him on his deathbed.

It’s only one of the many horrible things Daemon wants to tell his brother.

He’s sure Rhaenyra’s illness is his fault somehow, the same way his goodsister’s death has been his fault, same as Rhaenyra’s subsequent pain—so many hurtful words he wants to hurtle at his brother.

He doesn’t.

He remains silent, out of respect for the girl they both love.

xxx

Daemon doesn’t leave Rhaenyra’s side. His brother has a kingdom to rule, but Daemon’s sole obligation is his niece.

He holds her hand through the day and through the night, and marvels at how much she’s grown. He remembers when she was a babe, she would grip his fingers tight and not let go.

She’s always had the strength of a dragon.

“Come on, little dragon,” he whispers. “Fight. Fire cannot kill a dragon.”

He doesn’t know if she’s heard him, but she passes the night again.

xxx

Light pressure on his hand startles Daemon awake.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, he only closed his eyes for a second—he quickly straightens up. His back and legs hurt from the position he’s taken. His eyes immediately seek Rhaenyra’s face.

Her eyelids are moving. Daemon leans forward, bringing himself as close to her face as possible. “Rhaenyra?” He calls, his heart in his throat.

She opens tired eyes at the sound of his voice. Recognition shines in her lilac gaze. “Kepus,” she weakly says.

“I’m here,” Daemon says, brushing her hair away from her forehead. Her skin is warm against his, but no longer burning. “I’m here,” he repeats.

“I’m here too. Didn’t want you to be mad at me,” she says, her eyes fluttering close again.

Daemon’s eyes sting at her words. “I’m not mad. I promise.”

She lives. He can never be mad at her again.

She doesn’t speak again. She’s fallen asleep.

“What did you say to her?”

These are the first words his brother has spoken to him since he sent him into exile.

Daemon has half a mind to ignore him—he hadn’t even realized he was there—but he doesn’t.

Rhaenyra lives.

“That I’d be mad at her forever if she left me like that.”

His brother bursts out laughing, and Daemon looks at him with bewildered eyes.

Viserys doesn’t explain himself. He simply shakes his head and leaves.

xxx

Rhaenyra will recover. The maesters call it a miracle.

Daemon stays at her side until he’s certain her life isn’t in danger anymore.

Then, he collapses on his bed and sleeps for an entire day.

xxx

When his brother sends his guards to bring him to the council meeting room, Daemon knows he’s overstayed his welcome.

Rhaenyra’s days are no longer numbered. She’s grown stronger, strong enough to leave her room.

Daemon is to be exiled again.

He crosses path with Lord Lyonel Strong—his brother’s new Hand. A better choice than Otto Hightower, but still not the right one.

Still not him.

Viserys is facing away from Daemon when he enters. His hands are crossed behind his back, his back hunched. He looks far older than his age.

“You sent for me, brother?” Daemon asks, his irreverence barely veiled.

“On the table,” is his brother’s reply.

Daemon picks up the piece of parchment and quickly goes over it. He’s left so stunned, he needs to read it three times. “What is the meaning of this?”

“The annulment you’ve always wanted is yours, brother. Your lady wife has failed to provide you with heirs, therefore—”

“Why?” Emotions tighten Daemon’s throat until he can’t control his voice anymore.

Free. He is to be free from his Bronze Bitch.

“You asked for Rhaenyra’s hand.”

Daemon’s blood boils in his veins at the memory of that fateful morning where he’d put himself on the line, and his brother had kicked him for it. “You refused me.” He can’t mask his bitterness, can’t mask his pain.

“I made a mistake.”

His brother’s admission stuns Daemon into silence.

“I will give you Rhaenyra.”

Daemon has been through a lot in the past few days, but this is his undoing. He needs to sit. He pulls a chair, the scraping sound horrible in the otherwise silent room.

“Why?”

“Because you love her, and she loves you.”

The words echo loudly against the walls. Daemon can barely wrap his mind around them.

Does he love his niece? The answer is yes. She’s his family, his blood.

But, does he love her as a wife? He knows he wants her, but lust and love are two different things. 

As for Rhaenyra—he’s pretty sure what happened between them at the brothel has neither been forgiven, nor forgotten. She’s simply ignoring it, focused as she is on her healing.

“Are you sure, brother?”

“Your fires burn together, they always have.” Viserys sounds resigned to the idea. “You once said you would protect me if I made you my Hand. I don’t need your protection, brother, but Rhaenyra does.”

He walks to his brother, dominating him with his height for once. The weight of his words, of the hundred things they carry land on Daemon’s shoulders, and it’s a burden he welcomes.

He’s been waiting for it his entire life.

“Swear to me that you will protect her. Swear to me that what I saw these past few days is the truth of your heart. Swear to me that you will remain at her side like you did, that you will care for her, make her happy.”

Daemon can see it all unfold in his head as his brother speaks. He and Rhaenyra together, like the gods intended. He and Rhaenyra riding Caraxes and Syrax. He and Rhaenyra restoring their house to its proper glory.

He sees her smile, her beauty, her belly full of their child.

He sees it, and he wants it.

He wants it so bad, it hurts.

xxx

Daemon settles in the godswood after his conversation with his brother. Rhaenyra has long since left it, and he finds himself alone with his thoughts.

He still can’t quite believe his brother has just given him permission to marry his daughter and needs to refrain the urge to pinch himself.

His brother trusts him with Rhaenyra, his daughter, his heir, his most precious possession in the world.

It’s all Daemon has ever wanted. His brother’s trust and acceptance.

Now that he has it, he’s floored.

And lost. And confused. And full of doubts.

He’s always been very good at ruining things for himself. He revels in it, this self-inflicted pain, the consequences of his own dubious actions. It makes him feel alive, feeds his inner fire.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to make a mess of things.

Problem is, he already has.

xxx

“Rhaenyra wants to fly Syrax,” his brother tells him as they’re making their way through the halls of the Red Keep.

That was to be expected. Rhaenyra has only grown stronger in the past few days. Her restlessness has finally caught up her.

“I’m sure a change of scenery will do her some good.”

“I told her I would allow it if you went with her.”

Daemon barely manages to maintain a neutral expression. “Did you, now?”

His brother stops walking and turns to face him. “You haven’t told her.” His tone isn’t accusatory, there may even be an invitation to talk in them, but there is an underlying threat to them.

“It’s not something she needs to be told,” Daemon says. “It’s something she needs to be asked. She may refuse me.”

Mirth fills his brother’s eyes. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding her? Are you afraid of being rejected?”

His brother can barely contain his laughter, and it annoys Daemon to no end. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It always is with you, isn’t it, brother?” Viserys says, his tone kinder. “Come on now, I’ve never known you to be a coward,” he adds, clasping his shoulder.

“I’ve never faced another dragon before,” Daemon points out, and this time, his brother does laugh. He’s having way too much fun at his expense.

“Best get used to it,” Viserys says. “Go now, don’t keep Rhaenyra waiting.”

Daemon nods, starts walking away—his brother call him back.

“I expect everything to be settled by the time you return.”

Remember what you swore to me.

Daemon remembers. He touches a hand to the pommel of Dark Sister and heads to battle. The greatest fight of his life awaits.   

Notes:

Hi, me again!
I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!
Just so you know, English isn't my native language, I don't condone incest in real life & my knowledge of Fire and Blood is limited to wikis & tumblr/twitter posts.
Kudos and reviews are always appreciated!

Chapter 3: Rhaenyra

Summary:

Daemon’s face haunts her as she walks away from him. She remembers his hands lingering on her shoulders, his taunting smirks, the softness in his gaze, the taste of his lips—she remembers everything.

III.

Rhaenyra

 

Rhaenyra’s head hurts so badly she can hardly concentrate. It feels like a blacksmith has settled under her skull. The pain makes her sick to her stomach.

She asks to be excused from the small council meeting. Her father agrees without so much as a glance to her.

Rhaenyra skips dinner and heads straight to bed.

xxx

Her sleep is troubled that night.

She can’t find a good position to sleep in and keeps turning and rolling in bed. Her sheets cling to her aching body. She’s hot, so hot. She means to open the windows, but isn’t strong enough to get up.

She collapses back on her pillows, drifting away in that half-conscious state that brings her no rest.

xxx

Rhaenyra is still weak upon waking.

There’s not a single part of her body that doesn’t hurt.

She feels cold, and she won’t stop shivering, teeth chattering.

She briefly opens her eyes, but quickly closes them again, the light of the day too painful.

She loses consciousness shortly after.

xxx

Rhaenyra is aware there are people around her, talking and moving, touching her, forcing stale drinks down her throat.

She tries to protest, to push them away—too much noise, she just wants to rest—and fails. She’s too weak.

So weak that she can barely sense Syrax’s presence in her mind anymore. Her dragon’s roar feels more like a distant echo than the ethereal sound of their soul.

xxx

Rhaenyra dreams fever dreams.

She sees herself in her blood-soaked wedding dress. Tears are burning salty tracks down her cheeks.

The blood is hers, dripping from her heart.

She’s holding a dagger—Aegon’s dagger—in her hands.

They’re covered in blood, and it looks like she stabbed herself.

She calls for help, but there’s no one to hear her.

xxx

Her belly is full of life.

She gives birth to three dragon eggs.

She cradles them close, but they slip from her fingers and shatter on the ground.

In the distance, Rhaenyra hears a dragon’s mournful song.

xxx

Dragons fight dragons, and the sky comes alive with the fires of Old Valyria.

The flames surround Rhaenyra. Her eyes sting from the smoke. She can barely breathe.

She coughs, tries to escape. The fire burns her.

She wants to scream, but she’s lost her voice.

Blood rains down from the sky, heavy and sizzling.

Rhaenyra burns.

xxx

The sound of crashing waves wakes her up. The wind caresses her face, the smell of salt fills her nose. 

Rhaenyra opens her eyes to find the sky wide and blue.

She looks for Syrax. This is the perfect day for flying.

Her golden beast is nowhere around her. She can’t even feel her inside her.

For the first time in her life, Rhaenyra tastes true loneliness.

She sits up, takes in her surroundings.

It looks like the cliffs near King’s Landing, but the city is nowhere to be seen.

Rhaenyra doesn’t know where she is, and she’s afraid. She protectively wraps her arms around her.

The sound of footsteps on the squeaking sand has her looking up.

She is stunned speechless by who she sees.

“My sweet child.”

It’s her mother, beautiful and radiant as she was when she was happiest. Her silver hair flows past her shoulders like a river of moonlight, and her lilac eyes—so much like Rhaenyra’s—are full of warm motherly love.

“Mother….” Rhaenyra’s voice fails her, overcome as she is by emotion.

“Come, child. It’s time.”

Her mother extends a hand in her direction, and Rhaenyra takes it. It’s warm and solid against hers.

She gets up, feeling lighter with every second that passes.

Somewhere in the distance, dragons roar.

“Just so you know, I’ll be mad at you forever if you leave me like that.”

Rhaenyra freezes. She knows that voice, would recognize that affected nonchalance, that irreverence, anywhere.

She turns around.

Sure enough, Daemon’s there, looking so handsome it hurts.

“You’re the one who’s always leaving.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at her expectantly. There’s a challenge in his eyes, as is often the case.

Rhaenyra doesn’t answer it. Her mother is there, and she’s missed her so much. She never wants to be parted from her again.

She follows after her, her heart growing heavier with each step.

Daemon’s face haunts her as she walks away from him. She remembers his hands lingering on her shoulders, his taunting smirks, the softness in his gaze, the taste of his lips—she remembers everything.

She stops.

She doesn’t want to be parted from him.

She turns around, and he’s still there. He looks as he always has, toeing the line between peace and chaos.

“Mother,” Rhaenyra whispers.

Her eyes are drowning in tears. Her throat tightens, and she can’t breathe anymore.

She lets go of her hand.

xxx

Rhaenyra is exhausted, and everything is a struggle. Even something as simple as opening her eyes demands a great effort from her. Giving up is tempting. She can feel the claws of sleep wrapping around her mind and working to pull her back under.

The hand holding hers, the soft, hopeful whisper of her name, gives her the strength she needs. She keeps fighting.

“Rhaenyra…”

She opens her eyes to find deep purple ones looking at her. She knows them, but she can’t believe he’s here.

He left her in a dark alley, shivering against a cold wall.

“Kepus…”

“I’m here—” has her uncle’s voice ever sounded so soft? Has he ever touched her with such tenderness? “I’m here,” he says again.

“I’m here too.” It hurts to speak, but she forces herself to do it anyway. “Didn’t want you to be mad at me forever,” she mumbles, the words failing to convey the true depth of her feelings.

“I’m not mad. I promise.”

She wants to say something else, but she’s already fallen asleep again.

xxx

Rhaenyra wakes up again to find Daemon gone.

Of course.

You’re always leaving me.

Her father is there, sitting beside her bed. His forehead is resting in his hand. He’s resting.

She shifts in bed, tries to sit down. She’s too weak and collapses back on her pillows.

Her father wakes. He comes to her aid, hands her a glass of water and rearranges her pillow.

He hasn’t cared for her like that since she was a babe.

“Better?” He asks her.

She nods. She longs for a bath and fresh clothes, but the thought of getting out of bed is enough to exhaust her. “Thank you, father,” she tells him.

“You gave us quite a scare, child.”

“I’m sorry.”

He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand and reaches for her. She gives him her hand, his warmth seeping into her. “I saw mother,” she whispers. “She was there, she wanted me to follow her.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I wanted to, but I heard—” she hesitates, knowing bringing up Daemon will anger him.

“You heard you uncle,” her father guesses.

Rhaenyra nods and looks around her room.

“He’s gone to rest,” her father answers her unspoken question. “He hasn’t left your side since his arrival a few days ago.”

“Did you send for him?”

He nods. “As I said, you gave us quite a scare.”

She nearly died, he means. She realizes it now. Had she followed her mother—she shakes her head. There’s no point in wondering about what could have been.

Or, in her case, what couldn’t have been.

She’s alive, and it’s all that matters.

xxx

Daemon is back the following day. She’s taken her bath, eaten a good meal and slept soundly. She feels strong.

She feels restless.

“I want to go out,” she tells him.

She wants to feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.

She wants to see Syrax too, but she knows that request will meet a firm refusal.

The godswood on the other hand….

Her uncle is hesitant, at first, but he folds under her gaze and helps her out of bed. He supports her as they make their way out of the Red Keep.

It reminds Rhaenyra of the last time they walked together, how he held her hand along the way.

Daemon takes a longer path to the godswood, but it ensures they don’t run into too many people. Rhaenyra is grateful for that. She doesn’t want to see or speak with anyone. Being polite would take too much of her, and she has so little strength.

She’s breathless by the time they reach the godswood. Still, the serenity of the place washes over Rhaenyra, and she can’t regret her decision to come.

Daemon helps her sit down between the white roots, and she rests her back against the large trunk of the weirdwood tree. She closes her eyes and enjoys the song of the birds.

Her uncle doesn’t break the silence between them, and neither does she.

xxx

Guards come for her uncle, and Rhaenyra’s heart drops in her chest.

He was exiled again before she fell ill. Has her father already tired of his presence? Will he exile him again?

Will her uncle leave again?

She nearly holds him back, nearly calls for him to stay—she always did when she was a child. She would run after him, grab his legs and beg him to stay.

She’s no longer a child, no matter what her father calls her. She feels different, she knows better.

That’s the effect of death on people.

It ages them, brings clarity.

Daemon is enough to make her stay. She isn’t.

xxx

Rhaenyra is already in bed when her father visits.

She tries to get up, but he motions for her to stay as she is. “I heard you left your room today,” he tells her.

She nods, her throat tight. Has he come to tell her of her uncle’s banishment? She doesn’t dare ask after him. “Yes. I’m feeling much better, father.”

“I’m glad.” He’s not just saying the words. He means them. “I wrote a letter to Lord Corlys, today.”

Rhaenyra frowns.

Her betrothal. Her father wishes to speak to her of her betrothal.

“Father, I—”

“I told him you wouldn’t be marrying his son.”

Rhaenyra is too stunned to speak. “What?”

“I promised you a match that would please you. A match of your choosing.”

Rhaenyra heavily swallows, her heart is positively thrumming in her chest. “But Lord Corlys—”

“Lord Corlys is an ambitious man who never got over the fact his wife never became queen. He wields her name like he would a sword, but I don’t think she’s too fond of it. It’s been years, and I believe my cousin has made her peace with the way things are. I’m hoping we can come to a peaceful resolution of this matter together.”

Rhaenyra isn’t too sure of that. The Queen Who Never Was is a dragon after all. “What if we can’t?”

“I’m king still, my daughter. I will deal with it.”

There’s something in his voice, something Rhaenyra has never heard before. It’s strong and powerful, hard as steel—the voice of a Targaryen who once commanded Balerion the Dread.

xxx

It takes Rhaenyra a few more days of recovery before she can take out Syrax.

Her father is hesitant to allow her out of the Red Keep. In the end, he only agrees if Daemon goes with her.

“Should anything go amiss,” he says.

Rhaenyra’s annoyed, but doesn’t let it show. She doesn’t want him to go back on his decision.

She has seen little of her uncle in the past few days. He’s been avoiding her after spending days at her side, and she can’t figure out why.

It’s maddening.

She used to think she understood him better than anyone else because of the likeness between them.

Now, she doesn’t understand him anymore, and it saddens her.

xxx

They fly Caraxes and Syrax around King’s Landing.

Only when Rhaenyra’s in the sky, her dragon warm under her, does she truly feel alive again.

She lets go of the reins and spreads her arms as wide as she can. She throws her head back to better feel the air in the around.

Like this, it feels like she’s flying herself. 

The song of dragons fills the air around her, and Rhaenyra laughs, happy tears streaming down wind-swept face.

It feels good to be alive.

xxx

They land close to the city. Rhaenyra sits in the grass and watches her uncle’s back. His short hair is messy from their flight, giving him an almost boyish look.

He’s no boy, she knows. It’s a good thing. She’s a girl no longer.

She keeps watching him, willing him to speak to her the way he always has with the strength of her gaze. He doesn’t.

She’s had enough.

“What do you want, uncle?” She’s already asked him this before. She knew then he was up to something. She isn’t so sure this time—she doesn’t understand him anymore.

Daemon turns around, a frown between his eyebrows. “Must there be something?”

Dry laughter falls from her lips. “It’s you. Of course, there is.”

He did want something before. He wanted to taunt her father, and he used her to do it. She was no victim, no, she was his willing accomplice.

Until he took his game too far and left her alone and shivering in the city.

“What do you want?” She asks again, the energy from their ride feeding her anger.

“This is not what you wish to ask me, Rhaenyra.”

The use of her given name on his lips is unusual. He never calls her by her name. “Don’t presume to know the contents of my mind.”

“I don’t presume, I know the contents of your mind. I know you’re happy your betrothal to Laenor Velaryon has ended—”

“Since when do you care about what makes me happy or not?”

Her uncle shakes his head and takes a step closer to her. Rhaenyra realizes she needs to be standing if they’re going to have this conversation. She pushes on her hands to get up. She sways on her legs, and Daemon is there in a second to steady her.

She looks up into his eyes, his breath ghosting over her lips. They haven’t been that close since that night.

“I know you’re crossed with me,” he whispers, and he’s right, so she tries to free herself from his hold. He tightens his grip around her, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep her close.

“You’re always leaving me,” Rhaenyra says, and there’s no hiding her pain. It’s laced through her words and echoes throughout her body with every beat of her heart.

“I’m here right now,” he answers, and it’s true, he’s right there, strong and warm. Yet, he feels so distant, he might as well belong to another world.

“You’ve been avoiding me. You’re not talking to me.” She’s noticed he hasn’t answered her question—what do you want?

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“Enough with your games,” Rhaenyra shoves him away from her.

Daemon stumbles back, surprised by her outburst. “Nyke geptot bona bantis kesrio syt īlen trying naejot mīsagon ao hen aōla [I left that night because I was trying to protect you from yourself],” his voice softens, something vulnerable creeping in when he switches to High Valyrian. Rhaenyra just pushed him away, but it feels like he’s still holding her in his arms.

“Skoros gaomas bona sesīr nūmāzma [what does that even mean]?”

“Our actions that night could have had consequences you weren’t ready to face.”

“Gaomagon ao iēdrosa pendagon nyke iā riña, kepus? Nyke ȳdra daor jorrāelagon ao naejot mīsagon nyke [Do you still think me a child, uncle? I don’t need you to protect me]”, she says, and his mouth twitches like he knows something she doesn’t. It annoys her to no end.

“Nyke gīmigon skoros jaelan [I know what I want].”

“Nyke tolī [me too].”

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā [what do you want]?” She asks again.

“I asked for your hand before, and your father refused me.”

Rhaenyra can’t believe her ears. “What?

“Jaelan ao [I want you],” he simply says.

This time, Rhaenyra is the one who moves to him. Her hands land on his chest, and she can feel his heartbeat through the different layers of his clothes. His words have her heart soaring in her chest. She’s moving before she realizes, erasing the rest of the distance between them—he avoids her lips and brings his forehead against hers instead.

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao naejot shifang [I need you to understand],” he whispers. “I need you to be sure, Rhaenyra.”

She understands. She’s sure.

She knows what she wants.

“Nyke māstan arlī syt ao. Nyke glaesagon syt ao [I came back for you. I live for you],” she tells him. “Jaelan ao.”

I’ve only ever wanted you.

He smiles. It’s soft and makes her want to kiss him more. His hands land above hers, holding her close to him. “Is this what you want, then? For us to be married?”

Rhaenyra nods, emotions tightening her throat.

“Say it.”

“Kessa [yes].”

He swallows the word with his lips, sealing their betrothal with a searing kiss.

Notes:

Hi, me again!
I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!
Just so you know, English isn't my native language, I don't condone incest in real life, my knowledge of Fire and Blood is limited to wikis & tumblr/twitter posts & the Valyrian bits come from online translators.
Kudos and reviews are always appreciated!

Notes:

Hi, me again!
I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!
Just so you know, English isn't my native language, I don't condone incest in real life & my knowledge of Fire and Blood is limited to wikis & tumblr/twitter posts.
Kudos and reviews are always appreciated!