𝓓𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮
Emptiness.

Her home, her heart, her soul.

Rhaenyra had grown used to the feeling in her young years but this? She wouldn't wish the loss of a child on a mother. Visenya was a promise never kept, a wish only made but never fulfilled but her sweet boy Lucerys... the walls held his voice the corridors his memory.

She and Daemon had accepted Aemond into their home, their lives. And their sweet, rebellious daughter had fallen in love with their son's murderer carrying his unborn child within her royal womb and yet, an unsettling voice gnawed at the back of her mind.

Could it all be as it seemed?

In the almost two-week absence of Elaena, her mother had taken to her chambers in an effort to keep her mourning private but on this evening they were to devise a plan.

While Rhaenyra had withdrawn from daily proceedings her husband had buried himself in revenge plots, seeking out any word from the capital of Prince Aemond's arrival or his brother's schemes to further humiliate their daughter.

No, he wouldn't allow it.

The hours had dragged on into the night but still, Rhaenyra sat at the helm of the painted table watching the flames praying to the gods that the sparks would give her a reason for all this heartbreak and disloyalty. 

By the door, Daemon hovers watching over her before he waves off the men on guard, shutting the doors behind them.

That Hightower cunt had cost them Viserys, their baby girl, and now Lucerys. 

'Those snakes will continue to slither through our kingdom, spreading their venom until we cut off their heads.' He'd told her, but Rhaenyra was ridden with self-loathing, her once sure eyes riddled with doubt.

To run and take whom she had left, or to fight for her children who had given their lives for their mother, the Queen?

Clearing his throat Daemon takes a few weary steps toward his mourning wife, "My Queen. There's news from the capital,"

Rhaenyra however doesn't move from her seat, only drumming the table with her fingers slowly, lost.

"Lady Mysaria, she says there's been no sighting of Aemond or Vhagar. But the youngest boy, Daeron, has been seen coming and going on dragonback." With this new information or lack thereof, Daemon hadn't expected much from his wife but her stillness irritated him.

Some handled their mourning with tears, others with stillness but Daemon would handle this grief with intention.

"Rhaenyra-" At her name she snaps her head to lock eyes with her husband, standing from her seat to address him.

She was no fool, Daemon had always wished for war with Alicent and her father and this had given him the perfect excuse, the perfect outlet to reveal his true nature.

The White Worm had not just been sending intel letters, but they were also exchanging revenge preparations.

"The plans you both toy at are despicable." She replies, her face flushed.

"They've taken more than enough from us, from our children!"

Turning fiercely Rhaenyra speaks with more tenacity than she has in weeks, "And that little boy and girl have nothing to do with the sins of their forebearers, Helaena- my sweet sister-"

"They're all pawns fed lies from the moment they were born just as their cunt mother."

She doesn't know why but Rhaenyra flinches at the harsh words her husband used. Time had since healed the deep wound of Alicent's betrayal but it was becoming more clear that she'd been a fool to think their friendship was mendable.

Twisting at the rings around her fingers Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, finally looking up at her husband with a final answer. "We will take our revenge with fire and blood but not with the assassination of children."

With quick footsteps the Queen leaves no room for argument leaving Daemon to simmer, boiling even as he bites his tongue, keeping his venom behind his clenched teeth if only for the evening.

The next day had been even worse than the day before. Rhaenyra took no visitors no matter how urgent until a raven arrived from Winterfell, turning Dragonstone on it's head.

At first Daemon wasn't sure how to react.

Relief?

Regret?

Guilt?

But Daemon was no fool to his own emotions he was well aware he could feel all of it at once. He'd been correct in that Vhagar had torn apart his sons dragon but how wrong they'd been about the rest of it.

As he approached their chambers it wasn't often he'd felt this uneasy speaking with Rhaenyra but after their argument from the evening before it was clear she hadn't wanted to see him.

Timidly wrapping his knuckles against the door only silence greets him. After a moment he lets himself in, announcing himself to the frigid back of his wife.

"My Queen," At this instance Daemon's tone was thick, catching the attention of the Queen.

Rhaenyra turns ever so slightly in a way of inviting him in and he crosses the room with urgency but she barely moves to greet her husband, still very much sick with grief and confliction.

Twirling the scroll between his fingers Daemon takes his seat beside his mourning wife who'd lost weight in the recent days since Luke's passing.

With most of the elder children gone Rhaenyra had tried to keep up appearances by attending meetings and mealtimes but with each day that passed, the more the color faded from her pale cheeks and the sight of it broke her husband's cold, stone heart.

"Rhaenyra, love, a raven's come from Winterfell." Daemon's normal curt tone was thick with emotion, his violet eyes pleading with his wife to read the news for herself.

She wouldn't believe it.

Seven hells, he himself barely believed it and he'd reread the words over and over again.

"From Elaena?" Rhaenyra perked up in her chair, realizing the mess of her hair and running a trembling hand through it as Daemon confirmed with a nod, his mouth set in a tight line.

If anyone was aware of the sharp tongue Daemon wielded it was he himself and it was that same steel that had cut their daughter down like she was nothing. Her own father had brought her to her knees with the news of her younger brother and then blamed her for all of it.

At every turn, Elaena showed she was the product of all their strongest traits. None of her rebellious acts were of a surprise but he'd still done his damnedest to stop this inevitable heartbreak that came from marrying a man so like her own father.

Even Daemon's exchanges with Lady Mysaria, his eyes, and ears in Kings Landing, couldn't have prepared him for this... 

Handing his wife the scroll she unravels it with shaky hands, her eyes widening with shock.

"Lucerys... h-he's alive? Is he with them at Winterfell? When? When did this arrive, Daemon?"

In an attempt to anchor herself to the chair, the Queen gets to her feet so quickly that there are stars in her eyes but her husband stands to assist her in taking her arm.

"Just now."

Hot tears trailed down Rhaenyra's face but Daemon, overwhelmed himself wipes her flushed face, pressing his temple to hers as they held one another in the privacy of their rooms but her erratic breathing persisted.

How was one to explain a loved one rising from the dead? After days of mourning and placing blame on undeserved parties where were they to go from here?

Taking a deep breath she clears her throat, shifting from an overwhelmed mother to the frigid Queen they'd all believed her to be.

"Have Syrax saddled and ready for a trip to Winterfell-" As she goes to leave Daemon catches her around the wrist, his grip tight and overbearing.

"Rhaenyra, no. Elaena will bring him home, maybe we should exercise some faith in her in Aemond."

At her husband's words, Rhaenyra arched an eyebrow in annoyance, tilting her head as she looked at him with burning eyes.

"You must mistake yourself, husband. I've always carried faith in our daughter, it's you who drove her to Winterfell in the first place."

For days they'd argued about Daemon's cold treatment toward their daughter but Rhaenyra could not understand how her husband could be so warm, so loving to Baela and Rhaena, but be so cruel to their own daughter, their firstborn.

Gritting his teeth, he turns to stare into the blaze of the burning fireplace.

"I've failed our daughter in many ways, I know this."

Rhaenyra stills behind him, unaccustomed to hearing her husband admit his faults.

Elaena and Aemond had represented all of Daemon's failings though his wife hadn't seemed to see it that way.

When Rhaenyra and Daemon conceived her the night of her wedding to Ser Laenor, he'd run instead of taking her Mother's hand as he promised but Aemond had kept his word to his daughter at every turn, even fighting for her hand as Daemon had for Laena all those years ago.

He'd even missed Elaena's birth, her earliest years, her first swing of the sword, but she'd done perfectly well without him under Ser Laenor's care only proving his failings as a father once more.

But then came the funeral on Driftmark bringing him face to face with the spitting image of himself and Rhaenyra.

Her fierce eyes and attitude had never been aimed at her Mother, and despite her father's blood as a child, she'd always respected authority... at least those who mattered. She'd always attend her lessons and training with her siblings and Uncles, all while bringing a smile to any who encountered her but that he was confident came from her Mother.

"All along I've fought her on this boy... when we thought he'd killed Lucerys, I wanted to burn him alive for what he'd done to her, to this family."

When Rhaenyra hears her husband's voice crack she flinched, taking a step forward lightly to not startle him like a wild animal. It wasn't often he'd been so vulnerable with her or anyone for that matter.

"If all of this had been to manipulate our daughter after all she'd been through... and I'd taken it out on her."

She hadn't deserved it then and she sure as hell didn't deserve it now, neither of them had.

Daemon hangs his head, contemplating if it wasn't already too late, how it was he'd repair this.

Closing the distance between them she interlocks her slim fingers with his but his body makes no move to relax.

"She'll never forgive me... the things I've said-"

"She's as much my daughter as yours, my wild dragon. But you must be sorry before she's given a chance to forgive you. We can only be thankful nothing irreparable had been done."

With a humming sound, he acknowledges her words but says nothing, still lost in his dark mind.

"Will you write her?" He finally asks.

"Perhaps you write her as you do Baela."

Rhaenyra watched with a frown as her husband turns from her again, this time to stare out across the seashore of their home, his dark violet eyes fogged with conflict.

Daemon Targaryen had rode Caraxes into battle more times than he could count, watched the light leave a man's eyes again and again at the end of his sword but writing his eldest child twisted his stomach in knots.

Later that evening, he would spend hours finalizing the words to send to his eldest daughter and her husband but this apology would only be the first of many.

***