HER breaths were shallow but furtive as her hands felt for the hidden mechanism within the walls of the cabinet. Heavy footfalls sounded outside the door and she threw a glance over her shoulder, heart jumping to her throat. But it was only a knight as the ringing chainmail passed by.

Lyra continued her search until a block of stone gave way beneath her fingertips. She gasped in both surprise and success when the hidden doorway rumbled open. Beyond its threshold were deep dark shadows and Lyra wrapped her cloak tightly around her body before slipping inside.

She walked briskly through the empty corridors, hoping that her memory had not failed her. Daemon had taken her right off the branching path before and it should be straight hallways leading to her destination. After what seemed like an eternity although it could not have been more than half an hour, she could finally smell the stench of dragon. It always reminded her of Daemon.

Peeking around the entranceway, Lyra made sure that there were no dragonkeepers around before quickly sneaking through the Dragonpit. She stuck to the walls, following the coarse stone until she reached one of the smaller side doors. A chilly wind blew through the air outside, the clear night sky lit up by stars like pinpricks of lamplight.

Lyra proceeded to make her way down the Street of Silk, eyes flitting around searchingly for a red sign and an equally red door. The Wayward Princess, it was called. What an apt name, she mused. Corlys must have a wicked sense of humour. She managed to spot the establishment at the end of the last street and gingerly went inside.

A woman greeted her at the doorway with a shrew, half-lidded gaze. She seemed to be old—possibly in her forties—and was but a shadow of her former beauty. Lyra stood awkwardly at the threshold, staring back at the woman as she overheard a loud moan of pleasure from above. "Your private chambers, please."

The woman smirked at her and Lyra just knew that Daemon would be furious to learn that she was in a brothel. "Upstairs at the end of the hall," the woman instructed.

Lyra practically dashed towards the stairs, climbing its creaky steps as the moans grew ever louder. She reached the end of the narrow corridor and quickly slipped into the chambers. It was dark with only a few candles lit on a rickety shelf. Lyra swept her gaze around until it fell on a figure sitting by the table.

Moonlight illuminated Corlys' face and she breathed a sigh of relief. He greeted her, "Thank you for coming to see me, Lyra."

She walked forwards and took the seat opposite him. "And we could not have done this over a nice stroll in the gardens?"

His smile looked more like a grimace. "I apologise but I do have friends here...and it would be much harder for anyone to overhear us." A particularly loud groan punctured the air to mark his point.

"My husband would gut you and feed you to the sharks if he learned of this, you know," Lyra remarked with slight amusement.

"I know," he replied before pausing briefly, "You asked me to keep an eye out for Caaro Noqane the last time we saw each other."

Upon hearing the name, Lyra felt as if she had just swallowed an acerbic poison. The wound in her chest started to throb anew. He was the mastermind who had orchestrated Brandon's death. She directed her gaze back to Corlys' face. "Is he back in King's Landing?"

"Indeed." Corlys passed her a piece of parchment. She unfurled it to find a crest of a jackdaw drawn on it. "There are two ways we could go about this. We can arrest him and subject him to the king's justice..." He paused tentatively and she raised a brow in anticipation. "...or we can burn his ship and him along with it."

Lyra gave a short incredulous laugh. "Which would be more agreeable, my lord?"

"I would be happy to have one less ship to worry about in the Stepstones," Corlys said, "but I thought I would leave that decision up to you. I have everything arranged so you need only give the signal."

She pursed her lips in thought, briefly wondering what Daemon would do in her situation. Something told her that he would have gone for the second option without hesitation. Yet Lyra did hesitate—she wanted retribution but she had never done something like this before. It somehow felt bigger than what she initially thought it to be.

"How soon must I give an answer?" she asked.

"I hazard the ship will be docked for another week, give or take," Corlys answered, "while Noqane sorts out his affairs here. But we shouldn't wait that long."

Lyra nodded in understanding as she folded the parchment and tucked it into the folds of her dress. "Thank you, Lord Corlys, I will ponder the matter carefully."

"Of course," he said as Lyra stood to depart. "One more thing, Lyra, take care of the people around you."

She paused to consider his words before nodding. Her journey back to the Red Keep was eventless but it gave her time to think about her next course of action. Luckily, Daemon had not yet returned from his supper with Viserys and she was able to sneak back with no one the wiser.

Three days would pass since her meeting with the Sea Snake and already she received another message from the man. Aemma had just begun her labours in the early dawn that same day and Lyra was anxiously awaiting word of the woman's condition on her balcony. The message had come tied to the leg of a dove instead of a usual raven, which she would not have noticed if it weren't for the bird's uncanny ability to fly at her head on purpose.

"If you were a pigeon, I would have made you into a pie," she admonished the creature as she unfurled the scroll. Only three words were imprinted on the parchment in smudged fading ink.

It leaves tonight.

Her heart jumped into her throat as she took a sharp inhale. But before she could even think of a response, one of her handmaidens approached her with urgency. "My lady, Princess Aemma has just given birth!"

Crushing the message in her hand, Lyra shoved it into her sleeve as her eyes widened in anticipation "And?" she pressed the younger woman.

"The babes did not survive and she might have childbed fever," the handmaiden said lowly.

"No..." Lyra breathed out before quickly making her way to the doors. She arrived at the birthing chamber to find it had already been vacated with only Viserys and Rhaenyra sitting inside.

"Aunt Lyra," Rhaenyra called to her, voice thick with unshed tears. The little girl ran towards her for a comforting hug, arms wrapping around Lyra tightly.

Lyra stroked her snowy head soothingly as she glanced at Viserys. It was a few hours past midday. "Have the both of you had lunch yet?" she asked knowingly. "I can stay to look after Aemma."

Viserys looked to his daughter who was clinging onto Lyra's skirts and nodded. "Thank you, that sounds like a good idea. Rhaenyra, let us have something to eat first."

The girl pouted slightly before acquiescing and Viserys stood to bring her away with him. Lyra waited for the door to close behind them then went to check on Aemma. A sheen of perspiration covered her pale skin which burned hotly, though it was not the worse that Lyra had encountered. She only just felt the absence of a crying babe and her heart sank with sorrow.

Lyra rinsed the rag on Aemma's forehead in the nearby basin before replacing it, hoping it would alleviate the fever somewhat. Sighing, she then went to sit on the chair by the bedside. The silence of the chambers buzzed in her ears as Lyra reached into her sleeve. Nervous fingertips unfurled the message once more.

She wondered if she should ask for Daemon's opinion on the matter but she was quite sure she knew what he would say. Lyra sat there ruminating on the decision until twilight started to descend upon the Red Keep in a blanket of feeble starlight.

It was not long until the door to the chambers opened and Lyra stirred from the chair. She slipped the message back into her sleeve. A candle was lit in a golden flicker and she saw Viserys through the greyness of the gloom. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and leaned forwards.

It was cold and still, like the gathering of a brewing storm. A servant should have come to lit the hearth. "Lyra, thank you..." Viserys said, "but you need to rest too. Daemon is waiting for you."

She looked to the bed where Aemma lay in a sound sleep. Her fever seemed to have broken, which was a relief. Viserys placed a hand on her shoulder and she stood from the chair. She replaced the cloth one more time on Aemma's forehead before leaving. The corridors seemed dark and foreboding that evening as she crossed the tower alone.

Daemon had moved their chambers to an isolated corner of the holdfast, having found one with a balcony that overlooked the glazed Bay below. She would spend most of her time reading in front of it now if she wasn't engaged in some other activity.

Lyra arrived just in time to find the bath drawn in the adjoining small chamber. Daemon stood there with a suggestive smile. He helped her out of her dress before joining her in the large stone tub. The warm waters eased the weariness from her tense muscles. Daemon's arms wrapped around her from behind, resting against her growing belly.

"How is Aemma?" he asked.

"The fever broke, thankfully," she told him. "Have you seen Rhaenyra?"

"She's disconsolate..." he said softly. "She stayed in the godswood the rest of the afternoon."

Lyra sighed heavily, as if shouldering an unfathomable burden. "Childbirth is never an easy task."

Daemon caressed her cheek gently, violet eyes holding her with a poignant gaze. He pressed his lips on the edge of her shoulder, as silken as rose petals in first bloom. "I know you will do well when your time comes."

She held in another sigh, wanting to tell him that they could not possibly divine what the gods had in store for them. Instead, she leaned back against his chest and relished the warmth. The bouquet of cloying lavender rose in twining lace with the steam. Her eyelids fluttered close.

"What should we name them?" she asked.

"Well, if it's a boy ... we should name him after Brandon," Daemon said. "I know you wish it, in your heart."

Lyra smiled gratefully but shook her head. "Not the firstborn ... I thought Baelor, after your father, for a boy."

"Baelor is a good name," he agreed.

"And a girl?"

"I've always thought of Alyse, after my mother," he said.

Her eyes closed again with a blissful smile. "Then it is decided."

"We are not stopping there, are we?" Daemon asked and she could hear the smirk in his voice. Lyra splashed bathwater into his face, then shrieked as he scooped it with both hands and dumped it over her head in return.

When the water started to run tepid, they quit the bath and readied themselves for bed. Swathes of sombre clouds shrouded the silver moon in the stygian sky. Lyra waited for Daemon's breaths to grow even, steady as whispering waves. For a brief moment, she was sorely tempted to wake him but she felt that it was a decision that she had to make for herself. Stealing away from his arms, she crossed the chambers with bare feet.

Nervous fingertips unfurled the scroll within its grasp, pale virescent eyes gazing far away. She picked up the candle and walked slowly towards the balcony. It flickered gold and blazing orange against the chilled breeze. Lyra looked out to the Bay, calm as a slate of black ice.

In the distance, she saw a glow that grew with evanescent fury. Embers ignited as the docked ships were set alight in a growing furore. The streets writhed with wailing screams, ash and smoke spiralling in the air.

Lyra watched with a fulgent gleam in her eyes.

   Months passed and imminent motherhood had not seemed to suit Lyra well. She ached constantly, from her feet to her head. The pain was an ever-present companion in her last few months. Nothing could help or ease her discomforts, nor could anything or anyone offer her distraction. It was agonising.

To top it off, one of her new handmaidens had just spilt wine all over Daemon's Volantene carpet. He was rather infuriated and Lyra could feel another oncoming headache as she lounged on the divan. Once the poor girl had scampered away to have the carpet cleaned, Daemon sat opposite her in their solar.

"Perhaps some figs?" he offered and she almost retched at the mere thought.

"No, thank you," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut.

Daemon leaned over and rubbed her pronounced belly with a lopsided grin. "Stop making your mother suffer, little one."

"He is as obstinate as his father," she complained.

He merely laughed. "Can you imagine if you bore twins?"

Lyra grimaced. "Gods forbid, I would not survive it."

Daemon was the only one who found amusement in her condition. She sorely wanted the babe to be out as soon as possible. The only time she had actual respite was when she fell asleep, which she tried to do that afternoon and failed for the most part. Her eyes refused to stay shut and would flutter open every few minutes.

The sun had begun to set when the handmaiden returned with Daemon's carpet with another servant helping to carry it. The unfamiliar man seemed to be Dornish or at least shared some of their blood. Lyra was impressed at how quickly it had been cleaned. She got up from the divan to allow them to lay it on the floor once more and moved towards the balcony to enjoy the cool evening breeze.

Daemon called for her, wrapping his arms around her middle. "Ñuha jorrāelagon. The bath is ready."

She turned to smile at him, caressing her cheek against his own. "Go ahead. I will join you shortly."

"Don't take too long," he told her before slipping away. She turned back to the sky and the Bay, closing her eyes with a weary sigh.

There was a shuffle of boots behind her, clothes rustling in motion. Then a hand suddenly clamped around her mouth. Coarse, sundried skin held her with a vice-like grip.

Lyra tore her eyes open, heart jumping into her throat, and saw a blade as thin as glass coming down on her. She threw her hand in the air, grabbing hold of it and felt the searing sting of its gash across her palm. Blood ran thickly down her wrist and she bit hard into the hand around her mouth.

There was a cry of pain as the hand withdrew and Lyra spat out. They struggled briefly before she pushed her assailant with an elbow to the ribs. Hands freed, she pulled out her own dagger from the folds of her dress. Silver flashed cold and cruel as she turned around, plunging her dagger through flesh. She fell together with the robed figure, thrusting the blade over and over with frenzied cries.

"Lyra?!" Firm arms wrapped around her, pulling her away. Daemon was wiping the blood and tears from her face, staining his own hands in vivid scarlet. "What—What happened? How?" he was questioning.

Crimson pooled on the pale red stone. Her heart continued to drum heavy and quick against her breastbone.  She shook her head in equal uncertainty. "I—I don't know, he just—"

It was the servant that had carried the carpet in earlier. Upon closer inspection, the man seemed to be Tyroshi, or at least hailing from Essos and not Dorne as she initially thought. Her mind reeled all at once — had this been an act of revenge? Was Noqane still alive after all?

"That handmaiden—!" she started angrily.

Then a shiver went down Lyra's spine with ice-cold dismay. She seized Daemon's hand in a vice, just as she felt a scorching pain stab through her belly. Liquid dripped between her legs, soaking her skirts.

"Daemon..." she called, voice strained and pitched.

Violet eyes widened with dread, sweeping over her face and towards her abdomen. It was still too early. Immediately, he picked her up from the floor and carried her to the bed. Then he was running out of the chambers to summon the midwives.

Lyra clenched her hands into the silken sheets of her bed as another wave of pain washed over her. The only thing she could do was to breathe as she had seen others do before her. It took a while for Daemon to return with the midwives and maesters. They offered her a small dose of milk of the poppy.

"You're strong, Lyra," Daemon said encouragingly, grasping her hand tightly. "I know you can do it."

"Shut up, Daemon!" she yelled through gritted teeth. "I need to concentrate!"

Though his smooth laughter in her ear helped ease some of her pain and anxiety. The midwives adjusted her on the bed and measured her pulse. "Just continue breathing, princess," they told her. "It needs to be more dilated."

The labour was long and arduous, until the moon fell from the sky and hid within the cusp of the horizon. Her screams filled the expectant night, echoing under a heedless void. It was only when tendrils of an unripened dawn clawed out from beneath the twilight was her child born at last. Wailing in the silence of a new morn.

Lyra held him in her arms, tufts of ebony sable peaking from beneath his swaddling cloth. She looked to Daemon beside her who smiled serenely. "A wolf it is," he said.

Baelor Targaryen, their firstborn son. Forged from frost and flames.

News of the babe was promulgated quickly throughout the Keep and it was not long before Lyra received her first visitor. Rhaenyra shot towards her aunt with delighted grins and eager hands. She nudged her small finger between her cousin's teeny ones, laughing as he made faint sounds. Her eyes studied him with misty adoration.

Rhaenyra leaned in close to Lyra's ear to whisper, "I love him already."

AUTHOR'S NOTE
just to shed a bit of light on this chapter, lyra is waging a private war against the triarchy lmao. how she's doing it will be more or less revealed in the next chapter. i wrote it to be a bit vague and mysterious because she's keeping it a secret even from daemon but he totally suspects what she's doing. so basically she caught wind of the tyroshi captain coming back to king's landing and burnt his ship. then he sent an assassin as pay back lol. let me know what you think of the chapter! xx