warnings: mentions of death and grief!

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"FATHER?" Daenys approached him in an empty passageway soon after she broke her fast, to discover that he wasn't alone. Rhaenyra accompanied him. "Princess — Cousin," she corrected herself.

Rhaenyra subtly created some distance between her and her uncle, and smiled at the young girl, "Daenys, you're glowing. I hear congratulations are in order, you've successfully ridden your Dragon. You're so young to have achieved such an accomplishment. How do you feel?"

"Magnificent." Daenys nodded, flashing her a small smile, "I would love to see Syrax, I've heard she's a great beast."

As she spoke the Prince and Princess noted that Daenys' hair wasn't in its Pentoshi-style braids, no, it flowed freely like her mothers once did, making Rhaenyra sadly smile at the flashing vision of her cousin.

Daemon's steps toward them had ceased their conversation.

"She is," Rhaenyra nodded, removing her hand from Daenys shoulder, "You can meet her on a later date as it seems your father wishes to speak with you."

The Princess offered her one more proud smile before strolling away, leaving the young Lady to the frustration flashing across her father's face.

Daemon's mind roared with memories, and more especially the ambition he vowed to keep out of the reach of his daughters was now active, he could sense it about to erupt whenever he was near certain relatives. But with the silence surrounding him and Daenys, ire clung to the tip of his tongue.

"Congratulations Daenys."

"Thank you, Father."

Their words sounded cold as if they were unfamiliar, strangers almost.

She averted her eyes, and the sound waves calmed her, relieving her of the anxiousness caused by his penetrative gaze.

"You hadn't heeded my counsel."

She feigned innocence, "Father?"

"Don't act a fool, it's unbecoming of a lady of your intellect, let alone a daughter of mine," he snapped, and she finally looked at him again.

Her expression hardened, how dare he?! Now he plays the role of a father. I did not need his counsel, I needed him to be present.

Despite his anger, he gently grabbed her face, "My absence has upset you. And for that, I cannot apologize enough. You and your sisters... you're the very image of your mother, it cuts too deeply."

"And that's why you're with my cousin? Because she's eased the wounds?" She uttered, never has her voice sounded so vicious.

His hands dropped from her face, "What are you insinuating?"

She stiffly shook her head, "Nothing."

"Good," he said, harshly.

"I want you to speak the pure truth," she rushed out, knowing deeply he wasn't painting the full picture.

The portrait he crafted with his words was immaculate until it came closer and the facade faded into unseemly colors and shades.

"You need rest," he argued.

"And I'll rest when I'm dead!" Her words escaped her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.

Daemon's eyes blew open, and for seconds his mouth slammed shut. His chest contracted as if he was physically pained by what he was said.

"Daenys, would you listen to yourself? I just lost your mother," he hissed, tone shaking as he tried to recover.

Daenys came close to rolling her eyes, "Then act like it."

He scoffed, "I don't take orders from you."

She studied his face, taking a step closer as she stared into his eyes,  "Did... Do you even love her?"

"I won't dignify that with a response. The lack of sleep has driven my daughter to foolishness. Or should the blame lie with the company she keeps?"

"My company is fine, but my father's tongue is not. It weaves lies and spews falsehoods, like promises to be there and protect his daughters when he hasn't glimpsed at them since their mother's sea burial," her voice trembled and her eyes didn't leave his as he soaked up what she choked out... "So I hope he has a pleasant day, and attempts to speak to his youngest daughters who do not know the hurt and emptiness when they look at him, as they are too young and live in a blissful haze. It's not too late for them. So do keep trying."

Daemon stood there, body rigid by the pain that cut had cut deep. Very few things could remedy the echoes in his mind, Westorsi wine was one and the tempting nature of a previous desire was another. He loved Laena and cherished their memories, a fact that his eldest questioned. Not only that but she questioned his ability to protect and keep his vows. The twins he loved so dearly, and Daenys... Daenys, he misjudged her grief, no, he neglected it, and it only drove her into the arms of the fucking greens! It was his nephew who was beside her when she first rode Seablade, and it had been reported that he was the first to make a smile dance across her lips. Therefore, the Rogue Prince's pride and guilt had been replaced with growing rage.

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Aemond's eyes lit up at the gevivys who approached him by the shore. He fiddled with his hands behind his back as he noticed her hair blow with the wind. Hair so free, though with luck it didn't obstruct her fine features.

"Hello," he greeted, eyes squinting at her strained smile.

"Did you bring a blade?"

"I did," he pushed aside his cloak and retrieved the slender dagger from his belt. It was light and swift. Ser Cole encouraged him to practice with small weapons, outside the training yard and only on his watch. But Daenys requested to see his expertise and so he showed her. The blade itself cut through the air like an arrow, but his nerves almost got the best of him, so he stopped, cautious it would slip through his sweaty fingers. "That is all I can muster."

Daenys reassured him, "It's brilliant Aemond, you're too hard on yourself."

But he couldn't shake his shame, and her eyes continued to fascinate him. He sheathed his blade into his belt and touched her face, startling her with his warm touch, she hesitated before leaning in.

"You haven't slept," he whispered.

"I waited for my father's return," she informed, souring his mood.

"And his whereabouts?"

"I found him with Rhaenyra," she sighed, flinging out her hands as he dropped his, "Aemond?"

He let out a pronounced sigh, "Daenys."

"What is it?"

Aemond's stoic mask nearly reached the frustration in his violet eyes.

"Don't you see it?"

"See what?" she dared to ask, growing uncomfortable with the irritant shift in his tone.

"Daemon desires Rhaenyra," Aemond stated.

A confused look washed over Daenys' face.

She tilted her head, "No, my father wouldn't."

"Daenys, you can see it, intuition glistens in your eyes," Aemond insisted, "but the truth is buried beneath your grief."

"She's married to my uncle," she hissed incredulously.

"And yet she didn't bear his children," The Prince retorted, voice rising. "She's certainly known for her ability to spread her legs."

She angrily tutted, "That's horrid."

Aemond hummed condescendingly, "It's true, mother says."

"Well your mother is a liar," she snapped.

His irritation caused his eyes to glare at the girl before him, "Take that back."

"Take back those things you said about my Father. He would not tarnish my mother's memory with your sister. Nor would Rhaenyra do such a thing. She is kind and just. Unlike your behaviours today."

Aemond's face contorted into something she did not recognise.

"Rhaenyra raises bastards to bully, she is far from kind and just. She thinks because she's heir she does not have to work for it, and she can abandon her duty. She is a woman grown, our Father shields her from her mistakes and you think that's kind and just?" She shrunk back as he strode toward and towered over her, causing her fingers to curl into her blistered palms. "That plain-featured bastard will steal your throne. The Driftmark throne, a throne that rightfully belongs to you, but it is bequeathed to the brat who gags at the scent of sea salt and spills bile from his mouth whenever he boards a ship." His head shook with vigour, "You've deluded yourself with a false reality. Wake up Daenys!"

Even if she could see the lingering and lusting looks exchanged between her father and kind cousin she'd act a fool because she couldn't believe it to be true. Not when her mother had lost the air in her lungs not so long ago. It was wrong, unjust and a betrayal, and although there was a festering tension growing between her and her father, she prayed to the Gods he wasn't capable of such.

"Why are you being so cruel?" She whispered, eyes stinging with tears.

Her trembling voice made his rage falter, "If my sister and your Father wed one day, he'll prioritize those bastards over you, just like mine does."

Daenys began to sob, "If you'll excuse me, my Prince, it seems that you've prioritised ailing me over being my friend."

"Daenys!"

When the Prince returned to his chambers it was then that he had noticed his mother's sworn sword enter behind him.

"My Prince."

"Cole," Aemond panicked, "I must go after her." The knight knew who he was referring to since the children's bond had grown quite evident, even to passers-by. The Prince did not regret what he said, only the matter in which he said it. "I must make it right."

"You've upset the Lady, I presume?" Ser Criston Cole asked, despite having observed part of the exchange, "I have no experience with women, my Prince," a lie and yet he believed himself to be a man of grace, even with his tainted cloak. "But I'm told bravery gains their favour."

"Bravery?" Aemond's head snapped towards his window where he heard a shriek from the Queen of all Dragons who flew past.

"And the title you were born with cannot hurt in assisting that," Ser Cole said, concealing his bitterness.

Aemond slowly nodded, although he hadn't listened after hearing his destiny call out to him. His father, Viserys did not have a Dragon born to him, he sought of the great Balerion and now it was his turn to seek out the very Dragon now resting on the shore where he and Daenys had a dreadful spat.

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Daenys' agonising steps found Laenor Velaryon's solar as night fell over Driftmark. He was not her first choice of solace, she had been searching for her grandmother. But the Prince Consort called out to her, frowning at the tears staining her face and comforted her, sending word to her trusted maid to prepare a bath so her sorrows could be washed away.

A blanket rested on her shoulders as a conch shell lay in her hands.

Laenor had seen her twitching fingers, but not the crescent shapes scattered across her palms, nevertheless he'd plucked one of the many sourvienous he'd retrieved from his voyages across the seas and gave one to her.

The room was well decorated, but not as masterly as the Hall of Nine, but it was good enough.

Daenys couldn't escape his worried gaze.

Firstly, Laenor had embraced her, wiped her tears and cautiously allowed tales of battle escape to his lips. Daenys did not mind, she liked the sound of his voice, it was soft, commanding if need be.

Laenor wore a gently small as he fumbled with his words. To her, her mother's family were proud, and adventurous but often restless and quite often couldn't help judge those around them, albeit subtly.

And when Laenor finally asked the cause for her tears, he suppressed a scowl that made its way onto his face and opted for a gentle approach.

"I'm sure the Prince never meant to cause you any harm," though, the boy is surrounded by viscous and wild men like Ser Cole, he angrily thought with his eyes dropping to the ground at the memories of his tragic wedding ceremony. "I know of the look in your eyes. I've experienced a crush or two," or several.

Daenys' jaw clenched, "It is no crush."

He cast her a questioning look, "No?"

"It was," she corrected, although her quivering voice didn't match her determined expression.

The memories of Aemond's touch would have burnt her skin if it had not been for the warning he spoke. That plain-featured bastard will steal your throne. It hurt to ponder.

"Oh?" Laenor tilted his head and fought his wry smile.

It was an infatuation, one that certainly has been subdued but the fire had not yet ceased its spread. The chances of that coming to fruition were rare. Joffrey still lived in his heart, but oft felt it turn cold when he caught sight of Ser Criston, whose mere existence laughed in his face.

"Well the boy will certainly cling to anything you have to offer," he chose to say. "Ever since his arrival at high tide, he had yet to discover treasure until he looked upon you." he laughed at her playful eye roll. "I do not jest."

"I'm quite sure you do."

Oh how I wish we had met sooner, the very exchange reminded him of Laena. How they were each other's confidants and protectors. How they shared the same bed when they were children when one was scared of their fate and the other dreaded their responsibilities, the titles, the courts, the Realm choking the lives that it held.

Laenor found himself wanting to ensure Daenys remained with his parents, so he could visit often. She was a picture of House Velaryon. The Old, The True, The Brave.

"Did you ever imagine yourself in another role?"

Not with a father like mine. "I suppose... it was hard to imagine anything other than my reality. Our duties are quite demanding," he could see that she wanted to ask more. "What do you want from this life my dearest niece?"

"A family to call my own."

Laenor hummed, "and what else?"

"What I am rightfully entitled to," she uttered, maintaining eye contact. "What is fair and just."

Laenor swallowed the knot forming in his throat. "One day, I hope your dreams come to completion," he promised, but his niece had heard many promises, and she wondered if they ever stuck. "Is there anywhere on Driftmark you have yet to visit?" he asked clearing his throat.

Tracing the conch shell, she nodded, "Spicetown and Hull."

His face lit up, "Did you know Sspicetown was named after –"

" — Spicetown girl, the warship belonging to House Velaryon," they wore matching grins. "I would like to visit the smallfolk and its workers."

"And you will," he patted her leg.

Daenys went back to tracing the conch shell as was sucked into the emptiness coursing through her mind. Perhaps a family would defeat its growth, or her mother, or security from her father, or the twin's joy – Baela getting a pet Monkey and Rhaena claiming a Dragon – or perhaps it was something so close and yet so far. The Driftmark throne and her Grandsire decided its succession.

"My sister lived with her head in the clouds," Laenor was amused by his niece falling into her buzzing thoughts. "And now she rests in the seas," he muttered morbidly. Noting her sorrow-filled eyes Laenor encouraged her to blow into the conch, she tentatively did so, laughing when a horn-like sound carried through the room.

When Odessa arrived, shuffling in when he ordered her to enter, she smiled at the laughter bouncing off the high walls, and then escorted the Lady to her bedchamber for a bath, leaving Laenor alone.

He questioned himself, the importance of titles, who was most deserving, and his promises, vows and whether some could be broken or not. But the stigmas lead back to what was just and more importantly, what would bring him closer to his late sister. And so he rummaged around for parchment and pen and started writing.

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"She wanted to come home and he denied her," Princess Rhaenys thought aloud to her Lord husband as the fireplace they sat near provided them warmth.

"Daemon did what he thought best," Corlys reponsed, strolling past her chair to stand beside his own.

Rhaenys scoffed, "Daemon only ever does what is best for Daemon, you've seen him with the girls, or shall I say, haven't. Laena needed our Maesters."

Corlys sighed, "The surgeons in Pentos are as well-trained as our Maesters. You are looking to place blame for an act of the Gods."

"Mayhaps the Gods have scorned us... for our insatiable pride," she harshly set her jewellery on the tray as her eyes stared at him accusedly.

Corlys stressed, "The crown was yours until those fools at the Great Council plucked it from your head. Is it such a terrible thing for your husband to wish to win it back?"

"Tonight of all nights, let us lay aside this falsehood," the Princess glanced at her husband. "It is not justice for your wife that drives you. It is your own ambition. 'Tis desire for the throne, if not for yourself, then for the scions of your house. I gave up the idea of wearing a crown a generation ago. It is you, Lord husband, who refuses to abandon this pursuit, even now, at the cost of our children," she rushed out, averting her gaze in fear.

Midst of the fire cracking, Corlys slowly sat down, "What is this brief mortal life..." he trailed off yearning for his wide to meet his eyes, "if not the pursuit of legacy?"

"Legacy may be why you live your life, Corlys." she paused, hearing him slump back in his chair, "I want Driftmark to pass through Laena's line to Daenys. To true Velaryon blood. Declare it now, while all are gathered here, and we will say that is how we will honour Laena's memory."

"And disinherit our son?"

"He will be the King's Consort. His son will one day sit on the Iron Throne."

"You would have me cast an even darker shadow over those little boys than already exists."

"We are alone here, husband. You can speak the plain truth as we both know it," Rhaenys stared at him in exhaustion, "Rhaenyra's children are not of your blood." Corlys appeared wounded by her words and so she reached for his hands. "But Laena's are. They are her legacy."

"History does not remember blood. It remembers names."

"It'll remember truth," she snapped back, pining him to his seat, "you have met Daenys. She will not take this lying down. A girl young as ten senses the truth, that her cousins aren't of Laenor's blood. Others may convince themselves differently but she will not. I see it in her eyes Corlys. The fight, the ambition, at first glance I thought she inherited it from Daemon, mayhaps the Velaryon genes are stronger than believed."

"Evidently." Corlys muttered, "But Daenys doesn't not bear the Velaryon name."

"She could," Rhaenys countered.

"How? Wedding one of Vaemond's boys? One is eight and ten, the other is already engaged to marry, and we must not mention that Vaemond's Lady wife is said to be with child."

The Princess's eyes widened, shocked that the Lady could still bear children.

"If Daenys were to marry a Targaryen her children would bear the same name. Unless one would child, son or daughter betroth themselves to the babe in Vaemond's wife's belly. Satisfying both Vaemond's ambition and eternalising our late daughter's memory," Rhaenys reiterated, "even so, a farfetched idea..." she trailed off, "what is your desire?"

"I have told you," Corlys snatched his hand from hers.

"And I have to you husband, want I want. What is true. What is just. If history only remembered names I fear House Velaryon would not have survived the doom."

Corlys gritted, "What about Laenor?"

"Laenor will understand. He loves the girl just as he loves his sons. He sees Laena in Daenys, in all of her daughters. He will know it is what is right, even when faced with the qualms born from this decision."

"And what about the King?"

"My cousin dies a little more each day, the illness that embraces him will ensure Rhaenyra prematurely ascends the throne. But by then the Driftmark throne will be made Daenys' birthright... and then her heirs."

"Pentos and the Free Cities is all she has ever known, what does she know about our house?" Corlys' gaze dragged to the fire.

"The longer those girls stay here, the more they'll know, and learn from our Septas, our maesters. Corlys, we shall foster them if they desire it." and Rhaenys knew Daenys desired it.

"Daemon will not take kindly to this, they're his daughters."

"Should you think he remembers that? Rhaena tells me that he oft ignore her, and favoured Baela because of her Dragon."

Corlys sighed, "Surely that cannot be true..."

"Those girls must remain here. It is our duty to our children, dead or alive, dearest. Laena's memory must live on. As her spirit certainly thrives through them all, especially Daenys." Rhaenys said pleadingly, "Do the right thing, not by your pride, by our house, by our family, and not by the throne that kills the one who sits on it." 

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a/n:

everything will go to hell next chapter.

tummy hurts was playing when i wrote this. random as hell i know. (good news guys, I started writing part 3 but it might take longer than I realised. the first chapter is probably the longest of this whole book... any thoughts on why?)

hope you guys are enjoying the altered canon dialogue. rhaenys couldn't protect laena and then later laenor and harbours that pain, grief and regret and now is projecting it onto her granddaughters, and rightfully requesting (like she did in canon) for the throne to be passed down to daenys. corlys, with his ambition, is weighing his options but of course, when the driftmark campaign is happening he's mortally wounded so rhaenys will take charge.