#sezaldrizotiprumia masterlist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

valleyof-goldenlilies · 9 months

Text

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 7: Father and Daughter (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 7: Father and Daughter

A hunt, a reunion, and a conflict. A normal day in Westeros then.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Nothing of note, save for parental trauma and a notable lack of Daemon shenanigans.

Word Count: 5.8k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: OH MY GOD IM ALIVE???? Yeah, it appears I am 😭 I'm so sorry about the long wait on this chapter, the past two weeks have been wild for me ever since I came back from my vacation. 1. My dad crashed his car? 2. I had like five projects due during the past two weeks and I had to write in a report and evaluation about my project groupmate who essentially did nothing 😐 if I could beat someone's ass without getting suspended, istg... 3. I've been suffering from a lot of chest pains recently, which kinda stopped me from doing my thing for a while 4. I had insane writers block for like a week and it was horrid 😖 but luckily, I'm back now, and hopefully updating more often! And also I've learnt that my classmate is following me on tumblr, I am a little mortified, but hello regardless. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 💕 no Daemon cameo unfortunately, but he'll be back next chapter, and messier than ever.

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

109 years after Aegon's Conquest

The doors to the room burst open, and you stepped in, a little out of breath. Lord Hobert Hightower and the Hand, who were standing closest to the doorway, were engrossed deep in conversation when you walked in, and you heard something along the lines of “It’s only a matter of time before Viserys names him heir.” You try not to frown at that, nodding politely to them before heading over to the crowd gathered over at the other side of the room, cooing at the heir in question: little Aegon, who was celebrating his second nameday.

“Ah, Y/N!” Viserys exclaimed happily, gesturing for you to come and stand between him and Alicent, whose face was radiant with happiness. Viserys signalled for the wet nurse to step forward, and before you knew it, little Aegon was in your arms, babbling in that toddler frenzy of his. The assemblage of lords and ladies stepped closer to you, much to your discomfort, as you forced a cheerful smile and bounced Aegon up and down in your arms, which made him squeal with delight. “I fear that Aegon might come to see you as his mother sooner or late, Y/N, given how much he adores you.” Viserys claimed. You flush at his words, and Alicent soon steps in, smiling, “Tis true. Aegon always perks up when he’s in your arms.” You were sure you would melt into a puddle if you were subject to any more of their compliments. “You flatter me, Your Graces.”

In the periphery of your vision, you saw Ser Tyland Lannister attempt to get Viserys’ attention, and you handed back a now fussing Aegon to his nursemaid. Alicent shuffled over to the feast table, and she smiled brightly as you approached. Placing a hand on her swollen belly, your heart fluttered with delight when you felt a slight kick. Though the horrors of childbirth still plagued your mind, being there for Alicent’s relatively smooth birth with Aegon had made your fears lessen a little.

“How’s the babe?” you ask. “Only active when you’re here, it seems,” Alicent laughed. “They never seem to kick for anyone else other than you. I think they will adore you as much as Aegon does.” You chuckle, stroking Alicent’s belly gently. “What if the kicking is a sign that the babe will dislike me?” Alicent patted your hand, “Definitely not. I have no doubt in my mind that you will be dear to the babe.” she said with conviction. You blush at her words, “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

“Can someone tell me where in the Seven Hells Rhaenyra might be?” Viserys’ frustrated bellow drew you and Alicent out of your tender moment. Alicent’s face twisted with worry, and you were sure your face was a mirror image of hers. “You came in later than the rest of us. Did you see Rhaenyra anywhere?” You shake your head glumly, “She wasn’t in her chambers, or her apartments.” Alicent sighed in exasperation, “Viserys has questioned nearly every courtier in the room, and not a single one of them has a clue. Where might she be?” You chewed your lip, thinking back to the snippet of conversation you had overheard between the Hand and Lord Hobert. “She’s upset right now. The two of you were…” You refrained from finishing the sentence when you saw Alicent wince. “Do you have any inkling on where she might go to cool off?” “I don’t belie-” A look of realisation dawned in Alicent’s eyes. “You know somewhere?” You ask her urgently. Alicent nodded, “I’ll go find her. You should stay and satiate yourself before the journey.” “Are you sure?” You ask her, concerned. Alicent squeezed your hand gently. “Don’t worry about me. I think I can get Rhaenyra to see reason.”

You glance pensively at Alicent’s retreating figure. Sighing, you approached the refreshments table, smiling gratefully as a servant handed you a plate with some slices of roast pork. You heard your name being called, and turned around to find Viserys. “Your Grace-” you moved to curtsy, but Viserys stopped you, “I told you, no need for such stuffy courtesies when you are with me.” You smiled wryly, “I thought it wouldn’t apply in a room full of courtiers.” Viserys waved away your words, “You are my family, Y/N. There are no such constraints within your own kin.” You smile sadly at the word ‘family’. It was a little sad to say, but you definitely did feel more of a kinship with the current members of House Targaryen over those of your own house.

“Speaking of kin,” Viserys’ voice turned serious. “I am in need of a favour from you, Y/N.” You snapped to attention. “Whatever you need, Viserys.” He sighed, looking mournful and irritated at the same time. “It has been nigh three years since I have wedded Alicent. Time after time, I have tried to approach Rhaenyra, but she shuns me away every single time. The rare chances she actually sits down and listens, she sulks like a child and only provides me with short responses.” Viserys sighed again, whatever sadness he had turning into disappointment and exasperation. “This is not the way the heir to the Iron Throne should behave.” He looked at you beseechingly, “I implore you, Y/N. I believe what Rhaenyra needs is for a motherly figure to talk to her, and persuade her to abandon such foolish antics. I fear Alicent would not be able to serve such a role, since Rhaenyra’s ire is directed at the both of us. But you,” You swallowed nervously. “I’ve seen how close Rhaenyra kept you after Aemma’s death. For months, apart from Alicent, you were her closest confidant. I know naught of what has transpired between the two of you, but I believe you to be the best person for this tiresome task. Will you do methis favour?”

Your expression was resigned, but you forced out a smile nonetheless. “But of course. I will do my best, Viserys.” He closed his eyes in relief, clapping you on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, Y/N. Thank you.” You gave a tentative smile back, painfully aware of the numerous eyes glued to the both of you. What you failed to notice, however, were the heavy gazes of Otto and Hobert Hightower on you.

An awkward silence weighed upon the royal wheelhouse as it made its way to the Kingswood. You glance uncomfortably between Viserys, Alicent, and Rhaenyra, watching with some pity as Viserys attempted to make conversation with his irascible and sullen daughter. A miniature dragon thrust in your face soon drew your attention however, and you looked down to frown admonishingly at little Aegon, who blinked his wide violet eyes at you innocently. The little devil, you were sure he was trying to garner your attention on purpose. Earlier, he had been weeping inconsolably, much to the nursemaid’s and Alicent’s distress. But when you had taken him into your arms, he had ceased his tears immediately and gave you a cherubic smile, which made Alicent give you a knowing smile and Rhaenyra to look at the both of you in disdain. The expression of disdain had yet to depart from Rhaenyra, as you played patiently with Aegon, flying his dragon miniature around him and smiling as the toddler spun his head around to follow the motions of the dragon with rapt fascination.

The tension in the wheelhouse was not lightening in the slightest bit, as Viserys began talking about Rhaenyra giving him grandchildren, of all things. You had to stop yourself from groaning in exasperation. If Viserys truly wanted to reconnect with Rhaenyra again, why was he digging himself into an even bigger hole? He should know that after Aemma, Rhaenyra would be disinclined to entertain notions of childbirth. You wanted to put your head in your hands, but Aegon poked you in the cheek.

“No one’s here for me!” Rhaenyra’s angry outburst halted all activity in the wheelhouse, including Aegon’s. You froze, looking up at Rhaenyra, but her bitter gaze was focused solely on her father. All of you endured the rest of the ride in silence.

The rocking of the wheelhouse soon came to an end. You remained seated as Viserys and Alicent stepped out to the raucous cheers of the crowd, allowing Aegon’s nursemaid to take him from your arms. You remembered Viserys’ plea, and took in Rhaenyra’s wistful expression. “Hail, hail! Aegon the Conqueror babe, Second of His Name!” You grimace when you hear the tasteless remark.

Rhaenyra’s fists were clenched at her sides, and her eyes were shut. With frustration, or with sadness, she didn’t know. Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand taking her fisted hand and unclenching it. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see who it was. “I don’t need your pity.” Rhaenyra tried to sound snappy, but her voice was hoarse. You didn’t answer, instead intertwining your fingers with Rhaenyra. She reluctantly opened her eyes, only to see you directing a hostile glare to the outside commotion, as more and more voices heralded Aegon as the Second of His Name. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at that, letting some of the tension seep out of her muscles.

At least there was someone in her dark and lonely corner, even if that someone’s trustworthiness had yet to be ascertained.

You were sitting next to Alicent, as she held court with the various noble ladies who had attended the hunt. You listened, silently sipping from your goblet as they conversed about the ongoing war in the Stepstones. You watched as Larys Strong and Rhaenyra soon joined in the conversation, though a slight frown of distaste was soon visible on your face, when Lady Lannister and Lady Redwyne in particular, began picking on Rhaenyra. You had to hide a smirk when Rhaenyra made a well-directed jab at Lady Redwyne, and the smirk only widened when you saw her pig-faced dog gobble greedily at the cake on her plate. How fitting.

“You know, Lady Y/N.” Your head snapped up as Lady Redwyne addressed you. She had a displeased look on her face: clearly she hadn’t missed your smirk at her expense. “I was…pleasantly surprised to hear Her Grace appointed you as her chief lady-in-waiting.” Your eyes narrowed, your dormant prickly nature coming to life once more. “It was a great honour, Lady Joselyn. One that I am greatly grateful to Her Grace for.”

Lady Redwyne gave you a smile, that you knew from all your years of court politics, was filled with ill intent. “I must say, if you were out in the battlefield fighting on the Stepstones, the war would be won by now.” You felt Alicent stiffen next to you, and you instinctively reached out to put your hand on hers. “What are you insinuating, Lady Redwyne?” Alicent’s tone was sharper than usual. Lady Redwyne attempted to school her features back to deference, but her lips were curved upwards. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was not attempting to insinuate anything. It was a compliment to Lady Y/N.” You levelled a fierce glare at her, but she seemed unaffected, looking at you straight in the eye. “It is a well known fact that she and Prince Daemon had tempers that rivalled each other. With such willfulness, she would make a formidable opponent on the battlefield, would she not?”

You were about to deliver an equally cutting and backhanded response, but you were surprised when you heard Rhaenyra speak up once more, “Yes, Lady Redwyne. But as luck would have it, she is the Queen’s lady-in-waiting now.” Rhaenyra’s tone was acidic. “And I am certain that she will carry out her duties with skill and grace. The Queen will not be able to find someone as capable as her.”

The ladies were stunned that Rhaenyra had spoken up for you, none more so than you and Alicent. “The princess is right. Lady Y/N has been a dutiful lady-in-waiting and companion. The Seven have truly blessed me with her.” Your eyes water with gratitude, as Lady Redwyne and the other ladies fall silent after both the princess and the queen’s swift defence of you.

So this was what kinship felt like.

Night had fallen, and the air was ablaze with the smell of smoke. You had sat faithfully by Alicent all day, as she entertained lords and ladies alike. You had not seen Rhaenyra in quite some time though, and you worry about where she could have wandered off to. Your anxiety only increased tenfold when you saw Viserys’ goblet never straying from his hand, and he had been lifting it to his lips moreso after his conversations with the Hand, Jason Lannister, and Lyonel Strong, in particular. Alicent was clearly on edge as well, her brown eyes watchful as she witnessed her husband lose himself in his cups. When Viserys abruptly left the tent after a brief, yet intense conversation with Lyonel Strong, Alicent got up to go after him, but you gently pushed her back down to her seat, giving her a reassuring look. She should not need to see her husband in such a misbegotten state, while in her pregnancy, you thought to yourself, as you wrapped your shawl around you, shivering in the cold night air.

You eventually found Viserys by the huge bonfire, downing yet another goblet of wine, while being guarded by two Kingsguard. They nodded at you as you passed. You went straight to Viserys, taking the cup whilst he was distracted. “I think that’s enough for you tonight, Viserys.” Your voice was soft, yet firm. He gave you an enervated smile. “The night is cold, you shouldn’t be out here.” You hand the goblet over to a Kingsguard. “Who will look after you, then? And make sure you do not drink yourself into a stupor?” Viserys laughed heartily, before he coughed. You reach for him, concerned. He stared into the flames, looking like he wanted to step into them himself. “Y/N.” “Hmm?” Viserys took a deep breath, trying to control the slurring in his voice. “What do you think is the foundation of House Targaryen’s strength?”

You tilt your head to the side questioningly, “That is a trick question, right? Of course, the answer is House Targaryen’s dragons.” Viserys smiled ruefully, turning over to face you. You were taken aback by the blazing intensity, perhaps even madness in his eyes. “You’re wrong, Y/N. It began with a dream.” He turned back to face the fire. “When Daenys the Dreamer had the dream that prophesied the end of the Valyrian Freehold, that dream saved House Targaryen. While all the other dragonlords were destroyed, it was only us who survived.” “I know of that tale. Your grandsire told us that tale when we were younger.”

Viserys didn’t seem to hear you, however, his bleak gaze still on the fire. “In my line, many had been dragonriders. Very few among us have been dreamers. What is the power of dragons, next to the power of prophecy?” You shivered, and not because of the cold. Yet you continue listening. “When Rhaenyra was a child, I saw it in a dream. As vivid as these flames, I saw it. A male babe, born to me, wearing the Conqueror’s crown. And I so wanted it to be true, to be a dreamer myself. I sought that vision again, night after night…but it never came again. I poured all my thought and will into it. And my obsession killed Aemma.” You looked away at that, your heart wrenched with grief. “I thought Rhaenyra was the way out of my abyss of grief and regret. That naming her heir would set things right.”

“Are you saying you regret naming Rhaenyra heir then?” Viserys looked grieved. “Oftentimes, yes…I have. I worried that I had named Rhaenyra out of anger towards Daemon, not out of love, or for the good of the realm.” He moved to grip your shoulders, tears in his eyes. “Y/N, I never imagined that I would remarry. That I would have a son. What if…what if I was wrong all along?”

You stared into his despair-filled eyes. “I cannot tell you if you’re wrong, Viserys. There are only two paths ahead of you now, and as King, you must be prepared to take one, and soon.” Viserys chuckles, drooping his head. “What if I’m not sure what path I should take?” Your voice was quiet. “Then the realm will descend into chaos.”

The both of you were silent, staring at each other in the firelight. While you couldn’t say that you approved of Viserys’ decisions in the past three years, after all this, he was your friend, and he was just a mere mortal, plagued by regrets, grief, and hesitation. Just like you, and everyone else. Even kings were not infallible to weakness, you surmised. And in that moment, there was a mutual understanding and grievance shared between the both of you: the burden of choice.

The morrow brought about clear skies and sun, much to the delight of the lords partaking in the hunt. It did not alleviate your worries however, as Rhaenyra still had not returned to the encampment. You found yourself milling about today, much too tired to suffer the thinly veiled jabs the fellow noblewomen were directing at you about your infamous temper.

You were dressed in a simpler riding outfit today, to mingle around with the various smallfolk and merchants that had set up stalls in the encampment, hoping eagerly to attract some lord’s attention and earn a few gold dragons. You beamed as you sampled a rather delicious roast pork skewer, giving the stall owner - a rather plump woman - two golden dragons, much to her glee. You strode back to the main tent, feeling satisfied, when you suddenly heard the sound of hooves. You turned your head as a palomino horse skidded to a halt, and a familiar man, with more grey hairs than he had the last time you saw him, dismount from the horse and take off his riding gloves. His eyes light up as soon as he catches sight of you, and without giving you a window to escape, he strode towards you. You chew your lip in dread as he approached.

“Father.”

“Y/N.” He beams at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners. You smile awkwardly at him, fidgeting with your fingers. His smile falters a little when he notices your hesitation. “I haven’t seen you in years, daughter. Does this momentous occasion not warrant a hug?” You inwardly sigh, and reach out to embrace your father. Your father grins at you as you pull away after an awkward pause. “You have grown, daughter. You look beautiful.” “You flatter me, Father.” “Come, walk with me. We have much to talk about.” You swallowed, but followed as he set out for the forested edge of the campground.

The both of you strode in silence for a while, before you ventured to break the silence. “The King didn’t mention you would be joining us for the hunt, Father. Why the sudden change of heart?” He sighed. “Can an old man not choose to be in nature once in a while?” “Of course you can, father. I was just concerned: you are no longer in the pink of health, and riding all the way from Highgarden to the Kingswood is a gruelling journey.” Your father waved his hand dismissively. “Twas nothing. I might be getting on in my years, but I recently found a new source of reinvigoration.”

“Oh?” you cocked your head curiously. You sincerely hoped the new source of reinvigoration was not a new bid for your hand. Your father smiled, “I recently remarried to Lady Clarice of House Fossoway.” Seeing your confused look, he hurried to clarify. “Of Cider Hall.” Surprise creased your features. “But…wasn’t that Mother’s maiden house? Lady Clarice was her cousin, was she not?” Your father’s smile was beginning to look strained. “Does it matter, daughter? What matters is that I am happy with her, is it not? And I am certain she will give me strong sons soon.” You regard him with a degree of caution, noting the shift in his voice. In your years of dealing with court politics, you could instinctively tell when a situation was about to go from bad to worse. “I did not know you had any plans on remarrying after Mother’s death.”

“And whose fault is that, daughter?” Your father’s tone turned chiding. “I know you’ve been ignoring all the ravens I’ve sent to you over the past few years. Specifically, those with letters attached from me pleading for you to just find yourself a match at court or select one of the eligible lords in the lists I sent you.” You blushed, looking sheepish. Matthos sighed. “Daughter, you are no longer young. It is past time you are wed. I only want what’s best for you.”

“But-” you blurted out, “What if I don’t think getting married is what’s best for me, Father?” Your father looked askance at that. “What else could a young lady such as yourself desire other than marriage?” You bit your lip, “Father, the truth is…I do not think I have a desire to wed now…or ever.” You were beginning to get anxious as your father’s face lost some of his paternal tenderness. “Five years. I had hoped that our time apart had given you some time to reflect on your…misconceptions.” He gripped your shoulders, an intense blaze in his eyes as your heart began to thud with dread. “The matter of marriage is not one that you can dismiss so easily anymore, Y/N. It entails the survival and future of House Tyrell. You must do your duty and wed a respectable lord, for the sake of our house.” Though you had heard those words aplenty, today, it was like something uninhibited had seized control of you, as you burst out. “Why should I care about doing my duty to House Tyrell?” you snapped. “I have made it clear that it is not my intention to ever take a husband, now and in the foreseeable future. You claim this is all done for my own happiness. So why can’t you just respect my wishes?”

“Because you are not just some poxy peasant who can gallivant about as you please. You are my daughter!” You were shocked when your father suddenly raised his voice. Trepidation had dimmed your previous righteousness. He tightens his grip on your shoulders, his expression filled with an anger you had never glimpsed before. This…this was not the father you remember. The father you knew had never once raised his voice at you, always treating you with patience as his only child. Though he was prone to bouts of frustrated pleading when you did not acquiesce to his wishes to get married, he had never once shouted at you like that. Or even gripped your shoulders with such forcefulness you feared he might strike you. “You are just as useless as your late mother.” You were stunned, your eyes searing with hot tears. “Do not insult Mother like that. She was the most wonderful woman-” “Wonderful, you say?” your father snorted. “If she were so wonderful, then she would have provided me with a strong and healthy son to succeed me! Instead, she left me with a daughter who is ungrateful and strangely determined to remain a spinster all her life.” he spat out the words with such vitriol that you were taken aback. “If she were so wonderful,” your father continued with his rant. “Then would House Tyrell be in imminent danger of collapsing, all because the only heirs I have are your incompetent, doltish cousins who will run the legacy our ancestors and I have built to the ground?” He moved to clasp your hand tightly in his, looking desperate and angry all at once. “Daughter, your father is imploring you. You must get wed, and provide me with a grandson. You cannot let House Tyrell go to ruin.” You stare at him, feeling beleaguered. “Do my wishes mean nothing to you?” “This is because your wishes are obscenely unreasonable, Y/N.” your father snaps. “It is practically unheard of for a woman of your status to not wed.” “It is not!” you insisted, “I am the chief lady-in-waiting to the Queen now, I have duties I must perform. And there have been histories of lords whose daughters were largely spinsters. Moreover, you have remarried.” Your voice became desperate as you tried to make your father see reason. “Lady Clarice is young, she will give you many sons in due time. Suitable heirs to Highgarden. I do not understand why you are putting all this pressure on me.” You took a deep breath, preparing to make your final stand. “I want to enjoy the rest of my youth, Father. Not to sit in a castle, entrapped in a loveless marriage and pumping out potential heirs for my husband and for you. I want to live my life, free of constraints.” You looked at him, unshed tears in your eyes. “Please, father. This is the one thing I have ever asked of you, and that is to respect my wishes.”

Matthos was silent for a long while, and you held hope, briefly, that you might have gotten through to him with your pleading. “Foolish, insolent girl!” Your hopes were dashed as your father flung off your hand, shouting at you. “How can you be so selfish? To not take responsibility in ensuring the continuation of our house’s line?” “That is your responsibility, not mine!” you shouted back. Seeing that pleas would not get to your father now, you resorted to fighting fire with fire instead. “Had you really cared about continuing our house’s bloodline, you would’ve remarried years ago!” You could see how your shouts were drawing the attention of some courtiers, given how close the both of you were to the camp for royals. You heard the faint sound of hooves behind you, but you ignored them, too engrossed in your argument with your father. “Producing heirs is a lord’s responsibility. So if you are accusing me of not doing my duty, you should first be reprimanding yourself.”

Your father’s face grew red. “You little brat! How dare you say these things about your father!” “I spoke only the truth,” you shot back. He raised his hand, and for a moment you were afraid he was going to slap you for your outburst. Instead, he went to grip your shoulders again, “For years, I have raised you, clothed you in the finest silks, fed you, and put up with your ridiculous whims and wants! I’ve been patient, I’ve been loving and understanding when you rejected all the marriage offers you received. I’ve pleaded, and even given you the time and freedom to find a more suitable match at court. Yet you cannot even perform your duty as my daughter. No longer.” Your heart stuttered a little. “What do you mean?” Your father gave you a cold look. “I’m saying, if you do not get married by the end of the year, you are no longer my daughter.” Your eyes widen with horror. “I will effectively disown and disinherit you from House Tyrell, and if I sire any children by Lady Clarice, they shall not support you either.”

Your voice was tremulous, “Father, you…you cannot be serious. Do not let your anger cloud your judgement.” Matthos Tyrell looked at his daughter, his face one of disgust. “You wanted to enjoy your youth without constraints. And since you seem to enjoy being lady-in-waiting to the Queen so much, I’m only granting you what you wished for, am I not?”

You stepped back, feeling winded by your father’s words. However, you nearly jumped when you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “Ah, Y/N!” You were not sure whether you felt more mortified or relieved for Viserys’ timely presence. “Your Grace!” Immediately, your father’s distaste gave way to deference, as he straightened his posture and bowed before the King. You inclined your head respectfully, wondering if Viserys had overheard your conversation. “Forgive me for interrupting your conversation.” Oh, he definitely overheard.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Your Grace. I am delighted to be in your presence.” Your father gushed on profusely, as Viserys stepped toward him. You hung your head, still abashed by your father’s threats, when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder once more. Alicent smiled at you understandingly, and you grimaced when you realised she had also overheard the unpleasant exchange. Still, you shot her a grateful look for her show of support.

“I must offer you my sincerest felicitations for Prince Aegon’s second nameday, Your Grace.” Viserys laughed, “Your felicitations are greatly appreciated, Lord Matthos. I must extend you mine as well, for your recent remarriage. I see it is treating you well.” Your father beamed, “You are too kind, Your Grace. And indeed, my lady wife pleases me so. Now, the only thing that would make me the happiest man in the realm would be my daughter finally settling down with a respectable match.” You stiffened at that, something Alicent took notice of, and she offered you a sympathetic look. Viserys chuckled, “That you and I can both agree on, Lord Matthos. There is nothing more I desire right now than seeing Rhaenyra being wed to a deserving man who will treat her right.”

“Oh, I am sure Her Grace will have her pick of men. She is ‘The Realm’s Delight’, after all. Any man who weds her will be a lucky one.” Your father’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, as he glanced at you. “Moreover, Her Grace is young, comely, and lovely to behold.” Matthos sighed, shaking his head as he chuckled, “Mine own daughter is not in possess of such qualities, I’m afraid. She is getting on with her years, and though I love her deeply, as her father, I must admit she has quite a temper on her. She's not quite the attractice match, which gives me a headache,” Matthos jested with the King, causing you to wince and look away. Alicent looked disconcerted at your father’s tasteless jesting, tightening her hold on your shoulder. However, the both of you did not notice the flare of annoyance behind Viserys’ eyes, so his next words surprised the both of you.

“Lady Y/N has been nothing but a delight to have at court, Lord Matthos. In spite of her age, I’m sure she has no shortage of suitors.” Viserys’ voice was amiable, polite, yet it carried an undertone of firmness and reprimand such that Matthos looked a little stunned, worried that he had overstepped. You looked back to the pair, your eyes wide with disbelief. “And should Y/N ever find herself unwilling to marry, the Red Keep will always welcome her. She is like family to me, after all.” Your father fell silent, and you locked eyes with Viserys, looking lost, yet appreciative all the same. Viserys gave you a reassuring smile, and you could see the sincerity behind his intent. Your eyes prickled with touched tears, but the moment was interrupted when you heard shouts across the campground, startling your party. You turned around, only to behold the sight of Rhaenyra, stained head to toe with dried blood, a commanding aura in her swagger as her sworn shield, Ser Criston, trailed behind her, along with two servants carrying a dead boar. You lock eyes with her momentarily, and she gives a small nod of acknowledgement to you, although her eyes turned cold when they looked upon her father. You heard Viserys sigh, and you saw how Viserys looked both annoyed and relieved for Rhaenyra’s safety, while your father just looked bewildered, perhaps even a little scared. Despite yourself, you smiled a little at the scene.

Alicent and you were chatting in her chambers, laughing in hushed tones as you rocked Aegon to sleep in your arms, when the Hand entered the room, requesting to speak with Alicent. You handed a sleepy Aegon to his nursemaid, before curtsying and exiting the room, painfully aware of the Hand’s weighty gaze upon you as you did.

Alicent knew that her father had not visited her out of a gesture of goodwill, and as she listened to his rather maddening reasoning that Alicent should attempt to make her husband see reason and name Aegon heir, she only stayed silent. There was no point in countering back anyway - the Hand always seemed to have a dozen other reasons to quell her opposition. She felt uncomfortable, for speaking of this was treason, and the babe shifted in her belly, causing her to sigh.

Otto observed his daughter, noting with mild exasperation that she wasn’t paying heed to anything he was saying. So, he decided to change the subject. “About your lady-in-waiting…” he began. Alicent’s head snapped up, “What do you wish to discuss of Y/N?” Otto let a smile play over his lips: it was quite evident his daughter cared for the Tyrell lady, and from his further observations over the past three years, treated her akin to a maternal figure. Which might make it easier for her to accept what he proposed next. “I overheard a rather…interesting conversation she had, with Lord Matthos today.” Alicent showed no visible reaction, but she stared at her father, feeling an all-too-familiar feeling of dread settle in her gut. “I think half the campground overheard their argument. What of it?”

Otto hummed softly, “It seems her father is worrying about her marriage. Which is a reasonable worry - she is on the cusp of her twenty fifth nameday, is she not?” Alicent nodded slowly, eyeing her father with caution. She knew him all too well, how he was tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair - he was scheming. She recalled how upset you were when you spoke with your father, citing your dreams to enjoy your youth and be freed of the constraints of marriage. In later years, she had come to both see you as a cherished companion and a parental figure of sorts, and she cared for you, deeply so. You were her only source of comfort in the Red Keep, one who did not expect or demand anything of her, someone she felt she could truly be open with. She glanced fearfully at her father.

She had to put an end to this. She must save you from suffering the same fate she did.

“Father…you are not planning on taking a new wife, are you?” Alicent fidgeted with her fingers nervously, her eyes fixed on Otto. He was quiet for a long while, and in response to her question, he only stood up and went over to his daughter, placing a hand on her swollen belly. His cryptic answer disturbed Alicent. “You worry too much over matters that do not need worrying about, daughter. Your concern now, should be Aegon. Raise him well, and raise him strong. He shall be an important man one day.”

Come the morrow, the Godswood was completely devoid of any life. Which proved to be a boon to you, who was seeking some reprieve from the busy atmosphere of the Red Keep and the somewhat maddening task of having to feed Aegon - due to his tendency of smooshing the food in the face of whomever had the misfortune of feeding him, most commonly you.

You sat on the stone bench, staring despondently at the Godswood tree. While you were never particularly religious, either to the Seven or to the Old Gods, the happenings of the hunt have driven you to pray with increasing fervency these days. What you prayed for, you did not know. Was it for the hope that your father’s heart might soften and he might be persuaded to leave you be for the rest of your life? You scoffed to yourself, knowing how improbable it was. Fiddling with the pendant - Aemma’s pendant, you sighed, tilting your head downwards to the ground.

You were startled when you heard movement next to you, of another soul taking a seat next to you on the bench, her posture ramrod straight, and her expression blank. Rhaenyra’s linen sleeves fluttered slightly in the breeze.

“I suppose neither of us are in the best of spirits,” Rhaenyra’s voice was stilted, like she was reluctant to break the silence first. You lifted your head upright, looking at her with a tentative smile, “No, I suppose we aren’t.” An awkward silence highlighted the chasm between the two of you. You wondered, had this truly been the girl of fourteen who confided in you about everything? Now, it seems there is a stark contrast to the Rhaenyra you once knew to the Rhaenyra before you. Though of course, you were to be blamed for that.

“My father has just ordered me to embark on a tour of the realm. A marriage tour.” Rhaenyra’s bitter tone roused you from your thoughts. “I do not know why I’m telling you this. Perhaps it’s because you are the only person in the Keep who might have the slightest sympathy for what I’m going through.” Rhaenyra’s voice lowered to a slightly malicious pitch, but there was no disguising the hurt behind her voice. “Or maybe it would be false sympathy. But it is better than none.”

You winced, wanting to reach out and take Rhaenyra’s hand, the way you knew she loved. Physical touch was Rhaenyra’s favourite way of receiving and expressing affection. A wane smile pulled at your lips as you heard her words, “You might be cynical, but I have more sympathies to your plight than you might think, Princess.” Rhaenyra was surprised by the resignation in your tone. She recalled the scene she had seen when she returned to the royal encampment at the hunt that day. “...does it have something to do with your father?”

You let out a sad laugh, “Indeed. I have been forced into a situation much more precarious than yours, I would say. My father has given me an ultimatum: I must wed by the end of this year, or I shall be effectively disinherited and disowned as a member of House Tyrell.” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her stance immediately shifting to one of sympathy and guilt. “Does your father jest?” “I’m afraid not,” you remark with a despaired, cynical laugh, “Father’s patience has worn thin when it comes to me, I’m afraid. I should’ve known it foolish to think that I could escape from the ramifications of duty to my House.”

You were a little mortified to find your eyes prickling with tears. In truth, you were frightened to the bone. Two paths were set in stone before you now, and neither were pleasant. Rhaenyra hesitated for a while, before reaching out to take your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. You were startled by her sudden gesture, as the flood of familiarity rushed through your veins. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “This is a horrible situation to find yourself in.” She looked hesitant, “I know you’ve always been of your own mind, Y/N. I just want you to know…that you are not alone. Should the worst come…I’m sure that my father will not turn you away in your hour of need.” Her lips turned upwards wistfully, “I will not too. The both of us are stuck in similar predicaments, are we not? Daughters forced to marry off at our father’s behest. We must stick together.”

“...thank you,” you said quietly, touched, “I do not deserve your kindness, after all I have hidden from you.” Rhaenyra’s smile turns somewhat bitter, “What is done cannot be undone. What matters now is the future.”

The cool metal of Aemma’s pendant dug into the flesh of your palm, as an idea came to you. “I have something for you,” Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes grew misty as you presented the ruby falcon pendant to her. “I think this belongs to you. I’ve been holding onto it for the past few years, but I think it’s time you have it back.” Rhaenyra takes the pendant, clasping it to her chest as she looked mournfully down at it. “I thought it was naught but ashes now.” You bit your lip, seeing how relieved yet pained Rhaenyra looked made you regret not giving it to her sooner. You had clung onto it for selfish reasons over the past few years, unwilling to let go of Aemma. But now, you felt it was time to let go of the past, and brave on into the future. “I hope that having this piece of Aemma would make you feel more comforted on your marriage tour.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were misty, as she clasped the pendant like it was worth all the spice and gold from the shores of Essos. “Y/N.” Rhaenyra said quietly. “Hmm?” “Do you think…that Mother would’ve been proud of the person I am today?” Rhaenyra swallowed, looking downcast. “...I fear that, ever since I was named heir, since…Aegon was born, Father’s disappointment in me has been growing by the day.” “And why would you think that?” you asked, concerned. Rhaenyra took a shaky inhale, “I know that Father did not name me heir out of choice. It was a critical time, after Daemon had left, and the Realm would be plunged into unease upon the disinheritance of my uncle from the line of succession.” She bit her lip. “Father even told me as much. He said he had wavered at the notion of making me heir.” Your eyes flickered with shock and a little bit of righteous anger. “He said that?” Rhaenyra nodded miserably, and you patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. “He told me he would never waver again, but it is a little hard to put my faith in that, with….with Aegon’s shadow looming over me.” Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head upwards. ”I just…I wish I could do something to be better. To prove to Father that I’m not just the right choice to the throne because he named me heir when he had no choice. I want to show him that I possess the qualities to rule the throne. The marriage tour would be a start, but I just detest the idea of having to bind myself to some lord to prove my worthiness to the throne.”

“I understand how you feel,” you commiserated, and she rested her head on your shoulder. “The expectations of a woman’s duty often cast a shadow over our lives.” Rhaenyra closed her eyes, feeling at ease with you, even if it were just for a brief moment. “Mother was fond of saying that marriage is a woman’s duty, and childbed is our battlefield. Especially as royal women,” Rhaenyra’s voice was thick with emotion. “I understand I must do this, for the good of the realm, but…why is it so terrifying? To have my worth determined on my husband and the number of children I can bear in service to him and the realm.” The setting sun glistened off a tear slowly making its way down Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Y/N, do you think my mother would be proud, watching me doubt her teachings?”

You reached out to wipe her tear away, your other hand’s thumb gently stroking her hand that you still held. “You are her daughter, Rhaenyra. I have no doubt that you could be the most dastardly miscreant, and she would be proud of you nonetheless.” That got a bleak smile from Rhaenyra, “Truly?” You nodded your confirmation, smiling fondly down at her. “Truly. Though luckily, your moral character is rather upright.” Rhaenyra laughed, and you smiled, happy to have made her laugh. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Rhaenyra whispered to you.

The two women stayed like this in the Godswood for a while, each swarmed by their own thoughts. So different, yet so similar in their impending doom, and duty.

Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98 @travelingmypassion @zae5 @norestfortheshelbywicked @soleilgrec @anehkael @midnightprincess18 @lilith--666

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301

those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form!

A/N: All I gotta say is: ruh roh, trouble is brewing. If you have made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. I aim to release chapter 8 by next Wednesday, hopefully something unprecedented doesn't happen before then though.

179 notes · View notes

valleyof-goldenlilies · 4 months

Text

Se Zaldrizoti' Prumia - Chapter 9: The Ticking of Time

Chapter 9: The Ticking of Time

The primal urge to survive oft drives decisions made in haste.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Slight angst, Otto Hightower, flashbacksssss

Word Count: 8k words

A/N: Happy Christmas Eve to all who celebrate! Finally, the long awaited chapter 9. I hope you enjoy! (and psst, a small Christmas surprise coming soon! Unfortunately, it's not chapter 10, but hopefully you'll be as happy ;)

lovely dividers by @firefly-graphics !

The smell of rose oil permeated the air of Queen Alicent’s chambers, and the sounds of Aegon smashing his wooden dragon toy against his wooden tower toy could be heard, as the boy made roaring noises. Alicent watched the scene with slight amusement, as Helaena sat on her lap, docile, a rare moment of serenity. It was much needed, especially after the recent scandal that rocked the Red Keep and her contentious conversation with Rhaenyra a week prior.

Speaking of serenity…

Alicent trailed her gaze to a forlorn looking figure, sitting next to Aegon on the lushly woven Myrish carpet, her skirts splayed as she absentmindedly fiddled with a wooden dragon toy.

“You’ve been quiet,” Alicent noted, trying to breach your diminished figure. She hesitated on whether to verbalise what she knew your mind was occupied with, “Are…are you still angry at Prince Daemon’s latest transgressions?”

Once again, the tranquillity of nightfall had descended upon the Red Keep. The King’s solar was empty after the boisterous dinner that Viserys was lording over, elated to have his brother by his side again. Viserys and Rhaenyra had long since retired to bed, and now, there was only you and Daemon.

Daemon lay sprawled on the large settee, looking bored as he twirled a newly forged dagger in his hands, gifted by his ever generous brother to celebrate his return. The firelight glinted off the large ruby set in the pommel, and he weighed it between his hands. Not Valyrian steel, like Dark Sister was, but he tended to cherish any gifts his brother gave that were not disappointment or frustration. Which was a rarity.

Daemon’s bored gaze trailed to your figure, looking far too relaxed as you sat on the other end of the settee, face burrowed in a heavy tome. Daemon groaned, trying to get your attention and stop reading that godsforsaken book, but you only hummed, nonchalant, flipping to the next page. Daemon narrowed his eyes.

Your attention was fully invested in a chapter about the medicinal properties of hemlock in the newest tome you had successfully bribed the maesters for, when a sudden poke at your cheek caused an indignant noise to be elicited from your throat. “What in the Seven Hells,” you snapped your tome shut to glare at Daemon’s smug face, resting so close to your lap it made your heart thud in your chest. “Are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention,” he said simply, putting his dagger down onto the tea table.

You levelled an unimpressed look at him. “And that required you to poke me in the cheek? What are you, five?”

“Perhaps.”

You huffed, vexed, picking up your tome again. “Byka zaldrizes, I gave up precious time that could be spent doing something else just to spend it with you. Surely, you can spare this forlorn prince of yours some of your attention.”

“Well, no one asked you to,” you said drily, your eyes flickering as they darted between the lines. “And we all know that your time will be spent mucking about in the Street of Silk, in some unlucky whore’s bed or getting drunk in your cups like some undignified ruffian.”

“Anyone who has the good fortune of bedding me is touched by the gods themselves,” Daemon’s snarky tone made you roll your eyes. Him and his overinflated ego. “And your assumptions wound me, byka zaldrizes. Do you not trust that my time in the Stepstones have made me more mature?”

Daemon was delighted by you putting your book down again, only to be greeted by your deadpan stare. “...are you still in possess of a cock?”

Daemon cocked a brow, eyes shifting down as if pretending to check. “I do believe so, yes. It would be a tragedy if I wasn’t.” You flashed him a sweetly sardonic smile, “Then I do believe no more needs to be said.”

Daemon groaned when you returned to reading your book, debating on the merits of just slapping it out of your hand. It would result in some very colourful language bursting from your lips, but it would be fun.

“Truly, your faith in me is awe-inspiring,” Daemon remarked sarcastically. “And what if I said that this time I promise to stay for the foreseeable future?”

You tilted your head to the side, detracted from your book once more. “Somehow I do not believe that. Trouble always seems to find you one way or another.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, flashing you a devastatingly handsome grin that you had to fight a strange squirming sensation in your stomach. “Then I swear to the Seven Gods that I will stay out of trouble. I won’t curb my excursions to Flea Bottom of course,” Daemon added, seeing your incredulous look. “A man does have his urges. And you know of my nature.” Daemon smirked. “But I think I’m capable enough not to commit another act that would warrant exile. Don’t you think?”

Your answering laugh echoed throughout the solar. But for a brief moment, you had believed him. After all, what more trouble could Daemon possibly incur?

You finally broke out of your empty daze, letting out a low, slightly hoarse laugh. “I am. But he is not the only object of my ire,” you admitted, sighing as you lowered your eyes to where Aegon was banging his wooden dragon against the carpet. Thank the Seven it was soft or he would’ve dented the dragon by now.

Confusion wrinkled Alicent’s features, but then her eyes shone with comprehension. “...are you perhaps feeling some anger towards Rhaenyra?”

Your head snapped up, a slightly horrified look painted on your face. “No, of course not. Daemon is fully to blame for this situation.”

You took a deep breath, feeling shame course through you like boiling water through your veins. You had known, that in some awful way, your conversation with Rhaenyra had indirectly led to the explosion of this scandal. Now, Daemon was exiled again - though you couldn't care less about that - Rhaenyra’s virtue had been called into question, and she was forced to hastily wed Ser Laenor. And the guilt had been eating you alive ever since. But you had not known your harmless words would lead to such a catastrophic end. ‘I am not cut out for this,’ you thought glumly to yourself. ‘That wise paragon of advice I was trying to emulate. I never was any of that.’

‘How foolish of me to play at a role I lack the foresight for.’

Nonetheless, your thoughts returned to the person who is mainly to blame for this situation.

‘Stupid, stupid Daemon,’ you cursed in your head, fingers tightening around the wooden dragon toy. ‘How stupid of me to believe that he could’ve changed, that he couldn’t sink any lower. Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

At least one somewhat good thing had arisen out of this mess. The ‘resignation’ of Otto Hightower.

Though many knew it was just a term meant to preserve the dignity of the former Lord Hand.

You were not sorry to see the man go - you had disliked him ever since his orchestration of the debacle with Alicent and Viserys years ago. However, you were sorry to see Alicent’s distraught state for the past few days. You understood her - she was all alone now, this was almost as great of a loss to her as Aemma’s loss to you was. Being bereft of a figure of comfort and support.

You studied Alicent, noting the slight eye bags under her eyes. You made a mental note to brew her a stronger chamomile tea - both to alleviate her stresses after pregnancy and to improve her quality of sleep.

A sudden knock sounded at the door, and Alicent’s older cousin and one of her ladies-in-waiting, Malena Hightower, entered the room, curtsying. “Your Grace,” you were surprised when Malena turned to you instead.

“Lady Y/N…a messenger came by earlier. He wished for me to convey the Hand…I mean, Ser Otto’s,” Malena recovered from her bluster with a slight flush, but you noticed Alicent’s face briefly crumple when she heard her father’s title reversion back to Ser. You felt a twinge of sympathy. “He wished for me to convey that Ser Otto wishes to have a discussion with you.”

The clattering of a teacup on the floor startled the both of us. Alicent looked embarrassed at her clumsiness, as a servant rushed in upon hearing the noise. “Pardon me. Malena, did my father disclose the reason why he wishes for an audience with my chief lady-in-waiting?” You were unnerved by Alicent’s uncharacteristic sharp tone. It was like…she was angry at her father.

Malena looked similarly unnerved. “Your Grace, I apologise. I do not know. The messenger just said that Ser Otto requested for Lady Y/N’s presence in his study whenever she was available.”

Alicent kept a calm facade, but inside, her heart was thumping like a surge of wild animals. ‘Is what I have been fearing about to come true? Y/N-’ Alicent swung her gaze to yours, where you were conversing discreetly with Malena.

“Thank you, Malena. If the messenger is still there, tell him I will be with him momentarily.” Alarm surged through Alicent’s body. She quickly handed Helaena over to the startled servant who had just finished picking up the shattered cup and disposed of it, stepping towards you.

“Y/N, I do not think you should go.” The words were out of her mouth before she could suppress them. Perplexed, you stared at the younger girl, noticing her panic. It unsettled you.

You tried to shoot her a reassuring smile. “Alicent, Your Grace-” Alicent immediately motioned for Malena and the servant holding Helaena to retreat out of the room when she noticed you addressing her by her title. They evacuated the room with haste.

Alicent seized both of your hands in hers, a gesture that startled you with its intensity and urgency. “No, do not go. Please,” she begged, her eyes flickering with a violent storm of conflicting emotions. She knew she should be obedient to her father, and that the meeting could be harmless, but a wrenching gut feeling told her it was not so.

You looked worried: what exactly had gotten into Alicent? It was unlike her to break her composure, and by such a simple request. Alarm bells began tolling in your head, and just as you were about to tell her that you wouldn’t go, a knock sounded at the door, and you and Alicent promptly broke apart from your intimate stance.

Malena re-entered the room, along with a man you recognised as one of Otto’s household knights, Ser Garrick Pommingham. This was bad. Alicent made a strangled noise in her throat as she beheld Ser Garrick. It was serious enough that her father had sent a household knight to deliver the message, but Ser Garrick? He was one of her father’s oldest household knights, and fiercely loyal and trusted by Otto. It was clear that the invitation was not one that both you nor Alicent had any say in.

“My Queen.” Ser Garrick bowed reverently to Alicent, before turning to you and giving you a smaller bow. “Lady Y/N. Shall I escort you to my liege?”

Any of Alicent’s protests were immediately silenced, as she wrung her hands helplessly. There was no fighting against Ser Garrick, who was an extension of her father, and a bull-headed man at that - always priding himself on completing all his tasks to perfection.

You knew as well, so you could only give Alicent a small, reassuring smile, trying to comfort her. Steeling yourself, you turned to Ser Garrick with a composed smile.

“Lead the way, Ser.”

The Tower of the Hand had been the site of a flurry of activity over the past few days, as various servants and household knights bustled in and out of the rooms, carrying and loading up boxes of belongings into carriages to be transported back to Oldtown.

Otto watched his servants move his things out of his nearly vacant study with an oddly impassive look, as he stewed in his own thoughts at his dismissal. He never thought that he would take up residence in Oldtown ever again, but how quickly the tide could be changed here in King’s Landing.

The sound of a knock at the door roused him from his thoughts, and soon enough, his loyal household knight, Ser Garrick, showed in the guest he had been expecting.

“Ah, Lady Y/N. I thank you for coming on such short notice.”

You entered the room, the skirts of your rose pink gown swishing as you moved into the study. Wariness was woven in every bone of your body, your muscles taut with tension. “Ser Otto,” you nodded at him, not missing how the former Hand’s frame turned stiff at the reversion of his title back to Ser.

“What matter has caused you to ask me to your study at such a busy time?”

Otto took a seat at the lavishly appointed chair at his desk. The same desk where he had spent so many nights toiling for King Viserys. Though the chair could no longer be called rightfully his, he leaned into it, gesturing for you to take a seat. Which you did so, though not without reluctance.

"I do not wish to take up too much of your time, as my own time is precious too," Otto stated, his voice blunt as he leaned forward and drummed his fingers on the oak of the desk.

"I have a proposal for you."

A frown furrowed your eyebrows, but you tried not to show it, smoothing out your skirts instead. “And what is that proposal? I am most interested to hear it.”

Otto smirked slightly at the small note of sarcasm he detected in your voice. Normally, he would be irked at such disrespect, but it was evident from this that you wished not to play any games. ‘A woman who cuts straight to the chase,’ he thought to himself. ‘No wonder Prince Daemon was drawn to her.’

It made things much simpler anyway.

“I’d like to ask for your hand in marriage,” Otto stated bluntly as he waited for your reaction.

Meanwhile, you were frozen, as if roots had suddenly sprung from the ground and trapped you in the chair. ‘My hand in marriage?’ The words echoed through your brain. You suddenly recalled Alicent’s guilt stricken expression as she watched you leave her apartments.

“Ser Otto,” you said quietly. “Surely you are jesting.”

Otto looked unruffled at that. “I do not jest about such matters, Lady Y/N.” You let some of the incredulity you were feeling slip into your expression. “Allow me to explain the merits of our match,” Otto said calmly, leaning back into his chair.

“Though I am ashamed of having done so, I had overheard your shouting match with your father at the Kingswood many moons ago.” This made you wince. You did not blame the man, the both of you probably shouted loud enough that those at the Wall could hear you.

“I understand you are seeking a match, by the end of this year in fact. Which is less than two moons away,” Otto observed you as you tried not to squirm under his intense gaze. “Quite a pressing predicament.”

Otto sighed. “I know, my dismissal has not made me the most…appealing of matches. What with my status as a second son, standing to inherit nothing short of some wealth and meagre land holdings. However, as you well know, you are not the most appealing of matches as well.”

When you looked offended, Otto only went on blandly, “Please, do not take offence, Lady Y/N. My words do not come from a place of malice. It is true though, is it not? While you are lovely, your age is not one to be overlooked. You are turning- twenty six? Twenty seven this year? Many lords in Westeros consider this to be well past your prime.” Otto’s eyes glinted. “And the reputation of your…ah, headstrongness, is well known across the Seven Kingdom. As well as your long string of marriage rejections.”

Otto shrugged, “That aside, think pragmatically. I am moving back to take up residence in Oldtown once more. Should you go with me, you would be much closer to home than here in King’s Landing.” Otto could still see the dubiousness in your eyes, and he knew he had to sweeten the deal up a little more. “And besides, I would not require any children of you.” He knew he had you again when your gaze shot up from looking down fixedly at the wood of his desk. “I am already a widower, with a daughter as Queen and four other strong sons. You would be under no pressure to produce heirs for me. And as a second son, my children stand to inherit next to nothing anyway. Moreover, if you are worried of any mistreatment, fret not. You are my daughter’s dearest companion, and a mother figure to her too. I will treat you with utmost respect”

You eyed him warily, finally speaking up. “You’ve stated many demerits of this match as well, Ser Otto. Do you truly think it worth it for the both of us to pursue such a match?”

Otto’s eyes glinted. She was more crafty than he thought. He would have to hammer down the point a little. “Though my inheritance is not rich in titles, I can assure you, it is not something to be overlooked. You would live comfortably, and be free to pursue any of your interests. I heard from the Maesters that you have an interest in healing and scholarly affairs. What better place to expand your knowledge than in Oldtown, home of the Citadel and some of the finest minds in Westeros?”

Your gaze sharpened at that, he clearly had been keeping tabs on you for a while now. Though his offer was not without temptation of its own. “But why me?” you pressed. “As you have said, I am past my prime and have a wild temper at that. The only merits I possess are my lineage and heirship to Highgarden, and my father has already taken a new wife, so that hangs in the balance as well.”

Otto smiled, “And that alone is enough.” Otto stood up, slowly walking over to your chair. He took your hand gently, and kissed the back of your hand softly. A frown was etched on your lips, and Otto knew it was best to let the matter go. For now.

“I shall give you some time to consider it,” Otto rumbled softly, helping you out of your chair. “But the clock is ticking, Lady Y/N. Both for you and I. Once I depart for Oldtown in a few days, the offer shall be rescinded.” His expression was one of faux concern. “And do you truly believe that you would be able to find any other man of suitable standing to court you before your father’s deadline?”

‘Even now he was not telling the truth, and trying to use wily means to stoke your deepest insecurities to his own gain,’ you thought, regarding the man before you in disdain. The both of you knew the truth of why he sought your hand, not out of compassion or sympathy, but to climb his way back up the political ranks. All of court knew how close you were with the members of House Targaryen, and that you were an ear of the King. otto was clearly trying to use you for his own designs, the same way he had used Alicent, and foist Aegon up onto the Iron Throne, whilst gaining more influence over Viserys - as if he hadn’t have enough already. Disgust pulsed through you.

You shot Otto a haughty look, brushing off his hand. “This is still a personal matter, Ser Otto, and I mislike the tone of your voice. As a stranger, you would do well to refrain from making comments on my personal life.”

Otto nodded stiffly. “Of course. I apologise. I overstepped. Shall I escort you back to my daughter’s chambers then?”

“No need, thank you.” You were eager to put as much distance between you and Otto as soon as possible. And you couldn’t possibly see Alicent with your mind in such a jumbled state. You bowed your head stiffly, “I bid you farewell, Ser. I will…consider your proposal.” He nodded, but you could see his gaze was filled with calculation as you turned your back on him and walked away.

“Lady Y/N.” Otto’s voice halted you just as your hand was on the door handle. “Just a question.”

“Do you really think that staking your bets on Prince Daemon would result in a good end?” You stilled, turning around to face him yet again. Your eyes met his cool green ones. “I do not understand what you mean, Ser Otto.”

“What I meant was,” Otto’s voice was blunt. “I do not think marrying Prince Daemon would bode well for you, if you wish to be closer to the centre of power.”

You stared incredulously at him, swivelling around to face him fully once again. “I’m afraid you have it all wrong, Ser. I never had that sort of intention.”

“Ask yourself, do you really believe that?” Otto’s voice was challenging. “Because I do not think you know your heart well enough..”

Astonished and angered by his boldness, you took a step back closer to the door. “Forgive me, Ser Otto, but I do not think you would know my heart better than I do.” You turned to leave, pulling open the door.

“Search your heart deeply, Lady Y/N,” Otto called out. “You will find my words will ring true.” You didn’t respond, instead choosing to shut the door firmly behind you, leaving Otto Hightower and his delusions of grandeur behind.

The Red Keep was blessed with a particularly pleasant chill this day, in the midst of a harsh autumn and an impending harsher winter. But you couldn’t bring yourself to admire the red and russet leaves as you normally did, instead wandering aimlessly around the Red Keep like a wraith.

It was completely absurd for Otto Hightower to think that you got close to Daemon for ulterior motives. Marriage? With that insufferable punk? You snorted. You could barely stand his presence most of the time, let alone marriage.

It was strange, however. Daemon had always been handsome, dangerously so, and charming, and that had never had an effect on you in the least. But ever since Aemma’s death…ever since his return from the Stepstones. You couldn’t lie, there was something there. The first stirrings of a fire.

Well, that fire would never burn on damp logs anyway, and that was all thanks to Daemon’s stupidity. You grumbled to yourself, shuddering that you might have carried a torch for Daemon fucking Targaryen.

You decided to venture into one of the courtyards found in the Red Keep. Perhaps some greenery would restore your senses, and provide a balm for your dilemma. Whatever were you supposed to do? There was no escaping the fact that it was nigh impossible to find a good match within two moons, one that would satisfy both you and your father’s expectations. But was marrying Otto Hightower really your only option? In all your worst nightmares, you never imagined that it could get so bad. While you did not share Daemon’s intense hatred for the man, the man made your skin crawl, with his pleasantries disguising a shrewd mind of warped traditional beliefs.

‘Could I really be happy with a man like that?’

Lost in thought, you didn’t realise you had company until you caught sight of a tall figure with blonde hair, sitting under the shade of a huge willow tree, an intent expression on his face as he sketched away on a piece of parchment. Curious, you approached the lone figure to get a closer look. As you stepped closer however, your heel crunched on a branch, causing the mysterious stranger’s head to snap up. Your eyes snagged onto the sigil pinned to his tunic.

A Beesbury.

You inclined your head apologetically, “Beg your pardon, I did not mean to disturb you.” The young man from House Beesbury laughed, scooping up his parchment before walking towards you and bowing. “Lady Y/N. Do not apologise, my day has been made infinitely better by your presence.”

You let out a small chuckle at his flattering, giving him a discrete once over. Exactly who was this man? Clearly you were not subtle enough, given the fact that he bowed once more, placing a hand to his chest as he did. “You must forgive my rudeness, my lady. My name is Alan Beesbury. My father, Lord Lyman Beesbury, serves on the Small Council as Master of Coin.” You let out a surprise “Oh!” before dipping your head politely. “Ser Alan. You must forgive me, I did not recognise you.”

Ser Alan smiled brightly, unbothered. “Tis alright, my lady. Granted, I have never been introduced to you in a formal setting, so it is understandable you do not know me.” “How did you recognise me then, ser?” you inquired. “I visited Highgarden with my father a few years ago, and caught sight of you with your lord father. I deeply regret that I was not able to make your acquaintance then. Although it seems,” Alan grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief, “That I am lucky enough to behold your beautiful visage once more, my lady. You have only grown lovelier throughout the years.” You couldn’t refrain from snorting lightly, “You have quite the honeyed tongue, ser.” “Well, it is a useful skill at court. And to charm the ladies I have taken a fancy to.” he winked. “Would you grant me the honour of your company, my lady? It has been naught but two days since my arrival, and I find that I am in need of a guide to this vast keep.” An amused smile graced your lips, as you thought about his offer. He might be a flirt, and awfully forward, but he seemed a jolly enough fellow, and it would be rude to reject his company. And…it would be a good distraction.

“I am at your disposal, ser.” He gallantly offered you his arm, and you took it. As you strolled through the hallways of the Red Keep, passing servants shot you strange looks, but you ignored them. “So, what brings you to the Red Keep, ser?” “Ah, my lord father summoned me to court to attend the upcoming nuptials for Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor Velaryon.” Alan made a face that was so offended you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “He also thought it a good window of opportunity for me to find a lady wife.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, your mind going back to your unpleasant conversation with Otto Hightower. Not wanting to seem impolite, you quickly added, “I wish you luck in your search, ser.” He smiled, although the joy did not reach his eyes. “Thank you, my lady. You are too kind.”

Ser Alan halted abruptly, startling you when you noticed you had stopped next to a flowering bush. Carefully, he plucked a gorgeous, striking yellow rose, moving to tuck it behind your ear. “A magnificent rose, befitting a charming lady as yourself, my lady.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his spontaneous show of chivalry. “I have to admit, ser, that you are the first man who has shown me this courtesy. I thank you most humbly.”

“My father has always educated me about the importance of courtesy, especially to a lady.” Ser Alan shrugged, a sheepish grin painted on his features. “So long as it makes you happy, milady.” You strolled through the garden, chatting as he inquired about your life at court, which you happily indulged. Gradually, you forgot about Otto Hightower and Rhaenyra and Alicent as you conversed with him, too lost in trading anecdotes and playful jabs with each other about some rather insufferable personalities at court. You realised you found his company rather pleasing: he was attentive, and clearly a gentleman, but not to the extent where it was ridiculously cheesy. He wasn’t dreadful company either, he seemed sincere to get to know his talking companion, instead of endlessly bragging about himself or his long list of achievements. And behind his sweet words, he also hid a sharp sense of wit and humour. He was an ideal husband, the thought struck you like lightning. You could feel the cogs in your head begin to turn. You might have just found a way to escape Otto Hightower’s offer after all.

“May I confess something, my lady?” Ser Alan’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You may speak freely with me, ser.” you hesitated, before asking him, “Is it alright if I call you Alan, instead?”

Ser Alan’s eyes widened, and you were a little afraid you had pushed your boundaries a little too far, but he soon broke out in a genuine smile. “If only I can call you Y/N in return, my lady.” You found yourself returning his smile with one of your own. “Then it is settled then. What were you going to say, Alan?” “To be honest, Y/N, I was extremely elated to run into you today.” Catching sight of your puzzled face, he hurriedly rushed to explain, “You see, I had sent a few marriage proposals to you before. Well at least my father has. I thought you quite brilliant despite my brief encounter with you at Highgarden. You radiate warmth, even at first glance, and I was rather drawn to you. Which was why I was so happy to have been able to have the fortune to bump into you here today. The Seven have truly blessed me.”

“I see…” you murmured. “You are rather forward, aren’t you, Alan?” Alan looked unashamed of that. “I am a firm believer that being coy often robs us of opportunities in life, Y/N.” An amused smile twitched at your lips, “A bold philosophy, though certainly a wise one.” You took some deep breaths, debating on the gamble you were about to take. It was risky as hell. You barely knew anything about the man. It could end in disaster. But then again, your recent track record of decisions had led to bigger disasters than this.

‘And do you truly believe that you would be able to find any other man of suitable standing to court you before your father’s deadline?‘

How life could change with just one decision.

“Alan.” you began slowly, swallowing as you braced myself.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“...does your marriage proposal still stand, by any chance?”

Throughout your time at court, you had not been well acquainted with Lord Lyman Beesbury. A jolly enough man, and sharp of wit and tongue despite his old age was all that you knew of him.

What you did not expect was how excited the man could be.

“Oh, this is fantastic, wonderful news,” Lord Lyman exclaimed, grabbing your hands and shaking them vigorously. You looked over to Alan with a bewildered expression, and he simply smiled and mouthed, ‘He’s always like this. Don’t mind it.’

“To think my son would finally settle down, and to Lady Tyrell at that,” Lyman continued to ramble on, and you were a little worried that the old man might collapse from the joy. “A fine, fine choice you’ve made, son. A fine choice. I couldn’t be prouder…”

You were mortified at how eager Lord Lyman seemed to be at the prospect of your marriage, but inside, you were secretly relieved. Otto Hightower had not sent word after news of your engagement with Ser Alan had disseminated through the castle, in no part thanks to the gossips who sniped at how the two of you barely had a courtship before your engagement. You had heard many whispers and murmurings of how desperate you must be to be driven to this point, but you didn’t care. You would take marrying Ser Alan any day over Otto Hightower.

No one was, of course, happier than Lord Matthos Tyrell at the word of his daughter’s engagement. From the way the reply to your letter had a few suspicious stains here and there, it seems a few tears had been shed. You could only muster a small smile at that, however.

Alan had been the perfect gentleman over the past two weeks, showering you with gifts such as flowers or jewels - as fitting a suitor does to a lady - spending time with you, taking strolls with you, oftentimes visiting you while you were carrying out your duties as lady-in-waiting to Alicent and the like. Time after time, you would find Alicent’s gaze trailing across Alan doubtfully, like she was trying to scrutinise him for any signs of ill will, but you had reassured her in private that he was wonderful. But all she had to say was:

“It is in human nature not to show who they truly are until later on, Y/N. I am just concerned.”

Alicent’s words made you a little ill at ease, as you knew as much. You’ve heard so many horror stories over the years from ladies whose husband’s affections for them evaporated like morning dew upon their marriage after all, and seen enough examples.

But you had made your gamble, and you must live with the consequences. No matter how dire they may be.

The candles in the King’s private bed chambers and living space flickered as the doors opened with a loud creak, and you stepped in quietly. The room looked empty, and so you decided to walk around for a bit.

And that’s when your heart nearly stopped.

There she was.

Rendered in vivid oils, the likeness of Aemma stared out at you with that gentle, comforting smile. Her visage encased within an intricately carved gold frame with dragons, and a makeshift shrine with candles decorated her portrait. Your heart was suddenly gripped with unbearable pain.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Viserys’ voice rang out from behind you, as he walked slowly to stand next to you, staring almost reverently up at her portrait. You couldn’t speak, your throat was closing up at the threat of tears that threatened to overwhelm and spill out from your eyes. You tilted your head down, unable to look anymore at that familiar, haunting smile.

The press of a small white candle into your hand startled you. Viserys regarded you with a knowing sadness. “I thought you might like to honour her. We haven’t…done so in a while. Together as a family.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice right now. Gingerly, you reached over and lit the candle, placing it on the shrine. You bowed your head, thinking of how much things have changed ever since her passing. How much you have had to change.

“She would be so pleased to know that you were getting married,” Viserys lamented, gently touching oil-painting-Aemma’s hand. “From what I can recall, it had always been one of her greatest wishes to see you happily married.”

You offered him a hollow smile at that. The joys of marriage had not yet made itself known to you, if you were even capable of it. And now, your head was too occupied with memories.

“You’re in a terribly grumpy mood,” Aemma commented, as she reached for a roll of warm buttered bread to go with her third cup of tea. Her light blue eyes were filled with amusement as she watched you prop your head up from where you had lain it on the table, a disgruntled expression on your features. “Dare I inquire for the reason?”

“Father has sent me another list of eligible bachelors,” you grumbled, helping Aemma refill her teacup, which she sighed exasperatedly at that. When it was just the two of you alone, she preferred for you not to serve her as lady-in-waiting, instead being more at ease and natural with her as her friend. But despite your attempts at overturning this habit, you found yourself unable to. Touch and small gestures were how you expressed your feelings after all.

“From which kingdom is it for this time?” Aemma asked in a joking tone, putting a strawberry tart in her mouth as she stroked her small baby bump that had begun to show after four moons.

“The Stormlands this time,” you sighed, dispiritedly popping a tart with an unknown yellow fruit in your mouth. The tangy sweetness, yet slight sourness of the fruit made you cheer up a little.

“That’s a mango tart. Some merchants from the Summer Isles exported it to us,” Aemma explained, carefully noting your expression.

“I wish I could live in the Summer Isles,” you sighed, popping another one of those tarts into your mouth. “And be done with all this bother. For Seven’s sake, I’m only twenty one. There’s still plenty of time.”

“Yes, for you to develop wrinkles,” Aemma jested, letting out a laugh at your mortally offended face. “My queen, is it customary for you to insult your subjects in their time of distress?” You asked with faux hurt in your voice.

“Perhaps I am a secret tyrant,” Aemma smirked slightly, lifting her teacup to her lips. “I am serious though, Y/N. You've been by my side as my lady-in-waiting for nearly two years, and we have known each other since we were children. You watched me get married to Viserys, be crowned as Queen, and giving birth to Rhaenyra. When will I get to witness some of your happy moments?”

You gave her a deadpan look. “Aemma. I truly see no joy in getting married now. I’m still too young.” Aemma tried to hold in a sigh. “”And when will that be? Moons later? Years? A decade? When you’re old and grey?”

“When I am ready, Aemma.” You stated, voice tinged with determination. “But when?” Aemma pressed. “Not to fear, I will definitely get married sometime during your lifetime,” you reassured her in a joking tone. “Perhaps when you’ve lived to seventy years…”

Aemma threw the throw cushion she was holding in her lap at you, and you caught it, laughing, as Aemma shook her head in fond exasperation. “You’re insufferable.”

Aemma looked at you, laughter dancing in your eyes as you changed the topic back to how you were going to answer your father’s newest letter. A wistful smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Do whatever you want, Y/N. I just hope that you will never sacrifice your happiness for the sake of something else.

A small tear plopped to the weathered ground of the King’s chambers as you managed to choke out, “She would be. I just wish…she could be here to see it.”

Viserys had a slightly guilty look on his face as you turned your gaze back to the portrait, confronting all the painful, bittersweet memories in all their blazing intensity.

It was time to stop running.

“When did you get this portrait commissioned?” The small semblance of a smile appeared on Viserys’ face again. “It is a story in itself, actually. Back when Aemma was…” Viserys’ voice hitched. “Pregnant…with Baelon, I had commissioned an artist from Volantis to paint it, as a gift to Aemma. Honouring her for giving us our-” Viserys choked up, his voice cracking. “For giving us our son.”

Your fists clenched slightly. “And then when Aemma…I was so lost. I couldn’t bring myself to look at any portraits of her, so I stopped work on the painting.” Viserys looked like he wanted to pull portrait Aemma out of the frame she was trapped in, by sheer will of anguish.

“But I had a change of heart. Three months after I named Rhaenyra as heir, I had moved on. I finally felt…peace. Like I have taken a step to atonement. So I gave word for the artist to continue, wanting to place it in the Gallery of Dragons after it was done.” The Gallery of Dragons was an art gallery in the Red Keep which honoured previous Targaryen rulers and royals who had passed. “But then he died when Alicent and I married.”

“Oh dear,” you murmured softly under your breath, and Viserys let out a ragged laugh, before bursting into a fit of coughing. You moved to help him to a chair, but he held out a hand, his focus on Aemma.

“I thought it a sign from the ancestors, from the Gods, that I should let go,” Viserys voiced out tiredly. “And so the painting remained untouched, and I thought I’d never see it to its finish. That the chapter would remain closed forever.”

“Then when Helaena was born, the head royal artist decided to take on the job.” “Why?” You asked. You knew that the head royal artist, an old kindly man, had deeply revered Queen Aemma, for he was of the Vale and Aemma had brought him to court as part of her entourage, where he quickly rose up in the ranks. His previous occupation as a woodworker apparently served his artistic abilities well.

“He was in his final days, and he wished for that to be the last painting he ever did.” Viserys smiled, his head drooping. “And I am glad he did.”

Silence fell over the room as you two continued admiring the painting of your beloved Aemma. “Her eyes seem imbued with life, don’t you think?” You mentioned in a soft voice. “It’s like she is about to start talking any second now.” Viserys let out a hoarse sounding laugh, coughing again. This time it sounded more serious, but he waved away your concern all the same. “They are. The artists did a good job.”

You were surprised when Viserys shuffled away to a chest on a table, rummaging through it before taking something out. It turned out to be some strange looking thin red sticks.

“In Old Valyria, while there were many gods that people worshipped, the way they honoured their dead were the same,” Viserys explained quietly, handing you a stick, which you took, bewildered. “They would light it, then bow three times before the deceased’s portrait. It was said that a soul connection would then be forged between you and the person you were mourning, and you could convey a message to them.”

“It sounds…” you tried to find the words to describe it. “...poetic.”

“I thought so too. Shall we?”

The two of you lit up the sticks, and a sweetly smoky smell emitted from them as they were lit. you followed Viserys’ lead, bowing your head three times, before closing your eyes.

You hesitated on what to say, but eventually settled on, ‘I’m getting married, Aemma. I wish you were alive to witness it…but I know you would be delighted in the afterlife. I hope you are doing well.’

‘I hope you’ve seen how much I’ve grown. I hope you’re proud of me.’

“Are you happy, Y/N?” Viserys’ voice broke you out of your thoughts. For a moment, you look lost at what to respond. Were you happy? Though you didn’t feel the typical, dizzy excitement that the poets talked about when getting married, you felt something steady, something reassuring. Contentment.

“I am.”

“Truly?” Viserys’ pressing made you hesitate a little, but you pulled a smile on your face and answered. “I am. Really. Alan is a good man, and I am ready to begin a new chapter in my life.”

Viserys finally began to relax, the tension visibly seeping out of his muscles. “Then I am most pleased for you. Though I never envisioned you to marry, and a selfish part of me wishes you would not have to leave this court, I am happy for you.”

You bowed, a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, Viserys. It means a lot to me.”

His next words made you temporarily stunned into silence however. “Of course, I have also prepared your dowry. I have made sure that while it is lacking compared to Rhaenyra’s, that it is not to be underestimated. A ransom of jewels and gold as well as some antiques - Lord Beesbury does love his antiques. Some of those diamonds and sapphires are the finest I have ever seen.”

Your mouth was agape. “Viserys, there is no need for you to-” Viserys talked over you, taking your hand. “But there is.” He looked at you with heartfelt gratitude and affection. “You are family to me, Y/N. It is the least I can do for you, for such a momentous occasion.”

Your gaze softened as you began tearing up. “I cannot accept this. My father is already-” “I know, Y/N,” Viserys silenced you again. “But it’s not just for your dowry. Majority of the jewels and gold are for you.”

You were now even more horrified and confused than before. “For me?” Viserys regarded you with a fond exasperation that almost made you weep at his similarity to Aemma’s. “For you, you silly goose. In the event…you are unhappy with your match, those jewels and gold should be sufficient for you to start a sizeable fund of your own. And of course, I will welcome you back to court with open arms at any time.”

You couldn’t see past the blurry haze of tears and the painful throbbing of your heart, but the next thing you knew, Viserys was hugging you tightly back as you embraced him, choking with quiet sobs. He was crying himself a little too. “I only hope that you will be happy for the rest of your days, Y/N,” Viserys murmured, gently patting your back. Your body shook with violent sobs. “I…will. I promise. I thank you most gratefully for your generosity.”

The two of you stayed like this for a while, before you awkwardly broke apart when the tears had stopped flowing. “The hour is quite late,” Viserys noted, feeling a little fatigued. You smiled weakly, still reeling from the shock. “That it is. I should be returning to my chambers then.”

Viserys nodded, looking at you with fondness in his gaze. “Of course. You must still help me plan for Rhaenyra’s upcoming nuptials. And for your own. I would not want to impose on you any further.”

You curtsied slightly, “Then I shall retire for the night then.” You hesitated, looking at Aemma’s portrait one last time, many thoughts running through your head. A final goodbye. “Good night, Viserys.”

Viserys watched her leave, and the world suddenly seemed darker, much heavier. Like it had been since Aemma died. Coughs shook Viserys’ body, and he wearily took out a handkerchief to cover his mouth, careful not to let his spittle fly. A crimson stain slowly pooling at the white cloth was all he saw when he removed the handkerchief from his mouth.

‘And now, I am alone once more.’ Viserys thought grimly, looking back at Aemma. ‘My last reminder of you is gone, and only Rhaenyra remains now. My strength, and my consolation. And my regret.’

Somewhere far away in Pentos, the squawks of a raven could be heard as first light broke across the city. Daemon Targaryen awoke, hair tousled and a disgruntled expression on his face, despite last night’s pleasures. He had dreamed of her. Again. It seemed she was a wraith plaguing his mind ever since that fateful day in Flea Bottom.

His annoyance rose tenfold when he stalked up from his bed to receive the messenger raven. Unfolding the parchment, he took note of the familiar, rather wonky scrawl of someone who had only learnt to write recently. His eyes trailed over the words ‘the Hand has fallen from his high horse’, and he scoffed, smugness lining his features. The next two lines gave him pause, however.

‘The Princess has been betrothed to Ser Laenor.’

‘Lady Y/N Tyrell has been betrothed to Ser Alan Beesbury.’

‘From your loyal companion, Mysaria.’

Se Zaldrizoti' Prumia Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98 @travelingmypassion @zae5 @norestfortheshelbywicked @soleilgrec @anehkael @midnightprincess18 @lilith--666 @saay-karani @dumbhxeredrose @syviiss @nyenye @ahristata @hiraethrhapsody @babypink224221 @mckenziewhite2005 @justrybca @omgsuperstarg

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301 @hc-geralt-23 @babypink224221 @mckenziewhite2005

those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form!

A/N: One more chapter until the end of Act I!!! AAAHHHHHH. I deeply apologise for my repeated promises to publish only to chicken out at the end, so I shall now refrain from making promises that I cannot make 😭 I hope to get Chapter 10 out before 2024 officially hits (new year new me lol), but no promises there. I'll do my best, however!

As always, thank you for reading this far! Let me know what you thought about this chapter in the comments 💕

83 notes · View notes

valleyof-goldenlilies · 8 months

Text

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 8: The Woes of Womanhood (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 8: The Woes of Womanhood

With the return of Prince Daemon, and Princess Rhaenyra, the Red Keep braces itself for the inevitable implosion of scandal once more.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Nothing of note, except longgg chapter ahead. Alicent, Daemon and Rhaenyra interactions ahead!

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: hello all! i'm sorry for this very late and much needed update to se zaldrizoti' prumia, which is why this chapter is longer than usual haha. my exams are finally over and i'm on break now, so i will be devoting myself to writing more all the way till school starts again.

also: i added in an extra rhaenyra and reader interaction at the end of chapter 7. it's not crucial to the understanding of the plot, but it does explain why rhaenyra is significantly more civil with the reader in this chapter, so do check it out :) if you're lazy to go back and read it, here's a separate post i made of it! happy reading!

p.s. check the a/n at the end for some future plans I have for this fic :)

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

109 years after Aegon’s Conquest, 5 months later

The persistent cries of a babe echoed throughout the Queen’s chambers, and the wet nurses and nannies watched with pity as Alicent attempted to soothe a wailing Helaena, to no success. “Shh, it’s alright, Helaena. Don’t fuss, please,” Alicent implored softly, looking a little close to tears herself.

The doors to the nursery opened quietly, and you stepped in, concern etched on your face upon hearing all the crying. The skirts of your dark red gown swished as you walked, alerting the people in the room to your presence. Stark relief was painted on their faces as you walked over to Alicent and she handed Helaena wordlessly over to you. You adjusted Helaena in your arms, cooing at her softly, “There, there, little princess. Ry iksos sȳrī, dōna dārilaros.” Gradually, Helaena started to calm down, staring up at you with wide purple eyes as you sang a soft lullaby in Valyrian to her. When her eyelids finally fluttered shut, you gently placed her back in the cradle, rocking her a few more times for good measure.

Alicent was sitting in her bedchambers adjoining the nursery, head bent, looking weary. Nonetheless, she shot you a smile as you entered the room quietly, moving to pour her a cup of tea. “I fear sometimes I would be bereft without you” Alicent’s voice was soft, as you walked over to her, handing her the cup of tea. “I would feel like a hollow shell without you.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you comforted her, “You know you’re doing the best you can.” “And yet, I can barely soothe mine own daughter who is only five moons old,” Alicent bit her lip, cradling her cup of tea. You could tell from the nervous bobbing of her throat that she wanted to pick at her nails again, which was why you brewed her the cup of tea. She was unable to pick at her nails if she was holding something hot. And so it had become habit for you to hand her a cup of hot tea whenever she was distressed like this.

“Not everyone is born to be a natural at parenting, Alicent,” you consoled her. “And babes are difficult to understand, much less comfort.” “I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, if I cannot even be an adequate mother to my own children, how do I even bear the title of ‘Mother of the Realm’?” Alicent sighed, looking downcast. “My children are more taken with you than they are with me. It is a little disheartening to see.” You inched closer to her, and she placed one of her hands in yours, another holding onto her teacup. You squeezed her hand gently - another strange habit that the two of you had unconsciously developed. It reminded you so much of Rhaenyra, and your thoughts wandered to her, and how she was faring on her marriage tour.

In truth, apart from Helaena, Alicent was still mulling about the conversation with her father nearly six moons ago. Though Otto had not brought up the subject in earnest again, Alicent had noticed Otto’s visits to her apartments increase over the past few moons. His visits, which were already quite frequent, had built up to a daily occurrence, with Alicent uncomfortably glancing at her father as his green eyes rested on you whilst you bustled around, serving the both of them or soothing Alicent's children. Alicent was compelled to do something, anything, to warn you of her father’s deepening interest in you, but with Helaena’s birth and her still acclimating to the duties of a Queen, as well as her uncertainty over her father’s intentions, she had kept mum.

“You know,” Alicent’s voice startled you out of your train of thoughts. “You would make a great mother someday. Should you wish to marry, of course.” “Are you chasing me away from your service, my Queen?” you teased her playfully. Alicent’s eyes widened with panic, “Oh no, I was just mentioning- since you are wonderful with Helaena and Aegon and-” You squeezed her hand lightly, “I was just jesting, Alicent. I know you meant it as a compliment.” Alicent’s shoulders loosened slightly, as she laughed. “Oh. Forgive me, Y/N. My mind was occupied. But I really do mean it, you know,” she said earnestly. You smiled at her, though it did not reach your eyes. Your thoughts were still consumed by the conversation you had with your father at the Kingswood. The past six moons have been devoid of any correspondence from your father, something you would have greatly relished all those moons ago. Yet now, it only served to make you feel like you were on the edge of a cliff, unsure when you would plummet. You shook it off, not wanting to feel the unpleasant crawling feeling under your skin whenever you thought about your father.

“In truth,” you began quietly, “I already am a mother.” Alicent looked puzzled. “I do not know whether I will be fated to be a mother of my own children in this lifetime, but in my view, you are like a daughter to me, Alicent. So in a way, I already am a mother.” Alicent’s eyes grew misty, as she said quietly, “I feel you are akin to a mother to me as well, Y/N. Words cannot express my gratitude towards you for your guidance over the past few years.” You smiled, moving to brush one of Alicent’s loose strands of hair out of the way.

The both of you were interrupted by the sound of a soft knock at the door as another lady-in-waiting of Alicent’s, Lady Eliza Butterwell, a shy maid of fourteen entered the room and curtsied.

“I apologise for the disturbance, Your Grace. But the King has called for the court to gather in the throne room.” Alicent’s brows furrowed. “Whatever for?” Her next words shot an odd thrill through you, one that you haven’t felt in several years. “Prince Daemon has returned to King’s Landing on Caraxes, Your Grace. With a crown.”

The way to the throne room was swarmed with courtiers, but you were fortunate enough to find yourself as one of the spectators at the front. You caught a few faint whispers as you walked into the throne room, "Daemon..." "The Triarchy, all dead..." "The Myrish have never been more humiliated!" "At last, my ships can travel through the shipping lanes without fear of being attacked again..."

You played with the rings on your fingers nervously as you watched Viserys sit himself on the throne, his expression brooding. He afforded you a small nod when he glimpsed you in the crowd, to which you replied with a small bow of your head. Your eyes were so busy watching the entrance however, that you failed to notice the watchful gaze of Otto Hightower on you. His gaze soon turned away when Viserys caught him looking at you, his lips pressed together.

It all came to an end however, as the crowd quieted, and the distant clink of armour could be heard. Your eyes were narrowed and your eyebrows furrowed as Daemon swaggered into the hall. Your eyes were drawn to his now shortened hair, and a crude makeshift of a crown seated upon his head. You could sense a change in him, and not just in appearance.

Your lips turned downwards as Daemon sauntered too close to the throne, and was met with the sword of a Kingsguard to his abdomen. The fool. Your eyes narrowed even further when Daemon lifted a beaten hammer at Viserys, seemingly in challenge.

“Add it to the chair.” A loud clatter reverberated through the room as Daemon dropped the hammer on the floor with a flourish. You had to bite back a smile. The years have not tempered his flair for the dramatics.

The tension was palpable between the two brothers as Viserys stared at his brother, trying to decipher his true motives. “You wear a crown. Do you also call yourself King?” “Once we smashed the Triarchy, they named me: King of the Narrow Sea.” So they really did prevail in the end. You smiled slightly to yourself. Of course Daemon would miraculously manage to reverse the odds. But you felt bolts of alarm going off in your head as you registered Daemon’s words. The fool, is he meaning to challenge the King? Has war clobbered him such that he has lost all his wits?

“But I know that there is only one true king, Your Grace.” You loosened a subtle sigh of relief as Daemon genuflected in front of Viserys, taking his crown off. “My crown and the Stepstones are yours, Your Grace.”

The court watched with bated breath, as Viserys rose from the throne, climbing down the steps and standing before Daemon.

Daemon registered a movement at the corner of his eye, and turned to meet the distrusting glare of Otto Hightower, which Daemon returned with equal venom. So, the leech still lives. How unfortunate. His gaze then trailed over to a familiar figure clad in dark red.

You.

Violet eyes met yours, and he let his eyes trail lazily over your figure. He noted the coil of tension in your muscles as you observed the proceedings. His lips quirked up into a smirk, and you narrowed your eyes at him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Daemon noticed, concealing a chuckle, which seemed wholly inappropriate at this moment. He directed his gaze back to Viserys, staring back at him unflinchingly as he scrutinised Daemon for any ill intent. Brother, really? Daemon wanted to scoff when he saw Viserys glance at that cunt of a Hand. Do you distrust me so?

“Rise.” Daemon got to his feet, looking at Viserys as he clapped a tentative hand on Daemon’s shoulder. He has grown more haggard through the years, Daemon noted with concern, his eyes trailing discreetly to the leather gloves Viserys now wore. Has marriage not been treating you well, brother? What have those cunts done to you while I was gone?

You applauded with the rest of the court as Viserys swept Daemon into a stiff, but genuine brotherly embrace. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched Viserys escort Daemon out of the throne room, and Daemon shot you an arrogant smirk as he passed you. Subconsciously, you felt the lightest you had been in these three years.

It was a refreshingly cool day and the air was abound with a celebratory mood as the court gathered in the gardens for the “small” feast heralding Daemon’s return. Dressed in a cream gown with a ruffled off the shoulder overlay, your gauzy dusky orange skirt overlay billowed slightly in the cool breeze. Your cream skirt was embroidered with gold swirls faintly reminiscent of roses, which matched the golden belt inlaid with seven large rubies Viserys had gifted to you recently. A golden rose dangling off a chain hooked on the belt glittered in the sunlight.

Viserys was holding court in your small party of four, consisting of you, Alicent, Daemon and him. Otto stood away at a respectful distance, likely out of disdain for Daemon than by choice.

“No, no, no, no, I will not revisit this debate. You were always Mother’s favourite,” Viserys declared heartily. His gloved hands were resting on both Daemon and your shoulders, as he chattered to Alicent happily. “Our mother, she had no regard for customs, traditions or rules. And I sadly, was no great warrior.” Viserys sighed as you and Daemon shared an amused glance. “Lady Primrose was always partial to you though, brother,” Daemon pointed out. Viserys chuckled, “That’s because you nearly drove the poor woman up the wall with your antics. Or should I say, the both of you did,” he wagged a finger at the both of you, expression accusatory yet his eyes were smiling and full of warmth.

You and Daemon exchanged identical smirks. “Well, if you weren’t always such an-” you were cut off as Viserys clapped a hand over your mouth, and Daemon sniggered at your indignant expression. “Ah, I thought the passing years would have cooled your temper, Y/N,” Viserys chided. Daemon lifted his eyebrows in mischief, “Indeed, byka zaldrizes. It has been three years, and you are still as hot-headed as ever.” You narrowed your eyes playfully at him, “Only because you deserve it, Your Grace.”

“Now you know why the two of them nearly drove Y/N’s mother to madness when she was raising all three of us,” Viserys laughed to Alicent, whose expression was courteous, yet taut with awkwardness. She felt supremely out of place in the midst of your reminiscing, and you shot her a sympathetic smile. Daemon’s eyes followed your every move, even as he made a jape at his brother, “Come now, brother. Do not absolve yourself of any responsibility. The three of us all had our fair share of rebellion.” “I never said I was absolving myself of any responsibility,” Viserys joked goodnaturedly, clapping Daemon’s shoulder. “Though the fact remains that the two of you made up the bulk of trouble caused in the Red Keep.”

Your eyes widened slightly when you saw someone enter your conversation. Rhaenyra tried to look subtle as she sidled into the gap between you and Alicent. Viserys didn’t notice, still chattering happily to Daemon, but you saw that Alicent had a similar expression of surprise.

“Congratulations on your victory,” Rhaenyra smiled warmly at Daemon, seemingly ignorant of the reprimanding glare Viserys was now levelling at the unexpected appearance of his daughter. Viserys released Daemon’s shoulder, moving to take a heavy swig from his goblet. Daemon shot you a look that clearly said: whatever happened here? You discreetly tilted your head in a ‘I’ll explain later’ motion, and Daemon redirected his attention back to Rhaenyra. “Thank you, Princess.”

The ensuing silence had never felt more painful. “Perhaps Prince Daemon would care for a tour of the gallery? He hasn’t yet seen the new tapestries gifted to you by Norvos and Qohor.” You bit your bottom lip at Alicent’s very obvious attempt to thaw the stifling atmosphere between the five of you, and at Viserys’ mocking expression of disbelief and concentration. “Would you like to see the tapestries?” Viserys could barely contain his mirth, and Daemon had tilted his head downward to muffle his laughter, while you looked disapprovingly at the two of them. “He has no interest in such things!” Viserys guffawed, clapping Daemon’s shoulder, oblivious to Alicent’s crestfallen expression.

Daemon felt a glare upon him, and he looked up to see your frown as both brothers were in stitches. He smirked at you, clearly amused by your protective mothering of the young Queen.

Ah, my little rose, caring too much for others, as always. Daemon mused to himself.

“I’d like to see them.” Viserys’ expression immediately turned into one of barely veiled irritation. “Well then, you should not deprive yourself.” You winced at his snappish tone, as Rhaenyra shot him a cold smile. “I shall enjoy them alone.”

You were about to excuse yourself to go after her, when Viserys clapped a hand on your shoulder once more, ordering a servant to refill your wine goblet. Alicent gave you a nod which conveyed her understanding, and she excused herself from the group, heading towards the bench where Rhaenyra was brooding after being chastised. Viserys was all too happy to see her go, directing you and Daemon into another conversation about your late mother and Prince Baelon, as well as your shared childhood.

After a rather taxing conversation with Viserys and Daemon, you managed to excuse yourself as Viserys was occupied with some courtiers eager to curry favour with the King. Heading to the Godswood for some reprieve, you exhaled in relief when you found the clearing to be void of any presence. At long last, some peace. You closed your eyes and felt the summer breeze caress your face gently, smiling happily.

You heard an infernal clearing of a throat behind you, and you reluctantly turned around to meet Daemon’s twinkling violet eyes, his lips turned up in his signature smirk.

“Seven Hells, must a lady kill to have some peace for a minute?” you grumbled. Daemon chuckled, moving closer to you. “Having killed as much as I did in the Stepstones, I would say you do not need to resort to such drastic measures, byka zaldrizes.”

You rolled your eyes in mild frustration, “I suppose it would be far too impolite of me to ask for you to leave me in peace, then?” Daemon smirked as he loomed over you, his eyes scanning you shamelessly again, like he did three years ago in the throne room when you first saw each other after so many years, “Court etiquette would deem it so, byka zaldrizes. But if I recall correctly, you were never one to ask when it came to me.”

Vexed, you made a beeline for the tables set in the open corridor that was shaded by a trellis creeping with wisteria flowers. Daemon followed, watching you like a hawk as you loaded a plate high with lemon cakes, strawberry tarts, currant compote, gingerbread and figs. Daemon leaned over your shoulder and snatched a strawberry tart from your plate, grinning as you whirled your head around to glare viciously at him.

You ventured to sit beneath the Godswood tree, setting your plate of treats on the ground, and crossing your legs in an unladylike manner. Daemon smirked as he watched you: this was a familiar sight from your shared childhood. He unhooked his scabbard which Dark Sister was sheathed in from his belt so that he could sit down next to you and lean back against the trunk of the Godswood. He secretly tried to make off with a lemon cake, but you smacked his hand away, causing him to lift his hand to his chest with a wounded expression on his face. You dipped a gingerbread into the currant compote, munching on it.

“You’ve changed, you know,” Daemon remarked, finally successfully thwarting your attempts to stop him from pillaging from your platter of sweets and lifting a lemon cake to his mouth. You offered him an exasperated look, yet he could detect the faint hint of fondness in your glare. The both of you had been like this since you were children, always sneaking off with lemon cakes and strawberry tarts from the royal kitchens and huddling under the Godswood, giggling and munching on your stolen goods until you were discovered by the servants.

“I could say the same for you,” you eyed his new haircut. “You always used to have a preference for longer hairstyles.” “Well, that was before someone decided to cut off my hair during my sleep once,” Daemon snarked, running his hand through his hair. You snorted, “You can’t still be hung up on that, can you, my Prince?” “How can I forget the only girl who was foolish enough to use Dark Sister in such a manner?” “I believe the word you were looking for was audacious, my Prince,” you smiled winningly at him. Daemon only rolled his eyes, reaching over to snatch the strawberry tart you were holding in your hands, causing you to let out a sound of protest.

The two of you sat in silence in the Godswood for a while, as you nibbled on your sweet treats. “In all honesty,” Daemon’s head snapped up in interest. “I think I’ve changed little over the years, but so much simultaneously.” You eyed the fig in your hand with despondence, “Do I sound foolish?”

“Yes,” Daemon answered, causing you to chuck a grape at him, which he caught with annoying ease. “Seven hells, let me finish before you resort to violence, byka zaldrizes. I think you sound foolish, yes, but I happen to think you have changed a great deal. And for the better.”

You mockingly gaped at his last remark, “A compliment from the Rogue Prince himself? Have the Seven Hells froze over?” Daemon narrowed his eyes, moving to smear currant compote on your gown, but you squealed and darted further from him. “Curb your disbelief, will you?” he scoffed, taking a bite out of his gingerbread dipped in currant compote. “It’s not just the hairstyle I fashion that has changed, you know, byka zaldrizes.”

“Well,” you mused, “I suppose you do seem changed by your exploits in the Stepstones. More mature, perhaps, to a minute extent.” Daemon raised an eyebrow, “Coming from you, that is high praise, byka zaldrizes.”

“I thought you might still be irate, or disgruntled after Viserys unnamed you as heir.” Daemon snickered slightly under his breath, remembering how wroth he was when the messenger from his brother came. “Well, they say time heals all wounds, byka zaldrizes.” You smile weakly at the mention of the word ‘time’, recalling your father’s ultimatum. “Let’s hope you can refrain from causing any more trouble this time then.” Daemon’s face twisted unpleasantly, “You mean, if that cunt of a Hand doesn’t decide to slander my name once more.”

“Speaking of, you seem quite…close to the new queen, hmm?” You heard the displeased edge in Daemon’s voice as he refused to address Alicent by name. How childishly Daemon-like. “I’m her chief lady-in-waiting, Daemon. Is it not natural for me to be close to her?”

“This is different,” Daemon leaned forward, eyes alight. “You care for the girl, don’t you? Far beyond the limitations of devotion that a lady-in-waiting has for her queen.” You looked at him, unimpressed. “I do not see how that is any of your business, but yes, I do. Alicent is akin to a daughter to me.”

Daemon gave a snort of gravelly laughter, “You ought be careful, you know. Your maternal instincts might incite some trouble for you some day.” You bristled, “She’s a young girl, Daemon. As someone who is older than her and used to court machinations, I would consider it an obligation to acclimatise her to her new role. Being Queen is no easy feat, you know. Unlike being a Prince.” Daemon smirked, “And yet, you would not be in this position had I not opened your eyes to your fragile political standing a few years ago, did I not?” You rolled your eyes, taking another lemon cake. “If you are expecting some gratitude, I would regret to inform you that your hopes are gravely misplaced.”

“I never expect anything from you, byka zaldrizes,” his smirk widened as he observed you while you nibbled on the lemon cake. “Truth be told however,” Daemon’s voice carried some genuineness, though he attempted to disguise it, “I am…pleased you took my advice to heart. Not a great many deal of people do.” You were mildly taken aback by how sincere he sounded: perhaps the Rogue Prince had a soft spot after all. “Well, it was sound advice,” you admitted, trying to sound pained. “Which was unexpected, coming from you.”

“Perhaps you should admit that I’m a better influence than you think I am,” Daemon teased. You rolled your eyes, “Now, now, let’s not get a moment’s victory swell up your ego.” “Oh, I’ve won plenty of victories, byka zaldrizes,” Daemon snarked back, smug, “I dare say I have enough cause to be as proud as I am.” “Says the one who lost in a contest of arms,” you muttered under your breath. Daemon raised an eyebrow, flicking your forehead. “Ow!” you scowled, “What was that for?”

“A reminder that insolence will not be tolerated in front of your Prince,” he grinned evilly at you. You narrowed your eyes, dipping a finger in the currant compote and moving to smear it on his forehead. Irritatingly, Daemon’s reflexes were much quicker than yours, and he caught your wrist with ease, tugging your hand towards his mouth to lick the compote off your finger while you shrieked. “That’s disgusting!” you sputtered out. Strangely, you felt a warm, rolling sensation at watching Daemon sucking the compote off your finger…however, you soon gagged at the thought.

Daemon looked pleased with himself as he released your wrist, “I prefer not to let food go to waste.” You huffed, “I was wrong. War has not matured you in the least.”

“Well, most of the court is terribly lacking in maturity anyway.” Daemon shrugged, leaning back against the trunk again. “Speaking of, how have you been faring in this court of vipers? Has your father finally found someone who is sufficiently tolerant of your impudence to marry you off to yet?”

Your face visibly fell at his last question, causing Daemon to frown slightly. “Have I misspoke?” Daemon cursed himself after that last question. ‘Why do I care?’ He thought to himself. He studied your dispirited expression. ‘I don’t know why…I can’t stand seeing her like this.’ His memory trailed back to the day of that blasted tourney, where he swore he watched your heart crack into two.

He never wanted to see that expression grace your face again.

“The question of…marriage,” you spat out that word with such distaste. “Is a complicated one. My father has given me an ultimatum: I must marry before the year ends, or face being disinherited and disowned by House Tyrell.” Daemon was never a man to be shocked, but now he looked positively dumbfounded. “Surely you’re jesting?” Daemon thought back to his vague impression of Lord Matthos: the man had seemed kindly enough, albeit he always looked much older and weary for his age, which could be attributed to your infamous temper and tendency to reject any prospective marriage matches he tried to make for you. But still, Lord Matthos cherished you, his only surviving child. Or so Daemon thought.

You shook your head despondently, “How I wish I was.” You sighed, your head drooped. “I thought…after so many years of resistance, my father would have finally given up on me. But it seems I was gravely mistaken,” your voice was resigned. “Laughable, is it not? You tried to warn me three years ago to save me from this fate, and I thought I had avoided it.”

Daemon let out a jagged laugh. “Responsibilities are hard to evade, byka zaldrizes. Even as a Prince, I was forced to wed for the sake of duty.” You turned to face him, and he was taken aback to see the tears glistening in your eyes. “But you can evade them,” you pointed out quietly. “You could mount Caraxes at any time, fly to Dragonstone, King’s Landing, Essos, or wherever else to avoid your wife. But me?” You choked out a laugh, “I’m just a woman, Daemon. I have no dragon, or even a cock.” Your voice sounded bitter. “I always envied you for that. You men of the realm have more liberties than you give credit for. You can go wherever you please, fuck anyone you please, and to no consequence. I wish I could do the same.”

Your words suddenly brought Daemon back to a memory of his childhood that he had long buried. He was nearing his 14th nameday, and he had finally convinced Viserys to sneak out with him for a night of revelry and debauchery in Flea Bottom. When he and his brother had returned to the Red Keep just before the hour of the bat, he had found you in his chambers, arms crossed and anger creasing your features, demanding an explanation of his whereabouts. When you had learnt that they were mucking about Flea Bottom, your face had turned indignant.

“Why had you not asked me along?” your words surprised Daemon, and he guffawed. “Y/N, I’m not sure if you realise, but Flea Bottom is not a place for girls like you,” Daemon said bluntly, moving to fling himself on his bed. “And why not?” you raised your voice. Daemon had levelled an unimpressed look at you. “You’re a lady, Y/N. Ladies shouldn’t be seen in places like Flea Bottom. Now go away, you’re giving me a headache.” Daemon flopped his head into the pillows, groaning at the creeping hangover as a result of the amount of strongwine he had drank this evening. He thought you would just huff and go back to your rooms, but he was surprised to hear your next words tinged with hurt.

“But…” you chewed on your lip. “You never even told me you were going. You tell me everything, even if I don’t want to listen.” Daemon had let out a groan of frustration, “And? Did you really want to hear that I was going to fuck some whores on the Street of Silk?” He heard your gasp, and it only solidified his belief that you were trying to nag at him like some prim, proper lady your mother was always training you to be. “I thought not. Now fuck off, I need to sleep.” He buried his face in his pillows, so he didn’t even notice when you left.

It was only until you left that he realised he had brought back some cakes for you that he never had a chance to give to you, since you avoided him like the plague for the next few days.

So that’s why you were mad at him. Realisation dawned on Daemon. It wasn’t because you were chagrined by his frequenting of brothels, it was because you felt hurt at being excluded. The three of you had used to do nearly everything together, and Daemon had considered you like a little sister after his mother’s death, though from the way the two of you bickered and roughhoused with one another, you were more like another brother to him instead. But something had changed after the first time he had paid a visit to the Street of Silk, and without him knowing it, he started treating you like a woman instead of his closest companion.

He looked back at you. You were hugging yourself now, face despondent as you thought about your bleak future ahead. He suddenly felt the urge to embrace you, to wipe the gloom from your features. Yet while his heart willed it, his mind did not. So he could only take a deep breath and say in an unusually gentle voice, “I understand what you’re going through. I…” he struggled to get the words out. “...I’m sorry.” You turned your head in his direction, slightly disconcerted by his apology. “What for?”

‘For you being a woman, for you being helpless to your fate.’ He tried to formulate a response. ‘For not being able to do more to help you. For everything.’

“For your situation,” he managed to choke out in the end, though they were not the words his heart wanted so desperately to say. You gave him a small smile, your eyes distant with sadness, “I never thought I’d hear you apologise…but thank you.” Although it is useless in preventing my fate.

Daemon was internally frustrated with himself at his failed attempt at getting his emotions across, and at wiping the gloom from your face. Unsure of what to do, he picked up another strawberry tart and offered it to you. Dumbfounded, you opened your mouth and he gingerly fed you the tart. Despondent, yet utterly mystified, you studied him carefully, but his face gave nothing away. In the end, you dismissed this as just Daemon behaving unusually again. It was only normal after the bloodshed he had seen in the Stepstones…right?

Despite your own predicament, it seemed relations in the Red Keep were taking a turn for the better. Over the past few months, Rhaenyra had gradually patched up her estrangement with Alicent, much to your delight. Rhaenyra had even warmed a bit to Alicent’s children, though she still regarded Aegon with a bit of disdain - you weren’t quite sure if it were due to his position as Viserys’ only son or because of Aegon’s tantrums. Helaena seemed to be comfortable around Rhaenyra however, always silent and content whenever Rhaenyra picked her up. While Viserys was still notably displeased by Rhaenyra’s abandonment of her marriage tour, he appeared fairly resigned by his daughter’s wilfulness.

It was due to Rhaenyra’s warmer relations that you found yourself in the company of Rhaenyra more and more these days, like now. You were engaged in a game of cyvasse with her, although you were losing quite badly due to Rhaenyra’s aggressive play style.

“I win!” Rhaenyra exclaimed with delight as she captured your last remaining key piece. You groaned, but smiled good-naturedly at her. “Well played, Rhaenyra.” Rhaenyra laughed, “Tis only your first time playing. You held up rather admirably in my opinion, but your defence needs more work.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” you smiled, reaching over to pour yourself another cup of tea. Elinda Massey, one of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting, entered the room to deliver a parchment to her, and Rhaenyra frowned as she opened it.

“What is it?” I questioned. “A summons from Father,” Rhaenyra sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “It appears a few lords, notably Jason Lannister,” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “Have been inquiring about my prospective matches yet again. Father wishes to reopen talks of marriage when we break fast tomorrow.”

You eyed her sympathetically, “I’m sorry, Rhaenyra.” Rhaenyra snorted, “Whatever for? Jason Lannister is the one who needs to apologise for being such a brash, brazen fuckhead.”

“Rhaenyra!” You doubled over with laughter at her description. Rhaenyra crossed her arms. “Tis true, is it not? If only the Lannisters had as much wits to spare as they have gold.” You tried to contain your laughter, “I can see your uncle is rubbing off you.” Rhaenyra smirked, “Well, I should hope not. Did you hear about his latest exploits?” You smiled ruefully, “How could I not?” Daemon was never one to stray far from trouble for long, and war had not tempered his lusts in the slightest. He had taken up with his old companions of the City Watch, drinking in taverns, bedding whores, and the like. You were not wrong to say Daemon had not matured, but you didn’t know the full story.

Rhaenyra stood up and walked to the window of her room, sighing as she clasped her hands behind her back. “Sometimes, I do wish I could be more like my uncle.” “An absolute scoundrel?” You answered, walking up to her and offering a goblet of Arbor gold. She smiled and took it.

“A man. With an abundance of freedom to spare despite the fact he is married.” You raised your eyebrows, this sounded eerily similar to your conversation with Daemon under the Godswood a while ago.

“It’s not just his freedom I desire,” Rhaenyra looked pensive. “Were I born a man, this bother of a marriage tour would never have occurred in the first place. There would be no call into question about my legitimacy and suitability for the throne due to my gender. And-” Rhaenyra struggled to contain her frustration.

You gave her a sad look. Of course you understood what she meant, you had wished that yourself.

“I hate to confess this but…” Rhaenyra bit her lip, “...I’m afraid of what the path of marriage has in store for me. I do not want to end up like my mother - I’ve seen enough of how she suffered in her tenure as Queen, trying to give Father the heir he so craved. I do not wish to just be some broodmare for my husband.”

“Sadly, we are women, Rhaenyra,” you reminded her solemnly. Rhaenyra huffed in exasperation, draining her goblet with one huge gulp, putting it down on a nearby table before pacing around her room. You watched her in commiseration. “I almost forgot to ask - how is…your situation faring?” Rhaenyra asked delicately. You sighed, “About as well as you’d imagine. I must either live as a nameless commoner or as a married woman in two moon turns.” Rhaenyra circled back to you to take your hands in hers and squeezing it tightly. “Have you told my father yet? Perhaps he can arrange a betrothal for you, or convince your father to change his mind.” You gave her a close-lipped smile. “I wouldn’t want to trouble Viserys in this way. He is busy enough as it is.” And you still couldn’t resign yourself to the fate of marriage just yet. Nightmares had been plaguing you more incessantly nowadays, all either of being married off to some lord who was old and balding or someone whom you despised, of Aemma’s various miscarriages and her eventual death in childbirth. More oft than not, you would wake up in the middle of the night with cold sweat.

Rhaenyra flashed you a sympathetic look, squeezing your hands so tightly in hers that they were growing numb. “In any case, I will be here for you, whatever you may choose.” You bowed your head in gratitude, “Thank you, Rhaenyra. But I couldn’t possibly, I wouldn’t know how to repay you.”

Rhaenyra waved her hand dismissively, “Father always says you are family. And you are like a mother to me, especially after Mother died. Dragons look out for their own kind.” Your eyes grew misty at her words, as you murmured your gratitude under your breath.

You noticed Rhaenyra looking out her window wistfully. “Is there something else on your mind?” You inquired. Rhaenyra turned to you, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Y/N, you’ve been to the city before, have you?” You looked puzzled at her question. “Yes, my mother had chaperoned me once, but it’s been a few years since that. Why do you ask?”

Rhaenyra looked deep in thought. “In my governance classes with my tutors recently, they had been stressing on the importance of knowing the people of the land you're about to rule. Granted, they were talking about nobility, mostly, but I’ve always been curious as to the inner workings of the lives of the peasants.” You couldn’t hide your surprise. “The peasants?” Rhaenyra looked sheepish as she dropped your hands. “I’ve never really been to much parts of King’s Landing apart from the Dragonpit and the Red Keep. It gets a little boring after being cooped up in here for so long, you know?” An uncomfortable expression creased your features: Rhaenyra sounded like an exact mirror of your young self, eager to explore, to have fun. But now, you were grown, and much more cautious.

“You could ask Ser Harrold to bring you around the city,” you suggested, but Rhaenyra looked opposed to the idea. “Then when people see me coming, they’ll think of me as the Princess and scrape away like subservient, mindless goats. I want to catch a glimpse of their lives, of their true thoughts about me as heir.” “So you mean to go alone then?” you looked unsure, but Rhaenyra nodded eagerly. “That would be the plan, yes.” Her face suddenly became a bit more serious and thoughtful. “It might be my last chance to sneak out for adventure. Once I am married…I do not think my future husband will be very approving of this notion.”

You were quiet for a while, before you spoke up again, a sudden enlightening occurred to you, “Rhaenyra, you know…marriage need not be an end to indulging your desires.” Rhaenyra gave you a perplexed look. “What does that mean?” “You’re not just some highborn woman, Rhaenyra,” you took her hand, eyes twinkling. “You are the Princess. The heir to the realm. Even your husband will have to submit to you in the future as your king consort, will he not?” Rhaenyra was beginning to see the light in your logic, and her face lit up, though it dimmed again as she spoke, “But my father…I cannot guarantee that he will not rebuke me if I step out of the line..” You considered her words carefully, “That may be true…but so long as you don’t bring shame to the kingdom, and keep your exploits discreet, you will still be able to retain some level of freedom to pursue your desires.”

Understanding was beginning to dawn on Rhaenyra, as the gears in her head began spinning. “You might be right.” She lifted her head in pride, “I am a Targaryen Princess, and heir to the throne after all. What should I have to fear about the opinions of others?” You squeezed her hand gently. “So you see, marriage might not be the end to your freedom as you thought. You are a smart woman, Rhaenyra. Do not let marriage confine you.” You were excited yourself. You didn’t have the same power Rhaenyra would have over her future consort, but still, you hoped that with Rhaenyra as an example, mayhaps there can be greater liberty afforded in marriages for highborn women, including yourself.

Feeling confident of your own words, you looked into Rhaenyra’s violet eyes and smiled, “Always remember that you are the blood of the dragon, Rhaenyra. As heir to the throne, you have more advantages and liberties than most ladies of the land could ever hope for. Leverage them wisely, and be smart about your privileges to carve out the life you want to live.” You went silent, before adding, “Aemma would’ve wanted you to.”

Rhaenyra’s face was suffused with a rosy glow, both at the prospect of regaining some semblance of control in her life, and at your mention of her mother. Aemma was always a soft spot for her, evident by the ruby falcon necklace Rhaenyra had taken to wearing everyday without fail. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about, Y/N,” Rhaenyra smiled gratefully at you. “It is good to have someone of the same mind as I am here in this Keep.” She squeezed your hand in gratitude. “Out of everyone, I understand most of what you’re going through.” You smiled motherly at her. “I would do anything to help you fulfil your desires. Always remember that I’m here for you.”

Meanwhile, concealed amidst the secret passageways in Rhaenyra’s apartments, a cloaked figure listened intently, a smirk tugging on his face as he listened to the discussion between you and his young niece.

It appears my niece has a desire to see the city, hmm?

I think I can make that happen.

In the morrow, you were trying to calm Aegon in Alicent’s solar as he threw a tantrum, protesting today's choice of breakfast: which was porridge. When you heard faint footsteps and the sound of the door to the solar opening, you looked up, pulling a smile on your face while trying to prevent Aegon from grabbing his plate and smashing it. That smile faded however, as you took in Alicent’s grim appearance. You soon learnt about the reasoning behind her upset expression, and you gritted your teeth, feeling like smashing up a plate yourself.

Daemon.

That fucking cunt.

Translations: Ry iksos sȳrī, dōna dārilaros. - All is well, sweet princess.

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301 @hc-geralt-23

those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form!

A/N: And that's chapter 8! Chapter 9 should be released sometime next week, and Act 1 will conclude at Chapter 10.

Also, I've been thinking about setting up a writing Instagram account, where I will post regularly on my daily progress on my fics as well as behind the scenes of my fic writing (e.g. my mental breakdowns over writers' block, sketches of character's outfits and advanced previews of upcoming fics). Let me know if you guys will be interested in that in the comments!

Additionally, I've also been thinking of publishing one shots of Daemon and the reader's childhood as well as alternate realities of how the fic could've gone if some characters had made different choices. This will be after the completion of Act 1 of course, and I already have some ideas hehe so stay tuned!

As always, thank you for reading this far! Let me know what you thought about this chapter 💕

120 notes · View notes