[ A strange thing, Valyria; the ideal ancestral home, the beginning and the end of the power that is now only left in their hands, the ruined wasteland. If only they could return home, but there is no home to return to. The magic in their blood pulls Targaryens close, but then they keep close, because no one else could understand, no one else without their place in the world, having instead to carve and stitch it together in fire and blood (and it will never be Valyria.) Father has forgotten their home, but Daemon has always remembered, has taught Rhaenyra how to remember, in language and dragons and haughtiness.
Another sip of wine as she contemplates his question, but it really is wretched, so her fingers gently push the cup out of close reach once it's set back down on the table. ]
I've no homesickness, not yet. I don't long for any of this. [ A vague gesture with her hand. Parties in King's Landing still had their small joys (Father making Jace laugh until he was near breathless, catty commentary with Laenor when he was not too distracted, the way the soft pink light illuminated the castle as she stealthily stumbled home from Harwin's chambers) but those were not enough to set her heart to longing, to outweigh the comfort she has found in the arms of uncle and cousin. ]
And you? [ Do you miss this, do you miss me? Clearly not, staying so firmly put with an ocean between them. ] You've not seen such grace in years. [ Westerosi dances are already odd enough, but the one they've attempted to learn just is not right, Laena the only one making it look halfway decent while simultaneously trying to avoid having her toes stepped on. ]
[ It's not Westeros Daemon misses. He can do without the elaborate court dancing, in and out of the great hall. When he thinks of it, he thinks not places, nor the food, or the superior drink. He thinks of his family when it was grand in the golden hours of his grandsire's reign. The grandness of their house blooming into something great after the decades of rot eating away at their numbers. He thinks of his brother, mostly when he was still handsome as well as proud. He thinks of Rhaenyra and how much of himself he sees in her. How much of Alyssa he thinks he sees in her.]
Oh, the penniless mummers could put on a far more convincing show than this.
[ His remark comes from another sad sip of his cup before he abandons it tableside to round the end over towards her. His eyes on Laena — the true miracle of the night is how tactful she remains throughout this whole affair. Even from here, Daemon can tell she is bordering plastered. That sort of liquid grace comes from muscle memory. He thinks she might need to be put to bed soon. Before she gets it in her head to try and mount Vhagar for a victory round.
They've got time to spare before that. As noted by the very casual taking of her hand as he winds around her to lead her towards the center floor. Obviously, they must. He once left her hanging in the middle of dance, had he not?]
Now, if Reggio had done his part and dressed as Viserys to berate me over something baseless and trivial. [ Philandering with his daughter, perhaps. ] Perhaps, it might have done the trick.
[ Nothing says 'welcome home' like brotherly disappointment. ]
[ Left her hanging in the middle of a dance of wits and dares, more like. But yes, Daemon owes Rhaenyra a real dance, and as much as she wants to pretend that she has to be convinced to join him, she gives it up easily once his hand finds hers, winding together through the crowd towards the middle of it all.
They don't seem to be drawing too much attention from the other guests, not in the way they would if this really was a Westerosi party. Perhaps the people of Pentos are more liberal with allowing uncles to have niece-paramours (though is she truly a paramour when shared between both husband and wife), perhaps their murky past hasn't even been circulated as gossip, perhaps they all know and willingly accept the real truth of it—that it's none of their business, Targaryens can and will do as they please, Targaryens do not need to explain themselves to anyone without the blood of the dragon (those same dragons that are keeping them all alive and safe from pirates who would be far more cruel.) Rhaenyra does not doubt that a whisper or two has escaped from Pentos to float back across the sea to King's Landing, rumors blooming about her time here and all the terrible scheming they must be doing.
Like Laena (and all noble ladies brought up in the court of King Viserys), the dances are stored deep in Rhaenyra's muscle memory, and with more recent years of consistent practice and showcasing in her father's court she's able to add bits of flair to different moves; nothing excessively skilled or eye-catching, just extra twists of her hands and flicks of her skirts to make it interesting. The last glimmers of the Realm's Delight, brought out to be pleasing and adored like a piece of ornamental gilding. ]
Ah, yes, that is what is missing. Having fun until I look up to see Father's dour face.
[ It's been refreshing to not worry about endlessly dancing for Viserys' approval; loved in name but abandoned in need. ]
There's no real fun allowed at those parties. Not for us.
[ Us: unwanted daughter and inconvenient second son. ]
[ Yes, it's all plotting the demise of invasive Hightowers while they cohort together in their divine exceptionalism. All the sex and the scheming. Whispers have always been and Daemon has spent most of his life running away from the consequences of them. There is little they could do to him now that he's put himself a world away. Let them find out, in the days and weeks it takes for their little spies. He couldn't care less what anyone in the walls of this manse has seen since her coming.
(What are they going to do? Send someone?)]
Good thing this isn't really one of those parties.
[ And thus his being a little handsy with her earns no glowering. This late into the evening, there is less a sort of fanfare around the dancing. The drunken revelry is closing in on itself rather than waste their focus on anyone else. Surely, some will still whisper. By the time whispers of Laena's nameday celebrations will fall upon the desired ears, a lazy dance between uncle and niece will have corrupted into perversely public rutting.
Until then, they move and twirl under some slight veil of public anonymity. Circling one another among a crowd under flickering candles. Though not a lady of the court, they constantly subjected Daemon to much of the same duties and droll expectations. Though it's not quite flair that is added to his movements, it is merely his natural aloofness creeping in through the motions. ]
When its your court, you can have all the fun and lemoncakes you like. [ A little lean in. ] And if someone doesn't like it, you tell them to fuck off.
[ Rhaenyra hums a laugh at first, the idea of the Red Keep magically transforming into her own personal paradise; filled to the brim with pastries and pretty girls and handsome knights and genuine, roaring laughter, any naysayers turned away at the gates with a gentle mmmm... fuck off.
But... why must she wait? Why does she need to stand by, the only one left who can see the vipers and leeches for what they are, unable to assert any real sort of authority until Father is dead?
She slips into High Valyrian, not to keep it secret (hard to do with the Pentoshi, even if their dialects are wildly different) but because it feels more comfortable, more them: ]
Can't I have all of that if I stay here instead?
[ —Without any further hassles of ruling and crowns and politics and disputes and wars? Wouldn't everyone in King's Landing ultimately be happy if she were to just disappear, Viserys' two nuisances both happily disposed of? He had done it, why couldn't she?
He might think she is joking by the light tone of her voice, the nonchalant delivery as they dance along, but as she continues on she clearly becomes more serious. ]
All of that, and you. And Laena.
[ (She'd suggest they send for Laenor, too, offer him a home base to return to between whatever adventures he finds himself in, offer him the chance to claim any other future children as his own if he wanted.)
Sweets and attractive, jovial courtesans are no replacement for a true, loving family. Without Father all she will have left are siblings that have already been poisoned against her by their jilted, jealous mother, and Jace(/any other children) who will inevitably grow old enough to hear and understand the unending whispers. ]
We can be happy together, you know we would.
[ She slows down a bit, trying to gauge his reaction. Surely he wouldn't deny her this? ]
[ Despite their time spent so long apart, Daemon knows her. He may know her better than anyone because they share the same core, same brand of fire. To the point where he knows what is about to come out of her mouth before she says it. He can see it in the subtle shift as they drift around one another. Having yet another eerily similar conversation that that once shared in the center of a very different crowd of a very different hall.
Daemon had left Westeros uncertain to when he would see her again. He had decided what was best for both of them, which felt more akin to severing his own arm in more ways than he liked to admit. It began to destroy him, he had to bury it. He did so with Laena and let her troubles become his. Later, he would feign his indifference when she would read aloud her brother's letters. Learning fragments of the life he left behind in Laenor's rose-colored glasses. He hated it, and yet he wanted to know everything.
Essos was both better and worse. On top of it all, he became a father. He had spent months not knowing how well both girls would survive. They had been so small. And then one day, Rhaenyra arrives on her amber dragon and he knew she had reached her limit. In a different way, so had he. ]
Still wanting me to steal you away?
[ Lighthearted. A slight tilt of his head, keeping her gaze in an equal measure as he steps in. A little more serious, they go.
More of a voluntary surrender, if anything. She had come to him willing after all. He doesn't deny what she says nor can he hide the look that tells her he knows she's right. They would be happy, they have been happy. Far away from a place that never really wanted them, that would constantly see them poisoned against one another.]
Do you know what you're giving up? To go live the life of an exile?
[ Even though he's about as exiled as a closed gate with a broken latch and suffering as much as a cat that hasn't been fed in three hours, it is used for dramatic emphasis. He is not denying her, not yet.]
[ There had been no planning, no letters in advance of her arrival in Pentos. Rhaenyra had been so stifled in the Red Keep, trapped by duty and loyalty until Syrax tugged on her heart, reminded her of the hours she spent as a child on dragonback, free from the world below. She could have escaped to anywhere with the freedom only afforded to the few, but in Pentos she knew she would find what she needed most—love from those who understood. ]
Yes, of course I know; I would surely lose my title as heir. [ Exasperated, feeling like she's being treated as a young, foolish girl who hasn't thought this through. ]
He has taken everything from me in exchange for it, uncle.
[ Her mother, first, killed by his selfishness. Her closest companion, stolen away in greed when he could have had anyone else. The chance at a loving marriage, too eager to contain and set her in place to remedy his own foolish mistakes. Daemon, officially banished or not, the last bit of family she had left.
After all of that, perhaps naming her heir was to soothe Viserys' own guilt. But all it does is serve him, tying Rhaenyra to him like she is one of the dragons in the pit, without giving her support whenever she is truly in need. And still she hungers for his love, his approval.
Being here has shown Rhaenyra that perhaps she doesn't need it anymore. ]
[ The trouble with his brother is that he seldom knew when to relent on his own futile dream of a reign that rivals their grandsire's. Viserys is, perhaps, the most stubborn out of them all. While he may be slow to let things fester, he is swift in his rashness that makes Daemon's rebellions look trivial.
Rhaenyra was far from his perfect heir — a little lacking something to be a son with Aemma's eyes. All that mattered at the time was that she was a better option than Daemon, arguably still the only person who could have had his brother's best interests in mind. If he had been allowed. He still does, even now. After everything had forced him running across the Narrow Sea gasping for air. He wonders what Viserys would think of news that his daughter would never return home. He thinks of the wedge it would drive deeper between them.
He thinks and thinks and thinks and a twist of his foot he breaks their little dance and steps away.]
Do you think he'd just let you go?
[ Not so equally exasperated, but it is there. All that thinking through, had she thought so little of herself to not think of that?
Laena's laughter flirting over their heads is grounding in an odd sort of way, pulling him out of the vortex often felt when the two of them begin to spiral in each other's presence. Sooner to escape instead of let them collapse into each other in some messy public affair.
Daemon lands back to the abandoned table and their shitty ale and wine. His head down as he fixes himself a fresh cup. Fully aware she may well be haunting him over his shoulder but too stubborn to acknowledge it.]
[ To her detriment, nothing can pull Rhaenyra out of the spiral as he walks away from her, in this moment feeling as dismissive as her father. It pokes and prods at that deep wound of abandonment she has so willingly shown and shared with them, the one that she is certain can and will be healed if she stays. So, she does follow, trying not to pull any further curious eyes to the pair, hoping that Laena's charm is enough of a draw to keep attentions off of them.
She gives him a moment, hoping that maybe another mouthful or two of the shit wine will inspire him to see her perspective, to concede and pull her into his embrace, but she is just met with silence. ]
His pride will not allow him to send after me.
[ Too concerned with justifying the decades-old Great Council decision, worried still about looking like he had been the wrong choice, that his crown was not destined from birth but fumbled onto his head. If Viserys wishes to mimic the rule of the Old King, Rhaenyra is just fulfilling her destined role as the scorned, rebellious, troublesome daughter. ]
He has an abundance of what he's wanted.
[ Three healthy brothers, the finally fulfilled promise her father would whisper to her about during her childhood as her mother struggled through each and every pregnancy. ]
I am not needed, he knows that.
[ And if he doesn't, there will be more than enough voices at council and court to help him see her removal as a blessing. ]
[ It isn't that he doesn't understand her perspective, it is that Daemon too understands his brother — at least, he did at some point in time. Stubborn as Targaryen's are, would not be any bit surprised to find seldom has changed since his leaving. That his brother, when set his mind to something, will run himself raw and ragged before shifting towards something else. It is their way.
The wine is still shit, souring between his cheeks as he mulls her words. Grimacing into his cup as he wills it down like a piece of overcooked sinew. Determined not to be any more bothered as his cup sets down empty. Finger tapping along the rim before it is pushed aside.]
Do you not want it?
[ He asks only when he has turned, voice soft and earnest. He sinks gently down along the edge of the table. A sly hand catching hers, limp between them.
An earnest question, in spite of everything she has said. Yes, he has listened to her spill her woes nearly night after night. He knows she is tired and she feels defeated trying to obey this impossible task thrust upon her. No less eager to be liberated such as he is from duty as she was to the mere prospect of getting married. To having children.
Her mind had changed with Jace, he can see it in the way she looks at him. Nothing for her is absolute, despite what she says. She is ready to give it up, yes. That doesn't mean she still can't want it.]
[ She opens her mouth to quickly reply, but instead, Rhaenyra holds herself back, eyes trailing down to their hands on a heavy exhale, letting her head hang forward.
Of course she wants it. It is hers. A selfish gift from Viserys but a gift nonetheless. She had tried to give it back before (what if she had insisted then?), but he refused to reverse his decision, doubling down on the words spoken before all the realm's liege lords that she was his choice as they all kneeled before them, united as one, and then later cheered and feasted in her name. It's all she can think of when she is loneliest, this idea that she is the embodiment of the power and future of their house (of the entire realm, if what Father has shown her is true), worthy of being more than just a bodily conduit the way that all other queens had been before her.
Her thumb, so used to twirling the rings on her fingers, delicately brushes against his hand. ]
It would be a hard sacrifice.
[ To lose that feeling of importance, of destiny, to continue living in this Essos fantasy.
For you.
Back to Common, speaking as a queen would, trying to sound as convincingly firm as possible: ]
But I will not beg you to have me.
[ She had frustratingly tried that before.
Right on cue, Jace has roused from his slumber and found his mother amidst the rest of the crowd, clinging onto Rhaenyra's skirts, and she immediately dives down to scoop him up and into her arms. She gives Daemon one last look to allow him to say something—if there is anything left to say for now—before she will start to make her way out of the party. ]
There is just the slightest glint as he looks her in the eye before their touch splits as Jace latches to her skirts. It's gone as his hand falls back into his lap. As much as she might love or loathe it, depending on her mood, she is very much her father's daughter.
Therein hangs a moment where more could be said while she very obviously lingers around to expect him to divulge the last word. Perhaps come around to a very bad idea in the making. Unfortunately, there is both too much left to be said and Daemon is too begrudgingly stubborn to indulge her.
It's not as though he's said no. She's just going on assuming things.
Daemon picks himself up. A small, curled smile on his lips only present for the very cranky toddler fussing a tiny fist into his own tired eye. A little ruffle of the brown mop of hair before he silently meets Rhaenyra's eye. Challenging in a way, speaking in another.
They'll finish this later. More sooner, than later.
For now, it is definitely time to begin putting those to bed. Rhaenyra with little Jacaerys. Daemon with his lovely Laena. Before Reggio pushes the events a little too far, the Pentoshi will no doubt carry on until the dawn. With or without the lady of honor present. It's still a bit of a fight to steal her away, but eventually he succeeds. Plying her with sweetened broths to stave her from feeling like death in the morning while he listens and indulges her in talking shit about nearly everyone there, you know...marital things. Eventually leaving her to sleep off the rest. He doesn't bring up Rhaenyra and her desire to ward herself to them.
Some time deeper into the night, Daemon emerges from his chambers. Too, dressed further down for the night. The revelry more subdued, but present echoes from the central courtyard. Slipping underneath the darkened arcade to Rhaenyra's chambers, where hopefully she had heeded him and stayed awake. If not, too bad. Knock, knock.]
Edited (there was a lot of conflicting action going on because im an idiot) 2023-07-19 02:30 (UTC)
[ He hasn't said no but he hasn't said yes either; Rhaenyra, as always, stuck in awkward limbo, wondering when she will ever just be enough. Perhaps, she thinks, she should have tried differently and brought it to Daemon and Laena at the same time, her cousin being at least somewhat less bound in loyalty and devotion to a king who gives little in return.
(In actuality, Laena would probably suggest the opposite; they all leave Pentos together, provide a fiercely united front in the Red Keep against any naysayers, and prepare Rhaenyra together for her ascent to the throne.)
(If only.)
Had she not soured her mood (hard to fight those spoiled princess accusations by acting like this when she doesn't get what she wants) Rhaenyra would have eagerly joined in on the gossiping pillow talk, but she avoids everyone and quietly exits without saying goodnight. Jace gets tucked into his own bed at the nursery, Rhaenyra staying a bit to make sure he settles back into sleep before retiring to her own.
The low hum of the continuing party serves to mask any other noises in the night. Rhaenyra's mind struggles to settle, and as the hours pass she can't be sure if she has been in and out of sleep or just lying there awake, thoughts running and winding around the same few words shared between them, trying to decipher any missed meanings.
The knock at the door shakes her from whatever trance she's in, quietly getting herself up and out of bed, standing a few steps from the door to take a moment and decide whether or not she wants to answer—maybe he should feel scorned by her for once, hmph!
... ... ...
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, a shadow morphs into a dark figure, swiftly lunging towards her, Rhaenyra letting out a cut off shriek that gets muffled into the person's hand that they clasp against her mouth. Though she is no warrior, Rhaenyra holds enough strength to not be completely subdued, fighting against the pushes and pulls, eventually resorting to a sharp bite of her teeth into the skin of the hand held against her mouth, screeching out for— ]
[ Amid the struggle of Rhaenyra's attacker attempts to subdue her, lets out a cry that is quickly muffled. She is released, clumsily shoved back towards the inner depths of her chambers as the man is wrenched deeper into the inky dark. All too quickly a scuffle and a loud snap rings out and a body crumples back into the light. A man in servants clothes, writhes across stone cradling his arm — bone snapped leaving his hand dangling sickly half way down from his elbow.
Daemon emerges from the shadow shortly after him. He coolly steps forward, around scrambling legs as their assailant tries to put a foot of distance between them. It becomes apparent that Daemon holds a long kris dagger in one hand, not one of his own. This one he had plucked off their unwelcome guest, one who is terrified to be receiving it back.
Something was off when he'd knocked. The latch to the door off kilter gave way under his polite introduction. Shadows lift from Daemon's face, a fixed cold as he looms over their guest-assassin. One step and another, slow and predatory. Uncertain to whether the best course is to kill him as swiftly as he came or let him suffer for whatever he was about to attempt on his niece. Or fuck it, drag him outside by his cock and let the dragons in the dunes feed on him living. He's not picky.]
You alright?
[ He does not look to her when he asks. Another step to where he straddles the air above the other man. Turning the dagger in his palm as his chin tucks further down to keep looking him in the eye. He doesn't need her permission, per se. But he does wait for her word. ]
[ It all happens so quickly; freed from her assailant's grip she stumbles backwards, grabbing onto one of the bed's posts to stop herself from falling but then using it to propel herself to scramble up the mattress on hands and knees, searching frantically for the small knife she keeps tucked under pillows (a practice put in place years ago when perhaps someone in this room gifted one to her as a child, promising to keep it secret), hands finding and finally grabbing hold of it—
The hideous sound of cracking bone makes her let out a cringing yelp, almost afraid to look back and see the result of Daemon's intervention. ]
Yes, I'm alright.
[ Standing to take a step back towards them, Rhaenyra doesn't immediately recognize the man squirming on the floor, not sure if he's just plucked his clothing from an unsuspecting victim elsewhere in the manse or has been attending to them and observing for weeks.
She's never seen her uncle like this, not truly (maybe a glimmer of it during the different tourney melees he deemed worthy to participate in); she has always known him to be a brimming threat of violence (and has always found a certain thrill in it) but here it actually was, about to tip over. ]
Wait. [ Trying to tug him back from the edge. ] We must know where he came from.
[ Before you start slicing him and he's unable to speak. ]
[ Granted, their guest seems to be capable of little in the moment. Apart from the whimpering. Some assassin, like a snapped bone shouldn't slow anyone down. It's a telling thing on its own. How much coin for mettle was thrust forward for the assaulting his niece? How much was this a sure attempt or just a warning?
Questions, questions.
She is right, perhaps that is the only reason why Daemon remains paused. Apart from the fidgeting of the knife, he is remarkably still, a foreboding calm. He does not look up to Rhaenyra when she speaks nor seems to directly acknowledge what she says. ]
Well? [ He speaks up after a beat of silence. Tone almost casual as he pauses with a slow tilt of his head. ] Are you not going to address the princess and I's concerns?
[ You know, just in case there was any confusion among them how much deep shit this guy is in.
The man opens his mouth to speak as Daemon bends over as he steps around the servant, looping his fingers into the collar of his coat. Dragging him before the open flame sparking within the chamber's hearth. The man begins to squirm away in the brief moment Daemon lets him go to stoke the fire with tthe kris and leave the tip of the blade rested in the embers.
He re-snatches the man by his collar before he uprights himself. Looking now up to Rhaenyra across the room while he holds their captive not unlike a cat who casually keeps a wriggling mouse pinned down. Playing with his food. ]
Triarchy, perhaps. Though the last one they sent was far less dull.
[ Speculating, openly. Thoughts?
For all they know, this is some desperate vagrant. Trying to target Reggio some one else in this manse. Daemon doesn't recognize him. While he might not care to remember most of the manse staff's names, he at least can care to recognize a face. Of those who serve his family closest. ]
Perhaps. But would that not risk an insurmountable escalation?
[ Father seemed to care even less about the skirmishes in the Stepstones than before, turning both blind eye and deaf ear to any news (though it was few and far between) of raided ships or burning encampments. Sending someone to kill her would be a deliberate choice to provoke the Iron Throne into more serious action; Viserys the Peaceful, yes, but even he would not—could not—avoid confrontation with the Triarchy if she had been the one at the end of the waved dagger.
Unless— ]
I would serve as an ideal martyr. Be it by his command or another's.
[ The former is an awful tin foil hat theory, as if Viserys has already heard of their earlier conversation and cannot bear the thought of the two of them out of his grasp and wants to take away her choice, turning her from a runaway daughter to a Targaryen tragedy (forgive her, it's late, and her mind has circled around and on top of itself for hours.) The latter is perhaps more conceivable but still extreme. There are those who dislike her at court, but is that dislike so deep and dark that they would scheme and spend mountains of coin to send someone to murder her at the risk of being found out and accused of the highest of treasons?
(Or perhaps it doesn't have anything to do with her at all, and this guy just got the wrong room, but c'mon, she's a princess who spent her youth as an only child, she always thinks everything has to do with her.)
In an instant the attacker reaches with his remaining good hand to something dangling from a string on his neck and ingests it, Rhaenyra only moving her gaze from her uncle's to catch a glimpse at the end—almost certain that it is some kind of poison. The man starts mumbling something; she can't tell what he's saying, unsure if his speech is the rougher dialect of Low Valyrian spoken here or some other language she does not know.
She moves further forward until she is standing behind Daemon as her human shield, looking over his shoulder to try and decipher and understand the man's mumbles, but they end, eyes rolling into the back of his head, breaths getting more laborious before turning to gasping, tongue lolling out of his mouth. ]
[ It depends, it depends on what their intended reaction is. Whoever they are. If they even intended on her room in the first place. Obviously they must have. Obviously this was a well orchestrated attempt to dare sneak into one of the most well-guarded manses as far as the eye could see. They weren't on a march through the realm, they were in a manse owned by the prince of Pentos.
The struggle that follows is akin to Daemon trying to wrench this man's mouth open like he's a dog that stolen a turkey leg off the dinner table. Quickly abandoned to watch him die miserably and blubbering into a foaming and glassy puddle. His head bounces off the floor as Daemon unceremoniously lets go with a disgruntled sigh.
Welp.]
Who else would benefit to rid you more?
[ His head raises after a moment. Because unlike her, he does not for a moment truly consider his brother to have any hand in it. His mind immediately lands on his circle, his council, his wife. Who stands far more to gain in Rhaenyra's absence. Even without Otto at her side with his puppeteering her, certainly now old enough to commit depravities of her own. ]
You don't think she's capable?
[ Doesn't want to, maybe. For as much as he has heard in the passing weeks, it doesn't seem unreasonable to think Alicent willing to have her childhood companion slaughtered. He pauses before he leans forward again, beginning to rifle through the man's pockets for whatever possessions he may have brought with him.
Fastenings shred as he pauses to rip open the front of his jacket, plucking a small jeweled firefly from a small concealed pocket.
[ Alicent? Alicent who shielded her eyes and squeezed Rhaenyra's hand at each charge of a joust, Alicent who cried when Rhaenyra would get into trouble with their septa, Alicent who spent hours diligently and gently brushing out all the knots in Rhaenyra's hair when she'd return from dragonriding—that same Alicent, now the scheming commander of the knife sent to slit her throat?
She wants to say no.
She says nothing, jaw clenched, averting her eyes back to the corpse, trying to look and make sure he's really dead (he is; sorry to this man.)
The trinket Daemon's found looks like nothing to Rhaenyra. Maybe she should care more, demand that the entire staff be woken and questioned harshly, have the failed assassin's lifeless body posted at the gates for all of the town to see, but the adrenaline has already dropped off and, ah, Reggio is finally here with his retinue (took long enough), flustered and barking orders to have the corpse carried away.
A flurry of activity around her but Rhaenyra stays quiet and still, and as it starts to subside she reaches out to grab at the sleeve of her uncle. ]
Stay with me, please. [ "I will not beg you to have me" but she will ask politely, ok. ] But not here, I won't be able to find rest after that.
[ It could be nothing. It could just be some little trinket he stole because it has a fine gem that might fetch a good price. It had been concealed, not pocketed. Yet it bears no mark or maker. Only more questions.
It eats away at him a little. More questions. Shifted onto the back foot when the commotion catches up to them. Reggio is sobered enough to get a handle on the situation. Daemon speaks with him briefly, a little huffy exchange over security, while Rhaenyra considers the possibility of her childhood sweetheart putting out a hit on her. Laena is fine, the children are fine, they had sent for Daemon to find her alone still sleeping off her spirits. The manse will be swept, servants interrogated, a new chambers will be made up for their guest's guest.
His thoughts to get down to the bottom of it are pressing, borderline consuming. Yet, as her touch grounds her back to the present, it does so for him. His hand automatically curls upward to capture hers, squeezing her fingers gently as Reggio departs.]
Fresh air? [ Daemon suggests as he turns, hands lifting to cup her face. Now more closely trying to assure she is, in fact, okay. Baby's first assassination attempt, rightfully scary. He wasn't intending on leaving her anyway. His thumbs lightly soothing across her cheeks. ] You're welcome to our bed. Or anywhere else you'd like.
[ A slow nod of her head against his palms at the first suggestion, hoping that removing herself from being enclosed by thick stone walls will calm her nerves. ]
Your balcony?
[ Guests of guests do not get the deluxe suites with outdoor living space and a view. They can both keep an eye and ear on Laena without disturbing her slumber with conversation or Rhaenyra's inevitable restless tossing and turning (and they can be there for when her cousin does awaken, to assist with any post-party morning maladies.)
While posed as a question she doesn't look for his permission, leaving her (now former) chambers, bare feet pattering against the cool stone towards the couple's rooms, trying to stay quiet even with the muffled thud of the door closing behind them—but no movement from the bed aside from the rise and fall of Laena's steady breathing.
They can see the dragons from out here, Syrax curled up but lifting her head with a sweet chirp once Rhaenyra makes it to the parapet, surveying the bit of bustle still going on on the grounds below in response to the threat on her life.
After a moment: ]
Perhaps Prince Reggio will ask me to leave, if I'm proving to be more trouble than I'm worth.
[ Kidding, mostly. Nodding her head towards her bronze dragon—she knows what value she brings here, and it's not the advanced dance moves. ]
[ Daemon is quiet, not entirely for Laena's sake. Stewing, more like, as he sinks along the parapet beside his niece.
Reggio and his men yelling fades and it's them and the dragons. Vhagar much a wizened old thing, near by but prefers her space to the two younger dragons who so often coil together. Caraxes is more alert, long noodle neck still surveying the men as they make their search of the grounds but otherwise keeps close. ]
You're a Targaryen princess. The threshold trouble is a bit higher than this.
[ Knocking her elbow with his. Daemon would know, he is an expert in the field. He also knows this likely wont stop. That even so far as Essos, the tides of family politics will still ripple out to get him. Probably would continue to follow if they flew all the way to the Shadowlands and beyond to Yi Ti. It's a cute idea. They can liberate Laenor, escape to the East with their three children and all their dragons. Start a new empire.
Though he knows deep down it'd never be the case. ]
You may be too valuable to keep, if anything.
[ Content herself all she likes that she might be off the hook with her little brother, it's simply not the case. As long as she remains the heiress to the Iron Throne, no one will leave her alone. Certainly not here. ]
[ Syrax relaxes, easing her long horned head back down to the earth with a heavy sigh; in tandem, Rhaenyra wraps her arm around Daemon's, leaning the side of her head against his shoulder, letting out her own matching exhale. No one will leave her alone here, perhaps, but it still seems preferable over the loneliness that awaits her back in the Red Keep.
The horizon in the distance is starting to show peaks of melting into a lighter shade of blue, but the bright shine of the full moon still hangs in the sky, the same moon she'd watch through the windows of her chambers in King's Landing. ]
Even more valuable than you know.
[ Cryptic.
Before he spirals too much to wondering what that could mean, she lets it loose. ]
This is the second time the moon has reached its peak since I arrived here. I've yet to have my moon blood since... since before I left home.
[ Finally she turns her eyes upwards to him, still holding onto his arm. She doesn't feel the need to also mention the weeks of added fatigue and nausea, symptoms that she took as just recovering from her journey or adjusting to the climate or reactions from new foods and spices, too stubborn to admit the truth of it to herself until this moment. ]
[ Syrax coiling in, Caraxes settles down to join her with a distended snort that shoots a small puff of smoke from his nostrils. Perhaps Daemon could have recognized the signs if he had been paying closer attention.
Then again, Syrax had always been a rather pampered dragon. Never hunting for herself, Reggio's servants had to get used to taking the food to her as she couldn't be encouraged to hunt for it. Every night, she remained coiled somewhere between the elder dragons. Well protected.
Daemon stirs, glancing down at the top of his niece's head. Two and two are easy to put together, but he extends a beat of silence to put it together. Then at sudden, shifting to face her. To lift her chin so that he may better look her in the eye. If she's telling him this now after so long, after her expressing her desire to stay with them indefinitely. This would be why. ]
A child, you're certain?
[ Lightly curious, but tempered excitement. That news could mean other things. There were times where Laena had been uncertain before. But they had been traveling some time, it had been stress, it had been false.]
[ Holding his gaze, violetbluewhatever eyes looking close, searching for any hints of displeasure, or worse, disappointment (he is still her uncle, her elder, after all.) A moment, maybe two, before she nods gently. The feelings are too familiar, the symptoms too consistent, the call of their shared blood too strong, entwining the three of them together so soon after she stepped foot in Pentos. ]
I hope. I don't think I could manage two at once.
[ Trying to take the edge off with a tug of a smile at the corner of her mouth, the grip on his arm loosening. Laena handles the twins well, but Rhaenyra would much rather have just one at a time.
Rhaenyra still remembers their conversations on marriage and children, the conviction she had against having either in her life. No one should be closely held to their teenaged beliefs, when one knows everything but nothing all at once, but still, she wants to explain. ]
I realized— before Jace, I realized our family would end with me. I couldn't be the last of our legacy.
[ Targaryens would carry on, but they wouldn't be the same as them. ]
sry for bugging u and the proceeding to fall off the face of the earth.
[It suits her well, motherhood. For as much as she determined herself heir and king without it. A naïve little girl terrified of succumbing to the fate of her mother. A real fear that none should take for granted. Laena herself had a troubled labor. The girls were small. There were many sleepless nights until all three seemed well. Even with the finest healers in Pentos, the fear of losing at least one of them had been very real.
For all the trouble of the night, the uncertainty of his niece's fate of staying with hem, this is still good news. ]
Our legacy. Our family, [ Daemon repeats, finger drawing along her jaw. His forehead coming to rest to hers a moment before his head lifts to press his lips to it. ] It is the only thing worth fighting for.
[ Viserys', Baelons, Alyssas, of all those that came before them. To all of those that survived catastrophe. Something even he thought less about when they were in that garden speaking of their forlorn duties to their kingdom. Something never quite grasped until he severed himself from the sickness of King's landing, the remnants of family, and escaped to the east to see how little left there was. ]
We will fight for it together.
[Daemon's head lifts to meet her eye, thumb grazing across her cheek. Fuck Westeros, honestly fuck the throne. Though fight for it all, some day they will. What lies in uncertainty still rumbles around the back of his head. Due to be addressed at a later time, the humming of it suppressed with a little taste of hope. Gods know they both need it.]
Edited (a word, theres probably more tbh) 2023-10-06 07:57 (UTC)
[ The way he holds her now feels the same as it always has, even back to when she was just a girl child bouncing on his teenaged knee; shielded and safe, a precious, treasured thing whose protection is deserved and not just by a guilted default. Even now, on the same night as an attempt on her life, the multitude of her fears (for herself, for this child, for everything that is yet to come) are quieted for a moment, Rhaenyra burying her face into the crook of his neck, breathing out a heavy exhale, pressing herself further against him, trying to envelop herself in that feeling.
Make no mistake, she still wants to stay, but his affirmation of being together in common cause makes the prospect of returning home seem a little less lonely, even if he remains on this side of the sea. ]
Let's go to bed. Enough excitement for one evening, and I fear I've made you neglect your wife.
[ More tongue-in-cheek to cut through the seriousness of the moment; Laena is still very much sound asleep and it's better she hasn't been disturbed. ]
[ Troubling, it all is more. She wants to stay, he wants her to stay. Maybe she is better off here in the end, maybe she isn't. He doesn't fucking know. It's been a long night, she came a hair closer to dying. Now she is more precious than she ever was before.
She's cutting through the moment with dull scissors, but a wry smile cracks at him all the same. Another press of his lips to her head, a lingering before he turns and slips his arm around her waist. Guiding her from the balcony and their sleeping dragons. Where they will make up for neglecting his poor, unconscious wife by piling into bed with her. Make no mistake, Daemon is not letting his niece sleep alone tonight.]
She above anyone understands your need to draw heads wherever you go.
[ She may not think it, but only Westeros's favorite princess gets assassination attempts. He's certain when Laena wakes up, she'll get a kick out of all of this. And by kick, he means she's going to be running the torch on burning down whoever did this. ]
[ Rhaenyra still is unsure whether she will be able to actually quiet her mind enough to sleep for what remains of this night, but she silently agrees that the best place to try is tucked between uncle and cousin, following Daemon's lead back inside.
She tries to take care not to cause too much of a fuss as she climbs in, a slow, gentle crawl onto the featherbed, maneuvering under tousled linens to lay on her back, her head turned towards Laena at first to see if she's been roused from the disturbance. They may have gotten away with it, so she turns back to look up at the ceiling, a hand meekly searching out one of his, haphazardly wrapping fingers around fingers, eyes still fixed upwards.
Her mouth opens to say something, something about feeling safe or how this is how home should be or maybe something even more vulnerable like I love you, but any words get caught in her throat and she just heaves a sigh, at least doing the physical act of closing her eyelids, even if sleep seems impossible for the moment—
Laena finally stirs and shifts onto her other side. Rhaenyra can't tell if she actually hears her cousin muttering her name, but her arms outstretch and Rhaenyra turns and folds into them, trying to keep Daemon's hand in hers as long as she can keep comfortable while tucking in close. ]
[ It's a lot to piece together in such a short amount of time. Daemon's head is still spinning by the time he is carefully curled on the other side of her. It's probably then he realizes, well and truly, that he can't see her returning to King's Landing. A dangerous through to let one's mind wander this early in the morning. She seems so perfect here, nestled into the center of their bed. Something had been missing, had that something been her?
He shifts and sinks, gaze still rested at the backs of hers and Laena's head. Feeling the deliberate padding of his wife's long fingers to find his arm and give it a squeeze. Daemon then shifts in closer to them, gingerly resting his forehead against her back. Upending Rhaenyra's grip on his hand to shift and curl hers more comfortably across herself, soothing her finger with his thumb. A little gesture that continues well after he begins to fall asleep.
However long that takes, he doesn't fucking know. He hopes that she sleeps in the time he spends quietly losing his mind. It could have been fifteen minutes or well past the first light began to lighten the sky. But eventually it does, and thank the gods he doesn't dream.]
i'm just now waking up from my long winter's nap 🥱
[ Conversely, Rhaenyra does dream. What happens in them is hard to distinguish, dreams are more about what she feels instead of images, or sounds, or any other sensory experiences. This night there is the presence of her mother; even though her memories of Aemma (the features of her face, the timbre of her voice) have faded slowly, cruelly, each day, she still knows the feeling of being with her. There's no clear message from the other side, no prophetic clairvoyance that comes through—there never has been. She does not think she's ever had a dragon dream, or perhaps she has and is just too rooted in this physical world to understand things that are far less tangible and far more cryptic. All she wakes with is the feeling, the knowing of what it was, but even that fades quickly and is easily forgotten.
One bit that was definitely not a dream: Laena, up and out of bed with gusto. Whether that was because she felt no ill effects of the night before or because she did and was forcing herself to push through, Rhaenyra can't tell.
There's a few more tries of her eyes opening for a moment only to quickly close again and drift off before the angle of the sun is too high and too bright to be ignored, stretching limbs and letting out a sigh, eyes blinking and searching to see if her uncle is still with her somewhere in this room, or if his exit was much more stealthy in comparison to his wife's. ]
[ Daemon was never graced with dragon dreams. If they'd ever come to him before, he thought little of their meaning. Often he dreams of nothing at all, cursed by the perpetual restlessness that inhabits his very core. Too rebellious to heed any sort of message from the fates. If he dreams, he dreams of the Doom, of his brother, sometimes of her, of his own children. This morning, he may have dreamed of the babe growing in her belly. A babe with long hair of silver.
Laena is an early riser, even with a hurricane of a hangover. She has always been the sort of girl to hit the ground running in spite of anything else. Nothing gets in the way of her morning flight. It's still too early for Daemon, but he's up with her to check in on Reggio's guardsmen for any news of their investigations into the morning. Slips back into the bedroom for perhaps a light nap before Laena returns and the children are awake.
Very quiet, the prince nudges the door shut behind him. Paused as though he's been caught as Rhaenyra stirs in bed, but only for a beat before he resumes and crawls upon the bed to deposit himself onto the blankets face down beside her. ] It's still early. [ He notes quietly, one arm curling around her middle to reel her in or him into her. ]
[ A tangle of pale limbs and even paler hair, most outsiders would have difficulties finding where one ends and the other begins when they're closely wrapped together like this. It's indulgent to Rhaenyra—not the lounging in bed with no sense of urgency, that is a standard perk of princess privilege—the gentle intimacy of being together like this, without needs of sneaking off through hidden corridors in the dark of night, realizing that she is doomed to always wake up alone (princess privilege still doesn't cover having a lover stay over.) ]
Wh—...ach.
[ Frog in the throat. She clears it. ]
What have you heard?
[ Because she knows he wasn't up early just for fun. ]
[ Reggio's men have been promised to do their finest work in their darkest hour, but Daemon seldom trusts them to get anything done. Someone moved into his home, tried to attack his family. The assassin is gone, but the threat looms over what could have been a lovely morning.
Daemon's grip tightens in a way that could almost deem threatening. A truer indication of his feelings than his answer, which deflects with his mouth pressed against her breastbone beneath the sheerness of her sleeping gown.]
They've increased the guard on the manse. [ He doles out information between pressed kisses, aimless in their ambition. He's just needily close. ] Reggio's informants have been working in the city to track down the assassin and who hired them.
[ Rhaenyra should feel more uneasy than she does, in this unfamiliar place surrounded by unfamiliar people and their unfamiliar ways. Logically, she (and Jace) should have flown off on Syrax by now, fleeing from whatever threat of danger that still may be lingering and lurking in Pentos. But, even with the sharp edge of a knife so close to drawing blood, her yearning desire for this safety of familial love and protection (so nicely demonstrated by the tangled grasp they have on each other) has kept her firmly planted on Essosi ground.
The gossamer curtains sway and float with the breeze, cool sea air in contrast to the warm sunlight that only gets stronger by the minute as it climbs higher into the sky. ]
Mm, but surely you think you'd do it better.
[ Both parts, the guarding and the investigative tracking. Half flattery, half teasing. ]
[ Daemon's kisses still, breath hovering over her warm skin. She's caught him, in a way, and he pretends it doesn't. His mouth reapplies itself along her shoulder where it meant to land moments before. Does it bother him that she's right? Maybe a little, maybe it draws his lips into a reluctant before he remembers in the next breath the gravity hanging over them. ]
I suppose that leaves us with one option. [ Daemon's head lifts to throw her a look. Every spoiled princess runaway's dream. ] Go into town ourselves. [ Endangering her is one thing, but they both know she's safer with him than without. What's he going to do, dress her like a little page boy again? (That's exactly what he's going to do.) As his fingertips slip along her spine. ] Smoke our enemy out.
[ While clearly no shock that he does actually want to do it himself (Rhaenyra knows you, Daemon. Could anyone else on this side of the sea say the same?), Rhaenyra is surprised that he's including her in the plan, still used to being told to stay back and allow everyone else to handle such serious and dangerous matters.
"Our" enemy, like every wrong dealt to her is one dealt to them both.
A quick move on her part to roll him onto his back (though how much of it is him letting her versus any actual strength or athleticism on her end) while pushing herself up to sit astride his hips, leaned over with one fisted hand against his neck to mimic: ]
Hold the knife up to their necks, instead.
[ She is mostly being dramatic for effect; Rhaenyra doubts she would have the mettle to actually do such a thing, but this is her way of saying I'm in. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ī𝔩𝔬𝔫 𝔷ā𝔩𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔥ē𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔯ī
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Another sip of wine as she contemplates his question, but it really is wretched, so her fingers gently push the cup out of close reach once it's set back down on the table. ]
I've no homesickness, not yet. I don't long for any of this. [ A vague gesture with her hand. Parties in King's Landing still had their small joys (Father making Jace laugh until he was near breathless, catty commentary with Laenor when he was not too distracted, the way the soft pink light illuminated the castle as she stealthily stumbled home from Harwin's chambers) but those were not enough to set her heart to longing, to outweigh the comfort she has found in the arms of uncle and cousin. ]
And you? [ Do you miss this, do you miss me? Clearly not, staying so firmly put with an ocean between them. ] You've not seen such grace in years. [ Westerosi dances are already odd enough, but the one they've attempted to learn just is not right, Laena the only one making it look halfway decent while simultaneously trying to avoid having her toes stepped on. ]
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Oh, the penniless mummers could put on a far more convincing show than this.
[ His remark comes from another sad sip of his cup before he abandons it tableside to round the end over towards her. His eyes on Laena — the true miracle of the night is how tactful she remains throughout this whole affair. Even from here, Daemon can tell she is bordering plastered. That sort of liquid grace comes from muscle memory. He thinks she might need to be put to bed soon. Before she gets it in her head to try and mount Vhagar for a victory round.
They've got time to spare before that. As noted by the very casual taking of her hand as he winds around her to lead her towards the center floor. Obviously, they must. He once left her hanging in the middle of dance, had he not?]
Now, if Reggio had done his part and dressed as Viserys to berate me over something baseless and trivial. [ Philandering with his daughter, perhaps. ] Perhaps, it might have done the trick.
[ Nothing says 'welcome home' like brotherly disappointment. ]
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They don't seem to be drawing too much attention from the other guests, not in the way they would if this really was a Westerosi party. Perhaps the people of Pentos are more liberal with allowing uncles to have niece-paramours (though is she truly a paramour when shared between both husband and wife), perhaps their murky past hasn't even been circulated as gossip, perhaps they all know and willingly accept the real truth of it—that it's none of their business, Targaryens can and will do as they please, Targaryens do not need to explain themselves to anyone without the blood of the dragon (those same dragons that are keeping them all alive and safe from pirates who would be far more cruel.) Rhaenyra does not doubt that a whisper or two has escaped from Pentos to float back across the sea to King's Landing, rumors blooming about her time here and all the terrible scheming they must be doing.
Like Laena (and all noble ladies brought up in the court of King Viserys), the dances are stored deep in Rhaenyra's muscle memory, and with more recent years of consistent practice and showcasing in her father's court she's able to add bits of flair to different moves; nothing excessively skilled or eye-catching, just extra twists of her hands and flicks of her skirts to make it interesting. The last glimmers of the Realm's Delight, brought out to be pleasing and adored like a piece of ornamental gilding. ]
Ah, yes, that is what is missing. Having fun until I look up to see Father's dour face.
[ It's been refreshing to not worry about endlessly dancing for Viserys' approval; loved in name but abandoned in need. ]
There's no real fun allowed at those parties. Not for us.
[ Us: unwanted daughter and inconvenient second son. ]
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(What are they going to do? Send someone?)]
Good thing this isn't really one of those parties.
[ And thus his being a little handsy with her earns no glowering. This late into the evening, there is less a sort of fanfare around the dancing. The drunken revelry is closing in on itself rather than waste their focus on anyone else. Surely, some will still whisper. By the time whispers of Laena's nameday celebrations will fall upon the desired ears, a lazy dance between uncle and niece will have corrupted into perversely public rutting.
Until then, they move and twirl under some slight veil of public anonymity. Circling one another among a crowd under flickering candles. Though not a lady of the court, they constantly subjected Daemon to much of the same duties and droll expectations. Though it's not quite flair that is added to his movements, it is merely his natural aloofness creeping in through the motions. ]
When its your court, you can have all the fun and lemoncakes you like. [ A little lean in. ] And if someone doesn't like it, you tell them to fuck off.
teehee since her coming teehee
But... why must she wait? Why does she need to stand by, the only one left who can see the vipers and leeches for what they are, unable to assert any real sort of authority until Father is dead?
She slips into High Valyrian, not to keep it secret (hard to do with the Pentoshi, even if their dialects are wildly different) but because it feels more comfortable, more them: ]
Can't I have all of that if I stay here instead?
[ —Without any further hassles of ruling and crowns and politics and disputes and wars? Wouldn't everyone in King's Landing ultimately be happy if she were to just disappear, Viserys' two nuisances both happily disposed of? He had done it, why couldn't she?
He might think she is joking by the light tone of her voice, the nonchalant delivery as they dance along, but as she continues on she clearly becomes more serious. ]
All of that, and you. And Laena.
[ (She'd suggest they send for Laenor, too, offer him a home base to return to between whatever adventures he finds himself in, offer him the chance to claim any other future children as his own if he wanted.)
Sweets and attractive, jovial courtesans are no replacement for a true, loving family. Without Father all she will have left are siblings that have already been poisoned against her by their jilted, jealous mother, and Jace(/any other children) who will inevitably grow old enough to hear and understand the unending whispers. ]
We can be happy together, you know we would.
[ She slows down a bit, trying to gauge his reaction. Surely he wouldn't deny her this? ]
😏😏
Daemon had left Westeros uncertain to when he would see her again. He had decided what was best for both of them, which felt more akin to severing his own arm in more ways than he liked to admit. It began to destroy him, he had to bury it. He did so with Laena and let her troubles become his. Later, he would feign his indifference when she would read aloud her brother's letters. Learning fragments of the life he left behind in Laenor's rose-colored glasses. He hated it, and yet he wanted to know everything.
Essos was both better and worse. On top of it all, he became a father. He had spent months not knowing how well both girls would survive. They had been so small. And then one day, Rhaenyra arrives on her amber dragon and he knew she had reached her limit. In a different way, so had he. ]
Still wanting me to steal you away?
[ Lighthearted. A slight tilt of his head, keeping her gaze in an equal measure as he steps in. A little more serious, they go.
More of a voluntary surrender, if anything. She had come to him willing after all. He doesn't deny what she says nor can he hide the look that tells her he knows she's right. They would be happy, they have been happy. Far away from a place that never really wanted them, that would constantly see them poisoned against one another.]
Do you know what you're giving up? To go live the life of an exile?
[ Even though he's about as exiled as a closed gate with a broken latch and suffering as much as a cat that hasn't been fed in three hours, it is used for dramatic emphasis. He is not denying her, not yet.]
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Yes, of course I know; I would surely lose my title as heir. [ Exasperated, feeling like she's being treated as a young, foolish girl who hasn't thought this through. ]
He has taken everything from me in exchange for it, uncle.
[ Her mother, first, killed by his selfishness. Her closest companion, stolen away in greed when he could have had anyone else. The chance at a loving marriage, too eager to contain and set her in place to remedy his own foolish mistakes. Daemon, officially banished or not, the last bit of family she had left.
After all of that, perhaps naming her heir was to soothe Viserys' own guilt. But all it does is serve him, tying Rhaenyra to him like she is one of the dragons in the pit, without giving her support whenever she is truly in need. And still she hungers for his love, his approval.
Being here has shown Rhaenyra that perhaps she doesn't need it anymore. ]
i survived 🙌
Rhaenyra was far from his perfect heir — a little lacking something to be a son with Aemma's eyes. All that mattered at the time was that she was a better option than Daemon, arguably still the only person who could have had his brother's best interests in mind. If he had been allowed. He still does, even now. After everything had forced him running across the Narrow Sea gasping for air. He wonders what Viserys would think of news that his daughter would never return home. He thinks of the wedge it would drive deeper between them.
He thinks and thinks and thinks and a twist of his foot he breaks their little dance and steps away.]
Do you think he'd just let you go?
[ Not so equally exasperated, but it is there. All that thinking through, had she thought so little of herself to not think of that?
Laena's laughter flirting over their heads is grounding in an odd sort of way, pulling him out of the vortex often felt when the two of them begin to spiral in each other's presence. Sooner to escape instead of let them collapse into each other in some messy public affair.
Daemon lands back to the abandoned table and their shitty ale and wine. His head down as he fixes himself a fresh cup. Fully aware she may well be haunting him over his shoulder but too stubborn to acknowledge it.]
💛💛💛💛💛💛
She gives him a moment, hoping that maybe another mouthful or two of the shit wine will inspire him to see her perspective, to concede and pull her into his embrace, but she is just met with silence. ]
His pride will not allow him to send after me.
[ Too concerned with justifying the decades-old Great Council decision, worried still about looking like he had been the wrong choice, that his crown was not destined from birth but fumbled onto his head. If Viserys wishes to mimic the rule of the Old King, Rhaenyra is just fulfilling her destined role as the scorned, rebellious, troublesome daughter. ]
He has an abundance of what he's wanted.
[ Three healthy brothers, the finally fulfilled promise her father would whisper to her about during her childhood as her mother struggled through each and every pregnancy. ]
I am not needed, he knows that.
[ And if he doesn't, there will be more than enough voices at council and court to help him see her removal as a blessing. ]
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The wine is still shit, souring between his cheeks as he mulls her words. Grimacing into his cup as he wills it down like a piece of overcooked sinew. Determined not to be any more bothered as his cup sets down empty. Finger tapping along the rim before it is pushed aside.]
Do you not want it?
[ He asks only when he has turned, voice soft and earnest. He sinks gently down along the edge of the table. A sly hand catching hers, limp between them.
An earnest question, in spite of everything she has said. Yes, he has listened to her spill her woes nearly night after night. He knows she is tired and she feels defeated trying to obey this impossible task thrust upon her. No less eager to be liberated such as he is from duty as she was to the mere prospect of getting married. To having children.
Her mind had changed with Jace, he can see it in the way she looks at him. Nothing for her is absolute, despite what she says. She is ready to give it up, yes. That doesn't mean she still can't want it.]
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Of course she wants it. It is hers. A selfish gift from Viserys but a gift nonetheless. She had tried to give it back before (what if she had insisted then?), but he refused to reverse his decision, doubling down on the words spoken before all the realm's liege lords that she was his choice as they all kneeled before them, united as one, and then later cheered and feasted in her name. It's all she can think of when she is loneliest, this idea that she is the embodiment of the power and future of their house (of the entire realm, if what Father has shown her is true), worthy of being more than just a bodily conduit the way that all other queens had been before her.
Her thumb, so used to twirling the rings on her fingers, delicately brushes against his hand. ]
It would be a hard sacrifice.
[ To lose that feeling of importance, of destiny, to continue living in this Essos fantasy.
For you.
Back to Common, speaking as a queen would, trying to sound as convincingly firm as possible: ]
But I will not beg you to have me.
[ She had frustratingly tried that before.
Right on cue, Jace has roused from his slumber and found his mother amidst the rest of the crowd, clinging onto Rhaenyra's skirts, and she immediately dives down to scoop him up and into her arms. She gives Daemon one last look to allow him to say something—if there is anything left to say for now—before she will start to make her way out of the party. ]
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There is just the slightest glint as he looks her in the eye before their touch splits as Jace latches to her skirts. It's gone as his hand falls back into his lap. As much as she might love or loathe it, depending on her mood, she is very much her father's daughter.
Therein hangs a moment where more could be said while she very obviously lingers around to expect him to divulge the last word. Perhaps come around to a very bad idea in the making. Unfortunately, there is both too much left to be said and Daemon is too begrudgingly stubborn to indulge her.
It's not as though he's said no. She's just going on assuming things.
Daemon picks himself up. A small, curled smile on his lips only present for the very cranky toddler fussing a tiny fist into his own tired eye. A little ruffle of the brown mop of hair before he silently meets Rhaenyra's eye. Challenging in a way, speaking in another.
They'll finish this later. More sooner, than later.
For now, it is definitely time to begin putting those to bed. Rhaenyra with little Jacaerys. Daemon with his lovely Laena. Before Reggio pushes the events a little too far, the Pentoshi will no doubt carry on until the dawn. With or without the lady of honor present. It's still a bit of a fight to steal her away, but eventually he succeeds. Plying her with sweetened broths to stave her from feeling like death in the morning while he listens and indulges her in talking shit about nearly everyone there, you know...marital things. Eventually leaving her to sleep off the rest. He doesn't bring up Rhaenyra and her desire to ward herself to them.
Some time deeper into the night, Daemon emerges from his chambers. Too, dressed further down for the night. The revelry more subdued, but present echoes from the central courtyard. Slipping underneath the darkened arcade to Rhaenyra's chambers, where hopefully she had heeded him and stayed awake. If not, too bad. Knock, knock.]
awkward transition time idk what i'm doing
(In actuality, Laena would probably suggest the opposite; they all leave Pentos together, provide a fiercely united front in the Red Keep against any naysayers, and prepare Rhaenyra together for her ascent to the throne.)
(If only.)
Had she not soured her mood (hard to fight those spoiled princess accusations by acting like this when she doesn't get what she wants) Rhaenyra would have eagerly joined in on the gossiping pillow talk, but she avoids everyone and quietly exits without saying goodnight. Jace gets tucked into his own bed at the nursery, Rhaenyra staying a bit to make sure he settles back into sleep before retiring to her own.
The low hum of the continuing party serves to mask any other noises in the night. Rhaenyra's mind struggles to settle, and as the hours pass she can't be sure if she has been in and out of sleep or just lying there awake, thoughts running and winding around the same few words shared between them, trying to decipher any missed meanings.
The knock at the door shakes her from whatever trance she's in, quietly getting herself up and out of bed, standing a few steps from the door to take a moment and decide whether or not she wants to answer—maybe he should feel scorned by her for once, hmph!
...
...
...
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, a shadow morphs into a dark figure, swiftly lunging towards her, Rhaenyra letting out a cut off shriek that gets muffled into the person's hand that they clasp against her mouth. Though she is no warrior, Rhaenyra holds enough strength to not be completely subdued, fighting against the pushes and pulls, eventually resorting to a sharp bite of her teeth into the skin of the hand held against her mouth, screeching out for— ]
Daemon!!
doing gr8
Daemon emerges from the shadow shortly after him. He coolly steps forward, around scrambling legs as their assailant tries to put a foot of distance between them. It becomes apparent that Daemon holds a long kris dagger in one hand, not one of his own. This one he had plucked off their unwelcome guest, one who is terrified to be receiving it back.
Something was off when he'd knocked. The latch to the door off kilter gave way under his polite introduction. Shadows lift from Daemon's face, a fixed cold as he looms over their guest-assassin. One step and another, slow and predatory. Uncertain to whether the best course is to kill him as swiftly as he came or let him suffer for whatever he was about to attempt on his niece. Or fuck it, drag him outside by his cock and let the dragons in the dunes feed on him living. He's not picky.]
You alright?
[ He does not look to her when he asks. Another step to where he straddles the air above the other man. Turning the dagger in his palm as his chin tucks further down to keep looking him in the eye. He doesn't need her permission, per se. But he does wait for her word. ]
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The hideous sound of cracking bone makes her let out a cringing yelp, almost afraid to look back and see the result of Daemon's intervention. ]
Yes, I'm alright.
[ Standing to take a step back towards them, Rhaenyra doesn't immediately recognize the man squirming on the floor, not sure if he's just plucked his clothing from an unsuspecting victim elsewhere in the manse or has been attending to them and observing for weeks.
She's never seen her uncle like this, not truly (maybe a glimmer of it during the different tourney melees he deemed worthy to participate in); she has always known him to be a brimming threat of violence (and has always found a certain thrill in it) but here it actually was, about to tip over. ]
Wait. [ Trying to tug him back from the edge. ] We must know where he came from.
[ Before you start slicing him and he's unable to speak. ]
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Questions, questions.
She is right, perhaps that is the only reason why Daemon remains paused. Apart from the fidgeting of the knife, he is remarkably still, a foreboding calm. He does not look up to Rhaenyra when she speaks nor seems to directly acknowledge what she says. ]
Well? [ He speaks up after a beat of silence. Tone almost casual as he pauses with a slow tilt of his head. ] Are you not going to address the princess and I's concerns?
[ You know, just in case there was any confusion among them how much deep shit this guy is in.
The man opens his mouth to speak as Daemon bends over as he steps around the servant, looping his fingers into the collar of his coat. Dragging him before the open flame sparking within the chamber's hearth. The man begins to squirm away in the brief moment Daemon lets him go to stoke the fire with tthe kris and leave the tip of the blade rested in the embers.
He re-snatches the man by his collar before he uprights himself. Looking now up to Rhaenyra across the room while he holds their captive not unlike a cat who casually keeps a wriggling mouse pinned down. Playing with his food. ]
Triarchy, perhaps. Though the last one they sent was far less dull.
[ Speculating, openly. Thoughts?
For all they know, this is some desperate vagrant. Trying to target Reggio some one else in this manse. Daemon doesn't recognize him. While he might not care to remember most of the manse staff's names, he at least can care to recognize a face. Of those who serve his family closest. ]
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[ Father seemed to care even less about the skirmishes in the Stepstones than before, turning both blind eye and deaf ear to any news (though it was few and far between) of raided ships or burning encampments. Sending someone to kill her would be a deliberate choice to provoke the Iron Throne into more serious action; Viserys the Peaceful, yes, but even he would not—could not—avoid confrontation with the Triarchy if she had been the one at the end of the waved dagger.
Unless— ]
I would serve as an ideal martyr. Be it by his command or another's.
[ The former is an awful tin foil hat theory, as if Viserys has already heard of their earlier conversation and cannot bear the thought of the two of them out of his grasp and wants to take away her choice, turning her from a runaway daughter to a Targaryen tragedy (forgive her, it's late, and her mind has circled around and on top of itself for hours.) The latter is perhaps more conceivable but still extreme. There are those who dislike her at court, but is that dislike so deep and dark that they would scheme and spend mountains of coin to send someone to murder her at the risk of being found out and accused of the highest of treasons?
(Or perhaps it doesn't have anything to do with her at all, and this guy just got the wrong room, but c'mon, she's a princess who spent her youth as an only child, she always thinks everything has to do with her.)
In an instant the attacker reaches with his remaining good hand to something dangling from a string on his neck and ingests it, Rhaenyra only moving her gaze from her uncle's to catch a glimpse at the end—almost certain that it is some kind of poison. The man starts mumbling something; she can't tell what he's saying, unsure if his speech is the rougher dialect of Low Valyrian spoken here or some other language she does not know.
She moves further forward until she is standing behind Daemon as her human shield, looking over his shoulder to try and decipher and understand the man's mumbles, but they end, eyes rolling into the back of his head, breaths getting more laborious before turning to gasping, tongue lolling out of his mouth. ]
LMAO typical self-involved nepo baby shit
The struggle that follows is akin to Daemon trying to wrench this man's mouth open like he's a dog that stolen a turkey leg off the dinner table. Quickly abandoned to watch him die miserably and blubbering into a foaming and glassy puddle. His head bounces off the floor as Daemon unceremoniously lets go with a disgruntled sigh.
Welp.]
Who else would benefit to rid you more?
[ His head raises after a moment. Because unlike her, he does not for a moment truly consider his brother to have any hand in it. His mind immediately lands on his circle, his council, his wife. Who stands far more to gain in Rhaenyra's absence. Even without Otto at her side with his puppeteering her, certainly now old enough to commit depravities of her own. ]
You don't think she's capable?
[ Doesn't want to, maybe. For as much as he has heard in the passing weeks, it doesn't seem unreasonable to think Alicent willing to have her childhood companion slaughtered. He pauses before he leans forward again, beginning to rifle through the man's pockets for whatever possessions he may have brought with him.
Fastenings shred as he pauses to rip open the front of his jacket, plucking a small jeweled firefly from a small concealed pocket.
Interesting.]
it's hard being planetos' #1 most special girl!!!
She wants to say no.
She says nothing, jaw clenched, averting her eyes back to the corpse, trying to look and make sure he's really dead (he is; sorry to this man.)
The trinket Daemon's found looks like nothing to Rhaenyra. Maybe she should care more, demand that the entire staff be woken and questioned harshly, have the failed assassin's lifeless body posted at the gates for all of the town to see, but the adrenaline has already dropped off and, ah, Reggio is finally here with his retinue (took long enough), flustered and barking orders to have the corpse carried away.
A flurry of activity around her but Rhaenyra stays quiet and still, and as it starts to subside she reaches out to grab at the sleeve of her uncle. ]
Stay with me, please. [ "I will not beg you to have me" but she will ask politely, ok. ] But not here, I won't be able to find rest after that.
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It eats away at him a little. More questions. Shifted onto the back foot when the commotion catches up to them. Reggio is sobered enough to get a handle on the situation. Daemon speaks with him briefly, a little huffy exchange over security, while Rhaenyra considers the possibility of her childhood sweetheart putting out a hit on her. Laena is fine, the children are fine, they had sent for Daemon to find her alone still sleeping off her spirits. The manse will be swept, servants interrogated, a new chambers will be made up for their guest's guest.
His thoughts to get down to the bottom of it are pressing, borderline consuming. Yet, as her touch grounds her back to the present, it does so for him. His hand automatically curls upward to capture hers, squeezing her fingers gently as Reggio departs.]
Fresh air? [ Daemon suggests as he turns, hands lifting to cup her face. Now more closely trying to assure she is, in fact, okay. Baby's first assassination attempt, rightfully scary. He wasn't intending on leaving her anyway. His thumbs lightly soothing across her cheeks. ] You're welcome to our bed. Or anywhere else you'd like.
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Your balcony?
[ Guests of guests do not get the deluxe suites with outdoor living space and a view. They can both keep an eye and ear on Laena without disturbing her slumber with conversation or Rhaenyra's inevitable restless tossing and turning (and they can be there for when her cousin does awaken, to assist with any post-party morning maladies.)
While posed as a question she doesn't look for his permission, leaving her (now former) chambers, bare feet pattering against the cool stone towards the couple's rooms, trying to stay quiet even with the muffled thud of the door closing behind them—but no movement from the bed aside from the rise and fall of Laena's steady breathing.
They can see the dragons from out here, Syrax curled up but lifting her head with a sweet chirp once Rhaenyra makes it to the parapet, surveying the bit of bustle still going on on the grounds below in response to the threat on her life.
After a moment: ]
Perhaps Prince Reggio will ask me to leave, if I'm proving to be more trouble than I'm worth.
[ Kidding, mostly. Nodding her head towards her bronze dragon—she knows what value she brings here, and it's not the advanced dance moves. ]
2 hot, brain rot, cant tag
Reggio and his men yelling fades and it's them and the dragons. Vhagar much a wizened old thing, near by but prefers her space to the two younger dragons who so often coil together. Caraxes is more alert, long noodle neck still surveying the men as they make their search of the grounds but otherwise keeps close. ]
You're a Targaryen princess. The threshold trouble is a bit higher than this.
[ Knocking her elbow with his. Daemon would know, he is an expert in the field. He also knows this likely wont stop. That even so far as Essos, the tides of family politics will still ripple out to get him. Probably would continue to follow if they flew all the way to the Shadowlands and beyond to Yi Ti. It's a cute idea. They can liberate Laenor, escape to the East with their three children and all their dragons. Start a new empire.
Though he knows deep down it'd never be the case. ]
You may be too valuable to keep, if anything.
[ Content herself all she likes that she might be off the hook with her little brother, it's simply not the case. As long as she remains the heiress to the Iron Throne, no one will leave her alone. Certainly not here. ]
happy hotd premiere anniversary!!
The horizon in the distance is starting to show peaks of melting into a lighter shade of blue, but the bright shine of the full moon still hangs in the sky, the same moon she'd watch through the windows of her chambers in King's Landing. ]
Even more valuable than you know.
[ Cryptic.
Before he spirals too much to wondering what that could mean, she lets it loose. ]
This is the second time the moon has reached its peak since I arrived here. I've yet to have my moon blood since... since before I left home.
[ Finally she turns her eyes upwards to him, still holding onto his arm. She doesn't feel the need to also mention the weeks of added fatigue and nausea, symptoms that she took as just recovering from her journey or adjusting to the climate or reactions from new foods and spices, too stubborn to admit the truth of it to herself until this moment. ]
1 yr ago i was mocking daemon's impotence✨
Then again, Syrax had always been a rather pampered dragon. Never hunting for herself, Reggio's servants had to get used to taking the food to her as she couldn't be encouraged to hunt for it. Every night, she remained coiled somewhere between the elder dragons. Well protected.
Daemon stirs, glancing down at the top of his niece's head. Two and two are easy to put together, but he extends a beat of silence to put it together. Then at sudden, shifting to face her. To lift her chin so that he may better look her in the eye. If she's telling him this now after so long, after her expressing her desire to stay with them indefinitely. This would be why. ]
A child, you're certain?
[ Lightly curious, but tempered excitement. That news could mean other things. There were times where Laena had been uncertain before. But they had been traveling some time, it had been stress, it had been false.]
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I hope. I don't think I could manage two at once.
[ Trying to take the edge off with a tug of a smile at the corner of her mouth, the grip on his arm loosening. Laena handles the twins well, but Rhaenyra would much rather have just one at a time.
Rhaenyra still remembers their conversations on marriage and children, the conviction she had against having either in her life. No one should be closely held to their teenaged beliefs, when one knows everything but nothing all at once, but still, she wants to explain. ]
I realized— before Jace, I realized our family would end with me. I couldn't be the last of our legacy.
[ Targaryens would carry on, but they wouldn't be the same as them. ]
sry for bugging u and the proceeding to fall off the face of the earth.
For all the trouble of the night, the uncertainty of his niece's fate of staying with hem, this is still good news. ]
Our legacy. Our family, [ Daemon repeats, finger drawing along her jaw. His forehead coming to rest to hers a moment before his head lifts to press his lips to it. ] It is the only thing worth fighting for.
[ Viserys', Baelons, Alyssas, of all those that came before them. To all of those that survived catastrophe. Something even he thought less about when they were in that garden speaking of their forlorn duties to their kingdom. Something never quite grasped until he severed himself from the sickness of King's landing, the remnants of family, and escaped to the east to see how little left there was. ]
We will fight for it together.
[Daemon's head lifts to meet her eye, thumb grazing across her cheek. Fuck Westeros, honestly fuck the throne. Though fight for it all, some day they will. What lies in uncertainty still rumbles around the back of his head. Due to be addressed at a later time, the humming of it suppressed with a little taste of hope. Gods know they both need it.]
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Make no mistake, she still wants to stay, but his affirmation of being together in common cause makes the prospect of returning home seem a little less lonely, even if he remains on this side of the sea. ]
Let's go to bed. Enough excitement for one evening, and I fear I've made you neglect your wife.
[ More tongue-in-cheek to cut through the seriousness of the moment; Laena is still very much sound asleep and it's better she hasn't been disturbed. ]
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She's cutting through the moment with dull scissors, but a wry smile cracks at him all the same. Another press of his lips to her head, a lingering before he turns and slips his arm around her waist. Guiding her from the balcony and their sleeping dragons. Where they will make up for neglecting his poor, unconscious wife by piling into bed with her. Make no mistake, Daemon is not letting his niece sleep alone tonight.]
She above anyone understands your need to draw heads wherever you go.
[ She may not think it, but only Westeros's favorite princess gets assassination attempts. He's certain when Laena wakes up, she'll get a kick out of all of this. And by kick, he means she's going to be running the torch on burning down whoever did this. ]
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She tries to take care not to cause too much of a fuss as she climbs in, a slow, gentle crawl onto the featherbed, maneuvering under tousled linens to lay on her back, her head turned towards Laena at first to see if she's been roused from the disturbance. They may have gotten away with it, so she turns back to look up at the ceiling, a hand meekly searching out one of his, haphazardly wrapping fingers around fingers, eyes still fixed upwards.
Her mouth opens to say something, something about feeling safe or how this is how home should be or maybe something even more vulnerable like I love you, but any words get caught in her throat and she just heaves a sigh, at least doing the physical act of closing her eyelids, even if sleep seems impossible for the moment—
Laena finally stirs and shifts onto her other side. Rhaenyra can't tell if she actually hears her cousin muttering her name, but her arms outstretch and Rhaenyra turns and folds into them, trying to keep Daemon's hand in hers as long as she can keep comfortable while tucking in close. ]
crawling back to this
He shifts and sinks, gaze still rested at the backs of hers and Laena's head. Feeling the deliberate padding of his wife's long fingers to find his arm and give it a squeeze. Daemon then shifts in closer to them, gingerly resting his forehead against her back. Upending Rhaenyra's grip on his hand to shift and curl hers more comfortably across herself, soothing her finger with his thumb. A little gesture that continues well after he begins to fall asleep.
However long that takes, he doesn't fucking know. He hopes that she sleeps in the time he spends quietly losing his mind. It could have been fifteen minutes or well past the first light began to lighten the sky. But eventually it does, and thank the gods he doesn't dream.]
i'm just now waking up from my long winter's nap 🥱
One bit that was definitely not a dream: Laena, up and out of bed with gusto. Whether that was because she felt no ill effects of the night before or because she did and was forcing herself to push through, Rhaenyra can't tell.
There's a few more tries of her eyes opening for a moment only to quickly close again and drift off before the angle of the sun is too high and too bright to be ignored, stretching limbs and letting out a sigh, eyes blinking and searching to see if her uncle is still with her somewhere in this room, or if his exit was much more stealthy in comparison to his wife's. ]
crawls back to from hell
Laena is an early riser, even with a hurricane of a hangover. She has always been the sort of girl to hit the ground running in spite of anything else. Nothing gets in the way of her morning flight. It's still too early for Daemon, but he's up with her to check in on Reggio's guardsmen for any news of their investigations into the morning. Slips back into the bedroom for perhaps a light nap before Laena returns and the children are awake.
Very quiet, the prince nudges the door shut behind him. Paused as though he's been caught as Rhaenyra stirs in bed, but only for a beat before he resumes and crawls upon the bed to deposit himself onto the blankets face down beside her. ] It's still early. [ He notes quietly, one arm curling around her middle to reel her in or him into her. ]
i suck
Wh—...ach.
[ Frog in the throat. She clears it. ]
What have you heard?
[ Because she knows he wasn't up early just for fun. ]
shhh
Daemon's grip tightens in a way that could almost deem threatening. A truer indication of his feelings than his answer, which deflects with his mouth pressed against her breastbone beneath the sheerness of her sleeping gown.]
They've increased the guard on the manse. [ He doles out information between pressed kisses, aimless in their ambition. He's just needily close. ] Reggio's informants have been working in the city to track down the assassin and who hired them.
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The gossamer curtains sway and float with the breeze, cool sea air in contrast to the warm sunlight that only gets stronger by the minute as it climbs higher into the sky. ]
Mm, but surely you think you'd do it better.
[ Both parts, the guarding and the investigative tracking. Half flattery, half teasing. ]
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I suppose that leaves us with one option. [ Daemon's head lifts to throw her a look. Every spoiled princess runaway's dream. ] Go into town ourselves. [ Endangering her is one thing, but they both know she's safer with him than without. What's he going to do, dress her like a little page boy again? (That's exactly what he's going to do.) As his fingertips slip along her spine. ] Smoke our enemy out.
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"Our" enemy, like every wrong dealt to her is one dealt to them both.
A quick move on her part to roll him onto his back (though how much of it is him letting her versus any actual strength or athleticism on her end) while pushing herself up to sit astride his hips, leaned over with one fisted hand against his neck to mimic: ]
Hold the knife up to their necks, instead.
[ She is mostly being dramatic for effect; Rhaenyra doubts she would have the mettle to actually do such a thing, but this is her way of saying I'm in. ]