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The moment Rhaenyra leaves her father’s small council room, she goes back to her room and paces the length of it for so long she’s sure she’ll wear a path in the floor. There is a restlessness in her that won’t settle down. She tries taking a nap, going for a walk around the Red Keep, tries praying in the Sept and reading in the Godswood. But no matter what she tries, her heart and mind won’t settle because of her father’s earlier words.
Aid is sailing to the Stepstones.
That means Daemon’s war is going badly. Badly enough for her father to finally give in after three years and send them soldiers.
Rhaenyra tosses and turns the whole night, unable to get to rest. She doesn’t understand what’s going on with her. She should be happy, overjoyed even, that her father agreed to let her marry to her liking and she will not be supplanted by her brother. She should not be forfeiting her rest by worrying over the very uncle that created discord for six months after she was named heir. The uncle who hasn’t spoken to her in years.
Did he make a call for help?
He would sooner die.
Rhaenyra sits up, her heart twisting violently in her chest at the idea of Daemon dead.
Her mind rebels fiercely at the thought. No, she’s lost enough. She can’t lose him too, no matter how much of a headache he may sometimes be. He’s her headache to deal with. But what can she do to help? Her father has already sent help. There’s nothing she can do. Unless. . .
Rhaenyra grins to herself as she forms a plan in her mind.
At first light, she sneaks her way to the Dragonpit. Artfully dodging the guards, carefully avoiding the Dragonkeepers, she makes her way to Syrax. She’s done this hundreds of times before, when she was a lot smaller and neither she nor Syrax were big enough to go riding on their own yet.
Syrax makes a pleased noise the moment she sees Rhaenyra, and Rhaenyra is quick to try and quiet her. It never really worked well before and it doesn’t now, because dragons are always loud, the big creatures that they are. She unchains Syrax as quickly as possible, gently murmuring under her breath in Valyrian and petting the dragon as she makes her way to the saddle before mounting her.
“Go, Syrax.” She tells her dragon, who screeches in agreement before moving. She ignores the protests of the Dragonkeepers who saw her now, knowing they cannot stop her. Syrax takes to the sky and Rhaenyra guides her in the direction of Dwarfstone.
She doesn’t think her father is wrong to send the aid, but if life experience in knowing her uncle Daemon has taught her anything, it is that he will not take kindly to the help his brother sends, and likely will take it out on the unfortunate messenger.
When Rhaenyra arrives in Dwarfstone, it’s to a beaten bloody Ser Addam who gave Daemon the message, and to the absolute horror of the Velaryon brothers. At least Laenor gives her a welcoming grin.
“Princess, you must go home at once.” Lord Corlys tells her urgently the moment she is close enough, coming as close as he’ll risk to Syrax.
“Corlys is right.” His brother adds on. “We do not need to get your blood on our hands if this goes badly.”
“That is not very likely, unless you plan to stick a dagger into my back.” Rhaenyra tells Vaemond Velaryon with a humourless smirk.
Lord Corlys looks deeply consternated, “Your father-”
“My father will have to get over it.” Rhaenyra cuts over him sharply – she has already made it this far, she is not changing her mind now. She looks around and instantly notices a significant absence, especially given the fact that she saw Caraxes and Seasmoke roaming Dwarfstone when she arrived. “Where is my uncle?”
The Velaryon brothers both look away, and don’t meet her gaze again. She turns to Laenor, who gives her a smile that does not seem to bode anything well. “So, we had a plan. Send someone as bait to offer a fake offer of peace treaty and then attack once we’ve lured them out of their caves. The rest of us is to follow slowly and only to attack once they are all out of the caves.”
Rhaenyra breathes deeply. “And my uncle volunteered to be the bait?”
“He sort of just went off on his own when your father’s letter came.” Laenor admits, scratching at the back of his neck. Rhaenyra closes her eyes.
“If the Crabfeeder does not kill him, I will.” She mutters to herself before looking back at Laenor. “Alright, I assume you will be fighting from the sky, riding Seasmoke.”
“Yeah.” Laenor confirms. “As soon as I get the signal.”
“Then I will join you on Syrax.” Rhaenyra tells him, and is surprised when he nods in agreement. She is not surprised when Lord Corlys steps up to her with a near panicked expression.
“Princess-” Lord Corlys starts, but she cuts him off again.
“I have made my choice, Lord Corlys.”
The Velaryon brothers reluctantly back off, getting ready to leave with the men they have left. Rhaenyra turns back to Laenor, “What’s the signal?”
“Battle.” He answers.
Rhaenyra tries not to let her horror show at the idea of her uncle facing all of those men alone, even if it won’t be for long. She redirects her thoughts to something else. She tilts her head at Laenor curiously, “Are you not going to try and send me home too?”
“We could really use the help.” Laenor tells her honestly, and Rhaenyra appreciates it.
Rhaenyra nods in acknowledgement before she goes to Syrax, and Laenor goes to Seasmoke. She waits for the signal.
She doesn’t wait long.
“Let’s go.” She tells Syrax, and they head to Bloodstone. Daemon’s head of silver hair is easier to spot from above than she thought. Rhaenyra swears under her breath when sees him surrounded. Sensing her rider’s distress and recognising Daemon, Syrax dives for her uncle and sets fire to the world around him. Rhaenyra desperately wants to go down to see him for herself, but the fight is not over yet, so she goes up again and sets the other half of the archer’s on fire. Doubling back down she commands Syrax to burn every Crabman she sees.
Finally, it’s over and she grounds Syrax.
The smell of burnt human flesh mixing with rotten human flesh is revolting and if Rhaenyra had a weaker stomach, she would have lost all its contents. Her eyes flit over the battle ground, looking for a familiar head of silver hair. She finds him, hair wet and streaked with blood, dragging half a corpse behind him. He’s full of blood and it looks like there are broken arrows sticking out of his body, but he is alive and the sight of him is enough to make her weak in the knees with relief.
As he comes closer, she wonders how even like this, battered and bloody, he is still the most handsome man she’s ever seen. Slowly, she makes her way to him. When he sees her, he drops the body and a positively feral grin spreads on his face. Rhaenyra wants to run into his arms and never let go.
She doesn’t, but waits until he’s close enough for her to take a closer look at his wounds. When she was younger, Daemon taught her all of the vital points of the human body, where she should aim a weapon if her life was ever in danger. And even while she’s no maester, she breathes a sigh of relief once more as it seems that no hit stuck somewhere fatal.
“Hello, Princess.” Daemon says, taking another step closer.
“Uncle.” She greets back. There is so much she wants to say, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. Rhaenyra feels almost overwhelmed by his presence, after having been without it for so long.
“It’s been a while.” He says when her silence stretches between them.
“It has.” Rhaenyra still has no idea where to begin.
“I did not expect to see you here.” Those words hits a particular nerve and plenty of words fill her mind.
She narrows her eyes at him, “Did not expect to see me here, or ever again?” Her words are sharp and accusing.
“It’s not that simple.” He tells her, imploringly, wincing when he lifts a hand to reach out to her.
The fire in her burns out as quick as it flamed to life. She steps closer to give him a hand, if necessary. “You need to get to a maester.”
“I do not need a maester.” Daemon insists, as stubborn as a dragon.
She glares up at him, hating in this moment that he has the advantage of height. “Yes, you do. And do not argue with me, I am displeased enough with you as it is.” She tells Daemon, her words edging on harsh. Rhaenyra cannot find it in her to feel bad about it, when Daemon nods in agreement and follows her back to Syrax without further complaint. Familiar with Daemon, Syrax doesn’t growl at him when he comes closer with Rhaenyra, but she does need to sooth the dragon when Daemon gets on.
She ignores the way her heart beat faster and her skin tingles when Daemon’s hands grips her hips, his forehead resting on her shoulder as she flies him back to Dwarfstone. At least his chest is away from her back, so that he won’t accidentally push the arrows in deeper.
“I missed you.” He tells her when they are up in the sky, the Stepstones stretched out down below. Rhaenyra pretends not to hear him, not ready to have that conversation just yet.
Lord Corlys offers the services of the best maester in the Driftmark, and Rhaenyra accepts before Daemon can do something stupid, like reject his offer.
“Will you make it?” Rhaenyra asks when he makes his way towards Caraxes, who seems excited to see her and Syrax again. She gives a pointed look at his injuries.
“It sounds like you’re worried about me, Princess.” He smirks at her.
Rhaenyra doesn’t roll her eyes, but it is very tempting. “I will take that as a yes.”
Later, Rhaenyra enters Daemon’s room when the maester has done all he can. He is bare chested but he might as well not have been with all the bandages wrapped around his chest. He doesn’t seem to have gotten shot bellow the waist, because he still has his pants on.
“I hear you refused any milk of the poppy.” She says, walking to the foot end of the bed he’s occupying, reclining with his back against the headboard.
“I do not need it.” Daemon tells her offhandedly, grinning at her. His face has been cleaned of blood but his hair has dried with it and it reminds her of the way her own hair looked after she killed the boar.
“You were shot with arrows. Several times.” Rhaenyra tells him, hoping if she says it slow enough it will get through his head.
“I’m fine. Truly.” Daemon insists and Rhaenyra doesn’t believe him for a second buy decides to let it go. Daemon clears his throat and fixes his gaze on her, “How have you been?”
“Since you last saw me?” She raises a brow at him. “Well, my best friend married my father, which was really awful for me but great for her, I suppose. I got a baby brother and is expecting another sibling soon. I nearly got betrothed to Jason Lannister. And I killed a boar.”
“You killed a boar?” Daemon asks, the obvious pride in his voice and on his face causes her cheeks heat up. She nods, feeling uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden. Somehow Daemon’s grin widens, “Well done, Princess.”
“Thank you, uncle.” Rhaenyra’s heart swells, ridiculously happy with the praise.
“I have to admit, I am glad you didn’t get betrothed. Jason Lannister is an arrogant cunt.” Daemon tells her bluntly.
It is Rhaenyra’s turn to smirk at him as she quips, “A bit rich coming from you, no?”
“Funny.” Daemon drawls, not looking the least bit humorous. He looks unsettled instead. “You can do much better.”
“I know.” Rhaenyra really does know. It’s why she argued with her father over it. “Fortunately for me, father said I may choose a marriage to my liking.”
Daemon’s eyebrow fly up his forehead, “That is generous of him.” An odd look flashes in his eyes for a moment before it’s gone and he asks, “Any promising candidates?”
You, Rhaenyra thinks to herself and is thankful that years of restraining herself has helped her today in preventing the reveal of her feelings. Out loud she snorts lightly and says, “Don't say it like that. It’s my marriage, not a tourney.”
Neither of them says anything more for a long while, just sitting in the silence.
“Was the necklace not to your liking, Princess?” He asks, nodding at her neck where a golden necklace lay, instead of the Valyrian Steel one he gifted her.
“I like the necklace just fine.” She loved it, in fact, and never took it off from the moment he clasped it around her neck. Not until he took Baelon’s egg. “I just did not want to be reminded of you all day long.” Rhaenyra shoots back with a meaningful look.
“I hope you are not holding a grudge towards me.” He frowns to himself for a moment, then adds, “I did give you the egg back.”
“Yes, you did.”
“But you are still mad.” He ventures a guess.
Rhaenyra shakes her head, “Not mad, just . . . disappointed.”
Daemon’s face falls, looking like she physically struck him. “Princess-”
Her earlier anger flares to life again, growing with every second that passes as she stares down at him for once. “Three years. Three fucking years, uncle, and not a word from you.”
“I was exiled.” Daemon defends, and it makes her see red.
“Of your own making!” Rhaenyra erupts as three years’ worth of pent up emotions boils over. “You left. You took Dragonstone. You stole the egg. And then you left again, but this time to go and wage a war, which you spent three years loosing, too stubborn and prideful to ever even think of asking my father for help! I suppose next you will be telling me you ran out of ink and parchment.” Her chest heaves, breathing quick and deep after the rant she went on.
“Are you done?” Daemon asks her, looking so calm she’s tempted to take a swing at him.
“No, I am not done.” She glowers heatedly at him. “I missed you. Every day. And missing you hurt because part of me was waiting for you to come back, but you never did. Instead you left again and went to war, leaving me behind like I meant nothing to you.”
Daemon gets up from the bed, walk until he stands right in front of her, “Look at me.” Rhaenyra doesn’t. Half afraid the tears burning her eyes will spill over if she does. Half because she knows she’ll end up forgiving him if she does. “Rhaenyra.” At the call of her name, her eyes meets his without her permission. He catches her gazes and holds it. “This was not about leaving you. It was about proving to all those pompous fucks in King’s Landing that I’m more than just the Exiled Prince.”
“And war was the only way?” Rhaenyra hates the way her voice comes out all small and vulnerable, putting her feelings on display for Daemon to see.
“At the time it seemed like a good idea.” He tells her.
“Of course it did.” She sighs, breaking his gaze and looking down at their feet – hers boot clad and his bare.
Daemon’s hand comes up to gently cup her cheek. His hands are rough, worn from years of handing a sword and going to battle. Rhaenyra finds she quite likes the feel of it against her skin. He tilts her head up to meet his eyes again. “And you don’t mean nothing to me. You never could.”
“You want the Throne, and I am what stands in your way.” She tells him, even though it hurts to say.
“I gave the egg back.” He tells her, switching back to their mother tongue.
“You threw it back.” She reminds him.
“I gave the egg back,” Daemon repeats. “And when I did, I made my choice. I will never be able to cut you down to get the Iron Throne. You are far more precious to me than that throne. I knew it back on that bridge and I know it here right now.” The words are honest and raw in a way Daemon rarely ever is and it makes Rhaenyra’s heart feel like it’s about to explode.
Unable to stop herself, she rises on her tiptoes to press her lips against Daemon’s. She pulls away almost immediately, her cheeks so hot she’s sure it could rival dragon fire.
“Uh, I apologize-”
She’s pulled back in by an arm around her waist, the hand on her cheek moving to grip her neck and Daemon’s mouth hot against hers. Rhaenyra responds eagerly, wrapping her arms around his waist. She tries to remind herself to be careful, he's wounded, but the longer Daemon kisses her, to more difficult it becomes to think clearly.
When he pulls away, they are both panting breathlessly. Rhaenyra's lips feel swollen, bruised almost, but Daemon has turned the flame that always burned for him into a raging inferno and right now and all she wants is more.
“Nothing to apologise for,” Daemon’s voice is a soft murmur, still so close to her that she can feel his breath on her lips. “Nothing at all.”
And then he bends down again, and neither of them speak for a quite while.
fin.