Dreamer | Aemond Targaryen

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The day Daenys Velaryon was born, the king and the Princess of dragonstone  celebrated in gold coins. She had come out with fair skin, unlike her father but with golden-silver locks and large lavender doe eyes of Valyria—she was named Daenys for the intelligence Rhaenyra Targaryen saw in her.
Her elder brother Jacaerys, had looked at her golden locks and then at his own, dull brown curls and left the room. He had been much happier when Lucerys was born, giddy that he had a brother that looked like him.
However Daenys grew up loved, with her every whim and want tended to with the utmost care and precision. Even Queen Alicent smiled at the young girl as she would converse with King Viserys about ancient histories and dragons; her own egg had not hatched, it had been a beautiful amethyst purple, and Viserys had picked it out from one of Dreamfyres clutches himself. But year after year, the egg had not cracked and Rhaenyra had taken the egg away to be stored in a royal box.
Daenys was distraught, and often begged her father, Laenor, to ride on Seasmoke with him, and he had obliged, but Rhaenyra never did let her on Syrax. Even her great uncle Daemon had let her on Caraxes when the great serpentine dragon had all but purred in her presence.
She bonded with her uncle Aemond for their lack of dragon and often found themselves traversing the dragonpit in hopes that one of the untamed dragons would bond with them. It never did happen. But Daenys did learn something—she could not burn. When young Daenys had tried to claim Dreamfyre, and was rejected the blue she-dragon had engulfed her in flames as Aemond stood to the side and screamed. But when the flames stopped the young princess had come out untouched, without clothes of course. However Aemond had covered her with his cloak and carried her to her chambers. He did not tell Rhaenyra what had happened, she hadn't asked.
But at night Daenys Velaryon dreamt of flames burning a silver haired women, and a red dragon being crushed after fall but a larger green. She dreamt of a girl screaming for her mother as she was lit up by fire and Daenys dreamt of ice cold eyes staring at her. But Daenys also dreamt of a young girl with three small hatchlings flying and squawking around her, and she dreamt of a great big dragon with scales as dark as coal and eyes as green as emeralds.
Daenys only told her grandmother Rhaenys about the dreams at the black and white haired woman had told her not to speak of it to anyone. And she had kept her word, instead she painted the dreams. She had dozens of canvases hanging and stacked all along her chambers. Some she had hidden but other she showed with pride. Like the grand picture of three tanned children playing in water gardens and her more recent painting of Balerion, which her grandsire Viserys had hung in his rooms. He had almost cried when he saw it and Daenys could only cry back at him and hug him with such ferociousness one might confuse her with her young mother.
As she grew older and her ninth name day passed, the royal family were called to attend her aunt Laena's funeral in driftmark. Daenys had never met her Aunt but her father cried and that made her cry too. Uncle Daemon said she had not dragon fire. But Daenys knew that was wrong, perhaps she wasn't the most headstrong girl but she was strong in her own way. Everyone saw a weak naive girl, but her dreams had brought her to the reality of he world far sooner than the healthy child. And she woke up screaming and sweating as images of a young girl, a little older than herself being burned alive. It was no gift. Rhaenys knew that as well. Rhaenys had never told her she was weak.
Rhaenys never to,d her she was naive.