Daemon's Daughter

Runestone

"Over the centuries, House Targaryen has produced both great men and monsters. Prince Daemon was both. In his day there was not a man so admired, so beloved, and so reviled in all Westeros. He was made of light and darkness in equal parts. To some he was a hero, to others the blackest of villains."

—George R. R. Martin

***

If only I had known it would be the death of her, I would have put a baby in my bronze bitch years ago, mused Daemon, lips twisting into a sneer.

It was nearly a year since his brother had banished him from King's Landing, commanding him to return to his wife at Runestone. To his wife he had obediently gone -for one night only. Sunk deep in his cups and already raging from his brother's betrayal, his wife's sneers provoked him to finally consummate their marriage. She'd called his manhood into question, so he'd shown her exactly what kind of a man he was.

He'd left the very next day, and hadn't returned to the Vale since, nor had there been any communication between the unhappy couple. They both preferred it that way. But now...

Daemon's harsh glinting eyes re-traced those magical words:

The Lady Rhea Royce is dead.

The remainder of the hastily scribbled message informed him that Rhea had died during her labors, but that the baby had survived her. A girl apparently. Daemon was about to toss the scroll aside, as little interested in this supposed daughter of his as he had been in his late lady wife when she still drew breath. But then a thought occurred to him.

Runestone.

Should neither the mother nor the babe have survived, Daemon would have been hard pressed to claim his wife's seat. House Royce would certainly have challenged him, and Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale could not be depended upon for support. But this child, she would be her mother's undisputed heir. Until she came of age, she and Runestone would need to be under the guardianship of someone. And who better to care for the girl and manage all Runestone on her behalf than her very own father?

A sinister smile spread across Daemons pale face.

I suppose my bronze bitch granted me one kindness after all...

***

The baby is crying. The repulsive sound echoes down the stone hallway. Daemon is yet to even set eyes on his firstborn and already he grows weary of her. In the dimly lit nursery, he peers down at the child, mind already set upon disliking the offspring of the woman he was forced to marry.

He expects to find a baby with dark hair and tanned skin, to serve as permanent reminders of the wife he despised. Instead, he sees the face of a daughter unmistakably his own, with porcelain white skin, fine strands of silver hair and striking violet eyes.

Shocked, Daemon instinctively gathers his daughter into his arms and cradles her against his chest. Soothing clucking sounds only Caraxes has heard from him before slip from his lips. The baby's tears cease. Her wide eyes blink up at him. He gazes back, transfixed.

One dragon recognizing another. Bonded together through fire and blood.

"Mine," Daemon whispers, "my own."

"Lady Rhea passed before she could give the babe a name," the maester gently hints.

"Her name," Daemon pauses, considering. He smiles down at his daughter with a tenderness that would astonish those who know him best. "Her name is Visenya."

***

Princess Visenya Targaryen, Lady of Runestone, had mixed feelings regarding her father. She loved him, she feared him, she worshipped him. There was no one whose attention or praise she craved more, nor whose displeasure or censure she most dreaded. But something else boiled in her blood too, a rebelliousness. She frequently knew a temptation to defy him, though she'd never yet dared to try.