Daemon's Daughter

Driftmark

"By the time the stableboys finally arrived to pull apart the combatants, the prince was writhing on the ground, howling in pain, and Vhagar was roaring as well."

—George R. R. Martin

***

A pleasant seven months elapsed in King's Landing. Daemon happily filled his time either rounding up criminals with his fellow gold cloaks, in bed with his long-time mistress Mysaria, flying Caraxes with Visenya, or taking every opportunity to provoke Otto Hightower in council meetings.

Visenya had quickly warmed to her aunt Alicent and cousin Helaena with whom she frequently spent her afternoons. Little Daeron she found to be gentle, courteous and clever for his age. Even Aegon, for all his sulking, could be tremendously funny at times.

But her deepest affection was for Aemond alone. They spent every morning in the library together reading, discussing, and debating ideas. Each night after supper, they slipped down to the Black Dread's candlelit chamber to train. Aemond was a marginally better fighter, but he passed along all Ser Criston Cole's tips and tricks from the training yard. In return, Visenya tutored him in High Valyrian, as her fluency far exceeded his own.

During this peaceful interim, Aemond celebrated his tenth name day.

"What did you wish for?" Visenya asked him after the feast had concluded. Aemond smiled sheepishly.

"The same thing I always wish for: a dragon."

The calm came to an end with the news that the Lady Laena, sister of the prince consort, Laenor Velaryon, had died in childbirth. Her husband, the Sealord of Braavos, had returned her body to her family's seat on Driftmark, where the funeral was to take place. The King had decreed that every member of his family was to attend.

"Mother, why do we have to go? We never even met the woman!" Aegon whined at breakfast after the King had left the table.

"Need I remind you that Laenor Velaryon is your brother through marriage?" Alicent responded reproachfully. "We go to support him."

"But Rhaenyra is only my half-sister," Aegon protested, "and Laena was no relation at all."

"Lady Laena was of the blood of Old Valyria," Aemond interjected, "as are we. Our families will always be closely connected through our shared history."

"Just so, Aemond," Alicent bestowed a quick smile upon him. "The Velaryons are our kin, and one of the realms oldest, wealthiest and most powerful families. We must go and pay our respects. If that is not enough for you Aegon, your father commands it."

Aegon groaned.

***

Visenya thought her father was in an extraordinarily good mood for someone about to attend a funeral.

"You seem to be looking forward to the day ahead father," she observed, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Hm?" Daemon looked up from where he had been stroking Caraxes long red neck and humming cheerfully to himself. "Oh, I am only anxious to pay my respects sweet girl. I told you I fought with both Ser Laenor and Lord Corlys in the Stepstones. We formed a close bond."

Visenya narrowed her eyes. What isn't he telling me?

"Come along. We wouldn't want to be late now, would we?"

***

When Visenya first laid eyes on her nephews, she instantly understood why people claimed they were bastards. Targaryens were known for having silver or gold hair, blue or purple eyes, and sharp features. Jacaerys and Lucerys, whilst perfectly fine-looking boys, had most decidedly not inherited the Targaryen look. It was difficult to believe they were Rhaenyra's children. Even Laena's surviving twin daughters, Rhaena and Baela, had inherited their mothers silver hair.