Fierce, strong, unyielding, untamable. These words the realm whispers when they speak of the youngest daughter of the Seasnake. But when describing his youngest son only one word is needed: greenseer. House Velaryon has a difficult history with the...
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Daemon trudged his way back across the bridge heading back to the entrance to the castle after seeing to Lord Corlys' ship. He had taken a detour and returned full of pride. Vermithor, the Bronze Fury might not accept Daemon as his rider, but he had accepted his presence. It was a start. Vermithor, like his mate Silverwing, had been dormant in the bowels of the Dragonmount for far too long. And when Daemon eventually sent word out searching for dragonseeds, he wanted those poor bastards to at least stand a chance. They needed those bastards. They needed those dragonriders.
Drakari pykiros. Tīkummo jemiros. Yn lantyz bartossa, saelot vāedis. (Fire breather. Winged leader. But two heads, to a third sing.)
The song still echoed in his head, long after he had left the caves. Singing to a dragon, he scoffed to himself as a small smirk appeared on his lips and he shook his head. Laena. Only she would have such ideas. Prior to his marriage to her Daemon had been certain of many things – until she challenged his beliefs. And he always loved a challenge.
Hen ñuhā elēnī: Perzyssy vestretis. Se gēlȳn irūdaks, ānogrose. (From my voice: The fires have spoken. And the price has been paid, with blood magic.)
He could practically hear her voice singing the tune. She had sung it to all their babes, not just her beloved Vhagar. Her Vhagar. The dragon that the one eyed cunt had stolen from them. The same way he had stolen Daemon's eldest daughter. And it made him burn from within. He would make Aemond pay for all that he had taken, the only real question was how? How would he make him suffer? Which method would make the little brat beg for death? Plenty of ideas ran through Daemon's mind, all of them making his small smirk grow wider and wider.
You are not faultless, an annoying voice in his head chimed. What of his conscience had somehow lived through all Daemon's schemes and debauchery. He knew he was no good father to his girls, and his sons were still too small for him to say he was a good father to them either. Becoming a parent was never something Daemon wanted, he liked to fuck, and as a result he sired children. It was simple as that. It was their mother who cared for them, who raised them with a gentle hand. All he had ever done was study language and histories with them, mainly because he did not trust the maesters to do it properly. Who better to teach High Valyrian and Targaryen ancestry then an actual Targaryen?
He shook his head to clear it of the annoying voice, Perzyro udrȳssi, ezīmptos laehossi, hārossa letagon. Aōt vāedan. (With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three. To you I sing.)
What would Laena think? She would be proud of Baela he knew. She would console Rhaena in all her failures in claiming a dragon. But Maela? Would Laena have approved of her match? Taken their eldest's feelings into consideration? Most likely. But what then would she think when she discovered Aemond having his way with their daughter? Would she chalk it up to a young girl in love? Or would she descend upon Aemond, enraged at him for using her daughter as his whore after taking her dragon as well? A shiver ran through him, a shiver he liked, the idea of Laena when she revealed how fierce she could really be had always sent shocks straight to his crotch.
