Chapter Text
“Don’t go,” Rhaenyra’s voice stopped Daemon abruptly just as he was about to step into one of Maegor's tunnels.
He knew coming to Rhaenyra’s chambers before leaving for his exile was ill-advised, it was bound to end with his niece in tears, begging him to stay, yet he couldn't leave without a word. Following Aemma’s death, he had vowed to avoid any action that would lead to his brother banishing him again. He owed it to Rhaenyra. The last time he was exiled, she had her family for comfort. Now, with her mother dead and his brother withdrawn in his grief-stricken chambers, Daemon had become Rhaenyra’s sole family—and she, his.
For the first few nights after the Queen’s death, Daemon had spent most of his time in Rhaenyra’s rooms, comforting her until she fell asleep. However, the previous evening, a patrol with his Gold Cloaks had ended in a shared drink at a tavern, which soon led to a toast for his deceased nephew. He hadn't said anything inappropriate, but the mere fact of his presence at the gathering gave that cunt of Otto Hightower a chance to spin a sordid tale for his brother, who had promptly exiled him.
It pained him to abandon his niece in such distress, but he had no choice. “It is the King’s command. I must leave the city before nightfall, or the Gold Cloaks will have the power to kill me on sight.”
“Your Gold Cloaks would dare kill you?” Rhaenyra asked, still crying but a slight, almost hysterical laugh in her tone.
“They wouldn't, but you know what your father would do to them if they didn’t comply. I won’t put them in that position. I’ll leave before the morrow. I’ve given them leave to choose freely: follow me to Dragonstone or stay here.”
That last word seemed to click something in Rhaenyra. Suddenly, she looked happy, even elated. “Then go!”
“What?” Daemon asked, pleased by the sudden shift in her mood but dreading the cause of it.
“Go to Dragonstone and bring me with you!” she was almost jubilant. “It’ll be best for everyone. You and your Gold Cloaks won’t have to disobey the King’s order, and I could stay with you. Don’t you think Syrax would like being out of the pit?”
The Prince had to interrupt her frantic rambling. He hugged her. “Zaldrītsos (little dragon), I wish I could bring you, but I can’t…”
“You promised!” she cut him off, struggling not to break down again. “You promised, kepa (uncle), you promised that you would protect me. So bring me with you to Dragonstone!” she screamed the last words in rage.
“Even if I brought you, your father would send someone to retrieve you. You’d eventually have to return here, or live your life hiding and on the run. Is that what you want?” His niece began sobbing again. “I truly would love to bring you with me, but your father’s orders were clear.” Daemon paused, musing. His brother's orders were clear; it was a standard contract of exile, including all the regular clauses...
Rhaenyra noticed his contemplation and looked at him hopefully. “Tell me you’ll bring me with you, please.”
“There is no way your father would agree to let you go with me. We can’t.” Daemon could not subject her to the harshness of exile. “It won’t work. It will be better for you to stay here.”
Knowing he was short on time, he offered one last piece of advice before leaving. “I have to go now. It will be safer for you to stay in the capital for the moment. However, if your father, Otto, or anyone else tries to harm you, come to Dragonstone.” His niece hugged him again, but Daemon gently let her go and slipped into the secret passage.
Rhaenyra ran out of the small council chambers, reeling from the news. Her father had announced his intention to remarry well before the mourning period was over. To make matters worse, he hadn’t chosen Laena or a Celtigar, but Alicent Hightower—the very same Alicent who consoled her by day only to offer her father a different kind of comfort by night.
When her father named her his heir, she expected support. Instead of strengthening her claim, he had chosen a new bride as quickly as possible. She could already foresee him sidelining her the moment Alicent produced a male child, trading Rhaenyra away to whatever lord best suited her new stepmother and Otto.
For some time, Alicent’s subtle remarks about impropriety and the Seven had grown more explicit. Rhaenyra hadn't given her words much weight before, but now she feared Alicent would press her father to mold Rhaenyra into one of the dutifully pious ladies she always lectured about. Rhaenyra scoffed at the "so pious" Alicent, who rushed to the chambers of a widower to offer herself for the title of queen.
She couldn't remain at court. As soon as Alicent became stepmother (or sooner, if she gained enough influence over Viserys), Rhaenyra knew she would be removed as heir and married off to secure alliances for Alicent's future son. Rhaenyra’s mind went back to her uncle’s promise: Daemon was still on Dragonstone, and she knew he would help her if she asked. She had almost convinced him to take her during his exile; surely, he wouldn't refuse her now.
Rhaenyra hurried to her room, avoiding lingering in any hallway to prevent her father or Alicent from stopping her with their pathetic excuses about the marriage. Upon arrival, she dismissed her maids, feigning a headache. She needed as much undisturbed time as possible for her escape. She quickly packed her riding leathers, a couple of dresses, and a few trinkets and jewels, mostly gifts from her mother and uncle.
Once packed, she opened the secret passage in her room and made her way toward the Dragonpit through the tunnels. Reaching the door that opened into the dragon’s chambers, she left the bag. She couldn't simply appear in the pit with a bag packed for a week, claiming it was for a leisure flight; it would be too suspicious.
Returning to her room unnoticed, she put on her last set of riding clothes and ordered her guards to prepare her carriage. Rhaenyra was ecstatic to finally leave the Red Keep, having escaped without anyone suspecting a thing. She was almost done.
Upon reaching Syrax’s chamber, she asked the Dragonkeeper to leave them alone. When the man departed, her golden dragon looked at her, puzzled. “Alicent... she and Father…” Rhaenyra was on the verge of tears, but Syrax consoled her by nudging her snout against her face. “It doesn't matter. We are going to stay with Daemon and Caraxes.”
Syrax looked unconvinced.
“Diffident? Look at this!” Rhaenyra retorted, retrieving her bag from the secret passage. “We are leaving.”
Her dragon chirped happily.
“Oh, now you believe me,” the girl jested.
After making sure the bag was securely tied to the saddle, she ordered Syrax to fly. She hoped the Dragonkeeper hadn’t noticed the extra luggage. Though they couldn’t stop her, she wanted the longest possible head start, just in case Daemon proved more difficult to convince than she hoped.
“How dare Viserys…” Daemon was beyond exasperated. He never thought his brother would go so far, but Viserys seemed determined to prove him wrong at every turn. At this point, his brother seemed less like a Targaryen and more like a white-haired Andal.Seriously,he was known as the most rash and impulsive brother but surely Viserys did enjoy breaking traditions and precedents one after another.
Before he could continue his internal rant, he looked at Rhaenyra, sitting near the fire on a sofa, wrapped in a fur blanket and holding a cup of hot tea. Despite his fury at his brother, he couldn’t behave this way in front of her.
When his guards announced a dragon had been sighted in the rain, Daemon was puzzled. There was no reason for Rhaenyra or his family on Driftmark to arrive at Dragonstone unannounced—the island was little more than a military garrison. When he recognized Rhaenyra's dragon, he was both furious at her stunt and worried about what had forced her to flee.
The moment he saw the pain on her face, his anger dissipated. When his niece recounted her brother’s latest folly, Daemon was ready to kill Viserys. However, his brother's foolishness was not his immediate problem.
“What have you come to Dragonstone for?” he asked, sitting beside Rhaenyra. His niece looked a little surprised by the direct question.
“I couldn't stay in King’s Landing. As soon as Alicent gets a grain of power, she’ll have me married to whoever is most eager to put whatever male she gives birth to on the throne.” She suddenly looked terrified. “Please, don’t send me back. I can’t marry, I…”
Daemon hugged his niece. He knew that after Aemma’s miscarriage and especially after her death, Rhaenyra had grown increasingly anxious about marriage and babies.
“Zaldrītsos, I don’t want to send you back to court, but your father holds complete authority over you. If the King orders me to send you back, I cannot disobey him.” He wiped the tears from her cheek. “There are two options. First, I send you back to the Keep with some of my men to protect you. Viserys may resist accepting them, and they won't be able to shield you from everything, but they will do their best.” His niece remained unconvinced. “The second option is more… radical. There is a way to take you out of your father’s wardship before you become an adult, but you won’t like it.”
His words definitely piqued Rhaenyra’s interest. “Why am I only hearing of this now? Couldn’t you have used this trick to take me with you during your exile?”
“Because the only way to remove you from your father’s authority is to place you under your husband’s.”
His niece sprang to her feet, shocked. “Marriage! Why does everyone insist that I ought to marry? My father, Alicent, the Small Council, and now you! Why do you all see me as just another womb?”
Daemon tried to calm her. “It doesn’t need to be an actual marriage, with all that it entails.” His words were enough to stop her from storming out.
“What? How?”
“Well, your father would cease to hold any authority over you as soon as you pronounce your vows. With a Valyrian wedding, there would be no way to annul the marriage without proof of consummation.”
Rhaenyra still looked unconvinced. “Proof of consummation would require consummation, with all of its consequences.”
Daemon smirked. “It only requires a dirty and bloodied sheet. Fortunately for you, that’s easily falsified, especially with a Valyrian wedding. You could simply use the blood from a small wound—no need to smuggle a vial of animal blood into the bedroom.”
His niece seemed to understand where the conversation was heading. “I must say, Uncle, of all the marriage proposals I’ve received, yours is definitely the strangest. Though also the boldest.”
Daemon resisted the urge to make a crude remark. “It would be your best option for now. I promise that if we were to marry, I would not use any of my privileges except for keeping you away from court. Moreover, a Valyrian wedding would allow you to take a second spouse, should you ever want an actual wedding.”
“And what do you get out of this deal, kepa?” Rhaenyra asked.
Daemon laughed. “Well, ābrazȳrys (wife), the unique opportunity to piss off both your father and my bronze bitch.”