Chapter 3
She dreamt of the Unburnt again.
Rhaenyra found herself at a funeral pyre, surrounded by desert sand and the night sky. , The mourners around her were of tan skin and black hair. All except for one -the same woman who walked through the fires of her enemies.
Yet, Rhaenyra saw her different this time. Smaller. Weaker. Fragile.
She was on her knees, staring helplessly at the burning embers. She cradled three dragon eggs in her arms as she cried over the deceased - a large wrapped body laid next to a tiny one, crackling in the flames.
Rhaenyra's heart sank, and she was back at her own mother and brother's funeral.
The woman then stood. Holding the eggs close, she carried them towards the flame, straight into the fire.
"Daenerys, stop!"
Rhaenyra stood with them all night until dawn. The pyre finally settled at sunrise, and a figure stood from the ashes.
Rhaenyra rushed to her with the others. Her clothes were missing, skin covered in soot. Rhaenyra wiped the ash from her skin finding it unharmed.
Relief and joy overcame Rhaenyra, and she smiled as she watched three hatchlings crawl on their new mother.
"Behold, the Mother of Dragons!"
--
"Mother of Dragons..."
The mid sun bled through the curtains, stirring her awake. Rhaenyra struggled out of bed, her back and hips sore from last nights adventures.
The man truly didn't let her sleep, teasing her and fucking her until the dawn. She vowed her revenge, but they had to get out of this predicament first.
Rhaenyra shuffled into the chamber for a quick bath. After she washed and dried, she walked around looking for something to wear. She opened the door to the hall to find a trunk. To her delight, Daemon had given them some proper clothes.
A leather dress, reminiscent of dragon skin. Similar to the dress she wore while traveling with Syrax. A black tunic for Criston, a simple gray with buttons adorned with the Targaryen sigil. She hopped onto the bed and shook her lover awake.
"Wake up," she whispered, "It's time for breakfast."
--
As they entered the dining hall, Rhaenyra found herself surprised by the simplicity in its design. Daemon spared the room of his typical Targaryen sex art that had invaded her castle. The floor to ceiling windows along the walls gave light to the room, which held the a long, dark oak table. It held various plates of breakfast foods, hot and ready for them.
"Sleep well?" Daemon bemoaned. "I didn't. The two of you went on all night like dying cats."
"Not true, Uncle!" Rhaenyra chastised.
He nodded at Criston, an eyebrow raised. "Black suits you well."
Criston ignored him as he plated his food. Daemon waited as the pair took their seats beside him.
"Now, you're welcome here as long as you like," said Daemon, "but at some point we will need to to say something to the king."
"You heard from Father?" Rhaenyra asked.
"No, I believe he's," Daemon waved his hand flippantly, "angry at me or...something."
Rhaenyra looked at Criston, then back to Daemon. She stood up so suddenly the men nearly jumped.
"Tell him nothing. We are leaving for Essos. I plan to marry Ser Criston and become a sellsword's wife. We will spend the rest of our days as free people traveling the Narrow Sea, chasing oranges and cinnamon."
Daemons mouth dropped. "Chasing what, now?"
Criston stifled a laugh.
Rhaenyra continued, "I no longer choose to wait for something to happen to me. I am taking life into my own hands."
"Ah, I see," said Daemon as he returned to his meal. "And while you're chasing...oranges or whatever, what shall you do with your status as heir? When your father dies, will you drop your cloves and return? Or will you continue your free folk life?"
Rhaenyra quipped, "I don't see what that would upset you, seeing as I am your obstacle."
Daemon shrugged. "Well, there are now three more obstacles aside from you. But will you really will throw away your birthright to a couple of brats?"
Rhaenyra shook her head. "My father will name Aegon as heir regardless of how I live my life."
Daemon set his knife and fork down. "You truly think that low of him?"
Rhaenyra pursed her lips. She thought of the nights with Father, where he spoke to her on the prophecies. She recalled the blade. She glanced at Criston, and mouthed a sorry.
A matter this important had to be spoken in High Vaeleryan. Rhaenyra retrieved the daggar from her pockets, setting on the table.
"What do you know of the Song of Ice and Fire, Uncle?"
Daemon jolted, as if he had heard a name long forgotten. He gave Rhaenyra a long, cold stare. He waved his hand again and chuckled in common tongue.
"A bedtime story that my foolish brother thinks is real."
"He showed me this blade," said Rhaenyra, continuing in her ancient language, "He told me this is why he chose me as his heir. To unite the world against impending darkness. He could have borne his three children and said not a word to me, but he still did."
Daemon responded in High Vaeleryan. "When my brother sets his mind on something, he is absolutely driven to it."
"I know."
"So," said Daemon, glancing at Criston, "I take it that you are not renouncing your claim as heir. Correct?"
Rhaenyra looked at Criston, conflicted. She had every intention to run away until speaking of the prophecy. She felt the need to solve this ancient mystery, believing herself the only heir who could.
Or would. Rhaenyra thought. No, she had to at least see this through before she could walk away.
Luckily, Daemon did not let her answer.
"Ah, forget it," Daemon mused aloud, "You have decades before the old man croaks. Best not to spend it mulling. Go live your life for the sake of the gods! See the world, go...learn something! Experience life outside those damned walls."
Go...put cinnamon on oranges or whatever you were prattling on about. If you truly wish to rule the seven kingdoms, you should visit the other six."
Rhaenyra felt relief. "Of course, Uncle"
"Worry not about your father, he will come around." Daemon motioned towards the hall and said, "I have a gift for you in the library. Go take a look and wait for me."
She stood and took a glance at the men before exiting.
Surely they won't fight again.
--
"What was that about?" Criston said, confused and irritated at the conversation he could not understand.
Daemon let out a heavy sigh. "I really do hate knights."
Criston ignored him, knowing Daemon would never dignify him with an actual conversation. He finished his plate as fast as he could, ignoring the tension flare up in his muscles in case Daemon decided to continue.
Daemon threw his hands in disgust. "All the men she could run away with...and she chooses you."
"Alright then," Cole stood up to take his leave.
"No, no, do sit!" Daemon exclaimed, and he motioned Criston back to the chair.
"It's not a personal affront. Please, sit."
Criston regretfully sat back down, staring Daemon in the eyes. "You rather it be another? Yourself, perhaps."
Daemon looked speechless, then chuckled and raised his teacup. "For someone who cares so much about getting his knockers chopped off, you sure do have a heavy pair."
Sipping his tea, Daemon glanced at the dagger Rhaenyra had left, and back to Criston. A soft clink filled the dead air as he set the cup down.
"I love my niece, deeply," said Daemon, "Like one of my own. Had I considered marrying her for the title? Of course I asked. I was refused."
Criston swallowed, his jaw tightening.
"And no, Ser Knight, I have no qualms about bedding and wedding my niece if it gets me whatI want."
It took everything in him not to pummel Daemons face in.
"Ah, hold on, Ser Honor! Before you break my table."
Criston realized his hands gripping the ends of the table, to the point where his knuckles turned white. He took a deep breath and relaxed his jaw.
"I do like this table," said Daemon, "Now, as difficult as it may be for one as haughty as you to understand..."
Daemon turned his body toward Criston, crossing his arms. "Rhaenyra means the world to me. And despite my ambitions...I care for her happiness. I too, had to betray the love of my life to enter into an appalling marraige."
Daemon made a face at the memory, which Criston found slightly amusing.
"And I mean, appalling."
"I cannot imagine..." Criston replied.
"You can't, you really cannot," Daemon chuckled, "Anyways, if an obstinate prude such as yourself is what makes her happy, then I will convince my brother to give his blessing."
Criston was astonished. "Thank you, Prince Daemon--"
"And!" Daemon inturrupted, "Since it must trouble you at night, I will personally make sure that no blade will ever go near your cock."
Criston buried his face in his hands, hiding the blush. "Thank you. Prince Daemon."
Daemon cackled as he took a sip of tea. "Honestly, you knights and your cocks. What are you so worried about if you don't even get to use them?"
This man is so vulgar. Criston thought.
"I should warn you though, Ser Criston Cole."
Criston looked up, astonished that Daemon finally got his name right.
"Rhaenyra," said Daemon, and as he spoke his voice grew low and stern. "She and I are kindred spirits. You don't see it now because you're all flustered in love. But if you think you're going to carry her across the Narrow Sea and live a life of complacency, you're wrong."
Criston listened intently, and did not argue. He could already see what Daemon warned.
"Rhaenyra, like myself, has the blood of the dragon. You see the difference, between my brother and I? The blood of the dragon leaves you restless. Leaves you wanting endlessly. And do you know what that want is for?"
Attention? Criston chuckled to himself.
"For power," said Daemon "Once my brother dies, Rhaenyra will want to claim the throne. Whatever peace you have with her will perish once she has claim.
"So decide today, Ser Cole, how deep your love runs for her. Because no one can tame a dragon."
Criston kept his tongue while his thoughts went wild. My love runs deeper than your cruelty. I will stand beside her, always.
Daemon rolled his eyes, "Gods, you knights are so pathetic."
Daemon stood up and reached behind the chair for a large leather case. He sat it on an empty space on the table. He opened it before Criston to reveal pieces of silver armor. Criston flinched as he recognized the braided patterns of the chestplate
"You'll need this for the rest of your travels through Westeros."
Criston stared at the white cloak, folded neatly between the steel, in disbelief.
"Where did you..."
"I'm a collector. I like to collect things."
--
The library was like Rhaenyra had remembered years ago. Lined wall to wall with books, both in common and ancient languages. She dragged a finger along the dusty study desk. There, in a small wicker basket, beheld a black dragon egg wrapped in line.
"You stole it again?!" Rhaenyra chastised in High Vaeleryan as she picked up the egg.
"I can't help myself, you know that." Daemon snickered as he entered the room. He kept his hands in his pockets and he stared fondly at the egg.
"I found Syrax's nest this morning. I picked this one for you."
Rhaenyra turned towards daemon as he approached her. His hands slid out of his jacket and raised to meet hers. He held the egg with her, his warm fingers gliding across hers.
"It's for your firstborn." Daemon said. "Pale eyes. Curly brown locks. A Dornish Targaryen will be quite a look."
They shared a soft laugh.
"I'm sure the noblemen of Westeros are quite tired of us marrying each other." said Rhaenyra, "This will be good for the realm."
Daemon nodded, eyes fixed on the egg. "Hm, yes. Why him though?"
"He's my white knight. He's been at my side for years. It's natural to develop -"
"Cut the shit dear niece," said Daemon and his eyes met hers. "You're not in the Red Keep. He's the clear opposite of you."
Her eyes pleaded his to stop. "His nobility does not matter!"
His eyes refused, and rose in flames with his voice. "I'm not talking about his house, I'm talking about him. He's self righteous, he goes on about his own honor like it's all he has."
"It is." Rhaenyra said.
Daemon scoffed and withdrew his hands. "So the heir to the Iron Throne isn't enough for him? He has to take you away from me?"
Rhaenyra looked down at the egg. The skin of her fingers grew chilly and began to miss his warmth.
"You may not have seen what he did to that boy but I did. There was nothing left of his face!" Daemon stopped in front of the window, staring out into the hills beyond the castle.
"I was actually impressed," he chuckled, "I didn't think the pious knight had it in him. Then I remembered his life before. The marches. Quite a bloody war. Do you think he was goodly and honorable when he was killing his own men?"
Rhaenyra wondered that herself. The thought of Cole being...like Daemon. Bloodthirsty. Sweat and blood dripping from his brow. His chest heaving.
It excited her.
"You had your chance Uncle, are you having second thoughts?"
"Ah," Daemon mused as he turned to face her, "So this is to get back at me?"
Rhaenyra grew angry. She stormed up to her uncle, faces close enough to touch. She resisted the urge to slap him and said, "You left me. In a brothel. I'd hate to see where you leave me as your wife."
Daemon stroked her cheek. "I asked your father for your hand. He refused. Since his approval doesn't matter..."
His finger trailed down her neck, to her chest. Hood his fingers around her collar. Her breath stopped for a moment.
"You asked me to claim you. We could wed today, here at Dragonstone. Your position would be sealed."
The anger dissapated, revealing what was already there. That burning desire.
Daemon leaned closer.
She stepped away, taking his place in front of the window.
Daemon chuckled, shaking his head.
"Well...he may bore you to death slightly less than Ser Laenor. Bring him to a battlefield and he may actually excite you. Look how flushed you are just thinking about that."
"Stop." Rhaenyra covered her face. She peeked through her fingers to see Daemon looking at her, amused.
"This isn't about desire, Uncle. In you..." Rhaenyra paused as she dropped her hands, spinning the rings on her fingers. "...I see the person I want to be. That's what I truly desire. To be free to do what I want with little repercussion."
Daemon scoffed. "Not little, I've been banned from King's Landing a total of three times now."
Rhaenyra turned her back to him, now facing the window.
"If I could take a stab at the why if it all," said Daemon, "You took my prior advice to heart. You gave the option to Ser Cole, and he was angry."
Rhaenyra's heart sank at the memory. "He...accused me of making him my whore. He said I soiled his white cloak. I never intended to hurt him."
Rhaenyra stared out into the clear, blue sky. All she wanted to do was fly away. She felt hands on her shoulders, then the warmth of his arms as Daemon pulled her into an embrace.
"Mysaria wasn't happy with our arrangement either."
"Why didn't you marry her?" Rhaenyra asked softly.
Daemon chuckled. "Because I'm not you. I'm not that brave."
He rested his head against hers. "I didn't want you to whither away at King's Landing. But I should not have taken advantage of you like that. However...if my lapse in judgement brought you happiness. Then, your welcome."
Rhaenyra felt her eyes well up. She swallowed, burying her tears.
"Did I sign his death sentence, Uncle?"
Daemon kissed her temple. "Don't worry about your father. Or the Sea Snake. I have a plan to regain his favor."
"Oh?" Rhaenyra looked in interest as Daemon patted her back. He walked to the desk and picked up a letter. Rhaenyra immediately saw the sigil of house Valeryon on the paper.
"It seems his daughter took quite an interest in me," said Daemon, "A marraige will repair our houses' shaky ground."
Rhaenyra nodded. "She's beautiful. And older now."
Daemon threw his hands up in jubilation, the letter flying into the air. "Thank the gods, a wife I can fuck! And enjoy fucking."
Rhaenyra had enough. "I'm leaving, Uncle"
"Never not enjoy fucking, dear Niece!"
"Goodbye, Uncle!"
She hurried out of the library, and in the hall towards her bed chambers. She turned the corner and bumped into Criston. Her desire came raging back to her, raging like the fires of old Valyria.
"Princess-"
She pressed her lips against his, the force of her body shoved him against the wall.
"I need you, Ser Criston."
"Right here? In the hall?"
Daemon shouted from down the hall, "I won't intrude!"
Rhaenyra laughed. Grabbing her flustered knight by the collar she guided him to her bedchambers.
--
"You still haven't told me."
Rhaenyra laid on his chest, playing with the gold chain of his necklace. "Told you what?"
Criston rolled his eyes. "I don't know, the thing?"
"What thing?" Rhaenyra teased.
"The blade," Criston said, unamused. "It clearly means something."
Rhaenyra sat up, taking the silk robe from the edge of the bed. She redressed herself and bent down to the pile of clothes she left on the floor, taking the dagger.
"You'll think I'm mad if I tell you."
Criston sat up. "Tell me first, then I'll decide."
He left the bed and redressed to meet her in the sitting area. He took a seat next to her on the sofa, admiring the trove of candles on the table. Rhaenyra unsheathed the blade and held it over the flames. Criston gasped as he witnessed a line of red script adorn the blade.
"I...can't read that."
"It's in High Vaeleryan," Rhaenyra said, "I really should teach you."
"And risk me knowing what you and your uncle discuss?" Cole said cheekily.
"Oh stop it," Rhaenyra admonished, then continued,
"It says, From my blood, come The Prince That Was Promised and his will be the Song of Ice and Fire."
"What does that mean?"
"This knife belonged to Aenar Targaryen." Rhaenyra said. "He fled to Dragonstone after his daughter had a dream. That dream correctly predicted the Doom of Valyria, and is the reason I sit here with you."
She paused and glanced at Criston, who placed a hand on her back.
"I'm grateful for that." Criston kissed her forehead and said, "Go on, I don't think you as mad yet."
Rhaenyra scoffed slightly as she sheathed the blade and continued, "My family...we have these visions that we call dragon dreams. They come to fruition in one way or another."
"The naked woman in your dreams," said Criston, "You think that a prophecy?"
Rhaenyra had forgotten about her. "It's possible but...I don't know what it means yet."
"Does it have something to do with the blade?"
"Oh, no," Rhaenyra continued, "Aegon the Conqueror had a dream that showed him the end of our world. It begins with a terrible winter. He inscribed his dream onto this blade, and called it the Song of Ice and Fire."
"Winter is coming." Cole mused.
"What?" Rhaenyra looked at him, startled.
"I've heard northmen say that before. It's the words of House Stark," said Cole, "I heard that and thought...isn't it always bloody winter up there?"
They both chuckled, and Cole continued. "Perhaps House Stark knows about this prophecy."
"No, it's only passed down the heirs," said Rhaenyra, "Aegon believed that the only way to prevent the end times is to to keep a Targaryen on the iron throne."
"That's silly."
"What is?"
Cole paused to read her face. Rhaenyra placed a hand on his knee, encouraging him to speak.
Criston sighed and said, "Well...to have a prophecy of the end of the world and...fail to share it to the world?"
Rhaenyra's mouth dropped. Criston immediately backtracked. "I'm sorry Mi'Lady, it wasn't my intent to insult you."
"No - I...you're not wrong." Rhaenyra said, "I just...haven't thought of it that way before."
The seeds of a plan began to sprout in Rhaenyra's mind. Criston was right. To prevent the end of the world, why keep it to herself? Rhaenyra could not trust that baby Aegon would take the weight of this so seriously.
At some point she would have to talk about this with House Stark.
And these dreams...of the woman Daenerys. The only Daenerys Targaryen she knew of was from generations past.
Was this a message from the past...or the future?
"It seems we won't be sailing to Essos after all." Cole quipped, breaking her thoughts.
Rhaenyra, overwhelmed, began to tear up. "I'm sorry."
Cole shook his head and smiled. "Don't be."
Rhaenyra jumped from the sofa into his arms, throwing her arms around his neck. She held onto him tightly and affirmed, "I won't let them take you from me."
"We don't have to think about that right now."Criston picked her up and took her to the bed. She stayed in his arms, again playing with the necklace. She looked upon the sigil of House Cole embroidered on the gold.
A gift, from Rhaenyra, to her sworn shield.
"What are the words of House Cole?"
"Fuck Dorne."
"It is not!" Rhaenyra laughed.
Cole chuckled. "Steadfast and True."
"Hm." Rhaenyra kissed his lips. "You really are."
--
A/N: From what I could find, House Cole doesn't have an official phrase so I made one up.
GRRM based the sigil of house cole is actually...coal. Which I found very interesting.
It's a crude source, one that a lot of us want to stop (for many good reasons), yet it's one of the top 3 sources of energy on earth. I think it's a great allegory for the smaller houses in Westeros - like House Cole. They're considered lowborn, lesser than the noble houses. But these great houses, despite treating them like shit, still rely on them for stewardship, protection, etc.
I tend to see these minor houses as having unwavering loyalty to each other - after all they have no one but their own brothers and sisters. My headcanon of House Cole is that they're small and they are loyal - to each other and those they love. Hence, steadfast and true.
Also, I'm not trying to debate the use of fossil fuels in our world right now. I'm more so using the impact of coal in our lives in relation to the smaller houses, including the Coles, in Westeros.
