Chapter 3: Kindred

"What ails my niece?"

This was supposed to be a good night.

One of those nights where he could indulge in his vices and sink into debauchery. Today marks a year since the death of the Old King. A year since Viserys took the throne. A year since Daemon had become the Prince of Dragonstone. By all rights, Daemon should be in jubilant celebrations of the city.

But he was not. Back in the Street of Silk, the wine tasted like nothing and the whores made him feel nothing. Daemon understood his moods, he had hoped the first coups of wines and the numerous whores would make him forget. They had not.

He was the Prince of Dragonstone, but purely by convention. Viserys had neither named him heir nor given him Dragonstone. Daemon's claim remained unspoken. His brother had not even deigned to give him that honor. The King, like the rest of his council, hoped Daemon's tenure would be a short one. To be ended by the next moon, if Aemma bore Viserys a son.

One year and Viserys had not yet acknowledged him as heir.

He had stayed to support Viserys after the Great Council's decision to lend support to his brother should anyone question his claim. Of course, he had escaped the Capital on occasion, but he was never gone for too long. It was the longest he had stayed at Court since childhood. He had even come to believe that an uneasy truce with Viserys had formed. A foolish notion, he now knew.

Daemon supposed that was what made it sting.

So, unable to find joy in the city, Daemon opted to return to the Red Keep. No sooner had his night of decadence started it had also ended. It had put him in a foul mood. Perhaps sinking into his coups in the solitude of his chambers would find him the release he craved.

However, it seemed that the Gods had other plans for him that night. On the way to his chambers, he noticed there was an unusual amount of activity in the royal quarters for this time of the night. Intrigued, he followed the bustling servants and found himself in front of his niece's chambers. The door was cracked open, and candlelight spilled out.

Walking into the room had greeted him the sorry sight of his niece, along with a Maester and maids fussing around her. They all looked stunned as he walked in. Of course, he had not asked permission to enter the chambers.

Today was supposed to be a good day, and now he was talking to a bloody Maester and watching his niece writhe in pain in her bed.

"Is she well?" Stupid question, considering her sight, but Daemon was at a loss for words.

The worry in Daemon's voice was something seldom seen in the Red Keep. The servants around him gave him side glances of interest. He ignored them, there were more pressing matters.

"Nothing serious, my Prince" the Maester began with a neutral tone. "The Princess has a slight fever, a common sickness. We expect she will make a full recovery."

Daemon grunted as he turned toward his Niece. At eight years of age, the princess still had the petite features of a child. But today, she looked frail. Her complexion was paler than usual, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her skin. Although her eyes were closed, her expression was twisted into one of distress.

He did not know what to do.

"She will make a full recovery. It is a common illness that affects children. With proper treatment, the risk is minimal" the master reassured again. "There is nothing to worry about. It is only that the Princess is restless, she drifts in and out of sleep."

Daemon took a deep breath.

"Mother? Father?"

He gripped the pommel of Dark Sister.

"Where is my brother? Where is the Grand Maester?" He turned his steel gaze towards the Maester. Orwyle, if he remembers his name correctly.

The Maesters eyes briefly flashed with alarm as they eyed the Valyrian steel sword. However, Maester Orwyle remained composed.

"The Grand Maester attends to the queen. There were complications with the pregnancy. I was informed that His Grace accompanies the queen."

Daemon tightened his grip.

It is an unusual situation for him to be in. He is not entirely sure how to handle it. He does not know what to do for his niece. He does not know if he can do anything.

A memory flashes through Daemon's mind. One from childhood. Blurry but still present. Although, more in feeling that in detail. His mother's death. The sickness that took him right after. His father was busy with Small Council meetings. The fear, the loneliness, the darkness.

Viserys.

Viserys by his bedside.

Simply by his side.

"Bring me a chair," Daemon ordered. His voice comes out gravelly, more than he intended. His throat is dry and he only just notices.

The few remaining servants in the room quickly oblige, scrambling to find something where the Prince can sit. None of them want to be the object of his ire. It takes a few seconds, but a cushioned chair is set next to the Princess. Daemon takes Dark Sister off his hip, leans it against the bed, and then sits on the chair.

He grabs Rhaenyra's hand. It is wet with sweat and feels weak and limp. Daemon gives it a soft reassuring squeeze. He watches as his niece slowly opens her eyes. Recognition and relief flood them.

"Uncle…." She breathes out in Valyrian. Her hand wriggles around Daemon's, looking for a way to hold his hand. Eventually, her small hand finds his thumb and wraps around it.

What a lonely existence, Daemon thinks. Her mother was constantly on bedrest, troubled by pregnancies that kept her away from her daughter. Her father was too preoccupied with the heir he did not have. And finally, Daemon himself. Only here because he has decided, on a whim, not to drink and fuck his way through Flea Bottom that night.

Daemon wondered if Rhaenyra felt as rejected as he did. He knew she held no bitterness, not yet at least. But Rhaenyra was keen and had probably sensed she was not a priority. Daemon suppressed a dry chuckle. A spurned prince and a neglected princess. What a pair they made. Perhaps, in a twisted sense, they were kindred spirits tonight.

"I am here, little dragon" he returns in their shared tongue. He leans in and presses a kiss on her forehead. The skin is slick and salty with sweat.

"No, uncle" comes a breathless complaint, "it is dirty."

She raises her free hand to wipe her forehead. Her hands are also covered with sweat, and she only succeeds in smearing more of it across her forehead. Even as tired as she is, her frustration is obvious.

"I do not care," he says as he pulls back. "You will never be dirty to me."

The only response is a whimper of protest coming from her small body. Daemon is not sure if it even is a response or simply the voice of her discomfort.

There is a tug at his sleeve. He looks back to see the Maester, the only person in the room not at least five paces away from Daemon. The Maester hands Daemon a bowl of cold water with a cloth.

"It will bring her comfort," he adds. He takes a second to look at the Rhaenyra. "I will come back with fresh water and check on her."

Daemon nodded and tried to pull his hand from Rhaenyra's grip. He gently tugged, but the Princess would not budge. Rhaenyra would not let go of his thumb. Daemon gave a soft sigh and motioned with his head to put the container on the table. The Maester complied wordlessly and left the room. The servants left with him.

Daemon washed the cloth in the water with his free hand and brought it to Rhaenyra's forehead. The breath of relief was instant. Daemon wiped for a few seconds while he gave Rhaenyra some reassuring caresses with the hand that enclosed hers.

"Uncle, uncle, uncle…" Rhaenyra kept mumbling with her eyes closed.

"I am here, little dragon" he squeezed her hand again.

She opens her eyes as if to confirm Daemon was there.

Daemon would have been a liar if he claimed the sight did not stab at his heart. He was not averse to suffering. Sometimes he had reveled in causing it. But he had grown fond of his niece and seeing her in this sorry state was distressing.

To Daemon, it was a difficult feeling to process. It was alien and even frightening.

"I do not feel well, uncle" Rhaenyra's quiet voice came out almost like a sob. "What is happening?"

"Do not worry, little dragon" he whispered while putting a freshly damp towel on her forehead. "It is nothing but your own blood" he continued, trying to insert certainty and a sense of wonder into his voice.

The response came as a confused grunt.

Daemon chuckled, as to appear more confident than he was.

Another confused grunt. He squeezed her hand again.

"You have fire in your blood, Rhaenyra. You are a dragon. My little dragon" he gently explained while rubbing the cloth on her forehead.

Despite her sickness, he could see the twinkle of interest and wonder come into Rhaenyra's eyes.

"Are dragons afraid of fire?"

Rhaenyra meekly shook her head.

"You see? There is nothing to worry about." He put the cloth back in the bowl, brought his free hand to her head, and gently began to pat her. "Tomorrow, the fire in your blood will have calmed, and you will feel much better." He brought his head down and gave her another kiss on the forehead.

"So, sleep. I will remain here by your side."

Rhaenyra nodded and closed her eyes.

Daemon does not know who looks worse this morning. Himself, or his older brother that has just walked in.

Daemon is a sorry sight, haggard and disheveled. The product of his short-lived excursion to Flea Bottom and the much longer night by Rhaenyra's bedside. He has not slept, and it is plain in his features. His hair is a mess. His clothes are damp and sweaty. His eyes were bloodshot and with dark rings beneath them. His complexion was paler than usual.

Viserys wears the similar telltale sight of someone awake all night. The difference is Viserys had not been to Flea Bottom, he had not indulged in his coups the way Daemon had. However, Viserys brings something daemon lacks. Guilt darkened his face from the moment he walked into the room and saw his younger brother next to his daughter. The guilt hangs from him like a chain from his neck.

His guilt was not unfamiliar, unlike his crown.

Daemon decides that both of them are a sad spectacle.

"Brother…" Viserys acknowledges while coming closer to the bed.

He does not say anything else, even though it is clear he has noticed Daemon spent part of the night out. Perhaps the shame prevents his usual comments about Daemon's nightly activities.

"She is…." Daemon wants to say well, but he realizes it does not fit. "… better, her fever has broken. She sleeps soundly now."

Rhaenyra lays in her bed. After a night drifting in and out of sleep, exhaustion had finally claimed her. The Maesters had been correct, the illness had passed. Her fever broke and her ragged breaths normalized. Nevertheless, the Princess was weak. Dehydration and exhaustion had sapped her strength. She had not let go of Daemon's hand.

Viserys now stared at that link, the guilt beginning to weigh heavier on his neck.

"My sweet girl" he muttered to himself. After a moment of silence, he turned to Daemon. "The Maesters assured me that it was nothing serious, that she would be all right." Viserys swallowed "there were complications with Aemma's pregnancy, I had to stay by her side."

The distress in his voice made it clear to Daemon. Viserys was trying to justify himself, convince himself that he had done the right thing. He was failing.

Daemon nodded to Viserys. "A father's duty is always to the safety of his children. You did what you thought best." He agreed with his brother in tone, but not in spirit.

It was spiteful, it was cruel, and it had the desired effect. Viserys seemed to crumple into himself as he heard Daemon's fake reassurance. His shoulders slumped and breath seemed to leave him as he turned his gaze towards his daughter.

"Thank you, Daemon. For being here" was the only thing out of Viserys' mouth.

"Uncle!"

Daemon heard small footsteps after that.

It had been three days since that "night of celebration." He had heard the princess had spent the day after in bed, and the second day complaining to please be let out of bed and her room. That had made Daemon chuckle. He did not know if the Princess was that hale or simply just that stubborn. Perhaps a little of the two.

For his part, Daemon had kept away from the Red Keep. If anything of value had come out from his failed attempt to carouse through Flea Bottom, it was the keen awareness that he had spent too much time in the Capital. Perhaps it was time to take off on a journey. Release the restlessness.

Perhaps the distance from Court would also cool the tensions with his brother.

So, he spent his days in the city gathering what he needed for his journey. Collection information to decide which way to head. He had heard from one of the taverns near the port about a forming alliance between Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh. Whenever the politics of the Free Cities shifted, conflict came soon after. Perhaps he would head towards this storm.

Nevertheless, he did not wish to leave before his niece recovered. He could spare a few days to say his proper farewells. That was why he walked the Red Keep today. Daemon had come to check up on his niece.

It seems she had found him first.

He heard the little trot of her feet as he turned around. There she was, the Realm's Delight. Daemon had no trouble in admitting that she was his delight as well. In the two years he had spent at court, Rhaenyra had been one of the only enjoyable parts of it. Even with the blood of the dragon, Daemon was still human. The sincere joy with which she always greeted him was pleasant.

"Hello, little one. I hope you are feeling better" Daemon said with a small bow.

Rhaenyra nodded, greatly pleased with her uncle's gesture. She was proud, just like a dragon.

The Rogue Prince was glad to see his niece doing well. Color had returned to her skin and the weakness he had seen two days past had gone. The little dragon was almost back to its full strength.

"I have missed you in the Red Keep, uncle!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice serious but a grin already starting to split her face.

Ever since Viserys' coronation, Rhaenyra had become convinced that she needed to act like a "proper princess." Her idea of that was the gravitas of the ladies in the stories she read. With Daemon, she usually managed a successful imitation at the beginning of their interaction which would later fall apart.

The attempt still amused Daemon. It pleased him that the Dragon he had seen in her so many years ago had only grown. As the years passed, Rhaenyra only became fiercer, prouder, and more willful. The true image of a Targaryen.

She had even taken Syrax to flight at the age of seven, one of the youngest Targaryen to ever do so. Of course, she had done this with no small amount of help from her uncle. They both received a scolding after that. Although this one had come from Aemma.

"I wanted to show you something" she continued the seriousness in her voice already replaced with excitement.

She extended her hands and was handed a book by one of her maids. It was a thick and beautiful tome. For all his love of the battlefield, Daemon was fond of reading. He spent many nights poring over the Valyrian histories and sometimes even dabbled in some fiction. Therefore, Daemon had a healthy appreciation of books, an appreciation he shared with his niece. This book caught his interest.

Rhaenyra noticed, her grin grew and her back straightened.

"Father gave it to me. As an apology, he said." Her tone is slightly confused. She shakes her head and quickly moves on. Daemon wonders if she understood what his brother was apologizing for. If Viserys dared to voice his mistakes rather than paper over them with gifts.

However, this confusion is quickly replaced with excitement,

"I was wondering if you would like to read it with me. I have yet to open it!" Her demeanor changes to one of slight embarrassment as her gaze turns down.

There is a sudden flash in her eyes. "Father is busy, and mother does not feel well," she quickly sputters. "So, there is no one else…" Slight pink of her cheeks remains as she awaits a response. An excuse, a justification. Even if it rings true.

Daemon gives a small smile. He cannot help but delay his response. He looks away and puts a hand on his chin, pretending to think about it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the light blush of Rhaenyra as she looks up at him. How the Princess bounces on the balls of her feet.

"I do not know. I hear Princesses are rather busy and do not have much time to spend with their uncles. I would hate to intrude on your serious duties" he answers with a feigned serious tone.

"Uncle!" Rhaenyra stomps her feet.

He has in a quandary. Rhaenyra is prideful, she does not want to deny her important duties as a princess. Even though she has none. Therefore, she has to look for another excuse.

"I have been sick," she declares. "I am in recovery and therefore have no duties!" She looks pleased. Pity for the young Princess that she has fallen into the trap her uncle set.

"You are unwell, Princess? I had heard that you were hale enough to exit your chambers. It seems I have made a mistake. I should call the Maesters at once so they can take proper care of you" Daemon counters with fake worry.

Rhaenyra's eyes bulge. The Princess has realized her uncle is teasing her, and she is not very amused.

"But it is not my place to tell the Princess what she ought to do. Lead the way" he finally concedes, giving another small bow. Daemon inwardly smiles as she sees her perk up with pride, even if the small huff signal annoyance has not entirely left her.

He knows where Rhaenyra will take him. It is her favorite spot, the Godswood. He has grown fond of the garden as he spent more and more time there with Rhaenyra. Daemon simply follows his niece. It was obvious she delights in leading him, the willful princess that she is. So, Daemon stays silent and lets her enjoy the moment.

They eventually reach the Godswood, where they set themselves under the Weirwood. Rhaenyra wordlessly hands the book to Daemon and snuggles up to him. She looks up at him, urging her uncle to open the book and begin.

Daemon tenses. The Rogue Prince has never been one to enjoy physical contact. Especially prolonged physical contact. Ever since he was a child, he has felt trapped when held. Daemon often wonders if he should tell her of this discomfort. If he should ask her to give him some space.

Something always stops him. Memories from his childhood.

Memories in this very garden.

Memories with Viserys.

Daemon has always been the warrior of the two brothers. He seeks a connection with his older brother, to spend time with him. Separated by age and interests, sword training is one of the only activities they share. Viserys has never been much of a warrior. Yet, he spars with Daemon almost every day. Even if it hurts his pride as an older brother as he starts to lose every encounter.

But sparing with his brother is important to Daemon. So, even though he does not enjoy it, Viserys continues to Spar with Daemon.

"Uncle?" those lilac eyes stare questioningly at him.

He looks down at Rhaenyra and gives her what he hopes is a soft smile. He does not want her to notice his discomfort. This closeness is important to Rhaenyra. She has much love to give, but no one to give it to. So, he says nothing and lets her snuggle closer.

"It is nothing, sweetling. Let us begin."

They had spent several hours under the Weirwood. The book had been pleasant enough. It was a classic tale that would normally bore Daemon. However, the artistry of the prints inside the book more than made up for it. They kept Daemon engaged.

Rhaenyra stayed mostly silent as she listened to Daemon read the book. It was when they reached the point in every story where the gallant knight professes his love for the lady that Rhaenyra spoke up.

"Do Mother and Father love each other?"

Daemon looked away from the book and toward his niece. He found Rhaenyra looking up at him with a questioning gaze.

The Rogue Prince gave a tight smile.

"What do you think?"

Rhaenyra gives a nonchalant shrug. "I supposed they do. They spend all their time together."

And none with her, Daemon thinks.

"So, why the question?" Daemon asks.

Daemon notices the cogs turning behind her eyes. This was not a spontaneous question, there is a reasoning behind it. Sensing this will be no short conversation, he closes the book. Rhaenyra does not protest.

"The knights and maidens in all the stories…" she begins thoughtfully. "… when they marry, they do it because they love each other. In the stories, all they speak about is true love. But the Septa has begun teaching me about marriage." Rhaenyra's face twists in annoyance. It is a sentiment Daemon agrees with. "But all she talks about is duty this and duty that. She never talks about love."

Daemon gives a throaty chuckle. "I do not believe the Septa has either known love or the touch of a man. There is nothing she can teach you in that regard." Nevertheless, Daemon already understands the source of Rhaenyra's confusion.

"Marriage is a political arrangement, a duty" he explains to Rhaenyra. She simply stares in interest. "Your mother and father found happiness in their duty. A great achievement by all accounts."

Daemon smiles at Rhaenyra, but he sees that she is not satisfied with his answer. It is understandable, no child is happy to see their fantasies disappear.

"But maybe I do not want to marry for duty" Rhaenyra complains with a sigh. "The septa's explanations all seem so dreary. I do not want to marry a nameless lordling. So boring." She pouts but remains silent.

Daemon chuckles and shakes his head, his own experience with matrimony reflects Rhaenyra's fears. "So, who do you wish to marry, little one? Do not tell me you hope for a peasant or a hedge knight."

"Of course not!" the little princess scoffs. "I would have someone with a noble character, who recognizes my true value as a dragon. Someone who will be loyal and always by my side." She gives a quick look at Daemon, a streak of red coloring her cheeks.

Daemon gives his niece a rueful smile. Rhaenyra's ideas on marriage are that of a child. She has no real idea of what she wants. Instead, she recognizes a set of desirable characteristics she finds in her stories. She speaks of love as a child would, with platitudes and generalizations that seem agreeable but ultimately mean nothing.

"You are young, little dragon." Daemon pats her head comfortingly, there are no reasons to kill her fantasy just yet. "There are still many years for such a gallant knight to appear."

"Or a Prince" she adds

"Or a Prince" he conceded absentmindedly while looking away. A small huff of annoyance came from his side, but he paid it no mind. Perhaps Rhaenyra was still unsatisfied with his answers.

"A dornish prince, then?" That tease ends him with a slight pinch that only brings a smile to Daemon's face.

"And do you love your lady wife?"

Daemon barked out a laugh "There are sheep more pleasant than my Bronze Bitch." His response produced a giggle from his niece, a very different reaction than the flustered scandal that adorned her face when Daemon blurts something deeply inappropriate. "No little one, I do not find my lady wife very charming, to say the least."

"Well, then we can find you a better match after she dies."

That comment gives Daemon pause. Rhaenyra speaks as if it were dinner she was talking about supper.

"One that also recognizes your value as a Dragon" she continues emphatically.

Daemon is silent for a moment. "My lady wife is younger than me. I doubt the Stranger will take her before he takes me" he observes.

"Accidents happen" Rhaenyra shrugs.

"I am sorry?" Daemon is genuinely baffled.

Rhaenyra is not looking at Daemon. She has taken interest in a flower she found in the garden and is twirling it around her fingers.

"I hear hunting in the mountains of the Vale can be dangerous. Horses trip on the rocks." Rhaenyra turns her head upwards "I also hear that some of the wild dragons nesting in Dragonstone fly to hunt to the Vale sometimes." She looks back at the flower and shrugs again "you never know what can happen."

Another silence.

"If I did not know any better, my dear niece, I would think that you were plotting the assassination of my Lady Wife."

Rhaenyra's head instantly snaps back, a horrified expression painting her face. Daemon can see a bright red wave climb all the way up to hears. She even jumps up from a position she seemed very comfortable in just a few seconds ago.

"What!?" she yelps. "I did n- I could n- I would n-" she sputters and stumbles over her words. Clearly, the implication of her words is just hitting her. The embarrassment and horror come in waves as she tries to explain that no, she did not want to murder his uncle's dear lady wife. Once Rhaenyra is finished, she is panting. The Princess looks at Daemon in desperation, hoping that he would believe her.

"I know you did not mean it like that, little one." Daemon finally gets a chance to say. Rhaenyra's expression fills with relief at her uncle's words.

Nevertheless, Daemon still considers it odd that she can talk of death in such a casual manner. Daemon thinks that Rhaenyra probably does not fully understand the concept of death, and therefore does not fully grasp what her words meant.

He is sure she will grow out of it.

In any case, it has grown late and Daemon fancies himself some food. He pulls himself up and looks down at Rhaenyra, still a bit shaken by her outburst. He smiles reassuringly as he dusts his clothes.

"Perhaps it is time for supper. What do you fancy today, little dragon?"

Rhaenyra scrunches her face "the Maesters said I am still in recovery and should only eat soups and teas." She sticks out her tongue.

"Well then, perhaps I will accompany you in your struggle. Lead the way"

Rhaenyra still looks slightly sullen at the prospect of watery soup and stinky tea, but she complies and heads toward the dining room. Slightly kicking the ground as she moves along.

Daemon decides that he will sneak her some pastries that night. Just as Viserys did when a child Daemon fell into a brooding mood.