Daenerys III
The waxing moon was a slender crescent over the spires of King's Landing and stars shimmered across the whole of the sky. Daenerys brushed out her waist-length tresses for the night, setting her ivory-handled brush on the window seat beside her once she'd finished. The night was warm, but the stone she sat cross-legged on was cool. She stared up at the constellations sparkling like diamonds overhead, enjoying a rare moment to herself.
Sleep when the babe sleeps, Betty had suggested, passing on a lesson instilled by her mother when her Merryweather siblings were newborns. That, or you'll never feel truly awake.
It was easy to follow that advice. Shiera was warm in Dany's arms, and it was soothing enough to have Dany nodding off. Sometimes she would sing, as much to keep herself awake as she did to ease the babe to sleep. But now that Shiera was finally down for at least a few more hours, despite every instinct inside telling her to join her in sweet rest, Dany couldn't.
Not with Daemon on the road.
Would he have reached Darry by now? Did he have to brave those storms? Was he to face actual foes, with actual stakes?
Does he miss me?
He was with Ser Quentyn Ball, which gave her at least some comfort. Daemon spoke highly of his mentor. Though there were some unsavory whispers of the Master-at-Arms, it was no worse than the rest of the rumors of all the others in the Red Keep, and none argued against Ser Ball's reputation as a fighter.
Of all the knights in her household, it was only Ball and Blake whose skill was unquestioned.
The rest were either too green or too weak, if you gave the whispers credence.
Yet, this was no tourney. No joust or game. This was the road, the realm, and their foes true villains. Ball could be the finest knight in all of Westeros, and Daemon the best dualist of his age, but one stray arrow, stumble of a horse, or foolhardy charge could end even the finest of warriors. Whenever steel was bared, the risk of death followed.
Will I suffer raising this incessantly needy half-sister of ours only for you to go and make a hero of yourself and die, Daemon?
As she looked to the night's sky, a sky she imagined him sharing with her, wherever he was, the beauty of each star seemed almost sad.
Rest seemed the only luxury she was afforded since given charge of her half-sister. Dany hadn't ever taken her privilege for granted, but she missed it, trapped in the constant cycle of the baby's routine.
She woke to shrill screams, fought through the filth of her sister's waste, chased down an unwilling wet nurse to satiate the ever-hungry babe, and found herself, again, rocking Shiera to sleep.
Swaying, twisting, her long hair almost too tangled to braid, her eyes almost too heavy to open, she sang and shushed. Swayed and turned, pacing back and forth in front of the little princess' cradle.
Each morning was the same. Rise, change, feed, sway. Rise, change, feed, sway. Such too were Dany's nights, as the babe found even the darkness inviting. Rise in a start to a shriek, change, feed, sway.
She couldn't sleep. Her life was not her own. Sleep would only mean rising again to repeat it over. Dany needed to live when she could. With Daemon on the road, suited in armor, and poised for combat, it was impossible to forget how fleeting life could be.
She didn't want to waste a moment. Sleep would eventually come for them all. It was something she could go without. Or so she told herself between yawns, the skin of her face heavy, and her movements nearly halted, as if she was wading in water.
Dany reclined against the cool stone of the alcove she'd sought, and drew Daemon's letter from where she'd tucked it into her nightgown, smoothing the parchment against her lap. She read it aloud, so his words could grace her ears again.
Princess Daenerys, My Love,
Though the road no doubt will have its trials, testing my strength and my resolve for the first time truly, the hardest trial I face is leaving, not knowing when it is I'll see you again.
Though each time my eyes close, I can see the shape of your face, the color of your eyes, the twist in your brow when you're cross, and the brightness of your smile when you've bested me, I cannot imagine a day without opening them to see you near me, much less the many moons I fear I'll have to be away.
It is a just cause we depart for. Our half-siblings were attacked, and the murderous fiends that did so must not go unpunished. 'Tis the duty of a knight, after all, and what kind of knight would I be if I didn't fight for our own kin?
But to do so without you with me, without your sweet voice jesting at my faults, and your kind ears bearing my hardships, how could I hope to remain as steadfast as I'll need to be?
I'm still just a boy, I fear, but your love makes me more than that. I know not of many things, my dearest Daenerys, but I do know the thought of you, and the sight of you, and dare I say, the touch of your lips, makes me as much a man as I've ever been.
I know not what it is to be Lordly. I barely know what it is to be knightly. But with your love, and that feeling tempering my heart, I will find my way through whatever faces us to return to you.
Each day, when I see the sunrise, I will see in it the golden shine of your hair, as the beams stretch across whatever lands I wake to. Each night, I will look to the moon and the stars, knowing that you too will find them, and find me in them. And each twinkling star will stand for the brightness of my love for you. And in their thousands and millions, there will never be enough in any sky to tell of how much that love is.
I leave you now, but only to return. I hope this finds you well, and that Father hasn't punished you too harshly.
Yet, even if somehow I meet my end, the nights we shared, and the time we had, was worth whatever awaits me.
Sincerely and Wholly Yours,
Daemon
She loved each word of it. For as thick as he was, he could find words still to please any maiden. Yet, he and his words, and all of him, was Wholly hers.
And he signed it Daemon. Not Lord Daemon Blackfyre. Not Ser Daemon, Lord of House Blackfyre.
That wasn't who she was to him. He was just Daemon, and would always be.
When she finished reading, whispering his words as if they were a prayer to the Seven, she held his letter close to her chest and embraced it, as if its essence were somehow him, and that as she looked to the stars, he was doing the same and could somehow feel her warmth.
Shiera started to rouse, fussing softly. Daenerys froze, hoping the babe would settle herself and fall back to sleep. She held her breath, and her chambers were silent for the longest of moments. Then it came, in between a sound one might call a grumble and another might label a coo, the prelude to a scream.
"Just a moment, your majesty," Daenerys replied in a grumble of her own. Tucking the letter away again, she returned to her duty.
"Do you think she'll ever like me even a little?" Martha feigned a frown, flopping back onto a pile of tasseled silken cushions. Once again, the babe would have none of Martha Darry.
It had been a fortnight since Daenerys had shown herself at court, much too busy with her half-sister's incessant needs and pining away about Daemon's departure for even the briefest of appearances. So, Ysabella, Martha, and Betty surprised her in her chambers with tea and biscuits, hoping to aid in her duties and provide a respite from the stress and despair of caring for a newborn.
"She's like the boys at court," Betty quipped. "One whiff of you and they're near tears."
"Hey!" Martha shot back.
"Betty, be nice. I've been tortured enough by my toothless tormentor. Let us have a calm and peaceful afternoon," the Princess said, floating from her tea and laying Shiera in the cradle between the sofa and an armchair. Her friends sat on either side, nibbling at the new baker's scrumptious biscuits.
"Why don't you just have a servant take her, Daenerys?" Ysabella asked, meekly perched well away from Martha and Betty on the far end of the sofa, as though intimidated by the swaddled child lying between them.
"I have to prove to my father that I'm ready for what I want."
"You mean, who you want, your Grace," Betty replied. "And it's not just you, love. Since the tournament and his promotion to Lord, it seems every maiden in court is aligning themselves to be an option for the Head of the newest House of Westeros."
"Is he officially a Prince, then?" Martha asked, leaning over the ornate, gilded cradle as though she meant to scoop the child up. The babe's eyes widened and her mouth rounded for another blast. "What?" Martha sighed. "Do you take me for a rival?" As soon as Martha leaned away, Shiera's face returned to rest.
Daenerys wished her sister would allow at least one of them to hold her. Unless Ysabella worked up the nerve to ask, her wish was hopeless. Shiera squirmed in Betty's arms as if she meant to jump from them, and seemed to despise Martha for whatever reason.
Maybe it's her high voice and dramatic antics? Or maybe I'm too easily vexed, as exhausted as I am?
A knock sounded from the door. Is it time for the wet nurse already? Daenerys was too tired to keep track of the time. She waited for one of her girls to answer it. Though they were her ladies in waiting, they were no servants, high born the lot of them. They were too caught up in laughter after the baby's most recent rebuttal of Martha's affections to so much as notice the knock at the door.
It's only a few steps anyway. "Just a moment," Dany called, taking them.
It was Ser Swann and her half-brother Aegor, the white knight dressed in his enamel plate, and the boy freshly changed, but still sweating, likely from a session training in the yard. Aegor had found his place in the Red Keep, though it felt like he pestered Daenerys into playing with him every other time she turned around.
Though he was only a year younger than she was, her Bracken brother seemed immature. The play he wished for was more befitting a child half his age, though that could be forgiven. From what he had told her, he seemed to not have had any kin to play with as she had her nephews and Daemon.
"Good day, your Grace,' he greeted her, bowing with a flourish. "I've come to ask if you need help with the baby. I aim to be a knight, and knights help people. Ser Swann asked who I should help today, and I thought of you."
"That is so kind, Ser Aegor," she said, playing along as if this were just another of his games. "But my companions and I seem to have the situation well in hand. I appreciate your offer and that you considered aiding me first."
The babe began to wail from across the room. Aegor, as if breaking enemy lines with a desperate last charge, rushed past Daenerys to Shiera, as if to save her from some imaginary adversary. The boy meant well, but the babe was no game he could imagine in his head. Her needs were of a tangible sort, more responsibility than entertainment.
"Aegor, wait! Be gentle!" Dany warned, turning to head him off.
By the time Dany and Ser Swann reached him, Aegor was less than a step from the child. Dany's girls were confused, or at least surprised, leaning away from the cradle and letting Aegor close. The boy had skipped the length of the room, like he did when he pretended at riding, and when he reached the little one, he reared himself back in front of the cradle where dragons cavorted with gilded golden wings.
"Whoah, there, Freedom," he said, petting the invisible horse in front of him. The baby giggled. Daenerys let out the breath she'd been holding. "Come here, you pretty little lady," he continued, leaning over and carefully scooping his tiny sister up, gently holding Shiera's head and cradling her in the crook of his elbow. "Now hold on tight," Aegor grinned. The babe in his arms squealed, with a toothless smile across her chubby face.
"Master Rivers!" Swann called, "Put that child down! It's far too young for your horseplay."
"I'm no simpleton, Ser Swann, I wasn't going to jostle her too much. Just enough to make her laugh." The boy jiggled her from side to side and she wiggled. Then she giggled, working her way up to a high-pitched squeal.
"Why does she like him?" Martha mumbled under her breath.
"Because even after the yard, he doesn't smell near as strong as you do," teased Betty.
Aegor continued to jiggle Shiera, and the baby continued to laugh. The girls laughed along, even Martha, who knew Betty had spoken in jest. Even Ysabella, who seemed too timid to have decided to come to court of her own volition, joined in the joy, tickling the baby in Aegor's arms to another loud burst of laughter.
Daenerys realized something.
Maybe Aegor's not the one who has it wrong. Maybe he's not acting half his age. Maybe it's me acting twice mine own?
"Ser Swann?" Daenerys called.
"Yes, your Grace."
"Please fetch the serving girl in the chambers across and let her know it is her turn to care for my sister. I'm going to lie down. Tell her the wetnurse should be here in an hour or so, and that if she's late, she's in the pantry either stealing or hiding."
"The wetnurse is stealing, your Grace?" The white knight's eyebrows flew in the direction of his hairline.
"Never mind that, Ser Swann. That can keep for another day. For now, I intend to sleep. Allow for my brother and my ladies to stay with the babe as long as she doesn't fuss. If she does, give her to the serving girl and allow me to wake on my own."
"At once, your Grace," bowed Swann. "You've proven more than enough, if I should say so."
"You should say so." Dany bit back a laugh.
"Indeed. Rest well, Princess. I'll inform the staff not to let this reach your father's ears."
"Good luck. He's probably fucking half of them," Daenerys laughed harder than she should have. It was a fine joke in a brothel, but not in the chambers of a maiden princess of eleven.
The white knight shook his head. "I'll let that slip, given what you've been doing. But I'll remind you that a lady doesn't speak that way."
"I thank you, Ser Swann," she smiled. "Until I wake."
"Indeed."
Daenerys didn't interrupt her friends and her siblings. Taking one last glimpse of Shiera, overjoyed with her half-brother's nonsense, she sighed in relief and closed the bedchamber door behind her. Falling face first into the softness of her bed, she let herself think of Daemon.
Even if we were wed, and had children of our own, we'd have servants to see to their every need. I've punished myself enough for loving the boy I love.
Sweet sleep.
She woke to the song of a bird, whistling sweetly to usher in the next morning.
I've slept for this long? I've missed almost a whole day!
Lifting her head, she looked to the open window. The sun had just begun to rise past the horizon, and as its pinks and golds washed over the Blackwater Bay, she reveled in the still silence beyond the calming song of a bird. Septon Eppes had given a lesson on birds, their songs, and where to find different types, but she had been daydreaming, probably of Daemon. It felt better to leave some truths a mystery.
Daenerys rolled to her back, stretched, and rose, walking to the window to take a breath of the fresh air. It wasn't as fresh as one would hope, but the quiet made it all the sweeter, and all the better without a squalling sister to tend to.
No doubt father's heard I've failed, she thought, at peace with her defeat. Aegor had reminded her of how old she truly was. She found herself appreciative of the brevity of her youth, and realized she wouldn't have to forsake her love for Daemon to enjoy it.
Loving Daemon is not the same as marrying him. I am but eleven, soon to be twelve, and he is only a year my elder. It will be years until either of us will be truly of age to wed.
For now, I'll live.
Despite her newly found freedom, something made her want to seek out the babe anyway. It was an almost overwhelming feeling, once it set in, as if she'd lost something, and wouldn't be able to relax until she found it.
Still in the clothes she had worn the previous day, she dashed from the window, through the bedchamber door and through her solar to the main door, looking out into the hallway. No one was about, so she crossed it to where the babe's attendants were housed.
"Where is the baby?" Dany called, searching the smaller quarters for someone. A closed door creaked open slowly, and the wetnurse, Trudy, tip toed out, slowly closing the heavy door behind her. Trudy turned back to Daenerys. Almost forgetting her station, she shushed the Princess, though Dany understood. The babe must be sleeping, and there was no worse offense than to wake her prematurely.
Dany mouthed, "I'm sorry. I'll leave her to you for now. I will be back later on in the day."
The wetnurse nodded with the dead eyed stare Dany grew increasingly wary of, and found a wide enough sofa to curl into, likely fearful of the door creaking and waking the babe if she returned to the other room.
Dany knew not what else to do but return to her chambers and dress. It was early, but she felt as if she had so much to do.
First, though, she would attend to herself, or allow others their duty in attending to her.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, she pulled the sash to summon a serving girl. She was loathe to do it, even before the baby, but she needed a bath and her hair untangled. She brushed it when she could, but it would always end up a mess when her sister played with it.
She bathed, had her hair brushed, and dressed, all while pondering the nature of her status. Daenerys had just lived a life closer to a commoner's than the princess she was, and felt odd in returning to her usual routine. Pampered and waited on, hand and foot. She was almost ashamed of how much she enjoyed it.
Daemon, a Lord, a knight, and still yet a boy, was roughing it, somewhere in the Riverlands. Like many of the people her family ruled, he was left to the relative cold, in undeniable discomfort.
Dany yelped as Prudence yanked through a knot. As uncomfortable as it can be to be brushed this way.
She was made presentable, her hair braided in two spirals pinned behind her head, and wearing an ice blue dress trimmed with lace, with an embroidered eastern dragon pattern, twining itself around the neckline. It was a gift she hadn't yet been able to wear, but she had grown since then, and it fit her near perfectly.
"'Tis a fine dress, your Grace," Prudence approved, pleased to be of service and admiring the tiny dragon heads finely stitched into the fabric. Dany too was pleased, and asked if she could find her a necklace to match the attire she'd chosen.
Prudence, happy to oblige, saw to it at once. Eyes sparkling, she returned with an ornate silver piece of alternating sapphires and emeralds. Shiera's necklace, her mother's legacy. Father brought it just the other day. I was showing it to Aegor, I must have left it out.
Feeling a little strange about wearing something that wasn't hers, let alone something that had once belonged to her father's mistress, Dany was reluctant to allow it. But, Prudence hasn't fussed over me in ages, it hardly hurts to humor her. And surely caring for Shiera for so long means I can borrow a necklace intended for her just this once? I will lend her pieces of my own someday.
And it matches so perfectly.
Daenerys held back her misgivings, and Prudence laid the stones gently around her neck.
A sudden sensation of heat seared through Dany, flashing her mind's eye to a scene of thundering black and red.
Bright gold eyes looked through the abyss, long lashes flicking open and closed, the irises burning amber, like molten metal, steaming as if they were the sight of heat incarnate.
A white flame engulfed the scene like a parchment, and from the hellish glare, a fire spread.
Surrounded by darkness and light, the orange glow of an invisible flame and its intense and searing heat all she could perceive, she struggled to breathe, either frightened or frozen.
A snake with a blade for a head, slithered from sight, its wake, a path of flames in the grass. A burning forest took shape around her, and a clutch of wooden scaled eggs smoldered in a bed of green, a glowing, flowing green.
The snake's path led to the clutch, igniting them with a harsh blast, like the thunder of flames expanding, bursting open in a horrific bloom, spreading the blaze until the forest was instantly cinders.
The snake's path split, into the glowing red veins of a vast flat stone that rose vertical to infinity. She could not see past it, nor did she try, as the veins turned pink, and the stone to a smooth white, almost so supple she had to touch it.
As her arm reached for it, her hand slow in the void, time seemed still, and her thoughts more so, as all she could do for eternity was feel for the surface in front of her. Her fingertip contacted the soft, cold, stone, and her heart began to race.
All she could perceive sped by, and as her palm reached the stone, blood began to run from the vascular pink lines that ran through it. Bubbling and dripping, so dark a red it looked black, the stone bled faster, from a flow to falls, first dripping over her hand until it then rushed over even her head. She tried to scream, but her voice was worthless here.
And then the golden eyes blinked, and there was again naught but black and those eyes. Haunting, as if they were both dead and alive, gone and never far.
Evil, for Dany knew no other word.
Daenerys managed to wrench the necklace off, ripping out a few clusters of her hair with it, and emphatically gasped as if she'd been drowning.
Prudence looked on, pale and still, her mouth agape and her posture limp.
The princess shook her head, and rubbed the tears from her eyes. Disoriented, she could barely think to speak, but Prudence chose to.
"Your Highness," Prudence began, her voice trailing off.
"I'm fine," said Dany, trying to convince herself she was. She thought of a way to excuse what she'd seen, deciding that she must have been famished. "But I am feeling weary since I haven't eaten in so long. Do you think the food should be much longer?"
Prudence blinked a few times. "Your grace, you were in a fit. I know not what happened, but you started shaking. Should I send for the Maester?
"No need for the Maester," Dany replied, forcing a smile. "Just some bacon, if we have any."
Prudence failed to respond with words, simply nodding and starting towards the door. Dany looked down to the stones of the necklace in her hands, the blues and greens flowing inside the stones, as if they were alive. Dany shut her own eyes, remembering the golden ones, and wanted the thing out of her grasp.
"Can you put this piece back for me before you leave, Prudence? It is my sister's anyway, something passed down from her mother." Dany said, holding the necklace out as far away from her that her one arm could reach.
Prudence left the room, ignoring the Princess' request. Dany stood immediately, thinking to scold her longtime attendant, but felt it better to just return the thing herself, running to the vanity and dropping the stones, nearly throwing them, safely out of her hands.
When Prudence returned, neither acted as if anything had happened. Her attendant made sure she had her bacon, and when she went back for another necklace, Prudence settled on something familiar to both of them. A delicate piece in an unusual setting, a Targaryen heirloom which was once a gift to the young Rhaenyra Targaryen by her Daemon, the Rogue Prince of Legend. Thinking even of his name, Daemon, was enough to soothe her troubled heart.
Daenerys had intended on seeing her father. Of late, he would only seem to ever pass by her on his way to another session of screaming. Something important and exceptionally vexing occupied most of his time. She felt worst for poor Aegor, who had initially been so excited to meet their father, but at this point seemed to barely mention him, if at all.
It was time for Dany to set right the wrongs against her. She had proven enough to anyone not too busy to notice her devotion to her punishment, and to herself that, in the end, her father's intentions came with their own unique wisdom. Yet, despite whatever he had the right of, he was still wrong in who she would choose to love.
The incident with the necklace had shaken her, but not from her position of her relationship with Daemon. If there was one thing she knew could reforge her strength, like Daemon said of her in his letter, it was the thought of him. She too would temper her heart with their love, and fight villains in the name of it.
"Daenerys, my love, oh how beautiful you look," Dany heard from down the hall in front of her as she was leaving the royal apartments, headed to the small council chambers where she expected to find her father and ambush him. It was Daena, Daemon's mother, and her warmth was so infectious, Dany couldn't help but smile back with the same glee.
"It's so good to see you, dear. I wondered if you were ever going to step back out of those rooms," she said, as they came together in the hall, the elder beauty taking her young kin by the hands as if to admire her better. They leaned in traded courtesies, kissing their cheeks together, and Dany couldn't help but blush in the opulent light of Daena's grin.
"I wondered the same thing, I assure you," Dany replied.
"Guess my half-wit of a son wasn't worth all the fuss," she said, poking the princess and having a laugh. "Beautiful, he is, for sure, just like his father. Charming too, like his sire. But a boy's just trouble, in the end, love."
Dany didn't know how to respond. She had always seen herself in Daena, or tried to emulate what she admired in The Defiant. She had never felt more apart from her distant kin than she did in that moment, thinking that Daemon was like any other man, or worse, like her father.
"It is not that I do not wish to continue my relationship with Daemon," Daenerys responded, holding back her emotion. "It is that this is a foolish trial based on a foolish premise." Dany felt more confident with each word that seemed to form perfectly. "I love Daemon, yet, he and I are still but children. We neither need to wed nor cease our feelings. The two can be both true."
Dany feared what Daena would say, hoping she wouldn't take her father's side. For that might change everything I ever felt of you. "Yes. Yes, my dear. Oh, what an empowering message to kick back into his gullet." Daena surprised Daenerys, so much so, that when Daena reached back for Dany's hands, as if to hold them in excitement, Daenerys pulled them away defensively.
The Princess relaxed. She's not a monster, after all. "And furthermore," Dany continued, "no self-respecting Targaryen would ever be left to tend to a newborn without a serving staff to aid."
"Not unless you go behind his back and marry someone he doesn't approve of," Daena said, the same jubilant smile never leaving her statuesque cherub face. "I have to run, now. I'll see you tonight, we'll sup together for the first time in what seems moons."
She nodded and walked on, leaving a sour taste in Dany's mouth. Maybe a monster after all?
By the time Dany reached the Small Council's Chambers, at this point being led through the halls by Ser Blake of the Bay, she had so much on her mind between Shiera, Daemon, the necklace, and Daena, she could barely remember what she had planned to say. Blake was no help either, teasing her in jest about "motherhood" and "raising that bullhorn of a babe" she didn't have the peace to collect her thoughts.
So, she held an arm out, stopping Blake from the door. "Wait," she said, feeling powerful, as small as she was, stopping such a large and strong man as Blake.
"As you wish, little mother."
Her father's booming voice leaked through the closed door as he hollered, "But you just fucking paid them!"
A soft voice sheepishly responded, "No, your Highness. That payment was for the workers who were there. Since they've left, we will need to hire new laborers to finish." Dany couldn't tell which of his father's cronies it was through the door.
"New workers!" the King returned, infuriated. "Fuck me, now this thing costs double!"
"Only to finish, my liege. And not entirely double."
"Well, one of you will find someway to foul it up again, so we might as well round up!"
Ser Blake looked down to the Princess. "Would you like to go in there now?"
"What are you? Mad?"
"No, but he sure is," the knight replied, who was always kind and cheeky with the children.
"Is someone at the door!" the King yelled, sounding almost fearful.
"Just Ser Blake and the Princess, your Grace. She was waiting until it seemed convenient."
Daenerys could feel her father's bounding steps as he rushed to the door, powering it open with a burst of strength in anger. "What!" he started, still screaming as loudly and intensely as he had been within the chambers, red faced and out of breath.
King Aegon paused then, seeing the fright on his daughter's face, tried to regain his breath, and began again, speaking as softly as he could, still panting. "What is it, Daenerys. I've but a moment. I regret being as busy as I've been, but," he turned back to the room, summoning another volcanic roar he let out at his counselors, "these fucking twits!" The King turned back to his daughter, again composed, "Have left the realm in near disaster, and I've unfortunately had the duty to right all they've set wrong."
"I'm afraid it'll be more than just a fleeting moment, your Grace," Daenerys replied with all the courage she could muster from her tiny frame in the enormous shadow of her powerful father.
"I am sorry, my dear," he said, trying to show tenderness but still nearly out of breath. "I truly am. But I'm here, now, standing at my Council Chambers door, asking if you'd like to speak with me. What is it? You came here for something."
"And I'll require more of your attention than asking you for a gift. It is my life I wish to speak of, not some quick boon you can grant with your status."
"Watch your tongue, child," he warned, his ire increasing. "Do not disrespect me. You will not enjoy the result." The King closed the door behind him, and stepped out into the hall toward his daughter. Daenerys stood her ground, her arms folded in front of her.
"There is no need for me to look after Shiera any longer," she said, forcing the words out in as strong a tone as she could with her eyes closed. "I realize I am just a child and in no hurry to wed."
Aegon's tense brow eased, even so far as allowing a loose chuckle to slip, his enormous belly jiggling as if Aegor had somehow shaken it with his horseplay. "I'm relieved to hear it. You've finally seen sense."
"I see the sense in waiting until Daemon and I are older," she continued. "There is no rush."
"So, you've not found sense, then," the King replied.
"I've found love, father. No punishment or chastisement can change that."
"I don't have time for this, girl. There are matters of dire import I need face, and I do not have the time for your lesson in romance."
"You've never had time for your blood, father! Not me, not Daeron, not mother, not even the bastard you called to court like a trinket you'd lost on the road, stashed away until the next ball to parade around like a trophy."
"We can discuss this further at another time, Daenerys, but I will not quibble with my eleven-year-old daughter about her heroic pretty prince and their sweet and silly love song. You've been blessed to yet taste the true bitterness of what love can be, and the boy is out on the road. Pine away at him, but pester me with your fantasies no longer. You can allow the staff to serve the girl. They will see to it." Aegon turned back to the door, seemingly finished with his daughter's petition.
"No," she said, not knowing why. She wasn't done. She hadn't said what she needed to. She was struggling, torn between her emotions, her fears, her station, and his failures that seemed an endless list of one disappointment after another embarrassment after another futile attempt at compassion.
Since losing her mother, she had changed, seeking out Daemon for an escape, and being thrust into the punishment with her sister, the despair she had yet to let out festered into something hard to bear.
"Just fucking listen to me!" she screamed, tears forming and streaming down her face.
The King hesitated a moment. His stern face flashed something genuine. Something human.
Then, he squinted into a glare, "Not to the entitled whining of a spoiled princess," and stormed back into the Council Chambers, slamming the door behind him, and yelling, "And not to be outdone by my lovesick daughter, are the fucking imbecilic simpletons of this room!"
Daenerys couldn't stop her tears, running from the chambers as fast as she could. She could hear Ser Blake following behind, his steps clapping loud at her tail and his armor clinking like chimes with each stride. She could barely see, squinting and wiping through the streams from her eyes, rubbing them nearly raw as she reached the stairs to her room.
Ser Blake called from behind her, asking to aid her, and if she was well, and all the stupid things people said when there was nothing to say. When a person cried with the sadness she felt, there was nothing but love to fix it, a love she had never felt, and figured out, would likely never feel.
Daemon loved her, she knew, but did her father?
He calls Daeron the Falseborn, they say, as if Uncle Aemon was his true sire and mother an adulterous slut. Does he think I too am Falseborn? Does he see me as an Abomination?
I wish I was Uncle Aemon's child. I hate you, Father!
Dany ran to her room, burst through the door, crashed into her bedchambers door and jumped onto her bed. She screamed, crying loudly into the mussed sheets which were immediately soaked in warm tears. Her hands clenched and pounded into the soft mattress. She bit into her sheets as if she were an animal, ripping back and forth to find some relief from her anguish. Yell after throat scratching muffled yell into the empty room only brought out more despair.
Reflexively, as if it had become habit, the only thing she thought could soothe her was to hold her newborn sister in her arms.
At least I can raise her with love.
Dany fought up to her feet and bounded back out to the hall and across to the attendants' quarters, holding back her tears so the servants would allow her to hold Shiera. Her bottom lip kept quivering through her strained attempts at stopping it, and her eyes only ceased from the streams, as tears slowed to only welling in the corner of her eyes, which were red and rubbed raw.
She found no one, not even the babe, as she looked through the quarters at first. She looked again, searching every room, high and low, calling out, "Hello!" over and over again. She didn't find anyone until she opened the nursery room, and the baby, awake, but still and silent, swaddled and placed in a bassinet on the floor, was left by herself with the window open and the curtains drawn.
"Come here, sweet thing," Daenerys cooed, her tears no longer her concern. "How could they just leave you like this?"
Shiera tight in her arms, looking up at Dany as if she was pleased, the Princess left the empty quarters to look for the one responsible for leaving the baby alone. How dare they! Whoever it was, is gone for good! I bet it was that stupid wetnurse Trudy! That woman never seemed all here anyway!
"Hello!" Dany yelled, only for Ser Blake, who was standing outside in the hall, protecting her and not the King.
"What is it, your Grace?" he asked.
"Not you. You weren't here," Dany replied.
Ser Blake could do nothing but nod and continue to silently follow.
"Hello!" Daenerys kept shouting, until Prudence came running from another room down the hall.
"What is it, your Grace!" she said, in almost the same way Ser Blake had. Everything seemed incredibly vexing to Dany.
"Who was responsible for the child, just now? Was it you?!" Dany shouted, knowing instantly it was a mistake, for Prudence would never.
"What are you babbling on about, girl?" Prudence shot back, "I'm concerned with you, child. From before, and now this, running and yelling with the babe. What is going on with you?"
"I apologize. Of course, you weren't responsible for this."
"For what?" Prudence asked.
When Daenerys told her, the woman was near as white as she'd been before. "She was just feeding with Trudy. They seemed to be dozing off, the both of them, and I left to get myself some scraps from the kitchen."
Dany looked down at the child. She was all smiles. Little does she know, the innocent little lady.
"Where is she?" Dany asked with the same ire as she'd just received from her father, secretly wanting to shed that venomous despair onto another.
"I haven't seen her, your Grace."
"Well, search the castle until she's found. I want her to pay for what she's done!"
"At once your grace," replied Ser Blake, bowing and clanking away.
"As you wish, Princess," Prudence said, following the Kingsguard down the hall.
"I'll be in the nursery with her, but send another woman to take over for me, I don't intend on entertaining the baby much longer."
"Very well, your Grace," Prudence yelled back, hustling behind the longer strides of the knight.
"Now to settle back down," Daenerys whispered to the baby, as if declaring her intentions for the child when the message was better served on herself. Settle back down.
How could she have just done that? Daenerys wondered. Trudy had never looked pleased with her station, but she could have been worse off. Serving in the royal apartments, eating the food, staying in the chambers, and all the other pleasantries that came with it was no small boon to be scoffed at. She was just as likely to be a beggar or a whore, and should have been thankful for her lot in life, especially for a woman in King's Landing.
When she reached the servants quarters, and went into the nursery, she couldn't believe the window had been left open. Not only to leave the child, but with a breeze like that off the Bay, she was sure to catch a chill.
"Just let me close that, my dear," Daenerys said to her sister as she placed her down in the crib, giving her free hands to close the shutters and drapes.
As she stepped to reach out to grab the shutters, she peered down.
Daenerys gasped, then shrieked.
She had found Trudy. Her body was impaled through her head, shoulder, and legs in the dry moat sixty feet below.
Daenerys couldn't stop from screaming as loud as she could, until she thought of the babe, and covered her mouth with her hands hoping not to frighten her any more than she probably already had.
When Dany peered over the gilded dragons of her cradle, the little girl was completely unshaken, still smiling as wide as can be, as if she was pleased.
A/N
Thanks for reading! I would also like to thank The_Silent_Sister for all of her help and support, especially on this chapter, which is written in part by her.
Also, for those who know canon and are potentially concerned with an obvious potential "grooming" situation with Aegor and Shiera.
I will first say, I acknowledge your concern, agree with it, and, if you trust me, do not read further to avoid spoilers.
I have warned and you have been warned. Warnings have been given and received, and it is now your fault for spoiling one of the only things that I will subvert from canon in this tale. You've been warned, again.
Aegor will not groom his half-sister to be a lover. Period. It's not going to happen. The love Aegor has for his little sister is the love that would make sense for a boy who grew up being hated by the rest of his half family. He wants and needs that type of love, and is able to find it, and in something as joyous and pure (cough) as a baby, no less.
They will share a very strong familial love, and not even in the Targaryen familial way either. As far as I can surmise from the timelines, Shiera's actual birthdate makes no sense to anyone, because if you follow the mistresses in order, unless they were consecutive and out of place, Shiera would likely be where I've placed her in the timeline.
So, expect something similar to what the canon expectations are, but not in a way that would be as obvious or disgusting to me as a 23-year-old Bittersteel trying to be with a 13- year-old Seastar.
Aegor loves Shiera, and that love is real. It's not ever going to be carnal for him, though. Just to be clear.
Thanks again for reading. Leave some comments, people. Please. I'm sensitive, lol.