The cries of dragons filled the salt-scented air as Daemion brought Quickfang, his emerald green dragon, into another death-defying loop through the air. The dragon's emerald scales shimmered in the midday sun, highlighting the silver membranes in his wings and the tips of his head and neck spikes as he shrieked in joy at spending time with his rider.
A deep rumbling bellow filled the air as Vhagar, the Queen of Dragons, took to the air behind him. Her days of tricks and cartwheels were long behind her. At almost two hundred years old, her bones were weary, and her mind slow compared to younger dragons. Nevertheless, Laena loved the beast, spending her time basking in the shadow of her dragon's wings and singing songs of Old Valyria.
A smaller, shyer cry filled the air as Grey Ghost kept his distance, following behind the two other dragons, choosing to spend his time dipping in and out of the water, causing a giggling Rhaena to shriek with laughter. Despite his exact age being unknown, he was a fully grown dragon, only slightly larger than Quickfang, who was twenty-three years old, the same as Daemion.
Down below, Daemion could see Baela running along the beach, chasing them with two of her Velaryon guards following, Moon Dancer flying above her, the hatchling still too small for her to ride. Smirking, Daemion brought Quickfang down into a dive and skimmed the water next to Baela with Quickfang's massive tail, splashing the girl and making her giggle and yell in High Valyrian.
A flash of red and black in the distance had the young father frowning as he spotted a group of Targaryen soldiers walking down the beach, the Targaryen banner held high. It wasn't often Daemion received word from King Viserys. Most often, word from King's Landing came from a raven sent by his siblings or parents.
Something important required a show of pageantry like this.
Flashing a reassuring smile at a nervous-looking Laena, Daemion brought Quickfang down towards the beach, sighing when he saw guards bathed in blue and silver coming from the keep to meet the visitors. The sound of massive wings flapping behind him exposed Laena's intent to follow her husband down, and with a crash, all three dragons landed, sending puffs of sand clouds around the dragon's flapping wings.
Daemion's muscles winced in protest as he jumped off Quickfang's back, tired and sore from the vigorous riding and training regime he forced himself to follow every day. Then, hiding a flinch as his feet landed hard on the sand, he walked over to assist a heavily pregnant Laena climb down the rope ladder off Vaghar's back, the great beast surprisingly gentle as she lowered herself as low to the ground as possible for her rider to disembark.
Then together, the couple began marching towards the waiting messenger, Laena holding out an arm to stop their daughters' approach in case of bad news. Rhaenyra had been pregnant with her fifth child, and the last thing Daemion needed was his girls to find out their aunt or infant cousin died from a stranger.
The messenger was young, his dark brown hair stuck to his forehead under his silver helm from sweat. His eyes were wide, darting between the massive dragons sunbathing on the beach and their riders, but to the boy's credit, he stood tall and did not cower as Daemion came to stand in front of him, the prince's hand resting on his sword hilt.
"Prince Daemion, Lady Laena, I bring word from King Viserys, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."
Nodding impatiently, Daemion said, "Speak it, messenger. You are no doubt exhausted from the journey from King's Landing. We will give you food and drink before sending you back to King's Landing with our reply."
The boy gulped before continuing, face pale as he said, "His Grace brings good tidings, Her Highness, the Crown Princess Rhaenyra had given birth to another prince she has decided to name Viserys after His Grace."
Daemion smiled and clapped his hands in pride while Laena simpered, saying, "That is wonderful news, but one that has in the past been sent by a raven. What else, Ser?"
"His Grace has declared that a tourney is to be held to celebrate the child's birth and asks that all members of the royal family attend. Including yourselves and Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys."
"When would the tourney take place?" Daemion asked, eyes narrowing in confusion, his hand landing on Laena's bulging belly on instinct. Much like the twins, this pregnancy had been hard on his wife, with her spending hours on bedrest and vomiting profusely. Today was the first time in weeks she'd felt strong enough to leave the keep, let alone ride Vaghar.
"In a moon, My Prince."
Daemion jaw clenched as he only nodded his ascent, his mind racing with the implications. Laena was due any day now, according to the maesters that were waiting on her hand and foot at his good mother's insistence. A moon would be much too early for the mother and babe to travel, especially considering Laena's poor health as late.
Hells, the twin's birth had almost killed her; this pregnancy hadn't been planned for that very reason. But Viserys was king, and his word was law. So if he summoned his family to King's Landing, Daemion and Laena would be forced to comply, health concerns be damned.
** Line Break **
Laena sighed as she watched her husband pace as he dropped his sword onto a nearby cushioned chair, his dart eyes filled with frustration and anger as he ripped his doublet off to reveal the white shirt underneath. Then, just as quickly, the shirt also met its fate, falling to the ground with a swoosh, displaying her husband's firm physique.
Left in only brown cloth breeches, his boots long gone, Daemion Targaryen was magnificent as he stared out onto the balcony, his sharp cheekbones accentuated by the moonlight. His tanned torso was spattered with scars from training with live steel and minor burns from spending time with a sometimes temperamental Quickfang.
It was hard sometimes to remember the young, scrawny boy he'd once been, with his head hidden in his books, eyes hidden by the untamed mane of dark hair on his head. Now that same hair was long and held back in Velaryon braids.
In the ten years since their marriage at Driftmark, her dear husband had worked hard to adapt to life on their small island. Choosing to devote his life to learning the Velaryon ways, sailing with her father and taking flying lessons from her mother. He was a loving husband and devoted father to their two beautiful girls, who had inherited their brown eyes from his Royce heritage.
But sometimes, Laena would catch him staring off into the distance, towards King's Landing, where his siblings resided with their spouses and children; she knew he was lonely. Daemion had never been alone as a child and wished for the same upbringing for their daughters. But his apprehension of the Greens and their bad intentions stayed his hand and kept them here, on Driftmark, where they were safe, surrounded by their dragons and the largest fleet in Westeros.
"What worries you, my love?" Laena asked, coming to stand beside him, leaning her silver-haired head on his shoulder and melting into him when he immediately opened his arms to her, kissing her forehead. His hand instinctively came to rest on her swollen belly where their babe grew.
"I received a raven from Aelyx," Daemion murmured, voice soft as he sniffed at her hair, "The Queen and her sycophants grow bolder. They forced Rhaenyra to walk bleeding from the birthing bed to the queen's chambers to present Alicent with the babe."
Laena scowled as she imagined the pain Rhaenyra must have been in, having been forced onto bed rest after the birth of her girls. The blood loss had almost killed her. Shaking her head, she scrambled for a solution, for something to comfort her beloved, "Your parents are preparing to take permanent residency in the Red Keep, aren't they? Daemon will protect his grandchildren with a vengeance unseen before, and Diana will prepare Rhaenyra for her duty like no other."
Daemion sighed as he pulled away, walking over to the waiting wine goblets and taking a gulp, muttering, "Alicent in the queen, what can they really do? Viserys is blind to his wife's machinations and makes no attempt to stop her. So she has all of the power until the king dies, and then…."
"And then what? If Viserys is dead, that means Rhaenyra is queen."
Daemion didn't reply, his indigo eyes dark with secrets as he stared into the distance, his mind far, far away from their safe little corner of the world.
Laena's brow furrowed in concern; her husband wasn't one to mince words or hold back with her, "What is it? What haven't you told me?"
Daemion was silent as he took another gulp of wine and seemed to steal himself, standing tall, muscles tensing as he muttered, "There have been increasing whispers in court about Rhaenyra's fitness to rule. Thankfully her reputation is strong enough to muffle the worst of them, but as time goes on, the greens grow desperate, and the tales grow wilder. I fear what will happen when Viserys inevitably falls."
Muffling a curse under her breath, Laena nodded and turned away to fiddle with the cradle that sat waiting in the corner of their chamber. The lace doily felt soft and warm underneath her fingertips, the same one she'd used for Rhaena and Baela's cribs, hand-crafted by her mother.
Anxiety curdled her already weak stomach as she considered the implication of her husband's words. The Hightowers sought to place their blood on the Iron Throne, seemingly by whatever means necessary, going by their slander campaign; already, they had accused Rhaenyra of siring bastards, risking both the princess and her babes' lives with their accusations.
If the allegations were found to be accurate, Rhaenyra could suffer exile or death for her and her children. The Hightowers had to know that, what with Otto Hightower whispering from the shadows of Oldtown, where he'd remained for the past ten years since his dismissal as Hand of the King.
Letting out a calming breath, Laena steeled herself before speaking, "Then we prepare for the worst. We band together like dragons should, fighting to survive the coming storms together."
Daemion didn't look totally convinced, but he plastered a smile onto his face and kissed her chastely before pulling her towards their massive bed, "Come, my love. You are exhausted. We'll talk more tomorrow."
** Line Break **
Daemion felt like he'd only been sleeping for a short while when a soft gasp had him turning toward where Laena usually slept. When he reached out for her, he was surprised to feel a warm, wet puddle under his fingertips. Shooting up, he struggled to adjust to the darkness of their room bereft of lamplight, the fireplace having long gone out.
Another pain-filled whimper had his attention snapping to his side where a grimacing Laena curled in on herself, still sleeping while red gradually pooled and stained her white nightgown.
Sweat soaked his wife's brow as she twisted and turned in her sleep but didn't wake up, caught in the clutches of a nightmare. Swiftly, Daemion stood and marched to where a blue silk rope hung from the wall, attached to a bell in their housemaid's room just adjacent to theirs. Yanking it twice hard, Daemion turned on his heel and opened the door to an exhausted-looking guard who stared at him wide-eyed, startled gaze snapping down to the red stains on his prince's clothes.
"The Lady Laena is in labour; fetch the maester and my good mother, now," Daemion growled before hurrying back to his whimpering wife, keeping the door open for the mass of maesters, wetnurses and maids about to arrive.
Kneeling on the bed, Daemion put his hand on Laena's forehead and grimaced when he felt how hot it was to the touch. Changing course, he gently shook her shoulder until she roused; her eyes were glazed over with fatigue and soon after scrunching in pain.
"Wha-? Ah!" Laena murmured, confusion quickly overtaken by agony as she clutched at her belly, her eyes widening in horror as she took in the bloodstained sheets tangled around her legs.
"Hush, my love. The maesters are coming," Daemion murmured, looking up and nodding at a harried-looking Missy, their lead housemaid, as she ran into the room, face pale and clothes in disarray.
The young woman briskly composed herself and began lugging in buckets of cold water and clean clothes, clearing the bed of unnecessary bedding and keeping her eyes averted as Daemion took his place behind his labouring wife, his chest to her back as she squeezed his hand.
In a flurry of movement and sound, the room promptly filled, everyone arriving to take their places as the Heir to Driftmark's groans turned to sobs and screams of anguish as her labour progressed.
An anxious-looking Rhaenys quickly took charge. Daemion's focus remained utterly on his wife, kissing her forehead and murmuring sweet nothings in her ear whilst she fought to contain herself, the contractions intensifying as the maesters poked and prodded at her, muttering amongst themselves.
"Mother!" Laena cried out as a particularly sharp contraction constricted her womb, making her fling an arm out towards her mother, who was busy barking orders at the pair of starstruck maids, stopping to gawk at the spectacle.
In an instant, all of the fury drained from the face of the Queen-Who-Never-Was as she turned to look at her daughter, face softening as she strutted forward to take the hand Laena held out to her.
"Hush darling, everything will be alright," Rhaenys said, eyes darting almost imperceptibly towards the slowly growing pool of blood where the maester struggled to bring the babe into the world.
"Apologies for the interruptions, my lord," The voice came from the end of the bed where an elderly maester stood, head lowered in supplication, his words obviously meant for a frowning Daemion. The prince's stare snapped to him, indigo eyes blazing with fury and terror for his wife.
"Speak." He said softly, voice clipped.
"Perhaps it would be better if we spoke away from Lady Laena for her comfort."
"Whatever you have to say involves my wife's health. She deserves to know of any complications."
The maester gulped, eyeing the floor for a moment. After only a brief hesitation, he continued, "The babe appears to be in breach position, your grace, and it appears your wife has been in labour for a while, going by how wide her womb's opening is."
"What does that mean, maester?' Rhaenys snapped, face drawn as she understood the implications of the older man's words.
"Ahem, it means that we can attempt to turn the babe from the outside, but a choice… a choice might need to be made."
"No!" Daemion snapped, starting to sit up but halted as the movement jostled Laena and made her cry in agony. Settling to glare the master to death, Daemion settled back in, wrapping his arms around his quickly tiring wife and murmuring reassurances in High Valyrian.
"Do what you must, maester, to save my daughter," Rhaenys snarled, her hand darting to a dagger that sat at her waist, the threat clear. No one would be harming Laena under her close watch.
Nodding sharply, the maester bustled to rejoin his colleagues, and that was how it continued. For hours, Laena's wails pierced the air as she pushed and pushed to no avail. The blood pool grew, and Laena's bright life force dimmed as she succumbed to exhaustion, passing out and awakening again when the pains became too much for her slight frame to handle.
During one of those sleeping spells, Daemion extracted himself from her, his clothing caked in the evidence of his wife's torment as he prowled over to where the maesters stood huddled together, whispering too softly for the family to hear.
"What is it?" Daemion snarled, his face flushed, his eyes dark and filled with an infinite sadness he couldn't accept. His wife was dying, trying to birth a babe that might already be dead. It felt fruitless. Cruel.
"I know you don't want to hear this, My Lord, but we must discuss how you would like to proceed. It is almost certain that your lady wife will die. The question is, do you want your child to perish with her?"
"I should kill you," Daemion growled, his face darkening in fury as he reached forward to snap the simpering cockroach's net, but a sound brought him up short. The familiar cry of a newborn babe filled the room, soft and weak, but a cry nonetheless.
Spinning on his heel, Daemion rushed towards the bed, hope lighting up his chest as he took in the small form being cradled by a sobbing Rhaenys. The babe's skin was only a shade darker than his, pale in the dim morning light. Tears streamed down his face as he took in the wrinkled face of his newborn son, Cordyn if Laena chose to honour her decision to name the babe after her father.
On instinct, he held out his arms to take the babe from his good mother, but a commotion from the bed had him freezing in terror, his blood running cold as what was once a light in the darkness was extinguished as soon as it arrived.
"She's losing too much blood! She tore while pushing!"
"Bring some water and milk of the poppy for the pain!"
"Milady! Please, stop!"
Turning, Daemion could only gape at the empty bed where his wife used to lay; the only trace of her being there were the bloody sheets rumpled on the floor. Cursing, Daemion ran after her, following the trail of blood, Rhaenys hot on his heels, her sobs echoing through the halls as they ran.
The trail trickled off in places, slowing their progress as Daemion snapped and snarled at servants, demanding they tell him if they saw his wife. Slowly, they made their way down to the beach where Vaghar nested, Rhaenys gasping as she took in her daughter's kneeling form in front of the great beast.
"Dracarys! Vaghar, dracarys!" Laena's agony-filled cry swept up to them on a breeze as Daemion broke into a dead sprint, his speed hampered by the deep sand and his already sluggish form from staying up for hours helping Laena labour.
"Laena! Please!"
"Daughter!"
"Dracarys!"
"Nooooo!"
** Line Break **
Seagulls cried as Aelyx sat, gazing down at his wife and children as they frolicked in the only part of Blackwater Bay that was safe for human touch, far away from the drains and shipping lanes. Baby Viserys, now almost a month old, squirmed in his father's arms and babbled softly, not strong enough to lift his head, content to stare up at his father and suck on his thumb as Aelyx smiled down at his family.
Rhaenyra was gorgeous as she used the little time she had free from her duties and responsibilities to play with her older children, picking up her skirts and splashing them with water while they shrieked and giggled, playing tag and swimming.
Alyssa smirked as she shoved Aedan's head under the surf, letting him up for air after a moment and giggling maniacally as she ran away to where Rhaenyra was building a sand castle with Baelon and Baelor. When she couldn't stop herself in time, her foot hit the outer wall of the pretty impressive structure they'd put up, and Baelor immediately burst into tears while Baelon screamed in anger, throwing sand at his sister.
Fucking tornado, that one.
Aelyx forced a stern look onto his face and called, "Alyssa! Five-minute time out!"
Alyssa stopped dead and glared daggers at him but sullenly took her place beside him when Rhaenyra seared her with a glare from where she was kneeling to console Baelor and Baelon. The nine-year-old huffed as she sat, dropping her face down into her bent knees. No doubt sobbing from frustration.
She would be fine, the girl just needed a firm hand, or she'd run rough shots over everyone and everything in her path. Shaking his head exasperatedly, Aelyx ran a hand over her gleaming silver curls and withheld a laugh when she jerked away from the contact, pouting.
"My prince," the voice came from behind him where Lily, one of Rhaenyra's closest handmaidens, stood, her face pale and eyes rimmed with red as she stared at him, a letter in her outstretched hand, "Word from your brother, Prince Daemion from Driftmark."
Aelyx nodded his thanks and opened the letter, his face falling as he read the words written in black inside, the letter jagged and hurried like the hand that wrote it shook while writing it.
At first, the words didn't seem to form in his head; their meaning was lost to him as his body felt cold. His head felt fuzzy as his gaze darted to where a smiling Baelor stood on his Uncle Laenor's toes as the kingsguard marched him down the beach. The man smiled brightly, his silver dreadlocks held back in a neat ponytail, his armour gleaming in the early afternoon sun.
Aelyx's heart pounded as he forced himself to walk towards his wife, who frowned when she saw the look on his face, her eyes narrowing in confusion as Viserys began to sob loudly, the sound only jerking Aelyx slightly from his haze.
Silently, Aelyx handed Rhaenyra the letter and held back his own tears as his wife bent at the waist and gasped, struggling to contain her grief as the children continued to prance around them, not knowing the tragedy that had occurred.
Gasping for breath, Rhaenyra whispered, "You're sure?"
"It's messy, but it's from Daemion's hand. I recognize it."
"How are we supposed to tell the children?" Rhaenyra asked, as finally, the older children seemed to catch on.
Viserys continued to sob despite Aelyx's attempts to soothe the usually content babe.
Yes, how would they tell the children that their Aunt Laena was dead, burned alive by her own dragon? How does one put that into words that a child could comprehend?
Aelyx cleared his throat and coughed as he turned to gaze back at the silently assembling children, considering his words carefully before saying, "We tell them the truth. That's all we can do in this cruel world."