The halls of the Red Keep held an air of melancholy that hadn't been felt since the loss of the late Queen Aemma. The feeling of grief and loss was almost tangible in its purity as the occupants went about their days. Everyone, including the servants, wore black mourning garbs to signify solidarity with their monarch.
In the Tower of the Hand, Diana felt like her brain was attempting to pound its way out of her skull, her eyes burned from lack of sleep, and her bones had never felt so old and frail as they did now. At almost fifty years old, Diana had never been one to moan about her lost youth; she'd never had to, with her continual exercise and daily beauty routine, which included a long list of creams and tonics to preserve her youth and vitality, she'd never felt 'old,' until now.
The last few days had been long and arduous. Cleaning out Otto Hightower's personal effects and going through them with a fine toothcomb for evidence of his treason or future plans was a full-time job only entrusted to a few long-time servants Diana trusted implicitly.
Staring down at the quickly growing pile of messages from all over the Seven Kingdoms, she felt the metaphorical weight on her shoulders grow ten sizes, trying to crush under the weight of expectations.
Reaching up to rub at her eyes with her quill-free hand, Diana sighed and, after many hours toiling away, admitted defeat and dropped her head on her desk. She'd barely had a moment to relax before she heard a knock at the door.
"Lady Hand, Prince Daemon is here to see you." Called one of the many guards assigned to her; Diana barely bothered to learn their names at this point, her heart too full of grief to care. Every day, the threat of Vaghar hung in the air, everyone seeming to hold their breaths as they stared up at the sky as if the massive dragon would drop down on them from the sky like the devils themselves come to burn them all for their sins.
Daemon looked ragged, the few age lines on his face prominent as he slowly walked over to her, a raven held in his clenched fist. Diana felt her heart drop at the look on his face. Feeling cold, she whispered, "Who? Who is it?"
She didn't need to elaborate. Her meaning was clear. The question unspoken: Who was dead?
Daemon hesitated momentarily before coming around the desk to kneel at her feet. He stared at her with plaintive eyes, "Tyson, my love. It's Tyson."
The words felt like a dagger in her already battered heart. Gasping for breath, she fell forward into Daemon's waiting arms, wheezing, "Alycia? Where is Alycia? Where is my daughter?"
Clutching her arms, Daemon held her up, maintaining eye contact and speaking slowly, "They were attacked flying over the Golden Road, a few hours away from Casterly Rock. Alycia and Cannibal arrived at the Rock badly injured but breathing. The Lannisters are calling for blood, Jason Lannister is rallying his forces, and he awaits the Queen's command to march on the Stormlands, to 'rip out the traitors, root and stem.'"
Diana laughed, the sound broken and bleak, more of a huff of air, really, "A Lannister Always Pays His Debts.' Isn't that the saying? But what are armies compared to dragon fire? How could Aemond do this? I thought I tried…"
Diana's voice broke as tears began to stream down her face.
"There was nothing more you could have done. No amount of kindness in the world could have made up for Otto Hightower's greed and fearmongering. Please, my love, you have done enough; let me take some of your burdens." Daemon murmured, kissing her forehead and clutching her close in his strong arms.
Pulling her head back from where it had been cradled in her husband's neck, Diana asked, "What do you mean?"
"The Greens have struck a blow, broken their oaths and murdered their kin. Allow me to deliver justice upon them and strike back." Daemon whispered, his words harsh, purple eyes blazing with bloodlust.
"How?" Diana whispered, heart rising in her throat.
"Blood for blood. We hold a Hightower spawn as a hostage."
Diana jerked back, her face paling, her eyes widening in horror. "No. No! How could you even insinuate-?!"
"Because, unlike you and Rhaenyra, who play at being the heroes, I know what needs to be done. Those pups should have been suffocated in their cradles, the Hightower bitch never able to lay her litter of degenerates."
The amount of pure vitriol and disgust in his voice had Diana flinching away for the first time, her blood sparking with fear as she took in the almost demonic hold her husband's grief had on him. She'd always know her husband was equally capable of both mercy and bloodshed, but she'd never imagined that capacity would ever be turned on those they called kin.
"Helaena and her children are not to blame Daemon. I will not allow you to spill the blood of innocents and call it justice." Diana hissed, leaning back in her chair, eyes narrowed into slits, chest heaving.
"We are at war, Diana. I cannot protect you and our family with one hand tied behind my back." Daemon snarled, coming to stand, his tall frame towering over her as his voice raised in outrage.
To even the odds, Diana jumped out of her seat as well, jabbing a finger into his firm chest and screeching, "I will not let those traitorous shitstains turn us into monsters. When historians write about our victory, there will be no doubt that we were on the side of honour and justice, not those hypocritical fanatics!"
Daemon scoffed and batted her hand away, turning and pacing the room, eyes blazing.
"And that is where we differ, wife. While I fight to ensure our survival, you only care about legacy. Well, guess what? There won't be a legacy to protect if our heads are mounted on spikes."
Wife.
The title had never before felt like such an insult. Spat out like a curse, a dirty, disgusting thing meant to make her feel small. It was rare for Daemon to call her 'wife,' but when he did, it was always said with tender care. A loving claim, he declared them bonded before gods and men.
Now, the word held all the wrong connotations, as if she were his property, an extension of him, a used-up womb no longer of use. Their youngest child was dead, their grandson burned alive, and his mother - her daughter - clinging to life in a distant keep, surrounded by strangers.
Fighting to regain her composure, Diana forced her face back into its cold, impenetrable mask; Daemon seemed to notice the change as he stilled, staring at her warily, "You may be a Targaryen prince by blood, but I am Hand of the Queen. You are Lord Commander of her Grace's City Watch, and you will make no move without my command, or I will have you court-martialed and thrown into the Black Cells until I feel you have learnt your lesson and can behave."
Daemon reared back at her words, a flash of hurt crossing his typically arrogant face before he narrowed his eyes and hissed, "The Black Cells? Why not follow in my brother's footsteps and exile me?"
"Because Daemon! Despite your atrocious behaviour, I refused to abandon you as your brother did. We have been married for over thirty years, and in that time, I have never left your side, except for when you went and fought in that ridiculous war."
"I fought in that war for you, for our family!"
"Oh! Don't be ridiculous; you fought in that war because Viserys was against it, and you wanted to spit in his face. To steal some measure of glory for yourself." Diana hissed, losing patience and turning away from him to shuffle some papers on her desk.
As she stared down at the words, Diana ignored the tears that blurred her vision as the reality of their situation hit her. Tyson was dead. Her sweet grandbaby was gone, ashes in the wind. Despite her best efforts, barely contained sobs began to wrack her body, shaking her shoulders until she had to lean forward onto the desk to keep her balance.
How could this have happened? How could Aemond do this? How the hells were they going to fix this without being reviled as kinslayers? Not that Diana was mainly concerned with that now; her blood screamed for Aemond to suffer for his crimes.
So lost in her grief, Diana jumped when she felt a familiar forehead come to rest in the crook of her shoulder as solid arms wrapped around her waist, clutching her so tightly she had to fight to breathe.
Daemon was silent in his comfort as he nuzzled his face into her hair and the bared skin of her neck as he breathed in deep, shuddering breaths.
They stood like this, like one of the many statues that once littered the Royal Gardens - before the Hightowers had removed them for their 'sinful imagery' - for a long time. How long, Diana didn't know, but it wasn't until she felt her arms ache and her tears stop that she found the strength to turn her head to rub her nose into Daemon's chiselled cheekbones, surprised when she felt the fresh tear tracks left there.
As the wetness soaked into her skin, Diana let out a keening moan and, with a twist, allowed herself to fall into Daemon's waiting arms. Her body shook as she buried her face into his black doublet, her cheek probably being imprinted by the dragons she'd sewn into the expensive fabric.
Daemon shushed her as he combed his fingers through her lengthy hair. The front was pulled back with a red ruby hairpiece to keep the hair out of her face, and the rest was left to hang down her back in loose ringlets.
Sniffling, she pulled away, "She is our great-niece, Daemon, our blood. Helaena is our blood."
Daemon huffed out a breath but didn't speak; instead, he kissed her forehead firmly before pressing their foreheads together. Diana knew, after so many years of arguing and making up, that Daemon was just indulging her, but she couldn't find it in herself to care; her body felt too wracked with grief to start up another argument, no matter how justified.
"...I will leave the little mongrel alone for you. But Aemond and Aegon must die. Otto and his licksplitter daughter as well." Daemon whispered, his words ending in a dangerous his as he cupped her face firmly to reinforce his words.
But, despite his words and rough treatment, Diana did not flinch away; instead, she smiled and said, "Good. All I want is for Helaena and her children to be safe. As for the rest? They can all burn."
** Line Break **
A few hours later, their chambers were silent as Diana carefully braided her husband's shoulder-length hair in multiple braids, not for vanity but for pragmatism. Daemon had a long flight ahead of him, and it would do him no good to spend the hairs fighting to see through his silver hair.
Under his breath, Daemon hummed an old Valyrian lullaby he'd once sung to their children. The soft notes made Diana's eyes sting with tears as they floated through the silence. Daemon methodically cleaned Dark Sister with a silk cloth, and the Valyrian steel blade was still sharp, even after almost a century of use.
After finishing the last braid, Diana sighed forlornly and, with gentle fingers, kneaded at her husband's tense shoulders. Despite his calm outward appearance, she knew he hungered for blood and justice for their fallen family.
"My Prince," Ser Eryk called from his post near the door, "His Grace, King Aelyx is here to see you."
Daemon silently reached up, interlocked his fingers with Diana's, and nodded once. After a moment, the doors opened, and their eldest son walked through, dressed in black armour. A silver dragon ringlet held back his short-cut silver hair, a simpler version of the crown Rhaenyra had commissioned for him as King Consort.
Immediately, Aelyx marched forward, his eyes rimmed with red. However, no one had dared to mention their king's emotional reaction to three of his family members dying in such close succession.
"Mother, Father," he said, voice hoarse from overuse, "The dragons are ready in the pit; the city watch and household guard are prepared for a siege if the worse should happen. Our naval forces have already set off from the city docks; Lord Corlys will send his fleet to assist us from Driftmark. Princess Rhaenys is still patrolling the Gullet with Daemion; they can easily assist us if needed."
Daemon smirked as he stood up, his hand still clasped in Diana's. His thumb rubbed calming circles on the back of her hand as he declared, "We hold all of the military strength. We will crush them."
Diana frowned, reaching up with her free hand to clutch at Daemon's arm, "Storm's End is one of the most defensible keeps in Westeros, and Rhaenys will not thank you if you burn her late mother's home."
"The Baratheon are traitors to the crown. Whatever hells we decide to rain down upon them, they have earned." Daemon snarled, his temper flaring.
"Besides," Aelyx cut in, his tone soothing, "We don't need to burn the keep to the ground to get our point across. We just need them to believe we will."
Daemon didn't look entirely placated, but he nodded his agreement nonetheless. Turning to look at his wife, his face softened slightly as he cupped her face in his calloused palms, pulling her into a deep kiss.
Diana fell into the kiss, clutching his armour like a young maid, not the aging woman she was. It wasn't until she heard an embarrassed Aelyx clear her throat that she pulled away from the embrace, reluctantly letting go of Daemon's shoulders and stepping back enough to turn toward her eldest child.
Crossing the distance between them with shaking legs, Diana clutched Aelyx's hands, pulling him close as she demanded, "Go with your father. Do what needs to be done, then come home. Avenge the dead, then return to the living. Swear this to me, Aelyx."
Aeylx nodded solemnly, "I swear, Mother. I will not abandon my wife and children or you. I will come home."
Together, the trio began the long trek down to the courtyard, where the court was waiting to send them off with the Queen's blessing. Trailing behind them in formation were almost a dozen guards, a mixture of their sworn shields and household guards.
As they drew closer, the muffled sound of a crowd caused Diana's pulse to rise. Her fingers tightened almost painfully on her husband's armoured arm. The pressure caused Daemon to chance a glance at her and, with a sigh, reach up with his free hand to cover her hand with his in a comforting hold.
As they finally marched out of the massive wooden doors into the cloudy sunlight, there was rambunctious applause as common folk and nobility cheered in approval of their warrior King and the infamous Rogue Prince, who was prepared to go off to battle and glory in their name.
On a high pedestal, Rhaenyra stood, wearing a black as-night gown with gold accents, the fabric made to look like dragon scales. Her father's crown was upon her brow. At her side stood her children, all in red and black, their usually jovial faces pale and drawn with grief and worry for their father's safety, yet they stood tall and without tears as Aelyx waved his hand in the air and mounted the awaiting silver stallion. Behind him, Daemon followed, having gently detangled himself from Diana's grasp with a soft kiss on her cheek.
Raising her hand high to quell the crowd, Rhaenyra waited for the masses to silence before she moved to speak, only to pause, a moment of uncertainty, or perhaps it was nervousness, washing over her. Before the silence could drag on, Daemon spoke up first.
"Have no worries my queen, this will be over by the new moon. We'll be back with the Hightowers either in chains or their ashes will paint the skies black in our wake."
Rhaenyra smiled in thanks at the opening provided. "Your confidence is truly an inspiration, Uncle." She looked around briefly, meeting the eyes of the court before continuing, her voice growing in volume with each sentence. "Go now. May the winds be kind and your mounts swift. See to it that the Hightowers and all who follow them are punished for their impudence. Cast down their aspirations and ambitions and turn them into ashes before their eyes. Let it not be said that I, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, first of my name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, will let justice go unanswered during my reign. Let it be known that all who turn their back against the crown will burn!"
Aelyx took this moment to draw his sword and hold it up high. "Fire! And Blood!"
The crowd roared as both Targaryen warriors bowed their heads in acceptance before, with a neigh, the stallions under them wheeled around with one last wave; the pair were gone, cantering down the road past the thousands of peasants lined the streets to witness their departure.
Almost as quickly as it began, the festivities ended. Leaving the yard feeling destitute as the nobles escaped back into the keep's protective walls, the threat of a dragonfire from above was a real possibility, and now the war was upon them.
Beyond the keeps walls, the cheers of the common folk grew fainter as Daemon and Aelyx travelled further away, the festivities following them like a macabre parade.
Soft footfalls pulled Diana from her thoughts. She turned to look and saw Rhaenyra standing behind her, the queen's thin frame looking fraught under the weight of the extravagant clothing the young queen had been wearing like armour since her coronation.
Despite her almost absolute power in the capital, Diana knew whispers followed the newly crowned queen, too soft for any real action to be taken, but there nonetheless. And Rhaenyra, despite her strong exterior, had always cared what the nobility and common folk thought of her, having to scramble to keep their approval her whole adulthood, fighting to combat Alicent and her rumour-mongering at every step along the way.
"How did it come to this, Aunt? I sent my beloved off to war to avenge my kin," Rhaenyra said, her voice sombre as she stared into the distance. "I have sent men to die in my name, spitting in the face of my Father's legacy. Do you know what the smallfolk are calling him? 'Viserys the Peaceful,' and this is the legacy he leaves behind."
"We did not start this war, Rhaenyra. The Hightowers, themselves and their allies, need to be stopped. Perhaps, with Jaehaera in our custody, Aelyx can broker peace. Her safe return for the Usurper and his blood bending the knee," Diana said, although even to her, the words felt hollow as they left her lips.
"Bend the knee? Is that all? No, Otto would never allow his puppet king to humiliate him so. He'd sooner allow Storm's End to crumble into the sea with him inside." Rhaenyra spat, "No, this war will result in dragons fighting dragons in the sky. And you know what? For once, I do not care what the Lords and Ladies of the realm will call me for allowing it to happen. I did everything right; I gave them every chance in the world to do the right thing, and they spat in my face, spouting their gods and rules written by Andal men as their justification."
There was nothing Diana could say, no argument to be found to dispute Rhaenyra's claims. The time for peace was over; if they forgave Otto and his ilk now, even if they bent the knee and reswore their oaths, Rhaenyra and the Targaryen dynasty itself would be seen as weak and more would try their luck.
"Then, if we must send a message to those who would defy the crown, let it be one that only needs to be used once. Let Aelyx and Daemon finish this in one devastating blow that the Maester will write about in their books in fear for centuries." Diana replied firmly, despite how her chest ached in response to her words.
With one last wistful look at the empty courtyard, the Hand of the Queen turned, gave Rhaenyra a deep curtsy, then spun on her heel and began the long trek back to her chambers. It was time for Jaehaera to awaken from her nap, and the poor dear was struggling in her mother's absence.
High above the city, twin dragon wings beat steadily as Caraxes weaved through the clouds, the much larger and slower Vermithor following behind. The pair didn't take long to catch up with the Crownland troops marching towards the Stormlands. Their black and red banners starkly contrasted with the brilliant greenery surrounding them, a dark mass moving across the countryside.
The common folk hid away in their homes, their pale faces barely visible through their windows. They watched as, for the first time in almost a century, dragons flew off the war on Westerosi soil.