Chapter Text
This was not the first night Viserys had dreamt of his late lady wife.
Aemma was a constant in his mind, and in his heart; of course she was there when he closed his eyes and found restless sleep.
The day's events had been long; the return of his brother from his war in the Step Stones, paired with the surprise return of his daughter from her tour, two months too soon. Viserys loved them both, but the emotional scale they wrecked on his heart was bound to press him permanently to his cups, or to an early grave.
The reprieve in sleep, to see the love of his life once more, was a welcomed balm.
“My love,” she was even more ethereal than he could recall, as her hand reached up to touch his face, but he felt no contact. Their surroundings were a faded blur; the only light seemed to emit from her very being, “I haven’t long. But you must be made aware of the path you have set upon.”
“Aemma,” he wanted to touch her, but his hand passed right through her body; as if she were nothing more than smoke.
“Listen to me, now, my love,” her lyrical voice had darkened with warning, “For I have seen what is to come, and have but this chance to make it right.”
Viserys frowned, for his dreams of his wife were usually much happier, her smile his favorite memory…this grimace felt out of place.
“What do you mean, Aemma? What is to come?”
She stared sadly at him, “War, my dear husband. A war that will tear our family apart; bring ruin to our legacy, and begat an end to the reign of Dragons.”
Questions struck his tongue, but she spoke again before he could give them voice.
“You have named Rhaenyra heir, but your son by your new bride will always be a threat to her succession. The halls of the Red Keep fill with more Hightowers than Targaryens and our daughter has been left alone.”
“She is not alone,” he insisted, affronted that such a thing would be suggested by this echo of his lost love, “My support for her has not wavered, and-”
“And yet you are not immortal, my love,” Aemma insisted, a sympathetic expression on her face, “And when you are gone, who will Rhaenyra have left to support her? What lord, what House? The Valeryon’s, as you hope?”
Viserys gave pause, thoughts reeling, “I…I have given her leave to choose a match for herself. So that she may have an attempt at the happiness I found with you. If she chooses wisely, then-”
“Our daughter is as naive as she is willful, my love,” Aemma gave a true smile for the first time, “And perhaps we indulged her a little too much as a child. She will need a strong match. One she will not find in Ser Laenor.”
Revelation hit the King with her tone.
“You have seen the outcome of her choice?”
“I have seen choice removed for many years,” Aemma sighed, drawing her arms around herself, “And no great deal of regret and pain to follow it. Force her hand to Ser Laenor, and the events to unfold will set you all upon a path to destruction.”
Her hand reached up again, this time to rest over his eyes, and though he could not feel the physical touch, it seemed as if something did seep through their connection, into his mind.
Flickers and muted flashes, but he saw her words take form. Fire. Pain. Death. Brown haired heirs, Targaryen heraldry aflame, dragons fighting dragons, himself sickly bedridden, and the tearful voice of his sweet girl, older with years that had yet to pass.
“I thought I wanted it…but the burden is a heavy one…it’s too heavy.”
She spoke of the throne. Of the duty he had shroud over her by naming her his heir. Rhaenyra, his fiery little girl, nearly burnt out from the weight of expectation. Had he done this to her? Had he left her to carry it alone?
The ever present knots in Viserys’ stomach tightened, as the mirage of visions faded, and he was before his late wife once more.
She was solemn, expectant.
“What can I do, Aemma?” he whispered, emotions gripping his throat, “How can I stop this?”
A deep exhale passed through her lips, “I fear…you will not enjoy my answer.”
Viserys awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. It was dark, Aemma was gone, and reality settled around him. Alicent lay in the bed with him, asleep. He gained his bearings as memory returned.
Dreaming…he had been dreaming. Of course. But…
Aemma’s warning haunted him, her suggestion still ringing in his ear, and he recoiled from what it implied; what he would have to do.
Perhaps it was just a dream. Not all dreams have meaning. After all, Daemon and Rhaenyra had both returned just yesterday, would it be entirely far reaching of his mind to conjure an idea of the two of them…
He shuddered, but decided it was very likely that his imagination could turn so sour. And to have the words come from the mouth of his dear love…it was almost cruel.
The King took a few settling breaths, and tossed his feet over the side of the bed. It took but a moment to gain his bearings, then he stood, found a robe to draw around himself, and decided that a short walk would do him good.
Help clear his head.
He hadn’t intended to go to Rhaenyra’s chambers, and told himself it had nothing to do with what Aemma had warned him of. A dream, only. The likelihood that Daemon had truly, on his first night home, snuck the Princess from the castle to galavant around the city, and worse the Streets of Silk, was preposterous!
Yet doubt sunk in when Viserys arrived before his daughter’s door and found it absent her guard.
Where was Ser Criston? Why was no one standing watch? Perhaps because his daughter was not in her chambers?
It was that thought alone that had him barging through her doors, praying to find her warm in her bed, sound asleep.
But his prayers would not be answered this night, or again for a long while it would seem, because while he did find his daughter in her room, she was not alone.
Criston Cole was half stripped of his armor, and Rhaenyra herself was as Aemma had warned; dressed as a page boy in clothes that were now unlaced and falling off her shoulders and hips.
They both jumped apart at his loud entrance, but not before he had seen their intent.
“Father!” Rhaenyra gasped, from embarrassment or surprise, he was not sure.
Ser Criston had gone completely pale and had frozen in place.
Viserys expected anger to come, to feel it boiling beneath his blood and roar out like the dragon he was sometimes capable of being.
But no…this confirmation brought nothing but sad revelation.
His vision had not been a mere dream after all. Aemma had come to him to save their daughter; their family. And he loathed what must now be done.
“Leave us, Ser Criston,” Viserys said in a voice so calm, it surprised even him as it left his lips.
The guard dropped his head in an awkward bow, before gathering his things in a hurried scuffle and disappearing out the door without a single backwards glance.
Rhaenyra stood less ashamed, her chin high and her eyes defiant.
“Change your clothing,” Viserys told her with a sigh, “Then meet me in my apartments.”
She blinked, uncertainty breaking through her mask, “Father-”
“Do as I say,” he affirmed, then departed without another word.
“Wed her to Daemon,” Aemma said, so quietly, Viserys worried he had misheard her.
“What?”
“It is the only way to avoid what the gods have allowed me to foresee,” she insisted, “And it will happen whether you approve or not. They are drawn together; I know you have seen it.”
Viserys’ mouth dropped open, closed, then opened again.
“But…he…he is already wed!” he floundered for an excuse. Any excuse.
Aemma chuckled at him, the sound so painfully familiar.
“An unconsummated marriage easily put aside by the signature of the King,” she said, “And to do so would save more than just our daughter.”
Viserys scoffed, “I hardly think betrothing her to Daemon is saving her.”
“Then do not,” Aemma challenged, “And in ten years time, she will wed him anyway. This, you can not stop, Viserys.”
He tensed, and hated himself for wishing he could turn away from her. He did not want to miss any of the moment he was granted with his Aemma, but he also did not want to hear these things.
“She is with him now,” she recaptured his attention, “Our restless girl.”
“What do you mean, she is with him?” he demanded.
“Daemon snuck her from the castle dressed as a page boy, and as you well know, she would follow him anywhere.”
It was true, Rhaenyra held a certain fascination for her uncle; she always had. And Viserys would have been hard pressed to ignore the way the two of them had stared at each other in the garden earlier that day; reunited for the first time since Rhaenyra had come of age.
“He has taken her to a brothel,” Aemma pressed further, and Viserys’ breath caught, even as she reassured him, “She shall leave there with her virtue intact, husband, but not unaffected. He will open her eyes to her own pleasure and she will never close them to the lesson.”
“Then I will stop him!” Viserys insisted, spinning in the nothingness for his sword. It did not appear.
“Wed them,” Aemma insisted, “And she will never seek another. Her children will be true Targaryen’s in blood and in appearance. Her claim will be solidified, and with Daemon at her side from the beginning, she will not wilt beneath the scrutiny of the court.”
Viserys blanched at the suggestion, “He threatens her reputation and you would have me reward him for it?”
“I would have you look beyond your own emotion,” Aemma bowed her head slightly, “And see the truth for what it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra share the blood of the dragon. They are chaotic and restless, yes,” she met his gaze once more, “But they are strong; more so together than apart. Or do you think it coincidence that Rhaenyra’s spark returns the same day that your brother does? That Daemon genuinely enjoys and desires her company, while merely tolerating all else?”
“He desires the throne,” Viserys spat, “Rhaenyra is only a means toward that end, for him.”
“Do you truly believe that?” Aemma frowned, “Or are those Otto Hightower’s words tainting your tongue?”
“Otto-”
“Is the one with desires toward your throne, my King. He would see Aegon upon it, and would ruin Rhaenyra to have it so.”
Of this, Viserys had no counter. He was not oblivious to his Hand’s self serving interests, but nothing the man had done or counseled was treasonous.
“Otto has our daughter followed,” Aemma’s own fire sparked with disdain, “Waiting for the moment he can have her supplanted. And he will come to you on the morrow, with news of her activities tonight with Daemon, towards that purpose. By then, my love, you will have to have made your choice.”
Viserys stopped only a moment outside of his own chambers to address his Kingsguard.
“Find my brother, even if the Gold Cloaks must scour the city for him. Have him brought to his rooms here at the keep, and notify me once he is.”
He went into his room then, and found his young wife awake upon his entrance.
“Your Grace?” Alicent’s voice was still heavy with sleep, and a little confusion.
“Sorry to wake you,” Viserys crossed the space between them, “But something has come up, despite the late hour. I think it best you return to your own chambers.”
Alicent was unlike Rhaenyra in many ways, but never was the difference so obvious as when he gave command.
Where the Princess lived to challenge him, Alicent only nodded and gathered herself to leave.
And when the room was cleared, Viserys lit a few candles and settled at his desk. There were quills and parchment. His royal seal. He detested the letters he must now write, even as he wrote an address to the Sept, and then the Vale.
A knock sounded on his door by the time the ink had dried, and when a guard entered, announcing the arrival of the Princess, Viserys took the letters to him.
“Allow Rhaenyra in, but have these taken to the ravens.”
Again, his order was followed, and a moment later, Rhaenyra entered the room.
She was more put together now. Her hair pulled back in a simple braid, her clothing appropriate for bed but with a thick robe pulled over the nightgown.
“Father?”
He waved her further into the space, and noticed the hesitation that followed her steps. She feared reprimand for her actions, as he knew she should, but what was to transpire was much bigger than the mistake she had almost made.
“Sit,” he instructed, motioning to a chair before the fireplace, where dying embers were still cooling.
With little effort, Viserys worked to restart the fire, and for once, Rhaenyra had done as she was told.
When the flames lit the room, the King stepped back and sat in the chair across from his daughter’s. Silence laid thick between them as he stared at her and she stared back.
Gods, she was still so young, especially compared to the half-vision of her he’d seen of the future. Her features yet to mature, pain yet to etch its way in tears down her cheek.
She was young, but he had to admit, there were more traces now of the woman she was becoming than ever before. She was of age; a woman grown by law and expectation. Holding the notion of her eternal innocence would benefit no one now.
“It is hard,” he began, and she straightened, “For me to look upon you and not see my little girl. For me to admit that you are, in fact, a woman now. And with that truth, comes change.”
Rhaenyra did not speak. He was sure she wanted to, but her brows had drawn together and she seemed to be waiting to see what direction he was taking this conversation.
He decided on a direct approach.
“Tell me the truth of what happened tonight,” he held her eyes without blinking, “Were you with Daemon?”
It did not seem likely that anything Aemma had said was wrong, but part of him still hoped.
A hope that diminished the moment Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, “How did you-”
“I am King,” he said by way of answer, “And your father. Did you think I would not find out?”
Rhaenyra swallowed, “I…I did leave the castle with him. But I have not seen him in ages. We just went out for a little fun.”
“At a pleasure house?” Viserys challenged, and was answered again by her shocked expression.
Damn him. Damn him to all seven hells.
“Rhaenyra,” he sighed heavily, pinching his nose, “You are the crown Princess-”
“Nothing happened!” She insisted quite quickly, “We didn’t…Daemon wouldn’t-”
Color touched her cheek now, and Viserys knew he did not want to know the sordid details of what his brother did or did not do.
But Aemma’s voice echoed strongly in his mind, and the truths she had given him was to protect them all. Therefore, he must see this through.
“Tell me the whole of the truth now,” he said, and Rhaenyra sighed.
“We went out. Saw a play, drank some wine, and yes, ended up at a pleasure house…but there was a show; we were spectating-”
The harsh blush to her cheek spoke of much more, though, and he flinched to ask, “I said the whole truth, Rhaenyra.”
Her jaw flexed as she swallowed, and her gaze hardened.
“I am still a maiden, and for anyone to question my virtue would be a treasonous act.”
“Then do not make it so easy for the masses to do so!” he scolded, “You appear with Daemon in a pleasure house and think people will not talk? You are of age to marry and appearance is everything. If rumor were to spread that you-”
“That I what?” she fired back, sitting on the edge of her seat now, “That I left the castle after dark? That I drank wine, and saw a show? The lords of the realm have done far worse!”
“Yes, but you are a girl,” he reminded her, “And can not afford to so openly disregard propriety and duty in favor of finding pleasure in a brothel!”
She faltered again, and swallowed hard, “What…what were you told?”
Annoyance, rather than shame, flickered across her face, and Viserys leaned back in his chair.
“Did Daemon touch you? I ask for the truth.”
Rhaenyra’s eyes moved to the fire then, crackling in the hearth, “I remain a maiden. Have your maester’s check me if you do not believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said, or rather he believed Aemma, “But that was not my question.”
When no answer came, he grit his teeth together and exhaled. Taking an arrow to the chest was surely less painful than this.
“Do you desire him?”
That got her attention, and her cheeks were burning again as she flushed, “What?”
“You are a woman grown,” he begrudged, “And I can not ignore the fact that this means you will have feelings as a woman does. Do you desire him, as he apparently does you?”
Something changed on Rhaenyra’s face then, the solemn expression growing heavy; almost sad.
“He does not desire me.”
There was enough conviction in her voice to cause Viserys to pause.
“His actions suggest otherwise.”
Rhaenyra shook her head, “He took me to the pleasure house, yes. But…in truth, nothing really happened. Daemon…he left before…”
Her hands clasped together in her lap and her head dropped, “He left me there. Sent a gold cloak to escort me back to the castle while he found his cups, or a whore…I don’t know.”
There was a hint of anger to her words; and a disappointment Viserys was not fond of, but further proved the point Aemma had made.
“It is well that he did stop,” the King allowed, and reached over to grip his daughter’s arm, reclaiming her attention, “Taking you that way in a brothel, in front of gods know how many witnesses, would have ruined you. Not that you attempting to claim your sworn shield in the privacy of your rooms is much better, mind you.”
Rhaenyra threw up her hands, “Of course not. Because I am a woman, and therefore can not have desires or pleasures or bastards or anything resembling fun without the entire city being involved in my business.”
Viserys found himself chuckling at her outburst; at the hint of the child still within her.
“A price paid for the privilege of our station, I’m afraid,” he drew back into his chair, “And a price to the duty we bear…that is…if you still wish to bear it.”
This, more than anything, stilled her.
“You would replace me as heir?” The question was accusatory.
“No,” he swiftly answered, for all that Aemma had shared with him, his mind had not changed in that regard, “But I would see you happy. I would see you have a choice.”
Rhaenyra still did not seem convinced, but the initial panic left her face, “I want to be your heir.”
“Yet shuck the duties that come along with the title,” he pointed out, and she sighed.
“Only because I am not sure how much longer it is a title I will hold. Everyone seems to think that Aegon will replace me! And you give me a choice, yet still seem hurried to have me married off! My title an elevation to another lord’s House, Valyrian blood for another lord’s children! A line to the throne so coveted among the great Houses!”
Viserys did not respond right away, as Aemma’s point solidified even further, much to his grand annoyance.
Daemon would require no such elevation, as he was already of House Targaryen. His children would inherit Valyrian blood through him, no matter their mother. And even married to the future queen, he would never sit the Iron Throne.
“I know you are frustrated by the necessity of what must be done,” he allowed, choosing his words carefully as Rhaenyra fumed, “And yet a choice must still be made, my girl. And while I had hoped for you to entertain the idea of a match with Ser Laenor Velaryon,” he forced his next words past the lump in his throat, “Might, perhaps, you consider Daemon?”
Her eyes widened again, in shock rather than panic this time, and as much as Viserys hated making the suggestion, there was a little joy to be found in the way she stuttered over it.
“I…we couldn’t…he…but you would…he doesn’t…he’s already married!”
The fact that she arrived at the same initial conclusion as himself brought another laugh from Viserys, and his daughter stared at him like he had gone half mad.
“Not for much longer,” he explained, “After tonight, I thought it best to move forward on the annulment Daemon has begged me give him for years. Whether or not he is your choice, there was nothing to come from his match with the Lady Rhea.”
Rhaenyra gaged him closely, her eyes darting all over his face, searching for something he did not know.
“You would never permit me to marry Daemon, or you would have made the suggestion before now.”
She was quite observant when she wanted to be, he would give her that.
“It is not what I wish,” he admitted, “But…it is a match that would assuage your concerns. Daemon does not need you for those things that you have mentioned; and you have always been happier in his company than not.”
Rhaenyra’s head shook, but even so, Viserys could see her thoughts churning behind her eyes.
“Daemon hated being married; to give him freedom only to chain him once more would-”
“Daemon hated the insult of who our grandparents married him to,” Viserys corrected, “And he long loathed that he was not given a wife of Valyrian blood, as I was. I dare say he would not be against such a match with you.”
She stared him down again, her mouth parting, “You do not jest?”
“I have never been less in a jesting mood,” he assured her, “And while I have many aversions to Daemon as a contender for your hand, it is something your mother advocated for.”
No need to mention that the advocation had started this very night, and only through a Dragon Dream was it revealed to Viserys.
“M-mother?” Rhaenyra gasped, “She wished for Daemon as my husband?”
“Yes.”
In truth, Aemma had once brought up the possibility in passing, when she was still alive, though the moment had been so brief that Viserys had nearly forgotten it.
Rhaenyra had been only nine years of age, an accomplished dragon rider already, and had spent a near solid week in the skies with Daemon on his visit for her name-day. He and Caraxes had patiently instructed Rhaenyra and Syrax for hours, until the pairs were drifting smoothly through the clouds as easily as they walked on solid ground.
When the time came for Daemon to leave, Rhaenyra had launched a fit worthy of a dragon. She had wanted to leave with him; confident in her flying capabilities to handle an adventure now, and was quite put out when she was refused.
Only Daemon’s promise of taking her on a flight to Dragonstone upon his next visit had calmed her anger, and when she tearfully clung to his neck while saying goodbye, Aemma had mentioned that it was a pity he was already married off.
“What do you mean?” Viserys had asked.
“That if he were not, we could promise him to Rhaenyra,” she’d smirked, “Perhaps that would be enough to appease her tantrums every time he is to leave!”
He had laughed at the time, but could summon no such humor now that the proposition was to be seriously considered.
“Your mother had thought that consolidating your claims would help stabilize the succession,” he said instead, not too far a stretch from the truth, “And it was also her belief that the two of you are enough alike that you might find happiness and strength in one another.”
This revelation seemed to baffle her, as Rhaenyra’s head still shook without her noticing, and her lip was captured by her teeth.
“What do you think?” she asked, and the inquiry was surprisingly genuine.
When was the last time she had sought him for counsel?
“I think that your mother’s points make sense,” he conceded most unwillingly, “Daemon is Targaryen. Your heirs will be pure Targaryen. He cares for you; he always has, and I have no doubt he is capable of protecting you….but if he will be a good consort? If he will be a good husband? Of that, I have less faith. However-”
He recalled the quick flashing image of his own future; the ghastly whole in his face; the disease of his skin taking all the life from his body.
“I have told you before that I will not live forever,” he said, “And when the time comes for me to pass on, I do not wish to leave you alone. Daemon is a dragon, same as you. Your claim will be stronger with him at your side.”
Silence once more settled between them, as the Princess contemplated his words. Viserys was hard pressed to condone the match, but with Aemma’s warning, what else could he do? Though, at the very least, it would be Rhaenyra’s choice.
“Before tonight,” she began, once she had sorted through her muddled thoughts, “I think I might have readily agreed.”
The admission returned the blush to her cheeks, “Daemon has always been handsome and fearless. A dragon rider. And now a war hero, even. I am not oblivious to his less appealing tendencies either, yet they do not worry me. He listens to me; shows respect-”
“But still, you hesitate to consider him?” Viserys asked, surprised at how much thought she was truly giving this.
Rhaenyra sighed, “I can not perceive to understand all of his motives, but tonight…he abandoned me. If he wanted me, as I wanted him, he would not have left me alone in such a state!”
“I thank the gods he did,” Viserys argued, “Though of the two of you, I would not expect restraint to have come from him.”
“Curse his restraint,” Rhaenyra muttered, “He was cruel to leave me, when I so wanted-.”
She trailed off, as if just realizing what she was about to say, and finished instead with a huff, “He should never have asked me to leave the castle.”
Viserys smiled dryly, “Of that, at least, we can agree.”
The fire cracked again, drawing their eyes, and Rhaenyra pursed her lips.
“Though…I suppose, if it did have to be someone…if I truly must marry sooner, rather than late…”
Viserys could almost imagine Aemma nodding her approval, as surely as he wished he could recoil from it.
“I will not make move on this, my child, until I hear you say the words,” he told her, giving a final chance at mercy on his heart.
But when her head turned toward him, and the King saw the resolve in his daughter’s eyes, he knew it was for naught. The future might be saved, but he felt as if he was handing the most precious gold to a vile beggar.
Rhaenyra nodded, once; a tilt of her chin, then spoke his nightmare to truth.
“I concede to marry my uncle, Daemon Targaryen…if he will have me.”
Viserys forced a smile that was more of a tight grimace, “He is a fool if he will not.”
And by the gods, he so hoped his brother was such a fool.