Chapter Text
The Red Keep - Fifteen Years Earlier
Aemma stared at the wall across from her bed with dark eyes, a heat pack pressed against her aching midsection, the tear from her left eye trickling over the bridge of her nose to join the one flowing from the right.
What a fucking surprise, Aemma mused, tell-tale damp heat leaking into the sanitary pad she'd already pressed to the gusset of her panties in anticipation of what she knew to be coming next.
"Aem." Viserys muttered, walking out of the ensuite with the wrapper of her sanitary pad in his fingers, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. "For fucks sake. Again?"
"Fuck off, Viserys." Aemma huffed in irritation, knowing well that she'd wear the brunt of her in-laws derision given her loud-mouthed husband's decision to share the aquamarine plus-sign with them the day before. "Get out."
"Whatever." Viserys shot back, sitting at her vanity table and extracting his laptop from the bag on the floor next to him. "I need to work. Daemon's using that obscenely loud blender in the kitchen for Rhaenyra's dinner and my parents are getting drunk in the living room. Not a minutes fucking peace around here."
Aemma ignored her husband, continuing to stare blankly at the wall across from her, tears shifting her vision into a blur.
Then, Aemma sat bolt upright at the pitch of a loud scream from the rooms below, a sound that she'd never heard her ten month old daughter make before, her soul catching alight.
Running down the staircase, taking them two at a time, Aemma heard her seventeen year old brother in law's furious shouting begin to ring through the Red Keep.
"You fucking cunt!" Daemon spat as Aemma entered the kitchen, her heart pounding in her ears. "What the fuck is your problem? Use an ash tray! She's… Fuck. Fuck."
Aemma's eyes fell on her father in law sitting at the dining room table with an apathetic expression on his face, calmly smoking a cigarette as Alyssa and Daemon blocked her line of sight to Rhaenyra, her mother in law uncommonly panicked in her movements.
"What happened?" Aemma demanded, quickly circling around the pair, her own panic rising as Rhaenyra continued to scream. "Daemon! What happened?!"
Daemon ignored her, striding across the room with Rhaenyra in his arms and making for his own bedroom while Aemma followed behind, continuing to demand answers, her hands reaching toward her daughter, meeting open air.
"Daemon!" Aemma insisted, following Daemon into his ensuite where he turned the shower on, her brother in law quickly un-popping the domes of her daughter's bunny-print onesie. "Please!"
"He fucking dropped a cigarette on the floor." Daemon seethed, carefully pulling Rhaenyra's leg out of her outfit. "Rhaenyra crawled over it. Fucking asshole. I'm going to fucking kill him. Mijegindita rūs." He added, wincing at whatever he could see that Aemma still couldn't.
"What?!" Aemma gasped in horror, pushing herself closer to the pair to see an angry red burn on Rhaenyra's knee, already blistering. "Oh my god..." She trailed off, watching Daemon step into the shower with Rhaenyra, her body freezing in shock.
Rhaenyra continued to scream while Daemon murmured to her in Valyrian, holding her tightly against his chest as he extended her leg beneath the cold spray of the water.
Aemma remained rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on her daughter's pink-flushed face of distress, framed by silver-gold curls, the sensation of damp heat continuing to flow into the sanitary pad in her underwear.
Overwhelm, Aemma knew, had laced firmly with her despair, the combination holding her rigid.
After a few minutes, Rhaenyra's screams turned into sobs, before abating into hiccuping sighs.
"What's going on?" Viserys's voice entered the bathroom, Aemma not bothering to turn toward the sound.
"Can you go and get Gerardys?" Daemon called from inside the shower cubicle. "Tell him Rhaenyra needs cream for a burn."
"A burn?" Viserys muttered, already turning back toward the door. "I have a couple of calls to make. I'll go in a bit."
"Fuck you, Viserys." Aemma and Daemon shot back, in unison.
Once Viserys left, Daemon stepped out of the shower with Rhaenyra, wrapping Aemma's daughter in a towel and walking into his bedroom, not bothering to send any more words her way as she trailed behind.
Aemma watched as Daemon gently wrapped Rhaenyra in one of the blankets he kept in his bedroom for her, before removing his wet t-shirt and climbing into the bedsheets, arranging Rhaenyra against his skin.
Aemma met Daemon's eyes for a moment, noting that his violet irises were red-rimmed.
"You're bleeding." Daemon commented, pointing toward her thigh, before tilting Rhaenyra's face up toward him, pressing kisses to her flushed cheeks. "Can you ask Muña to get Gerardys, Aem? Since your asshole husband is next to fucking useless."
Aemma nodded, as though on autopilot, her feet carrying her back into the hallway and into the kitchen.
"Is Daemon's rūs riña feeling better?" Alyssa asked, noticing her presence in the doorway, pouring Baelon a whiskey. "Poor little thing."
"You're bleeding." Baelon snapped, cutting off Aemma's ability to respond, his tone tinged with disgust. "What a fucking surprise. Good god, Aemma. You're useless. Rhaenyra is going to have to pay for your crimes, your realise?"
"My crimes, Baelon?" Aemma choked out, not even bothering look toward Alyssa's exasperated sigh. "You burned my daughter, you fucking cunt. How dare you!"
"It's just a bit of fire." Baelon smirked toward her, accepting the whiskey tumbler from Alyssa's outstretched hand. "Won't be the worst thing that happens to that little girl to pay for your crown, Aemma. Shut the fuck up. It was an accident. I will apologise to Daemon."
"To... Daemon?!" Aemma whispered, before her voice rose in anger. "What about to me. I am her mother."
"Not this shit again." Alyssa sighed, lifting a large duffle bag from the floor and unzipping it, exposing several hundred thousand golden-dragons in cash. "Stop competing with my son, Aemma. Rhaenyra belongs to Daemon. Go and clean yourself up. My rūs valītsos is taking care of his rūs riña. You may go."
Aemma's eyes drifted closed for a moment, before she turned and walked back upstairs, her body once again moving on autopilot as she packed a blush-pink duffle bag, filling it with her and Rhaenyra's clothing, along with the jewellery that Viserys had given her during the short time of their marriage when her husband seemed to care for her.
Later that night, Aemma slipped out of the Red Keep, having extracted her sleeping daughter from Daemon's bedsheets once the latter also fell asleep, noticing a carefully placed bandage over her left knee.
Once she’d settled Rhaenyra into the rental car out front, Aemma quietly walked back through the silent Red Keep with a gas canister in her hands, taking extra care to soak the space on the upstairs landing that led to the master suite.
When she reached the front door, Aemma turned back toward the red-brick residence that she'd never step foot inside again, and threw a lit match back through the doorframe, watching flames immediately lick their way along the carpet runners.
Then, Aemma slipped into the car and stroked her hand across her still-sleeping-daughter's cheek, curled in the same blanket from Daemon's bedroom on the front seat next to her.
Her eyes settled for a moment on the bandage over Rhaenyra’s exposed knee, once again, confirming to herself that the payment for the crown Baelon taunted Aemma about was too high, in the end.
Aemma sent a final glance out of the passenger side window, the orange glow in the windows of the Red Keep confirming the unfolding scene within.
It's just a bit of fire Baelon, Aemma thought, turning the key in the ignition.
* * *
Vaes Dothrak - Present
Rhaenyra smiled widely at her mother as they pulled their horses to a stop side by side, the gesture returned in kind, the pair revelling in the spring terrain that had begun to bloom in the desert around them.
This was Rhaenyra's favourite time of the year in Vaes Dothrak, she mused happily, patches of wildflowers in shades of pale yellow, marigolds, lavender lupine, and bright orange globes were now dotting the sandy slopes like scattered confetti.
The breeze in the wind meant that they could still continue their longer horse rides, once the sun grew unforgiving in another month or two, Rhaenyra knew that even a half hour would leave her with rivulets of sweat down her spine.
It wouldn't stop her, Rhaenyra considered, her calling to the freedom of horseback was all-encompassing, seeing her forgo reigns to move with the body of her horses as though on instinct.
Freedom, in its purest form, she knew.
"Look, darling." Her mom called, pointing out across the lake in front of them. "Let's go down there for our picnic."
Rhaenyra nodded, casting her vision along the sparkling lake in front of her, Womb of the World, a shimmering mirror that reflected the soft turquoise sky above.
The miles-long lake was where she and her mother swam most evenings once the snow capped mountains behind them began to melt as it was called toward summer, barely ten-minutes on horseback from their home.
Drawing their horses to a stop, Rhaenyra slid down from the chestnut backed mare she’d selected for that days ride and helped her mother spread their lavender-rose blanket across the sand at the edge of the lake.
“I love this time of year.” Her mom sighed contentedly, wrapping her arm around Rhaenyra’s shoulders. “It’s beautiful. How was school today?”
“Good.” Rhaenyra hummed, helping her mom spread their meal across the blanket in front of them, an array of salads with the seasonal options they’d selected at the market the day before. “I have my art class on Monday's, as you know. I got an A+ for my watercolour of the horses.”
“Well done, darling!” Her mom replied, piling Rhaenyra’s plate with the options for her. “Did you give that boy an answer about prom?”
“Drogo?” Rhaenyra sighed, rolling her eyes as she began to eat. “No. He’s the captain of the football team, Mom. That almost definitely means he’s an asshole.”
“You’re nearly sixteen.” Her mom chuckled, pouring glasses of water for them both. “Surely, you have an interest in boys, by now. What’s the harm in going to a dance with him?”
Rhaenyra sighed, again, considering her mother’s question.
As well she knew, there was pressure around the night of prom, especially with assholes from the football team.
Frankly, Rhaenyra mused, she didn’t need some muscle-bound jock to attempt to feel her up in the back of his father’s expensive car, all the while pretending it was his own for the evening.
Rhaenyra wouldn’t admit it to her mom, but she did have an interest in boys, she just hadn’t found an interesting one at her school in the heart of Vaes Dothrak, yet.
She’d also attempted to go on a few dates with slightly older men from the underground jazz club where she’d learned to move her body in a way that made her feel alive, a secret just for her after she’d discovered how to scale the wooden beams beneath her bedroom window.
Still, those dates had largely felt hollow too, the few kisses Rhaenyra had shared with people who quickly tried to dance their fingers up her hemlines, never giving her the electric feeling of desire she craved, for some reason.
There was a space inside that her that felt age-old, something different to what her giggling friends seemed to need, something that left her aching, without being able to put her finger on why.
Rhaenyra knew that she wanted, she just wasn’t sure who, yet.
Rhaenyra knew that her unusual colouring for the area meant that she attracted a lot of attention, but the eyes that unashamedly raked across her skin, didn’t really see her for her.
The horses did, however, and that was why Rhaenyra favoured leaving the school grounds as soon as the bell rang to make for the paddock outside the home she shared with her mom.
A much preferable option to watching a bunch of sweaty boys, sweat over a ball while they jostled one another sweatily, like her girlfriends did in their spare time.
“Go to the dance.” Her mom continued, her purple eyes suddenly intense. “I’ll pick you up, after. We’ll get hot chocolate. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But, the dance will be fun. Drogo is a nice boy. He came and asked me if he could take you. That meant a lot to me, as a mother. Being asked…I don’t know. It’s good manners, darling.”
“Alright.” Rhaenyra acquiesced, smiling bemusedly at her mother’s squeal of delight. “Just for the dance part, then. There’s an after party, but I don’t think I want to go to that.”
Another piece of information that Rhaenyra wouldn’t admit to her mother, who she knew would worry, was that the after party was at Drogo’s teammate’s house, Mago.
Mago’s family was apparently on the shady side for what she knew her mom’s tastes to be, murmurs of their dealings sometimes on the lips of her school friends, their brand of illegality, not yet open knowledge on the streets of Vaes Dothrak.
Mago’s father wore a leather patched jacket whenever he collected his marijuana-favoring son from school on a black Harley Davidson, a gold horse rearing upward inscribed on the back.
“You should go to the after party just for half an hour, darling.” Her mom smiled, bringing out their red-velvet cupcakes for desert. “It’s all part of being a teenager. Play a round of beer pong, and make eyes at your date. Not too many eyes, of course. One or two.”
Rhaenyra nodded with a resigned smile in her mom’s direction, already lamenting giving an inch, knowing it was always going to turn into a mile.
Anyway, Rhaenyra considered as they watched the sun begin to sink low on the horizon, she could probably survive one evening with Drogo if it made her mom happy, in the end.
* * *
Aemma closed the upstairs window in the quaint farmhouse she shared with her daughter in Vaes Dothrak with a smile on her face, before quickly scanning the dark streets below, her heart racing.
A habit from the years gone by, as well she knew.
Although Aemma and Rhaenyra had not seen hide nor hair of the Targaryen club from their hiding place, the image she’d seen of her husband and his brother in the morning paper several weeks ago was lingering in her mind.
That paper had dropped from her fingers outside of the florist where Aemma worked, a horrified gasp escaping her lips.
Unfortunately, the fire she’d started in the Red Keep fifteen years ago had clearly not salted the earth of the danger they’d escaped in Westeros, leaving a shadow of doubt whenever she turned a corner in the street.
The image in the paper had depicted the Targaryen brother-duo walking side-by-side into a courtroom, the ink below informing her that they’d been arrested for heroin distribution, any sentence, shirked with Otto’s connections, of course.
Assholes, Aemma mused.
Still, Vaes Dothrak was the last place they’d look, as well she knew.
The desert terrain appealed to very little outsiders, along with the lack of local motorcycle gang connections in the area and surrounds to feed back reports, all ending with Aemma’s general confidence in their security.
It had been fifteen years after all, Aemma considered, drawing the blush-pink curtains closed as she made her way along the upstairs landing toward Rhaenyra’s bedroom.
Aemma’s stomach jolted uncomfortably, all the same, knowing that Daemon’s efforts would be re-doubled once her daughter reached this age.
Daemon’s territoriality over her infant, likely at new heights with the knowledge that he knew she’d now be dancing toward womanhood.
Aemma stilled in her daughter’s doorway, watching Rhaenyra’s silver-gold waves spilling across her bedsheets, the blanket she’d taken from Daemon’s room on that night from the Red Keep, wound around her fingers as she slept.
Fuck, she thought.
Unfortunately, Aemma could no longer explain away dying her daughter’s hair to match her own chestnut tresses, or convince Rhaenyra that she needed to wear coloured contacts for vision correction.
In the earlier years, Aemma had simply slipped dye into Rhaenyra’s shampoo bottles, her daughter eventually complaining of the scent and purchasing her own lavender options.
Once again, leaving Rhaenyra dangerous tell-tale shades of silver-gold and lilac.
It was probably time for Aemma to be honest with Rhaenyra about the need for disguise, she considered, with another heavy jolt of her stomach.
While her daughter was young, Aemma wanted Rhaenyra to have the freedom to forget, to heal herself from the endless tears that seemed to flow after they left Westeros.
Rhaenyra had been a happy baby, despite the chaos of the Targaryen household, that side of her lost with the pining for her uncle that seemed endless.
Still, that had abated with years of time, Aemma comforted herself, Rhaenyra settling into their lives together, far from any reminders of the past.
She would construct a story with enough truth to it that she wasn’t actually lying to her daughter, Aemma decided, her only concern with sharing the full extent would be if Rhaenyra became curious and contacted the Targaryens.
If her daughter did so, Aemma knew, she’d be dragged back to hell to produce heirs for a violent husband, all of her own years fighting against that fate, entirely in vain.
Daemon, she knew, would never let Rhaenyra go again if he found her.
The lack of a wedding ring on his finger in the photograph walking up the courthouse steps, as threatening to Aemma as the way her bother in law had needed to possess every inch of her daughter in the ten months they’d been in one another’s proximity.
That informed her that Daemon was still searching for her daughter, something Aemma was unsurprised by in the end, his love for Rhaenyra, never a question in the many she had about what the landscape of her daughter’s life would look like as his wife.
Rhaenyra deserved freedom, Aemma reminded herself, not the darkness that she herself had been crushed by in her time with the Targaryens, which she knew would eclipse Rhaenyra’s light.
Aemma walked across the canvas painting filled room, flicking her eyes around the watercolours that her daughter meticulously mixed into shades of perfection, stilling at one by the window, the easel pointing toward the half-open curtains.
Wildflowers in violet, with a honey-gold backdrop.
* * *
The Red Keep - Present
Daemon stared darkly into the mug of coffee in front of him on the Targaryen sigil inscribed council table, running his fingers around the rim, tuning out the voices around him.
Another fucking wasted week, Daemon mused, exchanging a furious glance with an equally dead-behind-the-eyes Viserys, the pair having returned from Leng Yi empty handed, once again.
The report of a mother-daughter silver-haired, purple-eyed duo that had he and his elder brother take the Targaryen club private plane across the Jade Sea, another dead end, only serving to push Daemon closer to madness.
Just as a similar report had come in the month before, that time sending Daemon with his heart in his throat into a morgue in Lys with Viserys, thankfully to confirm the body on a steel tray was not his little niece.
For what felt like the thousandth time, Daemon had walked stiffly from that sterile room with heavy relief and exhausting frustration intermingling in his veins.
“Where the fuck is Rhaenyra?” Daemon demanded, put loud, for almost no reason. “Where is she?”
“It’s alright, rūs valītsos.” His mother sighed, lighting a cigarette and sitting on his father’s lap at the head of the table. “They will be found. We need to turn the heat up now, Baelon. Rhaenyra is reaching an age, as well we all know.”
“It would be unfortunate if Rhaenyra had a family, by the time she was found.” Lyonel commented cautiously from across the table. “We need her back, soon. Before she is at maturity. To mitigate that risk.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Daemon demanded, his fists meeting the table in front of him. “Rhaenyra’s family will only be with me. My niece would never fucking let anyone else touch her.”
Daemon watched as the council exchanged wary glances, glaring icily around the table.
The last time the subject was broached about the possibility that Rhaenyra would be engaged or married in the next few years, he’d sent a round into the space behind Beesbury’s head for letting the idea pass his lips.
Still, the horror of that concept had seen Daemon redouble his efforts, the knowledge that Rhaenyra was now of an age closer to a woman than a girl, sending fear trickling into the swirl of his already dark thoughts.
“Rhaenyra probably doesn’t even know about you.” Viserys snapped, his own fist meeting the table in front of him. “Aemma has probably told her nothing. I don’t give a shit about this. We need to find my daughter because I haven’t seen her for fifteen years. And, my wife.”
“Shut up, Viserys.” His father commanded from the head of the table, through heavy drags from the cigarette held between his lips. “Fuck your wife, to begin with. That girl needs to be found because it is time for her to pay her fucking dues to the club. We've spent the last decade and a half at war to hold our position with Rhaenyra's disappearance. And, my sons have largely spent that time searching for my missing granddaughter.”
“They do their duties, Baelon.” His mother interjected, arching an eyebrow. “With more violence than necessary, often. There is no one feared more than my boys.” She added with a smirk.
“Some of the excessive force that Viserys and Daemon displayed in the handling of the Iron Island gang should be discussed.” Westerling sighed, before chuckling. “Was it essential to remove the heads of the club before dragging them behind motorcycles for miles? You two need therapy. Jesus Christ.”
Daemon exchanged an unapologetic look with Viserys, the pair largely offended by a comment from one of the idiots about their missing silver-haired pussy, triggering their silent unity on the brutality that ensued.
“I enjoyed that additional detailing the boys added to the painting.” His father grinned, winking at the pair. “The club needs to show that there is no danger quite like even a minor insult thrown in our direction. While we have the succession issue, that is a solid way to do it. Reminders where they are due.”
“Fuck the -.” Daemon began dismissively, his words cut short.
“Shut up, Daemon.” His father commanded, his violet eyes suddenly icy in his direction, once again. “Anyway, back to the point. Your mother and I have kept this club together, while you and Viserys swan about tearing the earth apart. Even, through our fucking chemotherapy. Still, Alyssa and I's cancer may not have been discovered so early without Aemma's attempt to turn us to ash in our beds. You have two more months to find your preferred bride. Then, you’ll marry Rhaenys’s daughter for the heirs we need, if she doesn’t show up.”
“Fuck off.” Daemon breathed out, his stomach rolling at the concept. “I won’t -.”
“You will, Daemon.” His mother interjected, her tone uncommonly cold in his direction. “Fifteen years to search for Rhaenyra is a long time. We look weak without a new generation in the pipeline. Two more months. That’s all we can afford to give you. We’ve given you the time that we have.”
Daemon stared into his mother’s mismatched eyes, the turmoil within a match to his own, as well he knew.
“If Rhaenyra is found, afterward, just kill the other one.” His father shrugged, drumming his fingers on the table in front of him. “A full-blooded bride is obviously preferable. I don’t care what you do with Rhaenys’s irritating daughter. But, the club needs heirs. If you have to get your cock wet in a couple of different women to do your duty, who fucking cares?”
He fucking did, Daemon thought, rolling his eyes.
In the beginning of this nightmare, Daemon’s parents had initially focused their attention on Viserys remarrying, his elder brother decisively shirking his duty by claiming he needed to focus his efforts on finding Rhaenyra for Daemon’s full-blooded line to be secure.
Viserys had declared that he would be passed over in the line of succession if need be, for the greater benefit, rather than muddying the waters with outside blood.
What a fucking hero, Daemon thought, shooting a scathing look across the table at his brother.
Daemon well knew that Viserys was simply driven by his self-serving need for absolution, his lack of interest in Rhaenyra while she was actually in his reach, telling him all he needed to know.
“Don’t ignore me, Daemon.” His father sighed, running his index finger darkly around the rim of his whisky glass. “Your mother is right. My granddaughter may be at the bottom of an ocean, for all we know.”
“Rhaenyra is not dead!” Daemon shot back, as much confidence as he could muster in his tone. “I would know.”
“Not this shit, again.” Viserys tutted, accepting a cigarette from a long-suffering looking Otto to his left. “You don’t know. I hope, as much as you do. But, we don’t fucking know!”
“Stop bickering, boys.” His mother instructed, snapping her fingers in the air. “There are no new reports to follow, this week. There is work to do in Essos, some newly formed gangs are looking for heroin distribution. We are all going. We need to present more strength.”
“No one can doubt the strength of the club, Alyssa.” His father chuckled, cocking his gun, just for fun. “As you said, Targaryen club has become much bloodier in the years of shaky succession. All the same, Daemon. You find that girl, or you marry another. Soon.”
Daemon didn’t bother to respond, or meet the violet eyes he’d come to deeply resent within the darkest part of his soul which had risen firmly to the surface with Rhaenyra’s disappearance.
He well knew that his father had cost him his niece once before, the empty space in his arms, firmly the fault of the man at the head of the council table.
The scar on Daemon’s neck from the fire Aemma set in the Red Keep, an all-too-pertinent reminder that somewhere, there was a silver-gold haired, lilac-eyed Rhaenyra with a burn to match his own from his father’s carelessly dropped cigarette, on her left knee.