Chapter Text
His wife stirs in bed next to him. And as he opens his eyes to the darkness of their chambers, she slips from the bed as quietly as she can. Her efforts are wasted, however. The years of war in the Stepstones had made him a light sleeper. Despite the calm of his life in Pentos with Laena and now his life with Rhaenyra, he cannot help the fact that he can be woken by even the smallest movement. Especially here in the Red Keep. He still does not like the fact that there are those within these walls who would have supported Aegon over Rhaenyra. Daemon’s guard has been up from the moment they arrived in King’s Landing six days ago. It has not fallen just because his wife wears the crown. If anything, it has risen even higher. He still waits for more betrayals.
He sits up in bed. Rhaenyra turns around at the rustling of the sheets.
“I did not mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, husband,” she whispers in High Valyrian.
“You know I will not be able to rest until you are secure in my arms once more.”
Daemon can see her blush in the pale light of the moon through their windows.
“I just need a moment.” She shrugs on a robe over her nightgown.
"Is it the babe that has awoken you, my love? Or is your mind keeping you from sleep?”
“I—” A single syllable. He waits for her to speak.
And then her features crumple and there are tears on her face. He is out of bed in a flash, striding across the cold stone floors to pull her into his arms. She cries in his arms, and he holds her tight. He does not know what exactly has triggered her tears. Their babe in her belly, the death of her father, or the tumultuous last few days are all likely suspects. And even though he recognizes that what she has been through would be enough to make anyone sob for hours, he hates to hear her cry. Yet he does not ask her to stop. She needs this.
Daemon does not try to coax her back to bed. They stand there in the middle of her childhood chambers. He knows that she will calm down soon. But there is no rush. His poor niece can cry as long as she needs to. The past five days have been nonstop. She has kept herself distracted by the execution of traitors and the flight to Oldtown. But now, in the early hours of the day his brother is to be laid to rest, it has all come crashing down.
Eventually, she quiets in his arms. He does not release her, though. Perhaps he needs the comfort as much as she does. Daemon is not a man prone to tears. But even he cannot keep his eyes from pricking at the thought of his brother being gone. Later today, he will watch Syrax burn Viserys’ body. He cannot help but think of the others that he has watched burn. Laena, his parents, his cousin…those he loved. And while he knows that it is the funerary practice of his House, he almost does not want to watch his brother burn, too. Because then it is final. And he is not ready to live in a world that his brother does not.
Their relationship had been strained over the years. Because of Otto Hightower’s influence, yes, but also because of him. Daemon knows that some fault lies on his shoulders. He should have fought harder to stay by Viserys’ side. He had once accused Viserys of being weak. But so was he. Weak for his brother’s love and approval. And angry, too angry, at being denied a place by his brother’s side. It should not have been like that. He and Viserys had learned at their father’s knee about what it meant to be a brother. Somewhere along the line, they had both forgotten Prince Baelon’s lessons.
His forehead rests on top of his wife’s. She must see the anguish and regret in his eyes for she holds his face gently in her warm hands.
"My love…” Her voice is soft as she gazes up at him.
“I miss him, Rhaenyra…” he chokes out.
Fresh tears fall down her face and he stops trying to hold his own back. He cannot recall the last time he cried. Perhaps when he was a boy. He knows that somewhere in his early adulthood, he had pushed down these feelings and donned a mask to keep them hidden. Fucking whores and entering tourney after tourney had helped. Riding Caraxes helped. Drinking his weight in wine had helped. Lashing out at any hurt had helped. Being the Rogue Prince had helped. Until it hadn’t. Until all he was left with was a well-earned reputation and a restless energy coursing through his veins.
It feels good to let himself cry. And he is thankful that Rhaenyra does not begrudge him his heartache. It is yet another way that they are perfect for each other. They fit together. She understands him and he understands her.
Soon, their tears dry, and he carries her back to their bed. He strips her of her robe and nightgown before removing his own night clothes. When he crawls onto the mattress beside her, he slides down so his face is level with her abdomen. He presses numerous kisses to the swell of her stomach. A little foot kicks out from inside and he smiles at the proof of his child inside her. Then he shifts his body so he can resettle himself at his wife’s side. He pulls her closer and holds her tight. Daemon relishes the feel of her skin against his as they both find their way back to sleep.
***
Five days after her father’s death, the family gathers to put him to rest. The wind whips at them as they stand on the hill just outside the city. Rhaenyra stands beside her husband and her family as she watches the dragon keepers stand by Syrax. The arrangement is so similar to her mother’s funeral that grief floods through her anew. Her father’s body lies on the pyre before her, wrapped tightly in fabric.
She breathes in deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. Images start to overlap, and she feels five and ten again, standing in this same spot waiting to burn her mother and brother. Daemon grabs her hand, and she is brought back to the present moment. She turns to look at him. The grief she feels is reflected in his eyes. But once again, he gives her the courage to give the command.
“Dracarys, Syrax!” she calls out.
Syrax rears back and then pushes her neck forward. Fire shoots from her dragon’s mouth and then her father is naught but ashes. She chokes back a sob. Jace and Luke wrap her in a tight hug, and she thinks that maybe she will be able to weather this loss better than she did her mother’s. She was not alone anymore. She had her children and, most importantly, she had Daemon. Things will be different this time, things will be better.
***
When the family arrives back at the Keep, Rhaenyra asks that they all meet in the Godswood to mourn their loss as a family. Alicent and her siblings join her. She sits down under the branches of the weirwood tree and looks around.
Aegon and Aemond are talking quietly in the far corner, away from everyone else. Rhaenyra notes how Aegon looks so much better since their conversation. Luke and Joffrey begin to chase their younger brother around while little Viserys plays with his maids. She sees Daemon at the refreshments table with Jace. She smiles slightly when she sees her husband sneak her son a lemon cake before he has eaten a proper meal. Alicent is hovering over her grandchildren with Daeron by her side. Rhaena and Baela sit on another bench, joining Princess Rhaenys as the minstrels start playing a tune.
It is Helaena, though, who surprises her the most. Her sister walks toward her and sits beside her on the bench. Rhaenyra isn’t sure what to do or say. Helaena was but a girl when she left for Dragonstone, and they had never had a real relationship. Still, she meant it when she said that she wanted them to be a family. Of all her siblings, Rhaenyra thinks Helaena might be the easiest to talk to. There was less baggage there. And she had always wanted a sister.
So, she turns to her younger sister and asks, “How are you, Helaena?”
Helaena looks at her serenely, a small smile gracing her face.
“I am well, sister. Though I feel the loss, I never really knew our father.”
Rhaenyra looks down at her lap. She feels a bit of shame. Her father had made many mistakes. Chief among them was not bonding with his youngest children. They should have felt the love of their father, the same as she did.
Helaena continues. “I was most happy to see you sit the throne, Your Grace.”
Rhaenyra is surprised. “I would have thought you would have liked to be Queen.”
Helaena shakes her head. “No, no, it would have brought me much grief if Aegon had been made the King. This is much better.”
“How so, Helaena?” she asks.
“I no longer dream of falling. My children are safe and will be happy.”
Rhaenyra is very confused but before she can ask more, Helaena stands and walks to their brothers. Aegon glances sideways in her direction and gives her a polite nod, but Aemond looks at her and his lips twist into a gentle smile. It is the first time she has seen her brother’s face lose its harshness.
Alicent comes and sits with her next. They say nothing to each other, though, content to sit in peace and look at their children. Alicent looks relaxed for the first time in a long time. Rhaenyra had told the Dowager Queen of Otto’s execution as Alicent did not wish to bear witness to her father’s death. She expected anger or sadness. It was the most curious thing to see neither emotion grace her former friend’s pretty face. It was as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders.
Rhaenyra wonders what their lives might have been like if they had never stopped being friends. Would she have been made Queen? She also thinks about what might have happened if Otto Hightower had succeeded, if Alicent had not come and told her of the plots. Would there have been a war?
Daemon comes up to her, leaning down to brush a kiss to her cheek. She grabs his hand before he can walk away to join their children in their games.
“I love you…” she tells him, just because she can.
He smiles and brushes some of her hair behind her ear.
“As I love you, my Queen.”