Chapter Text
Rhea Royce was certain she would despise the child.
She lay nude on the bed, drenched in the sweat of labor as the sun rose over the cold mountains. After thirteen hours and countless curses, the lady of Runestone had at last brought forth her child into the world.
It screamed instantly– a good sign, maester Rhys had said. Rhea could hardly look at the squalling infant as she collapsed against the bed, her body aching all over.
The maester bustled forward, wrapping the babe in warm blankets before placing it into her arms. “A girl, my lady,” he beamed. “Healthy as can be.”
R hea stared at the tiny face, scrunched and red. Her first instinct was to push the child away, as if ridding herself of it would free her from her husband at last, to ignore whatever traits he had passed down.
But Daemon had not cursed this child.
She had a thick patch of brown hair– Rhea almost laughed at how dull it was, and how happy that made her. This was no pureblooded Valyrian babe. This was a child of the Vale.
Her cries quieted as she stared up at her mother, her tiny fists waving weakly around in the air. Rhea felt something tug at her– an ache that was not painful, but rather a tether that pulled at her chest.
This was the babe she had carried for nine months, who had changed her body irreversibly. Her body had not been her own– was it ever? – but even now, seeing this child, Rhea wondered if some part of her had carried her daughter her entire life.
She traced her finger against the child’s cheek, marveling at the softness. “You are mine,” she said, almost incredulously. A declaration to the gods, or perhaps her husband who hadn’t bothered to show up.
For all that Daemon had taken from her, this child was hers to keep.
“What will you call her, my lady?” Rhys said quietly.
Rhea didn’t answer immediately, instead silently running her fingers over the patch of downy hair on the babe’s head. She had briefly considered Valyrian names, but none had suited her tastes. The Vale was her home, the windswept mountains, the vast cliffs. Not that blackened island to the south, or the ruins of Old Valyria.
“Carys,” she murmured. “She shall be called Carys.”
Rhys nodded approvingly, scribbling the name into his records. Rhea paid him no mind. The world around her had ceased to exist, her gaze only focused on the tiny girl in her arms.
This was her daughter. Her future made certain. Her flesh and blood.
Rhea lifted the child a bit higher, gently kissing her brow. For the first time in months, she felt no anger, no bitterness.
“We will endure,” she whispered, her voice steady as stone. “Together.”
She almost believed it.
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It was a month until Daemon came to visit the child.
A raven had been sent soon after her labours, but Rhea had yet to hear from him.
It was no matter. The first few weeks of motherhood had changed her drastically; Rhea refused to allow anyone to nurse Carys but her, and her nights were spent pacing her chambers with the babe in her arms. Sleeplessness suited her, she thought. It gave her an odd sharpness, a clarity she hadn’t felt in years.
Daemon had arrived at daybreak, the great wings of the Red Wyrm beating down on Runestone. Rhea had seen the shadows descend on the keep even before he had landed, and had cringed at the sight of her husband.
Rhea had remained in her chambers when a servant came to announce his arrival. She had not bothered to greet him– why should she? The prince had not bothered to meet his child, instead galavanting around Westeros without a single care.
Instead, she finished nursing, adjusted her gown, and settled herself before the hearth, Carys nestled securely in her arms.
Daemon strode in, harshly pushing the door open, his great black cloak flaring around him like some dark phantom. His silver hair glinted in the light, his eyes narrowed as he observed the mother of his child. He looks more like a conqueror than a father.
“So,” Rhea said dryly. “You’ve finally come.”
He made no move to inspect the child closely, instead leaning back against the mantle, his expression stony. Rhea wondered how she had ever thought this would be a happy marriage, when his demeanor towards her– and most other people– was
“I always intended to,” Daemon shot back. “She is my child, afterall.”
Rhea just sighed. She was too tired to fight with him, instead adjusting her hold on Carys, the babe cooing softly against her chest. “I see your intentions are as timely as ever.”
Daemon just snorted, flicking his hair over his shoulder. He cast his gaze around the room, his eyes flicking over the ornate tapestries on the walls and the carved posts of her bed frame. “A warm welcome as ever, wife.”
Rhea ignored his use of the word ‘wife’ as though it were an insult. For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire.
Memories of their union flooded her. Their wedding had been a lukewarm affair– neither party had been interested at all, and the only person excited about the marriage had been his aging grandmother, the good queen Alysanne.
If the wedding had been lukewarm, the wedding night had been even less exciting. Rhea had laid flat on her back for what had seemed like eternity, staring up at the ceiling as Daemon rutted against her for a few moments before collapsing. It had been another month before she had discovered she was pregnant, and by then the couple had gone to their respective domains.
“You’re yet to even look at her,” Rhea said finally. “Are you afraid she might resemble me too much for your liking?”
Daemon’s smirk faltered. He straightened, pushing off the mantle and stepping closer. “Don’t be impossible.” He stopped a pace away, his eyes finally falling to the child in her arms. His expression was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something Rhea couldn’t quite place.
“She has your hair,” Daemon noted, his voice quiet now. “And my eyes.”
“You say that like it means something to you.”
“It does,” her husband retorted. “She’s my blood.”
“Your blood, ” Rhea repeated, incredulous now. “And yet it took you a month to see her. Why?”
Daemon’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against Carys’ cheek. He lingered for a moment longer before pulling back, his eyes flicking up to Rhea’s face. “We’ll be expected to live at King’s Landing. My grandmother wishes to meet the child.”
Rhea snorted softly, shifting Carys in her arms. “There is no way in the seven hells that my child will live with you in King’s Landing.” She looked down at Carys, gently stroking her hair. “And if Alysanne wishes to see her, she may come to Runestone at her pleasure.”
His expression darkened. “She’s my daughter. A princess of the realm- not some Vale-born lady tied to a backwater keep.”
Rhea’s grip tightened on her daughter protectively. “She may be your daughter by blood, but she is mine in every other way. I will not allow her to suffer under the yolk of that court of vipers, in that stinking shit-hole of a city.”
Daemon scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. Rhea wanted to strike that self-important expression off his face. “You’d deny her what’s rightfully hers? Her place at court, her title, her station?”
“I’d deny her the poison of living with you ,” she hissed back. “King’s Landing is no place for a child, certainly not my child.”
“You think you can simply decide her fate without me?”
“She’s barely a month old, and this is the first time you’ve laid eyes on her.” Rhea wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “So yes, I think I can.”
“She’s a princess,” Daemon pressed, his voice rising. “She deserves more than this god-forsaken rock.”
“She is a Royce,” Rhea said matter-of-factly. “She will know her mother’s people, and understand her own worth. Not as a pawn in your plots against Viserys.”
For a moment, they stared at each other, the firelight casting sharp shadows on their faces. Daemon took a step back, smirking slightly. “You think you’ve won, but this isn’t over.”
Rhea met his gaze unyieldingly. “You’re mistaken, husband. It is over.” She held his gaze for a moment longer before turning back to Carys. “If Queen Alysanne wishes to see her grandchild, she may visit Runestone at her pleasure. But you will not take her to King’s Landing, nor anywhere else.”
Daemon’s smirk faltered, his jaw tightening as his hands balled into fists. He opened his mouth as though to argue but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he turned abruptly, the edge of his cloak snapping as he moved toward the door.
“This isn’t the end of it, Rhea,” he called over his shoulder, his tone laced with anger and frustration.
Without looking at him, Rhea adjusted Carys in her arms, brushing her lips against the soft brown curls on her daughter’s head. “Goodbye, husband,” she said dismissively, her voice as cold as the Vale’s winds.
Daemon stormed out, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him, leaving Rhea and Carys alone once more. For a moment, the room was silent except for the crackling of the fire.
Rhea sighed, the tension in her shoulders slowly easing. She looked down at her daughter, her expression softening. “Don’t fret, my sweet girl,” she murmured. “You’ll grow up strong and proud, far away from his chaos.”
Outside, the wind howled, carrying Daemon’s frustration away as he mounted Caraxes and took to the skies.
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Alysanne had arrived within the fortnight. She brought no procession with her, no fanfare, and no pomp– only her silver dragon.
Silverwing landed gracefully in the courtyard, her wings beating gently as she descended onto the stones. Despite her advanced age, the Good Queen dismounted with ease. Her vivid blue eyes were warm as she looked around, her hair windswept from her journey.
Rhea met her in the courtyard of Runestone, dressed in her finest garments of deep blue and bronze. Gerold stood close behind, the retainer of Royce guards behind him.
“Lady Rhea,” Alysanne greeted her. Rhea had always liked the queen, who was more kind in nature than the other members of her house. After having lost so many children, Alysanne had resorted herself to a life of quiet solitude, wishing to spend her winter years in peace.
“Your Grace.” Rhea curtseyed smoothly. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to Runestone.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” The queen looked around, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Where is my great-granddaughter?”
Rhea hesitated for a moment, before gesturing to the keep behind her. “Come. I’ll take you to her.”
The nursery was a cozy room at the top of the main tower, not far from Rhea’s own chambers. The walls had been painted a soft blue, and in the center of the room was a cradle carved from the trunk of a great oak tree. Carys was swaddled in soft linens, sleeping peacefully even as Rhea and the queen came to look over her.
“She’s beautiful,” Alysanne whispered, gently stroking her round cheeks. “A princess, through and through.”
Rhea felt a flare of pride run through her. “It pleases me to hear your Grace say that.”
Alysanne didn’t look up, her attention focused wholly on Carys. “I expect Daemon has come to see his daughter?”
“He was here briefly.” Rhea said nothing more– there was no reason to. Alysanne knew of her grandson’s behavior, had seen it grow and shift during his childhood. Rhea had no doubt that she loved her kin, but even so, Daemon was the dark mark of his generation.
“I was told you refused to allow the child to live at King’s Landing.” The queen looked at her at long last, her blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”
Rhea swallowed awkwardly. She couldn’t turn away from the queen’s sharp gaze, instead nervously picking at her fingers behind her back. “The Red Keep is no place for a child,” she said at last. “I want my daughter to know her mother’s family. To live among her people for a time.”
Alysanne studied Rhea for a long moment, her gaze piercing. Rhea resisted the urge to shrink under it.
Finally, the queen nodded, though her expression remained guarded.
"It is not an easy decision, to keep her from her father’s house," Alysanne said evenly, her tone more contemplative than accusatory. "But I understand your reasoning. The Red Keep has its own... challenges."
Rhea felt a flicker of relief. "It is not just the court, Your Grace. It is him." She hesitated, unsure if she should continue, but Alysanne’s silence encouraged her. "Daemon may love his daughter in his own way, but he is not suited to be a constant presence in her life. His restlessness, his ambitions—they are not what she needs."
Alysanne sighed deeply, her gaze returning to Carys. "Daemon has always been a difficult one to guide. I love him dearly, but even I cannot deny his flaws. Still, Rhea, you must tread carefully. He will not take kindly to feeling excluded from her life."
Rhea bristled slightly, her pride prickling. "He has excluded himself, Your Grace. He came and went without so much as holding her. A month passed before he even saw her. What kind of father is that?"
Alysanne frowned, her expression softening. "I do not defend his actions. But I know my grandson well enough to say this—he will not relinquish his claim on her so easily. The blood of the dragon runs through him, as it does through her. To Daemon, she is not just his daughter; she is his legacy."
"She is my daughter, and I will not let her be used."
The queen’s eyes glimmered with a hint of approval, though her expression remained grave. "Spoken like a true lady of the Vale. Your strength will serve you well, Rhea, but strength alone may not be enough. You will need wisdom, and perhaps a bit of cunning."
Rhea met her gaze steadily. "I will do whatever it takes to protect her."
Alysanne inclined her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I do not doubt it. But remember, Rhea, blood ties are not so easily severed. There will come a time when Daemon’s fire burns too close to her. When that time comes, you must be ready."
Rhea said nothing, her heart heavy with the weight of the queen’s words. She watched as Alysanne leaned over the cradle once more, her hand resting gently on Carys’ tiny fist.
"She is strong, this one," Alysanne murmured, her voice almost wistful. "I can feel it. Whatever path she walks, it will not be an ordinary one."
For a moment, the room was quiet save for the crackling of the hearth. Rhea’s pride hardened further as she watched the queen, a woman who had lived through storms greater than any she could imagine, gazing lovingly at her child.
"I will raise her to meet whatever challenges come her way," Rhea said softly.
Alysanne straightened, her smile faint but genuine. "Of that, I have no doubt."
When the queen departed later that day, flying away on Silverwing as silently as she had arrived, Rhea stood in the courtyard, Carys in her arms, and watched her vanish into the horizon. The queen’s words echoed in her mind, a warning and a blessing both.
The path ahead was uncertain, but Rhea Royce had never been one to shy away from a fight. Not for her family. Not for her daughter. Not for the Vale.