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Chapter Text

“FUCK,” Daemon’s pained screams echoed throughout the Red Keep. Rhaenyra cuddled closer to her very pregnant mother, burying her face in her chest, trying to block out the noise. Her uncle had gone into labor about three hours ago, right after they had broken their fast, but it seemed like it wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Her uncle had been staying with them for almost two months now. She remembered her father talking nonstop about how heavily pregnant his brother was and how he was just about ready to pop. He seemed to be right, because just that morning, they were breaking their fast together at her father’s request when Daemon started complaining of sudden bursts of pain. He eventually realized what was happening when he felt wetness beneath him. Everyone panicked, but the first to react and help Daemon to the chambers prepared for the birth was Ser Luthor Largent.

Ser Luthor had become the prince’s sworn sword when Daemon stepped down from his post as Commander of the City Watch after being sent away to Runestone to marry Rhea Royce. The Ser had dropped to his knees in the middle of the throne room, offering his sword to the omega after Viserys had made the announcement and offered him the position. He proclaimed loyalty to Daemon and begged him to accept him as his sworn protector, a request the prince didn’t hesitate to agree to. The king had tried to protest, but his younger brother had shut him down quickly, loudly claiming that he wouldn’t leave for Runestone without Ser Luthor. Viserys didn’t have another alternative but to allow it and knighted him on the spot.

Luthor had always been very loyal to the Rogue Prince, regardless of his sub-gender. At first, Viserys believed it to be a natural attraction from an alpha toward an omega, but after many incidents and missed opportunities due to Daemon’s self-neglect, the king realized it was just a mix of admiration and devotion from the alpha directed at his baby brother.

Viserys had sent for all the maesters and midwives in the Red Keep to immediately head to the birthing chamber and prepare for Daemon’s arrival. He was on his brother’s left side, holding his arm to help him walk, while Ser Luthor was on his right, with one arm holding Daemon’s side and the other on his lower back to catch him if anything happened. Rhea Royce trailed behind them with Rhaenyra, who insisted she had to make sure her uncle reached the chambers safely—spoken like a true alpha.

When they reached the birthing chambers, Daemon was carefully laid on the bed. The alphas were quickly ushered out of the room by the midwives so the prince could change into a nightgown. Eventually, the maesters and Ser Luthor were allowed in to tend to the omega and ensure his safety. That’s when the screams started.

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Viserys had summoned his little brother to King’s Landing for the last two months of his pregnancy, claiming they had the best maesters and that it would do him good to be near family. Daemon refused at first, tearing apart the letters and burning the pieces; he was still angry at his brother for selling him off at the first chance he got. After receiving no replies, Viserys changed tactics, appealing to Daemon’s soft spot for his niece and his fellow pregnant omega. He wrote to him, speaking about how much his daughter missed her dear uncle and how lonely Aemma felt during her pregnancy.

Ultimately, Daemon accepted the invitation and came to stay in the Red Keep with his alpha wife, Rhea Royce. He had told her to stay back in Runestone, but she refused, insisting that an omega needed their alpha at times like this. Daemon, unable to stay quiet, argued that he hadn’t needed her throughout his entire pregnancy, so he definitely didn’t need her now. Rhea slapped him for that, and when he tried to strike her back, he was easily overpowered due to his nearly eight-month-pregnant belly. It didn’t escalate any further, thanks to Ser Luthor coming into the room and pulling the angry alpha away from the prince. After escorting the omega to his personal chambers, the knight guarded the door the whole night.

They set sail for King’s Landing the next morning, with Caraxes flying alongside their ship since the maesters had deemed it dangerous for Daemon to ride his dragon after passing the six-month mark. Upon reaching their destination, they were greeted by the king himself, along with his daughter and wife. Viserys embraced his little brother, being careful not to squeeze too hard. When they pulled away from each other, he rubbed the omega’s protruding stomach with a huge smile, telling him how he was glowing in his pregnancy. Daemon held his tongue, not wanting to start a fight so early.

His sweet niece of just one and ten ran up to him the moment Viserys stepped away, trying to wrap her little arms around him and resting her cheek on his belly. “You look really pretty, uncle,” the little girl complimented, looking up at him with her sparkling violet eyes.

“Thank you, princess,” he said, rubbing her head affectionately. Rhaenyra blushed and pulled away when the queen came up to them. Aemma hugged her fellow pregnant omega as best she could with both their bellies. After the greetings were over, Viserys ordered the Kingsguard to escort the couple to their apartments so that Daemon could rest before dinner.

The Rogue Prince had spent the last two months of his pregnancy eating cake and going on walks around the gardens with Aemma and Rhaenyra, with Luthor always trailing close behind them, as the king insisted on it since the maesters had deemed it important for an easier birth. With the help of his sworn sword, Daemon kept away from his wife as best he could to avoid putting stress on his body. He only really saw her during breakfast and dinner since Viserys had insisted on spending as much time together as a family. Daemon suspected that this was his brother’s way of trying to make up for selling him to the Royces, not that it’d ever be enough for the prince to even consider forgiving him. He could never have the three years of miserable marriage or his freedom back, not really.

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Daemon Targaryen was an unusual omega. From a young age, he behaved more like an alpha than an omega. He would follow his brother around, attending combat lessons instead of his sewing and etiquette classes. He never wanted to marry or have children—he wanted to be a knight. To others, his behavior was unacceptable for an omega, and people like Otto Hightower would often urge the king to set the young omega straight. However, King Jaehaerys never listened; he had a soft spot for his youngest grandson and would do anything to make him happy. Along with his son Baelon, the king would always protest whenever the small council brought up the prospect of marriage, arguing that Daemon was too young and didn’t want to live like a broodmare for the rest of his life.

His grandsire protected him until his death, even allowing Daemon to train to become a knight one day. When his brother ascended the Iron Throne, Daemon even raised an army in his name after hearing rumors about Corlys Velaryon setting sail to King’s Landing to try and take the throne for his wife, Rhaenys Targaryen. Although nothing came of it, Viserys eventually made the Sea Snake his Master of Ships to appease him.

Viserys appointed Daemon as the Commander of the City Watch to give him a position in his court after Otto protested against other roles given to the omega. At just 15 years old, Daemon was already considered one of, if not the best, swordsmen in Westeros. Before he gained power over them, the City Watch was undermanned and seen as just a group of criminals, but Daemon transformed them completely, making them rivals to the Kingsguard. He gave them their signature gold cloaks and ensured that King’s Landing learned to fear the color gold.

Daemon’s sub-gender didn’t matter, he had proven himself long ago and the gold cloaks respected and were fiercely loyal to him. Striking down numerous alphas who had publicly declared their intentions to pursue and claim the omega, not that he needed protection but in a way, he appreciated it. Daemon himself had put plenty of alphas in their place who dared speak about him, even cutting the cock off of a stupidly brave alpha that would loudly proclaim that the Rouge Prince just needed a good alpha knot to put him in his place and that he was going to be the one to do it. He had gone as far as to grope him one night while he and the gold cloaks were celebrating at one of the pubs in Flea Bottom. Daemon had dragged him out and into the town center making some of his comrades pull his pants down and publicly cutting his cock with his dagger.

“Let this be known as the day Kings Landing finds out what happens to a filthy worthless alpha that thinks they can tame me,” he yelled holding up the severed cock and looking around to the people gathered around him.

The next morning, Viserys called Daemon into the council room to scold him. However, Daemon couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions, especially since, after that night, the number of alphas publicly declaring their desire to claim him had dropped considerably.

Daemon could say he was truly happy: he was a Commander, a knight, unmarried, his brother was the king, and he was free to come and go as he pleased. But that freedom didn’t last long. On the morning of his eighteenth name day, Viserys announced that he had betrothed Daemon to Rhea Royce. Furious, Daemon screamed and got in his brother’s face, demanding to know why. The king claimed it was necessary to strengthen the alliance with the Vale. Daemon thought this was complete nonsense; the queen herself was from the Vale, and there could not be a stronger alliance than that. He knew this had to be Otto Hightower’s doing—that cunt had been whispering venom in his brother’s ear for years, trying to turn him against Daemon, and it seemed he had finally succeeded.

Only a month after the announcement, Daemon was married and taken to Runestone, which was to be his permanent home. Furious with his brother, he refused to visit the Red Keep, prompting Aemma to make a habit of visiting him at least once a month, often bringing Rhaenyra along.

Daemon hadn’t let Rhea touch him for the first two years of their marriage, but his wife eventually had gotten tired of him and had forbidden the maesters from providing him with teas that would suppress his heat. When his first heat in years came it was agonizing, and having Rhea with him just made it worse since deep down he didn’t want her near him, even if on the outside he kept begging her to fuck him. She was there for all of his heats for a year, prohibiting him from taking moon tea after, hoping that her seed would take eventually. It took longer than it should’ve, thanks to Ser Luthor Largent who would sneak Daemon moon teas every time until he was sent away on a made-up mission when he had entered the last heat before he had gotten pregnant. 

Daemon had to admit that the omega side he had fought so hard to keep suppressed showed itself more and more as he got older. It made a small part of him actually want children, but that side was satisfied by taking care of his five-year-old niece. The young alpha had grown very attached to her uncle, always shadowing him and asking to cuddle whenever she and her mother visited him in the Vale. When she learned to speak, she would constantly ramble about how good Daemon smelled.

He had been enamored with his niece since the moment he first held her. She was the one who finally convinced him to visit King’s Landing from time to time. She would also often ask to go on rides with him on Caraxes, and the red dragon seemed to like the young alpha. On her fourth name day, she loudly proclaimed in front of all the lords and ladies who had traveled to attend the celebration that she was going to marry him and give him many babies. The prince had been embarrassed, but most people thought it was endearing, with Viserys assuring him that she would probably grow out of it.

Rhaenyra hadn’t grown out of her little crush, as was clear when she became so furious that she destroyed her room upon learning that her uncle was with child. She locked herself inside her chambers and refused to speak to anyone. The only one who was able to coax her out was Daemon, but only after he promised her that he would not leave her after having the baby.

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Daemon would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. All his life, he had sworn he would never have children, that he would never reduce himself to becoming a broodmare, made only to birth offspring. But here he was, lying on a bed in a nightgown, legs spread open, with Maester Mellos between them and midwives surrounding him, encouraging him to push. Ser Luthor stood guard at the door to ensure no one tried to harm the omega, but it only served to remind Daemon of how helpless he felt—he was terrified.

His sworn sword was the only alpha in the room; the rest were betas and omegas, and for that, Daemon was grateful. His nose had been sensitive lately, and strong alpha scents made him nervous. Rhea hadn’t even come into the room. Viserys had wanted to stay but quickly changed his mind after Daemon glared at him. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, had been determined to remain by his side, keeping him company and protecting him. Daemon wanted to let her stay, to have someone there to comfort him, even if she was just a little girl. But ultimately, he asked her to leave, not wanting to traumatize her. She had agreed, but only on the condition that she be allowed to enter the moment the baby was born, which Daemon agreed to in order to appease her.

Daemon’s whole body hurt, with waves of pain coming closer and closer together. At that moment, he wished he had paid more attention to his omega biology lessons. Another burst of pain shot through him, and all he could do was groan.

“FUCK… when is this baby supposed to come out? It’s been hours,” he complained, glaring at Maester Mellos.

“You’re still not dilated enough yet, my prince,” the oldest midwife responded. Daemon cursed at her as another wave of pain hit.

After what felt like hours, the Grand Maester finally announced that it was time. Daemon pushed when the midwives told him to, and if he thought the pain had been agonizing before, this was so much worse.

“Push, my prince, I can see the head,” a midwife encouraged. He screamed, pushing with all the strength he could muster. He was drenched in sweat, his cunt already sore, and he felt as if he was being split in half, but he kept going. Two of the midwives were between his spread legs, ensuring the baby was coming out right, while the other two were by his sides, trying to soothe him and keep him comfortable.

“The head is out, my prince; just a couple more pushes, and the babe will be out,” the oldest midwife exclaimed. Daemon wailed, pushing hard, desperate to get the baby out of him as soon as possible. For a moment, he felt lonely, longing for his alpha to be beside him, but he quickly pushed the feeling away—he hadn’t needed her throughout the entire pregnancy, and he didn’t need her now. Tears streamed down his face, his voice hoarse from all the screaming, and he felt like he was dying, but he kept pushing.

With a couple more pushes, he felt the baby slide out of him. The maester immediately took the newborn to clean and assess its sub-gender. Daemon knew Mellos was just doing his job, but he couldn’t help the growl that escaped him, afraid they would take his baby away. The sound of his baby crying brought a rush of relief; it meant the child was alive. He felt the afterbirth coming and, clutching a midwife’s hand, pushed it out of his body.

“Give it to me,” Daemon demanded angrily, glaring at the maester’s back.

Maester Mellos approached, extending the crying babe to the omega. “Congratulations, my prince, you have a healthy alpha boy.”

Daemon took his baby and cradled him against his chest, inspecting him closely to make sure there were no deformities. He saw a dark patch of hair on the baby’s head, and when the infant opened his eyes, Daemon was greeted with the sight of beautiful violet eyes staring up at him. The baby stopped crying the moment their eyes met. Though Daemon would never admit it to anyone, he shed a few tears while gazing at his son.

“Hello, I’m your mother,” Daemon whispered, his voice cracking as he began to sob, alarming the midwives who tried to console him. The baby grabbed at his nightgown, trying to reach his chest. Daemon let out a small laugh and lowered the straps of his nightgown, allowing his son to nurse. “Baelon. His name is Baelon,” the prince announced, looking up at the people in the room.

Once Baelon had fallen asleep and Daemon had been cleaned up, he made eye contact with Ser Luthor and nodded, signaling him to allow the anxious alphas he could smell outside the room to enter. Rhaenyra was the first to rush inside, quickly making her way to the side of his bed.

“How are you, uncle? Are you in pain? Do you need anything? I can call for the maids to bring you cake—you always say cake makes you feel better,” his niece rambled. Daemon couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s fine, Rhaenyra, I’m alright,” he reassured her before she could wake Baelon. She stopped talking, giving him a warm smile. Her eyes widened when she finally noticed the bundle in Daemon’s arms as Baelon stirred in his sleep.

“Is that the baby?” she whispered, her eyes sparkling. Just then, Viserys and Aemma entered the room.

“Yes, this is Baelon,” Daemon said as the two adults approached. Viserys’s smile reached his eyes as he glanced between Daemon and his son. “He’s an alpha.”

“That’s a wonderful name for a beautiful babe,” the king complimented, unable to take his eyes off Baelon. Daemon offered the baby to his brother, who took him gladly, smiling broadly.

Once Daemon was no longer holding the baby, Rhaenyra climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck, gently rubbing the back of his head with her small hands. “You did well, uncle; the baby is as beautiful as you,” she said, then kissed his sweaty forehead before pulling away completely. Aemma watched the sweet interaction with pride, moved by how much her alpha daughter cared for her uncle.

“Look at your beautiful alpha son, Rhea,” Viserys said, and Daemon realized that his wife had entered the room. He squirmed slightly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He watched as the female alpha, now holding their baby, examined Baelon and nodded.

“What did you call it?” she asked, looking at Daemon.

“Baelon… he’s an alpha,” he replied, his hands itching to have his son back in his arms.

“That’s fine,” she said dryly, stepping closer before handing the baby back to him, almost as if eager to be rid of him. “If you’re feeling up to it, we should leave for Runestone on the morrow,” she added, sounding more like she was issuing a command than making a suggestion.

“Maybe you should wait a while longer; Daemon had a very long and difficult birth, and he should remain in bed resting,” the king objected immediately.

“The king is right, Lady Royce. The prince shouldn’t overexert himself so soon after his labor,” Maester Mellos added.

“I understand that, Your Grace, but we have been away from Runestone for almost two moons. My omega and pup need the clean air of the Vale to get better and gain strength,” the female alpha argued. “If it concerns you that much, I could allow Daemon to stay a little longer until he recovers, while I take our son back home. My family must be anxious to meet him.”

The omega felt his stomach drop, a feeling of dread filling him at the idea of being away from his son for even a minute. “It’s fine; I’ll be able to travel on the morrow. My alpha is right—we have been away from home for too long,” he said, holding his baby closer to his chest. He wasn’t going to let his son out of his sight, and he didn’t trust Rhea to properly look after his baby, even if he was still in terrible pain.

“Only if you’re sure, brother,” Viserys spoke, looking at him with a concerned gaze.

“I’m sure,” Daemon said, looking down; he couldn’t lie to his brother's face.

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The journey was terrible for Daemon. He was in so much pain, and his son could not find rest, so he also couldn’t find any. Ser Luthor had helped him get onto the ship and into the chambers that had been prepared for him and his son. The omega hadn’t allowed his sword to carry him, not wanting to show weakness. Instead, he leaned on him to be able to walk while carrying his baby.

Baelon had finally fallen asleep after nursing and being put in his cradle. Daemon had tried to lie down, but he had been feeling sick ever since they left the dock, constantly having to stand up to go and vomit. Eventually, he found some rest and slept for hours, only waking up to eat after Elinda, one of his personal maids, brought him some food.

When they reached the Vale, they were ushered into a carriage that would bring them to Runestone, which was agonizing for him since it wasn’t a smooth journey at all. He breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally inside his personal chambers—now also his son’s, since he had requested for Baelon's cradle to be moved to his room. The Royce family had been waiting for them when they arrived and took turns holding Baelon and congratulating the new parents.

He was indifferent to them; they never really went out of their way to make him feel welcome or build any sort of relationship with him, but today they had gotten on his nerves. They just wouldn’t let go of his baby and kept him from his bed for far too long, constantly asking him about the birth. His body was in so much pain he could barely stand, but he didn’t want to sit and make them think they were welcome to stay longer.

They had finally left, and he was able to lie down after putting Baelon to sleep and taking a hot bath prepared by Elinda. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he had really been until his head hit one of his pillows, and he immediately fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Daemon reread the letter for the hundredth time, making sure he was reading it correctly. A raven had arrived from King’s Landing about an hour ago; it was from Grand Maester Mellos. The moment he had seen the raven approaching, a sudden sense of dread had settled in his gut, which only intensified when Maester Helliweg came to him with a grim expression and a letter in his grasp.

The queen was dead. Aemma was dead. She had died during her fifth birth along with the babe she had been carrying for eight moons. It had been a boy—what Viserys had always wished for. The gods had a cruel sense of humor. Aemma’s pregnancies had always been complicated; Rhaenyra was the only baby who had lived longer than a few hours. She had given birth to a stillborn baby almost a month after Daemon had given birth to his son. He had thought that, after that, Viserys would give up on his desire for a son, but his brother never knew when to stop. Aemma got pregnant once again almost two years later, and they took extra precautions this time, with the queen barely leaving her apartments or bed.

Daemon had corresponded with her and Rhaenyra the whole time. He would tell Aemma about his days with his son so she would have something to entertain herself. The queen would tell him about Rhaenyra, how she had taken after him with his love for riding, and how much she enjoyed hearing about his days with his child. She also wrote about how much they both missed him and often requested that he visit them soon.

The prince had planned to visit the Red Keep a little after Aemma was due to give birth, wanting to meet the baby and perhaps help his omega friend with the child. But now his plans had suddenly changed, as the letter also urged him to travel to King’s Landing for the funeral. He considered telling his wife, but he already knew that she would try to forbid him from going, claiming it was too sudden and that it would take them too long to get there. If he suggested going on dragonback, she would argue that their son was too young—even though he had already taken him on his first flight, not that she needed to know that. Besides, he knew Maester Helliweg would tell her eventually if he hadn’t already.

He decided to ask Dyana for help packing his and his son’s clothes. He grabbed Dark Sister from where he had hidden it when he came to live at Runestone and secured it on the belt around his hips. He wasn’t going to tell or even ask permission to leave; he would just deal with the female alpha’s rage when he got back. He didn’t even tell Ser Luthor directly—he just left a letter where he knew the guard would find it, explaining where he was and asking him to join him as soon as he read it.

Daemon quickly made his way to the small mountain where Caraxes liked to spend his time, carrying his two-year-old son in his arms. He made sure his son was secured and wouldn’t fall from the saddle, and Caraxes took off in the direction of King’s Landing.

They arrived in the capital just before dawn. Daemon left Caraxes in the dragon pit and took the waiting carriage to the Red Keep. Upon arrival, they were greeted by Otto Hightower and his daughter, Alicent Hightower, much to Daemon’s disdain. Alicent had been brought to the capital to serve as a companion for Rhaenyra last year. Although the Hand’s daughter was four years older than the princess, they got along well enough.

“The king extends his apology for not welcoming you himself,” Otto Hightower announced as Daemon stepped out of the carriage.

“Hello, omega Daemon,” Alicent greeted him politely. One thing he hated about the beta was that she always addressed him by his sub-gender. It almost felt like mockery, though he knew it was just how she had been raised.

“Hello, Alicent... Otto,” Daemon responded, gritting his teeth at the mention of Otto’s name.

“Where is your alpha, Prince Daemon?” Otto inquired, looking him up and down with a critical glare.

“She will not be attending. The news came suddenly, and she was unable to put her responsibilities on hold at such short notice,” Daemon lied, smirking. His son squirmed, and Daemon adjusted him in his arms.

“ Muña, I’m tired, ” Baelon whined in High Valyrian. Even though Rhea hadn’t wanted their son to follow Targaryen traditions, Daemon had taught Baelon to speak their mother tongue. He had conceded to not placing a dragon egg in Baelon’s cradle, but he wasn’t going to give up on this. Baelon was a Targaryen prince—he would speak the language of his ancestors, and he would have a dragon. Daemon would make sure of that.

“ We’ll go to bed soon, my love, ” Daemon reassured his little son, kissing his forehead to soothe him.

“It hardly seems appropriate for an omega to travel alone, especially with a two-year-old son at his hip,” Otto interrupted, eyeing Baelon. “Who would protect you should trouble find you, as it always seems to follow you, my prince?” he added with disdain, a scowl on his face.

“I can assure you, Lord Hand, that I am more than capable of defending myself and my son,” Daemon replied, his hand lowering to the hilt of his sword as he held Baelon closer.

“I don’t doubt your fighting capabilities, my prince, but you are a mother now. It’s well known that some wild senses dull to make room for more... domestic ones,” Otto countered. “Besides, you came here without your midwives, maids, or sworn sword. Who will help you with your son? Surely you wouldn’t want a maid you don’t know caring for him.”

“Well, fortunately, my old personal maid is here in the capital, since you yourself called for her to assist with the queen’s pregnancy and sent Dyana to replace her,” Daemon smirked at the sour look that crossed Otto’s face. “I’m sure you’ll see to it that she’s assigned to Baelon’s care since you seem so concerned.”

“I—” Otto began, but he was interrupted by one of the Kingsguard.

“Apologies, my prince, Lord Hand, but the king has made it clear that Prince Daemon should be shown to his apartments immediately so he can freshen up and rest after his long journey,” Ser Harrold Westerling informed them.

“Of course. The prince and his son shall rest well for tomorrow,” Otto said, feigning concern. Daemon adjusted his hold on his son and made to follow Ser Westerling.

“Rest well, omega Daemon,” Alicent bid him farewell.

Daemon only nodded in acknowledgment before following the Kingsguard. Halfway to his chambers, a maid he had never seen before approached him, causing him to stop in his tracks.

“My prince, I can take Prince Baelon from your hands,” she said, extending her arms as if to take his son.

Daemon immediately backed away, pressing his son closer to his chest. “No,” he growled, startling her. “He’s staying with me.”

“I apologize, Prince Daemon. The lord hand ordered me to make sure the little prince is brought to the royal nursery,” the woman explained, cowering under his intense gaze.

“Of course he did. My son will be staying in my room with me, and I only want Elinda caring for him when I can’t,” Daemon said with a frown, gently rocking his son. The maid bowed quickly and left, allowing Daemon and Ser Westerling to continue to his rooms.

Once they arrived at his apartments, Daemon set his restless son down near the fireplace. He let out a long sigh, rubbing his lower back—he hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until now.

“My prince, His Grace has appointed me as your personal guard until Ser Luthor Largent arrives,” Ser Westerling informed him. Daemon gave a nod of acknowledgment but stopped the guard before he could exit the room.

“Where is my niece, Ser?” Daemon questioned.

“The princess hasn’t left her chambers since… the queen…” the guard trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

“I understand. Thank you…” Daemon said quietly. Ser Westerling bowed slightly and left, closing the door behind him.

Daemon noticed that his and his son’s belongings were already neatly placed inside the wardrobe. There was also a chest full of toys next to one of the couches near the fireplace. He sat beside it and opened the chest. Baelon was already there, eager to see what was inside. Daemon pulled out a few dragon figurines and handed them to his son, watching with a soft look of pure love and devotion.

The Rogue Prince had rejected his omega nature for most of his life. He never wanted to settle down or have children. His dream had been to travel all over Westeros, free to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. For a time, he lived that life, though his travels were limited—his brother would always protest, coming up with excuses to keep him grounded, citing Daemon’s status as an omega. Even so, Daemon would sneak out on occasion, though he’d always receive a scolding when he returned.

He had once been called Lord Fleebottom by the smallfolk, the reason being that he would frequent the brothels there. There were always rumors roaming around of how the prince of the city, another one of his labels, would buy complete brothels for the gold cloaks and have orgies with multiple alphas. Some people claimed to have witnessed this and even seen the prince drinking moon tea every night. Only half of it was true really, up until Rhea he had never let an alpha fuck him properly, but he never bothered to deny the rumors. 

Daemon had always believed he would be a terrible mother, thinking that his omega traits had been repressed for too long to surface naturally. He had never found an alpha he deemed worthy enough to carry their child, and even though his marriage to Rhea was not his choice, the outcome wasn’t as bad as he had feared.

Baelon had become his reason for living. When Daemon found out he was pregnant, he had been scared and briefly considered asking the maester for moon tea to end it. But in the end, he decided against it. During the pregnancy, the maternal instincts others spoke of never seemed to come, leaving him to believe that his omega side had been suppressed for too long. He had assumed that the love he felt for Rhaenyra would be the closest he’d come to loving a child of his own. But he had been so wrong.

The moment he held Baelon after hours of excruciating labor, a deep and overwhelming love took root in his heart, alongside a fierce protectiveness. It was a feeling unlike any he had ever known—something completely new.

“ Muña, I’m tired, ” Baelon cried out, pulling Daemon from his thoughts. He sighed, looking at his son.

“ All right, my love, let’s get you ready for bed, ” Daemon said gently, scooping him up into his arms.

He requested a bath to be drawn for both him and Baelon. Once it was ready, Daemon asked the maids to leave, quickly washing himself and his son. After ensuring they were clean, he dressed them both in nightclothes.

Since a cradle hadn’t been brought for Baelon yet, Daemon tucked the little alpha into his bed and climbed in beside him, wrapping his arms protectively around his son. Baelon snuggled closer, tucking his nose into Daemon’s neck and inhaling his scent. Daemon kissed the top of his son’s head and buried his own face in the boy’s soft brown hair, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood and oakmoss. With Baelon in his arms and his comforting scent filling his senses, Daemon finally drifted into a peaceful sleep.

—————————————

He finally saw his brother and his thirteen-year-old niece at the funeral. Viserys looked terrible—his skin pale, his eyes sunken with dark patches beneath them. He stared into nothing, looking lost, sadness heavy in his gaze. Rhaenyra wasn’t any better. Tears streamed down her blotchy face, and her eyes were red and swollen. When Daemon saw her, he pulled her into his arms, and she broke completely, becoming inconsolable.

His eyes drifted to the funeral pyre where Aemma and her son’s bodies lay, wrapped in white cloth. Syrax stood on a small mound nearby, awaiting her rider’s command. Baelon rested on Daemon’s left hip as they stood directly behind Rhaenyra, while Viserys was off to one side, closest to the pyre. Behind them, a gathering of lords and ladies from the high houses had assembled, including his cousin Rhaenys and her husband, Corlys Velaryon.

Rhaenyra stared at the pyre, almost trance-like. They had been standing there for some time, and Daemon, concerned for his niece, approached her from behind.

“They're waiting for you,” he whispered gently.

“ I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness, ” Rhaenyra said, her voice distant, without turning to face him.

“ Your father needs you, now more than ever, ” Daemon couldn’t help but reply. Despite knowing that much of this sorrow stemmed from Viserys' selfish choices, he couldn’t bear to see the bond between father and daughter fracture further. They needed each other, even if neither would admit it.

“ I will never be a son, ” she said weakly, as though forcing the words from her lips. Daemon held Baelon closer, trying to shield his son’s tearful, swollen eyes from view. He couldn’t stop his own tears from falling, his heart aching for his niece’s pain.

Rhaenyra slowly approached the pyre but hesitated before giving the command. She glanced at her father, longing etched in her expression. For a brief moment, she waited for him to meet her gaze, but Viserys didn’t look back. He barely moved, still fixated on the pyre, lost in grief.

Turning away quickly, she faced Syrax “ Dra– ” her voice broke. “ Dracarys! ” she finally called out.

The yellow dragon responded to her rider's command, advancing towards the pyre. When close enough, Syrax opened her mouth, releasing a torrent of flames that consumed the bodies of Aemma and her child. Daemon could only watch as the fire blazed, taking with it the only other omega in his family. Once again, Daemon was alone.

—————————————

The last week had been sheer torture for Daemon. He was not only tasked with caring for his 2-year-old son but also his 13-year-old niece and his 28-year-old brother. As an omega, it fell upon him to ensure Rhaenyra and Viserys ate all their meals, even if he had to force-feed them. Despite Viserys forbidding anyone from entering his apartments, Daemon had found a way in through the secret tunnels. The omega would not allow his brother to push him and Rhaenyra away so easily. Viserys spent most of his time in his chambers, fixated on his model of Old Valyria, while Rhaenyra wandered the castle, often in Alicent's company, which Daemon found unsurprising.

Ser Luthor Largent, Daemon's sworn sword, had arrived in King's Landing two days after the funeral, warning him of his wife’s foul temper. Apparently, Maester Helliweg had failed to inform her of the queen’s death, thinking Daemon would have sent word himself. It wasn’t until Rhea found his chambers empty that she realized he had left, taking their son and his dragon. At first, she assumed Daemon had finally run away. However, when the maester informed her of the news from King’s Landing, she quickly realized where her omega had gone. Ser Luthor hadn’t stayed long enough to witness her reaction, departing Runestone as quickly as possible to join Daemon in the capital.

Now, Daemon found himself standing outside Viserys’ room, having left his still-sleeping son with Elinda. He hadn’t broken his fast yet, but seeing his brother was more pressing. The alpha had blocked the secret passageway to his room and had been ignoring Daemon’s protests for what felt like hours. Daemon was furious—not only had Viserys been avoiding him, but also Rhaenyra. That was the last straw. His brother could shun him all he wanted, but not his daughter—not after Aemma.

“I apologize, my prince, but the king was adamant about not letting anyone in,” one of the Kingsguard said, blocking his path.

“Well, I’m not just anyone, am I? I’m his brother,” Daemon shot back, attempting to bypass the guard. The alpha grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Don’t touch me!” Daemon snapped, struggling in the guard’s grip, his voice rising. He reached for Dark Sister, but before he could draw the blade, Ser Luthor Largent arrived.

“How dare you lay hands on a prince, and an omega no less!” Ser Luthor shouted, wrenching the guard's arm away from Daemon.

At that moment, the door to the room swung open, and Viserys emerged.

“What’s all this commotion?” the king demanded, his voice laced with irritation.

“Tell your guard dog to keep his paws off me and stop barring me from seeing you,” Daemon spat, glaring at the guard.

Viserys sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Daemon, I think you should return to the Vale.”

“What?” Daemon shouted in disbelief, just as the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, appeared in the doorway.

“Why would you say that?” Daemon demanded, his voice cracking.

“Brother, I’m grateful you came for Aemma’s funeral, but we’ve received a raven from Runestone,” Viserys explained. “The letter was from your wife, asking that we send you and your son back at once. She wasn’t informed of the queen’s death and had no idea where you had gone.”

“I—” Daemon began, but Otto Hightower interrupted.

“I believe it would be wise to heed the king’s wishes, my prince,” Otto said with a smug smirk.

“My brother’s wishes or yours?” Daemon challenged, stepping closer to the Hand and locking eyes with him.

Anger simmered in Daemon’s chest. He couldn’t believe Viserys was letting Otto Hightower dictate his actions. The familiar scent of burnt sugar and cherries, signaling his distress, filled the air. The alphas nearby recoiled slightly, some covering their noses, while Ser Luthor moved to stand protectively between Daemon and the others.

“Daemon, control yourself,” Viserys said sternly, stepping closer and grasping his arms. “This is exactly why I want you to return to the Vale. You’re in distress, brother. You need your alpha near.”

“I don’t need that deceitful bitch near me,” Daemon snapped, yanking himself out of his brother’s hold as though he had been burned. His scent intensified, filling the room.

“That’s no way to speak of your alpha wife, Prince Daemon,” Otto chastised, straightening his posture in mock offense.

Daemon ignored him, turning to Viserys. “Stop pushing me away,” he pleaded. “You’re my brother. You can’t just cast me aside.”

Viserys averted his gaze, and Daemon’s heart sank. “Really?” he whispered. “You’re not going to say anything?”

Without waiting for an answer, Daemon spun on his heel and stormed away. He could hear Otto protesting behind him, but the omega paid no heed. He wandered aimlessly through the castle, eventually finding himself near Rhaenyra’s chambers. Suddenly, the faint scent of cashmere wood, cinnamon, and red thyme caught his attention.

Drawn in, he moved closer to the source. He found himself standing outside Rhaenyra’s door. Criston Cole, her sworn sword, was nowhere in sight. Before Daemon could stop himself, he opened the door, only to be hit by a strong, earthy scent that made his head swim.

Inside, Rhaenyra was curled up in the corner of her room, clutching her stomach in pain. The moment she caught his scent, she turned to him, her violet eyes wide and desperate. It hit him then—Rhaenyra was in her first rut.

Daemon approached, mesmerized by the scent. He knew he should leave, and get a maester, but he couldn’t move. Rhaenyra rose from the floor and moved toward him, her eyes locked on his.

When she reached him, she grabbed his neck and pulled him close, growling. Daemon felt her bury her nose against his scent gland, inhaling deeply. He snapped out of his daze and tried to pull away, but Rhaenyra’s grip tightened.

“Rhaenyra, stop,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re in rut. I need to fetch a maester.”

“No,” she growled, pulling him even closer. “You’re mine.”

Daemon whimpered as her scent overwhelmed him, making him lightheaded. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t. His body betrayed him, and he bared his neck further.

“Rhaenyra, please…” he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper.

But Rhaenyra didn’t relent. Her nails dug into his skin as she whispered, “My omega.”

Her lips brushed his neck, her tongue tracing his scent gland. Daemon trembled, his mind fogged with her scent. He couldn’t think straight. But when he felt her sharp teeth against his scent gland, something inside him snapped. He shoved her away with all his strength, stumbling back.

Rhaenyra stared at him, shocked before her expression darkened. She lunged at him again, but this time Daemon was quicker. He bolted from the room, running straight to the maester’s chambers to inform them of his niece’s rut.

Later, he soaked in a bath, scrubbing his skin raw in a desperate attempt to rid himself of Rhaenyra’s scent. Even after Elinda reassured him that he no longer smelled of alpha, he couldn’t shake the feeling that her scent still clung to him.

Even at night with his nose buried into his son’s hair, the smell didn’t leave him, almost as if it had clung to his nose and refused to dissipate. Daemon didn’t realize when he fell asleep, but it had been one of the best nights sleep he had had in a while.

—————————————

“I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses, the intention was, by all accounts, to entice and seduce,” Otto informed the king, “I must insist for there to be repercussions for this grotesque act. Even if he is your own brother, your grace.” The king only nodded before dismissing him. Otto left the room with a smirk on his face.

—————————————

Daemon entered the throne room after being urgently summoned by his brother. “You bear the image of the Conqueror, brother,” he remarked, seeing Viserys sitting on the Iron Throne, crown on his head, Blackfyre in hand.

“Did you do it?” Viserys asked, his tone sharp. The scent of his anger was thick in the room, radiating from him. Daemon halted just in front of the Kingsguard standing watch.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Daemon replied, confused, unsure of what his brother was implying.

“You will address me as ‘Your Grace,’ or I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue,” Viserys snapped. “Rhaenyra’s rut. Did you provoke it?”

Daemon stood silent, stunned his brother would accuse him of such a thing. “I don’t know where you heard that, Your Grace, but it is a blatant lie.”

“I have three witnesses who claim they saw you enter the princess’s chambers before she went into rut—how you just stood there while she tried to bite your neck,” the king said.

“They’re lying,” Daemon let out a disbelieving laugh, shocked that Viserys was even entertaining this idea. He hadn’t provoked Rhaenyra’s rut, though he had frozen in place when it happened. He was sure no one else had been around—or at least, he thought so. His brother’s frown deepened.

“My family has been torn apart, and instead of standing by my side or comforting Rhaenyra, you seduced her—nearly letting her claim you. For what?” Viserys pressed. “To cling to the inheritance you still think is yours? To deflower her so I would have no choice but to disown her, and name you as my heir?” The king’s accusations hung in the air.

Daemon lowered his gaze, knowing his brother had already made up his mind. Nothing he said now would change that. He could almost hear Otto Hightower's whisper in his brother's ear, twisting everything.

“You have no allies at court but me, I have only ever defended you, and everything I’ve given you you’ve thrown back in my face,” Viserys shouted, his anger intensifying, filling the room.

“You’ve only ever sent me away,” Daemon shot back. “To the City Watch, to the Vale—anywhere but at your side. Ten years you’ve been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your hand,” the omega angrily yelled back, getting annoyed at his brother’s claims.

“Why would I do that?” Viserys asked.

“Because I’m your brother, and the blood of the dragon runs thick,” Daemon replied, glaring up at the alpha.

“Then why do you cut me so deep?” Viserys’s voice softened for a moment.

“I’ve only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto Hightower for what he is,” Daemon began, but Viserys interrupted.

“An unwavering and loyal—”

“A cunt,” Daemon spat. “A second son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn’t seize for himself.”

“Otto Hightower is a more honorable man than you could ever be,”  Viserys countered shaking his head.

“He doesn’t protect you—I would.”

“From what?” Viserys asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yourself,” Daemon answered without hesitation. “You’re weak, Viserys. And that council of leeches knows it—they prey on you for their own ends.”

Viserys was silent for a moment. “I have decided to name Rhaenyra my heir,” he said, pausing before continuing. “You are to return to Runestone and your alpha wife at once—and you are to do so without quarrel. By order of your king.”

Daemon stepped forward, but the Kingsguard blocked his path, hands on the hilts of their swords. He looked to Viserys, expecting him to order them aside, to assure them that his brother would never harm him—but Viserys said nothing. Daemon lowered his eyes. “Your Grace,” he muttered, before turning and leaving the throne room.

In his chambers, Daemon angrily packed his and his son’s belongings. Tears streamed down his face, but he ignored them—he needed to leave the Red Keep immediately. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ser Luthor standing by the door.

Daemon woke his son, shushing him as he began to whine. “ I know, but we need to leave now, my little dragon, ” Daemon whispered, holding him close. With Ser Luthor’s silent assistance, they made their way to the Red Keep’s entrance, where a carriage awaited.

Daemon mounted Caraxes, his son securely strapped to him. Without needing a word, the Blood Wyrm took flight, leaving King’s Landing behind.

—————————————

“Corlys of house Velaryon, lord of the tides and master of Driftmark,” announced Ser Westerling to the crowd gathered inside the throne room.

The Sea Snake stepped directly in front of Rhaenyra and kneeled to her, “I, Corlys Velaryon, lord of the tides, master of Driftmark promised to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies, in good faith, and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

“Lord Hobert Hightower, beacon of the south, defender of the citadel, and voice of Old Town” the commander announced.

The hand’s older brother stepped into Coryl’s previous place and kneeled. “I, lord Hobert Hightower, beacon of the south, defender of the citadel, and voice of Old Town promised to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies, in good faith, and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

“Boremund of House Baratheon,” was announced.

The man slowly stepped in front of Rhaenyra and with hesitation kneeled to the princess, “I, Boremund Baratheon, promised to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir… the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies, in good faith, and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

After all the lords of the high houses kneeled and proclaimed loyalty to them, Rhaenyra turned to the iron throne where the king stood, “I, Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, king of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the Realm who hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen, princess of Dragonstone and heir to the iron throne.”

After Viserys finished, everyone in the room bowed their heads to the king and his named heir, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Chapter Text

Caraxes flew over the Vale toward the castle of Runestone, Daemon Targaryen on his back with his two-year-old son securely strapped to him. As the Blood Wyrm landed on an open patch of land, they were greeted by a group of guards and the Lady of Runestone, Rhea Royce. The omega smirked, looking down at his alpha wife as he unstrapped himself from the saddle. Daemon carefully dismounted his dragon, making sure his son wouldn't slip. Once on the ground, he took his son from the makeshift carrier on his chest, bracing himself for the scolding he knew was coming.

“It’s good to know my omega husband and my son are alive and well,” the female alpha said, crossing her arms with a stern look on her face. “Especially after not hearing anything from them for almost two weeks!”

“Oh, I’m sure you were terribly bereft, my lady wife, but the king urgently requested my presence at the Red Keep, and you must understand that I, as an omega, can’t deny my alpha brother’s wishes,” Daemon replied in a bored tone, not wanting to deal with the proud alpha right now.

“Oh, I’m sure it was almost impossible to resist following your omega instincts of pleasing an alpha,” Rhea mocked him.

“Oh, please, Rhea. The queen died. My brother and niece needed me,” he said, rolling his eyes and looking away from her.

“You left your home with our son without telling anyone—not even me, your wife, and the mother of your child!” Rhea's anger grew as she stepped closer.

Caraxes let out a warning growl. Daemon held his son tighter to his chest. He wasn’t afraid of Rhea, but he wouldn’t let her touch his baby.

“Did you carry him in your womb for nine months? Did you endure hours of labor to deliver him alive and healthy?” the omega snapped, feeling his anger rise. “No! You didn’t! All you’ve provided is your filthy seed! You don’t even spend time with him, you don’t look at him, you haven’t held him since the day he was born! So don’t go around calling him your son or thinking you have some right over him, because you don’t!” Daemon screamed, losing his patience.

“You dare speak to your alpha that way!” she roared, stepping closer and screaming in his face. “Baelon is my firstborn son! He’s my heir!”

“Oh, you alphas and your stupid heirs! Is that all you think about? Is that all your son is for? And you dare call yourself his moth—” Daemon was cut off by a hard slap to his left cheek, the force of it turning his head.

He stood frozen, his head turned to the side, his cheek stinging from the slap. He could hear Caraxes growling loudly. Daemon didn’t move until he heard his son crying in his arms. He looked down at Baelon’s red, tear-streaked face, the boy crying hysterically with his little arms reaching up to him. Daemon hugged his son closer to his chest, turning to face Rhea, who stood seething. He backed away, and when she tried to follow, Caraxes stepped between them, growling and threatening to incinerate anyone who came near his rider.

On any other occasion, he would have retaliated, using Dark Sister to stab the female alpha and cut down the guards who dared challenge him. But he had his son in his arms right now; he couldn’t risk him getting hurt. No matter what everyone said about him—how he was a sad excuse of an omega, how he acted like an alpha, something he was not, how he wasn’t a good mother because he was impulsive and didn’t think before acting—he knew he was a good mother. He cared deeply for his son and would never do anything to harm him.

Daemon quickly made his way inside the castle, navigating through the halls until he reached his and his son’s chambers. Once inside, he closed and locked the door. He didn’t think they’d be foolish enough to try to take his son from him, but with the Royces, one could never be sure. The omega rocked Baelon gently, whispering to calm him down.

“ Calm down, little dragon. We’re okay, ” he whispered, smiling down at his baby.

He heard loud voices on the other side of the door but ignored them, focusing on soothing his child. Still rocking Baelon in his arms, he moved toward the bed, sitting down and scooting to the center, resting slightly against the numerous pillows. There was pounding at the door, but he paid it no mind, quietly singing in High Valyrian to his son, who eventually fell asleep in his arms, making the omega smile.

After a week of being locked in his chambers with his son, allowing only Elinda, Maester Helliweg, and Ser Luthor Largent to bring them food and ensure his baby was in good health, Daemon finally emerged to face Rhea. She was still livid, screaming at him and raising her hand to hit him again. But before she could swing, Ser Luthor grabbed her hand, stopping her.

“Let me go at once, Ser Largent,” the alpha demanded, but the guard did not release her. “I gave you a command! I’m your superior; I order, and you follow!” she yelled hysterically.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I’m Prince Daemon’s sworn sword. I only follow his orders, not yours,” Ser Luthor responded, still holding the other alpha’s arm firmly. Daemon stood there, watching the scene, his hands itching to reach for Dark Sister.

“You dare defy a lady? The head alpha of this castle?” Rhea aggressively pulled her hand out of the guard’s tight grip. “You’re always defending him, going out of your way to fulfill all his wishes. It almost seems like you’re courting him. If you wanted to fuck him so badly, I would’ve let you have a go,” she taunted, a smug smirk on her face. Then she turned to Daemon. “He would let you. After all, he was called Lord Flea Bottom for a reas–”

Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister and pressed it against her throat. “Say another word, and I’ll cut off your head,” he growled, pressing the tip of his sword harder until it drew a drop of blood.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but…” Elinda barged into the room, holding a restless Baelon in her arms, then stopped when she saw the scene. “I should leave–”

“What is it, Elinda?” Daemon asked, his sword still raised.

“I just—Baelon was crying for you, my prince,” she responded, gently rocking the whining baby to calm him down.

The omega glared at his wife momentarily, then exchanged a look with Ser Luthor before lowering Dark Sister. The guard straightened up, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to act if necessary. Daemon gave one last glance at the female alpha before reaching out to take his son from Elinda.

“Yes, go and take care of my heir. And let Ser Largent fuck you all he wants, but your heat is mine, I need a spear,” Rhea called out behind him as she left the room. Daemon held his son closer to his chest, rubbing the back of his head and letting out a shaky sigh. He gave one final look to Elinda and Ser Luthor before exiting the room.

—————————————

Two months later

“Read it again,” Daemon said, leaning forward on the table.

“King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, invites your house to the celebration of his marriage to Lady Alicent Hightower on the third day of summer. You shall be provided with your own apartments to stay in for the duration of the festivities. Your presence is highly anticipated,” Maester Helliweg read out loud.

“If the king requests our presence, then we shall be there. Thank you, Maester Helliweg,” Rhea dismissed the old man with a wave of her hand.

“I can’t believe he’s marrying again so soon, and to that fucking cunt's daughter,” the omega groaned, frustrated. He stood up and began pacing around the room.

“It’s only natural. Otto Hightower is his Hand, and who else is he to marry? Lady Laena Velaryon? She’s an alpha who hasn’t even had her first rut,” the alpha replied in a bored tone. “There are no other omegas at court but you, and you’re already wedded. What other choice did he have but to marry a lousy beta girl?” she added, rolling her eyes, speaking to him as if he were clueless.

“I just had some faith in my brother not to invite a leech into his bed. I guess Otto Hightower has sunk his teeth deeper than I thought,” Daemon muttered as he sat back down, grabbing his cutlery to finish his dinner.

Just then, his personal maid entered the room, carrying his crying son in her arms.

“Lady Rhea, Prince Daemon, Prince Baelon has been calling for you,” Elinda said, turning to Daemon. “I'm sorry, my prince. I haven’t been able to calm him down.”

The omega reached out for her to hand him his son. Once in his arms, little Baelon stopped wailing and looked up at him in wonder.

“It’s okay, I wanted to see him anyway. Thank you, Elinda,” Daemon reassured her, bouncing the baby alpha gently, which made Baelon laugh.

“Good, you should put him to sleep at once,” his alpha wife commanded as she rose from the table. “We leave tomorrow at first light.” She exited the room without looking back.

Daemon let out a long sigh, standing from the table and adjusting Baelon in his arms. As he tried to walk, he stumbled, feeling his head spin. He had to stop for a moment to steady himself. For the past two weeks, he hadn’t been feeling well. It had started with mild sickness but had worsened into him vomiting almost every morning, barely tolerating the smell of food. It all began just days after his heat, which he had unhappily spent with Rhea, who had forbidden Maester Helliweg from giving him moon tea. Now, Daemon suspected, he was unfortunately pregnant.

His fear was confirmed when the maester examined him properly. Daemon made him swear not to tell Rhea until it could no longer be hidden. He had secretly considered asking the maester for the special tea to end the pregnancy, but his omega instincts violently protested the thought. Ultimately, he gave in and decided to carry the baby to term, even though he had no desire to give Rhea another child. He was an omega, after all—his wishes didn’t matter.

—————————————

Their ship docked in King’s Landing at dawn on the second day of summer, Caraxes flying close behind. Daemon wasn’t happy when Rhea prohibited him from riding there on dragonback with Baelon, but he ultimately listened, not wanting to start another fight. They were welcomed by King Viserys, Princess Rhaenyra, and a group of Kingsguard standing behind them.

"My brother, and my little nephew!" the king exclaimed excitedly, arms wide open, as they approached.

“Your grace,” the omega said, stopping a few meters from the king and bowing his head slightly.

“Oh, don’t be so cold to me, baby brother. Come closer so I can see my little nephew.” Daemon adjusted his son in his arms and hesitantly advanced toward his brother. “There he is, Prince Baelon. You have your mother’s beautiful violet eyes,” Viserys said, caressing the child’s head, and then looking up into Daemon’s eyes. He turned toward Rhea with a smile. “And your alpha mother’s hair. You’ve grown so much; I haven’t seen you properly in such a long time,” he cooed at the baby, who laughed joyously.

“Kepus!” Baelon exclaimed, reaching his hands out toward Viserys, which made both brothers chuckle. Daemon gazed lovingly at his son, a wide smile spreading across his face.

Viserys looked up from the child to his brother. “How I’ve missed you, brother.”

“I’ve missed you too, Viserys,” Daemon responded sincerely, looking down.

“I’ve also missed you, Kepus,” Rhaenyra chimed in, approaching from behind the king. “You’ve grown even more beautiful since I last saw you,” the female alpha complimented him, looking him up and down, making him squirm slightly.

“Thank you, Princess,” he responded politely, offering a small smile. Rhaenyra’s earthy scent hit him all at once—the familiar smell of cashmere wood, cinnamon, and red thyme made him a little dizzy. He hadn’t been able to get that scent out of his nose ever since she had nearly claimed him. He had tried so hard not to think about it, to keep himself busy so he wouldn’t dwell on his niece in such a way, but every night the thoughts returned. He was ashamed to admit that during his last two heats, the only comfort he found came from that annoying scent that still clung to him.

“He looks absolutely glowing,” Viserys agreed with his daughter, hugging her with one arm while smiling broadly at Daemon.

“Perhaps it’s because of the pregnancy,” Rhea said, coming up behind Daemon and placing her hand on the small of his back. Daemon looked at her with wide eyes, surprised that she knew.

“How did you—”

“That’s wonderful news!” Viserys exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “We must celebrate! We’ll announce it at the Joust tomorrow before the wedding and dedicate the tournament to your future child!”

“You don’t have to—” Daemon began, adjusting Baelon in his arms and giving his brother a nervous smile.

“Nonsense! The second son of the only omega in the family shall be celebrated!” Viserys insisted.

“It could be a daughter—” the omega offered, but he was immediately interrupted by the alpha next to him.

“I agree. Thank you, your grace,” Rhea responded with a forced smile, gripping the back of his gambeson tightly.

Rhaenyra had gone strangely quiet after the announcement. Daemon glanced at her and saw her glaring daggers at the other female alpha. When she realized her uncle was watching, she shifted her gaze down, looking somber. Daemon found her behavior odd and wanted to ask if she was all right, but before he could speak, his brother ushered them to their apartments, claiming that a pregnant omega shouldn’t overexert himself.

They were given separate rooms next to each other, much to Daemon’s relief. Baelon’s crib had been moved to his chambers at the omega’s request—he wasn’t letting his son out of his sight. He put the baby alpha down for a quick nap before starting to remove his gambeson.

Just then, the door to his chambers opened suddenly, startling him. Ser Luthor Largent stood at the entrance, announcing that his wife wished to see him. Daemon adjusted his clothes and nodded at the guard to let the alpha in.

“I’ll overlook the fact that you forced Maester Helliweg to hide the knowledge of your pregnancy from me, in honor of you carrying my second heir,” Rhea said as she entered, arms crossed over her chest.

“And should I thank you for that? For being a decent human being?” Daemon laughed, rolling his eyes. “Or maybe I should, since you never know how to act like one. This seems like such an effort for you—perhaps you should lie down? I wouldn’t want my alpha to overwork herself,” he continued, faking concern and holding his hands to his chest in mock sympathy.

“You think you’re so funny, omega,” the alpha spat out with disgust. Rhea stepped closer, and before he could react, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him toward her. “Be thankful you’re pregnant. If not, I would’ve made you regret your little jokes.”

The alpha left through the door just as Elinda entered, a group of maids following behind her. He recognized some of them as the wet nurses who had assisted him during his labor. “My prince, the king has requested that you and your family join him for breakfast. We’ve been sent to help you and Prince Baelon freshen up and get ready.”

“Yes, thank you, Elinda,” he sighed, feeling exhausted.

Two Kingsguard entered with a bathtub, and the women quickly got to work, preparing a warm bath for him. Once bathed and dressed, he wore a long, dark gray sleeveless doublet with gold accents and clasps, cinched at the waist with a black belt adorned with a gold buckle. His undergarments were cream-colored and long-sleeved, and his black pants were tucked into knee-high black boots, detailed with gold. Baelon had been dressed in a matching little muted charcoal doublet with gold ornaments, paired with black pants and boots.

His son, tired of being carried, now walked beside him as they made their way hand in hand toward the dining room of the Red Keep. When they arrived, they took their seats, with Baelon placed in a specially made high chair, crafted just for him. The morning proceeded uneventfully, with Viserys reintroducing Lady Alicent, while Otto Hightower sat looking smug throughout.

Daemon noticed the female beta acting unusually—apart from her usual discomfort, she kept adjusting her dress, particularly around her stomach, as if it were too tight. Then there was his niece, Rhaenyra, who alternated between glaring daggers at Alicent or Rhea, and furiously stabbing her meat, as though it had personally offended her. He thought he saw a hint of sadness beneath all the anger in her eyes. Viserys, on the other hand, seemed overly happy, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around him, as always.

The rest of Daemon's day was peaceful. He went for a walk with Baelon in the Red Keep’s gardens and later visited the dragon pit with Rhaenyra, who excitedly introduced Syrax to his son. Daemon couldn’t help but smile at the sight, happy to see his niece and son bonding and, for the first time since his arrival, watching the young female alpha smile. They spent the remainder of the day together until Baelon grew tired, at which point Daemon sent him off to his chambers with Elinda, instructing her not to let him out of her sight.

Once alone, Rhaenyra’s somber mood returned. Daemon noticed the longing looks she kept casting at him, as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Finally, tired of the tension, he asked her what was on her mind. Once she began, the words poured out uncontrollably.

“...and I just don’t want you to die,” she said, looking down as tears slid down her face. “I don’t want to see you reduced to a broodmare, just to die in the birthing bed… like my mother.”

Daemon stared at her for a moment, absorbing her sorrowful expression. He could feel his omega side screaming at him to comfort his alpha—an instinct that frightened him.

“Rhaenyra…” he began softly, “You think giving birth a second time is going to kill me? I thought you had a little more faith in me,” he teased, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s going to take a lot more than labor to take me out, my sweet niece.” He sighed looking down, “What happened to your mother was a tragedy, but I would never let them reduce me to that, never Rhaenyra.”

“I won’t let them either. I’ll protect you from those greedy men and alphas at court, even from your own wife, even from my father if I have to,” she declared, lifting her head proudly and puffing her chest out. “If I were your alpha, I wouldn’t force you to bear children. We would be equals, ruling the Seven Kingdoms side by side, and we’d be unstoppable.” She held his hands, leaning closer. Daemon was overwhelmed by her scent, which seemed to envelop him, making him dizzy. She reached out, cupping his cheek with her hand.

“Rhaenyra…” he whispered, unconsciously leaning into her touch. He fell into a trance, his breath quickening as he stared at her, his thoughts clouded by the earthy smell surrounding him. “Rhaenyra… please… stop,” he begged, a brief moment of clarity breaking through.

“My beautiful omega,” she whispered, moving even closer. Her hand slid lower, almost touching his scent gland. He realized what she was doing—she was trying to scent-mark him—and it snapped him out of his daze.

“Rhaenyra! Stop!” Daemon demanded, his voice commanding. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m married!”

“Married, but not mated. She has bred you twice but hasn’t claimed you. I know there’s no love in your marriage; you only eloped out of duty, for my father. I know you never wanted children, and I know you don’t truly desire to birth this one,” she said, touching his stomach. “I know you only do it because you have no choice. But with me, you’ll always have a choice.”

“Alph… Rhaenyra, you’re three-and-ten. You’re just a child,” he said, frowning, trying to reason with her.

“I’m old enough to understand that you’re not happy. That the alpha who calls herself your wife mistreats you, sees you only as a broodmare,” she replied, gripping his hand tighter to prevent him from pulling away. “I’m old enough to know I want to take you away from that.”

“Let go.”

“I will, if you agree to at least think about it.”

“Rhaenyra…” he sighed, looking away.

“Please. I beg you, uncle.”

He stared at her for a long moment before reluctantly agreeing, just to make her let go—or at least that’s what he told himself. She released his hand as promised, bid him farewell, and left in the direction of her room. Daemon let out a shaky breath before returning to his chambers, where he fell asleep with Baelon in his arms.

The next day, the king officially announced his omega brother’s second pregnancy before the Tourney began. This was met with loud cheers and well-wishes from the attendees for the Prince of the City. It also resulted in a bold—or foolish—alpha from House Baratheon asking for Daemon’s favor, right in front of his wife. She only smirked, though her slightly bitter scent betrayed her true feelings. Daemon placed the flower crown on the knight’s spear, both admiring the man’s audacity and seeking to spite Rhea.

The Joust ended with the Baratheon knight’s victory, and he boldly named Daemon his Queen of Love and Beauty, placing a delicate crown on his head. The hefty alpha claimed it was a congratulatory gift for Daemon’s pregnancy. His wife was not pleased, though she maintained her composure. Viserys, on the other hand, laughed and clapped excitedly like a child. Daemon noticed Rhaenyra seething in her seat but chose to ignore it, not wanting to deal with her just then.

The king and Alicent were married in the tradition of the Faith of the Seven, with Otto handing his daughter over to Viserys. The beta girl wore a long white dress with silver embellishments, while his brother donned a black doublet with intricate gold stitching. Rhaenyra was dressed in a long black gown with gold stitching that matched her father’s attire. Daemon, meanwhile, was clad in a long-sleeved red tunic that reached his ankles, featuring puffed shoulders and cinched at the waist with a black and gold belt. Baelon wore a matching doublet.

The ceremony had been tedious, and when it finally ended, Daemon silently thanked the gods—he was starving. The guests gathered in the throne room, which had been rearranged for the great banquet. The Targaryen family was seated at the large table near the Iron Throne, with the Hightowers joining them, much to Daemon’s disdain. The king sat at the center, with Rhaenyra on his left and Alicent on his right. Otto sat beside his daughter, with Lord Hobert Hightower next to him. Daemon sat beside Rhaenyra, with Baelon on his lap and Rhea next to him.

Viserys gave a long-winded speech, rambling about prosperity and newfound love in times of tragedy. Daemon thought it was all nonsense—he just wanted to eat. The smell of meat made him nauseous, so his plate had been specially curated. He silently thanked whoever handled the seating arrangements for not placing him next to his brother, who loved meat and whose plate was full of it.

After finishing the entrée and main course, a variety of desserts were placed on the table. Now in the third week of his pregnancy, Daemon’s cravings had been driving him mad. He had been craving one of those cakes filled with grapes that the cooks at the Red Keep often made. When he spotted a slice in front of him, he excitedly grabbed it. He ended up eating three slices and even a few bites of Rhaenyra’s lemon cake.

Between eating, Daemon got up to dance with his son to tire him out. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but he ignored them, focusing on letting his son have fun. Once Elinda took Baelon to bed, Rhaenyra requested a dance with Daemon, glaring at his wife as she did. He accepted, and they danced through three full songs before they were interrupted by Harwin Strong, who requested a dance with his niece, and the Baratheon knight, who asked for one with Daemon. The omega indulged the knight for a bit before returning to his seat, claiming his feet were hurting.

The rest of the night, Daemon spent observing the crowd. He noticed how Rhaenyra flitted from one dance partner to another. It seemed everyone wanted her attention tonight—she was called the Realm’s Delight for a reason. Daemon tried to suppress the jealousy rising in his chest, blaming it on the pregnancy.

Viserys and Alicent eventually retired to the king’s chambers, and Daemon shuddered at the thought of what might be happening inside. Shortly after, the omega retired to his own apartments, escorted by Ser Luthor. The remainder of their stay in King’s Landing passed uneventfully until they left on the fifth day of summer, four days before the festivities were set to end. Rhea had insisted that her pregnant husband should not overexert himself, so they left aboard their ship, with Caraxes flying behind them as they made their way back to Runestone.

Chapter Text

Eight months later

A very heavily pregnant Daemon was in the library, reading one of the old Valyrian history books he had requested be brought to Runestone, when a sharp pain rushed through his bulging stomach. He quickly stood up as he felt wetness slip out of him, reaching under his tunic and finding his hand coming back bloody. This terrified the omega, who screamed for his sworn sword as another wave of pain hit him. He grabbed onto the table, struggling to stay upright.

Ser Luthor Largent rushed into the room, immediately going to Daemon and helping him stand as soon as he saw him. The alpha called for the other guards, ordering them to fetch the maester and the wetnurses and prepare the room appointed for the birth. The large man helped the omega slowly make his way to the room. Once there, Maester Helliweg tried to help him onto the bed, but Daemon refused, claiming it wasn’t time yet.

"My prince, please, we need to make sure everything is fine, especially since the baby is arriving a month early."

"No! Don’t touch me," the omega yelled angrily, pulling away from the men with the little strength he had left.

He started walking around the room, holding his lower back and protruding belly, hissing every time another wave of pain hit him. He kept moving, breathing heavily, and refusing any help. Something felt terribly wrong—she shouldn’t be coming so soon; she still had a month left. Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, Daemon was really scared.

A particularly painful wave hit him suddenly, making his legs wobble, but he was able to catch himself on a table before he fell. Ser Luthor and Elinda tried to reach for him, but the omega immediately pushed them away.

"Stop! Stop! Don’t touch me! Stop touching me!" Daemon cried, retreating to a corner of the room. He felt like he was dying, his omega instincts screaming at him to save her, to not let her die.

He hunkered down between a table and the back of a chair, leaning on them for support. The midwives knelt in front of him, begging him to let them help, but the omega only threw his head back, groaning loudly. Then he felt that familiar pressure in his lower belly, and he knew it was time to push, so he did.

He kept pushing for what felt like hours. He was covered in sweat, tears rolling uncontrollably down his face. Every time someone tried to touch him or come too close, he would yell at them to leave. Daemon was in agonizing pain; all he could do was scream and push, hoping his daughter would come out already.

Finally, he felt the head begin to emerge, which gave him newfound strength to keep going. His body was burning, his arms were aching, and his head felt heavy—he just wanted it all to end. He pushed with each contraction, screaming in pain each time. The others in the room could also hear the high-pitched wails of the prince’s red dragon, almost as if the creature could feel his rider’s pain.

He kept pushing until the baby slipped out swiftly after her shoulders were out. He immediately gathered the skirts of his tunic and reached out to hold his daughter in his arms. He held her close to his chest, breathing heavily, but then realized she hadn’t cried yet. His eyes widened in panic, and he quickly handed her off to the maester.

"Wha—what is wrong with her?" he asked, his voice breaking as he looked pleadingly at the man.

Maester Helliweg took the baby into his arms as one of the midwives cut the umbilical cord. The beta man got up and carried the baby away, causing the omega to cry out, reaching for her, but Ser Luthor held him back.

"Let go of me! Stop! Let go!" Daemon tried to push the alpha away, but he was too weak.

"My prince, they’re trying to help. You need to calm down; you’re too weak," the guard said, holding him closer.

"My baby! Give me my baby! What is wrong with her?" Daemon screamed hysterically, still trying to reach out for her.

The maester was gently tapping the baby’s back, trying to get her to respond. After a moment, she let out a small cry, and everyone in the room sighed in relief. Daemon demanded his daughter, getting off the floor with Ser Luthor's help. But just as they were about to approach, the omega groaned, crouching down a little as he pushed out the afterbirth. He straightened up after and kept advancing toward the maester who met him halfway extending the baby so he could take her.

Finally, with his daughter in his arms, Daemon was helped onto the bed in the center of the room. She was so small—too small—it frightened the omega, but he still rocked her gently. Tears streamed down his face as he felt an overwhelming grief for something he had not yet lost.

The maester and Ser Luthor had left the room, allowing the midwives to clean and bathe the omega. Even as they bathed him, he refused to let go of his baby. When one of the midwives tried to take his daughter from him, he growled, holding her closer to his chest. He didn’t release his grip, not even when they were dressing him in a light nightgown. Gently, they helped him into bed, ensuring he was comfortable and tucking the covers over his legs.

Rhea entered the room a few minutes later, followed by the castle’s cleaners, only to be met with a horrifying scene. A pool of blood stained one corner of the floor, with a trail leading to the bed, where her omega husband sat, cradling a small bundle in his arms. The room was heavy with the omega’s bitter scent, thick with distress. As she approached the bed, she instinctively covered her nose against the overwhelming smell and craned her neck to get a closer look. The child was tiny, pale, and frail—almost sickly.

"Her name is Alyssa," Daemon said, not taking his eyes off the baby. Rhea could see him crying but chose not to comment.

"Fine..." the alpha whispered, staring at them for a moment longer before leaving the room without looking back.

Alyssa had fed a little, which calmed Daemon slightly, but the horrible pit in his stomach remained. He felt nauseous. It was late, so Elinda reluctantly took the baby from him and placed her in the cradle, which had been moved as close as possible to the bed where Daemon lay. He wanted to stay awake to make sure his baby was okay, but exhaustion eventually overtook him, and he fell asleep.

When he woke the next morning, he vomited, the pit in his belly still gnawing at him. Turning to look at the cradle, his hands shook with anxiety. He stared at Alyssa, noticing she hadn’t moved—not even the faintest sign of breathing. Panic surged through him, and he immediately screamed for the maester, sobbing desperately and demanding to know what was wrong with her.

His daughter hadn’t survived the night. Daemon didn’t know what to do. He had longed for a daughter for so long. He’d always told himself that if he ever had children, it would be a girl—or two—so they wouldn’t feel lonely. He thought boys were harder to raise, more complicated. When he had Baelon, he had been frightened, but quickly adjusted, following his instincts and loving his son unconditionally. He adored Baelon, but deep in his heart, he still longed for a daughter. From the moment he found out he was pregnant, he knew the baby was a girl. And he had her—only for a few hours.

All he could do was call for Baleon with a broken voice. Elinda quickly brought the three-year-old child to him and Daemon hugged him to his chest smelling his son’s hair, trying to calm himself down. 

"Muña, I love you," his child said, wrapping his little arms around his neck. Baelon didn’t fully understand what had happened; all he knew was that his mother was sad, and as an alpha, it was his duty to take care of him. Daemon let out a sob, hugging his son tighter and crying into his hair.

—————————————

Three days later, a raven arrived, announcing that the king and queen’s new baby boy, Prince Aegon II Targaryen, had been born healthy and strong—an alpha—despite arriving a month early. Apparently, Alicent had gone into labor around the same time Daemon had. Both of them had faced similar circumstances, but the difference was that her son was alive, and his daughter wasn’t. Viserys finally had the son he always wanted, while Daemon had lost the daughter he had always dreamed of. To him, it felt like his daughter was the price paid for his brother’s selfish desires. The gods truly had a cruel sense of humor.

He had refused to let the Silent Sisters prepare his daughter’s body for the funeral, choosing instead to do it himself while the three women watched from behind. Alyssa was given a traditional Valyrian funeral, with Caraxes igniting the funerary pyre. Daemon didn’t need to give the command; the Blood Wyrm knew when it was time.

The omega was inconsolable, barely leaving his room, and only wanting Baelon for company. Two days after the first raven, another arrived from King’s Landing, expressing the king’s deepest condolences and promising to visit soon, but he never did. Rhaenyra had also written to him separately, saying she would be arriving in two days by dragonback.

And she did. Daemon had wanted to greet her personally, but he wasn’t able to stand for long periods of time, as his postpartum was hitting him hard. His now fourteen-year-old niece stayed for a month, taking care of him and spending time with Baelon. She helped Daemon walk around the castle and applied an ointment Grand Maester Mellos had given her on his lower belly to help with cramps. She would also hold him when he cried and listen to his stories.

At first, the omega was reluctant to truly open up to her—she was just a child, after all—but she confided in him that she had asked Maester Mellos how to properly care for a grieving omega who had lost a child too soon. After she admitted that, Daemon completely broke down and spoke to her about his deep desire for a daughter. Rhaenyra held him while he sobbed, bringing his nose up to her scent gland. Daemon hated to admit that her earthy scent instantly calmed him, bringing a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time.

At one point the ravens from King’s Landing were too much so Rhea very firmly told Rhaenyra she had to go back before her father came to retrieve her himself. When his niece bid him farewell, he was tempted to ask her to stay but thought better of it, not wanting to drag her down with his grief. Daemon just watched her mount Syrax and fly far away. A feeling of longing settled in his heart, an emptiness he knew only one person could fill, but he wouldn’t entertain the thought—she was only a child, after all.

—————————————

Grief was such a strange feeling. One day, Daemon couldn’t stop crying or leave his bed, wanting Baelon by his side at all times. The next, he felt fine, without shedding a tear, going on rides with Caraxes or training with Ser Luthor. However, no matter how the day went, the nights were always hell. He dreaded the solitude when his son fell asleep, leaving the room in silence. Alone with his thoughts, Daemon couldn’t stop wondering what might have been if he hadn’t been so stressed during his pregnancy. If he hadn’t failed in his sole purpose, his daughter would still be here with him.

Daemon was sure he was losing his mind. He refused to let the guards remove Alyssa’s cradle from his room—where else would he put her when she needed to sleep? She had to be near him at all times; she was too young, too vulnerable. She needed her mother. Rhea would grow frustrated and yell at him, reminding him that Alyssa was dead, accusing him of being a failure, unable to be a good broodmare. He knew his daughter was gone—he had been the one to give birth to her, the one who had held her in her last moments. He wasn’t delusional. But it was easier to cope if he pretended she was simply in the castle’s nursery, taking a nap, waiting for him to bring her to bed.

A year had passed since they lost their daughter, and Rhea’s frustration reached a breaking point during a dinner with the Royce family. They sat at a large table, Rhea at the center, Daemon to her right, and Baelon beside him after throwing a tantrum when Rhea tried to sit him next to her.

Baelon had become increasingly distant toward Rhea. He had never been close to her, as she made little effort to spend time with him, but now he couldn’t tolerate her. He would burst into tears or try to fight her if she got too close, and in recent months, he’d even started growling at her whenever she approached Daemon. When Rhea demanded an explanation, Maester Helliweg explained that it was normal for a growing alpha to become protective over their closest parent, especially if they were an omega—it was instinct. Furious, Rhea had stormed to Daemon, yelling that he was spoiling the boy, insisting Baelon needed to learn how to be the head of the house and a proper alpha—something an omega couldn’t teach him.

Dinner was underway, with the rest of the Royce family scattered around the table, eating and engaging in quiet conversations. Daemon was focused on helping Baelon eat but had yet to touch his own food.

“Stop babying him and eat your damn food, omega!” Rhea suddenly yelled, slamming her cutlery onto her plate.

The room fell silent. All eyes turned toward the head alpha. Daemon froze, turning to face his wife, his eyes wide in shock.

“You spend all your time feeding him like he’s an infant, while your food gets cold. Then you complain about feeling nauseous from eating cold meat,” she spat, her expression filled with disgust.

“I just… I need to make sure my children are fed before I eat,” Daemon replied firmly, glaring at her.

“Our child! Ours, Daemon!” Rhea screamed, abruptly standing, and knocking over her chair. “You keep saying children as if there are more, but there aren’t! She’s dead! You need to get that through your thick omega skull—it’s been a year!” She advanced on him, her scent thick with anger, suffocating the room.

“Don’t yell at my Muña!” Baelon’s voice rang out before Daemon could react. “Stop hurting my mother! I won’t let you! I’m a grown alpha now, and I won’t let you hurt him anymore!” The young alpha growled as Rhea stepped closer.

“How dare you speak to your mother like that!” Rhea snapped.

“You’re not my mother! I only have an omega mother! You’ve never been my mother, and you never will be!”

Daemon quickly stood and placed himself between the two alphas. He noticed Ser Luthor and another guard approaching from the corner of his eye, hands on their sword hilts, ready to intervene.

Rhea stopped in front of him. “Move. Move!” she shouted in his face, her scent thick with rage. When Daemon didn’t obey, she grabbed his bicep, trying to shove him aside to get to Baelon.

Daemon swiftly twisted out of her hold, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer. “You can threaten and abuse me all you want, but if you lay a finger on my son, you’ll regret it,” he hissed, pressing the dagger he always kept at his belt to her throat.

Rhea’s guard had drawn his sword, but Ser Luthor was quicker, disarming him before he could take another step.

“Omega! Step away from your alpha at once!” Rhea’s cousin, Gerold Royce, exclaimed, scandalized as he stood from his chair, approaching the alpha and omega. “How dare you threaten your wife, omega!”

Daemon hesitated before pulling away from Rhea and sheathing his dagger. The female alpha’s guard attempted to grab the omega, but Ser Luthor immediately intervened, positioning himself in front of the two alphas, shielding Daemon and his son.

“The omega should be punished! For disrespecting and threatening his alpha,” Gerold Royce shouted. Baelon hugged his mother around the waist protectively at the sound of Royce’s demand.

“I won’t let you touch my Muña!” the child screamed, stepping in front of Daemon.

All Daemon could do was wrap his arms around his son from behind, pulling him close in a protective embrace. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the scents of various alphas, making everyone uneasy. Daemon felt suffocated, the overwhelming smell of alphas making his skin burn with anxiety.

“Control your scents, you animals! Don’t you know how your stinking alpha scents affect an omega?” Rhea’s beta aunt cut through the tension, standing and holding her son back. “You’re all acting like feral animals. It’s only natural for an omega to protect his pup fiercely, especially when they feel threatened.”

“But—”

“Enough, Gerold!” Rhea interrupted the angry alpha. “We don’t want to push the fragile omega into an early heat,” she added, glancing at Daemon with a smirk before turning to the gathered company. “Dinner is over. Take our son to bed, omega,” she ordered, barely sparing Daemon another glance before walking away.

Gerold Royce lingered, staring at Daemon. Ser Luthor quickly stepped in, positioning his body between the alpha and the omega, preventing Royce from glaring any further. Royce scoffed, muttering something under his breath before finally turning and leaving.

Only then did Daemon allow himself to relax. He knelt in front of Baelon, cupping his cheeks. “How are you feeling, my little dragon?”

“I’m fine, Muña,” Baelon reassured him, placing his hands over his mother’s. “But are you okay, Muña?”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Daemon smiled at his son’s concern, gently removing his hands from Baelon’s cheeks and holding his smaller hands in his own.

“I do worry,” Baelon replied, his expression sad.

“You’re too young to worry, my dragon,” the omega murmured, pressing a kiss to his son’s palms.

“I’m an alpha now, and I’m older. It’s my duty to protect you,” Baelon declared, his frown deepening as he squeezed Daemon’s hands tighter.

“So young and already talking about duty,” Daemon whispered with a soft smile, stroking his son’s hair lovingly. “Come, little dragon. It’s time for the big alpha to go to sleep.” He stood up, taking Baelon’s hand in his and leading him toward their chambers.

Baelon had a room of his own, decorated for him when he turned three, and outgrew his cradle. He had used it for two weeks before he couldn’t bear to spend any more nights away from Daemon. Tracking his mother’s scent, Baelon had snuck into Daemon’s room one night and fallen asleep immediately in his bed.

Rhea had caused a scene, yelling that Daemon was spoiling Baelon. She claimed he would grow too dependent on his mother, and with Targaryen blood in his veins, it wouldn’t surprise her if he ended up in love with him. Daemon had dismissed her concerns, allowing his son to sleep in his room whenever he wished.

The mother and son made their way to Daemon’s chambers. Upon entering, the heavy, sweet scent of cherries and wildflowers enveloped them, immediately calming Baelon. The young alpha yawned, Daemon’s scent having grown thicker than usual as his heat approached—a time he dreaded. Rhea hadn’t touched him since their second child’s birth, but recently, she had consulted Maester Helliweg about the timing of his next heat. Daemon knew this meant she hadn’t given up on her desire for another child—her “spear,” as she had once called it.

Baelon let out another loud yawn, pulling Daemon out of his thoughts. The omega smiled, scooping up his son and carrying him to the large bed, tucking him in before slipping under the covers himself. The young alpha immediately nestled against him, burying his nose in Daemon’s neck where his scent was strongest. Daemon wrapped his arms around Baelon, pressing his face into his son’s hair, and the two drifted into a deep sleep, holding each other close.

—————————————

The wind whipped through her hair, undoing the intricate braid Talya had carefully crafted that morning, but Rhaenyra didn’t care. Syrax soared through the clouds, performing graceful pirouettes, and her rider’s laughter echoed across the sky. Rhaenyra had felt trapped over the past year, ever since she had been forbidden from seeing her uncle after secretly visiting him at Runestone following the death of his daughter. Her father had been furious when she returned, scolding her, but not imposing any harsher punishment. Somehow, Otto had convinced Viserys to ban her from the dragon pit, and she had been placed under constant watch to ensure she couldn’t leave the keep.

It wasn’t just that. Since Aegon II's birth, she had been pushed aside. Her father had been overjoyed, finally having a son and an alpha at that. Though Viserys had named her his heir, Rhaenyra felt more like a placeholder for the true heir. Over the past year, it had become painfully clear to her—everyone in the keep adored Aegon, while she seemed to have faded into the background. She had even overheard some highborn lords referring to Aegon as the future king as if they had forgotten about her entirely.

She felt utterly alone. Her closest friend had now become her stepmother, the queen. Viserys was consumed with the business of ruling and doting on his miracle son. Aegon had been born prematurely, almost two months early, yet instead of being weak and frail, he was large and strong, his cries filling the Red Keep. Rhaenyra didn’t believe the stories; she was certain that Aegon had been conceived before her father and Alicent’s official wedding, meaning Viserys had been with her so soon after her mother’s death. It all just made her angrier with everyone in the keep.

Rhaenyra missed her uncle fiercely. Daemon had not returned to King's Landing since her father’s wedding, and she had last seen him at Runestone a month after the loss of his daughter. When the news had reached them, a day had already passed. Her father had sent word, intending to visit, but with Otto Hightower looming over him, Rhaenyra knew he wouldn’t keep his word. So, she took matters into her own hands, determined to check on Daemon herself. She had even sought Maester Mellos’s advice on how to care for a grieving omega before heading to the dragon pit and flying off on Syrax.

From her earliest memories, Rhaenyra had adored her uncle. On her fourth name day, she had declared before all the gathered lords and ladies that she would marry him and he would bear enough children to repopulate Old Valyria. Her father had thought she would outgrow the notion, but she never did. She had simply learned to hide it better.

There was something about Daemon that drew her in. At first, she thought it was his sweet scent, but over the years, she realized it was much more. Her first rut had been consumed with thoughts of him, and those thoughts had only grown less innocent as time went on. She loved him in a way a niece shouldn’t love her uncle, but she had long since stopped caring. Daemon was the omega she wanted, and deep down, she knew he wanted her too—at least a little. She could feel it. The blood of the dragon bound them.

Rhaenyra also despised Rhea Royce, Daemon’s alpha wife—not just because she was his wife, but because Rhaenyra knew Rhea mistreated him. During her month-long stay at Runestone, Rhea had appeared civilized, even polite, but her true nature had shown itself when she sent Rhaenyra back to King’s Landing. The jealousy and irritation had radiated off her like a weapon, almost like a sharp dagger she wanted to sink into her. Whenever Rhea interacted with Daemon, Rhaenyra could detect the subtle shift in the omega’s scent, like a fleeting hint of fear. The castle’s maids gossiped, whispering about how Rhea would scream at Daemon, slap him, and only visit his chambers during his heat. They even said she referred to their late daughter as “the spear.” It was disgusting.

Rhea Royce wasn’t fit to be an alpha, certainly not for an omega like Daemon. Rhaenyra couldn’t fathom what her father had been thinking when he married the only other pure Targaryen omega, apart from her mother, to someone like a Royce. Daemon should have been betrothed to her. Viserys should have waited until she came of age and wed him to her, ensuring the purity of their house. She would be a far better alpha, protecting and caring for him. Had Daemon been with her, his daughter would still be alive. The conditions he lived in now were no place for an omega to be happy or bear healthy, strong children. She had to get him out of there, no matter the cost.

She was brought out of her thoughts as Syrax landed at the entrance of the Dragonpit. As she dismounted, she noticed a group of Kingsguard gathered, seemingly waiting for her, with Criston Cole, her sworn sword, among them.

“Princess, the queen has summoned you to her chambers,” Ser Westerling spoke as she approached them.

Rhaenyra barely stopped herself from letting out a loud groan or rolling her eyes. Instead, she simply nodded and followed the Kingsguard through the keep, toward the consort’s apartments. When they arrived, Ser Westerling announced her, and Rhaenyra stepped into the room, where Alicent was trying to calm a wailing Aegon.

“You called for me, Your Grace?” Rhaenyra asked, her tone laced with mock politeness.

“Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, perking up at the sight of her. She handed the still-crying baby to one of her ladies-in-waiting before turning to Rhaenyra. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Rhaenyra replied, annoyance clear in her voice, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Rhaenyra... please—” Alicent reached out, attempting to grab the alpha’s arm.

Rhaenyra swiftly stepped away, avoiding the beta’s touch. “Actually, I’m really tired from my ride, and I probably smell like dragon, so I think I’ll go take a bath,” she said, turning to leave.

“Rhaenyra!” her father called out excitedly, entering the room with open arms.

Reluctantly, she allowed Viserys to hug her. “Hey…”

“Have you come to see Aegon? Come here,” he said, signaling the maid holding the baby. He took Aegon from her and turned to Rhaenyra, extending the child toward her. Hesitantly, she accepted him. “See? Such cute siblings,” Viserys exclaimed with a wide smile.

Rhaenyra forced an awkward smile, feeling uncomfortable as she held her half-brother. Alicent wore a frown, her expression almost sad, but Rhaenyra couldn’t bring herself to care. She had stopped caring about Alicent long ago—ever since her father had announced his marriage to the beta girl. In Rhaenyra’s eyes, Alicent had been dead to her since that moment, and she had buried her feelings when she first laid eyes on Aegon—the so-called premature baby, who had been born so strong and healthy.

She held the baby for a few moments while her father chatted about her dragon ride, but the instant Aegon began crying again, she handed him back to his nurse, using it as her cue to leave.

As she made her way to her chambers, all she could think about was her little cousin Baelon. Holding Aegon had reminded her of the first time Daemon had let her hold his baby. She had been so young and small then, needing her uncle’s help to hold Baelon, but she had admired the baby for a few minutes, marveling at how beautiful he was. Even as a newborn, he looked so much like his omega mother.

She had seen Baelon again at Runestone after sneaking away, he had grown so much—it made her realize how much she had missed of his life. She was missing out on Daemon’s child’s life, and she blamed her father for it. If he hadn’t sold Daemon off to the Royce house, her uncle would have been happy, and Baelon would have been hers, not that worthless alpha’s.

—————————————

Two years later

Baelon watched as his mother effortlessly blocked Ser Luthor’s attack, pushing the guard back with his sword before swiftly extending his arm, pointing the blade at the knight’s throat, stopping him in his tracks.

Ser Luthor smiled. “You’ve won again, my prince.”

“Of course, Ser,” the omega replied, lowering his sword with a smirk.

“Don’t be so humble, my prince,” the alpha teased, but his playful tone was interrupted when the prince groaned and doubled over, clutching his lower belly. “My prince! Are you alright?” Ser Luthor rushed to his side, helping him stay upright.

“I’m fine,” his mother said, brushing off the alpha’s concern. Baelon, who had been sitting on the floor, quickly rushed over to him. “I’m alright, little dragon, don’t worry about me,” his mother reassured him.

Baelon could smell his mother’s sweet scent growing stronger, as it had been for two days now. He had overheard his mother asking the maester for a special tea every night for the past two weeks when he thought Baelon was asleep. The young alpha didn’t fully understand what was happening, but he knew it was that time of the month when his mother would lock himself in his chambers, allowing only betas and omegas to tend to him. The only alpha permitted inside was Rhea, though his omega mother never seemed happy about it.

Even at his young age, Baelon knew his mother dreaded this time, especially after his second birth. He hadn’t gotten pregnant since, and every time Rhea brought up the topic, Baelon could smell his mother’s fear. The older alpha probably thought Baelon didn’t understand because of his age, but he actually understood a lot—perhaps too much.

He still remembered the last time Rhea had left his mother’s chambers. Baelon had smelled the fear clinging to her, mixed with a faint hint of blood. Worried, he had gone inside and found his mother unconscious on the bed, naked and brutalized. He had screamed for help, and after his mother had been treated, he stayed by his side, overhearing Maester Helliweg tell Ser Luthor that the female alpha had forced herself on the omega. His mother had fought back fiercely but couldn’t stop her due to his weakened condition. Baelon’s thoughts were interrupted by his mother’s whine.

“My prince, you can’t delay this any longer. You need to let me take you to—”

“No! I said I’m fine, Ser Luthor!” his mother panted, his face contorted in pain.

“My prince, you are not fine. Please,” the older alpha pleaded, concern evident in his voice.

“I can’t—I can’t, she’ll—I don’t want to,” Baelon watched as tears streamed down his mother’s face, panic rising in his chest.

“Prince Baelon, find Elinda and tell her to meet us at the tunnels. She’ll know what to do,” Ser Luthor instructed him. Baelon stood frozen for a moment, staring at his mother. “My prince. Please.”

The urgency in the knight’s voice snapped Baelon into action. He quickly ran to the castle, frantically searching for his mother’s personal maid. Upon finding her, he delivered Ser Luthor’s message. Elinda took his hand and led him to his mother’s chambers, where she began packing both his and his mother’s clothes into bags. Once done, she grabbed his hand again, but instead of leaving through the main door, she opened a hidden passage in the wall that led to a set of stairs.

They descended quickly, navigating the dark tunnels beneath the castle, eventually emerging into a large cave. Baelon recognized it instantly—it was where Caraxes slept. He could hear the dragon’s high-pitched roars and smell the strong sweetness of his mother’s scent.

As they approached the noise, they finally reached his mother. He was sitting on the cave floor, leaning back against Caraxes, the dragon’s long neck curled protectively around him. Ser Luthor stood off to the side, keeping a respectful distance but remaining alert. Caraxes opened his eyes briefly, lifting his head to inspect the approaching pair, then lowered it again.

“Baelon…” his mother called weakly, extending his arm toward him.

The young alpha rushed to his mother’s side, and Caraxes paid him no mind. As soon as Baelon reached him, his mother pulled him into his arms, burying his nose in Baelon’s hair, and inhaling his comforting scent.

“Ser Luthor, Elinda… leave. We’ll be fine,” his mother said softly.

“No. I’m not leaving you alone like this,” the knight protested, standing his ground.

“I’m not alone. Baelon’s here with me, and Caraxes will protect us if anything happens. Please… just… leave,” his mother pleaded.

“Ser Luthor, listen to him. You’re an alpha, your scent will only upset him more,” Elinda said, grabbing the knight’s arm and gently pulling him toward the tunnels. Ser Luthor hesitated but ultimately allowed himself to be led away.

Baelon wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck. “I’ll protect you, Muña.”

Three days later, Caraxes had flown out to hunt, having refused to eat for days, preferring to stay and protect his rider. Daemon had changed into a nightgown as his skin burned with fever. Elinda had been secretly bringing them food and clean clothes. At the moment, it was just the two of them in the cave. His mother had been delirious since they first arrived, only now starting to regain his senses.

Now, Daemon slept, while Baelon stood watch, holding his mother’s dagger in his hands. He had woken up that morning with a pit in his stomach, an unshakable sense of dread. He didn’t know if it was paranoia, but he felt something terrible was about to happen. Elinda had refused to tell them what was happening in the castle, but Baelon could imagine it was chaos. It wasn’t normal for the omega and heir to the house to simply vanish.

Baelon didn’t remember falling asleep, but the sound of echoing footsteps woke him. He sniffed the air and immediately recognized his alpha mother’s angry scent. Standing quickly, dagger in hand, he readied himself for whatever was coming. He glanced over at his mother, who was still sleeping, then tightened his grip, turning back toward the noise.

“How dare you! How dare you, you worthless omega!” Rhea screamed as she appeared, her face red with fury, eyes wild. In her right hand, she held a sword.

The moment she saw Baelon, she charged toward him, sword raised, ready to strike her own son down. He froze, closing his eyes and bracing for the blow. But instead of pain, he heard the sharp clang of clashing blades. Opening his eyes, he saw a sword blocking Rhea’s, and his omega mother standing between them, his face full of anger.

Baelon tried to speak, but before he could say anything, Daemon shoved him behind him, positioning himself as a shield between his son and the enraged alpha.

“You worthless omega! How dare you hide your heat from me and kidnap my heir!” Rhea swung her sword again, aiming for Daemon.

Despite his condition, Daemon blocked every strike, but he was clearly struggling. The heat of his body, signaling his vulnerability, filled the air, and Rhea took advantage. She pushed out her scent aggressively, flooding the cave with the overpowering smell of a dominant alpha. The overwhelming scent caused Daemon to falter just long enough for Rhea to slap him hard, sending him to the ground.

Baelon stood frozen, anxiety tightening his stomach. He watched helplessly as Rhea approached his mother, who lay sprawled on the ground.

“You think you’re better than me? You think you’re stronger just because you’re a Targaryen?” she spat, stepping closer to the omega. “You’re nothing more than a broodmare. When people look at you, all they see is a hole—a wet hole for them to use. That’s all you are, Daemon. That’s all you’ll ever be! You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing.”

Rhea loomed over him, her voice dripping with madness. “I should execute you for what you’ve done. But then, who would bear my heirs? But if I really think about it, I don’t need all of you for that. I just need your cunt and womb. You don’t need your arms or legs to give me children…”

Hearing those words snapped Baelon out of his frozen state. Adrenaline surged through his body. He saw Rhea raise her sword high, preparing to strike. Without thinking, he gripped the dagger tighter and ran at her, launching himself toward the alpha.

Rhea screamed in pain as Baelon buried the dagger deep into her side. She shoved him away, pulling the blade from her body. Turning toward him, she now held a weapon in each hand, her eyes wild with fury, a crazed look on her face.

“You worthless child! Sorry excuse of an alpha, always running to his mommy! Tell me Baelon, do you want to fuck your mother? Do you want to bury yourself in his tight cunt? Is that why you hate me so much? Because I stand between you and the whore!” She swung her sword down, barely missing the younger alpha as he moved away—swiftly getting up. 

He faced the madwoman as she straightened up, a creepy smile twisting her features. She launched herself at him, but Baelon barely dodged, though he fell in the process. Rhea approached him slowly, readying herself to strike again. Before she could bring down her weapon, Baelon grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it at her face.

She groaned, dropping the dagger to shield her eyes. The young alpha seized the opportunity, grabbing the discarded weapon and swiftly stabbing her thigh, drawing a scream of pain from her lips. He pulled the dagger out and stabbed again, this time lower—into her knee—twisting the knife until her leg buckled.

Rhea collapsed forward, the dagger still stuck in her knee. Baelon, thrown back by the impact, scrambled to crawl away from her. But with an angry glare, she looked directly at him, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Come here, you little shit!" she yelled, reaching out and grabbing his leg.

Baelon kicked at her, but she was far too strong for a six-year-old to fend off. Desperate, he glanced toward his mother, who was still lying on the ground, struggling to rise, the heat overtaking him. Rhea climbed up Baelon’s body, pinning him down easily. With neither of them holding a weapon, all Baelon could do was try to push her arms away. But she overpowered him, shaking free of his grip. Her hands found his throat, and she squeezed.

“My firstborn—good for nothing. Worthless alpha. I don’t need you. I can make more,” she sneered, her wide, manic smile sending chills down his spine. "Once I kill you, I’ll fuck your mother and put another baby in him. Your replacement," she whispered, her face leaning closer.

“Baelon!” his mother’s hoarse voice cried out from somewhere nearby, but Baelon couldn’t tell where. His vision blurred, the world fading as Rhea’s grip tightened around his neck.

"You hear that? Your whore of a mother calling for you," Rhea taunted, her laughter dark and cruel. "Too bad you'll be long dead before he can even get off the ground." She leaned back, increasing the pressure on his neck.

Baelon felt himself slipping away, his small hands desperately clawing at her arms, but it was no use. The air was gone, his strength was fading... until suddenly, the crushing grip vanished. He gasped, choking as precious air rushed back into his lungs. He coughed violently, struggling to breathe as he looked up.

Rhea was lying on her side, wide-eyed, clutching her stomach. Baelon glanced down and saw a gaping wound in her torso.

A whimper beside him snapped his attention to his mother, who was holding his lower belly with bloodied hands. Panic set in, and Baelon rushed to him, frantically examining him for injuries.

“It’s okay, little dragon. It’s not mine,” Daemon reassured him, his voice soft as he gently caressed Baelon’s hair.

A wave of relief washed over Baelon, and he threw himself into his mother’s arms. “Muña…” he sobbed, unable to hold back his tears.

Daemon held him close, tears of his own falling as he spoke between sobs. “My baby—I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be—Muña,” Baelon’s voice broke, the terror of what had almost happened overwhelming him. He couldn’t stop crying, his small body shaking with fear and relief.

“Prince Baelon! My prince!” A loud voice echoed through the cave. Ser Luthor Largent appeared, his face filled with alarm. “My prince! What—” He stopped abruptly, taking in the sight before him.

Without letting go of Baelon, Daemon turned to face the guard. “Ser Luthor—” he tried to speak but was overcome with emotion.

“My prince!” Ser Luthor swiftly took off his gold cloak and draped it around Daemon’s shoulders.

“You ungrateful child!” Rhea rasped, her voice weak but filled with venom. “You dare do this to your own mother—all for your whore of an omega mother!” she spat, her words dripping with hatred.

Baelon pulled away from his mother’s embrace and stood, approaching the fallen alpha. He looked down at the woman who had called herself his mother, cold fury in his eyes. “I only have one mother,” he said, his voice steady despite the tears. “And his name is Daemon Targaryen. He is an omega, but he’s more of an alpha than you could ever hope to be.”

Daemon, trembling, reached out to his son, needing to feel him, to ensure he was alive and safe. Baelon took his hand and returned to his side.

“Let’s go, Mother—far away from here,” Baelon pleaded, gazing into his mother’s soft violet eyes.

“Yes… maybe I should finally accept the Sea Snake’s invitation to stay in Driftmark,” Daemon whispered, glancing at Ser Luthor with a small, tired smile.

“You both should leave on Caraxes,” Ser Luthor responded. “I’ll return to gather what I can. I’ll take Elinda, and we’ll make our way to Driftmark.”

“Are you sure? Caraxes could—”

“My prince,” Ser Luthor interrupted firmly, “you need to get out of here as soon as possible. Elinda and I will be fine.”

Daemon nodded, and as if summoned, the Blood Wyrm landed just outside the cave. With Ser Luthor’s help, Daemon rose shakily to his feet, heat cramps still plaguing him. He took Baelon’s hand, and they turned to leave.

“You can’t even finish the job, you coward!” Rhea screamed, her voice a feeble echo in the cave. She clutched her stomach, her strength fading.

Daemon paused, releasing Baelon’s hand and turning back toward her. His expression was ice-cold. “You don’t deserve my mercy. You’ll die here—alone, in excruciating pain, choking on your own blood. But it won’t be quick. Hours, maybe a day. You’ll feel every second of it. Even if they find you, there’s nothing they can do. That’s what you deserve.”

Daemon took Baelon’s hand once again, and with Ser Luthor’s help, the three of them left the cave.

Outside, the guard helped mother and son mount Caraxes. Once they were secure in the saddle, Daemon strapped them down, ensuring their safety. With a powerful flap of its wings, the Blood Wyrm lifted off, soaring toward Driftmark, carrying the omega and young alpha far away from Runestone.

—————————————

A week later

“House Velaryon’s origins reach back to Old Valyria. More ancient even than House Targaryen,” Corlys said, turning to look at him. “At least according to some texts. But unlike the Targaryens, we were not dragonlords. For centuries, my house had to scratch out an existence from the sea—with grit and luck. When I ascended the Driftwood Throne, I knew what I wanted, so I went out and seized it. Unlike any other lord of the realm, I can say I built my house’s high seat with the strength of my own back.”

He paused for a moment, studying Daemon before leaning in slightly. “I’ve always thought of you and I as being cut from the same cloth.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a king for a brother,” Daemon replied, his tone mocking.

“We’re both men who’ve had to carve our own way through this world,” Corlys continued, unperturbed. “We’ve been passed over too often—perhaps you even more than me.”

“Did you call me here to remind me of my low standing, Lord Corlys? Or is there another reason?” Daemon asked, his patience wearing thin.

“You’ve heard of the troubles in the Stepstones,” the Sea Snake said, leaning back in his chair.

“Some Myrish prince feeding Westerosi sailors to the crabs,” Daemon replied, taking a sip from his cup.

“I’ve been petitioning the king to send my navy to the Stepstones, but he’s denied me,” Corlys said, his frustration clear.

Daemon stood and walked toward the fireplace, his expression bored. “No, it was never my brother’s strongest trait.”

“What?”

“Being king,” Daemon said, turning to face the beta.

Corlys stared at him for a moment before continuing. “The Crabfeeder is backed by powerful entities in the Free Cities who wish to see Westeros weakened. The king's failures have allowed him to grow stronger. If those shipping lanes fall, my house will be crippled.” Daemon could smell the beta’s rising anger; Corlys’s scent grew sharper, his fists clenched. “I will not have Driftmark beggared while our king idles himself with feasts, balls, and tourneys.”

“I will speak of my brother as I wish. You will not,” Daemon said, his glare sharp.

A tense silence followed before Corlys spoke again. “Fighting in the Stepstones is a chance for you to prove your worth to those who might still doubt it.”

“We are the realm’s second sons, Daemon. You, an omega, and I, a lowly beta. Our worth is not given. It must be made.”

Chapter Text

Three years later

Rhaenyra stared at her second half-brother, who was crying in the arms of one of her wet nurses. A heavily pregnant Alicent sat beside her, struggling to keep 7-year-old Aegon and 5-year-old Helaena seated as the carriage bumped along the road. Her father, King Viserys, sat beside the beta queen, his eyes fixed on Rhaenyra with a warm smile, seemingly oblivious to the rest of his children. They were traveling to the hunting site to celebrate Aemond’s second name day, just as they had done for Aegon’s. Rhaenyra had not wanted to come, knowing no one would miss her at the celebration, but Viserys had insisted she attend to show support for her brother.

She turned away, looking out through the narrow slits in the sides of the carriage, trying to block out everything happening around her. She missed Daemon. Three years ago, a letter had arrived from Runestone demanding justice for the head of House Royce. Rhea Royce had been found bloody and gravely wounded on the floor of a cave near the castle. Though barely clinging to life, when the guards tried to move her, all she could do was scream in agony. Maester Helliweg had examined her and declared her injuries beyond saving. In the end, her cousin Gerard Royce had finished her off out of mercy, but not before she had suffered for nearly two days.

It was a mystery how she had survived that long with such horrific wounds. By all accounts, it seemed impossible. Rhaenyra believed the gods had kept her alive so she could suffer the same torment she had inflicted upon Daemon. Even if Rhea had felt nothing but agony for those two days, it was still nothing compared to the years of pain she had caused her uncle. Now, Rhea Royce was dead, and Daemon was finally free—that was all that mattered.

Daemon and Baelon had disappeared four days before the female alpha had been found. Rhea had been searching for them, and the Royces believed it was the omega who had struck the fatal blow. The letter demanded that the king make his brother answer for his crimes, along with his sworn sword, Ser Luthor. But Viserys couldn’t believe his brother capable of such brutality and, besides, he had no idea where Daemon was.

Daemon, Baelon, Elinda, and Ser Luthor had been missing for a month before word came that Daemon was fighting alongside the Sea Snake in the Stepstones. Viserys had been furious, sending Kingsguards to retrieve his brother and nephew, but Daemon sent them back—wounded—and with a threat to kill the next guards or messengers sent after him.

In secret, Daemon had sent Rhaenyra a letter, assuring her that Baelon was safe in Driftmark and urging her to find an excuse to visit him. Rhaenyra had managed just that, using the pretext of visiting Laena. The king didn’t need to know that the other female alpha was also in the Stepstones, fighting alongside Corlys and Daemon.

Rhaenyra had longed to go see her uncle in the Stepstones, to make sure with her own eyes that he wasn’t injured. Ever since she’d heard of Rhea Royce’s death, her inner alpha had been restless, urging her to go claim her omega. Though the voice had always been there, it had become louder and more insistent. One day, she’d almost followed its call, already dressed in riding clothes at the Dragonpit, but she’d managed to restrain herself. She knew her sword skills weren’t sufficient for war. If it came down to it, Daemon would try to protect her, putting himself at risk; she’d only be a burden to him.

The carriage’s halt brought her back to the present. They exited one by one to find the guests already assembled. Viserys took Aemond from the wet nurse’s arms, holding him up as the crowd cheered for the little prince. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, already over the entire affair. She glanced around and met the gaze of one of the Lannister twins, though she couldn’t recall his name. The alpha winked at her, and she responded with an awkward smile.

Inside the main tent, most lords and ladies were gathered. Her father sat on a throne off to one side, Otto Hightower standing at his shoulder, likely feeding him more venom. Rhaenyra moved to the group of women seated in a circle, most of them omegas, with a few betas and a lone alpha among them. The queen sat among them, listening to the room’s gossip.

“Perhaps the princess could give us some insight,” said the omega to Alicent’s right as Rhaenyra approached. “Your dear uncle is the great mind behind this war, is he not?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to Daemon in years,” Rhaenyra replied, irritation clear in her voice.

“Not since you matured as an alpha,” the lady said, frowning. “Quite the scandal, as I recall. But then you were named heir.”

“Daemon made his choices, Lady Kira. The princess is suited to her role,” the queen interjected, trying to defend Rhaenyra.

“He’s created a mess, and now the king must put an end to it. Send fleets and men to clear the Triarchy for good,” said the only lady alpha in the group, her tone indignant.

“But the crown is not at war,” Rhaenyra replied, a smirk of amusement crossing her face.

“The crown is at war, princess. Though your father refuses to admit it, we’ve been dragged into it by your uncle and the Sea Snake,” she responded proudly, making Rhaenyra’s irritation flare. How dare she speak of her omega like that?

“And how have you served the realm as of late, Lady Redwyne? By eating cake?” Rhaenyra glared at the group before turning and leaving the tent.

“I wonder, princess, was your own second name day as grand as this?” A voice asked from nearby. She turned and found one of the Lannister twins watching her.

“I honestly don’t recall, and neither will Aemond,” she replied with an awkward smile, her gaze shifting to the large fire pit ahead.

The lion approached her, giving a slight bow. “Lord Jason Lannister.”

“I gathered that from all the lions,” she replied, clasping her hands and trying to contain her irritation.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Jason snapped at a server who brought two cups of wine.

“Your twin serves on my father’s council,” she said, watching the servant pour the wine.

Jason took both cups, handing one to her. “Tyland is frightfully dull, gods love him. But here—you’ll find this is the finest honeyed wine you’ll ever taste, made in Lannisport.”

“Of course,” she murmured, taking a sip while turning her head to roll her eyes, wishing the conversation would end.

“The Kingswood is a fine hunting ground, but the best is at Casterly Rock, near my home. Have you been?” Jason asked, hopeful.

“Once, on tour with my mother and uncle when I was young, but I can’t recall much,” Rhaenyra replied politely, though eager to walk away from the boasting alpha.

“The Rock is thrice the size of the Hightower in Old Town and taller than the Wall in the North,” he continued, reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders and turning her toward the distance. “On a perfect day, one could see clear across the Sunset Sea.”

“It must be quite something.”

“I don’t have a Dragonpit, but I have the means and resources to build one,” Jason said from behind her.

“Why would you need a Dragonpit?” she asked, turning back to face him.

“To house dragons, of course.” His gaze intensified. “I’d do anything for my queen—or lady wife.”

Rhaenyra forced a smile, extending her wine cup back to him. “Thank you for the wine.” She swiftly made her way back to the main tent, determined to have words with whoever had encouraged the Lannister’s boldness.

Once inside, she went straight to her father, who was speaking with Lord Strong. She didn’t wait to interrupt. “Is that what I am to you? A prize to dangle before the great houses?”

Viserys turned, but she glared, her anger unmistakable. “You’re of age now. Jason Lannister is an excellent match.”

“He’s arrogant and self-serious.”

“Well, I thought you might have that in common,” he replied. Her scent grew stronger, alerting everyone nearby to her rising fury. “Since you came of age, I’ve been drowning in marriage proposals from every corner of the realm, and I’ve tried to discuss it with you, but you’ve refused me each time.”

“That’s because I do not wish to marry,” she replied, the unspoken reason hanging between them. Both alphas knew it, though Viserys refused to acknowledge the truth.

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenyra!” he snapped.

“It’s just—”

“Excuse me, your grace,” Otto Hightower interjected, bringing the argument to a halt as both Targaryens turned to look at him.

Rhaenyra was fuming, her scent thickening the air inside the tent. Unable to contain her anger, she let out a low growl before turning on her heel and storming outside. She went straight to the horses, and, making sure no one was watching, mounted one. With a nudge of her heels, the horse took off toward the Kingswood.

Voices and hoofbeats echoed behind her as her sworn swords called out, but she ignored them, urging her horse faster. Ser Criston Cole quickly caught up, reaching in front of her to rein in her horse.

“What happened back there?” he asked, once both horses slowed to a stop near a clearing.

“My father is trying to sell me off to Jason Lannister,” she answered, her anger simmering again. “Was I named heir to the Iron Throne just to increase the standing of some Lord of Casterly Rock?”

“Would you like me to kill him?” her sworn sword asked dryly, eyes ahead.

Rhaenyra looked at him incredulously, then burst into laughter, and he joined in. As their laughter faded, she gazed into the clearing. The peaceful scene reminded her of Runestone, of her time there with Daemon and Baelon, especially that one day they’d spent the whole day swimming and eating near a lake the omega had found some ways away from the castle. 

—————————————

Three-year-old Baelon laughed joyously as his omega mother held his hands, helping him stay upright as he splashed his bare feet in the shallow water. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the sweet scene. The 14-year-old alpha sat on a blanket they had laid out on the grass, keeping their clothes from getting dirty. She had been hesitant to come here at first, as Daemon was still recovering, but he had insisted, and she found she couldn’t refuse him. They had sneaked out without telling anyone, not even Ser Luthor, which now seemed like a very bad idea.

Daemon seemed fine for now; he hadn’t broken down or shed tears all day. He was playing and laughing with Baelon, but Rhaenyra remained on edge. She knew Daemon’s pain always resurfaced eventually. As strong as he was, perhaps the strongest omega she knew, he was still only human. He liked to pretend he wasn’t affected, but she knew better.

As she admired him, a habit she’d had since she was young, Rhaenyra noticed his smile slowly fade. His gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, his grip on Baelon’s hands loosening. What alarmed her most was the sudden, sharp scent of burnt sugar and cherries that reached her. Taking that as her cue, Rhaenyra rose and approached them. Baelon, sensing his mother’s change, looked up at him with teary eyes. Gently, she pulled the younger alpha away from his frozen mother. The child didn’t protest, though he kept his gaze on Daemon.

“Alyssa…” she heard Daemon whisper, his gaze distant. “Alyssa! Rhaenyra, she’s there…she’s–she needs my help, she’s just a child! She can’t swim!” He looked at her briefly before staring out into the clearing and began walking into it.

Rhaenyra’s heart raced as she watched Daemon wade further into the lake. “Kepus! Daemon! Stop! Daemon!” she shouted, desperate to break through his trance. She kneeled in front of Baelon, “Stay here, all right? Stay here,” before turning and sprinting after Daemon.

She ran into the lake, uncaring of her dress becoming soaked. Daemon was still calling for his deceased daughter, moving deeper into the water. She managed to reach him before he went too far, beyond her grasp. Summoning strength she didn’t know she had, Rhaenyra pulled him back toward the shore. He resisted at first but eventually went limp in her arms, letting her drag him onto the grass. She quickly looked him over, making sure he wasn’t injured.

“Daemon…please, talk to me,” she whispered, stroking his hair as he gazed blankly into the distance. She could hear Baelon crying nearby but couldn’t take her eyes off her uncle. “Daemon…” His silence terrified her.

“Prince Daemon! Prince Baelon! Princess Rhaenyra!” a loud voice called from the woods. Rhaenyra’s head snapped up, recognizing it.

“Ser Luthor! We’re here!”

“Princess? Where—” The guard emerged from the thick trees, Elinda close behind him. “Prince Daemon!” Ser Luthor hurried over, kneeling next to her as he looked at Daemon. “What happened?”

She saw Elinda scoop up a sobbing Baelon. “I don’t know! He was fine, and then suddenly he started screaming and calling for his daughter—I just—”

“Ser Luthor! You have to help her! Please! She’s only a baby, she—” Daemon sat up, grabbing the male alpha’s arms, his eyes desperate.

“My Prince, please calm down,” Ser Luthor soothed, gently holding his upper arms.

“Rhaenyra!” Daemon cried, looking at her. “She was—I saw her…”

“She’s not there, Kepus,” Rhaenyra said softly, moving closer to him and gently stroking his cheek. “She’s gone.”

His face crumpled, tears spilling over. Swiftly, she brought her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him close to let him breathe in her scent. She felt him relax as his scent returned to its usual notes of sweet cherries and wildflowers. She kissed his head, running her fingers through his hair as she looked out over the clearing, finally letting out a sigh of relief.

—————————————

Night fell, yet there was no sign of Rhaenyra or Ser Criston Cole. Viserys was restless, but Otto Hightower reassured him that she was safe with the Kingsguard at her side. Morning arrived, and the royal family broke their fast alongside their guests, but still, there was no sign of the princess. It wasn’t until midday, as the royals dined outside, watching knights and lords training on the field, that Rhaenyra and Ser Criston appeared.

The alpha princess emerged from the Kingswood on horseback, the left side of her face and neck smeared with blood, her once-silver hair streaked crimson. Beside her, Ser Criston rode close, their horses dragging a wooden contraption bearing a dead boar. The encampment fell silent, whispers and gasps rippling through the crowd as all eyes turned toward them.

Rhaenyra dismounted, a crowd quickly gathering around. She strode confidently toward her tent, hands behind her back. Along the way, her gaze met that of Lord Strong’s son, who smiled as he skinned a rabbit. She looked away, continuing her path and sparing only a glance at her father and Alicent before finally disappearing into her tent.

—————————————

Rhaenyra entered the council room after being summoned by her father. As she stepped inside, she caught the last part of a conversation between Viserys and a messenger boy.

“Make haste to Dwarfstone, Ser Addam. Deliver this to Prince Daemon yourself,” her father instructed.

“At once, Your Grace.”

“Dwarfstone?” she asked, moving closer.

“I’m sending word to Daemon. Aid is sailing to the Stepstones,” the King replied, leaning his hands on the large council table.

“Did he call for help?” Rhaenyra asked, worry pooling in her stomach at the thought her uncle might be hurt.

“He would sooner die,” Viserys replied with a small smile, “but his king does not intend to allow that.” She stared at him briefly before taking the Hand’s usual chair.

“Do you not think my decision correct?” her father asked, a trace of irritation in his tone.

“It seems not to matter what I think… as I’m often reminded,” she replied sharply. Rhaenyra knew she was being difficult, but after all her father had done in recent years, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Viserys sighed, looking down, dejected. “Daemon is thorn enough in my flesh. Must you insist on taking after him?” She looked away, unable to suppress a small smile. “Must everything be a battle?”

“If you refer to your attempt to marry me off to Casterly Rock,” she retorted, shaking her head.

The King sighed again, bowing his head. “I am sorry, Rhaenyra. I was trying to help you. Will you not be helped? Why must every effort on your behalf be resisted as if to the death?”

“Because you mean to replace me… with Alicent Hightower’s first son, the alpha boy you always wanted.” Though not the whole truth, it was one reason. The other was far away, fighting a war that wasn’t his to begin with. “You have him now, and no further use for me. You may as well peddle me for what you can—a mountain stronghold, or a fleet of ships.” Even as an alpha, she knew that as a woman, a man would always be given precedence.

Viserys watched her silently. “You misjudge me, Rhaenyra.”

“All know it,” she breathed out. “Jason Lannister knows it. You said it yourself—the lords of the realm gather like vultures, hoping to feast on my bones.”

“I do not seek to replace you, child,” her father said softly, leaning closer. “You have been so much alone these last few years—alone and angry,” he said, his voice rising with emotion, his scent spiking with a hint of frustration. “I will not live forever. I wish to see you contented. Happy, even.”

“You think a man would do it?” she asked, feeling tears welling up. Only one man could ever make her happy, yet he was far away, forbidden.

“A family.”

“I had a family,” she replied, chuckling in disbelief. “I had a mother and a loving uncle, and you sent them both away. One more permanently than the other,” she added in a whisper.

“What would you have me do?” The King’s voice rose, his gaze expectant. He sighed when she didn’t answer. “You must marry, strengthen your claim, grow your line.” He walked over to stand beside her, looking down. “As to your match… make it yourself. Find one who pleases you, as I did.”

At his words, Rhaenyra glanced up in surprise. She knew her uncle would always be the exception to her father’s approval, yet she couldn’t help a glimmer of hope. Even though Daemon was now a widower and she was of age, she knew her father would never approve of their union. Still, her alpha stirred excitedly at the thought of finally marrying and claiming him. Tears of unexpected joy filled her eyes, and she smiled up at her father before rising and heading toward the door.

“Rhaenyra…” she paused and turned back. “I did waver, at one time. But I swear to you now, on your mother’s memory, you will not be supplanted.”

Rhaenyra held her father’s gaze for a moment, feeling a hint of hurt at his admission. She gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words, then turned and left, leaving him alone in the council room.

—————————————

"...our food dwindles quickly, save for what we can fish from the sea. I would say we have a fortnight’s supply, perhaps a bit more with strict rationing,” Lord Corlys informed his brother and children as they gathered around the sand table. “I’ve called on Driftmark to send more ships, but they are still weeks away. We are faltering, and the Triarchy knows it. We must press the attack and continue sending the dragons,” the beta proclaimed emphatically.

“It’s pointless, Father,” Laena interjected, moving one of the figurines on the table. “The Crabfeeder has created a choke point here, beyond these dunes. Archers hold the high positions, foot soldiers hold the ground,” she said, adjusting another figurine. “We strike them on dragonback again and again, but they just retreat into the caves,” the female alpha added.

“Dragons could circle Bloodstone until they fall from the sky, and still the Crabfeeder and his men would have no reason to leave those caves,” Vaemond Velaryon remarked, looking at his younger brother.

“Then we must give them one,” Laenor interjected. “An offering of flesh to bait the crab.”

“Who?” Corlys asked, turning to his son.

At that moment, a soldier announced the approach of a dragon. The Blood Wyrm’s shriek sounded in the distance before it came into view, landing gracefully on a small mound near the camp.

“Yes, who?” Vaemond asked, glancing around. “Which man here would happily march to his death? Show me the knight who would go into that hell pit, nephew, and I will show you a madman.”

“Daemon,” Laenor replied without hesitation.

“Daemon is why we are losing!” the elder alpha snapped.

“At least he is fighting this war,” Laena interjected, her anger evident as she defended the omega. “What role have you played on this council, Uncle, other than as master of complaints?”

“Enough, Laena!” Corlys reprimanded her.

“If King’s Landing won’t support Daemon, why should any of us?” Vaemond shouted, turning to the soldiers around them. They could see Daemon descending from the mound, clad in his black armor.

Corlys grabbed his brother’s arm. “Blood or not, Vaemond, I will not have you stoke mutiny,” he warned through gritted teeth.

“If you do not seize control of this war, my lord, the crabs will soon dine on all of us,” Vaemond said to his brother.

Daemon approached the small council, removing his gloves and helmet and setting them on the table. He turned and leaned on it, looking out into the crowd of soldiers as silence settled over the camp. The stillness was interrupted only by the sound of approaching footsteps.

A group of messengers from King’s Landing arrived, halting a few paces from the council. “Prince Daemon,” the lead messenger began, “I bring word from His Grace, Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The beta stepped forward, offering a sealed parchment to the omega. 

Daemon stared at him briefly before taking the letter and carelessly opening it, reading its contents. 

Brother, 

I have ordered ten ships and two thousand men to set sail from King’s Landing, to join the efforts in the Stepstones. Though time and circumstance have seemed estranged, know that it is not my desire to see you fail in your cause. I shall pray nightly to the gods for your and Baelon’s safe return.

Daemon felt anger surge through him. After three years of silence, his brother now intended to swoop in to claim the spoils of a war he had not fought. The omega had joined the Sea Snake’s campaign to prove his own strength—to show that becoming a mother had not made him weak. For three years, he had suppressed his urge to see his son, only exchanging letters occasionally. Now, his brother’s gesture felt like an insult, a humiliation Daemon would not allow. He would rather die.

Daemon handed the parchment back to the messenger with a smirk. Turning to the council table, he grasped his heavy helmet, then swung it without warning at the messenger, striking him hard. His anger unleashed, he kept swinging until the alphas and betas around him wrestled him back, restraining his shoulders and pushing him away.

He threw a glance at the scrambling men before turning and heading down the hill toward his tent. Footsteps approached, and he caught the faint, earthy scent he knew well. Smiling, he stepped inside his tent and went to sit on the small bed in the corner. Laena Velaryon followed him in.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re nearly as pretty as your brother?” Daemon asked, smirking.

“Well, you flatter me, my prince,” she teased, moving forward and sitting beside him on the bed.

Laena reached out, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. Their eyes met, and tension filled the tent. Daemon wasn’t sure who gave in first, but soon he was naked beneath her, moaning freely, uncaring who might overhear.

This wasn’t the first time they’d been together. It had started a month ago after an especially difficult day of heavy losses. With his heat approaching, Daemon had relied on moon tea, supplied by Corlys himself, to suppress it. But after experiencing unusual weakness, a field maester had banned him from taking more. The plan had been for Daemon to hide in the farthest tent and endure it alone, with beta guards posted outside. Yet when his heat struck unexpectedly hard, the maester declared that an alpha’s presence was necessary. Laena, whose scent was the only one that didn’t agitate his omega, had offered to help.

He couldn’t remember much from that day, but he did recall Laena’s self-restraint—something that surprised him, given her 23 name days. They had since made a habit of taking out their frustrations on each other. Though he knew they hadn’t always been the most careful, especially during his heat, he had noticed none of the usual symptoms, he was sure he was not with child–or at least that’s what he hoped for.

—————————————

Daemon stepped off the boat, carelessly throwing the paddles to the ground. He advanced alone across the smoking battlefield, scanning for any sign of the enemy. None of the Crabfeeder’s men had yet emerged from their hiding places. He continued forward, working to control his scent, making it sweeter than usual. Along the way, he grabbed a wooden spear buried in the sand and ripped a sail off a fallen ship, fashioning a makeshift white flag. Climbing a small mound, he held the flag high and waved it.

He soon noticed movement near the cave entrances—some of the Crabfeeder’s men were emerging cautiously. Overhead, he glimpsed archers, their arrows at the ready. The ground soldiers moved closer to him, slowly at first, until his sweetened scent reached them, hastening their pace. Daemon planted the makeshift flag in the sand, then unsheathed Dark Sister, bending one knee and presenting the sword as if in surrender, head slightly lowered in submission.

One soldier stepped forward, reaching for the sword. At that moment, Daemon whipped out a hidden dagger from his belt and swiftly stabbed the alpha in front of him. The man’s scream alerted the others, and Daemon quickly reclaimed Dark Sister as they rushed toward him. He cut through the attackers before they could mount a proper defense. Spotting a rain of arrows overhead, he ducked behind a broken wagon, shielding himself as the arrows landed all around.

Taking advantage of the archers' reload time, Daemon pressed on toward the Crabfeeder. He slashed through soldiers in his path, narrowly avoiding arrows as he advanced. His objective was clear—he would kill the Crabfeeder, even if it was his last act. His legs burned, and his wounds throbbed, but he pressed on. Just as he slit the throat of another alpha, an arrow pierced his knee. He fell, gritting his teeth in pain, as more arrows struck his shoulder and side.

Groaning, he yanked the arrow from his knee and dragged himself beneath the wooden carcass of an abandoned ship as arrows thudded above. He gritted his teeth, pulling out the arrows from his shoulder and side, but the pain was nearly unbearable. He heard the rapid approach of footsteps, and despair set in. But then an image of Baelon flickered in his mind—his son, his reason to live. He thought of what would be of his son if he died, who would take him in? Would they treat him right? Would he be angry at him for leaving him alone? The loud footsteps of the approaching army brought him back. He couldn't die here, not now. With renewed determination, he grasped Dark Sister and staggered to his feet, limping out from under the ship’s remains.

With newfound strength, Daemon grabbed Dark Sister before standing up and slightly limping out of the ship carcass. He looked around sizing up the men surrounding him. In the distance, he heard Corlys’ army finally arriving and with a war cry running to aid the omega. Several men were still surrounding him, but before the soldiers could attack, the sound of wings tore through the air.

“Dracarys!” Laenor commanded, and Seasmoke unleashed a wave of fire, incinerating the men around Daemon and throwing him back with the force.

Seasmoke turned to torch the archers as Corlys’s army cut down the survivors. The dragon swooped in, slashing with its claws and blasting others with flame. Daemon spotted the Crabfeeder retreating into the caves and felt adrenaline surge. Tightening his grip on Dark Sister, he pursued.

Corlys cleaved through another man with his battle axe, then looked around for the Targaryen prince. He saw Daemon sprinting toward the cave entrance, possessed with single-minded determination. Praying that Daemon wouldn’t do anything reckless, Corlys turned back to the battle, dispatching foes with ease. Soon, it became clear that the enemy had been unprepared for the onslaught. They were outmatched and quickly dispatched.

With the battlefield cleared, the soldiers noticed a figure emerging from the caves, dragging something behind. As Daemon drew closer, they recognized him, battered and bloodied, hauling half of the Crabfeeder’s body, its intestines trailing gruesomely behind. The alphas and betas stood stunned, absorbing the sight. The omega’s face was covered in blood, his once-silver hair streaked crimson. He stopped a few paces from the army, letting the body drop as he stood, breathing heavily, and stared directly at Corlys. The beta exhaled, nodding slightly with a faint smile. They had finally won the war.

Chapter Text

Baelon got up from the ground, facing Ser Luthor again, wooden sword raised, ready to strike once more. He advanced slowly toward the older alpha, searching for an opening. The boy lunged forward, swinging his sword to land a hit, but Ser Luthor easily sidestepped the blow. Baelon kept swinging, determined to score a hit, but the guard blocked his every attempt with little effort. With a quick dodge and a sharp twist, Ser Luthor disarmed him, pressing the tip of his own wooden sword lightly to the boy’s neck.

“Keep your guard up, or you’ll make yourself an easy target,” Ser Luthor advised, lowering his weapon.

Baelon sighed, bending down to pick up his fallen sword. “Again,” he insisted, getting back into position.

Ser Luthor chuckled, but before he could resume, a familiar, piercing shriek sounded in the distance. Baelon’s head shot up, scanning the sky for the red dragon. Lowering his sword, he watched as the Blood Wyrm appeared from between the clouds, flying straight toward Driftmark. Caraxes landed on the beach not far from them, and Baelon let the wooden sword slip from his hand as he took off in the dragon’s direction, his gaze fixed on his mother dismounting the beast.

“ Muña! ” he cried, sprinting toward Daemon. His shout caught the omega’s attention, and Daemon turned, his face brightening at the sight of his 9-year-old son rushing toward him.

“Baelon!” Daemon exclaimed, arms wide as Baelon reached him and flung himself into his mother’s embrace. “My baby, how I’ve missed you,” Daemon murmured, holding him close and gently cradling the back of his head.

“ Muña… ” Baelon sobbed, clutching his mother’s neck tightly.

Daemon pulled back slightly, cupping his son’s cheek as he gazed into his face. “Never let me make that mistake again. Don’t let my pride take me from you,” he whispered, his voice breaking as tears slipped down his cheeks. “My baby, I love you so much. Look at you—you’ve grown,” he said, kissing Baelon’s forehead and drawing him close once more.

“ Muña, I love you, ” Baelon whispered, burying his face in his mother’s chest, gripping his black doublet tightly, unwilling to let go.

“ I love you, my son. So much. I’m so sorry; please, forgive me, ” Daemon choked out, pressing his face into Baelon’s hair, breathing in his familiar scent.

“There’s nothing to forgive, muña, ” Baelon murmured, soothing his mother. “You’re here now.”

Ser Luthor approached the family, looking down at them with a small smile. “I don’t mean to interrupt, my prince, but I think you should go inside and rest. You must be exhausted.”

Baelon pulled away from the embrace, looked up at Daemon, and froze, his eyes widening. “Your hair!” he exclaimed, staring at him with a shocked expression.

The omega chuckled, running his fingers through his now short hair. “Yes, I just—I don’t know.”

“You look pretty, muña, ” his son praised, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

Daemon smiled, bending down and kissing Baelon’s forehead. He stood up, took the young alpha’s hand, and they walked up to Driftmark castle, with Ser Luthor close behind them. Once inside, they were greeted by his cousin Rhaenys, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore a simple red and black, long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder dress, adorned with a golden necklace and gold hanging earrings.

Surprising the omega, his cousin brought him into a firm embrace, whispering in his ear how glad she was for his safe return. They had never been close; they were too far apart in age. Rhaenys had always gravitated more toward Viserys, as they were closer in age and both alphas. Meanwhile, Daemon was seven years younger and an omega, so they hadn’t had much in common.

Though they still weren’t close, even in adulthood, Rhaenys had become more attached to the omega during her second pregnancy. Daemon didn’t really know why, but he didn’t push her away either. Deep down, he felt she somehow needed the closeness. This became clearer after she gave birth, as the hours of labor had nearly killed her.

It was well known that, though capable, female alphas were not as suited to the birthing bed as omegas. Nevertheless, Rhaenys had been adamant about marrying Corlys Velaryon, a beta. This decision had displeased King Jaehaerys, who even suggested a marriage between her and Daemon. The five-and-ten girl had swiftly opposed the match, and after her insistence, the old king reluctantly granted his blessing for her to marry the Sea Snake.

Daemon admired his cousin’s determination and stubbornness; she always got what she wanted. He had even applied her techniques—standing firm and refusing to budge in his demands—on various occasions. Sometimes it worked, but other times it hadn’t, especially with Rhea, who would swiftly raise her hand at any sign of disobedience from him, making him change his mind.

Rhaenys pulled away from their embrace and, with a smile, beckoned Daemon and his son to join her for lunch. At first, Daemon wanted to refuse, too exhausted from his journey. But when his cousin mentioned that there would be various assortments of meat, he agreed eagerly. He didn’t know why, but he had recently been craving meat, going as far as eating nothing else for three days during their battles in the Stepstones until Corlys urged him to stop, fearing the omega would get sick on the battlefield.

They ate with Rhaenys, and when they finished, she asked a servant to show Daemon to his chambers. Once there, the omega fell onto the bed and drifted off almost immediately, without taking a bath or even changing his clothes.

Baelon gazed sadly at his mother’s sleeping form, examining his pale face and the scars that were visible now. He noticed there were new ones but tried not to worry too much, as the omega always advised him. He let out a deep sigh before approaching the bed and kissing the top of his mother’s head, brushing his hair out of his face. He gently covered him as best he could with the bed’s blankets, and with one last look at his mother, he left the room.

—————————————

“No!” Daemon screamed, horrified. “No! That’s not—no, I’m not—I can’t be.”

“All the symptoms are there, my prince,” Maester Kelvyn replied in a calm voice, careful not to upset the omega further. “Of course, we can’t be completely sure until you start showing.”

The prince turned away from the older man, sighing loudly in exasperation. “No, I—how long would you say?” he asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

“Around a month, maybe a little more,” the maester informed him. Daemon closed his eyes and rubbed them, feeling a headache forming. He had hoped his suspicions were wrong, that he wasn’t pregnant and it was merely a fleeting illness. But the maester had just confirmed it for the third time—he was indeed with child again. Deep down, he’d known; the daily nausea and constant craving for meat had been undeniable signs.

“Maester Kelvyn, I have a request, but I’ll need you to be discreet,” the omega finally said, looking directly at the other man.

“I know what you’re about to ask, but I’ll have to deny your request, my prince,” the beta replied, holding his hands behind his back and standing straight, almost proudly.

“Why?” Daemon asked through gritted teeth, feeling anger bubbling up inside him. He was seconds away from throttling the maester to get what he wanted.

“I cannot provide anything to help you terminate the pregnancy without the alpha’s permission,” the maester said, turning to his worktable. “If you wish to end it, you’ll have to ask for Lady Laena’s permission so I can—”

Daemon felt a pit form in his stomach, his heart pounding faster. “What? How do you—” He got closer, pointing an accusatory finger at the beta. “If I find out you told anyone else, or that you informed either Laena or Corlys, I’ll make you regret it.”

“There’s no need for threats, my prince. What happens in this room will always stay in this room,” the maester said, trying to calm the omega down.

“It better,” Daemon muttered, casting the maester one last glare before turning and leaving the room. He made his way outside toward the beach, where he knew Baelon would be with Ser Luthor. Subconsciously, he rubbed his stomach, trying to calm himself, aware that his scent was intensifying and not wanting his son to worry. The image of his niece, Rhaenyra, flashed through his mind, a hopeful feeling stirring within him, but he quickly suppressed it; now wasn’t the time for his omega heart to indulge in fantasies of a love that would never be.

In the distance, he saw Baelon and Ser Luthor practicing sword fighting with wooden swords. His son had asked to be trained shortly after their arrival at Driftmark. Daemon had taken it upon himself to teach him the basics, but while Baelon progressed in his lessons, he seemed to hold himself back. When Daemon asked him about it, Baelon confessed that he didn’t want to hurt him, so he restrained himself. Even after Daemon assured him he couldn’t cause serious harm, Baelon still refused to use his full strength. Finally, Daemon relented and asked his sworn sword to take Baelon under his wing.

Though the omega hadn’t been present for the past three years, Ser Luthor kept him informed of his son’s progress through letters sent by raven. Baelon had also made it a habit to describe his days at Driftmark in great detail. Daemon didn’t mind; it made him feel as if he were there with his young alpha, rather than on the battlefield fighting a war he hadn’t started but was duty-bound to end.

He approached the pair with a small smile on his face. Both alphas continued their heated duel, not noticing him yet. In a display of impressive swordsmanship, Baelon dodged another of the guard’s attacks. With a swift twist of his wooden sword, the younger alpha disarmed Ser Luthor, pointing the weapon at the guard’s throat to prevent him from retrieving his own.

“I win, again,” Baelon boasted smugly, a smirk adorning his face. He still hadn’t noticed his mother standing to the side.

Ser Luthor glanced at Daemon with a smirk before refocusing on the young alpha. “You have indeed, my prince.”

Before Baelon could respond, Daemon cleared his throat loudly, catching the nine-year-old’s attention. “It’s not polite to boast, little dragon.”

“Says the king of boasting,” the older alpha teased under his breath, still smirking.

“But Ser Luthor has told me all about your years participating in tournaments and jousts,” Baelon countered, crossing his arms over his chest. “About how you’d win and go out of your way to mock your opponents.”

Daemon sighed and shot the guard a glare. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he said, moving closer to Baelon and ruffling his hair before leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “You should take a break; you’ve been going at it all morning. Come, join me for lunch.” He extended his hand, and Baelon took it, following him inside.

“Fine, but we’ll continue later,” Baelon said, casting a look back at Ser Luthor before turning to his mother. He studied Daemon for a moment before frowning. “You’ve gained weight.” He brought his free hand to the omega’s belly and rubbed it slightly. “It suits you. You were too skinny before; Elinda used to say so all the time.”

Daemon felt a pit form in his stomach once again, and he gulped, unsure how to respond. Fortunately, Baelon didn’t seem to expect one; he simply continued walking alongside him, unfazed. But Daemon felt a sense of dread, a feeling that time was running out. He had to find a way to rid himself of the babe or escape before anyone found out. If he were honest with himself, he disliked the latter option. Running would have been his first choice once, but now he had his son to consider, and he didn’t want Baelon to live a life of fleeing from his mother’s mistakes. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

There were other options, but the thought of marriage made Daemon feel sick. He didn’t believe Laena would be like Rhea—she had a gentle soul and didn’t seem capable of harming a child. Yet marriage felt like a prison sentence; he would be shackled to a wife, no longer Daemon Targaryen, but Laena Velaryon’s omega husband. And there was another reason, one he was reluctant to admit to himself, yet couldn’t ignore: she wasn’t Rhaenyra, and that thought frightened him.

—————————————

One week later

A familiar red dragon was seen flying toward King’s Landing, its shrill cry echoing off the walls of the bustling city. The sound interrupted the small council’s intense discussion, and upon his younger brother’s arrival, the king called for an urgent meeting in the throne room.

As everyone in the Red Keep gathered, Rhaenyra slipped in, hidden within the crowd. Even amidst the mingling scents in the room, she could always pick out her uncle’s—the sweet scent of her omega.

Prince Daemon Targaryen entered the throne room, his son Baelon Royce following behind him along with his sworn sword, Ser Luthor Largent. Rhaenyra’s eyes widened as she took in her uncle’s appearance. His hair was cut short now, and a crown made of bones sat atop his head. It suited him well. She watched him approach the Iron Throne, where her father stood waiting, a frown on his face.

The omega smirked as he neared his brother, but before he got too close, a Kingsguard stepped forward to block his path. Daemon extended his hand, displaying the Crabfeeder’s sword. “Add it to the throne,” he said, tossing it onto the floor and meeting Viserys’s gaze with a silent challenge.

The alpha king regarded his younger brother for a moment, then descended the steps slowly. He placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder, gently pushing him aside to stand face-to-face with Daemon. “Do you call yourself a king now?”

“After defeating the Crabfeeder, the people in the Stepstones named me King of the Narrow Sea,” Daemon replied, lowering his gaze slightly in submission. “But I know there is only one King.” He removed his crown and knelt, offering it to his brother.

Viserys studied his brother’s bowed head, then glanced around the throne room. His gaze landed on his daughter, who was watching Daemon intently from the side. His frown deepened, but he quickly softened as he looked back at his kneeling brother. He took Daemon’s hand, helping him stand, then drew him into a rough embrace, allowing the omega to lean his forehead against his shoulder.

“Come, brother, there is much to celebrate,” Viserys said, sliding his hand to Daemon’s lower back and leading him out. On their way out, he extended a hand to Baelon, who had been quietly following his mother. The king gave his daughter a sharp glance, irritation flashing in his eyes before they left the room.

They gathered in one of the gardens beneath the grand Weirwood tree. Daemon watched his son prance around with his younger cousin, Aegon, smiling with a soft, nostalgic ache in his chest. Turning his attention to Viserys, he listened as his brother recounted tales of their youth with a smile. Alicent sat beside him, nodding along with a polite smile. Daemon’s attention shifted when he noticed Rhaenyra approaching with a forced smile, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Congratulations on your victory, uncle,” she said warmly, her scent curling around him, causing him to straighten slightly.

“Thank you, princess,” he replied, noticing from the corner of his eye how Viserys scowled at his daughter. This reaction from his brother confused Daemon, though he gave nothing away. Viserys ignored Rhaenyra, carrying on with his stories as if she were not there. Annoyed, Daemon glared at his brother, but the king paid him no mind.

Even Alicent, a beta, seemed to sense the tension. She seized a pause in the conversation to interject, “Perhaps Prince Daemon would like to see the new tapestries brought from Essos.”

The king eyed her before bursting out in laughter. “Would you like to look at the new tapestries?” he asked mockingly.

Daemon felt an unexpected irritation at his brother’s dismissive treatment of his wife. “I’d love to see the tapestries,” he replied with a smile to Alicent.

Viserys gave him a disbelieving look, then rolled his eyes. “It’s an omega thing, I suppose,” he muttered, turning back toward Rhaenyra with a smug smile.

“I wish to see the tapestries, as well. I’ve heard they are quite beautiful,” the younger alpha interrupted.

Viserys’s face fell, and he rolled his eyes once more. “Fine, go on then—go admire the boring tapestries.” He waved them off dismissively, turning to the table where food and wine were spread, pouring himself a full cup of wine.

Daemon smiled at Alicent and Rhaenyra, gesturing for them to lead the way. He didn’t care about the tapestries but wanted to spite his brother. Alicent’s grateful smile softened him, and she led the way inside. Daemon signaled Elinda to keep an eye on Baelon before following the women through the Red Keep.

They came to a stop before a large tapestry adorning one wall, its colors and design indeed striking. Alicent continued guiding them, enthusiastically pointing out each piece as Daemon and Rhaenyra nodded along as if genuinely interested. Eventually, they were called back to the throne room for a grand banquet in honor of the rogue prince’s return.

Various alpha lords and sons tried to make an impression on the now widowed omega, but he ignored their advances, focusing his attention on his son and niece. Rhaenyra seemed in good spirits, despite her father’s evident irritation. She kept casting sidelong glances at Daemon, but though he felt her gaze, he gave no acknowledgment.

As the evening wore on, Elinda escorted Baelon to his chambers. Daemon wished to go as well, feeling tired, but Viserys insisted he stay—the celebration was for him, after all. He couldn't refuse his brother even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Daemon remained at the table, eating cake and chatting with Rhaenyra. She smiled at him often, seeming to hold back something each time they changed topics.

At last, the king stood to make an announcement. “Thank you all for joining us today to celebrate my brother’s victory and return,” Viserys said, gesturing to Daemon with a smile. “But this is not our only cause for celebration. I am pleased to formally announce my daughter’s engagement to Laenor Velaryon, heir of Driftmark.”

“What?” Rhaenyra exclaimed, scandalized, as she stood and faced her father. “But you said—”

“Rhaenyra!” Viserys interrupted, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer. “Not here. We’ll talk later,” he whispered sternly.

“But—”

“We’ll talk later,” he repeated through clenched teeth.

Daemon watched them, discomfort building within him. He longed to leave. Rhaenyra sighed, falling back into her seat, tears welling in her eyes. The banquet soon ended, and as Viserys and Rhaenyra departed, the scent of anger followed them from the room. Daemon could only watch their retreating figures until they vanished from sight.

“You told me! You promised me I could choose my own match!” Rhaenyra screamed as they entered the council room.

Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples as a headache began to form. “I did promise you, Rhaenyra, but you have rejected all the suitors. There are no more candidates left in the realm for you to marry, so I took it upon myself to find you a match.”

“In Laenor Velaryon?” She rolled her eyes, fixing her father with an incredulous look. “He’s not only an alpha, but he’s also only attracted to male alphas!”

“A match with an alpha strengthens your claim, Rhaenyra,” the king reasoned, holding her gaze with a stern expression.

“Strengthen my claim? How can my claim be strengthened without heirs?” Rhaenyra mocked, as if her father were oblivious—which, in her eyes, he was.

Viserys frowned at her mocking tone, looking away. “You can have heirs, but you’ll have to birth them yourself,” he replied, stepping closer.

“Female alpha pregnancies are among the most dangerous! Are you truly asking me to take that risk—for what? Status?” she exclaimed angrily, her scent laced with irritation. “I already had an omega in mind!”

The king ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “And who would that be? Daemon? Gods, Rhaenyra, you need to get over this infatuation!”

“It’s not an infatuation!” she retorted, her frustration mounting. “We’re destined to be together. I can feel it—whenever I’m near him, his omega calls for me.” Her eyes began to well up with tears, which she fought to hold back.

“Enough, Rhaenyra!” Viserys’s voice hardened with anger. “Even if it’s true, Daemon is damaged goods. The realm’s lords would riot if the heir to the throne married a tainted omega.”

“How can you speak of your own brother that way? A tainted omega? What does that even mean?” Rhaenyra demanded, stepping closer to defend Daemon. “If a marriage would strengthen my claim, it would be with Daemon. An omega like him by my side would deter anyone from challenging me.”

“I only speak the truth. Daemon has been married and pregnant twice already,” Viserys explained, attempting to reason with her. “He’s not pure. What would people say about your husband already having been ‘dirtied’ by another alpha?”

“Damn what the lords think! I want Daemon’s hand in marriage!” she shouted, her scent intensifying with each word. “What of you? You can remarry because you’re an alpha, but he cannot?”

“He can remarry; I will arrange an engagement with a lord from a lower house who won’t mind his past. But he will not marry you. Rhaenyra, you are the heir to the Iron Throne.” Rhaenyra glared at her father, disbelief etched on her face. She couldn’t fathom that he would speak of his own brother this way. Not only was he undermining Daemon entirely, but he was also planning to marry him off once again.

“And because I’m the heir, must my happiness be sacrificed?” she murmured, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“As the heir to the Iron Throne, you must make sacrifices,” Viserys said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Rhaenyra searched her father’s eyes, looking for a hint of reason but found none. “And what sacrifices have you made?” she whispered angrily. “Because as far as I can tell, all of your sacrifices involve someone else ruining their lives to please you or to increase your power.” She loved her father, but she knew he wasn’t a good king. Daemon knew it. Her mother had known it. They all knew that his incompetence would one day bring disaster upon them. She could only hope she was strong enough to stop it. “So tell me, Father. What good have you done for the realm, besides stripping those you care about until they’re hollow and then demanding more?”

Viserys was silent, his face etched with hurt, but Rhaenyra didn’t care at that moment. “What have you sacrificed?” she finally yelled from across the room. When he still offered no reply, she left the council room, leaving the king alone.

Rhaenyra tried to get as far away from her father as possible, wandering without any particular direction until the familiar, sweet scent of her uncle caught her attention. She followed it, arriving at the small garden where the Weirwood tree stood. She stopped to gaze at Daemon’s back; he was standing in front of the tree, eyes closed, head slightly tilted upward. She couldn’t help but admire him. Her uncle was a beautiful creature; no matter how many times she looked at him, he was always a wonder to behold.

Daemon had been a highly sought-after omega before he was betrothed to Rhea Royce. Even after his marriage, bold alphas continued to seek him out, hoping to catch his attention. Viserys had always found it strange why his little brother, who behaved like anything but a typical omega, was so popular among high-house alphas. But Rhaenyra understood. Even though Daemon had never acted submissive to an alpha, his beauty made up for it.

She remembered thinking how lucky anyone who won her uncle’s heart would be, and then she found herself wishing that lucky person could be her. The truth was, it had always been him. If it had been up to her, she would have had her father annul Daemon's marriage to that terrible alpha and married him herself in a traditional Valyrian ceremony right after her first rut. She would have helped him raise Baelon as her own, giving him the happy and fulfilling life he deserved.

" Will you stay there all day staring? Or is there something you want to tell me? " Daemon’s eyes were now open, watching her with a small smile.

She stiffened slightly, caught ogling her uncle, but relaxed when she saw his beautiful face smiling at her. “ I can’t say I had anything particular in mind. I was just admiring the view. ”

He chuckled, glancing down, and she noticed a very faint hint of pink dusting his cheeks, which made her smile widen. “You seem distraught. I’m guessing your conversation with my brother didn’t go well.”

“Right as always, uncle.” Her smile faded a little. Daemon always knew when she was in a bad mood; even if she tried to mask her scent, he could read her like an open book. She believed it was due to his motherly instinct, even though her father claimed he had none. “My father seems content to sell me off to whichever lord has the biggest castle.”

The omega stared at her for a minute before looking down slightly, smile dropping completely from his face. “There are worse things to be sold for,” Daemon said, looking into her eyes. She could see all the pain he had endured—pain caused by her father and that council of leeches. He turned to leave, but she grabbed his arm. After so many years apart, she wasn’t letting him go so easily—not this time.

“ Don’t leave me, uncle, ” she whispered, barely audible. “ Not again. ”

“Rhaenyra…” Daemon didn’t turn to face her, his head hanging as he exhaled softly.

“ Don’t. ” She stopped him before he could say anything further. “ Stop trying to deny it. I know you can feel it too. ” A surge of anger built within her, frustrated by Daemon’s stubbornness.

The omega turned to face her with a small frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Enough of that! You know exactly what I’m referring to.” She was getting irritated, her recent fight with her father only adding to her exhaustion. Fighting with Daemon wasn’t something she wanted, especially not now, but she was just so tired. “ Stop denying yourself happiness. ”

“We can’t,” the omega pulled his arm from her grasp, stepping back. “Rhaenyra, we can’t! I’m dam–”

“Oh, don’t start! I’ve already heard it all. I don’t care. I want you, I need you, uncle,” she pleaded, stepping closer and holding both of his hands tightly in hers.

Daemon didn’t pull away, but he avoided her gaze. “I only speak the truth. If you refuse to see it, it’s not my fault.”

“Omega…” Her voice lowered, almost like a growl. “I’m older now; I can give you what I couldn’t before.” Rhaenyra’s voice softened as she tried to convey how much she needed him, but he wouldn’t even meet her eyes. “ I know you want this too. Why are you making it so difficult? ”

Daemon finally looked at her. “Alpha, I—I can’t. We can’t.” He pulled his hands from her grip, and she didn’t resist, not wanting him to feel caged.

“Can’t what?” She struggled to hold her patience, unwilling to push her omega too far. “Is this about the lords? About me being heir? Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. You’re the only thing that matters to me. ” Rhaenyra moved closer to him again. He was still slightly taller than her, but only by a little. She raised her hand to his cheek, rubbing it gently with her thumb. When a tear slipped down his face, she brushed it away and let her scent bloom, trying to soothe him.

Daemon looked into her eyes, his own red-rimmed and filled with sorrow. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, his hand moving to the side of her neck, caressing it gently. Rhaenyra couldn’t hold back; she embraced him softly, not tightly enough to trap him, and leaned in to capture his lips in a kiss. The omega returned the kiss, hesitantly at first, but then pulled away swiftly, as if regaining his senses.

“Rhaenyra! Stop! You know we can’t.” He stepped away, his red eyes welling with tears. “ No matter how much either of us wants this , they would never allow it.”

She sighed in frustration. “Who are ‘they’?”

“Them! The lords, the council… my brother.” He looked down, and the mention of her father brought a hint of sadness to his scent.

“Since when have you cared about any of them?” Rhaenyra couldn’t help but question him. Throughout the years, it had always been obvious to her that her uncle didn’t care about others' opinions of him, let alone those of her father’s small council. She couldn’t understand what had changed.

“Since your safety is at risk!” Daemon exclaimed, exasperated, desperate for her to understand. “Don’t fool yourself, Rhaenyra. You know the small council would never allow you to marry me. The realm would descend into chaos if the heir to the Iron Throne married a used omega!” His voice wavered, a knot forming in his throat. “ The realm would never see me as your consort; they would never respect me. Your claim would be seen as illegitimate, and any children I bear would be seen as illegitimate. ”

“Daemon—”

“I’m tainted,” he interrupted, his voice laden with anguish. “ I’ll always be… tainted. That’s my curse to bear, but I refuse to drag you down with me. ”

Rhaenyra let out a breath, her desperation palpable in her scent. “ My father wants me to bear children of my own. What good would I be as queen if I died in the birthing bed? ”

“You need only two. One for the Iron Throne and one for Driftmark,” he tried to reason, though he hated asking her to risk her life for her father’s ambition. “ You’re strong. I know you can do it. ”

“I can’t.” Rhaenyra’s voice broke, and Daemon saw her eyes redden, tears pooling at the corners.

“You can, and you will,” he said, stepping closer and holding her hands, trying to make her feel supported. “You’ll have a child with Laenor Velaryon—a legitimate heir with a firm claim. Something I can never give you. ”

She shook her head. “ You can. I’ll make sure you will, uncle. I need you. ” She tightened her grip on his hands. “Please—”

Daemon closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. He hadn’t wanted to tell her, but he felt she should know; perhaps it would even deter her from continuing to pursue him. Deep inside, he had longed to be free of the babe and wished the high lords and ladies weren’t so uptight, so he could accept his niece’s proposal. But that wasn’t the case, and he hadn’t been able to end the pregnancy; he couldn’t hurt Rhaenyra like that. “ I’m pregnant, ” he finally told her, looking directly into her eyes.

“By whom?” she growled.

“Laena.” He averted his gaze, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes.

“How long?” Rhaenyra asked, her tone serious.

“Almost two months,” he admitted, still not meeting her eyes.

There was a moment of silence. Neither of them spoke as Rhaenyra seemed to be deep in thought. Daemon sighed and turned to leave. “I don’t care,” she said suddenly.

“Rhaenyra—” He faced her again, feeling exhausted.

“I don’t care,” she repeated, trying to make her point clear to her stubborn uncle.

Daemon sighed, irritation building in his gut. “ Maybe you don’t, but everyone else will. And the moment it’s born, people will know I’ve birthed a bastard. ”

Rhaenyra stayed silent, her expression contemplative. “Fine,” she finally said. Daemon exhaled, feeling a sense of relief, though he tried to ignore the pang of hurt at her acceptance. “I’ll marry Laenor Velaryon,” she nodded, and he ignored the pain in his chest. “And you’ll marry Laena Velaryon.”

That made him freeze. “Rhae—”

“Don’t.” She cut him off, grabbing his hands again and holding them gently. “ I won’t have my omega’s name dirtied by a bastard, ” she said firmly. “ You’ll have to marry her and bear her child. ” Rhaenyra brought their joined hands to her face, placing a gentle kiss on the back of his hands. “ And in that time, I’ll work to become an alpha worthy of you. ”

Her last statement made him look at her with wide eyes, the heaviness in his heart lifting. He understood her intentions, but instead of feeling uncomfortable or annoyed, he felt a hopeful warmth bubbling up in his chest. His cheeks flushed, and he fought the wide smile that threatened to appear. “Why?”

Rhaenyra smiled, lifting a hand to his face to softly caress his cheek. “ Because I love you. ” She leaned closer, and Daemon instinctively backed up slightly, thinking she intended to kiss him again. But Rhaenyra held him in place, letting her scent out to calm him, then leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. She stepped back, a small smile on her face, and turned to walk in the direction of her chambers. “And Daemon,” she called over her shoulder, “ It was not a phase. ”

The female alpha turned back around, heading toward her apartments with her hands clasped behind her back, resisting the overwhelming urge to turn around and kiss him until they couldn’t feel their lips.

Daemon stood frozen for a moment, his lips still tingling from the brief kiss. His heart was racing, and he couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his face. Snapping out of his love-struck trance, he quickly made his way to his chambers, eager to see his son.

—————————————

Two days later 

The king had declared a week of celebrations for his daughter’s marriage, with tournaments, jousts, and, finally, the wedding ceremony at the end of the week. Guests had started arriving at the Red Keep—lords and ladies from the high houses all over Westeros. The castle was lavishly decorated, and the throne room was meticulously organized for the many banquets that would take place during the week-long event.

Daemon was currently sitting on the far right of the main table, where the husband and wife-to-be’s families were seated. He wore a long-sleeved red doublet with a dark blue-gray sleeveless tunic, adorned with silver clasps running down the front. A black leather belt with metallic accents cinched his waist. His now short, platinum-blonde hair was slicked back. Baelon sat next to him in a similar ensemble to match his father’s, his dark-brown hair left natural, showing off his curls.

He glanced at Rhaenyra, who wore a gown with a fitted bodice, wide structured shoulders tapering to cap sleeves, and subtle gold stitching along the neckline and shoulder seams, accentuating the craftsmanship. A braided gold belt at the waist cinched the dress, with a chain draping down. Delicate gold chains adorned her shoulders as ornamental details, and a gold necklace with ornate medallions lay around her neck. Her hair was intricately braided into an elaborate updo, adorned with small red jewels.

Daemon tried not to stare at his niece, feeling his brother’s intense glare burning into the side of his head. She looked beautiful in her wedding dress—it almost made him wish he had accepted her proposal. He could’ve been the one she was marrying, but instead, she was marrying Laenor Velaryon, an alpha, out of duty, just as he had done years ago.

The main couple walked to the center of the room, hand in hand, making Daemon’s stomach twisted with jealousy. He watched as they danced; Rhaenyra moved with the grace of a swan, leaving the omega in a trance. His gaze shifted briefly to Laenor, and a heavy feeling of anger settled in his heart. After his conversation with Rhaenyra, his omega instincts had been more intense than ever, constantly feeling jealous and possessive when anyone else looked at or spoke to her.

The female alpha twirled around, and her eyes immediately landed on the older omega. A smile graced her face when she realized her uncle was already watching her. She had noticed the faint scent of jealousy clinging to him for the past two days. It made her wish she could run away with him and never look back. Even though she had agreed to marry Laenor, it didn’t mean she wanted to. There was no love between them—she barely knew him—but her father had taken away her chance to marry for love. Viserys knew there was only one person she had ever truly loved, but he refused to allow their union, even though he knew it would greatly benefit two of the people he claimed to love most.

The truth was that Viserys was the king before he was her father and Daemon’s brother. Their happiness and security didn’t matter if it risked the crown’s image. It was insignificant compared to the Targaryen image among the lords and ladies of the high houses, or even among the small council. Even the opinion of that group of leeches held more weight for Viserys than the comfort of his daughter and brother.

When others began joining the couple on the dance floor, Daemon stood up, his gaze set on Rhaenyra. He didn’t know what his intentions were; all he knew was that he wanted to be closer to her. He made his way through the crowd, not bothering to pretend to dance or entertain any of the people who tried to get his attention.

His gaze was still fixed on Rhaenyra, who was still dancing with Laenor, when he felt someone grab his arm from behind. The grip was firm, though not painful. He knew who it was even before he turned around, recognizing the familiar scent of the alpha he had shared his bed with for the past two years.

Turning around, he came face-to-face with Laena Velaryon, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Daemon, we need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” He tried to pull away from her grip and turn back, but she held on, pulling him closer with surprising strength.

“I know, Daemon,” Laena whispered harshly. Her words made his blood run cold, a pit forming in his stomach and bile rising in his throat.

Daemon tried once more to free himself from the alpha’s tight grip. “I don’t know what you mean.” Finally, Laena let him go, and he immediately began walking away from her, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. He felt sick, anxiety threatening to choke him. His gaze fell on Rhaenyra again, and he quickly moved to reach her.

He could still sense Laena following him, and he quickened his pace. “Stop running away, omega,” she called, reaching out to grab his shoulder.

“Do not call me that,” he snapped, turning to face her, his anxiety shifting to anger at hearing anyone but his niece refer to him like that.

Laena released him. “I know you’re carrying my child, Daemon. Maester Kelvyn told me,” she said, watching his eyes and trying to read his expression.

The omega frowned and looked away. “That lying old man, I—”

“Don’t start. I made him tell me. Besides, I already suspected it—you’re not exactly subtle,” Laena whispered the last part. Daemon looked around, watching the people dancing and laughing, completely unaware of the incriminating conversation taking place beside them.

“I—”

“Marry me. Let’s leave and marry in secret,” the female alpha blurted out, reaching out to grab the omega’s hand. “My father would never let me claim it as my own without a political union. He wouldn’t taint the Velaryon name like that.”

Daemon felt his irritation rising at her words. She really thought he needed her help, as if he were nothing more than a helpless omega. “And why would you assume I want you to claim my child?”

“Daemon…” she sighed, exhausted. “Don’t be difficult. You know what people will say if you give birth to a child out of wedlock.” Her tone was firm, desperately trying to make the omega understand.

He pulled his hand away from her grip and crossed his arms over his chest. “And why should I care?” His irritation was evident, his scent growing slightly stronger and tinged with bitterness. The female alpha tried to extend her own scent toward him, hoping to soothe him, but it only aggravated Daemon further.

“Because she cares,” Laena said softly, subtly gesturing toward Rhaenyra. “It’s not difficult to see, Daemon.” Seeing the omega’s panicked expression, she continued, “I’m not under the illusion that you accepted my company for anything other than convenience.” She stepped closer, her gaze flicking briefly to the royal table before settling back on him. “Daemon, don’t put your and your children’s safety at risk because of your pride,” she whispered, taking his hand gently. She released him and looked into his eyes, silently pleading with him to stop being so stubborn.

Just as Daemon was about to respond, a huge commotion erupted behind him. Both he and Laena turned toward the noise, seeing an ocean of people running, some circling something in the middle. A mixture of strong scents hit him, and anxiety surged within him.

The omega quickly turned toward the main table where Baelon was seated, his gaze scanning the crowd in a panic. Daemon immediately moved toward him. He heard Laena call his name from behind, but he ignored her, desperate to reach his son. He pushed past the frantic crowd, calling Baelon’s name, but the sea of bodies blocked his view.

Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm forcefully and pulled him to the side. Daemon turned to see Ser Luthor, his face set in a grim expression.

"Wait, my son, Ser—"

"Come with me, my prince. Baelon is with Lady Laena," Ser Luthor said, guiding him through the crowd. The guard shoved people aside, always ensuring Daemon’s safety.

Once they were clear of the mass of people, Daemon’s eyes found his son, who was being held back by Laena from charging back into the chaos. As soon as Baelon saw them, Laena released his hold on him, allowing the boy to run and embrace his mother. Baelon launched himself into Daemon’s arms, and the omega pulled him in for a tight hug.

“We need to leave,” Laena said as Daemon approached her.

“No. What are you talking about?” Daemon immediately refused, holding Baelon tighter.

Laena stepped closer, speaking urgently. “My father does not approve. Let’s run away together and marry in secret.”

Daemon didn’t answer. His eyes drifted to the still-panic-stricken crowd, and his gaze settled on Rhaenyra, who was being carried away by Ser Harwin “Breakbones” Strong. The tall alpha had the princess safely on his shoulder, easing Daemon’s nerves just slightly.

“Daemon, do it for him—and for her,” Laena pressed, her hand gently on his arm as she met his eyes with a pleading look. “I want to help you.”

Daemon stared at her, unsure how to respond. Deep down, he wanted to stay by Rhaenyra’s side, but a part of him knew it would be too painful. His eyes flicked to Ser Luthor, who gave him a firm nod. “I’ll follow you anywhere, my prince.”

Daemon looked back at Laena, the decision made at that moment. He nodded, unable to think any further.

Laena let out a relieved sigh and smiled faintly. Without another word, she led him out of the now-silent room, with Ser Luthor right behind them. They encountered Elinda on their way out, who informed Daemon that his and Baelon’s things had already been packed. This surprised Daemon, but a guilty look from Laena made him realize immediately why.

They made their way to the Dragonpit, where they mounted Caraxes. Baelon sat in front of Daemon, with Laena behind him. Ser Luthor and Elinda bid them farewell, promising to meet them again soon. With one last glance at the Red Keep in the distance, Caraxes took flight, veering off in an unknown direction.

As they soared through the sky, Daemon’s mind began to wander. A wave of guilt washed over him—he had left Rhaenyra behind to shoulder the weight of courtly responsibilities. She had explicitly asked him to marry Laena, but Daemon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was betraying her in some way. He longed to go back, but it was too late now. All he could do was hope for the day when they would meet again and long for the happiness that had been taken from him—happiness that, deep down, he knew only Rhaenyra could bring him.

Chapter Text

Baelon watched the scene unfold with a deep frown, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His dark eyes lingered on his mother, who was holding that alpha’s hands. To an outsider, Daemon’s expression might seem neutral, but Baelon knew better. His mother wasn’t happy. He could see the tension in the way Daemon held himself, the faint crease in his brow. The young alpha wished he could banish whatever was troubling him.

Laena Velaryon—that was her name. The alpha who was marrying his mother. Daemon had tried to explain the reasons for remarrying after Rhea’s death, but Baelon didn’t understand. Why couldn’t his mother just raise the baby alone? He could help. He would be a good big brother. They didn’t need an alpha’s help. Baelon didn’t like adult alphas. They were all the same—cruel, selfish, and untrustworthy. All they ever did was hurt his mother, and Baelon couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt again.

Daemon looked into Laena’s eyes, swallowing hard and letting out a shaky breath. His nerves felt frayed. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. After everything he had been through, here he was, shackling himself to another alpha—all because of his own mistakes. His own weakness. His foolish, uncontrollable omega instincts. The same instincts he had sworn never to give in to. But now? He was pregnant. Again. And marrying. Again. All for duty.

He had fought so hard all his life to be seen as more than just an omega. He had wanted to show the courtiers, the council of leeches, the entire kingdom, that his second gender didn’t define him. He had wanted to prove that he was their equal. But the years had proven otherwise. In the eyes of the world, he was still just another omega playing at being an alpha. He had been married off the moment the opportunity arose, pregnant three times over, and now wed once more to preserve his reputation. Somewhere along the way, he had become what he feared most: a broodmare. And he hated himself for it.

Daemon caught the faint, bitter tang of Baelon’s angry scent. His son still couldn’t quite control his scent, which bled into the air like a quiet rebellion. The septon’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, making him straighten his posture and focus on Laena again. The ceremony was mercifully brief. Baelon, Ser Luthor Largent, and Elinda served as their only witnesses. The wedding was over before Daemon fully realized it, and the inevitable next step loomed before him: consummation.

In one of his many travels to Pentos, Daemon met a powerful lord who offered him sanctuary if he ever needed it. It was in this lord’s house that the marriage was performed, and the same man had generously provided them with private apartments for as long as they wished to stay.

Laena led him to their chambers with her intentions unmistakably clear. But before she could take another step, Baelon stood in front of his mother, arms spread wide, defiant and unyielding. The young alpha refused to let Laena take his mother anywhere alone. Daemon had to soothe him, letting his gentle omega scent unfurl to calm his son’s nerves. He crouched down, murmuring reassurances that Laena wouldn’t hurt him, that everything was all right. However, Baelon relented at last without making Ser Luthor swear to intervene immediately if anything went wrong.

Daemon watched as his son finally stepped aside, his jaw set with stubborn determination. His heart ached, but he kept it hidden. With one last glance at Baelon, he allowed Laena to lead him into their chambers, bracing himself for what was to come.

Daemon was no innocent maiden; he had lain with Laena before. Yet now, he couldn’t help the nervous knot twisting in his stomach. He sat on the enormous bed at the center of the room, his eyes following the alpha as she moved around, deliberately avoiding his gaze. His hand drifted instinctively to his flat stomach. At two months pregnant, he knew he couldn’t afford hesitation—not tonight. Whether he wanted it or not, he needed Laena to bed him.

He already had enough to contend with. The last thing he needed was people whispering about the parentage of his child. In just a few hours, when the servants came to clean, they would see the untouched bed and start gossiping. By morning, when neither he nor Laena carried the other’s scent, the court would know. They always knew. And the whispers would follow: that he had failed to entice his new wife, that he was too old, that he could no longer perform his duty as an omega.

The alphas would mock him, and the omegas would pity him. He loathed their pity.

Laena’s restless pacing only stoked his irritation. “Just do it already,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the tension. “Why are you delaying it?”

The alpha stopped abruptly and turned to face him, her expression serious. “Because you don’t want it,” she said simply.

“And why does that matter now?” Daemon shot back, rising to his feet and closing the space between them. “What I want has never mattered! I’m a pregnant, unmarried male omega! I’m nothing—less than nothing!”

Her scent surged, strong, and suffocating, and Daemon felt his anger spike in response. “You’re married to me now,” she said firmly.

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, his irritation thick in the air. “Daemon…” Laena’s voice softened, tired, and measured. “I know your experiences with alphas have been... difficult. But I’m not Rhea.” She reached out, gently uncrossing his arms and taking his hands in hers. Her touch was warm, and grounding, but it did little to soothe him.

“Laena…” Daemon started, his voice quieter now, reluctant. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t. “I’m not afraid of you,” he murmured, though exhaustion weighed down his words. He was tired—of this conversation, of this charade, of this life that never felt like his own.

Sometimes, Daemon wished he’d been born lowborn. Or a beta. Anything but a highborn omega. From the moment of his birth, his destiny had been carved in stone. He was seen as nothing more than a womb destined to produce royal heirs. His value, his purpose, had never been his own. He thought of Aemma, how Viserys’ first wife had been worn down by childbirth until it killed her. If he hadn’t been so young, he knew he would have been betrothed to Viserys himself and met the same fate.

Laena’s chuckle pulled him back to the present. “I know,” she said with a faint smile. “You could kill me with your bare hands, even while pregnant.” She squeezed his hands gently, her smile softening. “I just want to help you, Daemon. I do care about you.”

His lips tightened. “If you care so much about me, then perform your duty as an alpha and fuck me,” he said bluntly. He saw her flinch but felt no regret for his words. He was desperate. She needed to understand. “Do it, so when the servants come, they won’t talk. So when our child is born, no one will question its parentage.”

Laena didn’t respond. She pulled her hands away and turned her back on him, each step she took stirring his rising panic. Anxiety clawed at his chest, bitter and choking. His vision blurred with unshed tears, the first he had allowed himself in years. For the first time in a long while, Daemon was truly afraid. It felt like losing his daughter all over again, and the rawness of that memory threatened to overwhelm him.

“Laena,” he called, his voice trembling with desperation. “I beg you—forget what I want, forget what you want, and just consummate the marriage.” He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was begging. Begging an alpha. Him. Daemon Targaryen, who never begged for anything. But now? Now he was on the verge of breaking. “You say you married me to protect me... and my children.” Laena turned to face him at last.

“Then be a worthy alpha,” Daemon finished, his voice steadying, though his gaze burned with raw emotion. “And fulfill your promise.”

—————————————

Five months later

Baelon watched as his heavily pregnant mother scolded another servant for failing to place a chair at the precise angle he desired. The poor girl bowed her head, murmured an apology, and quickly left the room as Laena dismissed her with a tight smile. The alpha turned to Daemon, her expression softening. She reached out, gently caressing his crossed arms, and Baelon saw his mother visibly relax at the touch. After Laena murmured something to him, Daemon turned and began waddling in Baelon’s direction.

Daemon’s face broke into a wide smile as he spotted his son. Baelon stepped forward to meet him, instinctively reaching for his hand. The young alpha noticed how his mother hesitated, clearly wanting to crouch down to greet him properly but unable to do so because of his heavily swollen belly. It would be a lie to say Baelon wasn’t concerned. His mother’s stomach was far larger than it had been during his pregnancy with his sister, and there were still two months left before the baby was due.

That wasn’t his only worry. The last time Daemon had given birth, he had nearly died, and they had lost the child. Baelon didn’t know if his mother could endure that kind of heartbreak again.

Daemon settled into a chair and immediately began barking instructions to the servants, directing them on how to arrange the main dining room. Tomorrow was Baelon’s tenth name day, and his mother was planning an extravagant celebration. Though the idea had been Laena’s, Daemon had thrown himself into organizing every detail with uncharacteristic fervor. With his pregnancy limiting his mobility, he seemed to find joy in micromanaging the preparations.

Daemon had invited several Pentoshi lords to the event and even extended an invitation to Rhaenyra, though he wasn’t sure she would attend due to her own pregnancy. After much convincing from Laena, he had also sent invitations to Rhaenys and Corlys.

Daemon had said he wouldn’t be upset if the southern lords couldn’t make the long journey. But Baelon knew better. His mother was counting on Rhaenyra to attend, hoping for her presence more than he let on.

Baelon’s gaze shifted to Laena Velaryon, his mother’s alpha and wife. His feelings toward her had been complicated from the start. After Rhea, he had been fiercely protective of Daemon, unwilling to trust any alpha who claimed his mother. In Baelon’s eyes, no alpha was good enough for Daemon—except for one.

For a long time, Baelon had believed his mother would marry Rhaenyra. It had seemed inevitable. When Daemon had been at war, Rhaenyra would visit him, and Baelon had thought her efforts to win his favor were genuine. Not that she needed to try—Baelon had always liked her. But when Rhaenyra’s marriage to Laenor Velaryon was announced and Daemon fled with him to Pentos, the young alpha’s hopes were crushed.

At first, he hadn’t understood. It was obvious to anyone paying attention that his mother and Rhaenyra loved each other. Why, then, weren’t they together? But as he grew older, the answer became painfully clear. The court’s views were unrelenting. No matter how high his station, Daemon’s status as an omega made him vulnerable. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra, as the King’s heir, couldn’t afford to tarnish her reputation. Because of their roles, their love had no place in a world ruled by lords and councils clinging to tradition.

The realization filled Baelon with quiet anger. Daemon was the best choice for Rhaenyra, yet the people around them were too blind—or too proud—to see it.

Initially, Baelon had resisted his mother’s marriage to Laena. He had growled at her proximity, positioned himself protectively between her and Daemon, and watched her every move, ready to defend his mother from any sign of aggression. He wasn’t a child anymore; he could protect Daemon himself.

But to Baelon’s surprise, Laena never reacted with hostility. She never growled back or showed aggression, not even when his temper got the better of him. Instead, she was patient, even kind. Over time, Baelon began to notice the small things. How Laena indulged all of Daemon’s cravings and outlandish requests without complaint, always with a smile. How she never raised her voice or hand, never frightened his mother. She was nothing like Rhea.

Daemon seemed content in her presence, at ease in a way that Baelon hadn’t seen in years. He allowed Laena into his bed at night, and his scent remained calm when she entered a room. More than anything, Baelon could see how deeply Laena cared for his mother.

And so, after months of observation, Baelon decided to let go of his unwarranted grudge. For the first time, he thought perhaps this alpha was worthy of Daemon—or as worthy as any alpha could be.

His tenth name-day celebration had gone off without a hitch, showcasing his mother’s hidden talent for event planning. Rhaenyra had been able to attend, arriving early in the morning with her husband. Daemon, almost as if he had sensed her arrival, had been awake and waiting. The omega insisted on greeting them personally and pulled his niece into an enthusiastic hug, careful to accommodate both her three-month belly and his own seven-month pregnancy.

Even if he tried to hide it, his mother couldn’t conceal the immense joy he felt at seeing Rhaenyra again. Just the day before, he had been complaining nonstop about his aching feet and lower back. But today, it seemed all his discomfort had vanished. His face was lit with a permanent smile, and he busied himself ordering servants to attend to Rhaenyra’s every wish. At one point during the celebration, the two disappeared for a walk along the beach near the house. Their absence didn’t go unnoticed, but neither of their spouses seemed to mind, too engrossed in catching up with one another and their parents, who had also been able to attend.

The Southerners were scheduled to stay for only two more days after the celebration, but Baelon used his childlike charm and innocence to persuade Rhaenyra and Laenor to extend their visit. He knew how much it meant to his mother, who smiled wider and exuded a happy scent that filled the house like a warm breeze. During their extended stay, Rhaenyra rarely left Daemon’s side. They spent most of their time in the library or the dining room, indulging their cravings together. From what Baelon overheard, his mother often gave Rhaenyra advice on how to handle her pregnancy and prepare for childbirth. Whatever private conversations they shared when they were alone remained a mystery, but they clearly brought comfort to the omega.

When the alpha couple finally departed, Daemon’s mood understandably dipped, though he seemed lighter somehow. While his sadness at their leaving was evident, there was a quiet contentment about him that hadn’t been there before. Baelon couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason for the change, but he knew it had something to do with Rhaenyra. Whatever she had said or done, it had left a lasting impact.

His mother smiled more often now, his scent radiating a subtle happiness that filled their home. Baelon didn’t need to understand the specifics—he was simply grateful. All he ever wished for was his mother’s happiness, and in these moments, it seemed like that wish had come true. He only hoped it would last.

—————————————

Five years later 

Daemon was startled awake by small hands squeezing his cheeks and hot breath tickling the back of his neck. “...Are you awake?” one of his twins whispered, her voice soft but insistent.

“I am now,” he muttered, opening his eyes to find Rhaena staring intently at him. Turning his head slightly, he spotted Baela lying across his back, her breath warm against his skin. “Can I help you?”

“Mother asked us to come get you for breakfast,” Baela said, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling into his nape.

“Is that so?” Daemon pulled both his daughters closer, letting them snuggle into his embrace. They buried their faces in his neck, breathing deeply, their warm presence comforting. “You’re not doing a very good job of it.”

“You just smell so good, muña, it makes me sleepy,” Rhaena mumbled into his neck, making Daemon chuckle softly.

The tender moment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Daemon turned his head to see his eldest child standing at the threshold. “Muña, Laena is—” Baelon stopped mid-sentence as he took in the pile of bodies on the bed. A small smile crept onto his face. “Rhaena, Baela, it’s time to eat. Your mother won’t be happy if you skip breakfast,” the fifteen-year-old said as he approached.

The twins groaned and clung tighter to their mother. Daemon chuckled again, watching as his son reached the bedside. With a swift and practiced motion, Baelon scooped up his sisters, one under each arm, despite their squeals and squirming laughter.

“Come on, time to eat,” Baelon said with a smirk, looking back at his mother as he carried the giggling twins out of the room.

Daemon watched them leave with a fond smile before swinging his legs out of bed. He reached for the dressing gown hanging nearby, draping it over himself, and followed his children to the dining room, Ser Luthor trailing silently behind. When he arrived, he found his family gathered around the table, waiting for him. Taking his place beside Laena and across from his children, Daemon was greeted by a sweet kiss from his wife before she returned her attention to her plate.

Breakfast passed peacefully, the quiet broken only when Daemon asked Baelon about his training with Ser Luthor. The young alpha eagerly launched into an animated account of his lessons and sword-fighting progress, his enthusiasm filling the room. Baela took the opportunity to renew her pleas to begin training like her brother.

Daemon smiled indulgently at his daughter. He had agreed immediately when she first asked, but Laena had vetoed the idea, insisting that Baela was still too young to wield a sword. Watching his determined daughter now, he couldn’t help but admire her persistence.

The twins had been an unexpected blessing. After Baela’s birth, Daemon had sighed in relief, only for another wave of pain to hit him. The maester had informed him that another child was on the way. Hours later, both girls were cleaned and swaddled, and Daemon held them tightly, refusing to let go. Only Laena, Baelon, and the maester were allowed brief holds before he demanded them back. The memory of his lost child haunted him, replaying in his mind as he clutched his newborn daughters.

The girls had thrived. Baela was an alpha, and Rhaena a beta—a fact that fueled the court’s cruel whispers. A beta born to a pure Valyrian couple was scandalous to many, but Daemon didn’t care. His daughters’ well-being was all that mattered. Each girl was given a dragon egg, hand-selected by Daemon from Vhagar’s last clutch. Baela’s egg hatched into Moondancer, but Rhaena’s remained a rock. The news had reached King’s Landing, further stoking vicious gossip that Rhaena was unworthy of her Valyrian heritage.

Daemon longed for someone bold enough to say it to his face so he could remind them what Dark Sister could do to loose tongues.

Rhaena wasn’t the only target of the court’s venom. His Baelon, too, often found himself at the center of their whispers. The boy’s dark hair and lack of a dragon made him an easy mark, even though everyone knew the reason behind it. But the truth didn’t matter to the leeches in court—they only cared about dragging the Rogue Prince’s reputation further into the mud.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Baelon trained in the courtyard with Ser Luthor, while Daemon pretended not to notice Baela sneaking out to join them. Rhaena spent the afternoon in their small library, absorbed in a book—gods knew what about—and Daemon took the opportunity to ride with Laena on their dragons. Together, they put on a grand display for the lord who had graciously hosted them in one of his many houses, as well as for his family and friends. The crowd cheered in awe at the majestic sight of the two dragons soaring through the skies in perfect harmony.

Later, they were invited to dinner at the lord’s main house. The event stretched late into the night, though the children retired early. Baelon had tried to insist he was old enough to stay, but a single stern glare from his omega mother was enough to send him—and his sisters—off to bed.

Daemon drank sparingly, but as the evening wore on, he found himself craving fresh air. He excused himself after Laena accepted the lord’s offer for them to stay permanently. The news lingered uneasily in his mind.

Making his way to the roof, Daemon sat in solitude, lost in thought. He wasn’t surprised when Laena eventually joined him, her presence quiet but heavy with unspoken words. For a while, they simply sat together in silence before she broke it.

“I know you want to leave,” she said softly. “I saw the letter Rhaenyra sent you, asking you to meet her. I understand why you don’t want to stay. You want to go back... but I—I can’t, Daemon.”

Daemon remained silent. It was true: he wanted to see Rhaenyra. But the idea of returning to the court’s politics and poisonous atmosphere left him cold. If Laena had suggested staying permanently a few months ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. But now, after what Rhaenyra had confided in him, the choice wasn’t so simple.

Rhaenyra had given birth to two alpha sons, both with dark hair. Gossip and rumors had spread like wildfire through the court, fueled by whispers that the boys were bastards. The courtiers ignored the undeniable fact that both Laenor and Rhaenyra had dark-haired relatives in their lineage. They sneered in private, accusing Rhaenyra of infidelity. Worse still was her relationship with the queen, who had grown increasingly cold and resentful toward her. Alicent, a beta, seemed to believe every vile rumor about Rhaenyra and her children, and she made no effort to hide her disdain.

When Daemon didn’t respond, Laena continued, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “I know, Daemon. I know you don’t love me—not like you love her.”

The omega’s eyes widened, startled by her bluntness.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Laena’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “The faint scent of cashmere wood and cinnamon clings to you every time you come back from your travels. You can’t hide that from me. After spending so much time with someone, you notice these things.”

“Laena…” Daemon sighed, his voice heavy with regret. She wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love her in his own way—a way deeper than he cared to admit.

“It’s fine,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hands in hers. Her smile was small but sincere. “I’ve made my peace with it. I know why you married me—I was the one who suggested it, remember?” She brought his hands to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of them. “Just... think about it. I don’t want our children growing up surrounded by the leeches at court.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she leaned in, kissing him softly on the lips. Without another word, she stood and left him alone with his thoughts once more.

Daemon stayed on the roof a while longer, staring out into the darkness, before finally returning to their chambers. Changing into his nightclothes, he slipped under the covers, his body weary but his mind restless. It was only when Laena wrapped her arms around him from behind, her scent forming a warm, protective cocoon, that he allowed himself to surrender to sleep.

—————————————

“Repeat it,” Daemon ordered, his voice low but trembling with tension. His grip tightened on the back of the chair before him, knuckles white with strain.

The servant before him swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath as he repeated himself. “Lady Laena went out on a ride with her dragon this morning, but Vhagar has returned alone... without a rider.” He avoided Daemon’s intense glare, his eyes fixed on the floor.

The servant hesitated as if wanting to say more, but before he could open his mouth again, Daemon turned abruptly and stormed out of the room. His steps were quick, and purposeful, as he made his way to Caraxes. After securing himself on the dragon’s saddle, the Blood Wyrm took off, its massive wings cutting through the air as they flew in the direction Vhagar had come from.

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder and heavier than the last. Laena’s absence didn’t make sense. She would never leave without telling him—or at least one of their children. His mind raced as he tried to piece together an explanation, but none came. Where could she have gone in such a hurry? And why?

Willing Caraxes to fly lower, Daemon scanned the ground for anything unusual. The thought of their conversation the night before gnawed at his mind. Was this somehow his fault? Tears blurred his vision as desperation gripped him. Laena told him everything—always. Her sudden disappearance felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

Hours passed, and Daemon still found no trace of his wife. He landed Caraxes on several nearby islands, searching frantically, but with no luck. Darkness descended, making it impossible to see clearly. Defeated, he turned back, his heart heavy with dread.

When he arrived home, he was greeted by a tearful Baela and Rhaena, clinging to each other, and a visibly worried Baelon. The sight of his children broke him. He pulled the twins into his arms, trying to comfort them.

“What were you thinking?” Baelon’s angry voice cut through the quiet, and Daemon turned to meet his eldest son’s fiery gaze. “You left without even telling us?”

“Baelon…” Daemon started, his voice faltering.

The young alpha’s eyes brimmed with tears, and his voice cracked as he choked out, “Muña–” before breaking into sobs.

A lump formed in Daemon’s throat as he reached out, pulling his son into his arms. Baelon buried his face in his mother’s neck, inhaling his scent in an effort to calm down.

“My son, I’m sorry,” Daemon murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he rubbed Baelon’s hair soothingly.

Feeling their mother’s distress, Baela and Rhaena wrapped their arms around his waist, burying their faces in his clothes. Their muffled cries filled the air, and Daemon held them all close, his own tears slipping down his cheeks.

At that moment, he noticed how tall his children had grown. The twins were already up to his waist, and Baelon was nearly his height. The realization felt oddly bittersweet, a small distraction from the gnawing fear and guilt threatening to overwhelm him.

They stayed entwined like that for a long while before Daemon guided them back inside. He steeled himself, anxiety clawing at his throat as he realized he had to tell his children the truth: their alpha mother was gone, and no one knew where she was.

Baelon caught the faint scent of his mother’s distress, turning to him with a concerned look. Daemon’s face was etched with worry, but he forced a small, reassuring smile and ushered them into the sitting room. Once they were all seated on the couch, Daemon broke the news. The twins didn’t take it well. Their sobs filled the room, and Daemon promised them—promised himself—that he would do everything in his power to find Laena.

That night, none of them wanted to sleep alone. The children piled onto their mother’s bed, clinging to him as if afraid he, too, might disappear. Baela and Rhaena cried until exhaustion overtook them, their small bodies curled against Daemon’s.

Baelon, despite his grief, stayed strong for his mother’s sake. He could see through Daemon’s facade, could smell the sadness and guilt pouring off him in waves. Once the twins were asleep, Baelon reached out, wrapping his arms around his omega mother and pulling him close.

For the first time, Baelon took on the role of comforter. He tucked Daemon’s head into the crook of his neck, letting the omega rest against him as his steady presence offered a measure of solace. They remained like that, holding each other as the night stretched on, united in their shared sorrow and love for the one who was missing.

Chapter Text

Daemon felt the parchment in his pocket burn against his skin as Caraxes soared toward the island mentioned in the letter. Laena had been missing for three days, and in his desperation, the omega had torn apart every room in the house, searching for any clue—anything—that might tell him where the alpha was. The ache in his chest grew unbearable, and he willed Caraxes to fly faster, the weight of dread pressing heavily on him with every passing second.

When the island finally came into view, his anxiety spiked. He urged Caraxes to land near the shore, startling a small group of people gathered around something lying on the beach. Daemon paid them no mind; his focus locked solely on the figure sprawled on the sand. Each step felt like a dagger in his chest. His stomach churned violently as his eyes caught the unmistakable glint of silver hair. His heart dropped, a cold, crushing weight settling over him as he closed the distance. When he reached the figure, he fell to his knees, trembling. It was Laena.

Her once-rich brown skin had turned ashen, her eyes closed as though in restless sleep. Her hair, damp from the sea, clung to her face in silken strands. She was dressed in her riding leathers, her gloves still in place, as if she had been ready for anything—anything except this.

Daemon let out a raw, broken sob, unable to contain the storm of grief building inside him. He gathered her into his arms, cradling her lifeless body against his chest. He pressed his forehead to hers, desperate for the warmth that was no longer there, and wept until he had no more tears to shed. 

The omega’s breath hitched as he stared at her still form, a storm of grief and rage building within him. Someone had lured Laena away. He would ensure they suffered for every ounce of pain they had caused—for every moment they had stolen from Laena, from their children, from him. Daemon tightened his hold on her, the salty breeze mingling with the bitter taste of his tears, as the realization settled over him like a heavy, suffocating shroud. Laena was gone but none of it made sense.

Telling his children wasn’t easy. The twins broke down crying, their sobs echoing through the room as they clung to him, burying their tear-streaked faces in his clothes while Daemon held them close. Baelon, however, stood frozen in front of him, his shoulders tense. Daemon could see the tears pooling in his son’s eyes, threatening to fall. The young alpha was trying to appear strong, fighting his emotions because he believed that, as an alpha, he couldn’t let his vulnerabilities show.

Baelon and Laena had never been particularly close. During Daemon’s last pregnancy, their relationship had been strained, but over time, his son had let go of his grudge against the female alpha. Even so, their bond had remained distant. Baelon didn’t see Laena as a second mother, just as another alpha his omega mother had married out of duty and necessity. Still, Daemon knew that in his own way, Baelon had come to like—and perhaps even love—Laena. Her loss hurt him, too.

Daemon extended an arm toward his son, silently inviting him closer. For a moment, Baelon hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to hold himself together. But then, he relented, stepping forward and allowing Daemon to pull him into the embrace. Together, mother and children clung to one another, the omega wrapping his arms around all three of them as if he could shield them from the pain of the world.

They stayed that way for a long while, united in their shared grief. And that night, like all the others since Laena’s disappearance, the children insisted on sleeping in their mother’s bed. None of them wanted to let go of Daemon, and truthfully, the omega couldn’t bring himself to be apart from them either. In the quiet darkness, with his children nestled close, Daemon found a fragile comfort in their presence, even as the weight of their loss pressed heavily on them all.

—————————————

The funeral was held in Driftmark, following the traditional Velaryon customs. Laena’s body rested in a finely crafted wooden casket, her likeness carved upon the lid in intricate detail. Guests gathered solemnly around as Vaemond Velaryon delivered a self-righteous speech. Daemon stood close to the casket, his son Baelon holding his hand in a silent gesture of comfort. Beside him stood Rhaenys, cradling the twin girls in her arms, with Lord Corlys standing protectively at her side. At the forefront of the assembly stood King Viserys and Queen Alicent, accompanied by their children, while Otto Hightower lingered behind them, glaring daggers at the omega. Nearby, Rhaenyra and her family stood together, her arms wrapped protectively around her sons as her husband, Laenor, gazed at his sister’s casket, lost in a trance-like state.

Daemon’s attention shifted to Rhaenyra, noticing how her grip on her children tightened. She cast a nervous glance at Vaemond, who had launched into a tirade about blood purity and familial loyalty. The pointed look he directed at Rhaenyra made his insinuations painfully clear. Daemon’s blood boiled at the audacity of the alpha’s words. How dare Vaemond publicly imply such baseless accusations about his niece and her children?

As Vaemond’s speech dragged on, the crowd began stealing glances at Rhaenyra and her sons. It was infuriating, truly. Daemon, unable to contain his anger—or perhaps his disdain—let out a laugh, loud and sharp. The sound cut through the tension like a blade, drawing every eye away from Rhaenyra and onto him.

He could feel Baelon’s concerned gaze burning into the side of his face, but he ignored it. The same went for the sharp glares from others in the crowd. Daemon cared little for their opinions or their judgment. Let them think he was mad; it mattered not to him. All he cared about was silencing Vaemond’s venomous words and redirecting the crowd’s attention away from his niece.

Daemon continued laughing silently, unbothered by the whispers and stares. If people wished to believe he was unhinged, they were welcome to. Let them think what they would—it made no difference to him.

The funeral proceeded uneventfully after Vaemond’s absurd speech. Laena’s casket was solemnly cast into the sea, floating briefly before sinking into the depths, never to be seen again. Following the ceremony, everyone gathered in the courtyard, drinking and mingling. Daemon had withdrawn from the crowd, leaning against the cool cobblestone railing after urging Baelon to stay with Rhaena and Baela to keep them company.

He noticed Rhaenyra’s gaze lingering on him from across the courtyard. Smirking, he took a sip from his cup, savoring the attention. However, his amusement was short-lived as Viserys approached him. His brother’s appearance was a shadow of what it once was—his body frail, his hair reduced to a few thin strands clinging to his scalp, and his face a sagging mask of illness. He looked as though he might collapse at any moment.

“Brother,” Viserys greeted him, his tone warm yet tinged with sadness. Daemon wasn’t particularly in the mood to deal with him, but the pitiful sight of his once-strong brother softened his resolve.

“Daemon, it’s good to see you,” Viserys said, his smile tired as he reached out to clasp Daemon’s shoulder.

“Seems the years haven’t been kind,” Daemon replied, offering a small smile before taking another sip of his wine. “They haven’t been particularly kind to you,” he teased, smirking in the way he had when they were boys.

Viserys chuckled softly, though his eyes held a melancholic glint. “Come back to King’s Landing,” he said after a moment, his voice heavy with emotion. “Let us leave the past behind. Return to where you belong.” The alpha gripped Daemon’s hands, his plea almost desperate. “You’re alone now, with three children and no alpha. You’re vulnerable, Daemon.”

Daemon bristled at the implication that he couldn’t care for his family alone, but he bit back his retort, unwilling to argue with his ailing brother. “I’ll think about it,” he replied curtly, his gaze drifting past Viserys to Rhaenyra. She was already looking at him, her expression unreadable.

He smirked at her, then gently extracted his hands from Viserys’s grip. With a murmured farewell, he made his way toward the stairs leading down to the beach, leaving his nearly empty cup with a passing servant.

As he advanced, Otto Hightower stepped into his path, the beta’s smug expression as infuriating as ever. Daemon stopped briefly, surveying him with an exaggerated smirk that made his disdain clear, before brushing past without a word. He cast one last glance at Rhaenyra before continuing down the stairs.

Halfway down, he nearly tripped over Viserys’s first son, sprawled drunkenly on the steps. For a fleeting moment, Daemon’s omega instincts urged him to help the boy, but his deep-seated resentment for his mother quickly snuffed out the impulse. Without a backward glance, he continued his descent, the sound of waves crashing below drawing him forward.

He had just reached the bottom of the stairs when the familiar scent of cashmere wood and cinnamon reached him. Smirking to himself, Daemon turned to see Rhaenyra descending the last few steps, her presence unmistakable in the dim light. She stepped onto the sand, meeting his gaze with a knowing look. He gave her a small, complicit smile before turning forward, and continuing his stroll along the shoreline. The alpha followed close behind, her soft footsteps crunching against the sand.

They walked side by side in silence for a while, the sound of waves crashing filling the gaps between unspoken thoughts. Finally, Rhaenyra broke the quiet. “I know it may not seem like it, but they are his. I’ve never lain with anyone else. Even when I tried—when I willed myself to, to free Laenor of the burden—I never could.”

Daemon glanced at her, his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t respond immediately, unsure of what to say or how to ease her visible turmoil.

“It felt, in a way, like I was betraying you,” Rhaenyra continued, her voice tinged with emotion. “Laenor was an exception—you told me to marry him.” She met his gaze briefly before looking away. “He knew I wasn’t completely happy and urged me to pursue omegas for pleasure, but I couldn’t. They weren’t you.”

Daemon let out a soft sigh at her admission. “Rhaenyra…”

“You abandoned me,” she interrupted, stopping in her tracks. Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the depth of her hurt. “I needed you, Daemon.”

He halted as well, turning to face her. A slight frown creased his brow. “You told me to marry Laena,” he said, irritation creeping into his tone.

“I did,” she admitted, stepping closer to him. “But I didn’t tell you to run away and disappear.” She reached out, taking his hand. Her touch was warm, grounding him. “Look at what my life became without you. A droll tragedy.” She turned abruptly as if to leave, but he caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“I wonder what you think of mine in comparison,” he shot back, his voice sharper now, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

“I know little of it,” Rhaenyra replied, her voice rising slightly as her scent thickened with agitation. “The few times we met, you only wanted to talk about my life without a single mention of your own.” Her hands lifted in a small, exasperated gesture before dropping back to her sides.

Daemon stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. It was true—during the brief moments they had reunited over the past five years, he had focused solely on her struggles. He hadn’t wanted to burden her with his own. In truth, Daemon had missed her desperately, but his time in Pentos with Laena had not been wasted. Laena had brought light to his life in her own way, giving him their beautiful twins. Her death had cut deeper than he could admit, but he wouldn’t undo the years they had spent together.

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hand coming to rest lightly on his chest. Her other hand slid to his waist, the touch sending a jolt through him. “I need you, uncle,” she whispered, her face mere inches from his. Her hand on his chest moved upward, wrapping gently around his neck.

Daemon’s eyes widened at her words and her nearness. He froze, stunned by her boldness. She gazed into his eyes, silently asking for permission. When he didn’t pull away, she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. The kiss ignited something deep within him. It felt as though he had been starving for years, and at last, he was being fed.

Daemon couldn’t resist any longer, his hands rising to cradle her face gently as he deepened the kiss. Rhaenyra responded by wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Her tongue brushed against his lips before invading his mouth, the kiss quickly shifting into something feral and desperate. The alpha’s intensity overwhelmed him, her need palpable in every movement. It felt almost as if she wanted to consume him whole, her passion igniting his own in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.

Before he realized it, they had stumbled beneath a makeshift structure farther down the beach. Rhaenyra had undressed them both, and they now sat face to face. The alpha was admiring him, making him feel self-conscious. After three pregnancies, his body wasn’t what it used to be; he was no longer lean, fat now clinging to his belly and hips; his once-hard muscles were now soft. There were also horrific scars that ran along the right side of his torso. The alpha before him didn’t seem to mind, her gaze dark and hungry.

Rhaenyra leaned in, kissing his lips deeply, making the omega moan softly. Daemon wrapped his arms around her neck, keeping her close. The alpha lowered him down, getting on top of him as she spread his legs and got in between them. Her hard cock rubbed against his lower belly, making his cunt throb.

Daemon’s hands traveled from the back of her neck to her chest, where he rubbed one of her nipples softly. The alpha on top of him let out a moan; she caressed the side of his face before leaning in and kissing him. The omega felt her other hand move down, resting on his hip and slowly brushing his skin until she reached his ass, squeezing.

The omega let out a deep moan, prompting Rhaenyra to pull his hips forward, making his pussy rub against her member. Daemon whimpered loudly and quickly moved his hands toward her buttocks, trying to push her hips forward, searching for that delicious friction. 

The alpha chuckled at the needy man under her. She reached out and caressed his face, a loving smile adorning her face. A desperate sound left his lips, “Just do it. You don’t have to be gentle, I’m not a respectable lady or a virgin maiden,” his voice came out in breathy whispers.

He saw Rhaenyra’s eyes darken, her scent becoming thick with arousal. Normally, aroused alpha scents suffocated Daemon, but his niece’s just made his cunt gush out slick. She gave him a smirk when she smelled his wetness, her eyes darkening even more, if that was even possible. He felt her cock drip precum on his lower belly, making him shiver in anticipation.

“Fine,” Rhaenyra grabbed his face, roughly pulling him forward and crashing their lips in a sensual kiss. She pulled away, smirking at him, “I’ll fuck you like a whore,” her voice came out hoarse, “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A cheap whore?” She whispered in his ear, before licking and bitting it, making him moan softly.

“Yes!” he whimpered out, his voice cracking.

Rhaenyra just stared at him for a couple of seconds, allowing Daemon to latch onto her neck. He kissed and licked his way down onto her chest, where he took one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucked and bit softly, hearing the alpha on top of him moaning. He turned his attention to her other breast, looking up and meeting his niece’s dark eyes.

She growled, cursing at the obscene sight of her uncle sucking on her nipple. She could feel her hard cock throbbing, eager to be inside the needy omega under her. He let go of her breast, his spit-stained lips glistening under the moonlight. To her, he looked like an angel, an ethereal being. Rhaenyra grabbed his face again, attracting him to her and kissing him deeply.

Her tongue slid into his mouth, making Daemon whimper softly, following her lead. Rhaenyra reached in between their naked bodies, grabbing her hard cock and tugging it a couple of times. She pulled away, looking down and lining her member with her omega’s entrance. 

Slick gushed out of his cunt in anticipation before he felt the alpha thrust forward, pushing herself inside him. He let out a long and loud moan, reaching out and scratching Rhaenyra’s back. She kept going, holding his hips for support, until her pelvis hit his ass. Daemon squirmed under the alpha, whimpering desperately for his niece to move.

“Do it…Rhaenyra…Fuck me…Please,” he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed about his pathetic begging, he needed Rhaenyra to move already. In his desperation, the omega moved his hips, trying to fuck himself on her cock.

A smirk adorned the alpha’s face, she grabbed his hips harder, pushing them down and not letting him move anymore. Daemon whimpered in exasperation, he opened his mouth to complain, but whatever he was going to say got interrupted by a loud gasp as Rhaenyra pulled out and pushed back inside.

She kept thrusting, setting a slightly slower pace for the omega’s liking, “Go faster, please…Rhaenyra.”

The alpha smirked at her uncle’s needy begging. She grabbed his thick thighs, pushing them further apart and leaning down. Her hands moved to hold his hips, her grip allowing her not only to set a faster pace but also to fuck deeper into her uncle’s wet pussy. 

Daemon’s vision blurred from pleasure. It was too much, all he could do was let out loud, needy moans and grip his niece’s hips to ground himself. Rhaenyra continued thrusting into him, her hard cock filling him up like no one else had done before, his cunt gushing slick out like a fountain. It felt too good; Daemon couldn’t believe this was her first time fucking an omega.

Rhaenyra’s grip on his hips tightened, her thrusts picking up. The omega felt his pussy grip the thick cock inside him; he was close. He reached out and squeezed her breasts in his hands, trying to give his alpha more pleasure. She moaned, smiling down at him as she leaned down and kissed his wet lips.

“Look at you, so cock-drunk, like the whore you are,” Rhaenyra growled into his ear as she gripped her ass cheeks and continued fucking into him. 

“Fuck, Rhaenyra…cum inside,” that took the alpha by surprise, making her stop her thrust, her member deep inside the omega. “Please knot me, put a baby inside me,” Daemon begged, his hands cradling his niece’s face, pleading eyes looking directly into her own.

He saw Rhaenyra’s eyes darken, her scent getting stronger, and he felt her cock jump inside him. Excitement was clear in her eyes; Daemon couldn’t help but chuckle. He didn’t laugh for long as his niece fucked into him once again, her pace now making him delirious. She thrust fast and deep into his drenched cunt. All the omega could do was scream in pleasure, not caring if anyone heard him, they were too far for anyone to. 

The alpha reached down between their bodies, rubbing circles around his swollen clit. More slick gushed out of him, his moans loud. He grabbed both her breasts in his hands once again, squeezing them, earning a low moan from his niece. He rubbed her nipples, as she continued stroking his clit and fucking into him.

He felt his lower belly tighten, signaling him that he was about to cum. Daemon opened his mouth, trying to alert Rhaenyra but was interrupted by a loud moan as he came around his niece’s thick cock. The alpha kept thrusting, making the omega whimper due to overstimulation. He trembled from under her, her member still moving in and out of his throbbing pussy. 

Rhaenyra’s thrusts became sloppy, as she was getting closer to her own orgasm. Daemon’s cunt kept contracting around her member, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure. As he felt her hot thick cum spill deep inside his cunt, he unexpectedly squirted around her cock. 

When he came back from his high, he felt Rhaenyra’s knot forming inside him, locking them together. His niece collapsed on top of him, gasping for air. Daemon didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he turned them around with newfound strength.

He was now sitting on the alpha’s lap, her cock and knot still buried inside him. He moved his hips in circles, Rhaenyra’s hands immediately went to rest on his hips; she moaned softly. Daemon kept thrusting his hips forward, creating a delicious friction with the cock inside of him, his hands resting on either side of the alpha’s head, holding him upright. His niece took the opportunity to grab his naked, scared torso, pulling him down and taking one of his small swollen breasts into her mouth, her tongue circling his nipple, making his pussy tighten as he let out a moan.

The alpha kept mouthing at his chest, swollen from breastfeeding three kids now. Daemon kept moaning loudly like a whore, as he fastened his pace, feeling himself reaching another orgasm. The omega, once again, came around the thick cock feeling hot ropes of cum kept spilling inside him. Now it was his turn to collapse on top of his niece, Rhaenyra, instantly hugging him.

They stayed like that until her knot deflated about half an hour later. Daemon felt the alpha pull out, making him hiss, his cunt feeling sore from their previous activity. He got off Rhaenyra, lying down next to her, exhaustion seeping through his bones. He watched as his niece reached out to brush his hair affectionately. She kept caressing his head, her touch soothing, until he eventually drifted into sleep.

A familiar dragon’s roar startled him awake. Instinctively, he extended his arm to the side, searching for Rhaenyra, but the space beside him was empty—he was alone. Alarmed, he sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. Quickly, he got off the makeshift bed and dressed, wincing as the soreness in his hips reminded him of the intensity of the night before.

Daemon exited the structure, finding Rhaenyra standing outside, her gaze fixed upward. Following her line of sight, the omega’s eyes landed on Vhagar soaring through the night sky, her massive form illuminated by the moonlight.

“Who is it?” Daemon asked from behind her, his voice low, his eyes never leaving the colossal creature.

“I’m not sure,” Rhaenyra replied, turning to face him as she reached out to take his hand. Her touch was warm and grounding. “Could it not be Rhaena?”

Daemon shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening. “It can’t be. I told her I’d be with her when she claims Vhagar—in a few years, not now.”

The couple stood in tense silence as they watched the dragon begin its descent. Exchanging a brief, wordless conversation with their eyes, they turned and returned to the castle, their steps quick and purposeful, the air heavy with uncertainty.

—————————————

Rhaena was woken by someone shaking her. She opened her eyes to see her twin, Baela, staring down at her.

“It’s Vhagar. Someone has claimed her,” the alpha whispered urgently, tugging at her sister’s arm to pull her out of bed.

Rhaena’s eyes widened, and she quickly followed her twin. The two girls hurried out of their temporary chambers. No guards were posted outside as there should have been, but they didn’t question it, too focused on their goal.

As they moved through the halls toward their brother’s chambers, Rhaena couldn’t shake the oddness of the situation. The absence of guards was troubling, but she chose not to voice her concerns.

They knocked on Baelon’s door, but no answer came. Impatient, Baela pushed the door open and barged inside. She marched straight to the bed and yanked the covers aside. The twins gasped in unison—the bed was empty. They exchanged a bewildered look, concern etched into their faces.

“We don’t have time for this. Let’s get Jace and Luke,” Baela declared, spinning on her heel and leaving the room with determined strides. Rhaena followed closely, struggling to keep up with her sister’s pace.

Now accompanied by their cousins, Jacaerys and Lucerys, they made their way to the entrance connecting the castle to the dragon pit. As they neared, they came across Aemond Targaryen, Viserys’s second son, striding toward them with a triumphant smirk plastered across his face.

“What did you do?” Baela demanded, her tone sharp and accusatory.

Aemond straightened, his smirk widening. “I claimed a dragon.”

“A dragon that was not yours to claim,” Baela shot back, crossing her arms in defiance.

“That is my mother’s dragon!” Rhaena interjected, anger bubbling to the surface.

Aemond rolled his eyes dismissively. “Your mother is dead!” he snapped, his voice rising with his frustration.

Rhaena growled at his words, stepping closer to him. “I was going to claim her!” she spat, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“Well, you took too long,” Aemond retorted smugly. “Vhagar is mine. I’m her rider now.”

His arrogance sent a wave of anger through the group. Jacaerys stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of his cousins. “Vhagar is Rhaena’s!”

Aemond turned his sharp gaze to Jace, a sneer forming on his lips. “And who are you to speak, bastard?” he spat, venom dripping from the word.

Baela stepped forward, standing between Aemond and Jace. “Don’t call him that!”

“Why not? That’s what he is—a basta—”

Before Aemond could finish the insult, Baela’s fist collided with his jaw, sending him staggering. The others gasped at her boldness, but Aemond wasted no time retaliating. He swung at Baela, knocking her to the side. Jacaerys jumped in, shoving Aemond backward and landing a punch. The older boy responded swiftly, knocking Jace to the ground.

Lucerys, seeing his brother in trouble, picked up a rock and charged. He managed to scratch Aemond’s face before the older boy slapped the rock from his hand and struck him hard across the face. Lucerys stumbled, and Aemond advanced, preparing to strike again.

Rhaena, now enraged, ran at Aemond, tackling him to the ground. They wrestled, but the stronger boy quickly gained the upper hand, pinning her beneath him. He rained down punches, his fists connecting with her face repeatedly.

Baela, recovering from her daze, saw her sister being beaten and rushed forward. She grabbed Aemond around the torso, pulling him off Rhaena. Aemond threw her off with a sharp elbow to her face, then turned on her, pinning her as he had done with Rhaena. Baela fought back fiercely, but when Aemond pulled out a small knife he had stolen from Aegon.

With adrenaline surging, Rhaena, joined by Jace and Luke, threw themselves at Aemond. The four of them wrestled for control of the knife. Aemond grabbed another rock and struck Jace, knocking him aside. When Luke tried to stop him, Aemond hit the younger boy on the back of the head, sending him sprawling.

Panting, Aemond stood over his cousins and sister, his rage burning hot. His attention turned to Rhaena as she groaned and tried to rise. “You’re not a true Targaryen,” he hissed, stepping toward her, rock still in hand. “You don’t have a dragon. You’ll only die, and so will your whore of a mother.”

He raised the rock high, ready to strike, but a sudden cry rang out. Aemond turned his head just in time to see Lucerys rushing at him, the stolen knife gripped tightly in his hand. Before Aemond could react, the youngest Velaryon brought the blade down, stabbing him in his left eye.

Aemond screamed, collapsing to the ground, clutching his bleeding face. His anguished cries echoed through the night, the sound chilling the children to their cores. The last thing Aemond heard before darkness claimed him was a deep voice asking if he was okay.

—————————————

Rhaenyra and Daemon arrived at a scene of pure chaos. The Driftmark throne room was filled with the funeral guests, tension hanging thick in the air. Rhaenyra’s eyes immediately sought her sons, her heart clenching at the sight of their battered, bloodied faces. Daemon’s gaze swept the room, searching for his children. He found Baela and Rhaena in the arms of Rhaenys, while Baelon stood nearby with a serious expression. Ser Luthor and Lady Elinda stood close by, their expressions grim.

Ignoring the many eyes that followed them, Daemon advanced toward his children. Neither he nor Rhaenyra had stopped to bathe or even mask their mingled scents, the smell of sex and one another still clinging to them. But Daemon didn’t care. All that mattered now was reaching his children.

“Baela! Rhaena! Baelon!” he called as he approached. The children turned toward him, their faces lighting up with a mix of relief and exhaustion.

Daemon’s breath caught as he got closer. The sight of his daughters’ bruised and bloodied faces made his stomach churn. He dropped to his knees in front of Baela and Rhaena, his hands gently cradling their faces as he inspected their injuries. Then he looked to Baelon, stepping closer to search his son’s face and body for any sign of harm. Finding none, he frowned, his questioning gaze silently urging an explanation.

Baelon opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a sharp voice cut through the tension.

“I demand to know who’s responsible!” Alicent Hightower’s voice rang out as she rose from where she had been seated.

Daemon’s attention shifted for the first time to Aemond, who sat in a chair with a maester tending to his face. His stomach sank when he noticed the boy’s left eye, now covered with stitches.

“My son has just lost an eye!” Alicent’s voice grew louder, trembling with anger.

“There’s no need to yell,” Viserys interjected, his voice calm but weary. “Aemond, my son, please tell us—”

“It was Prince Lucerys Velaryon, Your Grace,” Ser Criston Cole interrupted firmly, not sparing the king a glance.

All eyes turned to young Luke, who shrank back under their scrutiny. Rhaenyra instinctively stepped in front of her son, shielding him with her body. Daemon felt himself tense, hugging both his daughters closer to him and reaching out his hand to Baelon, beckoning him closer. His protective instincts were running wild, he kept stealing brief glances at Rhaenyra and her sons, itching to have them close.

“Luke?” Viserys’s confusion was clear as he turned to the boy.

“He claimed Vhagar! She was mine!” Rhaena’s voice rang out from beside her father, tears, and anger evident in her tone. All eyes now shifted to her. Daemon tightened his arm around her protectively.

“What I would like to know,” Rhaenyra interjected, her tone sharp, “is who was responsible for looking after the children. How were they allowed to roam the castle unattended? And how did they get a knife?”

“That is a good question,” Viserys agreed, turning toward Ser Harrold Westerling, the commander of the Kingsguard. “Who was in charge of the children, Ser?”

Daemon’s eyes flicked to Ser Luthor, the guard he had personally assigned to stand watch over his daughters. The man lowered his head in shame. Daemon’s expression darkened, and he made a move toward the guard, but Baelon stepped in front of him.

“Muña, I can explain,” Baelon said hesitantly, his voice low.

Daemon’s frown deepened. “I’m listening.”

“I—I asked him to leave his post because I wanted to get a night lesson,” the young alpha confessed, his head bowed.

Daemon’s blood boiled. Baelon’s obsession with swordsmanship had gone too far, and now it had led to his sisters being hurt.

“We’ll speak later,” Daemon said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“But muña—”

“Later, Baelon,” Daemon repeated, his voice hard. His scent flared with frustration, making the boy step back.

“I don’t care what happens,” Daemon turned to Ser Luthor, his tone icy, “you never leave your post.”

His attention shifted back to the room just in time to catch the tail end of Viserys reprimanding Criston Cole.

“Understood, Your Grace,” was all the knight offered in response.

“He called us bastards!” Jacaerys’s voice broke through the tension, drawing everyone’s attention.

“And he called my muña a whore!” Baela shouted, her anger clear. All eyes turned to Daemon now, their gazes heavy with judgment. The omega couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. It was no secret what the court thought of him, but it seemed only a nine-year-old boy had been bold enough to voice it aloud.

“Where did you hear this?” Viserys demanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “A child must have heard such words from an adult.”

“Please, Viserys, they’re just words,” Alicent said dismissively, rolling her eyes.

“They aren’t just words,” Rhaenyra countered sharply. “They challenge my son’s legitimacy and insult my–the king’s omega brother’s honor. That is no small matter.”

“Please, Rhaenyra…” the beta whispered, exasperated.

“Rhaenyra speaks the truth,” Viserys said, his tone firm as he turned back to Aemond. “Where did you hear these words, boy?”

Aemond hesitated, his eyes darting to his mother before finally answering. “It was Aegon,” he said quietly.

All eyes turned to Aegon, who froze in place, his expression one of shock. “I mean… just look at them. We all know,” Aegon muttered, his gaze avoiding the king’s as he gestured toward Rhaenyra’s sons.

“Rhaenyra’s sons are not bastards,” Viserys declared, his voice ringing with authority. “And anyone who dares speak such lies again will lose their tongue.” The proclamation left the room in stunned silence. No one dared challenge the king.

“Thank you, Father,” Rhaenyra said, her voice loud enough for both Alicent and Viserys to hear.

“What will their punishment be?” The king turned to his wife, a frown etched deeply on his face. “Our son has lost an eye; there is a debt to be paid,” the queen stood firm, her voice resolute. “I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

“My dear wife,” the alpha said in disbelief, his tone laden with shock.

“He’s your son, Viserys, your blood,” Alicent’s voice broke as her eyes filled with tears.

Viserys stepped closer to his wife, his presence imposing. “Do not allow your temper to cloud your judgment,” he said firmly, his scent betraying his growing anger.

Alicent met his gaze, tears now streaming down her face. “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon,” she commanded, turning to her sworn sword. “He can choose which one to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son,” she proclaimed, her gaze shifting to Rhaenyra and her family.

“Alicent!” Viserys exclaimed, scandalized. “Ser Criston, stand down!”

“No! You’re sworn to me!” the beta screamed, her furious eyes locked on the guard.

For a moment, Ser Criston hesitated, caught between duty and decency. His gaze flickered to Daemon, whose calm but piercing stare sent a warning. The beta’s frown deepened. Then, to everyone’s horror, he unsheathed a dagger and strode toward Rhaenyra and her sons with determined steps.

Chaos erupted in the throne room. Ser Harrold Westerling shouted, rushing after the crazed knight in an attempt to stop him. Daemon acted swiftly, handing his daughters to Princess Rhaenys before moving to intercept Ser Criston. The omega collided with the guard, blocking his path.

Ser Criston swung his blade in an attempt to free himself, and Daemon’s first reflex was to raise his hand in defense. The blade slashed his palm open, blood spilling onto the stone floor.

Despite the pain, Daemon shoved the knight backward with surprising force, sending him stumbling into Ser Luthor and Baelon, who had rushed to assist the omega. Daemon’s focus shifted when Viserys’s alarmed shout rang out. Turning, he saw Alicent advancing toward Rhaenyra, wielding Viserys’s dagger with alarming intent.

Forgetting his injured hand, Daemon surged forward, but Alicent was already upon Rhaenyra. The queen lunged, but Rhaenyra caught her arms, holding her back.

“You’ve gone too far,” Rhaenyra said, her voice low but firm, as she struggled to keep the dagger at bay.

“I? I’ve only ever done what was expected of me: upholding the kingdom, the family, the law,” Alicent cried, her voice trembling with distress. “Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? You’ve only ever done as you pleased, with no regard for the consequences,” she accused, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her gaze darted briefly to Daemon before fixing back on Rhaenyra. “Your sons are proof enough of your defiance. Bedding that omega…”

Viserys’s desperate commands to release Rhaenyra fell on deaf ears as Alicent continued, her voice rising. “You come here, flaunting your sins for all to see. And now you take my son’s eye, and even to that you feel entitled.”

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness,” Rhaenyra replied coldly. “But now, they see you as you truly are.”

Alicent screamed in fury and shoved Rhaenyra back, bringing the dagger down with force. Rhaenyra recoiled, caught by Lord Corlys as the blade bit into her arm. Silence fell over the room as blood dripped steadily from the princess’s wound.

Daemon snapped out of his trance, rushing to Rhaenyra’s side. He reached out to inspect her arm, forgetting his own injury in the process. Rhaenyra noticed his bloody hand and took it in hers, alarmed by the deep gash.

Her gaze flickered to Alicent and Viserys. The queen stood frozen, her expression one of shock. In the corner of her eye, Rhaenyra saw Criston Cole being dragged from the room by two Kingsguard knights.

“Fetch a maester!” Rhaenyra called, her voice sharp with urgency. She insisted the maester tend to Daemon’s injury first.

Leaving their children in the care of Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, the couple was escorted to Rhaenyra’s personal chambers to be treated. They remained silent as the maester diligently stitched the alpha’s arm. Once he finished, the maester left without a word, leaving Rhaenyra and Daemon alone.

“I’ve thought about it,” Rhaenyra said, breaking the silence. Her gaze was averted, as though she feared his reaction. “I want to inform my father that I intend to take a second spouse.”

Daemon turned to her, his eyes wide with surprise. A flicker of excitement stirred within him at the implication of her words. “What?”

“I’m going to inform my father of my intentions to take you as my second husband, like Aegon the Conqueror did,” Rhaenyra repeated, this time meeting his gaze. “It’s only a formality, of course. His opinion won’t matter to me—if you’re in agreement, of course.”

Daemon stared at her, momentarily speechless. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him, excitement pooling in his chest. “Would Laenor be fine with that?”

“My marriage to Laenor is strictly political. He’s free to be with whomever he pleases, as am I,” Rhaenyra explained, taking Daemon’s hand. She stepped closer, but before she could say more, the door creaked open.

The couple quickly put some distance between themselves as Laenor entered the room. “Rhaenyra! Are you alright? They told me what happened,” he said hurriedly, sitting in the chair the maester had occupied moments earlier. His eyes immediately went to the fresh stitches on her arm. “Gods, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there.”

“Yes, you should have,” Rhaenyra replied sternly, her face serious. “Our sons’ legitimacy was called into question, and their father’s absence did not help.”

“I’m truly sorry, Rhaenyra,” Laenor said, his gaze shifting to the floor. He finally noticed Daemon standing nearby. “Daemon!”

“Laenor,” the female alpha interrupted, stepping forward. “I actually meant to speak with you.”

—————————————

“No, Rhaenyra,” Viserys said sharply, his tone brimming with anger. His gaze shifted pointedly toward the only omega in the room. Noticing this, Rhaenyra quickly took Daemon’s hand in hers, a silent show of solidarity.

“I cannot allow it. Daemon is not pure,” the king declared, his voice firm.

“If I may, your grace,” Laenor interjected, sensing the growing tension in the room. “Prince Daemon would bring great strength to Rhaenyra’s claim as heir. Many at court look up to him. The Kingsguard respect him, and the City Watch heeds his every word,” he listed confidently, meeting the king’s gaze without faltering. “She will need such support now that she is to be the first woman to inherit the Iron Throne.”

Viserys frowned deeply, his expression dark. “You’re truly okay with this?”

“I am, your grace,” Laenor replied without hesitation, his tone steady as he maintained eye contact with the king.

“We are to wed in the tradition of our house, at Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra stated firmly, her voice unwavering. “In a week’s time.” She held her father’s gaze, her determination clear.

“I do not approve of this,” Viserys said, shaking his head as he rose from his seat.

“With all due respect, your grace,” Daemon finally spoke, his voice strong and his expression set in a determined frown. “It is not your decision to make. And if you love your daughter, you will allow this union without quarrel.”

Before the king could respond, the group turned and left the room, their resolve evident as they walked away without looking back.

—————————————

Uncle and niece stood facing each other, both adorned in traditional Valyrian wedding attire. Their witnesses—Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s children, Laenor, and Maester Gerardys—stood to the side, watching solemnly. The priest presiding over the ceremony stood next to the couple. Rhaenyra’s head was tilted slightly upward, as Daemon still stood taller than her. Both wore smiles that refused to fade, their long-held desires finally within reach.

Daemon accepted the sharp rock handed to him and carefully ran it along Rhaenyra’s bottom lip, cutting it with precision. He gently gathered the small drops of blood with his thumb and pressed his hand to her forehead, leaving a crimson mark. Rhaenyra mirrored his actions, her smile unbroken throughout.

Taking the rock again, the omega pressed it into his palm, cutting it open. Rhaenyra did the same, and together, they brought their bloodied hands together, binding their blood.

“Blood of two. Joined as one,” the priest began, reciting the traditional Valyrian wedding vows as he wrapped their clasped hands in a ceremonial cloth.

“Ghostly flame and song of shadows,” he intoned as their mingled blood dripped into a waiting cup.

“Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires.” Rhaenyra took the cup filled with their mixed blood and raised it to her lips. Without hesitation, she took a sip.

“A future promised in glass,” the priest said as the female alpha handed the cup to Daemon. The omega accepted it and drank slowly, shuddering slightly at the metallic taste. Rhaenyra chuckled softly at his reaction.

“The stars stand witness,” the priest continued as the couple stood gazing into each other’s eyes, their joined hands still wrapped in cloth and their smiles undimmed. “The vow spoken through times of darkness and light.”

As the priest concluded, the couple remained locked in each other’s gaze. Rhaenyra reached out, her hand softly caressing Daemon’s face, prompting the omega to lean down and capture her lips in a tender kiss. In that moment, the world around them faded; it was as if they were alone.

They were finally married. No one could question their union anymore. No one could deny them ever again.

Chapter Text

Five days later 

Rhaenyra was woken by a knock on the door. She turned to her side, her eyes falling on Daemon’s sleeping form. His bare back was turned toward her, revealing the purple and blue marks forming on his neck and shoulders. A small smile crept onto her lips as her gaze lingered on the still-red bite mark she had left on his nape.

Daemon’s heat had arrived on their wedding night. After the ceremony, their children and Laenor had joined them for a celebratory dinner. Later, when they were finally alone in the omega’s chambers, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, tumbling eagerly onto the bed.

Rhaenyra had noticed that Daemon’s scent seemed sweeter than usual but hadn’t thought much of it at first. It wasn’t until she saw his flushed, sweaty skin and the glazed look in his eyes that she realized what was happening. She had tried to pull away, but Daemon had tightened his grip on her, letting out a needy whine.

He had begged her not to leave, assuring her he was fully aware of his actions and that his heat wasn’t clouding his judgment. The heat had lasted five days, during which Daemon had barely let her leave the bed. The only person he allowed to bring them food was Elinda.

The beta had informed Rhaenyra of Baelon’s growing frustration in his mother’s absence. The young alpha had become restless after learning from the maester about Daemon’s unexpected heat. For the past five days, Baelon had spent most of his time outside, training with Ser Luthor to vent his frustrations.

The persistent knocking snapped Rhaenyra out of her thoughts. Sighing in frustration, she slipped out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown from a nearby chair, and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised to find Daemon’s firstborn son standing there.

Baelon’s expression was a mix of surprise and unease as he looked at her. Before Rhaenyra could ask why he was there, Baelon spoke up.

“How is he?” he asked, his hands fidgeting nervously. She could smell the rising anxiety radiating off him.

“He’s fine, Baelon,” Rhaenyra replied, crossing her arms.

“Can I see him?” he asked immediately, cutting her off before she could say more. “Please,” he added, stepping closer.

“He’s resting,” she said with a shake of her head. “His heat has left him exhausted.”

Baelon tensed at her words. “I know, I just—” he stammered, his eyes darting past her in an attempt to see into the room, though the bed was out of view. “I need to make sure he’s safe,” he finally said, meeting her gaze.

Rhaenyra saw the desperation in his eyes. “Baelon, I—” she began but was interrupted by a familiar voice behind her.

“Rhaenyra, it’s fine,” Daemon’s raspy voice said, drawing the attention of both alphas.

Baelon’s face lit up at the sight of his mother standing behind Rhaenyra, wrapped in a red dressing gown.

“Muña!” Baelon exclaimed, pushing past Rhaenyra to reach Daemon, who immediately took him into his arms.

“Omega…” Rhaenyra sighed, watching the pair.

“It’s fine,” Daemon said softly, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “Please leave us, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on her omega, but she eventually nodded. Turning, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her to give them privacy.

“Baelon…” Daemon whispered to his son, who had tucked his face into his neck, breathing in his scent.

The alpha pulled away slightly, his eyes scanning him before they landed on the faint purple marks on his neck. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“No, of course not,” the omega shook his head, a deep frown forming on his face. “Baelon…why—”

“You know why,” Baelon interrupted, cutting his mother off before he could continue. “I can’t watch you get hurt again.” His voice wavered, and Daemon could see his son’s eyes welling with unshed tears.

Daemon simply stared at him, unsure of how to respond.

“I don’t care who it is,” Baelon’s voice grew deeper as the tears finally spilled over, “I’ll kill them.”

“Baelon…” Daemon sighed, reaching out to take his son’s hands in his own, trying to calm him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Baelon pulled his hands out of Daemon’s grip, his tone sharp with frustration. The omega’s frown deepened.

“Don’t look at me like that! For years, I had to watch that woman abuse you!” Baelon’s voice cracked as his tears continued to flow.

Daemon watched in silence as his son broke down, his own eyes filling with tears.

“I couldn’t do anything about it,” Baelon sobbed, his scent thick and heavy in the room. “But now I can, and I swear on the Old Gods and the New, I’d rather die than see you like that again.” He was shaking now, his voice barely steady. “You’re my mother!”

Daemon reached out, cradling Baelon’s cheek with one hand. “I’m sorry…” His voice broke. He pulled Baelon closer, resting his forehead against the side of his son’s face.

“I love you, muña. I just want you safe,” Baelon whispered, his voice barely audible.

Daemon wrapped his arms around his son, letting him cling to him as he tucked his face into his neck and sobbed. The omega held him close, running his hand soothingly over Baelon’s back.

They stayed like that for a while until Baelon’s tears finally dried. Daemon managed to convince him to let go and leave, so he could bathe. Elinda and some of the other servants brought everything he needed, and once it was set up, they left.

Finally alone, Daemon shrugged off his dressing gown, letting it pool around his feet as he stepped into the tub filled with hot water. He sighed in relief as he sat down, the heat soothing his tired muscles. With a small rag, he scrubbed himself clean of the sweat and dried fluids clinging to his skin. Afterward, he dried himself thoroughly and dressed in a long, black, flowy tunic. His body was still too sensitive and numb to wear anything tight or to even consider putting on pants.

Now seated in front of a mirror, he brushed his hair methodically, applying the scented oils that Rhaenyra had given him as a gift. As he gathered a section of his hair to tie at the back of his head, the door to his chambers opened. He didn’t need to turn around; the familiar scent of his alpha told him who it was.

Rhaenyra stood behind him, her reflection visible in the mirror. A small, affectionate smile adorned her face. Her long hair was braided, and she wore one of her simple red-and-black off-the-shoulder dresses that accentuated her collarbones. Silently, she stepped forward and gently pushed his hands away, taking over the task of styling his hair.

Her touch was delicate as she brushed through his locks again. She took sections of his hair from the sides and back, braiding them carefully before combining the strands into a single braid at the back of his head.

When she finished, Daemon turned to look at her, his expression soft. Rhaenyra smiled down at him before leaning in to press a tender kiss to his forehead. “I knew you’d like the oils,” she murmured.

Daemon stood, cupping her face in his hands, and leaned in to kiss her lips. The gesture made Rhaenyra chuckle softly as she placed her hands on his waist, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. When they eventually pulled apart, she insisted he eat a proper meal to regain his strength after the intensity of his heat.

Grumbling, he begrudgingly agreed, allowing his niece to lead him to the dining room, where their children and Laenor were already breaking their fast. Upon seeing him, Baela and Rhaena ran to their mother, clinging to his hips. Daemon held them as best he could before gently urging them back to their seats so they could all eat together.

As the family settled in, Daemon observed the lively table. Laenor was catching Rhaenyra up on everything of importance that had happened during their absence. Baela animatedly talked Jacaerys’ ears off while her twin, Rhaena, kept sneaking glances at Lucerys. Baelon sat silently beside Daemon, eating with a composed demeanor.

Feeling his mother’s gaze, Baelon eventually looked up and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

Daemon’s heart clenched. He reached out, brushing his fingers through his son’s hair before pulling him closer to place a soft kiss on his head. Their earlier conversation lingered in his mind. As an alpha, Baelon already carried the weight of responsibilities far beyond his years.

It hurt to know that he had failed to protect Baelon from Rhea. Even though she hadn’t touched Baelon physically after that first time, the emotional scars she left behind ran deep. To this day, his son bore the consequences of those years, and it was all Daemon’s fault.

He silently cursed his younger self for not leaving Rhea the moment Baelon was born. He hadn’t stood his ground when she had forced him to leave King’s Landing so soon after his labor, threatening to take their son. Deep down, he knew Viserys, for all his flaws, would have supported him if he had resisted.

But he hadn’t. He’d been weak. A knight, a commander, a warrior who had survived battles with flesh torn from his bones—but he couldn’t leave his alpha wife. That weakness had cost him not only his sanity but had also burdened his son with an unhealthy obsession and mistrust. Baelon would never truly find peace within himself, and that guilt weighed heavily on Daemon.

A gentle squeeze on his hand pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. He turned to his side to find Rhaenyra’s comforting gaze on him. She pushed her scent out slightly, a soothing balm to his frayed emotions. Daemon offered her a tight smile, shifting his hand in her grasp to intertwine their fingers.

Taking a deep breath, he filled his lungs with the scents of his now-extended family. The pounding in his chest eased, and his lost appetite returned. In that moment, surrounded by those he loved, Daemon felt a fragile sense of healing. For the first time in years, he felt whole. He wanted nothing more than to freeze time and remain in that moment forever—with his family, his true family.

—————————————

Eight months later

“Stop touching me, cunt!” Daemon screamed as one of the wet nurses, the youngest, kept touching his legs to keep them open. “I’ve pushed four babies out of my cunt, I know how to do this!”

The omega yelled out as another wave of pain washed over him. His grip tightened on Rhaenyra’s and Baelon’s hands as they knelt on each side of the bed. Daemon had ordered his son to leave the room several times, but the young alpha had stood his ground and refused. 

“My prince, you should start pushing,” the wet nurse spoke, kneeling next to Maester Gerardys who was inspecting him to make sure everything was fine.

Daemon felt the young girl’s hand on his thigh, he felt his anger rise. “Shut up!” He snapped again, making the wet nurse jump back. “Just leave! Stop taking up space!”

Maester Gerardys waved the girl out, not wanting to stress the omega further. As the young girl left the birthing chambers, Elinda and another wet nurse who had helped Rhaenyra in both her labors approached the bed. His niece placed a kiss on the back of his hand and reached out to caress his hair, brushing it out off his sweaty face, trying to calm his nerves. 

After hours of labor, Daemon delivered a healthy baby boy, an alpha. Both Daemon and Rhaenyra had been hoping for a girl so they hadn’t thought of a name. They eventually named him Joffrey, after Laenor’s suggestion. The omega recognized it as one of the alpha’s ex-lovers’, but decided not to comment on it.

Daemon was now sitting on the bed with new clean sheets. He was cradling baby Joffrey in his arms as his son suckled on his breast. Joffrey’s big dule violet eyes looked up at him with a sort of innocence that melted the omega’s heart.

Rhaenyra had dozed off on the bed beside him, refusing to leave his side even after their son had been born. Baelon had retired to his own chambers only after Daemon assured him that he would be fine.

When Joffrey finally detached himself from his omega mother, Elinda gently took the baby and placed him in his cradle. Now empty-handed, Daemon allowed himself to lie back and rest. He sighed deeply, feeling his muscles finally relax and the pain in his hips ease slightly.

“Are you in pain, my love?” Rhaenyra’s tired whisper broke the silence. Her hand reached out to rub his hipbone lovingly. “Do you want me to fetch the maester for some milk of the poppy?”

“I have five children. I’ll be fine,” he replied, reaching out to cover her hand with his own.

Rhaenyra chuckled softly. “I’ll get Maester Gerardys.” She leaned in to press a kiss to his temple before slipping off the bed and leaving the room.

Daemon didn’t remember when he fell asleep. All he recalled was Rhaenyra waking him to give him a vial of milk of the poppy before he drifted back into slumber.

This time, his recovery was much slower than with his previous labors. He had been bedridden for weeks, the inactivity fraying his nerves. The confinement made him restless, anxious to regain his freedom.

When he could finally walk without intense pain, the first thing he did was take a long ride on Caraxes. The thrill of the flight was exhilarating, temporarily silencing the restless thoughts that had plagued him. However, his return was met by an infuriated Rhaenyra and their worried children—Baelon being the most upset of all. Even after their argument, Daemon had no regrets; the exhilaration of the ride had been worth it.

Tensions between the couple lingered in the days that followed. Rhaenyra spent most of her time with Laenor or their children, while Daemon fell into the habit of leaving the castle early in the morning and returning late at night. He claimed to be searching for a dragon egg for their youngest son, though Rhaenyra knew it was a lie. Still, she chose not to press him, sensing that he needed space. Yet the increasing distance Daemon seemed to be placing between himself and his children deeply worried her.

Something in Daemon had shifted after Joffrey’s birth. Apart from the first time, the omega had not held his youngest son—not even to feed him. Wet nurses had to step in, a decision that Daemon had adamantly opposed in the past.

But it wasn’t just Joffrey. Daemon had begun distancing himself from all his children, and Baelon was nearing his breaking point. The boy, so attuned to his mother’s moods, had grown increasingly tense and frustrated as he watched Daemon withdraw from their family.

Rhaenyra could sense the boy’s growing frustration, and it seemed to affect his sisters the most. It wasn’t enough that their mother barely acknowledged them these days, but now their older brother couldn’t go a single day without yelling at them at least once. Jace and Luke were always in bad moods, and Joffrey cried himself to sleep. Even when Rhaenyra tried to calm him, she wasn’t the one the baby craved. Her family was falling apart right before her eyes, and she didn’t know what to do.

“Daemon, we need to talk,” Rhaenyra said, standing up from her chair as Daemon entered the room.

The omega glanced at her briefly before looking away. “No, we don’t,” he said, placing his bag down and heading toward the closet.

“Daemon, don’t do this right now,” Rhaenyra called after him, her voice stern, as she followed him deeper into the room.

“Do what?” Daemon turned around to face her, a deep frown etched onto his face.

“This,” she said, gesturing toward him. “Avoiding your problems, hoping they’ll just go away.”

His gaze flickered across her face. “I’m not avoiding anything,” he finally said, breaking the tense silence, before turning back around.

“Maester Gerardys says you’re experiencing hysteria,” Rhaenyra said, her voice quieter but firm. Daemon froze at her words. “You’ve distanced yourself from everyone. You don’t even look at your children, and you haven’t held Joffrey once since the first time.”

“I’ve been busy,” Daemon replied, his tone flat.

“No, you’ve been busy before, but you’ve always made time for your children,” Rhaenyra pressed, pushing her calming scent toward him.

“I’m not sick, Rhaenyra,” Daemon said quietly, his eyes cast downward.

“Then what is it?” she asked, her voice rising with frustration. “Why are you so far away?”

“I’m not,” he said, his tone calm yet distant.

“Stop lying!” Rhaenyra snapped, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions. “There’s something wrong. The scent of sadness clings to you, and you’re telling me nothing is wrong?” She could feel her control slipping, her omega’s stubbornness too much to bear.

Daemon kept his gaze down, refusing to meet her eyes. Rhaenyra stepped closer, gently taking his hands in hers and pressing them to her chest. “Come back to me, omega,” she pleaded, her voice softer now.

His eyes briefly met hers, filled with shame, before flickering downward again. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t speak either.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra said, her voice trembling. “Your children need you—Baelon, Baela, Rhaena, Joffrey… gods, even Luke and Jace.” Her gaze locked on her husband’s face, the pain etched there mirroring her own. Her resolve softened, and she brought their intertwined hands to her lips, pressing a kiss to them. “I need you, uncle.”

Daemon finally looked at her, his red-rimmed eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I–” he started, but his voice broke before he could continue. He hung his head as quiet sobs escaped his lips.

Rhaenyra immediately stepped forward, her hand reaching to cradle the back of his neck as she pulled him into her arms. Daemon buried his face in her neck, his sobs muffled against her skin. Her hand stroked the back of his head gently, offering him whatever comfort she could.

His knees buckled beneath him, and unable to keep him upright, Rhaenyra sank to the floor with him, holding him close.

“Let me help you, my love,” she whispered into his ear. Daemon pulled back slightly, his red, swollen eyes meeting hers. She cupped his face in her hands, her touch gentle as she pressed their foreheads together. “Don’t push us away,” she said softly.

“I want my baby, Rhaenyra, I want my baby,” the omega said, pulling away. His sorrowful gaze bore into the alpha’s eyes.

“I’ll ask Elinda to bring him,” Rhaenyra said as she made to stand, but Daemon grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“No, I want my baby,” he cried, tears streaming down his face as he clung to his alpha. “I want my baby, I want my Alyssa,” he finally admitted. Rhaenyra felt her heart clench at the mention of Daemon’s late daughter. “I’m sorry,” his voice broke, raw with anguish.

Rhaenyra sighed softly, her eyes full of quiet understanding. Rising from the floor, she gently helped her omega do the same. Neither spoke as she dressed them both in their nightgowns, the room heavy with unspoken grief.

They lay down together in their shared bed, still shrouded in silence. Without a word, Rhaenyra pulled her husband into her arms, holding him close and soothing him to sleep. That night, after weeks of solitude and tension, the couple finally found peace. Together.

—————————————

Eight years later

“Ugh–Rhaenyra,” Daemon moaned as his wife’s fingers kept fucking into his cunt.

The alpha peppered kisses down his neck as the omega moaned loudly. Daemon was perched up against the vanity in their room, Rhaenyra was draped slightly on top of him being careful of his swollen belly. She had sneaked her hand up his nightgown, her fingers now surrounded by her husband’s wet walls, as she moved them in and out trying to send him over the edge.

Daemon’s latest pregnancy hasn’t been easy, the omega kept experiencing drastic mood swings and his body was in constant pain. In addition to that the omega’s libido seemed to increase with each day that passed.

In the last few weeks, she couldn’t get him off of her. Rhaenyra could no longer supervise their children’s lessons as much as she would have wanted in favor of keeping up with her needy husband. The alpha had been too embarrassed about the whole situation to ask the maester, so she cast it up to it being his seventh pregnancy. 

“Rhaenyra, don’t stop,” Daemon moaned out loudly as he got closer to his release.

“You’re insatiable, my love,” she picked up her pace as Daemon’s hips moved to meet her fingers. “Maybe I should keep you pregnant,” she whispered into his ear, and the omega moaned in response. “Fill you up with my babies so you’ll stay like this forever.”

“Ugh–nyra, I–” a loud groan interrupted him as he reached his climax, his legs trembled in ecstasy fighting to keep him from falling.

Rhaenyra kept fucking him through his orgasm, her other arm sneaking around his waist to hold him upright. As her uncle came down from his high she took her fingers out of him and wiped them on his nightgown. As she stared at his closed eyes, she couldn’t help but gather her pregnant omega into her arms. They stayed like that for a while as Daemon tried to catch his breath. 

Rhaenyra had called for a bath to be drawn for her omega, and as the maids flooded into their chambers, Maester Gerardys followed in a rush. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, hesitating to get too close, his expectant gaze fixed on her. The alpha frowned slightly and signaled for him to wait outside.

She turned her attention to Daemon, who was being helped out of his nightgown by Elinda as the other women prepared the bath. Now naked, the omega lifted his head to gaze at her. A small smile graced his lips, but it quickly fell when he took in her expression. Rhaenyra tried to reassure him with a gentle gesture to wait for her before she turned and left the room.

Maester Gerardys silently extended a small piece of parchment to her. The alpha took it, her eyes scanning the words. A vile taste climbed up her throat as her anxiety rose.

Her eyes widened as she read the contents, and she turned sharply toward the maester. “Call for Laenor.”

Inside the chambers, Daemon sighed with exasperation as Elinda finished dressing him in a white, flowy tunic. He had reached the point in his pregnancy where his usual clothes no longer fit and had to resort to loose dresses and tunics for modesty. The omega hated it all but knew he couldn’t walk around the castle naked—Rhaenyra would never allow such a thing.

“Where is Rhaenyra?” Daemon asked, turning toward Maester Gerardys, who was putting away his tools after a quick check-up on the omega.

“The princess is in the main room, holding a small audience with Ser Laenor,” the beta replied swiftly.

“Elinda, accompany me to the main room,” Daemon commanded, moving toward the door.

“My prince, I would advise against interrupting their–” Maester Gerardys started but was cut off immediately.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t ask for your advice,” the omega snapped, glaring at the man before continuing on his way. Elinda followed close behind without a word.

As Daemon approached the main room, he heard Laenor’s voice echo through the hall. “We need to go.”

“Go where?” Daemon demanded as he entered the room, making his presence known.

“Daemon, I–” Rhaenyra started, but the omega raised his hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

“Don’t even try to lie. Don’t hide things from me,” he said, his voice low and laced with anger.

“To King’s Landing,” Laenor answered first, a deep frown set on his face. “The queen has summoned us to resolve a matter of my father’s succession.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra added quickly. “Laenor and I will leave for the Red Keep on the morrow and, hopefully, return within the week.”

Daemon let out a humorless chuckle. “Oh, so you two go and solve the problem while I stay back with the children? Is that it?” His voice grew louder, tinged with bitterness. “Can’t let the poor, delicate, pregnant omega deal with anything important. Gods forbid I make an emotional decision.”

“No! Daemon, that’s not–” Rhaenyra began, shaking her head.

“No, that’s exactly it!” Daemon interrupted, his anger flaring. “You promised me we’d be equals, that we’d handle everything together.” He stepped closer, his emotions spilling over. “You swore I wouldn’t become some broodmare, birthing children until it kills me!”

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra exclaimed, indignation clear in her tone. “You are more than that! Why would you–” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath, her nerves stretched thin.

Steadying herself, she softened her voice and reached out to her omega, rubbing his arms lovingly. “My love, this is clearly a tactic from Alicent to slander and undermine my claim further,” she said, trying to reason with him. “We can’t keep playing their game. We–”

“No,” Laenor interjected firmly.

Both Rhaenyra and Daemon turned to look at him, surprise etched on their faces.

“That’s exactly what we need to do,” Laenor explained, his voice steady. “We’ll go to King’s Landing—all of us, even the children. We’ll make them think we’re falling into all their traps and strike when they least expect it.”

Rhaenyra stared at her first husband, her mind racing. After a moment of silence, she nodded. Whatever Laenor’s plan entailed, it was their best option.

She turned back to Daemon, her gaze softening as she took in her beautiful omega. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his rounded belly, her touch gentle. “To King’s Landing, then.”

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra glanced to her right, where Daemon lay sleeping on the bed. One of his hands rested protectively over his swollen belly, a small frown creasing his face. She sighed softly, rising to her feet and slipping out of the small room as quietly as possible so as not to wake the omega.

Stepping onto the deck, she found Laenor gazing into the distance, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What’s on your mind?” Rhaenyra asked as she approached the other alpha.

Laenor turned slightly to look at her. “I’m worried, Rhaenyra. About what the Hightowers truly want with all this.”

“I’m sure it’s another one of Otto’s schemes to weaken my claim to the throne,” she replied, crossing her arms.

“Yes, but why would the King go along with it?” Laenor turned fully toward her, his face troubled.

“With my father’s illness, the Hightowers govern in his stead,” she answered, sparing him a brief glance before shifting her gaze to the sea. “You remember what Daemon said after his last visit to King’s Landing, after Aegon’s birth—the King can barely leave his bed anymore, let alone rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

Laenor didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on her.

Above them, Caraxes soared through the sky, circling the ship as they neared King’s Landing. The Blood Wyrm refused to stray far from Daemon—just as he hadn’t during any of her omega’s past pregnancies, much like Syrax had done during Rhaenyra’s own.

The sight reassured her. She knew the dragon would protect Daemon if necessary, just as Ser Luther and Elinda would—both had served him loyally for years. Even if her omega insisted he could take care of himself, claiming that his swollen belly would not hinder him, Rhaenyra found comfort in knowing so many stood ready to defend him. That assurance seemed more necessary with each passing day.

“Otto Hightower is an ambitious man,” she continued. “He served as King Jaehaerys’ Hand and has advised my father for years. He knows how to play the game, but we can’t let him win.” She shook her head and turned back to Laenor.

“We won’t,” he assured her. “They’ll use the same argument Alicent has wielded for years—Jace and Luke’s hair color as proof of their illegitimacy.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of once again enduring the Hightowers’ accusations.

“If we can speak with my father, we might be able to put an end to these baseless claims,” Rhaenyra said, her voice firm.

Laenor sighed, exhausted. “With the King’s fragile health, I doubt he can do much, Rhaenyra.”

“We have to try. For our children, for our family.” She took his hands, her voice tinged with quiet desperation.

Laenor hesitated before nodding. “I’ll speak with my mother about the Driftmark inheritance,” he conceded. “Her word carries more weight than the queen’s in this matter—she acts as my father’s will now.” He pulled his hands from hers, offering a reassuring smile. “You should wake Daemon. We’re almost there.”

Rhaenyra stared at the horizon for a moment before nodding and heading inside.

As she entered the small cabin, she found Rhaena sitting on the bed, chatting softly while Daemon reclined against the bed frame. When she noticed her, she turned, a shy smile on her face.

“I came to wake you, my love,” Rhaenyra said with a smirk, stepping closer. “But it seems my job has already been done.” She bent slightly and kissed him softly on the lips. “We’re almost there.”

Daemon only groaned in response.

Rhaenyra chuckled and extended her arms to help him off the bed. He glared at her but, after a moment’s hesitation, took her hands and leaned some of his weight against her as he stood. With a low groan, he straightened, and with her and Rhaena’s support, he changed out of his sleep clothes and into a red-and-black tunic. They then made their way out of the room, the beta following close behind.

When the ship had been anchored, the family stepped down onto the port, where a series of carriages awaited them to transport them to the Red Keep. The adults boarded one carriage along with Elinda, who was carrying baby Viserys, while the children got into another, with Ser Luthor accompanying them.

Upon reaching the castle, the family disembarked one by one and made their way inside. Only servants were there to greet them, which made Rhaenyra’s blood boil—neither the queen nor the Hand bothered to welcome them after summoning them to the capital. She heard Daemon groan softly next to her as he swayed slightly, but before she could react, Baelon was at his side, helping him straighten up.

Rhaenyra studied her omega for a moment, ensuring he was alright. Daemon had been unsteady on his feet all morning, unable to stand or walk for long without stumbling or needing to sit down. He kept insisting it was inevitable, now that he was approaching the final month of his pregnancy, but the situation had both her and Laenor on edge.

This was one reason she had never wanted Daemon to accompany them. She was terrified that something terrible might happen to him—or the baby—if he overexerted himself. Rhaenyra knew that her omega wouldn’t be able to resist losing another child, even if he tried to put on a brave, indifferent face. He was far too sensitive, more omega-like than he cared to admit; she had seen it on those rare occasions when Daemon let his guard fall and became vulnerable with her.

“Would you show us to our chambers?” Rhaenyra spoke up, addressing one of the servants accompanying them. One of her hands snaked around Daemon’s waist as she continued, “Since no one greeted us, the least you could do is lead us to our rooms so my pregnant omega can rest.” Her voice was firm, and she straightened her posture, determined to command respect.

One of the women in the hall bowed fearfully and quickly gestured for them to follow. After ensuring that their children’s rooms were settled, Rhaenyra entered her husband’s chambers. There, Daemon sat on a couch in front of the fireplace, with Viserys and Aegon playing with wooden toys on the carpet at his feet, while he watched them with a fond smile.

Daemon turned toward her when he heard her enter. “I came to make sure you were alright, my love,” she said as she sat beside him.

“Rhaenyra…” the omega sighed, leaning back against the couch. “You don’t have to do that—I’m fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know you’re fine and can take care of yourself, but I still need to make sure, for my own sake,” her voice softened as she reached out to stroke his thigh.

Daemon didn’t respond; instead, he placed his hand atop hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. He then brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back as a quiet promise. Just then, there was a knock at the door of his chambers.

Rhaenyra rose and went to open the door. On the other side stood Elinda. The alpha stepped aside, letting her in. Elinda moved straight for the children on the floor, while Rhaenyra returned to Daemon, who wore a confused expression.

“I called for Elinda so she might help us with the children,” Rhaenyra explained after a pause, taking her husband’s rough hands in hers. “I want to go see my father—I feel it’s important that I speak with him.”

“Is that wise?” Daemon squeezed her hands, the faint scent of burnt cherries mingling in the air. “Rhaenyra, you haven’t seen him. You don’t know his condition—it’s not…” He hesitated. “Good.”

“I know,” she sighed loudly. “I just need to see him, Daemon. We need to speak with him.”

The omega said nothing for a moment, then nodded slightly. With her help, he managed to rise from the couch, and together—with Elinda and the children close behind—they made their way to the King’s chambers.

—————————————

The Kingsguard stationed outside her father’s quarters opened the large wooden door for them. She hadn’t taken a good look at the Red Keep since arriving, too preoccupied with Daemon, but on their way to the King’s chambers, she noticed how much it had changed. All the Targaryen heraldry had been stripped away, replaced by statues and stars symbolizing the Faith.

The castle itself looked pristine and well-kept, but the same couldn’t be said for her father’s room. It was dusty, and unkept—as if it hadn’t been properly cleaned in months. Viserys’ once beautiful, meticulously crafted model of Old Valyria was now draped in cobwebs and layered with dust. It hadn’t been touched in a long time.

Rhaenyra frowned at the state of her father’s hard work. Her gaze shifted to the large bed on the other side of the room. Though white curtains obscured most of her view, she could still make out a frail figure lying beneath the covers. She approached cautiously, sensing Daemon following close behind.

They reached the bedside, where they finally had a clear view of Viserys. Rhaenyra had to suppress a gasp as she took in her father’s wretched condition. Half of his face was hidden beneath a silk cloth, but the visible portion was pale and sunken. Even through his long-sleeved shirt, his skeletal arms and frail frame were apparent.

The sight of him sent hot tears welling in her eyes. Guilt crept up her throat, nearly choking her. The years she had spent away—selfishly, foolishly—pressed heavily on her shoulders. She had been absent while he withered away.

A low groan escaped Viserys’ lips as he stirred from his slumber. Snapping out of her trance, Rhaenyra bent down, brushing her father’s remaining strands of hair aside as he opened his eyes and looked up at her. For a moment, his gaze was distant and unfocused—then recognition flickered across his features, and a weak smile appeared.

“Ah, Rhaenyra…” His voice was hoarse, as though it hadn’t been used in months.

“Father, I’m here,” she assured him, taking the hand he extended toward her. “And so is Daemon.”

“Daemon?” Viserys frowned, but his expression soon softened as his weary eyes drifted from her to her husband. “Ah, Daemon, my baby brother.”

The King withdrew his hand from Rhaenyra’s and reached toward the omega as if longing to touch him. Daemon hesitated, but after a reassuring nod from his wife, he stepped closer. Viserys grasped his hand with what little strength he had and simply held it, his expression tender.

“You look absolutely glowing,” he murmured—echoing words he had spoken once before, all those years ago.

“Brother,” Daemon said with a faint smile, though it quickly faded as he lowered his gaze, seeming to be deep in thought. “Lord Corlys Velaryon has taken a grievous wound in battle in the Stepstones.”

Rhaenyra shot a warning glance at her husband, but Daemon ignored it.

“What? We won that war years ago,” Viserys murmured without opening his eyes.

“I’m afraid…” Daemon hesitated. “The Triarchy is resurgent, and the battle has begun anew.” He faltered, his gaze dropping again, unwilling to meet his brother’s decaying form. “And there is a petition to decide upon the succession of Driftmark.”

“Petition…” Viserys sighed heavily, bringing a trembling hand to his temple. “Alicent and Otto…” He took another labored breath. “See to all that business now.”

“No, brother, listen to me,” Daemon leaned in closer, tension creeping up his spine. “You must reaffirm your decision—Laenor and Lucerys are to be Corlys Velaryon’s heirs.”

Rhaenyra placed a hand on her husband’s back in an attempt to halt him. Daemon turned to her, but she shook her head, silently urging him to stop. The omega straightened, regarding her for a moment—then their attention was drawn to the fit of coughing that erupted from the bed beside them.

Viserys’ body convulsed with each ragged cough as he tried to stifle the sound with his hand. Rhaenyra moved quickly, attempting to soothe him, while Daemon merely watched. When the King finally managed to catch his breath, the alpha turned toward Elinda, who had been entertaining their youngest children nearby. She signaled the beta woman to come closer. With Viserys in one arm and Aegon clutching her other hand, Elinda approached.

Rhaenyra bent down and lifted five-year-old Aegon onto the edge of the bed so her father could see him.

“Father, this is Aegon,” she said softly. Viserys’ tired gaze settled on the boy. “Do you remember him? Daemon came to visit shortly after his birth, remember?” She sounded almost hopeful.

A faint smile crossed the King’s lips. “Of course, I remember,” he rasped.

Rhaenyra exhaled in relief, holding Aegon firmly so he wouldn’t jostle the ailing man. “And also…” She turned to Elinda, who held her youngest son.

Before she could ask the woman to step closer, Daemon moved forward, gently taking the baby from her. The omega returned to his place, allowing Viserys a better look at the child.

“And this is Viserys,” Rhaenyra finally said, watching as her father’s trembling hand reached out to touch the baby’s silver hair.

“Viserys…” he chuckled weakly. “Now that is a name fit for a king.” A smile—perhaps the widest he had managed in years—split his gaunt face as he stroked the toddler’s soft hair.

The baby in Daemon’s arms began squirming, his little brows furrowing. Rhaenyra noticed the way his bottom lip trembled, his eyes welling with unshed tears. Daemon instinctively held him closer, bouncing him slightly in his arms to soothe him. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, set Aegon down when he started to wriggle in her grasp. The boy immediately latched onto Daemon’s side, wrapping small arms around his swollen belly, one tiny hand reaching out to pat his younger brother’s leg.

Rhaenyra observed the tender scene, her heart clenching at the sight—but another sensation crawled up her spine. Watching her omega act so naturally, so maternally, stirred something deep within her. Her breath hitched as a familiar heat coiled in her belly. Her gaze traced over Daemon’s form, devouring the sight of him. Though he wore nothing form-fitting, only a flowing tunic, the breeze that swept through the room caused the fabric to cling enticingly to his figure. His eight-months-pregnant belly was fully pronounced, the delicate material outlining the swell of his full thighs. Her mouth went dry.

She fought to keep her arousal in check, forcing down the scent that threatened to permeate the air. But Daemon, ever perceptive with his superhuman nose, immediately flicked his gaze to her, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. Before she could say anything, a violent cough from the bed shattered the moment.

Viserys’ fit startled the previously calm baby in the beta’s arms, setting him wailing. Rhaenyra hesitated, glancing at Daemon for guidance. He gestured for her to tend to the children while he returned to his brother’s side.

Daemon reached out, rubbing Viserys’ arm in an attempt to ease his coughing. The King mumbled something, barely audible. The omega leaned in.

“My tea…” Viserys croaked, weakly waving his hand. “My tea.” He pointed feebly toward the bedside table.

Daemon turned, spotting a small, sealed cup. Taking it, he removed the cover and sniffed the contents before handing it to his brother. As Viserys drank, Daemon’s lips pressed into a thin line. He cast a glance toward Rhaenyra, his expression dark.

When the King finished, Daemon placed the cup back in its spot. Then, with urgency, he turned to his wife. “We need to talk.”

—————————————

“We should speak with Maester Gerardys,” Rhaenyra whispered, glancing down at her husband, who sat in one of the chairs before the fireplace. “I think—”

She was interrupted as the heavy wooden doors swung open. Her hand instinctively reached for Daemon’s extended one. Turning, the alpha’s gaze landed on Alicent Hightower, her usual frown set firmly in place.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” she paused for a moment, her eyes traveling down to the omega and then to his pregnant belly. “Prince Daemon, it has been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence.”

The alpha noticed Alicent’s gaze lingering on her healed wound—the wound she had inflicted. Rhaenyra adjusted her sleeve while meeting the other woman’s stare intently. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

“Though not long enough to merit a greeting upon our arrival,” Daemon remarked, holding the queen’s gaze, refusing to back down.

“I’m sure the queen had… pressing business, my love,” Rhaenyra said, her eyes never leaving Alicent’s. “What could either of us possibly know about ruling a kingdom?”

“I do not rule,” Alicent countered, her tone unwavering. “My father and I are merely messengers of the King’s will and wisdom.”

“And how exactly is that wisdom expressed?” Daemon challenged one brow arching. “In blinks and wheezes?” His voice was laced with mockery, his gaze locked onto the queen. “I would be surprised if he could even remember his own name.”

Alicent exhaled sharply, forcing a smile. “King Viserys’ condition has worsened since you last saw him.”

Daemon let out a sharp, humorless chuckle, cutting off any further explanation.

Alicent’s stare flickered toward the omega before she pressed on. “On the advice of the maesters—”

“The maesters, of course,” Rhaenyra interrupted, feeling her anger rise with every word leaving the other woman’s mouth. “It is they who keep him addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne,” she said, stepping toward Alicent.

“If you would see him without it, Rhaenyra,” the beta declared seriously. “Almost blind with suffering.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was an act of the purest mercy. But tell me, Alicent,” Daemon, tired of the conversation, rose from his chair and swiftly closed the distance between them. “Did the maesters also prescribe the removal of all Targaryen heraldry and the installation of various statues and stars?” His voice dropped in volume as he stared into her eyes. “Or was that the king’s will?”

“The symbol of the Seven only helps to guide us,” Alicent replied, unfazed by the omega’s insinuations. “It serves to remind us of a higher authority,” she added, turning her gaze toward the female alpha.

“And on the morrow, which authority will sit in judgment of my husband’s and son’s claim to their inheritance?” Rhaenyra finally asked.

“That would be mine,” Alicent answered before shifting her gaze to Daemon. “And the Hand’s.” She lingered on the omega for a moment before turning toward the door, her intent clear.

“I hope the higher authority is able to abide by the king’s will and set aside personal prejudice,” Rhaenyra called out as the queen was halfway through the door. “It is only fair.”

Alicent paused, glancing back at the couple one last time. She offered them a small, insincere smile before exiting without another word.

Rhaenyra shook her head as she watched the queen disappear. When the doors closed once again, she turned to Daemon. His face remained neutral, but his scent—bitter and sharp—betrayed his true feelings. Without a word, she reached out, brushing her fingers along the back of his neck before gently pulling him close. He buried his face against her, and she did the same in return.

They stayed like that for a while, their scents mingling and steadying. Only when both had calmed did they finally make their way to Daemon’s chambers, where Viserys and Aegon were already asleep—the eldest lying sprawled across the omega’s bed. The couple positioned themselves carefully around the child so as not to disturb him and quickly drifted off, surrounded by the soothing scent of their children.

Rhaenyra opened her eyes as she felt the bed shift. It was dark now, the dim candlelight barely illuminating the silhouette of her sleeping omega and their child. Daemon remained deep in slumber, and so did Aegon. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Her mind was racing, and she doubted she would be able to sleep again.

Carefully, she rose from the bed, taking care not to disturb her husband and child. She slipped on her dressing gown, securing it around herself against the night’s chill. Leaving Daemon’s chambers, she made a round of all her children’s rooms, a habit that helped ease some of her anxieties.

She checked Joffrey’s room last before wandering aimlessly through the castle, lost in thought. Her mind conjured endless scenarios of how the next day might unfold, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t silence the fear creeping into her heart.

Earlier that day, Ser Luthor had informed her of an incident at the training grounds involving Jace and Luke. They had encountered their uncle, Aemond, who had not taken kindly to their presence. It had not escalated too far, thanks to Ser Luthor’s intervention, but harsh words had been exchanged, and Criston Cole had reportedly joined in at one point.

Rhaenyra still couldn’t understand why Criston remained in the Kingsguard after the incident on Driftmark. The man had injured a member of the royal family, as had Alicent. Yet Alicent was a queen, and Criston was merely a guard. Still, she had long since stopped questioning her father’s decisions.

She was so lost in thought that she hadn’t realized where her feet had carried her. She now stood before her father’s chambers, staring at the heavy wooden door, unsure why she was even there. Hesitantly, she pushed it open.

Moving swiftly but silently across the room, she hesitated when she reached the curtains that enclosed the bed. A strange apprehension settled over her as she pulled them aside and stepped closer. Viserys lay motionless in the same position she had last seen him that morning.

She couldn’t tell if he was awake. His sunken face barely moved, and his breaths came in ragged gasps, his half-lidded eyes staring at nothing. Tentatively, Rhaenyra reached out and ran her fingers along his hollow cheek.

“Alicent…” Viserys’ hoarse whisper broke through the thick silence.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and sat at his bedside. “Father, it’s Rhaenyra.”

“Ah… Rhaenyra,” he rasped.

She hesitated before speaking again, her own voice soft, uncertain. “The Song of Ice and Fire… do you believe it to be true?” She didn’t know why she had asked. The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, but speaking them aloud felt like a dagger twisting in her chest.

Viserys’ breath hitched as he struggled to form a response. “Aegon’s dream…”

Rhaenyra leaned in slightly, clasping his frail arms in her hands as if trying to ground herself. “You told me it was our duty to keep the realm united against a common foe,” she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears. “But by naming me heir, you divided it.”

A lump formed in her throat, choking her next words. She sat upright again, lowering her gaze as she took a shaky breath, trying to collect herself. “I thought I wanted it,” she whispered, the first tear slipping down her cheek. “But the burden is too heavy.”

A quiet sob broke past her lips. She risked a glance at her father, but he remained still, his chest rising and falling weakly.

“Rhaenyra…” he rasped again. “My only child.”

The words shattered her. She shook her head as another wave of tears blurred her vision. Bending down once more, she gripped his arms with quiet desperation. “If you wish me to bear it, then defend me,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “And my children.”

Viserys didn’t respond. His lips moved, but the words that escaped were incoherent murmurs. There was no sign that he had heard her.

Despair settled deep in her stomach, making her nauseous. She stifled a sob with her hand, her body shaking as silent tears streamed down her face.

For a fleeting moment, she considered renouncing her claim at the hearing tomorrow. But what then? What would become of her children? Of Jace? Of Luke?

What would the court say if she abandoned her inheritance? What reasons would they believe? What rumors would spread? She could already hear the whispers that would echo through the halls of the Red Keep, the voices growing louder with each step she took. If she renounced, everyone would take it as an admission of her sons’ illegitimacy. She couldn’t allow that.

When Jace was born, she had thought little of his dark hair—assumed no one else would either. But when Luke was born the same, it became clear how the court viewed them. She had tried to ignore it. She knew the truth, and so did those who mattered most. But the whispers never ceased. The queen’s venom ran too deep.

People called her sons bastards behind her back—until, at some point, they had stopped whispering and started saying it to her children’s faces. She had explained it to them, told them what the word meant, told them why people believed it, even though it wasn’t true.

Yet despite everything, she had always loved their dark curls. And she had thought, for a time, that Jace and Luke hatching their dragon eggs would be proof enough of their blood. But proof had never mattered to those who refused to see the truth.

Her days in the Red Keep after her sons’ births had been hell. Not only from the court, but from Alicent and Otto as well, their insidious remarks pressing down on her like a weight. No one dared to outright call her children bastards—it would have been treason. But everyone thought it.

She would be lying if she said she had never wished her sons had been born with silver hair. She had cried into her pillow on sleepless nights, asking whatever gods watched over them why her boys had been marked this way.

Jace and Luke had been cursed to a life where they would have to constantly prove their worth. And she couldn’t shake the thought that it was all her fault. The gods must have been punishing her for a crime she did not even know she had committed.

After some time, Rhaenyra rose from her father’s bedside, her tears long dried. She left the room quietly, making her way back to Daemon’s chambers.

Inside, the scene was peaceful. Daemon and Aegon still slept soundly, the child clinging to her omega as though he were a lifeline. In the cradle beside the bed, Viserys lay in quiet slumber, unaware of the world around him.

Rhaenyra bent down and pressed a kiss to her youngest son’s forehead before slipping beneath the covers beside her husband and child.

Her mind still raced, but she closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of her family, grounding herself in their presence. Tomorrow would be a long day. She could feel it.

—————————————

The next morning, Rhaenyra took her breakfast with both her husbands in Daemon’s chambers. Her omega sat beside her, with Laenor on her other side. Their youngest children had been taken by Elinda to eat with their older siblings, allowing their parents to speak in private.

“I’ll speak with my mother before the hearing,” Laenor said, breaking the peaceful silence. “After Laena’s funeral, she and I grew distant, but we need her support so Alicent and Otto have no choice but to follow my father’s will.”

“They’re both snakes,” Daemon said with disdain. “Even if we gain my cousin’s support, they’ll find a way to weaken your claim to your own inheritance.” He let out a humorless chuckle before continuing. “Most likely by subtly bringing up the lie that Jace and Luke are bastards.”

“We also have Vaemond to worry about,” Rhaenyra interjected. “The fact that he even believes he has a claim over his brother’s legacy is bad enough,” she said, shaking her head as she set down her fork. “But he has always harbored animosity toward us.”

“His animosity, his self-righteousness, his self-importance,” the omega listed, irritated. “Anything else? Vaemond has been a thorn in my side since the war in the Stepstones. I must admit, I had hoped he would die there,” he trailed off, casting a weary glance at Laenor.

“What? You plan to kill him?” Laenor asked, scandalized, turning sharply to Daemon. “No.”

“Laenor…” Rhaenyra tried to interrupt.

“No, Rhaenyra, that is not an option,” the alpha cut her off, his tone firm. “There has to be another way.”

“There are many ways, Laenor,” Daemon responded when his niece remained silent. “But this is the most permanent,” he added nonchalantly.

Laenor stood abruptly, shaking his head as he stepped away from the table.

Rhaenyra rose as well, following him. “I don’t like it either, but…” she paused for a moment, stepping closer to her first husband. “Laenor, think of Luke—of his future. Vaemond will never leave him alone,” she said, reaching for his hands, trying to make him understand.

“Still, we can’t just kill everyone who stands against us,” he argued, glancing between Daemon and Rhaenyra. “Vaemond has two daughters around Luke’s and Jace’s age. We could propose a marriage pact.”

“No,” Rhaenyra refused immediately. “We—I already have a marriage arrangement in mind for them,” she admitted, wringing her hands in a nervous tic.

“What? With whom?” Laenor asked, confused.

Rhaenyra hesitated, her gaze flickering briefly to Daemon before returning to the other alpha. “Baela and Rhaena.”

“You made this decision without consulting me?” Laenor’s voice rose with anger. “You didn’t think it important to mention that you had already arranged my sons’ marriages?”

“Laenor,” the omega spoke up in a warning tone.

Laenor turned to him, his growing frustration evident. “What, Daemon? What do you want now?” He stepped closer to the pregnant omega still seated at the table, his scent turning sharp and sour.

Rhaenyra noticed Daemon’s subtle shift in demeanor—his expression flickered with fear, and the scent of burnt cherries reached her nose.

“Laenor!” Rhaenyra reprimanded him sharply, swiftly placing herself between the two men. “I understand your anger, and you’re right—I should have told you. Jace and Luke are as much yours as they are mine,” she said, holding up her hands in a placating gesture. “Daemon and I agreed that the best way to secure Rhaenys’ support for Luke’s claim was to ensure her blood remained tied to both Driftmark and the Iron Throne.”

“But her blood already has a claim to both,” Laenor said, confused.

“Yes, and Rhaenys knows that—but no one else seems to believe it,” Rhaenyra crossed her arms, exasperated. “They call Jace and Luke bastards behind closed doors,” she whispered, her anger rising.

“Those are lies,” Laenor shook his head, stepping back from his wife.

“Yes, but the truth no longer matters—only what people believe,” she countered, turning away and walking back to the table. “With this arrangement, we ensure there is no doubt in anyone’s mind.”

“Look, Laenor,” Daemon finally spoke again, his scent mostly back to normal, though traces of bitterness remained. “You will speak to your mother and propose the marriage arrangement, and I will deal with Vaemond,” he said with a smirk. “If it comes to that,” he added when he felt both alphas’ intense stares on him.

“You’re eight months pregnant, Daemon,” Laenor pointed out, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

The omega shrugged, unbothered. “That has never stopped me before.”

—————————————

Rhaenyra stood on one side of the throne room with her children and omega beside her. She kept glancing toward the doors at the back of the room, anxiously waiting for the only missing member of her family—Laenor. Rhaenys was absent as well, which gave her hope that her first husband was with her.

Trying to distract herself, she turned to Daemon, who was busy catching up with Baela. Rhaena and Baelon stood beside them, their matching smiles revealing their joy at seeing their sister again. Rhaenyra smiled as she watched Baela reach out to softly caress her mother’s pregnant belly.

Just then, two figures entered the throne room. Rhaenyra turned to see Laenor and Rhaenys walking through the doors. Laenor made his way toward them, while her cousin moved to the other side of the room, where Vaemond was standing. Baela stepped away to stand beside her grandmother after Daemon kissed her forehead in farewell.

As the hearing was about to begin, Rhaenyra reached out to Lucerys, gesturing for him to come closer. The younger alpha obeyed, and she immediately pulled him into her arms.

“I love you so much, my sweet boy,” she whispered into his ear before pulling away slightly to kiss his cheek. Releasing him, she gave a reassuring smile to all her children before turning just as the Hand of the King addressed the room.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here today with the grim task of determining the Driftmark succession,” Otto Hightower announced from the foot of the Iron Throne. “As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” He rested one hand on the throne for support as he sat down. “The crown will now hear the petitions.”

“Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,” he called, leaning back.

Upon being summoned, Vaemond stepped forward. “My queen,” he said, addressing Alicent, before turning to Otto. “My Lord Hand.”

Rhaenyra hardly paid attention to the alpha’s self-righteous speech, only catching key phrases about family legacy and his supposed importance. At one point, Daemon glanced at her subtly, silently asking for permission. Without hesitation, she gave him a small nod. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Laenor watching them, but he made no move to intervene.

“Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon,” Otto announced once Vaemond finished and stepped back.

Rhaenyra walked to the center of the room and addressed the Hand. “If I may, I’d like to start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, on this very day—”

The speech she had rehearsed countless times in her mind was abruptly cut short by the sound of the heavy wooden doors creaking open. She turned sharply, her breath catching as she saw her father standing at the entrance, leaning on a cane.

For the first time in months, Viserys wore his crown. Without accepting any assistance, he slowly and painfully made his way toward the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra stepped aside as he passed, still stunned by his unexpected arrival. He spared her a brief glance before continuing forward.

Otto Hightower, just as shocked as the rest of the court, descended the steps to meet the king at the bottom.

Viserys stumbled, and he would have hit the floor had a Kingsguard not caught him in time. The guard attempted to help him up the steps, but the king rejected him with a feeble shake of his head. Determined, he began climbing the stairs alone.

Rhaenyra watched, her heart in her throat, as her father struggled. He refused every attempt at assistance, but she noticed Daemon slowly approaching. At one point, Viserys faltered, bowing his head in exhaustion, and his crown slipped from his head, clattering to the floor.

The king tried to bend down to retrieve it but was unsuccessful. Before he could try again, Daemon reached him. Despite his protruding belly, the omega bent carefully to pick up the crown. Then, with quiet determination, he took his brother’s arm to help him stand.

At first, Viserys seemed ready to refuse, but upon realizing who had come to his aid, he relented. Together, they climbed the rest of the steps.

When they reached the throne, Daemon helped Viserys lower himself into the seat before carefully placing the crown back on his head. He stared at his brother for a moment, his expression unreadable, before bowing and silently returning to Rhaenyra’s side.

“I fail to see the reason behind hearing petitions over a settled succession,” the king finally spoke, his voice echoing inside the throne room. “The only person who can give us insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is Princess Rhaenys.”

Everyone in the room turned to look at the woman, who held her head high. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra watched as her cousin held eye contact with Vaemond Velaryon before graciously walking toward the center of the room. She clasped her hands together after rubbing them nervously.

“It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor,” Rhaenys paused for a moment, making Rhaenyra’s nerves stand on edge, “and onto his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

The other alpha’s statement made Rhaenyra’s eyes widen. Hope rose up her spine, and she could almost feel some of the heavy burden weighing her down begin to lift. She felt as if she could breathe properly again.

“His mind never changed, and neither did my support for him,” Rhaenys continued. “As a matter of fact, my son has informed me of his and Princess Rhaenyra’s desire to marry Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena,” she announced with a smile. “A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

“Well, the matter is settled—again,” Viserys spoke up in a bored tone. “I hereby reaffirm Lucerys Velaryon as the heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and future Lord of the Tides.”

“You break the law and centuries of tradition to name your daughter as heir,” Vaemond’s loud, angry voice caused those around to gasp. The alpha moved to the center of the room once more. “And now you try to tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon? I will not allow it.”

“Allow it,” the king repeated, unimpressed by the man’s bold statement. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” he warned.

“That is no true Velaryon,” Vaemond exclaimed, turning to point at Lucerys. “My family survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides,” he continued, never breaking eye contact with the younger alpha. “And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on account of this—” He stopped himself.

“Say it,” Daemon spoke up, watching Vaemond with a smirk.

The alpha turned to the omega, a small smile appearing on his face. “Her children are bastards!” Vaemond screamed before turning back to the king. “And she is a whore.”

Viserys struggled to his feet, unseating his blade with difficulty. “I’ll have your tongue for that.”

Rhaenyra hadn’t noticed when Daemon moved or positioned himself behind the raging alpha. She only realized her heavily pregnant omega was no longer by her side when he swung Dark Sister, cleaving straight through Vaemond Velaryon’s head. Gasps filled the throne room as one half of the man’s skull hit the floor.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon said calmly, looking down at the lifeless body.

“Disarm him!” Otto Hightower ordered the Kingsguard.

The guards obeyed, immediately surrounding Daemon with their blades at the ready. Upon seeing this, Ser Luthor and Baelon ran to stand between them and the omega.

“There’s no need,” the pregnant omega said nonchalantly as he cleaned the alpha’s blood from his blade.

He secured Dark Sister on his belt again and grabbed Baelon’s arm, guiding him back to Rhaenyra’s side. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his stomach, and he doubled over. Baelon helped steady him as they hurried back while Daemon clutched his belly.

Rhaenyra met them halfway, worry evident in her eyes, but Daemon waved her off. She had been so preoccupied with her husband that she hadn’t realized her father had collapsed and was now being carried out of the throne room.

She wanted to go after him, to make sure he was alright, but at that moment, her omega and unborn child were more important. With Baelon’s help, they got Daemon back to his chambers and onto the bed. He assured her the pain had subsided, but she still insisted he stay in bed and rest.

Rhaenyra eventually left the room, leaving Baelon and his mother alone so she could check on her children. The young alpha busied himself making sure Daemon was comfortable, fussing around the room.

For once, Daemon let his son take care of him, his body too exhausted to move much. The last few days had been uncomfortable—his back ached constantly, his feet and legs were swollen, and his hips were sore. He was ready to give birth and never carry another child again.

Baelon watched his mother shift uncomfortably on the bed. His hair had grown quite long, cascading past his shoulders—a choice that had made him happy, as he had always loved his mother’s long hair. He couldn’t help but smile as a childhood memory crossed his mind.

One of his earliest memories was of Daemon’s face looking down at him with a soft smile. Nothing significant had happened—it was just the image of his mother smiling, something that had become a rare sight. A bittersweet feeling crept up his spine as he stared at the omega on the bed.

Baelon didn’t know what came over him, but suddenly, he had the overwhelming urge to speak his mind. “You and Ser Luthor have been the only constants in my life.”

Daemon looked up at his son, a small frown crossing his face at the alpha’s sudden remark.

“I mean… not even you. You left me. For three years, you left me to fight a war that wasn’t yours,” Baelon said, his voice tight. He sneaked a glance at his mother—Daemon was looking down at his fidgeting hands, refusing to meet his eyes. “You came back pregnant and tried to act as if nothing had changed.” A lump formed in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“Baelon—” Daemon tried to explain, but his son didn’t let him.

“Don’t.” Baelon shook his head. “I’ve never cared that the twins were conceived out of wedlock. It’s fine. I’ve never judged you for that.”

His mother had explained to him, right before marrying Laena, why he was doing it. He understood how most people viewed omegas—as the weakest dynamic.

At the time, he had accepted Daemon’s reasons for marrying. He wasn’t happy about it, but he could endure it for his mother’s sake. An omega having a baby out of wedlock was almost a death sentence. Still, there were moments when Baelon resented him for not continuing to fight as he always had.

His mother had never been a typical omega; he had always known that. He was not submissive or fragile—he spoke back, yelled, and cursed. He was hotheaded, stubborn, and quick to anger, just like Rhea had been. Yet Daemon had always carried a soft, tender side, one reserved only for his family.

Despite everything, his mother had always defied expectations. He had constantly stood against his brother’s council of leeches, never backing down. So Baelon had been almost disappointed when the omega relented, when he allowed the judgment of others to dictate his actions.

Daemon could only stare at his son, unsure how to react or even respond. He felt tears welling in his eyes.

Baelon sat down on the side of the bed and took one of his mother’s hands in his own. “Muña…”

Daemon sighed deeply, looking down at their intertwined hands. He could feel the words getting stuck in his throat. “I never wanted children…” he finally confessed, trying to swallow the lump forming there.

He hesitated, then raised his eyes to meet Baelon’s. The young alpha’s gaze was a mix of pain and understanding, prompting him to continue. “All my life, since I learned what being an omega entailed, I swore to myself I would never be like—” He faltered, taking a breath before pressing on. “Like my mother, like my aunts, like… Aemma. Made to birth children until it killed me.”

Once he started speaking, he couldn’t seem to stop. He adjusted himself on the bed as Baelon moved closer. “I fought so hard against my nature. Even after I wed Rhea, I didn’t let her consummate the marriage for years,” he said, rubbing his son’s hand, trying to comfort them both. “But then you came, and you were so beautiful, so small, so fragile.”

He looked into his son’s eyes as tears spilled from his own. His next words were interrupted by a small sob escaping his lips. Baelon instantly reached out, pulling the omega into a hug, letting him bury his face in his neck. Daemon breathed in his son’s comforting scent, trying to calm himself. Then, he pulled away, cupping Baelon’s face gently between his hands.

“And all I could think was—how could I not want something so beautiful?” He pulled Baelon closer and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. When he pulled back, he gave his son a small, teary smile. “I am sorry, Baelon.”

“Don’t.” The young alpha shook his head, covering his mother’s hands with his own. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Daemon gave him a small, watery smile, reaching out to gently brush back his hair. Neither of them spoke again. They simply sat in silence, each lost in a storm of thoughts. At some point, Elinda arrived, accompanied by several of the Red Keep’s maids, to inform them that the king had summoned them for dinner with the rest of the family.

Baelon was escorted to his chambers to freshen up. Elinda remained behind to help Daemon bathe and dress. The young alpha had been reluctant to leave his mother alone—a bad feeling about the night ahead was settling in his stomach. He could only hope it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

—————————————

Rhaenyra fidgeted nervously with the rings on her fingers, unable to move as she stood in front of her chamber door. Her father had summoned her and her family to dine with him. She knew they wouldn’t be alone—Alicent, her children, and probably Otto would be there as well.

After the incident in the throne room earlier that day, she was certain tensions would be high. Rhaenyra didn’t want to go, but she also refused to let Alicent and Otto continue to disregard or undermine her.

A sudden knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She jumped at the noise but instantly relaxed at the comforting scent of cherries coming from the other side. Reaching out, she opened the door, greeted by the sight of her beautiful, pregnant omega and their two daughters, along with his firstborn son.

They made their way to the dining hall together, picking up Jace, Luke, and Laenor on the way. When they arrived, they found Alicent, her children, and Otto already seated on the right side of the long wooden table.

Rhaenyra took her omega husband’s arm, and together, with the rest of their family, they sat on the left. The large chair at the center remained empty, reserved for Viserys. She sat beside it, with Daemon next to her and Laenor on the other side. Luke and Rhaena sat together, as did Jace and Baela, with Baelon next to them. Across from them, Alicent sat beside the king’s chair, her father on her other side. Aemond sat opposite Luke and Rhaena, while Aegon and Helaena sat next to Baelon.

The doors to the dining hall swung open, and several Kingsguards entered, carrying a small throne upon which Viserys was seated. Everyone in the room rose to greet the king, then sat back down once he was settled in his chair at the center of the table.

“First, I must share how happy it makes me to see you all gathered here today,” Viserys spoke with difficulty, his gaze sweeping over those seated before him.

“A prayer before we begin?” Alicent asked softly, inclining her head slightly.

The king nodded in agreement, and the room fell silent as the queen’s voice carried through the chamber. She recited the prayers her father had taught her, concluding with a final passage dedicated to Vaemond Velaryon, which made Daemon roll his eyes.

When she finished, Viserys cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” he said, his weary eyes settling on his grandchildren. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, are to marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.”

He then turned to his left, looking upon his daughter and brother. “And my brother Daemon is soon to welcome his fourth child with my daughter Rhaenyra.” He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on his younger brother. “A toast, so the gods may bless their union and the new addition to the family.”

“Here, here!” Laenor exclaimed, raising his cup with a broad smile.

Viserys watched as Aegon leaned in to whisper something to Baelon and Jace. From the expression on the young alpha’s face, the king could easily surmise the nature of the conversation. Slowly, using his cane for support, he stood, addressing his family.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces,” he declared, scanning the table. “The faces most dear to me, yet all so distant from one another.”

A heavy sigh escaped him, his sadness plain for all to see. “Let us put aside the grievances in our hearts.” His frown deepened as he looked around the room. “The crown cannot stand strong if our house remains divided. Let go of your resentments,” his voice trembled, tears welling in his eyes. “If not for the sake of the realm, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

As he finished speaking, Viserys collapsed back into his chair, groaning in pain as he clutched his head. Alicent was quick to tend to him, rubbing his arm and back in a soothing manner.

Rhaenyra watched the scene intently, a tightness forming in her chest. A sudden urge to make amends, if only for her father’s sake, overtook her. She grabbed her cup and stood, drawing the attention of the room.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the queen,” she announced firmly. “I love my father, but I must admit—no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.”

She turned her gaze to Alicent, continuing, “She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. For that, she has my gratitude,” she hesitated briefly before adding, “and my apology.”

Rhaenyra sat down, avoiding the beta’s gaze. She could feel Alicent’s eyes burning into the side of her face.

Alicent studied her for a long moment before finally speaking. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.”

She lifted her own cup and stood. “I raise my cup to you and to your house,” she declared, meeting Rhaenyra’s eyes. “You will make a fine queen.”

A small, genuine smile formed on Rhaenyra’s lips. It felt as though years of anger and resentment had suddenly lifted from her shoulders. She turned to Daemon, who smiled back, reaching out to take her hand.

“Let us have some music,” Viserys declared.

The musicians in the corner of the room began to play a lively tune. The family ate and drank together, enjoying the moment. At one point, Baelon stood abruptly, surprising everyone, and extended a hand to Helaena. Watching them dance brought a rare sense of joy to those observing—even Otto.

Daemon watched with a soft smile as his son followed the girl’s lead. They twirled and jumped about, drawing laughter from the adults. For a moment, the years of animosity between them seemed to vanish, and they all simply enjoyed the evening.

Suddenly, Viserys groaned in pain, clutching his head and squirming in his seat. Alicent hurried to his side, tending to him anxiously before calling for the Kingsguard to escort him back to his chambers. As the king was carried out, the mood in the room dimmed. Baelon and Helaena quietly returned to their seats, and the dinner continued in somber silence.

The evening passed uneventfully until Baelon’s sudden outburst. The alpha shot to his feet and, without hesitation, yanked Aegon from his chair by the collar of his doublet.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and guttural. “Say it again!” he roared, his anger spilling over.

Aegon didn’t reply. Instead, he laughed in the other alpha’s face. That was enough to set Baelon off—he released Aegon, only to swing and land a solid punch square on his cousin’s face. The impact sent Aegon sprawling to the floor. Before Baelon could strike again, Aemond rushed forward and grabbed him from behind.

That was all it took to set Jace off. He lunged to his brother’s defense, yanking Aemond away by the hair. In an instant, the brawl escalated—Baelon went back after Aegon, while Aemond struggled against Jace’s grip.

As the fight unfolded before them, Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Laenor shot up from their seats, rushing to separate the enraged young alphas. Daemon, however, remained seated, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smirk.

Tension thickened in the air as alpha pheromones flooded the confined space. The adults tried in vain to pull the boys apart, but Baelon and Aegon refused to let go of each other.

It wasn’t until Laenor managed to seize both Jace and Baelon, dragging them away from their uncles, that the fighting finally subsided. Though the physical clash had ended, the room still echoed with furious shouts and curses as Alicent and Rhaenyra positioned themselves between the fuming alphas.

Daemon had seen enough. Exhausted, and with a headache forming from all the shouting, he finally stood. Moving swiftly but calmly, he strode into the heart of the commotion and intercepted Aemond before he could advance any further. He said nothing—just stared at the one-eyed alpha in silence. Aemond held his gaze for a tense moment before finally backing down.

With a sharp tone, Rhaenyra ordered her children to their chambers. They obeyed, leaving the dining hall with Laenor following closely behind. Aegon and Aemond departed shortly after. Before Rhaenyra could leave to check on her sons, Alicent stepped forward.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked, reaching out to grasp both of Rhaenyra’s hands in her own.

“No,” Rhaenyra reassured her, squeezing her hands gently. “But I think it’s best to keep them apart for now, so they can cool down.”

Alicent nodded in agreement, then released her hands. With a final glance at Daemon, she turned and left the room, following after her own children.

Rhaenyra turned to her omega, extending her hand for him to take. Together, they returned to Daemon’s chambers, where their youngest children were already fast asleep. The sight of Aegon and Viserys resting peacefully brought her a wave of relief.

As she and Daemon readied themselves for bed, they settled into a familiar routine. Just as they had the night before, they positioned themselves protectively around their five-year-old son. Sleep claimed them quickly, and Rhaenyra knew deep in her bones that any conversations with their eldest would be best saved for the morrow. For now, it was better to rest.

Chapter Text

Elinda walked through the Red Keep toward the kitchens. Princess Rhaenyra had requested that breakfast for her and Prince Daemon be brought to the omega’s chambers. The castle was strangely deserted; the usual bustling halls were bare, making the beta’s nerves stand on end.

She rounded the corner, seeing the kitchen door ahead. As she approached, she could hear hushed voices coming from inside. Not wanting to interrupt, she opened the door and slipped in quietly. She couldn’t see the speakers, but the voices grew louder as she ventured deeper into the kitchen.

“The king…” a female voice said.

Elinda realized the voice was coming from inside the food storage. At the mention of the king, the beta paused. She pressed herself against the wall to avoid being seen, standing as still as possible to make out the conversation.

“How do you know?” a male voice asked—it sounded like one of the cooks.

“I saw his body myself,” the female voice replied in a lower tone. “The king is dead,” she whispered.

Elinda’s eyes widened at the revelation. She peeked around the corner just in time to see the two betas exiting the food storage. To her surprise, the female voice belonged to Tayla, one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. Elinda backed away and quietly left the kitchen, swiftly making her way back to Prince Daemon’s chambers. She didn’t know why Princess Rhaenyra hadn’t been notified of her father’s passing, but the secrecy filled her with a terrible sense of foreboding.

At one point, Elinda broke into a run through the empty hallways, urgency creeping up her spine. She passed the council room on her way; Kingsguards were posted outside, and the doors were tightly shut. The sight made her quicken her pace.

As she burst into the omega prince’s chambers, ignoring Ser Luthor posted outside, the royal couple jumped at her sudden entrance. Both stood from their seats as Elinda panted, trying to catch her breath.

“Elinda, what’s the matter?” Princess Rhaenyra demanded, her voice sharp with concern.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” the beta woman began, pausing briefly to gather her thoughts. “The king has passed.”

Rhaenyra stared at her, struggling to process the words. Her father was dead. The king was dead. Her chest tightened, her breath caught, and panic settled in her heart.

“What?” Daemon finally spoke, his tone a mix of worry and anger. “When?”

“I’m not sure, my prince,” Elinda replied, turning to the omega. “The queen’s lady-in-waiting, Tayla, was telling one of the cooks in the kitchens.” She added as Daemon sat back down, clutching his pregnant belly.

Rhaenyra felt a pit form in her stomach. The thought of her father’s death left her feeling hollow. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind; she could hear voices speaking, but their words were indistinct. Trying to ground herself, she looked to her omega and noticed his pained expression as he held his belly.

The sight of her husband pulled her from her thoughts. She turned back to Elinda, her face darkening. “Why weren’t we notified immediately?”

“I’m not sure, princess,” the beta replied, her gaze flickering to Daemon. “But there’s a meeting happening in the council room right now. Kingsguards are posted outside, and the doors are closed.”

Rhaenyra was about to respond when a yelp from behind interrupted her. She turned to see Daemon clutching his stomach, bent over with his eyes closed. His mouth was slightly open, his face contorted in pain. Steady breaths escaped his lips as his chest rose and fell.

“Not now,” he groaned, clutching his belly. “Rhae—” A scream tore from his throat as wetness trickled down his legs. “The baby is coming.”

“What? It’s a month early!” Rhaenyra exclaimed, rushing to his side.

Daemon only screamed in response as another wave of pain hit him. Ser Luthor burst into the room, sword drawn, ready to defend them from an unseen threat. His eyes scanned the room before landing on the scene before him. He reacted immediately, sprinting to Daemon’s side and helping him stand.

“We must take him to the laboring room,” Ser Luthor said, guiding the omega toward the door.

“Stop,” Daemon resisted. “Not that way,” he said, looking up at the alpha.

“Are you sure, my prince? Can you make it?” Ser Luthor asked, concern etched on his face.

“Yes!” Daemon snapped. The guard nodded and slowly helped the omega to the secret passage at the back of the room.

Rhaenyra watched, confusion etched on her face, as her omega and his sworn sword moved toward the hidden door. She stepped forward, intent on following them.

“No, Rhaenyra,” Daemon said, turning slightly and extending his arm to her. The alpha closed the distance and took his hand. “You bring me my children,” he ordered, his gaze shifting to Ser Luthor.

“My prince—”

“Don’t question me. Just listen,” Daemon interrupted before the guard could refuse.

The alpha stared at the royal couple for a moment before nodding and exiting through the front door.

“Elinda, fetch Maester Orwyle,” Rhaenyra commanded as she and Daemon disappeared into the secret passage.

The beta woman obeyed immediately, rushing out of the room and sprinting toward the maester’s quarters. Kingsguards patrolling the halls stared as she ran past, but she paid them no mind. As she rounded a corner, she nearly collided with Tayla, who grabbed her arms to steady her.

“Where are you going in such a rush?” Tayla asked, glancing around.

“I—” Elinda hesitated, unsure if she could trust the woman. “I need Maester Orwyle,” she admitted.

“Why?” Tayla frowned. “Maester Orwyle is—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in realization. “He’s in the council room. We’ll have to deliver the baby ourselves,” she said urgently, releasing Elinda.

The beta’s eyes widened. “How?”

“You reek of his scent,” Tayla replied before her expression turned serious. “I’ll find the most experienced wet nurses. We’ll need clean rags and a bucket of water,” she instructed, already turning to leave.

Elinda nodded and hurried toward the kitchens.

“Elinda!” Tayla’s voice called after her. The beta turned to see the woman’s urgent expression. “Ask Ser Darklyn for help,” Tayla said before disappearing down the hall.

—————————————

Daemon took deep breaths as Rhaenyra helped him walk around the room. He tried not to lean too heavily on the alpha, but the pain made it nearly impossible. The omega clutched his belly protectively as he caught the scent of approaching alphas.

Rhaenyra froze as the secret door creaked open. Instinctively, she moved her pregnant omega behind her, shielding him. Her anxiety eased as Ser Luthor stepped inside, followed by their children and Laenor, all wearing concerned expressions.

“Muña!” Baelon rushed to his mother’s side, his eyes scanning Daemon’s face. He positioned himself on the omega’s other side, wrapping an arm around his back and steadying him.

Rhaenyra watched as their children filed into the room, and Laenor closed and locked the door behind them. Baela and Rhaena, with Viserys in her arms, hurried to check on Daemon. Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and Aegon followed, their eyes fixed on the struggling omega.

“Princess,” Ser Luthor began, his voice low. “Kingsguards are patrolling the Red Keep. As we left Prince Jace’s chambers, we heard someone locking the door from the outside.”

“The king is dead,” Rhaenyra stated bluntly. The room fell silent, everyone staring at her in shock. “And I’m certain the Hightowers are plotting something, though I don’t yet know what.”

Before anyone could respond, a soft knock echoed from the door. The room tensed, and Baelon and Rhaenyra instinctively shielded Daemon. Rhaenyra gestured for her children to gather closer.

“It’s me,” Elinda’s familiar voice called from the other side.

The tension eased as Ser Luthor unlocked and opened the door. Elinda entered, followed by Ser Darklyn carrying a bucket of water. Behind them came Tayla and three of the Red Keep’s most experienced wet nurses. Once everyone was inside, the guard closed the door.

As the wet nurses prepared the bed for the omega’s labor, Rhaenyra and Baelon continued to help Daemon walk around the room. The maesters had always said that movement aided childbirth, so the alphas insisted on it, even when Daemon protested. Ser Luthor and Ser Darklyn stood guard by the door, hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

Tayla distracted the younger children, while Rhaena, Baela, Jace, and Luke watched from the sidelines, their hands itching to help but hesitant to interfere.

Eventually, Daemon was dressed in a white, flowing tunic and settled onto the bed. He breathed heavily, leaning back against the pillows arranged for his comfort. Baelon and Rhaenyra knelt on either side of the bed, each holding one of the omega’s hands.

Elinda and one of the wet nurses checked to see if Daemon was ready to push. At their signal, the omega began, stifling his screams to avoid drawing attention. The death of his brother and the strange behavior of the Kingsguard weighed heavily on him, heightening his anxiety.

Daemon pushed and pushed, but progress was slow. After an hour of agony, worry began to creep in. Something was wrong. Though he tried to hide it, his bitter scent filled the room, alerting everyone to his distress.

Rhaenyra held his hand tightly, masking her own concern to avoid alarming him further. The omega’s scent triggered her instincts, and she reached out to caress his sweaty forehead, offering what comfort she could.

Baelon leaned down to kiss his mother’s hand, his worried eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s. She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but he turned away, his frown deepening.

Rhaenyra bent to kiss Daemon’s temple. “Breathe, my love. You can do this,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “Please…”

“Rhaenyra…” Daemon began softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Do you think the seventh time will be the one to kill me? I thought you had more faith in me.” His teasing was cut short by another wave of pain, forcing a groan from his lips.

The most experienced wet nurse urged him to push, but her expression revealed little progress. Both Baelon and Rhaenyra exchanged worried glances. The alpha turned to the old woman, her unspoken question hanging in the air.

“The baby won’t come out,” the wet nurse admitted, standing from her position between Daemon’s legs. “I don’t know what more to do.” Her face was etched with defeat.

“What?” Rhaenyra demanded, her voice sharp. “Come back here! That’s an order!”

“Princess—” Tayla began, but a loud scream from Daemon cut her off. “Your grace, I know someone who can help,” she said, rising from the floor and approaching the alpha cautiously.

“Who?” Rhaenyra snapped, her eyes locked on Tayla.

“She’s known as the White Worm. She’s from the Free Cities and has helped many omegas deliver their babies. She might know what to do.”

“Bring her,” Rhaenyra commanded, turning back to Daemon.

“I’ll go with her,” Baelon declared, standing.

“No,” Laenor interjected firmly. “You should stay here. I’ll take Ser Luthor, and we’ll find this woman.” He gave the guard a subtle nod.

Baelon stepped forward, stopping Ser Luthor with a hand on his chest. “No. Ser Luthor should stay to defend my mother if needed,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll go with you and bring back the woman who can help.”

Laenor nodded reluctantly. Baelon exhaled deeply before returning to Daemon’s side. He kissed his mother’s hand and then his sweaty forehead, leaning their heads together as he whispered a promise to return soon. With a final glance, the young alpha forced himself to leave, following Laenor out through the secret passage.

“Get this baby out of me!” Daemon screamed in agony as another wave of pain wracked his body.

Baela rushed to her mother’s side, kneeling where Baelon had been moments before. She took Daemon’s hand in hers, her grip firm and reassuring. Rhaena followed her twin, kneeling beside her and gently rubbing her mother’s swollen belly in a soothing motion.

Elinda stepped in, taking the place of the older wet nurse between the omega’s legs. She needed to ensure nothing was amiss. Daemon continued to moan and writhe in pain, his efforts to stay quiet faltering as the agony overwhelmed him. The beta urged him to keep pushing, her voice steady but insistent.

Rhaenyra lifted their intertwined hands to her lips, pressing a tender kiss to the back of his. “You can do this, my brave omega.”

—————————————

Baelon followed closely behind Laenor, his dark cloak pulled tightly around him to conceal his identity. Tayla led them through the Street of Silk, her steps quick and purposeful. The younger alpha grew increasingly anxious; finding the mysterious woman was taking too long, and he needed to return to his mother as soon as possible.

Tayla stopped in front of a tall wooden door and knocked in a peculiar pattern. After a few moments, a young girl opened the door. Tayla bent down, whispering something that made the child nod before stepping aside to let them in.

The beta woman and Laenor entered immediately, but Baelon hesitated. He knew what this place was. He had heard the stories about his mother and the rumors surrounding his true parentage. Daemon’s disdain for his first wife, Rhea Royce, had never been a secret, and the court had buzzed with speculation when the omega had fallen pregnant.

The most popular rumor was that Baelon’s true father was one of the alpha courtesans who worked in the brothels his mother frequented. Another whispered that Ser Luthor Largent, Daemon’s loyal sworn sword, had succumbed to the omega’s charms. Baelon doubted his mother would have been so careless as to sire a bastard with a lowborn whore, but the possibility still sent a shiver down his spine. If he were honest, he wasn’t sure what he despised more: being a bastard or being Rhea Royce’s son.

Even as a child, Baelon had vividly remembered the abuse his alpha mother and her family had inflicted on Daemon. He had always hated carrying the name Royce—it was a constant reminder of years of neglect and cruelty. To the court, he was a Royce, but his mother and Rhaenyra had always ensured he knew he was a Targaryen above all else.

Steeling himself, Baelon finally stepped inside, trailing behind Laenor. The older alpha paused and turned slightly, whispering, “Cover your nose with the cloak, and don’t pay attention to anyone inside.”

Baelon nodded and obeyed, pulling the fabric over his nose. As they moved through the brothel, he couldn’t help but glance around curiously. Naked bodies moved freely, and though the cloak muffled the scents, he could tell most were omegas. His gaze accidentally met that of a woman, who gave him a sultry smile and beckoned him closer. Heat rushed to his face, and he quickly averted his eyes, suppressing the indecent thoughts that flickered in his mind. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

At twenty-three, Baelon was an adult alpha, yet he had never been with anyone. His focus had always been on caring for his mother, leaving little room for thoughts of forming his own family. Even during his teenage years, after his first rut, when his hormones should have been at their peak, he had never pursued anyone. Most omega scents were too overpowering for him; the only scent he truly liked was his mother’s—sweet cherries. He had always preferred the softer, subtler scents of betas. Princess Helaena’s scent had surprised him when they first met, but he had quickly dismissed the thought; she was already married to Aegon. His mother had told him that many lords—and even King Viserys—had pressured him to find a betrothed. Yet Daemon had always been reluctant to let go of his firstborn.

As they ventured deeper into the brothel, they reached another closed door. The girl knocked, and a dark-haired woman opened it almost immediately. Her eyes swept over the group before settling on Baelon. A smirk played on her lips, and her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Baelon Royce,” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. “What an honor to finally meet Daemon Targaryen’s firstborn.”

Her words caught him off guard. “You know me?”

“Of course,” she replied, her smirk widening. “Many know of you—the reason Lord Flea Bottom was finally tamed.” She stepped closer, her gaze lingering on his confused expression. “Oh yes, your mother was a frequent visitor here.”

Before she could continue, Laenor cleared his throat sharply. “We’re here because we need your help.”

“Why else would you be here?” The woman’s eyes flicked back to Baelon, her sultry smile making him gulp nervously.

“Daemon’s gone into early labor, and he’s struggling,” Laenor explained, ignoring her teasing. “Tayla said you could help.” He gestured to the beta woman beside him.

The White Worm’s expression shifted, her scent changing subtly as she sighed. “I might be able to help, but your timing is unfortunate. I’m expecting a visit from a very important client.”

“This is an emergency,” Laenor insisted, his voice tinged with frustration. “Your client can wait.”

“I don’t know,” she said, playing with the hem of her cloak. “He’s quite influential.”

“We’ll pay you,” Laenor offered. “Gold is no object.”

The woman studied them for a moment, her gaze calculating. Baelon’s desperation grew with every passing second. His mother was suffering, and they were wasting precious time.

“Look,” Baelon interjected, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know what history you have with my mother, but I don’t want him to die. If you don’t help us, he will. That baby isn’t coming out without your help. My mother’s life—and my future sibling’s—depend on this. Please.”

The White Worm fell silent, her piercing gaze locked on Baelon. Finally, she spoke, her tone urgent. “Otto Hightower is looking for Prince Aegon.” Her words sent a chill through the room. Laenor turned to Baelon, his expression alarmed. Otto seeking Aegon immediately after the king’s death was a troubling sign.

“He’s on his way here now to negotiate for his location,” she continued. “The Kingsguards I spoke with promised me a substantial sum of gold.”

Laenor and Baelon exchanged a tense glance. The Kingsguards’ suspicious behavior, coupled with this revelation, left Baelon uneasy. Whatever Otto Hightower was planning, it couldn’t be good.

“We’ll double whatever they offered,” Laenor said after a moment of silence. “And we’ll triple it if you come with us and help Daemon.”

The woman studied them for what felt like an eternity to Baelon. Every second that passed brought his mother closer to danger. Finally, she nodded. “Deal.”

—————————————

Daemon screamed as he continued to push, but the baby refused to come. The pain had left him delirious, and though he could hear voices around him, their words were indistinct. Tears streamed down his face uncontrollably. He would never admit it aloud, but he was terrified—not for himself, as he was convinced he wouldn’t survive this time—but for his children and Rhaenyra.

Laenor and Baelon had been gone for what felt like an eternity. Rhaenyra’s worry grew with each passing moment. The baby wasn’t coming, her omega was in agony, and the sheets beneath him were now soaked in blood. The beta women did their best to keep Daemon comfortable as they waited for the alphas to return.

Jace and Luke sat to the side, comforting Baela and Rhaena. The older boy held Baela’s hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of her palm. Baela tried to stay strong for her twin, but as the minutes dragged on, it became harder to hold back her tears. Watching her mother in such pain was unbearable.

Her mind flooded with memories of her alpha mother, Laena Velaryon. Baela had been young when Laena died, but she could still recall her soft smile and gentle touch. Laena had always taken such good care of Daemon, even when the omega was moody and difficult. Baelon often told stories of how Laena had doted on Daemon during his pregnancies, indulging his every whim.

Baela remembered how Laena had spoken so highly of Rhaenyra, praising the alpha’s deep care for their omega mother. At the time, Baela hadn’t fully understood her words, but now she wondered if Laena had sensed her own fate. Those memories had helped Baela accept Rhaenyra and Daemon’s marriage more quickly. For Rhaena, it had been harder. Their mother’s death had hit her deeply, and for a time, she had blamed herself—a notion Daemon had swiftly dismissed. Laena’s death had been a tragic accident, and none of them were at fault.

Daemon’s agonized scream pulled Baela from her thoughts. Her gaze snapped to him as he cried out, “Just get this baby out! Take it out! I can’t do this anymore!” Tears streamed down his sweat-streaked face as Rhaenyra tried to soothe him. “Stop! I can’t! Please, just cut it out! I can’t!”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her hands gently stroking his hair. At Daemon’s desperate pleas, Baela and Rhaena rushed to his side, their hands reaching out to comfort him.

“No, Mother, we’re not cutting the baby out. You can do this,” Rhaena said, kneeling beside the bed. Her voice trembled, tears threatening to spill at the thought of losing him.

Daemon’s cries drowned out the sound of the secret door opening. Baelon entered, followed by the White Worm, Laenor, and Tayla. “Muña!” Baelon called.

At his son’s voice, Daemon fell silent, his eyes scanning the newcomers until they landed on a familiar face. “Mysaria?” he asked, confusion etched across his face.

“You know her?” Baelon asked, stepping closer to the bed.

“That’s not important right now. Can she help?” Rhaenyra demanded, rising from her place on the floor.

“I can try,” Mysaria replied, taking the place of one of the wet nurses.

Reluctantly, Daemon opened his legs. Mysaria examined him briefly before standing and moving to the side of the bed. Rhaena and Baela stepped aside as Mysaria knelt down. She pressed her hands against Daemon’s swollen belly, her touch firm and deliberate, making the omega wince in pain.

She frowned and straightened, turning to Rhaenyra. “The baby is in the wrong position. I’ll need to turn it,” she explained, then looked at Daemon. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll have to endure it. Push when I tell you.”

Daemon shook his head, his face pale and drenched in sweat. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will,” Mysaria said firmly, hovering over him again. “Take deep breaths.”

Daemon stared at her, then nodded as she moved closer. Her hands pressed into his belly, and pain, unlike anything he had ever felt coursed through him. He didn’t know when it stopped—if it stopped at all—but soon Mysaria was instructing him to push. With each wave of pain, he pushed, his screams echoing through the room.

From the expressions of those around him, he could tell Mysaria’s efforts were working, but all he could feel was agony. Baelon, Rhaena, and Baela stayed close, with his eldest son holding his hand. Rhaenyra remained at his other side, her hand gripping his as she stroked his hair.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, Daemon collapsed back into the pillows. “I can’t,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “It’s too much.”

“Yes, you can,” Mysaria snapped from between his legs. “Or are you a weak omega? I thought I was in the presence of the mighty Daemon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes, wielder of Dark Sister—not some whiny, helpless omega.” Her words were sharp, her gaze piercing.

Daemon groaned, annoyed but spurred on by her taunt. Summoning the last of his strength, he pushed again, his cries filling the room. Time blurred, but finally, the baby emerged. Rhaenyra laughed with relief as Mysaria and a wet nurse cleaned the newborn.

“You did it, my brave omega,” Rhaenyra said, kissing the back of his hand. Daemon turned to her, panting but with a small smile on his face. The woman quickly cleaned the baby before placing her in Daemon’s arms.

“It’s a girl,” Mysaria announced, ensuring the omega had a secure hold on his child.

Despite his exhaustion, Daemon cradled his daughter tenderly, a radiant smile spreading across his face. He looked at Rhaenyra, tears in his eyes. “She’s beautiful. My Visenya.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly, her heart swelling with love as she gazed at her omega and their daughter. “She’s perfect,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss Daemon’s forehead.

As Jace, Luke, and the rest of the children gathered around to admire the newest member of the family, Rhaenyra stood and turned to Mysaria. “Words cannot express my gratitude. You saved my omega and my daughter.” Mysaria smiled softly, but didn’t say anything.

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, a loud knock echoed through the room. Everyone froze as the knocking grew more insistent. Daemon clenched his jaw, anxiety creeping up his spine as he tried to remain silent.

When no one answered, the person on the other side spoke. Criston Cole’s voice carried through the door, and Ser Luthor and Ser Darklyn immediately reached for the hilts of their swords. Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment before signaling the guards to open the door.

Ser Darklyn swiftly pulled the door open, revealing Criston Cole’s rigid form. Baelon instinctively stepped between the bed and the Kingsguard, his stance tense and protective.

“We were informed of Prince Daemon’s labor during an emergency council meeting,” Criston announced, his tone formal. “The queen extends her apologies for not being able to attend personally but wishes to meet her new grandchild.” His gaze shifted to Daemon, who held his newborn daughter tightly.

Daemon pulled his daughter closer, feeling the alpha’s intense stare. “If the queen wishes to meet her granddaughter, she is welcome to visit at her convenience,” Rhaenyra interjected, rising to her feet. She moved closer to Criston, gently guiding Baelon behind her.

“I’m afraid she insists the child be brought to her,” Criston replied, his expression hardening.

“No,” Daemon snapped, his voice sharp. “If the queen wishes to see her, she can come here. My daughter is not leaving my side, and I am in no condition to go anywhere.” He glared at Criston, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I must insist,” Criston said, taking a step forward. He stopped abruptly as the alphas in the room tensed, ready to defend the omega and his child. “These are the queen’s orders,” he added, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Daemon’s eyes flicked to Criston’s hand, his frown deepening at the implicit threat. He felt a pang of helplessness; the birth had left him bedridden and vulnerable.

“And we must insist that the newborn remain with her mother,” Laenor said, stepping forward from the other side of the room. “The queen is welcome to visit if she wishes.”

Criston’s frown deepened as he surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on Daemon and the baby. Without warning, he lunged toward the omega, reaching for the newborn. Daemon reacted instantly, clutching his daughter to his chest and turning away to shield her.

Before Criston could try again, Ser Luthor grabbed him from behind, yanking him away from the bed. Rhaenyra rushed to Daemon’s side, wrapping her arms protectively around him and their child. She gestured for the children and maids to gather close, and they obeyed without hesitation.

Baelon drew his sword, positioning himself between his family and the deranged guard. He watched as Ser Luthor pushed Criston back, creating distance between him and the baby. Criston drew his sword and swung at Ser Luthor, but the guard was quick to parry.

The clash of steel filled the room as Ser Luthor and Criston fought. The noise and the panicked scents disturbed the newborn, who began to cry. Daemon focused on soothing his daughter, rocking her gently and whispering soft reassurances. Rhaenyra stroked the baby’s silver hair, her touch calming.

A groan drew Daemon’s attention back to the fight. His heart raced as he feared for Baelon’s safety, but it was Criston who stumbled, clutching his stomach. Ser Luthor pressed his advantage, and with a swift motion, he slit Criston’s throat.

Baelon watched, transfixed, as Criston choked on his own blood, his hands clawing at his neck. The metallic scent of blood filled the room, and a primal, almost savage satisfaction settled in Baelon’s chest. Ser Luthor had ruthlessly eliminated the man who had threatened his family.

Criston collapsed to the floor, his body convulsing as he gasped for air. Baelon’s lips curled into a grim smile as he watched the life drain from the Kingsguard’s eyes. The man deserved no less.

Voices buzzed around him, but Baelon barely registered them. His focus remained on Criston’s lifeless body, the blood pooling on the floorboards. It wasn’t until Daemon’s voice broke through the haze that he snapped out of his trance.

“Baelon!” Daemon called, his voice laced with concern. “Are you all right, little dragon?”

Baelon turned to his mother, forcing a soft smile. “I’m fine, Muña.”

Daemon studied his son, noting the glint in his eyes—a familiar, dangerous spark. It unsettled him. He knew that look all too well; it mirrored his own younger self. Daemon had done terrible things in his youth, things that would have condemned a lesser man. He had reveled in the chaos, the violence. And now, he feared his son was walking the same path.

Baelon was twenty-three, yet he showed no interest in finding a mate or starting a family. Daemon blamed himself. He had been overbearing, overprotective, and perhaps too involved in his son’s life. Baela and Rhaena had flourished under Laena’s guidance, but Baelon had been raised solely by Daemon. The omega couldn’t help but wonder if he had stifled his son’s growth.

Baela had blossomed into a strong young woman and a fierce dragon rider. She had inherited his stubborn and sharp personality, she didn’t let others walk over her, but she was also remarkably levelheaded for her age. She and Rhaena remained close even as they entered their teenage years, which reassured him. No matter what, they would always have each other’s backs.

Her engagement to Jacaerys had been one of convenience, yes, but it was not entirely unexpected. Both alphas had grown quite close during their years at Dragonstone. He and Rhaenyra had noticed the stolen glances they exchanged, the way their cheeks flushed when the other was mentioned. Even after Rhaenys had accepted Baela as one of her ladies-in-waiting and she was sent to Driftmark a few months ago, the distance hadn’t driven them apart. Daemon had discovered the secret ravens they exchanged, and when they were finally reunited upon arriving at King’s Landing, their faces said it all.

Daemon had been concerned about their bond as two alphas. It meant that his daughter would have to be the one to bear their children. He knew Jace would never force Baela into anything she didn’t truly wish—he wasn’t Viserys—but still, Daemon couldn’t help but worry. He was a mother; it was his duty to worry.

Rhaena, on the other hand, had a softer temperament. She could be shy at times, but that did not make her weak, despite what the court whispered. She was a beta and lacked a dragon, which had once made her deeply insecure. During their time in Pentos, she had obsessed over her unhatched dragon egg, willing it to crack open as Baela’s had, but it never did. Contrary to what some might think, this had never lessened his love for her. He had suffered the court’s prejudices himself, he would never wish the same upon his daughter.

Much like Baela and Jace, Rhaena and Lucerys had grown close. More than once, Daemon had caught them walking together along the shore. Rhaena often spoke about Luke, excitedly recounting a new move he had learned in training. Daemon had simply smiled and indulged her. In truth, it had been Rhaena who first planted the idea of marrying Lucerys in both his and Rhaenyra’s minds. But it was the boy himself, coming to him directly to ask for Rhaena’s hand, that finally convinced them to make the engagement official.

If Daemon was honest, Luke hadn’t been his first choice for Rhaena. For a time, he had considered betrothing her to Baelon or even, at one point, to Aemond, Alicent’s son. But he had quickly dismissed the latter. He would not do to his daughter what had been done to him. He would not bind her to an alpha she had not chosen. He knew Baelon would make a good husband, but Aemond? That was uncertain. Still, in the end, he let Rhaena decide for herself—something he had never been allowed to do.

Daemon’s thoughts were interrupted by Rhaenyra’s gentle touch. She smiled at him, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You should bathe,” she said softly. “Wash away the blood and sweat.”

Daemon frowned, glancing at Criston’s body, now covered by a white cloak. He turned to Rhaenyra, who nodded reassuringly.

“Alicent and Otto are planning something,” Laenor said, breaking the silence. “The king died, and no one informed Rhaenyra. They’re searching for Aegon, and now this.” He gestured to Daemon and the newborn.

“They’re planning to usurp the throne,” Baelon declared, his voice cutting through the room. Everyone turned to him, shocked. “What? It’s obvious.”

“What you’re suggesting is treason,” Ser Darklyn said cautiously.

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m stating a fact,” Baelon replied, his tone defiant. “And what they’re doing is treason. They’re going against the rightful queen.” He turned to Rhaenyra, his gaze unwavering.

“The princess has not yet been crowned,” Ser Luthor pointed out. “They’re likely planning to crown Aegon before Rhaenyra.”

“Then we’ll crown her first,” Daemon said, his voice firm. He turned to Ser Luthor and gave a slight nod.

The guard nodded in return and left through the secret passage without a word. Rhaenyra looked at Daemon, confusion etched on her face. “Where is he going?” Laenor asked, stepping closer to the bed.

Daemon remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Visenya. “He’s going to the city,” he finally said. “To the Gold Cloaks. I may no longer be their commander, but they’re still loyal to me.”

“You’re suggesting a coup?” Ser Darklyn asked, his voice cautious.

“It’s not a coup,” Daemon replied calmly. “Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. We’re simply ensuring her birthright is respected.”

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra couldn’t stop pacing the room. Ser Luthor had been gone for what felt like hours. They had barricaded the door with chairs, and Criston Cole’s body lay off to one side, covered by a white cloak now stained almost entirely red. Nervously, she twisted her wedding ring, her eyes darting between her husband and their newborn daughter on the bed.

Daemon was asleep, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of the long labor. With no cradle in the room, Visenya lay beside her omega mother, both resting peacefully. Daemon’s hand rested protectively over the baby. Rhaenyra’s gaze shifted to her alpha husband, Laenor, who sat on a couch near Aegon and Viserys, watching them play with wooden dragon figurines in an attempt to distract himself.

The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with stress. The silence, rather than bringing calm, only heightened everyone’s anxiety. Suddenly, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed outside the chamber door. Ser Darklyn, alert and ready, stood immediately, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he approached the door.

To their surprise, the footsteps rushed past their door, followed by more. The clatter of metal—likely Kingsguards—filled the halls. The silence was shattered by screams and shouted commands from outside.

Ser Darklyn unsheathed his sword and turned to Rhaenyra. “Everyone, gather by the bed, Your Grace.”

The group obeyed quickly. Laenor grabbed his sword and stood beside Ser Darklyn, while Baelon positioned himself on the side of the bed closest to the door. Jace and Luke joined him, separating from Baela and Rhaena, who stayed near the younger children. Rhaenyra reluctantly knelt beside Daemon, gently shaking him awake. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and she signaled for him to remain silent.

Daemon sat up abruptly, carefully cradling Visenya in his arms. Rhaenyra brushed his hair back and kissed their daughter’s forehead. The screams outside grew louder, coming from all directions. The wet nurses and Tayla held the youngest children, but Joffrey managed to wriggle free. The seven-year-old ran to his parents, burying his face in Rhaenyra’s back. She turned and hugged him tightly, trying to soothe his fears.

Baelon’s head snapped toward the secret passage door as it began to open. He rushed to it, sword drawn, but before he could close it, the person on the other side stepped through. Baelon’s blade nearly grazed the intruder’s throat.

“Baelon! It’s me!” Ser Luthor exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. The younger alpha lowered his sword, murmuring an apology. Ser Luthor entered the room, closing the door behind him.

“The City Watch has infiltrated the castle, Your Grace,” Ser Luthor announced, standing tall.

Rhaenyra stood swiftly, her face a mix of surprise and confusion. “What? Already? How?” She glanced at Daemon, who was still focused on their newborn.

Ser Luthor’s eyes briefly flicked toward the omega on the bed. “Daemon?” Rhaenyra asked, turning to her husband.

Daemon didn’t look up, his gaze fixed on Visenya as he rocked her gently. “I made a plan when I first became their commander,” he said, his voice calm. “I showed them a map of the secret passages and devised a strategy to infiltrate the Red Keep unnoticed. If they were discovered, it would be too late to stop them.”

Rhaenyra stared at him, wide-eyed. She tried to catch his gaze, but he remained focused on their daughter. She sat beside him on the bed, her eyes never leaving his face.

“It wasn’t to overthrow Viserys, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Daemon added with a soft chuckle, gently flicking Visenya’s nose. “It was to protect him. I always knew Otto Hightower would try something eventually.” He finally met Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Guess I was right.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, a knock sounded at the chamber door. A deep voice called for Ser Luthor from the other side. Ser Darklyn and Ser Luthor moved the barricade and opened the door to reveal an armored man wearing a gold cloak.

“Ser, the castle has been secured,” the man reported, standing at attention. “But the Hightowers and half the Kingsguard are nowhere to be found. Except…Otto Hightower.”

Daemon’s head snapped up at the mention of Otto. “Otto was left behind? How peculiar,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery.

“Your Grace!” Ser Harrold Westerling’s voice rang out as he appeared behind the Gold Cloak. Another figure followed, and Baelon quickly intercepted him, pressing the tip of his sword to the man’s neck.

“What is he doing here?” Baelon demanded.

“My prince, he’s on our side,” Ser Westerling insisted, stepping closer.

“Is he?” Baelon’s eyes narrowed as he pressed the blade harder against Ser Erryk Cargyll’s throat. “He was searching for Aegon on the Hightowers’ orders.”

Ser Erryk remained composed, his head held high. “Yes, my brother and I were ordered to find Prince Aegon and bring him to Otto,” he admitted. “But I took an oath, and I intend to honor it.” His eyes flicked toward Rhaenyra before he reached into his satchel.

Baelon tensed, but Ser Erryk raised a hand to reassure him. Slowly, he withdrew a golden crown, holding it out for all to see. Baelon’s eyes widened as he recognized King Viserys’ crown. He lowered his sword, stunned.

“Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said, turning to Rhaenyra. He knelt before her, presenting the crown. “Allow me to give you what is rightfully yours.”

Daemon watched as his wife stared down at the kneeling knight, shock etched across her face. She hesitated, then reached out and took the crown, her hands trembling. Tears welled in her eyes as she remembered her father wearing it.

“We should call the Septon immediately,” Daemon said, breaking the silence. His voice was firm, drawing attention away from Rhaenyra so she could compose herself. “And gather the lords and ladies of the great houses in the throne room. I think it’d be wise to remind them of their oath.”

“Yes, my prince,” both Ser Darklyn and the gold cloak said in unison before swiftly exiting the chambers.

“Elinda,” Daemon called, prompting the beta woman to approach the bed without hesitation. “Take her. And I’ll need someone to help me bathe and get dressed,” he commanded, extending his newborn daughter toward her. Elinda took the baby hesitantly.

At her omega’s words, Rhaenyra snapped out of her thoughts. She turned to look at her husband, who was struggling to rise from the bed, Baelon reluctantly assisting him. “What are you doing, my love?” she asked, stepping closer, concern evident in her voice.

“I will make sure the lords and ladies of the great houses remember the oaths their families swore years ago,” Daemon responded as he finally managed to stand upright.

“You can barely walk, my love,” Rhaenyra said, worry creasing her brow.

“Good thing I don’t need to walk to ensure they honor their word,” Daemon countered, reaching out to take her hand, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Daemon, you just gave birth,” she murmured, her fingers itching to touch him.

Daemon frowned slightly at her words. “You should be preparing for your coronation,” he said, his frown softening as he took a shaky step toward her. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, smiling. “I’ll be fine, my alpha,” he reassured her, bringing their foreheads together. Rhaenyra slipped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

She nearly leaned in to kiss him but stopped herself. Instead, she turned to the others in the room. “Talya, take the children to freshen up. Elinda, have the guards bring the bath,” she commanded, her gaze never leaving her omega. “Ser Luthor, summon Maester Orwyle.”

Everyone seemed to understand the message, as they quickly left the chamber. As soon as the door shut, Rhaenyra pulled Daemon even closer by the waist, prompting him to rest his hands on her shoulders. Finally, the alpha leaned in and captured her omega’s lips in a gentle kiss. She felt him smile against her mouth as he deepened the kiss, parting his lips slightly and running his tongue along her bottom lip.

She responded immediately, opening her own mouth to meet him. A small struggle for dominance ensued, but the omega let her win, his fingers tangling in the back of her neck. Rhaenyra let her hands travel downward to Daemon’s hips, squeezing gently. He moaned into her mouth—he had become self-conscious about his weight gain after multiple pregnancies, but Rhaenyra loved having more of him to hold. It was a testament to all the incredible children he had given her.

As her hands continued exploring, Daemon’s arms wrapped around her waist. She reached lower, grabbing his rear, and he moaned softly as she squeezed.

Rhaenyra lost herself in the kiss, desire pooling in her veins. Her lips trailed from his mouth to his cheek and down his neck, drawing gasps and moans from him. She could feel the heat between them rising—until her knee accidentally brushed against his still-sore cunt.

Daemon flinched and hissed in pain, causing Rhaenyra to pull back immediately.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing his lower belly in an attempt to soothe himself.

“No, I am sorry, my love,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke his hair affectionately. “I got carried away.”

Before he could respond, a knock sounded at the door. Rhaenyra called for them to enter as she adjusted her gown. The door swung open, and two Kingsguards entered, carrying a porcelain bathtub. Elinda followed, accompanied by several servants carrying water basins and linens.

As the guards set the bathtub in the center of the room and the servants arranged everything for the omega’s comfort, Maester Orwyle appeared in the doorway, Ser Luthor standing behind him.

“You wished to see me… Your Grace?” the maester asked hesitantly.

“Ah, Maester Orwyle, you have finally graced us with your presence,” Rhaenyra said coolly, crossing her arms as she fixed the beta with a sharp gaze.

“I apologize, Your Grace. I was not in agreement with what was occurring in the council room, but we were not permitted to leave,” the maester explained.

“That is of no importance now,” Rhaenyra dismissed with a shake of her head. Uncrossing her arms, she stepped toward him. “I need you to examine Daemon. His labor was difficult and lengthy, and I want to ensure everything is in order.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Maester Orwyle said with a quick nod before stepping inside.

Rhaenyra turned to Daemon, her stern expression softening the moment their eyes met. Letting out a deep breath, she took his hand and pressed a delicate kiss to the back of it before reluctantly stepping away. The omega gave her a reassuring nod, and with that, she exited the room.

—————————————

Daemon stood on the steps leading to the Iron Throne, clad in his usual black attire. Dark Sister hung from his belt as he rested his hands on its hilt. A deep frown etched his face as he tried to mask the pain coursing through him—his entire lower half was sore, and he could feel his legs trembling slightly. But no one seemed to notice.

He looked down at the lords and ladies gathered before him, their fear-filled gazes locked onto him. Ser Luthor and Ser Darklyn stood at the base of the stairs, one on either side. A mix of Gold Cloaks and Kingsguards lined the hall, guarding the doors to ensure that no one could enter or leave.

“Twenty-one years ago, your houses swore an oath,” Daemon’s voice boomed through the chamber, sending chills down the spines of those present. “Do you remember that oath?” His sharp gaze swept across the room, studying the assembled lords and ladies. The fear in the air was palpable, and the realization that they still feared him brought a smile to his lips.

Silence stretched on, thick and suffocating. No one dared to speak for fear of provoking the omega’s wrath. Finally, Lord Caswell found his voice. “We recognized Princess Rhaenyra as King Viserys’ heir and declared our loyalty to her, my prince.”

Daemon smirked at the lord’s words, but the satisfaction was fleeting as he reminded himself of why he was there. “King Viserys is dead.” A collective gasp echoed through the chamber as the lords and ladies turned to one another in shock. “The Hightowers conspired to usurp Princess Rhaenyra’s throne. Now, it is time to make good on your word.” The omega straightened his posture, tightening his grip on Dark Sister. “Renew your oath and bend the knee to the rightful heir, Rhaenyra of House Targaryen—or your house burns.”

As if on cue, Caraxes’ sharp roar rumbled through the castle walls, his shadow sweeping across the chamber as he circled the Red Keep. The alphas in the room recoiled at the sight of the great beast, but the lone omega stood firm, his head held high. He watched the lords and ladies expectantly.

The first to kneel was Lord Allun Caswell, followed swiftly by others until only two men remained standing.

“Lord Lannister, Lord Baratheon,” Daemon called, his voice sharp. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“My prince—”

“Do I have to repeat myself, Lord Lannister?” Daemon interrupted coldly before the smug alpha could waste his time with excuses. “If you do not bend the knee, I will take it as an act of treason.” His piercing gaze bore into the man, watching as he visibly swallowed and averted his eyes.

After a long pause, the alpha dropped his gaze and, begrudgingly, knelt.

Daemon’s attention shifted to the Baratheon lord, whose lips curled in irritation as he cast a glance toward the windows, watching Caraxes soar past once more. With an annoyed groan, the burly alpha finally knelt as well, though he refused to look at the omega.

“That’s what I thought,” Daemon murmured under his breath, his smirk never wavering. He took a moment to savor the sight—alphas who once had so much to say about him now kneeling before him, unable to meet his gaze. His smirk widened in satisfaction.

—————————————

Rhaenyra looked at herself in the mirror. She wore an elegant gown of dark, richly textured black fabric with intricate patterns woven into the material. The off-the-shoulder neckline was adorned with gold embellishments resembling dragon scales. The bodice was structured and fitted, featuring an ornate, embroidered design at the waist in the shape of a dragon. The sleeves were long and fitted, with delicate embellishments and beaded details along the cuffs.

She accessorized with a dark choker necklace featuring a pendant, along with several gold rings. Her hair was left down, with two simple braids tied at the back.

She had dismissed her ladies-in-waiting after they had helped dress her, needing a moment to herself. As she adjusted her gown, her thoughts drifted to her father’s death and how suddenly all his responsibilities had fallen on her shoulders. A lump formed in her throat, and tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

It was true that she and her father had grown apart over the years. After she was forced to leave King’s Landing due to court gossip about her sons’ parentage—rumors she was certain had been started by Alicent—she had made little effort to keep in touch with the king. Yet, she had always loved him and deeply regretted allowing the Hightowers to drive such a wedge between them.

Daemon’s sudden labor had left her with no time to grieve. But now that her omega and daughter were out of danger, and she was alone, she allowed herself to cry. A violent sob escaped her lips as she doubled over, clutching her chest. The grief crashed over her in waves.

She tried to keep quiet, not wanting to alert the guards posted outside. Covering her mouth, she sobbed into her hand, her mind replaying the last time she had seen her father. His body had been frail, his breath labored—it had been obvious that his time was near. Anyone could see it. But she had selfishly hoped for a little more time—to make amends.

She didn’t hear the door open or close, too consumed by sorrow. It wasn’t until the sweet scent of her Daemon reached her nostrils that she snapped out of it. Looking up, her teary eyes met his through the mirror. He approached her from behind with difficulty, his pain evident in the way he moved.

She hurriedly wiped at her tears, but before she could fully compose herself, she felt his arms encircle her waist. He rested his head on her shoulder, their reflections staring back at them. They stood in silence, finding comfort in each other’s warmth.

“I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra was the first to speak, her voice cracking.

Daemon shook his head and gently prompted her to turn around. She hesitated but obeyed, her eyes locking onto his face. His hands traveled from her waist to cup her cheeks.

For a moment, she simply studied him. His lips formed the seamless pout he always wore when upset. Reaching out, she placed her hands on his chest, careful not to press too hard and aggravate his tender chest.

“ I don’t know what to do, uncle, ” she admitted, leaning her forehead against his. “ My father is dead, and now all his responsibilities fall on my shoulders. ” She lowered her gaze, unwilling to see disappointment in his eyes.

“ You’ll do well. It’s in your blood, ” Daemon’s deep voice finally broke the silence. “Viserys could be a fool at times, but he was not a bad king. Still, if you seek inspiration, look to King Jaehaerys instead.” At his words, Rhaenyra looked up, meeting her omega’s warm gaze. “ Just don’t forget your family, Rhaenyra, ” he added, his voice softer, almost uncertain.

A small frown appeared on her face at the implication. “ I could never forget you, ” she murmured, her hands sliding down to rest on his waist, her thumb rubbing soothing circles.

“Good.” Daemon smiled, but it was faint. “ Don’t push me away. Don’t hide things from me or lie. ” His forehead furrowed, and his scent soured with bitterness.

She hesitated before nodding, but the delay made his scent grow more acrid. “ Promise me ,” he pressed, pulling away slightly.

“ I promise, ” she assured him, frowning as she tightened her grip around his waist, keeping him close.

Daemon finally smiled again. He gently pried her arms from him before turning away. For a brief second, Rhaenyra panicked, but her worry faded as she watched him approach the mannequin where her black cloak hung. He removed it and slowly returned to her. With a soft smile still playing on his lips, he placed the cloak around her shoulders and carefully fastened the golden clasps at the front.

“Now you just need your crown, my queen,” he whispered, his fingers trailing over the heavy fabric.

Rhaenyra smiled, reaching out to take his hands in hers. “And a king by my side,” she added, looking directly into his eyes. Daemon’s widened slightly at the title.

As she admired him, her gaze drifted downward, where two wet spots stained the chest of his doublet. He followed her eyes and blushed, hastily moving his hand to cover them.

Rhaenyra only smiled, moving his hand away, silently reassuring him that there was no shame in it. “You should change into more proper attire, my king.” She crossed the room to retrieve the clothes she had chosen for him.

“Pants?” Daemon asked incredulously. “That doesn’t seem proper for an omega like me,” he added, feigning indignation as he placed a hand on his chest.

Rhaenyra chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Since when have you cared about being proper, my love?” She placed the garments on the bed and slowly approached him.

Daemon smirked as she caressed his shoulders, then started unfastening his doublet. She slid it down his arms and off his body, letting her fingers trail softly over his bare skin. Her right hand stroked his waist lovingly, while her left lingered on his scarred shoulder.

Daemon let out a shaky breath as her hands moved further down, grazing over his hips and slipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

She slid them down slowly, taking the opportunity to squeeze his rear. Daemon chuckled at her boldness. As she pushed his pants down completely, she helped him step out of them carefully. Now, standing before her in nothing but his undergarments, he watched her closely. Rhaenyra could feel her body heat rising.

“Aren’t you going to finish what you started, alpha?” Daemon whispered seductively, a smirk playing on his lips.

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened as she felt her member twitch at her omega’s insinuation. “We can’t, my love,” she said, resisting her true desires. “You just gave birth, and there’s no time.” Still, her eyes traveled down his body, drinking in his scarred skin, his full breasts, and stopping at his undergarments. The thought of removing them and having her way with him made her pulse quicken.

“There’s time for something,” Daemon murmured, his hands sliding down to the waistband of his undergarments. With slow, deliberate movements, he slid them down his legs and stepped out of them.

He maintained eye contact as he approached her, stopping just in front of her. Without breaking his gaze, he knelt down. “Let me help you relax, my queen,” he said, looking up at her through his lashes.

Rhaenyra gulped at the rare sight of her husband in such a submissive position. She felt her cock harden as he reached under her gown, his eyes never leaving hers. His rough hand slipped into her undergarments, taking hold of her member. The alpha couldn’t look away.

Daemon stroked her hard cock, his lips parting in anticipation as he heard her soft moan. Rhaenyra reached out, her fingers tangling in his hair, caressing him gently. The action made Daemon smirk smugly before he ducked under her skirts.

Rhaenyra barely had time to react before her omega took her into his warm, wet mouth. She moaned loudly as Daemon bobbed his head, taking her deeper with each movement. Her hands gripped the back of his head as she began to thrust her hips, burying her cock deeper into his mouth.

Daemon relaxed his throat, tears gathering in his eyes as Rhaenyra’s thrusts grew faster. His nose pressed into her neatly trimmed pubic hair, the faint scent of her natural musk mingling with the soap, further arousing him.

Rhaenyra propped up her skirts to watch her omega. She gasped when she felt his thick fingers slip into her cunt. Her hands released his head as she struggled to stay upright, overwhelmed by the pleasure. She looked down at Daemon, who gazed up at her innocently, her cock still in his mouth. The sight made her throw her head back and moan loudly.

Daemon continued to bob his head, taking her in and out of his mouth, determined to make her come. One hand played with her cunt, his thumb rubbing her clit while two fingers thrust in and out in rhythm with his mouth.

Rhaenyra felt herself nearing the edge. She grabbed the back of Daemon’s head again, thrusting into his mouth as he took her effortlessly. With his fingers in her cunt and his mouth around her cock, she was pushed over the edge.

As her core tightened, she pushed Daemon’s head forward, holding him in place as she came. She watched as he choked slightly, tears streaming down his face as he tried to swallow her seed. His fingers continued to work her cunt as she pulsed in his mouth. Rhaenyra’s grip slipped from his head as the pleasure overwhelmed her, allowing Daemon to pull away. Some of her cum splashed across his face.

As she came down from her high, Rhaenyra looked down at the kneeling man before her. The sight of Daemon, tears streaking his cheeks and her seed staining his face, made her groan. The desire to take him right there and then surged through her, but she held back, remembering his delicate condition and the impending ceremony.

“You should get dressed, omega,” Rhaenyra said as she helped Daemon to his feet. “I’ll bring you a rag so you can clean yourself,” she added, moving to step past him.

The omega chuckled softly, though his tone carried a hint of hurt. “You make me feel like a cheap whore,” he joked, but the underlying pain was evident.

Rhaenyra stopped in her tracks, sensing her omega’s discomfort. She turned to face him, finding Daemon looking at her with a small frown. She sighed, clenching her fists to restrain herself. The bitter scent of her husband’s distress reached her nostrils, and she reacted instinctively, closing the distance between them.

She gently pushed him back onto the bed, climbing atop him. Daemon lay beneath her, his breath catching as he looked up at her. Rhaenyra studied him, her gaze intense. “I’m holding myself back from fucking you right now,” she admitted, her voice low.

“Don’t hold back,” Daemon whispered, his hand rising to caress her cheek.

Rhaenyra hesitated, then gently pulled his hand away. “You’re still hurt, my love, and there’s no time.” Daemon squirmed beneath her, a quiet whine escaping his lips.

His neediness made the alpha chuckle. “You’re so needy, my omega,” she teased, letting one hand trail down his side. “Don’t worry. Once you’ve healed, I’ll give you everything you want.” She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear before trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck and chest.

“Alpha,” Daemon moaned as Rhaenyra’s tongue flicked over one of his nipples.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes locking onto his. “When I’m queen, I’ll need a pretty omega on my lap while I sit on the Iron Throne,” she whispered, her hand squeezing his hip. “Wouldn’t you like that? Sitting on my cock, wearing the crown?”

“Yes,” Daemon breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then rest so you’ll heal quickly,” Rhaenyra said, pressing one last kiss to his chest before climbing off him. “And get dressed. I’ll call for Elinda to help you.”

The alpha smirked as she heard Daemon groan loudly behind her. She exited the chambers swiftly, ensuring the door closed firmly behind her. Outside, she instructed one of the Kingsguards to fetch Elinda. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture, held her head high, and made her way toward Rhaeny’s temporary chambers.

—————————————

Rhaenyra stood before the great closed doors of the throne room, her hands sweaty as she absentmindedly toyed with her wedding ring. She was waiting for them to open, for the moment she would walk up to the Iron Throne and be crowned. She had wanted Daemon to accompany her, but the septon had refused outright, insisting on preserving the sanctity of the ceremony as it was intended.

On either side of her stood Ser Erryk Cargyll and Ser Harrold Westerling, ready to escort her inside. She listened as silence fell over the chamber, followed by the solemn voice of the septon. A moment later, gasps echoed through the hall as the man announced the king’s death and the purpose of the sudden coronation. Then, with an almost deafening creak, the great wooden doors swung open, revealing a sea of noble lords and ladies, all turning to face her.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Her eyes immediately sought out her omega near the front of the room.

Rhaenyra’s gaze found Daemon’s. His soft eyes were fixed on her, and under the weight of his steady attention, her nerves seemed to subside. With renewed confidence, she stepped forward, descending the stairs onto the long path leading to the Iron Throne, which loomed proudly at the heart of the vast chamber. Ser Cargyll and Ser Westerling followed closely behind.

When she reached the base of the throne’s steps, the septon stood waiting. Turning, she faced the gathered court as the man began to speak once more. But Rhaenyra barely registered his words, her focus instead drawn to her family standing to one side. She found them watching her, their faces a mix of reverence and quiet pride.

The septon then reached for her father’s crown, taking it from a young beta boy beside him. Holding it high for all to see, he declared, “Bear witness, with the crown of her predecessor, King Viserys Targaryen.”

Then, with great care, he placed the golden crown upon her head.

For a moment, he regarded her in silence before bowing his head slightly and stepping aside. “I hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

At his proclamation, the lords and ladies of the court bowed their heads in unison.

“Long may she live,” they intoned, their voices rippling through the chamber in solemn harmony.

As the crowd continued their chant, Rhaenyra’s gaze drifted to the side, meeting her eldest son’s eyes. He smiled at her before lowering himself onto one knee in a show of loyalty. At his action, his younger siblings quickly followed, and then Baelon knelt beside them.

Daemon watched his children before, with some difficulty, mirroring their gesture. The sight of the royal family kneeling prompted the Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks to follow suit, and soon, the rest of the court bowed before their queen.

Rhaenyra stood motionless, stunned as the entire room bent the knee to her. Her eyes flickered toward Rhaenys, who looked up as if sensing the other alpha’s gaze. A small, knowing smile graced the older woman’s lips, her eyes reflecting quiet pride—pride that Rhaenyra had achieved what she herself had once been denied.

Rhaenyra returned the smile, her mind briefly drifting to the conversation they had shared just moments before the ceremony.

—

“Princess Rhaenyra, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Rhaenys asked as Rhaenyra entered her temporary chambers, following the announcement of one of the Kingsguard. The younger woman placed a small wooden box on a table near the door before stepping forward to approach her.

“Princess Rhaenys, I trust you have been informed of the… situation at hand.” Rhaenyra stopped in front of the older woman, absentmindedly twisting her wedding ring in an attempt to calm her nerves.

Rhaenys took a deep breath before responding. “Of course. My cousin’s death.” Her tone was unreadable, almost detached.

Rhaenyra was momentarily taken aback by her nonchalant response.

“I ought to extend my condolences,” Rhaenys continued.

“Thank you, Princess,” Rhaenyra replied with a sad smile. “I should extend mine as well.”

“I’m grateful, Princess, but this is not just about the King’s passing.” Rhaenys frowned slightly and, with unexpected swiftness, reached out to take Rhaenyra’s hands in hers.

“You must be careful,” she murmured, leaning in slightly as if wary of unseen ears. “There are circling vultures at court. Regardless of your sub-gender, you are still a woman, Rhaenyra.” Concern was etched onto her features.

Rhaenyra did not pull away. Instead, she let her gaze drop to their intertwined hands before looking back up at her cousin.

“My father never truly prepared me for this kind of responsibility,” she admitted, hesitation flickering in her voice. After a brief pause, she gently withdrew her hands. “That’s why…”

She turned abruptly and walked toward the small table near the door. Picking up the wooden box, she inspected it for a moment before returning to Rhaenys.

“It cannot be official yet, as I have yet to be crowned, but I wish to give you this.” She extended the box toward the older woman.

Rhaenys hesitated but ultimately accepted the offering. She glanced at Rhaenyra, who gave her a small nod of encouragement. Shifting her focus back to the box, she carefully opened it.

Inside lay an all-too-familiar object—the Hand of the King’s pin, the very same Otto Hightower had worn for years. She hesitantly lifted the golden emblem from the box, inspecting it closely. The weight of the gesture, the implications of what was being offered, dawned on her all at once.

Her gaze snapped up to Rhaenyra, who watched her expectantly.

“Take it as a request,” Rhaenyra said softly. “Just… please think about it, Rhaenys.”

—

Rhaenys met Rhaenyra’s gaze, holding it with a sudden surge of determination. Seeing the court’s response to her younger cousin’s coronation had filled her with a flicker of hope—but one should never be careless.

Still locking eyes with the Queen, she allowed a small but firm smile to form before offering a resolute nod. The simple action made Rhaenyra’s violet eyes widen slightly in surprise. Then, after a brief pause, she returned the gesture with a steady nod of her own.

The deal was sealed.

—————————————

Daemon lay on the bed in Rhaenyra’s personal chambers, cradling Visenya in his arms. He had missed her all day. The alpha was not with them—after her coronation, she had been taken into the council room and had yet to emerge. The omega had accompanied her for a few minutes, but exhaustion had weighed down his body, and he had longed to see his baby.

He gazed down at his daughter, mesmerized by the way her pale violet eyes studied him in curiosity. Smiling, he lifted a hand and gently flicked her nose. She let out a joyous giggle, making him chuckle in return as he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Making you was really fun, and it felt great,” Daemon murmured, his nose brushing hers. “But getting you out… that was not as fun,” he added, rubbing her belly lovingly.

Visenya didn’t understand him, of course—she only stared up at him with those wide violet eyes. She looked so much like Rhaenyra. Daemon couldn't tear his gaze away from his daughter; she was barely a day old, yet his love for her was already overwhelming. It was difficult to believe that someone like him had brought something so beautiful into the world.

A knot formed in his throat. He had truly thought he was going to die on the birthing bed, like so many omegas before him. In those agonizing hours, he had been certain that the fate he had spent his whole life defying was finally upon him. He had brushed against death on countless battlefields, his flesh torn, his wounds weeping—but that was the first time he had ever felt true fear.

He hated how helpless he had been. He was almost embarrassed to admit that he had considered begging Ser Luthor to cut the baby out. It had made him feel weak. He had fought in wars, endured battle after battle, and yet the thing that had terrified him most was childbirth. Aemma had been right when she said the birthing bed was an omega’s battlefield.

His thoughts were interrupted by the chamber doors opening. Ser Luthor entered, bowing slightly before announcing the arrival of his daughter, Rhaena. Daemon nodded, sitting up straighter and adjusting his clothes as the young beta stepped inside.

Rhaena approached with a small smile, swiftly taking a seat on the edge of the bed. For a moment, she simply watched them, then reached out to stroke her little sister’s head.

“She’s beautiful,” she murmured, smiling up at her mother.

Daemon returned the smile with a slight nod. But as Rhaena continued to study him, her expression softened into something more serious. “How are you feeling?”

The omega didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained on his daughter as he weighed his words carefully.

“I feel useless,” he finally admitted. “I should be out there, helping Rhaenyra, but instead, I’m here—bedridden.” He exhaled heavily, exhaustion pressing into his bones.

“You’re not useless,” Rhaena said firmly. “You gave birth to the newest addition to our family. That’s something to be proud of.” She paused, tilting her head. “That’s what Rhaenyra would say.”

Daemon smirked. “And what would Rhaena say?”

“I’d say it’s an earned uselessness,” she replied, her concern evident. “It was about time you took a rest.” She hesitated. “It’s the last one, right?”

Daemon sighed, gently extending Visenya toward Rhaena, who took her baby sister into her arms with a puzzled expression. As she gazed down at the sleepy infant, Daemon slowly pushed himself off the bed, moving with great difficulty.

Limping toward the cradle, he carefully took Visenya back and placed her inside. He lingered for a moment, brushing his fingers over her tiny hand before turning away. Making his way back to the bed, he sank down beside Rhaena with a weary sigh.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I don’t think my body can take another pregnancy.” His eyes flickered to his daughter. “And I doubt Rhaenyra would want another one after last night.”

Rhaena studied him carefully, reaching out to grab his hands. “And you? Would you want another?”

Daemon looked down at their intertwined hands, tracing his thumb over the back of hers.

“No,” he said at last. “I’ve had my fill of the birthing bed for a lifetime.”

Rhaena held his hands tightly for a moment before bending down to press a soft kiss to his rough fingers. “I should let you rest,” she murmured, rising from the bed. She helped him lie back down, adjusting the duvet over him. Then she bent forward once more, placing a tender kiss on his forehead.

“I love you, muña,” she whispered.

Daemon smiled but didn’t speak. Instead, he reached out, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Rhaena giggled, then pulled away and left the chambers, closing the door softly behind her.

She was about to head to her own rooms when she suddenly halted. Standing guard outside her mother’s door was Ser Erryk Cargyll. Frowning, she turned to him. “Ser Cargyll, I thought you were in the council room with the Queen.”

The Kingsguard turned to face her, and something about him made the pit in her stomach deepen. His scent was familiar—yet strangely off.

“I was, Princess,” he answered in a monotone voice. “But the Queen summoned Ser Luthor on an urgent matter, so I took his post temporarily.”

Rhaena swallowed hard, a terrible feeling creeping up her spine. She wanted to dismiss it as paranoia, a lingering fear born from the harrowing night before—but something wasn’t right. Forcing herself to remain composed, she gave a curt nod and turned away. As soon as she rounded the corner, she quickened her pace. She needed to find Baelon. Fast.

—————————————

Baelon sat in an old wooden chair, gripping a dagger in his right hand as he stared at the man before him. Otto Hightower sat on the damp, filthy floor of the Red Keep’s dungeon, rusted chains wrapped around his limbs to keep him from moving too much. The beta could only glare up at the young alpha, a deep frown on his face, refusing to answer the questions Baelon kept repeating.

Baelon sighed, irritated by the man’s stubbornness. He rose from his chair and began pacing the small, foul-smelling cell. “Once again—why were you left behind? What is the plan? Where are Alicent and her children?”

Otto’s only response was a humorless chuckle, escaping his lips abruptly at the young alpha’s questioning. “Do you truly believe I’ll just tell you everything because you asked… nicely?”

Baelon smirked at the man’s audacity. “No, I was giving you a chance to talk without resistance,” he said, twirling the dagger in his hand. “But it seems you need some encouragement.”

Otto scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not going to hurt me, Baelon,” he said, his eyes locking onto the young alpha’s. “You’re not like that whore of a mother you have.” He spat the words out with venom, sneering at the boy.

At the mention of his mother, Baelon felt his blood boil. His grip on the dagger’s hilt tightened, his free hand clenching into a fist, itching to drive itself into the beta’s skull. He ground his teeth, glaring at the smug face before him, unable to contain himself. In an instant, he lunged forward, seizing Otto’s doublet in both fists.

Otto recoiled, trying to escape the alpha’s grasp. “If you harm me, Oldtown will retaliate,” he stammered, his voice betraying his unease.

“Hm,” Baelon mused, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. “So that’s where they are.” He threw Otto back, watching with satisfaction as the man landed on his ass. “Why did you stay behind, Otto?” he asked, resuming his slow, deliberate pacing, his gaze never leaving the man on the floor.

The beta remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Baelon’s patience thinned. The silence pressed in on him like a weight, suffocating him. He knew Otto wasn’t bluffing—if he laid a hand on him, the Greens would have an excuse to strike. But what choice did he have? He wasn’t his mother. He couldn’t outmaneuver Otto in a battle of wits. He had only ever learned to take what he wanted by force.

The beta seemed to sense his turmoil, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Baelon saw red. Before he could stop himself, he lunged again, slamming his fist into Otto’s face. The beta tumbled backward, groaning as he clutched his now-bloodied nose. Baelon exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with fury. The sight of Otto’s fear—of that smugness wiped clean from his face—sent a thrill of satisfaction through him. He wanted more.

Without hesitation, he grabbed Otto’s doublet again and struck him, this time not stopping. His fists came down hard and fast, one after the other, blood splattering across the damp stone floor. Otto whimpered, pleading uselessly for him to stop. But Baelon didn’t hear him. All he could feel was rage.

Years of anger, of helplessness, of war and death and loss—all of it poured out of him in every brutal strike. Otto’s face was a bloody mess, his wheezing breaths wet with blood. But Baelon didn’t stop. Not until strong hands wrapped around him, yanking him away.

Baelon jerked violently, wrenching himself free. He spun, fists still clenched, coming face to face with Ser Luthor. “Baelon. What are you doing?” the older alpha asked, his voice low, controlled.

Baelon sneered. “What does it look like I’m doing?” His eyes flickered past Ser Luthor to Otto, who lay limp in a pool of his own blood.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Baelon frowned. “Why would I?”

Ser Luthor’s expression darkened. “Erryk—Ser Cargyll—told me you needed me.”

Baelon stiffened. “I haven’t spoken to Erryk.” His voice trailed off as unease curled in his stomach.

Before he could process the implications, a weak, pained laugh rasped from Otto’s chapped lips, drawing their attention. “Isn’t your mother bedridden?” The beta’s voice was barely above a whisper, but there was triumph in his tone. “Vulnerable… unable to protect himself?”

Baelon’s blood ran cold. “What?” He stepped forward, his stomach churning. “What are you saying?”

Otto only laughed, coughing on his own blood, his gaze locked on Baelon.

A pit formed in the young alpha’s stomach. He turned on his heel, snatching up his dagger and sword. Without another word, he bolted from the cell, Ser Luthor’s voice calling after him. But he didn’t stop. He needed to get to his mother.

He sprinted through the halls of the Red Keep, his heart hammering in his chest as he made his way toward his mother’s private chambers. In his haste, he nearly collided with his younger sister, who was running in the opposite direction.

“Rhaena!” he exclaimed, grabbing her forearms to steady her.

“Baelon! I was looking for you,” she said quickly, breathless.

For a brief moment, curiosity flickered in his mind—why was she searching for him? But the urgency of his own mission overpowered any questions. “Not now, Rhaena,” he said, releasing her and moving to push past.

“Wait! It’s about muña!” she called after him.

At the mention of their mother, Baelon skidded to a stop, whirling around. “Where is he?”

“In Rhaenyra’s chambers!”

Without hesitation, Baelon turned on his heel, his path shifting as he bolted toward his stepmother’s quarters.

—————————————

Daemon stared at the ceiling of his wife’s chambers, his body exhausted and his eyes burning from lack of rest. Yet sleep continued to elude him. He turned his head to the side, his gaze falling on the cradle where his daughter slept peacefully. He sighed in frustration, wondering when the abrupt council meeting would end. Rhaenyra had been inside that room for hours, and no one had come in or out since he left.

He shifted, fluffing the pillows and adjusting his position, but nothing seemed to ease his restlessness. A deep unease had settled in his gut ever since Rhaena left, an inexplicable sense of danger gnawing at him. He told himself it was just paranoia—paranoia born from years of dealing with the Hightowers.

Then, the chamber doors burst open. Daemon was startled, his body tensing as he sat up in bed. His sharp eyes landed on the man who entered. “Ser Erryk? Is something the matter?”

The alpha didn’t answer. Instead, he shut the door behind him and strode forward with a somber expression, his movements quick and deliberate. His gaze never left Daemon. A chill ran down the omega’s spine. Daemon’s hand twitched toward a small dagger left on the bedside table by his son, but before he could reach it, the knight grabbed the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it.

It was then that the truth crashed over Daemon like a wave. “Ser Arryk,” he breathed, realization dawning.

The knight lunged. Daemon reached for the dagger, but the alpha was faster, yanking him violently back. The omega thrashed, trying to break free, but Ser Arryk pinned him to the bed, straddling him.

Daemon struggled, his body twisting as he fought against the knight’s grip. The alpha raised his sword, ready to bring it down on the omega’s throat. In a desperate move, Daemon seized the blade with his bare hands. A sharp cry tore from his lips as searing pain erupted from his palms, blood spilling between his fingers. The knight pressed harder.

With a burst of strength, Daemon thrust his hips up, throwing the alpha off him. Ser Arryk crashed onto the floor, momentarily stunned. Wasting no time, Daemon snatched the dagger from the table and staggered to his feet. He kicked Arryk’s sword away before turning toward his daughter’s cradle.

But the knight recovered quickly. Instead of going for his weapon, he lunged at Daemon once more.

The omega barely had time to react before he was tackled to the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs. He lashed out, slashing his dagger across the knight’s cheek. Arryk grunted in pain but grabbed Daemon’s wrist before the blade could pierce deeper.

With brutal force, the knight pried the dagger from Daemon’s grasp and threw it aside. Then, his hands clamped around Daemon’s throat. Daemon gasped, his fingers clawing at the alpha’s grip, trying to pry him off. He kicked and writhed, but the knight’s hold was unrelenting. Spots danced in his vision as his lungs burned for air.

He reached up, blindly raking his nails across Arryk’s face. The alpha flinched, but his grip never loosened. Daemon’s strength was failing. His vision blurred.

Then, suddenly, the weight atop him was gone. When he lifted his gaze, he saw him. Baelon. His son was straddling Ser Arryk, his fists raining down blow after blow. The knight was defenseless beneath him, his face already bloodied and swelling. Baelon’s knuckles were split open, fresh crimson dripping from his hands.

Daemon sat up, still wheezing. His trance was broken by the sound of Visenya’s wails. His daughter. Ignoring the pain searing through his body, Daemon stumbled toward the cradle. He reached down, lifting Visenya into his arms and rocking her gently, whispering soft reassurances as she sobbed.

His eyes flicked back to his son. Baelon hadn’t stopped. The young alpha was relentless, his fists pounding into Ser Arryk’s face with unyielding fury. Daemon knew he should stop him. But another part of him—perhaps the darkest part—wanted to watch the man suffer. The assassin had come for him. For Visenya. He deserved this.

Just then, Ser Luthor stormed into the room. He moved straight for Baelon, grabbing him and pulling him away from the barely conscious knight.

“Muña!” The frantic voices of his daughters yanked Daemon’s attention away from the chaos.

Baela and Rhaena rushed into the room, going straight to their mother, clinging to him as best they could with Visenya in his arms. They bombarded him with frantic questions, but all he could do was hold them.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the chamber like a blade. Everyone fell silent.

The queen strode inside, Elinda and Ser Westerling flanking her. Behind them, Ser Erryk entered—and when his eyes fell upon his twin, now bloodied and beaten on the floor, his face twisted with shock.

But Rhaenyra didn’t look at Ser Arryk. Her gaze was locked on Daemon and Visenya. She moved swiftly, closing the distance between them, her hands reaching out to touch her husband’s face. Her eyes roamed over him, searching for wounds. When they landed on the bleeding cut at his throat, her pupils dilated. Daemon saw her fists clench at her sides.

“We’re not hurt, alpha,” he murmured, adjusting Visenya in his arms.

Rhaenyra’s nostrils flared. Her scent spiked in the air, thick with fury. “Who is responsible for this?” No one needed to answer. All eyes turned to Ser Arryk, lying limp on the floor.

Rhaenyra’s gaze finally landed on the fallen knight, and when realization dawned, her expression darkened. “Take him to the dungeons,” she commanded coldly. “His cell is to be as far from Otto Hightower’s as possible.” Her tone was edged with quiet rage. “I will decide his fate later.” Ser Luthor and Ser Westerling moved without hesitation, dragging the barely conscious man out of the chamber.

Rhaenyra’s eyes swept over the room, assessing each of them. Her gaze settled on Baelon. He stood apart from the others, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. His hands—covered in both his own blood and Ser Arryk’s—were still clenched at his sides. His clothes were disheveled, his hair an unkempt mess.

Rhaenyra then looked back to Daemon. He was still cradling Visenya, though his gaze hadn’t left their son. The baby had stopped crying, but she remained unsettled as if she could still sense the lingering danger in the air.

Rhaenyra turned back to the room. “Everyone. Leave.” Her voice rang with authority, allowing no argument.

One by one, they obeyed. As Elinda passed, Rhaenyra whispered, “Summon Maester Orwyle.” The beta nodded and slipped out. Baela and Rhaena hesitated, but after a brief glance at their mother, they silently followed.

“Not you.” The command made Baelon stop cold. The alpha turned slowly, meeting his stepmother’s piercing gaze.

She gestured toward the couch near the fireplace. Wordlessly, he obeyed, dropping onto the seat with a barely concealed groan.

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply before looking back at her husband. “Lay down, omega,” she murmured. “Maester Orwyle will be here soon.”

Daemon’s lips parted, but his wife didn’t let him speak.

“I need to speak with him,” Rhaenyra cut in, her tone leaving no room for argument. “It has gone too far.”

Chapter Text

Five Months Later

Baelon swung his sword, the blade slicing cleanly through his opponent’s throat. He quickly turned when he heard a battle cry behind him, raising his weapon just in time to block a powerful blow. With a swift motion, he pushed his attacker back and cut through his chest. As the man collapsed to his knees, a strong gust of wind swept across the battlefield, knocking some soldiers off their feet. Baelon looked up to see Moondancer soaring overhead, Baela perched firmly on her back.

At her rider's command, the dragon swept over enemy lines, releasing a scorching breath of fire. Baela heard the agonized screams of the burning men below, but she paid them no mind as she circled above. Moondancer’s roar rumbled through the battlefield, sending shivers down the spines of those still standing.

The dragon’s flames carved a path through the enemy ranks, allowing their forces to push forward. From there, it was easy to overpower their opponents and seize Rook’s Rest. Its defenders surrendered quickly. House Staunton had declared loyalty to the Greens five months prior—only three days after Queen Rhaenyra’s coronation. In turn, they had crowned Aegon II Targaryen, claiming to follow the late King Viserys’ dying will.

The false king had wasted no time securing allies among the Lannisters and Baratheons—cowardly turncloaks, in Baelon’s opinion. He strode out of Rook’s Rest’s great hall and into the courtyard, where their prisoners had been gathered. A few yards away, he watched as Moondancer descended, Baela gracefully dismounting.

She approached as he turned to face the assembled prisoners, his hands settling on the hilt of his sword.

“Lord Staunton,” Baelon called, his voice carrying across the courtyard. “I offer you and your house one chance—renounce the false King Aegon and bend the knee to the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen.” His gaze swept across the faces before him, his next words like steel. “Or your house burns.”

As if to emphasize his point, Moondancer let out a low, menacing growl. Fear flickered across the prisoners’ faces as they shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting away from Baelon’s piercing stare. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

One by one, the men lowered themselves to their knees, their gazes cast downward, too afraid to meet his eyes. Baelon smirked. These were the same burly alphas and betas who had once believed they could betray their oaths without consequence—now reduced to silent submission.

But not all of them. His eyes landed on Lord Staunton, who remained standing, shoulders squared, head held high. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes burned with the defiance of a proud man.

Baelon’s smirk widened as he stepped down from the ledge where he and Baela had been standing. “Lord Staunton,” he drawled, coming to a stop before him. “Did you not hear me?” The lord met his gaze unflinchingly. Baelon’s expression darkened. “Are your ears failing you?” His voice lowered, sharp with anger.

He saw the flicker of uncertainty in the older man’s eyes, but Staunton did not yield. “I am no turncloak,” he said, his voice firm with pride.

Baelon chuckled. “No?” He tilted his head. “Then allow me to remind you of the oath you swore years ago—to the true heir of the throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen.” His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, itching to strike. “You claim you are no turncloak, yet your actions are treason, my lord.”

Silence followed. Baelon let it stretch between them, watching as Lord Staunton shifted ever so slightly under his scrutiny. A slow satisfaction settled over him. He had spent years being looked down upon by alphas and betas alike. Now, they knelt before him. Avoided his gaze in fear. He understood his mother now.

But still, Staunton refused to kneel. His pride seemed to outweigh his fear. Baelon’s patience thinned. Anger crawled up his spine, his fingers twitching with the urge to wrap around the man's throat. Instead, he grabbed his sword, unsheathing it in a single fluid motion. He extended his arm, pressing the blade’s sharp edge lightly against Staunton’s throat.

A single drop of blood welled at the cut. The lord audibly swallowed, his eyes widening in fear. “Kneel,” Baelon ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

The courtyard fell into complete silence. Even Moondancer remained still, watching with predatory interest. Baelon did not move. He simply waited. Finally, slowly, Lord Staunton sank to his knees.

Baelon’s smirk returned as the man dropped his gaze. A once-proud lord, now kneeling before him, begging for mercy. He could get used to this.

—————————————

Rhaenyra watched her omega fuss over their youngest children throughout the day. For three months now, Daemon had refused to let Joffrey, Viserys, Aegon, Visenya, or even Rhaena out of his sight, keeping them constantly close. Every time she saw her husband, he was touching one of them in some way - a hand on their shoulder, fingers brushing through their hair.

She knew this behavior stemmed from their eldest children's absence. Baelon and Baela had departed three months earlier for Rook's Rest, which they had since captured. Then, just days ago, Jace and Luke had flown off on Vermax and Arrax to deliver messages to their allies. Now Rhaenyra understood Daemon's anxiety on a deeper level. Each arriving raven or visit from the maester made her heart leap into her throat.

They had only recently reconciled after she permitted Baelon and Baela to join the fighting. Daemon had been furious, believing she was punishing his son following the incidents with Otto and Ser Arryk. But the truth was simpler—  Baelon had personally requested to be sent into battle without his mother's knowledge, and Baela had immediately volunteered to accompany him on Moondancer, threatening to sneak away if denied.

Left with little choice, Rhaenyra had allowed them to depart with the troops bound for Rook's Rest. That morning, she'd deliberately let Daemon sleep late to honor the children's wishes. When he awoke to find two of them missing, he'd stormed into the council chamber, demanding answers.

Her honesty had sparked his rage. He'd screamed that she had no right to conceal such important matters about his children. In a rare moment of vulnerability, frustration had brought tears to his eyes. The sight shattered Rhaenyra's heart– her omega in pain, yet pulling away when she tried to comfort him.

The situation tore at her. As an alpha, she understood Baelon and Baela's need to prove themselves in war. As a mother, she equally understood Daemon's desperate need to keep his children safe, no matter their age.

His anger had lasted over two months. For the first fortnight, he refused to speak to her, retreating to sleep in his own chambers. Only after Jace and Luke's departure did he return– recognizing how deeply their leaving affected her, he set aside his pride and slipped into her bedchamber one night. Without words, he climbed into bed and let her hold him as she cried.

She still wondered whether this signaled forgiveness or simply his willingness to comfort her despite his own pain. His quiet sniffles against her chest told her own story. They didn't need words– their shared grief spoke volumes. They'd fallen asleep entwined just so.

By morning, Daemon's mood had lightened. He resumed his consort duties around the Red Keep rather than isolating himself. Aegon and Viserys became his constant shadows, with Joffrey and Rhaena frequently joining them.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra spent her days mired in council meetings and petitions. Lord Corlys had come to King's Landing, while Laenor remained at Driftmark, to strategize about tightening the blockade on Green trading routes. She admitted privately how lost she'd felt since her coronation–her father had named her heir but never taught her to rule.

For this, she thanked the gods for Princess Rhaenys' political acumen, Daemon's military brilliance, and Lady Mysaria's ability to sway the smallfolk. She knew the rest of her small council disapproved of two women and an omega serving as her closest advisors—particularly with a queen ruling in her own right. But she'd trust these three with her life before relying on the proud lords of her council.

She sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace in her chambers, attempting to focus on her book while her husband sat on the bed. He wore a sleeveless white nightgown that accentuated his full breasts, which he kept adjusting with soft winces— a distraction she found impossible to ignore.

"What's the matter, my love?" Rhaenyra asked, setting her book aside as she rose from the chair.

She approached the bed, watching her omega squeeze his breasts. A small wet spot had formed on the white fabric. "They're so full it hurts," Daemon responded, reaching for a rag on the bedside table to dab at the dampness. "And Visenya is already asleep."

Rhaenyra's tongue darted across her lips as her gaze fixed on the swollen curves of his chest. She sat on the edge of the bed and took the rag from his hand. "If the pain keeps you awake..." Her voice trailed off as she struggled to look away. "I could help relieve it."

"How?" Daemon asked with a slight frown, watching as his alpha licked her lips again while staring at his chest. His cheeks flushed when understanding dawned. "I-" His protest was cut short as Rhaenyra leaned forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

Daemon responded eagerly, arms encircling her neck as she pulled him closer by his hips. A soft moan escaped him when her tongue explored his mouth— it had been months since they'd been intimate. When her hand cupped one tender breast, a whimper of mixed pleasure and pain slipped past his lips.

Rhaenyra broke the kiss just enough for a strand of saliva to connect them before trailing kisses and gentle bites down his neck. Daemon moaned loudly as her other hand gripped his rear, guiding him down onto the bed. She positioned herself between his thighs, pushing up his nightgown to expose him completely.

Her fingers traced along his hips and waist beneath the fabric, each touch making him tremble. When their eyes met, Daemon glanced away in embarrassment, prompting a smile from his alpha as she resumed kissing his neck.

Rhaenyra's lips traveled lower, brushing over one breast just above the nipple before giving attention to the other. Daemon whined when she pulled back, arching his back in a silent plea for more contact.

Smirking at his neediness, Rhaenyra moved away completely, circling the bed with deliberate slowness. She could feel Daemon's heated gaze following her as she removed her own nightgown, finally sitting naked on the opposite side.

The scent of Daemon's arousal filled the air. His dark eyes traveled hungrily over her body, lingering on her erect cock. She watched his tongue swipe across his lips, his cheeks flushing darker as his thighs rubbed together under her scrutiny. With a smile, she grasped his waist and pulled him into her lap.

Daemon settled astride her, hands resting on her shoulders as her grip tightened around his waist. "How I've missed you, kepus," Rhaenyra murmured, her hands sliding beneath his nightgown.

"Rhaenyra..." Daemon whined, feeling moisture gather between his thighs as his niece caressed him.

"My good omega," she whispered, slowly lowering one strap of his nightgown to expose a breast. After placing a kiss on his shoulder, she repeated the motion with the other strap.

Leaning back, she admired his full breasts before teasing his nipples with playful flicks and rubs. Daemon moaned and squirmed in her lap until she finally took one nipple into her mouth. The warm, slightly sweet taste of milk flooded her tongue as she suckled.

Daemon became a writhing mess above her, one hand pressing her head closer as she alternated between suckling one breast and teasing the other with her fingers. She could feel his wetness seeping onto her lap, his body begging for more.

Rhaenyra continued until the milk stopped flowing, prolonging his pleasure before finally releasing him. Daemon whimpered, hips rocking needily against her.

"Alpha—please," her uncle begged.

"What do you want, omega?" she whispered, gripping his hips to still his movements. "Tell me."

When he reached for her cock, she intercepted his hand. "Use your words."

"I—" His sentence dissolved into a moan. "I need—"

"What do you need, my love?" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper as she circled a nipple with her thumb.

"I need your cock, alpha," Daemon managed in a breathy whimper.

His bold words drew a smile from Rhaenyra. Without speaking, she pulled him into another kiss while guiding his hips. She felt his hand slip between them to position her at his entrance.

As he sank down, Daemon broke the kiss with a gasp, mouth falling open in pleasure. Rhaenyra moaned loudly at the exquisite sensation of his warm, wet heat enveloping her. After five months apart— first due to his recovery from Visenya's birth, then her royal duties during the war— the feeling of his tightness around her was nothing short of heavenly.

Daemon wasted no time wrapping his arms around her shoulders, beginning to move up and down on his alpha's lap. Rhaenyra moaned loudly at the delicious sensation of her omega's cunt. The room filled with the wet sounds of their lovemaking as her uncle quickened his pace, chasing his release.

Rhaenyra gripped his hips, helping him bounce on her cock. She studied his face– his parted lips releasing soft moans and gasps, his forehead creased in a small frown, his eyes glazed with pleasure. Licking her lips, the alpha reached up to grasp one full breast, squeezing gently. Daemon whimpered, his rhythm faltering as he continued riding her. She leaned forward to take his nipple into her mouth, sucking enthusiastically as warm, sweet milk flooded her mouth, drawing another moan from her.

Her omega had become a whining, whimpering mess above her, his hips now rocking back and forth as pleasure overwhelmed him. With her free hand, she rubbed his other nipple, making him cry out in surprise.

"Alpha, don't stop!" Daemon screamed, his movements growing erratic.

Rhaenyra smirked, feeling his body tremble in her arms, his cunt pulsing around her cock. She knew he was close. Suddenly, she flipped them without withdrawing, now hovering above him. Without hesitation, she began thrusting.

Daemon could only moan loudly as her cock plunged in and out of him. The wet sounds filling the room mirrored his overwhelming pleasure. He felt his slick pooling beneath them, soaking the sheets. A sudden yell escaped him when her cock struck that perfect spot inside him.

"Right there! Yes, don't stop!" he managed before Rhaenyra increased her pace. He dissolved into incoherent moans as she repeatedly hit that sweet spot.

"Fuck, omega," she groaned, feeling her own climax approaching.

The alpha tried to pull away, unwilling to risk another pregnancy, but Daemon locked his legs tightly around her waist. "Don't," he pleaded, squirming beneath her as the motion drove her deeper into that sensitive spot. "I want to feel your essence inside me. Please, alpha."

Rhaenyra groaned. Her omega begged so sweetly, and she was but mortal, powerless against her husband's charms. Unable to resist their mutual desire, she gripped his thighs and forcefully spread his legs. Without pause, she resumed thrusting, watching her cock move in and out of his slick cunt, their fluids mixing on the sheets.

Daemon could only moan as he tumbled over the edge, his entire body convulsing with climax. Rhaenyra continued thrusting through his orgasm, chasing her own release. The omega whined and whimpered through the overstimulation as she kept moving inside him.

Finally, Rhaenyra's rhythm faltered as she flooded him with her hot cum. She maintained gentle thrusts, drawing more moans from the overstimulated omega. Suddenly, intense pleasure overwhelmed Daemon as copious amounts of slick gushed from his cunt. Rhaenyra kept moving slowly, watching her omega's powerful orgasm.

Their movements stilled as they came down from their highs. The room filled with their heavy breathing as they recovered. Rhaenyra withdrew, gazing at their combined essence leaking from Daemon's still-pulsing cunt before lying beside him and pulling him to her chest.

Daemon rested his head on her bare chest, panting as he caught his breath. They remained like that until Rhaenyra nearly drifted asleep, only rousing when her omega spoke.

"Baelon needs a dragon," Daemon declared, his determined voice breaking the peaceful silence. Propping himself up to look at her, he continued, "And we need more dragons to fight the Greens."

Rhaenyra studied her omega's face, struggling to process his words through her sleep-fogged mind. "We already have more dragons than the Greens," she managed, her thoughts still clearing from their eventful evening.

"They have Vhagar," Daemon countered matter-of-factly. "Even if we don't need more, we must ensure they can't acquire additional ones." His eyes remained locked on hers as he laid out his plan. "I propose we go to Dragonstone - Vermithor and Silverwing reside there. Baelon could claim Vermithor."

"And Silverwing?" Rhaenyra asked, her mind finally sharpening. "We have no other rider besides Rhaena, and she's already been rejected."

"I hadn't considered that," Daemon admitted, his gaze dropping uncharacteristically. "But I wanted to give Rhaena one of Syrax's recently laid eggs." His voice softened. "Hatching her own egg would restore her confidence."

Rhaenyra couldn't suppress her doubt. "Are we certain it will hatch?" She loved Rhaena, but the girl's repeated failures with dragons left room for skepticism.

Daemon's face darkened immediately. "It must," he growled, his voice deepening with anger. "She's my daughter. She's a Targaryen."

Rhaenyra sighed as her omega subtly withdrew from her touch— not completely, but enough to notice. "I'm sorry, my love," she murmured, gently caressing his cheek.

His demeanor softened as he nuzzled into her palm like an affectionate cat. They lapsed into comfortable silence— Rhaenyra contemplating Daemon's proposal while her omega patiently waited.

Finally breaking the quiet, she decided, "I'll have Maester Orwyle send ravens to Rook's Rest and Dragonstone to prepare for our arrival."

She'd concluded Daemon was right: securing dragons like Vermithor and Silverwing before the Greens could was crucial. Moreover, claiming a dragon might help Baelon manage his growing anger issues, while Rhaena hatching her own egg could bolster her waning confidence during these turbulent times.

Daemon's smile bloomed at her words, his happy omega scent filling the chamber. Rhaenyra smiled in return, leaning in to brush a tender kiss against his lips before drawing him down to rest against her chest. As Daemon's sweet scent enveloped her, she finally drifted into peaceful sleep.

—————————————

Rhaena walked through the Red Keep's gardens, trailing behind Ser Luthor with her hands clasped behind her back in self-comfort. Her mother had summoned her - not an unusual occurrence, but with Baelon and Baela away at war, any meeting with the omega made her nervous.

They approached a vine-covered structure where flowers cascaded over a white round table set with two chairs. As she entered, she saw her mother standing by a wide window-like opening that overlooked the gardens and calm waters beyond. Ser Luthor and her own sworn shield, Ser Darklyn, took positions on either side of the entrance.

Daemon wore a long, structured overcoat that fell below his knees, its waist tightly tailored with pleats flaring slightly at the hem. A belt accentuated his waist further, creating that characteristically elegant yet powerful silhouette. Simple black trousers and knee-high black boots completed the look. Hearing her approach, he turned, and Rhaena found some comfort in her mother's smiling face.

"Would you take lunch with me, little dragon?" Daemon asked, moving to sit in one chair while gesturing to the other.

Rhaena joined him, and with a signal from her mother, servants brought their midday meal. They ate in companionable silence until Rhaena noticed the omega's barely contained excitement. "What is it, mother? I can smell your happiness."

Daemon chuckled, setting down his cutlery. "Wonderful news, my dragon. Syrax has laid a fresh clutch of eggs, and Rhaenyra has agreed to give you one."

The beta frowned, the words not immediately registering. As understanding dawned, conflicting emotions arose. Since childhood, she'd dreamed of claiming a dragon. Unlike Baela's, her own egg had never hatched.

Her alpha mother had always reassured her this didn't make her lesser, but court gossip persisted. Some whispered something must be wrong with her; others dared suggest Daemon had been unfaithful to Laena, that Rhaena was some lowborn beta's child. Being beta herself with no dragon only fueled these cruel rumors.

Her omega mother constantly reminded her that lacking a dragon didn't diminish her Targaryen blood or his love for her. "I—"

Daemon anticipated her hesitation. "It could hatch," he interjected, "and when it does, no one will question you again."

"And if it doesn't?" Rhaena appreciated her mother's encouragement but couldn't indulge in false hope.

"Then nothing changes," Daemon said gently. "There's no harm in trying."

Rhaena picked at her food without responding. Daemon sighed, watching his daughter withdraw. Comforting others never came naturally to him— a skill he'd had to learn through motherhood, unlike Laena and Rhaenyra's innate talent for it.

"Did you know my egg turned to stone?" he offered, falling back on a familiar story. "And I didn't claim Caraxes until I was twenty-four— much older than you." His gaze held hers intently.

"Yes, but you're an omega. You had a role regardless," Rhaena snapped, dropping her utensils. "I'm just a beta with no purpose beyond that."

Daemon's frown deepened. "My position wasn't given because of my subgender, Rhaena," he said, leaning forward. "I fought for everything I have." His arms crossed as his tone turned stern. "We're ruled by alphas too arrogant to recognize others' worth. Our place at court isn't granted— it is taken. I thought I'd taught you that." His voice carried clear disappointment. "Perhaps I was wrong."

Rhaena remained silent, regretting her outburst. She knew her mother's struggles and how hard he'd fought for recognition. Years of court scrutiny and whispers had simply worn her down.

With a sigh, Daemon rose. "We leave for Dragonstone on the morrow. We’ll be meeting your brother and sister there. I hope you decide to accompany us." Without waiting for a response, he departed with Ser Luthor in tow.

Rhaena sat motionless, contemplating her mother's words. As servants cleared the table, she reached her decision. Standing resolutely, she exited the floral pavilion and strode toward her chambers, Ser Darklyn following closely behind.

—————————————

Baela looked up from the letter as Baelon entered the room. A raven had arrived from King's Landing that morning as they prepared to depart for Harrenhal. The queen's message summoned them urgently to Dragonstone, though the reasons remained unspecified.

She suspected their mother would be present as well—which likely meant facing his displeasure upon arrival. Knowing her brother would resist this change of plans, she had called for him immediately.

"This better be important; we need to be leaving soon," Baelon said before she could speak.

"Actually, we won’t be leaving for Harrenhall. There has been a change in plans," Baela informed him, standing from the wooden desk.

"What?" Baelon's voice darkened as he snatched the letter. After scanning its contents, he thrust it back. "The queen's idea or our mother's?" His tone dripped with suspicion.

"Baelon, don't be like that," she chided, frowning at his accusation.

"Don't pretend you think this came from Rhaenyra," he retorted, stepping away. "Muña's been searching for any excuse to recall us since we left. He doesn't trust us—this is his doing." His angry pacing filled the room with tension.

"Baelon!" Baela exclaimed, her face darkening. "What has gotten into you? You can't speak about muña like that."

"I'm just pointing out the facts," he shrugged, glancing at her. "He's too overprotective, he doesn't let us breathe. He needs to understand that he can't shelter us for the rest of his life."

Baela shook her head, studying her brother's uncharacteristic outburst. "He worries because he wants better for us than he had," she said gently. "His life hasn't been easy."

"I know what he has gone through!" Baelon shouted, his thick scent overwhelming the room. "He just needs to realize that he can't protect us from everything."

"You're being unfair," Baela countered, disapproving of his harsh tone. When he turned away in silence, she puzzled over this sudden resentment. Their mother had always shared a special bond with his firstborn—even while loving all his children equally, those early years with just Baelon had forged something unique.

At his continued silence, she sighed. "We can always slip away later if needed," she offered, "but we should go. This might be important."

Baelon stood motionless, arms crossed, weighing his options. Finally, he met her gaze. "To Dragonstone then."

—————————————

Rhaenyra watched as both Vermax and Arrax landed a short distance from where they stood. A heavy weight lifted from her shoulders upon seeing both her boys dismount their dragons and make their way toward them. They were currently in the Dragonpit, preparing to leave for Dragonstone to meet with Baelon and Baela. She had wanted to wait for her sons to return before departing, but the matter at hand was urgent.

She swiftly met them halfway, enveloping them in her arms. She kissed both their heads and breathed in their comforting scents. After a moment, she finally let them go—but not before making sure they were unharmed.

Luke and Jace then turned to Daemon, who stood close behind them, and with great enthusiasm hugged the omega, burying their faces in his chest. He wrapped his arms around them without hesitation.

After they pulled away, Luke turned to a smiling Rhaena and surprised her by pulling her into a warm hug. The beta had fortunately agreed to accompany them after Daemon had spoken with her. Jace turned to her with a confused expression, his question evident in his gaze.

“We’re leaving for Dragonstone to meet Baelon and Baela. There’s an important matter we need to attend to,” she explained while caressing Jace’s dark hair. “You should go and freshen up.”

“No, we’re coming with you,” Jace exclaimed immediately, his tone firm and determined.

“No, my sweet boy,” Rhaenyra smiled as she took her son’s hands in hers. “You need to stay here, take care of your younger siblings, and assist Princess Rhaenys with the small council’s men if she requires it.” That seemed to appease the young alphas, who nodded and puffed out their chests slightly.

After final farewell hugs, Rhaenyra watched them depart for the Red Keep. She nodded to Daemon, and they mounted their dragons—Rhaena riding Caraxes with the omega. Traveling by dragonback would ensure a swift journey.

She observed Caraxes take several steps forward before emitting his distinctive high-pitched growl and launching himself skyward. Waiting until they'd gained some distance, Rhaenyra leaned down to stroke Syrax's scales.

"Soves, Syrax," she commanded. With a powerful roar, the golden dragon charged forward and soared after Caraxes toward Dragonstone.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra watched as Daemon paced around, his bitter scent flooding her chambers. His hands kept rubbing his flat belly—a nervous tic he had whenever he missed his children. Baelon and Baela had not arrived yet, and her omega was not handling it well. They had been at Dragonstone for a day, and logically, the trip from Rook’s Rest would take longer, but the worries of a mother were rarely logical.

Before she could say anything to ease her omega’s anxiety, the familiar roar of a dragon rumbled through the castle. Daemon didn’t give her time to react—he left the room in a hurry.

Daemon ran across the castle toward the dragon cave, his heart pounding in anticipation of seeing his children again after three long months. As he descended the stairs into the dark cavern, he saw Baelon and Baela dismounting Moondancer. The omega quickened his pace and took the young alphas by surprise, swiftly engulfing them in a tight embrace. Baela instantly buried her face in his chest, and Baelon gently placed a hand on the back of Daemon’s head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder.

Daemon felt him then, nose buried in his hair, breathing in his sweet scent. He was certain they had both grown since he’d last seen them—the boy, now a man, stood slightly taller than him, and his daughter could now reach his chest. It made him sentimental; he could feel tears gathering in his eyes.

“Don’t ever leave like that again,” Daemon reprimanded gently, pulling away slightly from their embrace. “Please, just tell me next time. I won’t stop you,” he added, his gaze landing on his eldest son as he said the last part.

Baelon stared into his mother’s teary eyes, heart squeezing in his chest as the weight of his actions dawned on him. “I’m sorry, muña.”

Daemon affectionately caressed his son’s dark hair while brushing Baela’s lighter strands, her face still pressed against his chest. They remained like that for a moment longer, until Baelon drew his mother back into another embrace. With a final kiss to the omega’s forehead, he stepped away.

“Mother, I’m glad to see you, but I must ask—why did you summon us with such urgency?” Baela was the first to speak, her tone curious.

Daemon offered a small smile, his gaze shifting from Baela to Baelon, reaching up to tuck a strand of his son’s hair behind his ear. “Inside the caves of Dragonstone remain two unclaimed dragons—Vermithor and Silverwing.” He watched understanding appear on his son’s face. “I believe it is finally time I give you what I promised years ago.”

“You mean…?” The alpha didn’t finish his sentence, but his mother nodded.

Baelon didn’t know what to say or how to react. When he was a child, back when they lived in Runestone, his mother had promised him a dragon of his own. For the longest time, it had been his greatest desire—a way to prove his worth and show the court he bore Targaryen blood. As he grew older, he realized that a dragon alone would not earn him a place at court—he had to claim that for himself, just as his mother once had. Still, the thought of claiming a dragon remained deeply alluring.

“You should both go and freshen up,” Daemon suggested, reaching out once more to affectionately touch their hair. “There’s a long day ahead of us.” The young alphas offered no protest, tired from the long journey on dragonback.

Daemon watched Baelon and Baela exit the large cavern, subconsciously rubbing his flat stomach. Once they were out of sight, he followed—but soon veered off, heading instead for the beach. On his way out, he grabbed one of the lit torches scattered around the castle and made his way swiftly toward the cave where the dragonkeepers had last sighted Vermithor.

Venturing alone into the dark, damp cave, he moved as silently as possible, straining to hear the beast’s presence. As he traveled deeper, heavy footsteps echoed faintly in the distance. Moving toward the sound and rounding a corner, he finally caught sight of the massive creature’s silhouette.

“Drakari pykiros
Tīkummo jemiros
Yn lantyz bartossa
Saelot vāedis,” Daemon sang softly, allowing himself to be seen, recalling the lullaby old King Jaehaerys once sang to Vermithor long ago.

“Hen ñuhā elēnī:
Perzyssy vestretis
Se gēlȳn irūdaks
Ānogrose

Perzyro udrȳssi
Ezīmptos laehossi
Hārossa letagon
Aōt vāedan

Hae mērot gierūli:
Se hāros bartossi
Prūmȳsa sōvīli
Gevī dāerī.”

As he finished the song, the huge dragon roared and unleashed a burst of flame off to the side—perhaps a warning, or a test. But the omega didn’t flinch. He simply stood his ground, meeting the dragon’s eyes as it studied him with curiosity.

“After all these years,” Daemon murmured, “You shall be ready for a new rider, Vermithor.”

—————————————

Baelon took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the pale wall in front of him, his mind replaying every terrible scenario he could imagine.

“Stop worrying so much,” his mother’s voice broke through his thoughts, making him turn to him.

“I’m not,” he shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.

“Sure,” the omega responded, a small smirk adorning his face. “When are you getting married?” Daemon crossed his arms over his chest, fixing his son with an expectant look.

Baelon almost choked on his own spit at the sudden question. “Muña!”

“What?” the omega asked, feigning offense. “I’m your mother—I should know these things.” He turned slightly to the side, his gaze never leaving the alpha, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

“Well, isn’t it your job to arrange that?” Baelon retorted, mimicking his mother’s stance.

“Typically, yes. But I wanted to let you choose for yourself,” Daemon shrugged, then reached out to ruffle his hair briefly. “But you are getting a little old,” he added, scrunching his nose in mock disgust.

“Muña!”

“I’m getting old too, and I want grandchildren,” the omega said, turning his back on him, ending the conversation on his own terms.

“Can’t you wait for Baela and Jace?” Baelon teased, smirking at his mother’s back. He looked away for a second and then yelped as he felt a sharp pinch on his arm. “Ugh.”

“Don’t talk about my baby like that. Jace and Baela won’t be in a room alone until they’re thirty,” Daemon laughed softly as his son glared at him, pouting like a child. “Are you ready now?”

“For wha— Oh. I see.” It was then Baelon realized what his mother was doing. He couldn’t help but smile at the omega’s subtle way of showing affection.

Baelon stepped forward to stand beside Daemon. Silently, he offered his arm, which the omega accepted with a raised eyebrow. They left the room together, heading toward the cave beneath the castle. Rhaenyra and Rhaena were already there, waiting for them.

Further ahead stood the dragonkeepers, holding large wooden staffs. Baelon released his mother’s arm, already knowing what he had to do. As the alpha stepped forward, the dragonkeepers began to sing the lullaby King Jaehaerys used to sing to Vermithor, hoping to summon the beast.

Daemon watched as his son walked closer to the edge of the high platform. He stayed behind with Rhaenyra and Rhaena, taking both their hands in his own for comfort—both theirs and his. The dragonkeepers’ voices echoed through the large, dark cavern, casting a solemn, reverent atmosphere. The omega could faintly hear Vermithor moving deeper in the cave. The great dragon was alone now—Silverwing had left Dragonstone shortly after their arrival.

Baelon stared into the dark void before him. Everything was still and quiet, apart from the song. He jumped slightly when he caught movement in the shadows. Slowly—deliberately—the golden beast emerged, approaching the high ledge where the young alpha stood. The dragonkeepers backed away cautiously, leaving Baelon alone in front of Vermithor.

He stared at the massive creature. For a long moment, he couldn’t move—not out of fear, but something else he couldn’t quite name. The dragon stared back, exhaling deeply, almost as if bored. Baelon tried to recall everything his mother had taught him about claiming a dragon, but in that moment, it all seemed to slip from his mind.

Instinctively, he reached out a hand, as though to touch him. Vermithor let out a low warning growl, causing Baelon to flinch and draw back slightly.

“Obey, Vermithor,” he commanded, as the dragon advanced with a louder growl. “Obey.”

Suddenly, Baelon caught the scent of burnt cherries—his mother’s distress. The golden dragon noticed it too; his eyes flicked briefly behind Baelon. He recognized the omega’s scent—Daemon had visited him many times before.

The great beast stopped, simply staring. Baelon didn’t know what the dragon was thinking—if he found him worthy, or if he hadn’t burned him simply because of that familiar scent. Either way, he was grateful.

Silence fell over the cavern, thick and expectant. It seemed as though everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see what Vermithor would do. Baelon couldn’t see them, but he was certain his mother was holding Rhaena in his arms, and that Rhaenyra was anxiously twisting her wedding ring. It didn’t really matter, but it seemed that in the face of possible death, his mind clung to small, meaningless details.

There was no turning back now. He was in too deep. Either he claimed the golden dragon—or he died. There was no other option.

With a dramatic exhale, he stepped closer to the edge and extended his arm again. With a firm voice, he spoke the command he had been taught. “Obey. Vermithor!”

The dragon seemed angered by the tone. He reared back, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. Baelon watched his massive snout open, and a warm glow began to build in his throat. The alpha could almost see himself being burned alive as the seconds stretched out—but at the last moment, the dragon turned his head to the side.

Baelon felt the heat of the fire scorch the air near his face, but he didn’t flinch. He stood firm, frowning deeply at the beast. He was starting to feel tired.

Vermithor stared at him once more, then, with a low growl, turned away as if to leave.

“Where are you going? Come back here!”

The dragon ignored him. Baelon could feel his anger boiling with every step Vermithor took. He knew it was a stupid idea—an incredibly dangerous one—but his need to prove himself was stronger than his good sense. After all these years, claiming a dragon would be the ultimate fuck you to every petulant lord and lady who had ever doubted him.

So, without thinking, he ran after the dragon, making his way down the high ledge via the stone stairs along the side.

“Baelon!” he heard his mother yell after him, but he ignored it completely, focused only on reaching Vermithor.

“Don’t walk away from me!” he shouted, boots skidding across the uneven stone as he chased after the massive beast. It was ridiculous—futile even—how easily Vermithor moved, his immense bulk slipping deeper into the shadows with surprising speed. Still, Baelon didn’t stop, he was too damn stubborn.

He pushed through the suffocating dark, the air damp and heavy with dragon musk and ancient ash. His chest burned with every breath, sweat beading along his brow. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to still see the faint glow of the high ledge above—but it was gone and swallowed by the dark. There was no turning back now.

The tunnel opened into a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in gloom. There, sprawled across the cold cavern floor, lay the golden beast. He rested like a sleeping god—majestic and utterly disinterested, eyes half-lidded, tail twitching lazily behind him. He looked bored.

Baelon squared his shoulders and stepped forward. He was an alpha, he wasn’t supposed to feel small. “Obey, Vermithor,” he called, voice firm despite the tremor in his limbs.

The dragon didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. “Obey me, Vermithor,” he tried again, louder.

This time, one golden eye cracked open, gleaming like molten metal in the dark. It settled on him for a beat, unreadable. Then, deliberately, Vermithor huffed and turned his head away.

Baelon’s jaw clenched, and he stepped closer. “I said listen—!”

Before he could finish, Vermithor let out a low growl, clearly annoyed. With terrifying swiftness, the dragon’s massive tail lashed out, sweeping across the cavern floor in a blur of motion. Baelon barely had time to throw himself to the side. The tail slammed into the rock where he’d just been standing, shattering stone and sending sharp debris flying. He rolled, coughing as dust filled the air, heart hammering in his ears.

The message was clear, but Baelon scrambled to his feet anyway, blood pounding in his temples. He wiped at a cut on his cheek with the back of his hand. He wasn’t afraid, not anymore, he was angry.

“I said—” his voice cracked with heat, his throat raw. He took a step forward, chest heaving.

Something snapped inside him. A surge of fire—not unlike the one Vermithor carried in his belly—rose from deep within.

“Listen to me!”

His voice came out deeper, rough, commanding. It surged from within him, laced with something primal and unfamiliar. It made the dragon halt mid-step, turning to fix its glowing eyes on him. The words had bounced off the damp cavern walls with terrifying strength.

Baelon stood there, panting, heart thundering in his chest. He had surprised himself. He had used his alpha voice for the first time in his life. It resonated through his very bones, the sound of it still vibrating in his chest. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever let loose before. Alphas were trained to control that voice, to wield it with caution. Most didn’t. They used it to subdue, to command submission from betas and omegas, to assert dominance. It was often cruel, a legacy of power warped by pride.

Baelon had sworn never to use it that way. But this wasn’t about dominance. This was about survival. About proving himself to a creature of fire and legend. About earning something, not taking it.

Vermithor had stopped walking. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air again, the scent of Baelon mingling with the cavern’s sulfur and ash. The dragon let out a slow, rumbling breath, something ancient and contemplative. His great golden head turned toward the young man once more.

Baelon didn’t move. Didn’t speak again. He only met those massive molten eyes and let the silence thicken between them. And then—slowly—Vermithor lowered his head. The dragon’s chest rose and fell heavily, his great wings half-spread, not in threat but readiness. He exhaled one last time, the warm gust ruffling Baelon's dark hair.

He took one cautious step forward, then another. When Vermithor didn’t move, he pressed on, walking toward the ancient dragon until he was within reach. His hands trembled slightly as he reached out and laid a hand on the beast’s scaled snout. The skin beneath was rough, warm, alive. A spark ignited deep in his chest, a bond so deep he could feel it running through his veins.

Vermithor grunted low in his throat, and Baelon moved with sure feet toward the beast’s side, climbing onto the natural grooves of his neck. As he settled into place, his fingers finding steady holds, the dragon shifted beneath him. And then, with a deafening roar, Vermithor spread his wings and leapt up, soaring out of the mouth of the cavern.

Baelon didn’t know how long he had been flying, but the sun was now setting as Vermithor circled once before descending. His massive wings kicked up clouds of dust as he landed gracefully before the gathered family. Baelon slid from the dragon's back, his boots hitting the ground just as Baela reached him first, throwing her arms around his neck with a triumphant shout.

"You did it!" she cried, her usual composure shattered by excitement. Rhaena followed, her beta scent sweet with relief as she pressed close to both her siblings.

Daemon approached more slowly, but his pride shone brighter than the sun on Vermithor's scales. He cupped Baelon's face with both hands, their foreheads touching briefly in a silent communion words couldn't match. When he pulled back, his violet eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "My dragon rider," he murmured, voice thick.

His mother wrapped him in a crushing embrace, clinging as if he might vanish if he loosened his grip. Baelon felt the omega's quiet sniffles against his shoulder as he returned the hug, rubbing comforting circles across his back.

"I'm fine, mother," he whispered near his ear. "Don't worry."

Daemon pulled back just enough to cradle the alpha's face between his hands. "I'm your mother, worrying is what I do," the omega murmured before pressing a tender kiss to his cheek.

As Daemon stepped aside, Rhaenyra approached. Her posture remained regally straight, the softness in her demeanor balanced by an unmistakable air of queenship. The alpha studied Baelon with solemn intensity for several heartbeats before the corners of her lips lifted in a small, genuine smile. Her eyes warmed as she reached out to brush her fingers lightly against his cheek, the touch fleeting yet meaningful.

"Good job, Baelon," she said, her voice carrying both gentleness and quiet authority.

Before he could respond, Maester Gerardys came hurrying across the beach, a parchment clutched in his hand. "Your Grace! A raven from Driftmark!"

Rhaenyra turned sharply. "What?" she demanded as the maester reached them, breathless.

"Silverwing has been sighted," Gerardys panted, pausing to catch his breath, "with what appears to be a new rider."

Without hesitation, Rhaenyra strode back toward the castle. Daemon moved to follow, but the alpha's commanding voice stopped him mid-step. "Stay." The omega froze, momentarily stunned by her decisive tone.

The queen marched directly to the dragon cave where Syrax waited, the dragonkeepers flanking the platform as she mounted. With a single command, the golden dragon spread her wings and launched into the sky, disappearing toward Driftmark.

Daemon watched until Syrax became a distant speck against the clouds. Though every instinct urged him to follow, one glance at his children waiting nearby anchored him. He extended his hand toward them. "Let's go inside."

—————————————

The salt-laced winds of the Narrow Sea whipped at Rhaenyra's face as Syrax descended toward the rocky shore east of Driftmark. Below, the pale bulk of Silverwing stood motionless on the shore, her pearlescent scales glimmering like moonlit waves. Before her stood a dark-haired youth, barely a man, his hands raised in surrender as Lord Corlys' men kept their spears leveled at his back.

"Your Grace!" Lord Corlys called as Syrax's shadow passed over them. The Sea Snake stood bareheaded in the wind, his silver hair whipping about his face. "This is Addam of Hull. He claims Silverwing came to him."

Rhaenyra dismounted with practiced ease, her boots sinking slightly into the wet sand. Up close, she saw the boy bore the strong jaw and sea-gray eyes of House Velaryon, though his roughspun tunic marked him as no nobleborn son. Silverwing rumbled low in her throat when Rhaenyra approached, the dragon's golden eyes tracking her every movement.

"You claimed Silverwing?" Rhaenyra asked, her voice cutting through the crash of waves.

The man, Addam, swallowed hard. "She came to me, Your Grace. In the marshes near Spicetown. I only tried to keep my distance, Your Grace, but yesterday she let me touch her." He lifted a trembling hand toward Silverwing's snout. The great she-dragon leaned into the contact with a contented rumble that shook the pebbles at their feet.

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Corlys. The old lord's expression was unreadable, but his fingers tapped restlessly against the pommel of his sword. Her gaze then traveled to Laenor, who stood firm next to his father. He only subtly nodded at her, his intent clear.

"You understand what this means?" Rhaenyra asked the boy. "Silverwing was the mount of Good Queen Alysanne. To claim her is no small thing."

Addam's eyes darted between the queen and the dragon. "I never meant to claim anything, Your Grace. Only... she seemed lonely."

A gust of the sea carried the scent of brine and dragon to Rhaenyra's nose. Silverwing's attention remained fixed on Addam with singular devotion, the way she’d heard Caraxes once looked at Daemon when they were newly bonded. The truth settled in her chest like a stone.

"Silverwing has chosen," Rhaenyra announced. The guards lowered their spears. "Addam of Hull, my husband will arrange for your training as a dragonrider."

Corlys stepped forward, his sea-worn face softening as he clasped the boy's shoulder as a sign of acceptance. 

Rhaenyra felt her husband’s eyes on her, turning to look at him, she caught his bright eyes and radiant smile. Laenor then turned to Addam, and with a swift, enthusiastic nod, he followed behind his father. 

As the men dispersed, Rhaenyra lingered by the shore. Silverwing had waded closer to the sea, her wings spread to catch the sea wind while Addam stroked her neck with reverent hands. The sight stirred old memories.

A raven's cry overhead broke her reverie. She looked up to see the bird circling against the gathering clouds, no doubt bearing word from Dragonstone. She tried not to, but she couldn’t help letting a horrible feeling settle in her stomach.

—————————————

About an hour had passed since Rhaenyra's departure when Daemon began pacing the map room relentlessly. Baelon, Baela, and Rhaena watched him with growing exasperation, powerless to calm the agitated omega.

"Muña, she'll be fine," Rhaena said, her eyes tracking her mother's restless movements. "She's with Lord Corlys and Laenor." Daemon paused briefly to fix her with a worried glance before resuming his pacing. The beta offered a reassuring smile that did little to ease his tension.

"And they have Syrax and Seasmoke," Baela added. "Two against one if it comes to that." Her attempt at comfort proved equally ineffective.

"She's nearby, muña," Baelon chimed in. "You need to stop worrying—it's not good at your age." His sisters stifled giggles as the omega whirled to glare at him.

Daemon opened his mouth to retort when a familiar dragon's roar cut through the air. A Kingsguard burst in urgently. "Your Grace! Sunfyre is fastly approaching!"

At the dragon's name, white-hot fury surged through Baelon. Acting on instinct, he sprinted from the castle toward the beach where Vermithor rested. Without a word, the great bronze dragon understood. Baelon vaulted into the saddle and with a single command, Vermithor's massive wings unfurled, carrying them skyward in pursuit of the golden dragon streaking toward King's Landing.

Watching his son depart, Daemon immediately understood his intent. He turned toward the dragon caves where Caraxes and Moondancer waited, his daughters close behind. "Don't—"

"I'm coming with you!" Baela declared.

"No," Daemon commanded, already mounting Caraxes. "You're staying here. Don't argue."

"But—" Rhaena tried to interject.

"Stay." Though he didn't raise his voice, his tone brooked no opposition.

Caraxes shrieked as he launched from the cave mouth. Undeterred, Baela dashed to Moondancer. "What are you doing? Mother said—"

"I don't care what he said," Baela snapped, swinging into the saddle. "Vhagar could be close behind. They'll need help." Before Rhaena could protest further, Moondancer surged skyward.

Sunfyre flew like prey fleeing predators. Aegon, barely conscious in his saddle, clung desperately as his dragon veered erratically through the darkening sky. Baelon urged Vermithor onward, the ancient dragon's powerful wingbeats closing the distance with terrifying speed.

As they neared King’s Landing, Vermithor let out a thunderous roar. Sunfyre twisted midair, nearly unseating his drunken rider. Baelon leaned forward, his voice cutting through the wind. "Vermithor! Dracarys!"

A torrent of flame erupted from the Bronze Fury's mouth. Sunfyre banked sharply, but the fire caught his wingtip, sending golden scales scattering like coins into the sea below. The younger dragon shrieked in pain, his flight growing more erratic.

From the north, Caraxes' distinctive shriek pierced the air as Daemon arrived. The Blood Wyrm dove like a crimson spear, forcing Sunfyre into a desperate spiral that nearly threw Aegon from the saddle. The usurper king screamed, his hands slipping on the reins as his dragon flailed.

Baelon saw his chance. "Vermithor! Dracarys!" he commanded, and the Bronze Fury unleashed another torrent of flame. Sunfyre twisted violently, but the fire caught his leg, sending molten gold scales raining into the water below. The wounded dragon shrieked in pain, his movements growing more erratic.

Aegon, his drunken haze pierced by terror, yanked Sunfyre's reins hard. The golden dragon wheeled about with surprising speed, his maw opening wide as he prepared to return fire directly at Vermithor's exposed flank.

Baelon barely had time to react before Moondancer shot between them like an emerald bolt. "Baelon, move!" Baela's warning came a heartbeat too late.

Sunfyre's flames struck Moondancer's wing instead. The green dragon screamed as fire licked across her membranes, but Baela held firm, driving her mount forward through the blaze. As the smoke cleared, Sunfyre's tail whipped around in a vicious arc—Baela barely raised Moondancer's claws in time to block the crushing blow meant for Vermithor's head.

The impact sent shockwaves through both dragons. Moondancer reeled backward, her injured wing faltering as she struggled to stay airborne. Baela clutched at a sudden, searing pain in her side—a broken rib, maybe worse. Blood trickled from where the saddle's edge had bitten into her waist.

"Baela!" Baelon's shout was raw with panic as he saw his sister's dragon begin descending rapidly toward a narrow strip of beach below. Vermithor roared in fury, turning to pursue Sunfyre with renewed vengeance, but Baelon wrenched his attention back to his falling sister.

Daemon was already there. Caraxes streaked beneath the faltering Moondancer, the Blood Wyrm's massive body acting as a cushion as the smaller dragon crash-landed on the rocky shore. Baelon landed Vermithor beside them before the dust had even settled, leaping from his saddle to where Baela now lay half-conscious against Moondancer's heaving side.

"Fool girl!" Daemon was already at her side, his hands shaking as they assessed the damage. The omega's scent had gone sharp with panic beneath its usual burnt cherries. "You were supposed to stay at Dragonstone!"

Baela coughed, a trickle of blood appearing at the corner of her mouth. "Since when...do I...follow orders?" she managed, though the words came out strained.

Baelon's hands clenched into fists as he looked up to the golden beast now flying away from the capital, its form now disappearing into the distance. The sight of his injured sister and the scent of her blood stoked his fury. Vermithor growled low in his throat, sensing his rider's rage.

"We finish this," Baelon growled, turning back toward his dragon.

Daemon's hand snapped out to grip his wrist with surprising strength. "No." The omega's voice brooked no argument, his violet eyes blazing. "Your sister needs a maester. And you need to think before you get yourself or others killed."

The truth of it settled like heavy stones in Baelon's gut. As much as he wanted to pursue Aegon, to end this here and now, Baela's labored breathing kept him rooted to the spot. With a final, frustrated glance toward the distance, he knelt beside his sister, helping Daemon stabilize her for the flight back.

—————————————

A few days later

Daemon surveyed the golden-clad alphas surrounding him, his sharp gaze moving across their determined faces. He stood in the Red Keep's courtyard, his Gold Cloaks arrayed before him, awaiting orders. Clad in heavy armor engraved with Caraxes' likeness, his old commander's golden cloak draped across his shoulders, he cut an imposing figure. Among the watchmen stood his eldest son, Baelon, wearing the City Watch uniform with quiet pride.

Since the clash with Aegon and Sunfyre, much had changed. Baelon had helped him bring the injured Baela back to Dragonstone, where Maester Gerardys had immediately tended to the young alpha's wounds. Rhaenyra had returned soon after, finding Daemon in the midst of reprimanding their reckless son once the maester had cleared him.

The queen's fury had been expected—and justified. She'd prepared to return to King's Landing at once, needing to see their other children. Daemon had longed to accompany her, but with Baela confined to bedrest and forbidden from dragonflight, he'd remained behind with her, Rhaena, and Baelon—neither sibling willing to leave their family's side.

Now back in the capital with no sign of enemy dragons approaching, Daemon refused to remain idle any longer. With Rhaenyra's blessing, he'd assembled the City Watch and volunteers ready to fight for their rightful queen.

The omega's piercing gaze swept across the gathered forces, meeting each soldier's eyes in turn. When he stepped forward, every eye locked onto him. "My wife's claim is under threat," he began, voice carrying across the courtyard. "The false king Aegon endangers our city and our people."

He paused, observing how his words held them rapt. "In recent months, we've won countless battles and taken territory from the Greens, but the war continues." His eyes found Ser Luthor's before continuing. "You'll join the troops marching to Harrenhal. My son Baelon will patrol the skies with Vermithor while I ride ahead to treat with Lord Strong."

Turning to address them all, he drove his point home: "I expect nothing but success. You've trained for this—now prove your worth."

Their unified shout of affirmation satisfied the omega. "Prepare tonight. You depart at dawn."

As the crowd dispersed, Ser Luthor and Baelon approached. Daemon gestured for them to follow as he strode back into the Red Keep. "With Harrenhal secured, the Riverlands will join our cause. Combined with the North and Vale, we'll raise an army the Greens cannot hope to match."

He stopped abruptly, gripping his son's shoulders. "I know this assignment displeases you, but your role is vital to our safe arrival at Harrenhal." When Baelon opened his mouth to protest, Daemon pressed on. "Promise me you'll stay focused. Let nothing distract you from this mission."

"Mother—"

"Promise me." Daemon's voice cracked with emotion, tears glistening unshed in his eyes. “I need you to promise me.”

Baelon froze before his mother's raw expression. "I promise."

A small, watery smile touched Daemon's lips as he kissed his son's cheek before turning toward Rhaenyra's chambers, Ser Luthor at his heels.

At dawn, Daemon stood in the Dragonpit stroking Caraxes' snout as he prepared to mount. Turning, he saw Baelon doing the same with Vermithor. His son wore flexible yet sturdy armor designed for dragonback comfort, while Daemon had his usual plate and helm. Their assembled forces waited at the city gates, ready to march when Vermithor took to the skies.

After a final, heartfelt farewell, Daemon climbed into Caraxes' saddle and secured the straps. The mating bite Rhaenyra had left on his neck, as goodbye, itched as the Blood Wyrm spread his wings and launched toward Harrenhal. As he soared over King's Landing, Vermithor's answering roar signaled Baelon's departure.

Daemon resisted the urge to look back, suppressing his longing to return to his family. This war would end, whatever the cost.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra stared at her two alpha sons standing resolutely before her. Their serious expressions made her wish their request had been in jest. With Daemon and Baelon departed alongside the Gold Cloaks and volunteers the previous day, and Kingsguard temporarily assuming watch duties, the castle stood vulnerable.

Jace and Luke had just volunteered to patrol the skies on Vermax and Arrax. Their determined faces left no doubt of their sincerity. Rhaenyra knew the strategic value—with half their forces gone, aerial patrols could prevent surprise dragon attacks. Yet the thought of her sons facing danger unsettled her deeply.

They were still so young. While Rhaenys remained an option, the queen needed her counsel close. Addam trained under Laenor, and Baela remained grounded by injury. That left only Jace and Luke. Rhaenyra studied their faces, committing every feature to memory.

Stepping closer, she knelt to meet their eyes. "You are to patrol only," she said firmly, locking gazes with Jace. "No engagements. If you spot an enemy dragon, you return immediately to report. Promise me you won't seek battle, Jace."

"I promise," her heir answered without hesitation.

Satisfied, Rhaenyra turned to Luke. "I need you to deliver a message to the Vale."

"But—"

"No arguments," she interrupted. "You serve as messenger only - no combat. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Luke nodded, though a small frown creased his brow.

Rising, she gathered both boys in a tight embrace, pressing kisses to their foreheads. They lingered in the moment before she sent them to prepare. Later, at the Dragonpit, she bid them farewell with a heavy heart, watching until Vermax and Arrax became distant specks.

Twisting her wedding ring anxiously, she took small comfort in Jace patrolling nearby while Luke's longer journey unsettled her. At least the Vale lay far from Green strongholds in Oldtown, she reasoned.

The previous night's discussion with Daemon returned to her—their decision to send their youngest children and Rhaena to Lady Jeyne Arryn's protection, along with Stormcloud and Syrax's three newest eggs. Were it their choice alone, all their children would be sent to safety, but mature dragons remained crucial against Vhagar's threat.

With a sigh, Rhaenyra turned from the empty sky. Her Kingsguard escorted her to the waiting carriage where she sought to calm her racing thoughts. Her family now scattered across the realm, she could only pray for their swift and safe return.

—————————————

The black and grey clouds swallowed the blue sky above as the pouring rain blurred Daemon's vision. Caraxes' shriek cut through the loud raindrops pounding the water below. A flash of thunder illuminated the dark, looming silhouette of the ruined castle in the distance.

Caraxes soared forward and landed atop one of the tallest remaining towers. The omega could hear terrified screams rising above the storm's roar, though he couldn't discern their source below. The Blood Wyrm descended further, settling on the crumbling stairs leading to the main entrance where his rider dismounted.

Daemon climbed the slick stone steps, half-expecting to encounter guards or some form of resistance, but found none. He entered the castle with Dark Sister gripped firmly in his hand, prepared for any attack. Only the relentless patter of rain broke the silence–no voices, no footsteps, just an eerie emptiness that made the fortress appear completely deserted. He might have believed Harrenhal abandoned were it not for his certain knowledge that the Strongs still resided within.

He advanced cautiously through the damp, shadowed corridors, his armor creaking and grinding with each careful step. Navigating the unfamiliar layout set his heart racing as he rounded each corner, muscles tensed for an ambush that never came.

The omega moved with deliberate care down an especially long hallway, unable to make out any figures at the far end. He kept Dark Sister raised, his grip iron-tight, ready to counter any attack that might come his way.

"Daemon..."

He whirled around at the whisper, finding nothing but empty darkness behind him. The female voice had seemed so real he could have sworn he felt breath against his neck.

Shaking off the unease prickling his spine, he pressed forward until reaching the hallway's end. Rounding the corner revealed a steep flight of stairs descending into blackness. With no alternative path, he moved downward, his boots echoing on the concrete steps.

At the bottom, he passed through a small archway into a dark, empty chamber. Nearby stood a taller arch where Daemon heard a soft sigh. Adjusting his grip on Dark Sister, he stepped through the opening and finally encountered a guard.

The man showed no reaction–didn't startle, didn't reach for his weapon when Daemon appeared. Adrenaline surged through the omega's veins, his pulse pounding in his ears. When the guard made no move to attack, anger flared hot along his spine. Unable to restrain himself, he shoved the man aside violently before striding past to throw open the massive wooden doors.

Inside lay a scene of surreal tranquility that starkly contrasted the storm-wracked ruins outside. At the center of a large round table sat who Daemon presumed was Ser Simon Strong, flanked by two younger men who might have been his sons or nephews.

"Harrenhal now belongs to the rightful heir, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen," Daemon declared, raising Dark Sister as both warning and symbol.

The portly beta looked up from his meal with unsettling calm. "Well, of course it does."

He rose and circled the table to approach Daemon. After a brief glance at the omega's face, his gaze dropped as he sank to one knee. Daemon stared in stunned silence at this effortless surrender.

The beta turned to glare at the two men still seated. Under his stern gaze, they scrambled to their feet and knelt, eyes downcast. Daemon could only watch dumbfounded, momentarily uncertain how to proceed.

He was lowering his sword when movement caught his eye–a woman gliding into the chamber from a side passage. Her pitch black hair cascaded over pale shoulders, framing skin so white it seemed to glow against her pale blue gown. While the others had averted their eyes, hers remained locked on Daemon with unsettling intensity as she approached the table. Her refusal to kneel or show any deference piqued his curiosity even as it unsettled him.

"Would you like some supper, Your Grace?"

—————————————

Four days later 

The skies above the Riverlands had turned the color of bruised flesh, heavy with the promise of rain. Baelon sat astride Vermithor, the Bronze Fury's massive wings carving through the damp air as they shadowed the column of Gold Cloaks marching toward Harrenhal. From this height, the men below looked like ants winding through the green-and-brown patchwork of fields and forests, their spears glinting dully in the diffused light. The damp air carried the scent of wet earth and the faint metallic tang of armor.

Then he saw them, a second force, smaller but gleaming in crimson and gold, moving along the river road from the west. The Lannister banners snapped in the wind, their golden lions roaring defiantly against the gathering gloom. Baelon's stomach tightened. They weren't supposed to be here. The Greens had sent them—likely to reinforce whatever resistance awaited at Harrenhal, or perhaps to ambush the Gold Cloaks before they could reach the castle.

Vermithor rumbled beneath him, sensing his rider's tension through the bond they shared. The dragon's great head swung toward the enemy, nostrils flaring as if he could already smell the blood to be spilled. The beast's muscles tensed, wings adjusting minutely to the shifting winds, ready to strike at his rider's command.

Baelon didn't hesitate; he leaned forward, his voice cutting through the wind as he urged Vermithor downward. The dragon's wings folded tightly against his body as they plunged toward the Lannister host in a near-vertical dive. The wind screamed in Baelon's ears, tearing at his clothes, the ground rushing up to meet them with terrifying speed. At the last moment, when it seemed they might crash into the earth itself, Vermithor spread his wings with a thunderous snap, leveling out just above the treetops. His shadow, vast and monstrous, swallowed the soldiers below whole.

The first screams rose as the men looked up, their faces twisting in horror. Some froze where they stood, their training forgotten in the face of dragonfire. Others turned to run, only to collide with their comrades in the press of panicked bodies. A few of the bolder knights shouted orders, trying to rally their men, but their voices were lost in the growing chaos.

"Dracarys."

Vermithor's roar shook the earth before the fire came—a torrent of molten gold, pouring from the dragon's jaws in a sweeping arc that lit the twilight with hellish brilliance. The flames engulfed the front ranks, turning men into writhing, screaming torches. The heat was so intense that armor melted like wax, fusing with flesh beneath. The stench of burning meat and oiled steel filled the air, thick enough to choke on, to taste at the back of the throat.

Chaos erupted below. The Lannister lines shattered as soldiers scrambled back, some trampling their own wounded in their panic. A few brave—or foolish—archers loosed arrows, but they bounced harmlessly off Vermithor's scales, their efforts as useless as throwing pebbles at a mountain. Baelon banked hard, Vermithor responding to the shift in his weight with effortless grace, circling back for another pass.

Below, the Gold Cloaks had seized the moment, surging forward with a roar that rivaled Vermithor's. Their disciplined ranks crashed into the disarrayed Lannister forces like a hammer against brittle iron. Steel met steel in a cacophony of clashing swords and dying screams. Baelon caught glimpses of the fighting as he wheeled above—a Gold Cloak driving his spear into a knight's throat, a Lannister swordsman collapsing as an axe split his skull, a man crawling through the mud, his entrails spilling from a gut wound. Baelon dove again.

This time, Vermithor's fire raked across the Lannister reserves, igniting supply wagons in explosions of splintered wood and flame. Barrels of pitch and oil went up with thunderous detonations, sending fiery debris raining down on those unfortunate enough to be nearby. Horses screamed, breaking free of their tethers to bolt in terror, their eyes rolling white with panic. A knight in ornate, gilded armor—some lesser lord, no doubt—raised his sword as if to challenge the dragon himself. Vermithor snapped him up in a single bite, the crunch of metal and bone audible even over the battle's din. The dragon shook his massive head once, like a hound with a rat, before spitting out the ruined corpse.

By the third pass, the Lannisters were broken beyond repair. Those still alive fled in every direction, some throwing down their weapons in surrender, others drowning themselves in the river rather than face the dragon's wrath. A handful of knights tried to rally around a banner, but a final gout of flame reduced them to blackened skeletons clutching melted swords.

Baelon pulled Vermithor up, circling high to survey the carnage. The field was a charred ruin, littered with blackened corpses and the stink of death. The Gold Cloaks moved among the fallen with grim efficiency, finishing off the wounded and stripping the dead of anything valuable. Here and there, a Lannister squire or young soldier wept as he was dragged to his feet, his future now that of a prisoner or a hostage.

A grim satisfaction settled in Baelon's chest. This was war, not the careful politics of court, not the whispered schemes of lords—just fire and blood. The thought should have sickened him, perhaps, but instead, he felt a strange clarity. 

Vermithor roared again, the sound shaking the earth beneath them, his victory cry echoing through smoke-filled skies. At Baelon's command, the great beast descended, his massive wings stirring up dust and ash as he landed. The alpha dismounted and strode toward the dying embers of battle, where the last remnants of chaos flickered like guttering candles.

His eyes scanned the field as he moved, searching for Ser Luthor among the surviving Gold Cloaks. He dispatched wounded enemies along the way - a mercy, though a grim one - while silently tallying their losses. Most importantly, he needed confirmation that his mother's sworn sword still stood among the living.

The breath he hadn't realized he was holding escaped his lips when his gaze finally found Ser Luthor's imposing figure. The alpha knight towered over the other soldiers, his posture rigid with authority as he stared down at a cowering man kneeling in the dirt. The prisoner's fine armor marked him as a commander, or at least some high-ranking officer among the Lannister forces.

Baelon approached, coming to stand behind Ser Luthor. "One of their commanders," he observed. "What should we do with him?"

Ser Luthor's lips curled into a smirk as the prisoner's eyes widened in panic. "As much as I'd enjoy ending his misery," he said, "we'll take him prisoner. He might prove useful."

Baelon stepped forward and knelt, bringing himself eye-level with the trembling man. "You should pray to your gods that you are," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. Straightening, he turned to address the gathered soldiers. "We'll make camp deeper in the forest! We march at first light!"

—————————————

Daemon stared up at the ceiling of the dark room, the only sound the raindrops dripping onto the damp concrete floor. Ser Simon had provided him with a large chamber in Harrenhal—worthy of a king, he had claimed—but he’d neglected to mention the numerous holes littering the ceiling.

The incessant, repetitive sound was enough to steal his sleep. He turned in bed, seeking comfort, but loneliness crept slowly over him. The omega let out an irritated sigh and rose swiftly, determined to silence the unceasing noise.

In the corner of the room, he spotted a pile of metal buckets, likely left by the previous occupant. He placed them beneath the dripping water, only to make the sound worse. Now, instead of the soft patter of droplets against concrete, the sharp clang of water striking metal filled the air.

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted beyond the chamber door. Daemon turned toward it, startled. Flickering light seeped through the narrow gap beneath the wood. With hesitant steps, he approached and pushed against the door. To his surprise, it didn’t yield—it barely moved, as though barricaded from the outside.

Panic surged through him, memories of Runestone flooding his mind. He pulled at the door frantically, desperation clawing at him. The wood refused to budge—until heavy footsteps halted on the other side.

Then came a metallic clang, like something hitting the floor. The shadow beyond the door vanished. Daemon wrenched it open, snatched Dark Sister from where it leaned against the wall, and stepped out. To the left, a dark silhouette rounded a corner.

He followed with swift strides, trailing the figure through long, shadowed halls until they slipped into a candlelit room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Daemon approached cautiously, Dark Sister gripped tightly in his hands. Dread coiled in his spine as he pushed the door open softly.

Before him stood the back of a painfully familiar figure. Her silver curls cascaded nearly to her waist, and her light blue-and-gold dress shimmered in the firelight, which danced across her deep bronze skin.

Daemon froze in the doorway, struck by the sight of what could only be a ghost. Before him stood Laena—his former wife, his alpha. A woman whose corpse he had cradled, carried back, and watched sink into the sea. It was impossible.

“Have you forgotten how I looked already?” Her voice, smooth and familiar, shattered the night’s silence.

Daemon frowned. “I could never forget you.”

“You’ve always been a bad liar,” she said, still not turning to face him.

“I’ve never lied to you.” He shook his head, longing to step closer but fearing what he might find—or not find. He had done many things, but he had never lied to Laena during their marriage. He had confessed every encounter with Rhaenyra, had always told his late wife the truth of what passed between them. Despite Laena’s suspicions, he had never taken his niece to bed while wed to her.

“You promised you would find my killer. Yet after all these years, all you’ve done is build another family.” Finally, she turned, and she looked just as she had the last time he’d seen her alive. Tears welled in the omega’s eyes, threatening to fall. “Did you ever really love me?”

“I did love you. I still love you.” He ached to reach for her hand but dreaded the absence of warmth, the chill of death. “Every time I look at our daughters, I think of you.”

The tears spilled over, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion. “I wish it had been different, Laena.”

A sudden noise behind him made him flinch. He spun toward it but found nothing. When he turned back, Laena was gone. Frantic, he searched the room, panic rising when he found no trace of her.

Another sound, softer this time, drew his attention. In the doorway stood Ser Simon, clad in a gray-and-gold nightgown, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Your Grace?” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Come, you shouldn’t wander these halls alone at night.”

The beta beckoned him, guiding him back to his chambers. Daemon followed without protest, the eerie encounter lingering in his mind. Once inside, he rifled through his satchel for the scent-soaked garments his children and Rhaenyra had left him.

Clutching them tightly, he climbed into the vast, empty bed and pulled the covers over himself. He pressed the fabric to his nose, breathing in the mingled scents of his family. It was incomplete—but enough, at last, to lull the exhausted omega to sleep.

—————————————

The next night

Sleep did not come easily the next night. Daemon lay in the same drafty chamber, the holes in the ceiling now patched haphazardly by some servant, though the scent of damp stone and old iron still clung to the air. He had drunk more wine than usual, hoping to drown the memory of Laena's ghost—or hallucination, or whatever madness had seized him. Yet when he closed his eyes, he still saw her, still heard her voice.

A sharp knock jolted him from his thoughts. Frowning, he sat up. No one should have been disturbing him at this hour. Before he could call out, the door creaked open on its own. Two figures stood framed in the doorway, silhouetted by flickering torchlight from the hall.

One was a girl—no, a young woman—her silver-gold hair braided loosely over one shoulder, her lilac eyes sharp with accusation. She wore a gown of black and red, the colors of House Targaryen. Behind her stood a boy no older than ten, his features achingly familiar: the same strong jaw, the same defiant tilt to his chin.

Rhaenyra and Baelon—but not as they were now. This was Rhaenyra as she had been in her youth, when she was still trapped in the Red Keep, wed to Laenor and suffocating under Alicent's schemes. And Baelon—his son, but younger, smaller, his face unmarked by the years of hardship that had hardened him.

Daemon's breath caught. "This isn't real."

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her voice brittle. "Isn't it?"

The omega flinched. They both looked so real, yet he knew they couldn't possibly be there. He retreated backward until his back hit the opposite wall, trapping him between stone and specters.

"You should have taken me when I asked." Her voice was low, venomous—not the playful teasing of their youth, nor the heated arguments of their marriage. This was fury, honed by years of bitterness.

"You should have wed me the first time I begged you to." Her fingers curled into fists. "Instead, you left me to rot in that damned castle. You let them marry me to Laenor. You let Alicent whisper her lies until the whole court believed my sons were bastards."

Daemon opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off.

"If you had birthed them, no one would have dared question it." Her laugh was hollow. "But you were too busy being a coward."

The words struck like a knife between his ribs. He had wanted her. He had loved her, even then. But he had hesitated—because of Viserys, because of his own pride, because he had been too entangled in his games to see what she was truly offering.

Before he could speak, Baelon stepped forward. "And you stayed with her." The boy's voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of judgment. Daemon's stomach twisted. He needed no explanation of whom the boy meant.

"Rhae Royce," Baelon spat. "You let her lock you in the dark. You let her call you weak. And when she went too far, you didn't stop her. Not until it was too late."

Daemon's throat tightened. "I didn't know she would-"

"You knew." Baelon's eyes burned with accusation. "You knew she wouldn't make it past the day, all thanks to that woman, but it was too late."

"Alyssa..." A ghostly whisper brushed against his ear, a cruel reminder of what he had lost through his own hesitation. A punishment, perhaps—retribution for all the pain he had caused those he loved most.

The truth of it struck him like a physical blow. He had known. He had endured Rhae's scorn, her cruelty, because he'd been too proud to admit defeat. Too stubborn to crawl back to Viserys and beg release from the marriage. And by the time he'd finally broken free, the damage had been done—to him, to his son, to the family he might have had if he'd been braver.

Rhaenyra's voice cut through the silence like Valyrian steel. "You always waited too long. With me. With her. With everything." She shook her head, her silver-gold hair catching the dim light. "And we paid the price for it."

A sudden gust of wind howled through the chamber, snuffing out the candles. When the light returned, they were gone. Only the echo of their words remained, ringing in his skull like a funeral bell.

—————————————

A day later

The first crack of thunder had been Luke's only warning. One moment, the night sky stretched clear above Blackwater Bay, stars winking as Arrax's wings cut smoothly through the cool air. The next darkness. A wall of storm clouds swallowed the moon whole, and the winds turned savage, howling through the cliffs like a chorus of dying men. Rain came in horizontal sheets, stinging Luke's face as though the sky itself sought to flay him alive.

He was returning from delivering Rhaenyra's message to Lady Jeyne Arryn in the Vale. The Lady of the Eyrie had accepted his mother's request, but with one condition—dragonriders to protect her realm. Now, racing back to Dragonstone with these terms, what should have been a swift, uneventful flight had become a nightmare journey through the storm's wrath.

Beneath him, Arrax trembled—not from exhaustion, but fear. Luke could feel it in the dragon's hitched wingbeats, in the panicked rhythm of his breaths. An unsettling prickling at the back of his neck whispered they were being hunted, though when he scanned the roiling clouds, he saw nothing but darkness. Gritting his teeth, he urged Arrax onward, leaning low against the dragon's neck.

Arrax's shriek tore through the tempest, barely audible above the wind's roar. The young dragon's wings pumped furiously, muscles straining against the punishing gale. Luke's fingers had gone numb around the reins, his knuckles white with tension.

Then movement in the darkness behind them. At first, just a deeper shadow among shadows, then suddenly vast and terrible, swallowing the storm itself, Vhagar. The ancient war-dragon emerged like some nightmare made flesh, her tattered wings carving through the tempest with terrifying ease. And there, astride her scaled back, Aemond, his silver hair whipping in the wind, his single violet eye burning with cold triumph through the rain-lashed night.

"Little nephew!" Aemond's voice cut through the storm, mocking and cruel. "Did you truly think you could slip away unnoticed?"

Luke's blood turned to ice. He wrenched the reins hard left as Vhagar's massive jaws snapped shut mere feet behind them, the heat of her breath searing his back even through the driving rain. His heart hammered against his ribs like a caged beast as he desperately scanned their surroundings, but the storm had stolen all landmarks—there was no telling how far they remained from Dragonstone's safety.

"Arrax, down!" Luke shouted, urging his dragon into a desperate plunge toward the churning sea. The waves below rose like black mountains, their foaming crests glowing eerily in the lightning flashes. Vhagar followed without hesitation, her massive shadow swallowing them whole as she gave chase.

Arrax twisted mid-air with a shriek as Vhagar's talons raked through the space where they'd just been. The near miss sent terror lancing through Luke's veins. He could feel Arrax tiring, the dragon's wingbeats were growing uneven, his muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Spotting a cluster of jagged sea stacks jutting from the waves, Luke banked sharply, weaving between the stone spires that rose like broken teeth from the dark water. Vhagar, too massive for such precise maneuvers, was forced to circle around, her frustrated roar shaking the very air. The brief reprieve lasted only moments—Aemond would not be denied so easily.

With terrifying grace for her size, Vhagar climbed high above them, then folded her wings and dropped like a falling star. Luke had only seconds to react before the ancient dragon was upon them again. Arrax screamed in pain as Vhagar's claws grazed his tail, the impact sending them into a sickening spiral. Luke clung desperately to the saddle, his vision swimming as the world whirled around them.

Somehow, Arrax righted himself, wings beating furiously to regain altitude. Luke gasped for breath, his hands shaking as he wiped rainwater from his eyes. The storm seemed to intensify around them, lightning splitting the sky in brilliant forks that illuminated the nightmare chase, the smaller, agile dragon fleeing before the relentless advance of the largest living creature in Westeros.

"Faster, Arrax!" Luke urged, though he knew his mount was giving everything he had. They ducked beneath a low shelf of storm clouds, hoping to lose their pursuers in the tempest's chaos. For a few precious moments, the world shrank to the howl of wind and the sting of rain, then Vhagar burst through the cloud bank above them, her massive form haloed by lightning.

Aemond's laughter rang out, triumphant. "You cannot hide from me, nephew!"

Luke's throat tightened. He could see Arrax's strength flagging, the dragon's movements growing sluggish. Then, through the storm's veil-light, he saw torches and the familiar jagged silhouette of home.

"There, Arrax! Go!" Luke cried, hope surging in his chest. 

The young dragon found renewed strength at the sight of sanctuary, his wings pumping with desperate energy as they arrowed toward the island. Behind them, Vhagar bellowed her fury, the sound shaking the very air.

Luke could see as Silverwing stood poised on the battlements, her pale scales gleaming like polished steel in the stormlight. Addam of Hull stood tall in the saddle, his face set in grim determination. Beside him, Syrax spread her golden wings, Rhaenyra's form unmistakable even through the rain. Vermax coiled nearby, Jace already shouting commands, while Moondancer and Seasmoke stood ready—Baela and Laenor prepared to join the defense.

The sight gave Luke the strength to urge Arrax one final, desperate push toward safety. They must have been alerted by the monstrous roars that rose above the storm chaos. As they crossed the threshold of Dragonstone's cliffs, Luke risked a glance back.

Aemond had reined Vhagar to a halt at the island's perimeter, his face twisted in fury. For one endless moment, rider and dragon hovered at the edge of the storm, violet eye burning with hatred. Then, with a final, earth-shaking roar, Vhagar wheeled about and vanished into the storm.

Luke slumped forward in the saddle, his entire body trembling with exhaustion and relief. As his gaze fell upon his mother, he allowed himself to feel safe once again.

Chapter Text

One week later

Daemon stared at the cobblestone wall before him, observing the moss growing in its crevices. He had been in this decaying castle for more than a week, attempting to resolve the conflict between the Brackens and the Blackwoods. Both houses proved hardheaded and stubborn, unwilling to yield in any matter.

The Blackwoods had immediately sided with him, having supported Rhaenyra's claim since her ascension to the throne. The Brackens presented a different challenge. After the Greens denounced Queen Rhaenyra and proclaimed Aegon as the true king, they had pledged their allegiance without hesitation.

The Riverlands represented crucial strategic territory, but their longstanding divisions made unifying them exceptionally difficult. Daemon had spent days trying to persuade House Bracken to bend the knee to Rhaenyra and join their forces, but their refusal to stand alongside House Blackwood remained an insurmountable obstacle.

The omega had summoned the head of House Tully, but instead received the lord's youngest son and heir, Oscar Tully. The ailing lord remained too sick to leave his bedchamber, let alone travel to Harrenhal. Yet until his father's passing, the young man could not properly exercise his authority as head of house, rendering him effectively useless to Daemon's cause.

During his stay at Harrenhal, Daemon had occupied himself with repairs to the crumbling fortress. Between these efforts, he found himself drawn to the only person who willingly engaged with him besides Ser Simon - Alys Rivers. An odd woman, yet strangely enough, she was the only one within those walls who offered him any measure of peace. 

The combined stresses—the unyielding Bracken-Blackwood feud, the constant sense of a looming threat, and prolonged separation from his alpha and children—had thrown the omega's hormones and moods into turmoil. He felt certain his mind was unraveling. Visions came to him at night: specters of the dead, or younger versions of his family members. But increasingly, the boundaries between dreams and waking reality blurred until he could no longer distinguish one from the other. It felt like dreaming while awake, and it was driving him to the brink of madness.

The frustration gnawed at him. He felt weak and helpless in ways he hadn't experienced in years. Perhaps those useless small council members and courtiers had been right about him. Since having children, he had grown vulnerable, susceptible—like all omegas, they whispered. He had heard the rumors that spoke of a cursed castle that drove men mad; maybe if he'd remained childless, suppressing his omega nature, he might have withstood it. Yet the thought of a life without his children now seemed unbearably bleak.

Several days prior, overwhelmed by the need for his family, he had attempted to depart. Alys Rivers had stopped him. The omega had heeded her counsel, and yesterday a raven arrived bearing news of the old lord's death, finally allowing the youngest Tully to assume his rightful position. Daemon had immediately summoned him and all the Riverlands houses, determined to secure their allegiance to Rhaenyra's cause once and for all.

"Your Grace," a voice spoke from behind him, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. "Lord Oscar Tully and the Riverlords have arrived."

Daemon turned his head to look up. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his back to the door—a ridiculous position for a prince, but he had stopped caring about appearances long ago. Ser Simon stared at him expectantly until the omega finally rose and brushed off his clothes.

He had chosen a flowing white shirt of near-transparent fabric, its delicate laces loosely tied to expose part of his chest. The shirt was tucked into snug black trousers, paired with his customary black boots. His freshly washed hair had been styled by Alys Rivers to cascade over his shoulders.

The display was intentional. Knowing he wouldn't earn the Riverlords' respect as an omega, he would settle for their lust instead. It was the simpler path, and with time running short, he had few options.

Accompanied by Ser Simon, Daemon entered the dining hall where Oscar Tully awaited. The young lord now wore a doublet bearing the Tully sigil, his brow furrowed with dark circles beneath his eyes that aged him beyond his years.

"The Riverlords don't like you. Convincing them to join forces will be difficult," were Oscar's first words upon the omega's arrival. The bluntness made Daemon smirk.

"I don't need their favor—only their swords. You, however, must earn their respect." Daemon closed the distance between them, looming over the younger man. "I trust you at least know how to do that?"

The boy's nervous fidgeting drew a chuckle from Daemon. He'd be damned if some a mare boy thought to intimidate him.

Without further discussion, they proceeded to the weirwood tree where the Riverlords had gathered. The heated arguments among the assembled nobles ceased abruptly at their approach. Daemon felt their hungry gazes burning into his skin like brands. He suppressed the slight shudder that threatened to betray his discomfort - his plan was working, though it brought him no pleasure.

After a heavy silence, the lords and ladies resumed their bickering, with Brackens and Blackwoods shouting loudest. Daemon felt the beginnings of a headache pulse at his temples. His glance shifted to Oscar, who stood gaping like a fish out of water—a sight that nearly made the omega roll his eyes.

Yet he remained silent. These nobles needed to respect their new liege lord enough to follow his command to fight for Rhaenyra. When Oscar's panicked eyes met his in a silent plea, Daemon gave only the barest shake of his head before turning back to the unruly crowd. With each passing moment of the boy's inaction, Daemon fought the urge to slap some courage into him.

"Silence!" Oscar's sudden shout nearly startled him, though his composure never wavered.

Truthfully, Daemon registered little of what followed. His attention had been stolen by a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision. Turning toward it, he found himself staring at the spectral form of his elder brother.

Viserys Targaryen stood beside the weirwood tree wearing that familiar expression—disappointment. From this angle, he seemed to look down upon Daemon just as he had during his reign. The omega tried to avert his gaze, repeating silently that this wasn't real. Yet, as in life, he found himself unable to ignore his brother for long.

Their eyes locked, and Daemon felt a lump form in his throat, unshed tears burning behind his eyes. Conflicting emotions warred within him as he stared at the man responsible for years of grief, yet also his beloved brother, whom he would have forgiven with a single word of remorse.

The threat of tears shocked him. He hadn't realized how deeply he missed Viserys until this moment. The apparition made him yearn for their youth, when Viserys had raised him after their mother's death and father's decline. Perhaps with his current knowledge, things might have been different—their lives happier. But such wondering was pointless. He would never know, and that truth cut deeper than any blade.

A sudden roar of approval snapped him from his trance. Turning back to the crowd, he found lords and ladies alike raising swords and voices in unison.

"We'll fight alongside your army for Queen Rhaenyra!" declared Humfrey Bracken, his declaration met with enthusiastic agreement.

Daemon masked his surprise. Somehow, Oscar's words had convinced them to set aside generations of enmity against a common foe. Or perhaps having a pretty omega to smell and look at had clouded their judgment. Regardless, he wasn't about to question their decision.

After that, everything moved rather quickly. Plans were made for the soldiers to settle within and around the Harrenhal castle. The following two days were spent completing renovations and assembling camps for the thousands of soldiers arriving by the hour.

Daemon had instructed Ser Simon to send a raven to Rhaenyra, informing her of his success. Her response came swiftly—she would come on dragonback when circumstances permitted.

Having spent the entire day keeping busy to banish the image of his elder brother from his mind, night found Daemon once more lying abed, staring at the ceiling in sleepless agitation. Now, with the possibility of his alpha's imminent arrival combined with the spectral visitations from deceased family members, his nerves were stretched taut.

The night stood utterly silent save for the wind howling against the castle's cobblestone walls, creating an eerie atmosphere. He clutched the bedcovers up to his chest, waiting, expecting.

Closing his eyes, he attempted to sleep to the sound of the violent breeze. Suddenly, the stillness was shattered with a distant, piercing cry. Daemon jolted upright instantly, his gaze snapping to the closed door. He would recognize that sound anywhere—after years of hearing it regularly every few months - the cry of an infant.

Perhaps it was the omega in him, or his maternal instincts, but Daemon threw off the covers without hesitation. Snatching up Dark Sister, he rushed from the chamber clad only in his nightgown, the night's chill biting at his exposed skin.

Following the desperate wails, his steps were quick yet deliberate—silent. They led him to a candlelit room with its wooden door left slightly ajar. The cries emanated from within.

Daemon edged closer, pushing the door open with Dark Sister still gripped tightly in one hand. Inside, he encountered a strangely familiar scene. Against the far wall stood a bed, and beside it, a simple wooden cradle, the source of the crying.

With careful steps and dread coiling up his spine, he approached. Peering into the cradle, his sword slipped from his fingers. There lay a painfully familiar figure. Though he had known her for less than a day, her image had been seared into his memory forever—a ghost that had haunted his existence for years.

Trembling hands reached down to lift Alyssa. Cradling her gently against his chest, he stared down at her, unable to look away. A sob tore from his lips as tears fell. He clutched her tightly, weeping openly, before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Time lost meaning as he remained there, holding his daughter and weeping. Then suddenly, the crash of the door slamming open. Whirling around, he came face-to-face with the one person he'd hoped never to see again: his first wife, Rhae Royce.

"Useless omega! You couldn't even do your duty!" the alpha bellowed, stomping closer with each word.

Daemon retreated, clutching Alyssa protectively. Dark Sister lay too far away - out of reach. In that moment, he regressed to that weak omega trapped at Runestone, too frightened to leave. His back hit the wall, and he slid down to sit on the cold floor.

"It was your fault." Her words stabbed like knives, twisting until he bled out internally.

Bile rose in his throat as he stared into Rhae's lifeless, pitiless eyes. She didn't advance, didn't try to take Alyssa—just stood watching as he shattered on the floor. Turning away, his gaze returned to his daughter, falling into a trance.

Ser Simon Strong awoke with a start to distant, anguished sobbing. He scrambled from bed, seizing a lit candle as he hurried from his chambers. Rumors had reached him about the Queen's consort wandering the castle at night—until now, he'd let it pass, but he couldn't risk injury befalling the Queen's omega under his care. That would reflect poorly indeed.

Following the sounds—the sobs now mingled with incoherent muttering growing louder with each step—he finally reached a wide-open, pitch-black chamber. Extending his candle, its feeble light barely penetrated the darkness as he advanced toward the noise.

There he found the consort sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth while clutching a blanket to his chest. "My fault," the man mumbled repeatedly, voice broken.

"Your Grace?" For the briefest instant, Ser Simon saw the omega's red, swollen eyes and tear-streaked face before Daemon lashed out violently.

The wild swing barely missed as the old man stumbled back, hearing the omega's screams to be left alone. Ser Simon retreated, closing the door behind him. Pausing to collect himself, he then made straight for his study, needing to send a raven to the Queen with haste.

—————————————

The light of dawn painted Harrenhal's ruined towers in shades of charcoal when the first distant roar echoed across the God's Eye. Ser Simon Strong, having kept vigil all night, stumbled from his study at the sound, his aged joints protesting as he hurried toward the outer yard. The castle stirred around him—soldiers rubbing sleep from their eyes, squires scrambling to prepare for royal company.

A second roar, closer this time, sent flocks of ravens scattering from the twisted weirwood in the inner yard. Simon reached the main courtyard just as Syrax's massive golden form blotted out the rising sun, her wings kicking up great gusts of wind that sent cloaks snapping like war banners. The dragon landed with earth-shaking force, her claws scoring deep grooves in the ancient stones.

Rhaenyra dismounted with the easy grace of one born to the saddle, her riding leathers streaked with dust from the long flight. Simon noted with some concern the dark circles beneath her eyes, the new lines of tension around her mouth. The crown had aged her since he'd last seen her at the wedding feast.

"Your Grace," he called over the dying wind, bowing low. When he straightened, he found the queen studying Harrenhal's fire-scarred walls with an unreadable expression.

"It's uglier than I remembered," she remarked dryly, before turning those violet eyes on him. "Where is my husband?"

Simon swallowed hard. "The Riverlords have pledged their swords, Your Grace. Every house from the Twins to Maidenpool. Prince Daemon secured them for your cause."

Rhaenyra's gaze sharpened. "That's not what I asked."

The old man hesitated, his fingers worrying at the frayed edge of his sleeve. "He...has not been sleeping. These past nights, he's been..." How to explain the screams they'd heard echoing through the halls? The servants' whispers about the prince talking to people who weren't there? "Not himself," he finished lamely.

The queen's face went dangerously still. Without another word, she strode past him toward the Kingspyre Tower, where Daemon's temporary chambers resided, her boots ringing against the stones. Simon hurried after, his explanations dying in his throat as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors.

The air grew heavier the higher they climbed, thick with the scent of old smoke and something fouler. At last, they reached the heavy oak door to Daemon's chambers. Rhaenyra didn't bother knocking. The scene that greeted them would haunt her dreams for years to come.

Daemon sat hunched on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, his silver hair tangled and matted with sweat. The fine linen shirt he wore hung open, revealing a chest that had grown gaunt in their short time apart. But worst of all were his hands—cradling a bundled blanket with terrifying delicacy, rocking it gently as he hummed a broken lullaby in High Valyrian.

"Leave us," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice sharp like steel.

Simon opened his mouth to protest, but one look at his queen's face had him bowing and backing out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him with awful finality.

Inside the chamber, Rhaenyra approached slowly, as one might approach a wounded dragon. The floorboards creaked under her weight, but Daemon gave no indication he'd heard. Up close, she could see the fever-bright sheen to his eyes, the tremor in his hands as they clutched the blanket to his chest.

She knelt before him, the hard stone biting into her knees, and reached up to cradle his face. His skin burned beneath her touch.

"Daemon," she whispered.

For a long moment, there was no reaction. Then, slowly, his eyes focused on hers. The recognition that dawned there was painful to witness. "Rhaenyra?" His voice was raw, as though he'd been screaming. The blanket slipped slightly in his grip, and she caught a glimpse of what lay within—not a child, but a book, swaddled like an infant in the fabric.

Her heart shattered. Without a word, she carefully pried the book from his grasp and set it aside. Then she climbed onto the bed and pulled him into her arms, his face pressed against the hollow of her throat. He went willingly, his body folding into hers like a man starved for touch.

They stayed silent for a while. The only noise was Daemon's broken sobbing, muffled by his wife's neck, as she rocked him softly back and forth.

"They come to me at night," he murmured against her skin. "Laena. Viserys. Baelon. You... They ask me why I failed them. And then Rhea and—and Alyssa—"

Rhaenyra tightened her hold, her fingers carding through his sweat-damp hair. "They're not here, my love."

"They feel real." His hands clutched at her back, desperate. "They smell real."

She pressed her lips to his temple, tasting salt and smoke. "I'm real. Feel me. Smell me." She guided his hand to her chest, over her pounding heart. "This is real."

A shudder ran through him, violent as a storm at sea. When he spoke again, his voice was that of a much younger man, one who had not yet learned to armor himself in cruelty. "I'm tired, Nyra."

She kissed him then, slow and deep, pouring every ounce of her love into it. When they parted, she pressed their foreheads together, their breath mingling in the scant space between them.

"Then sleep," she commanded softly. "I'll keep the ghosts away."

And for the first time in days, Daemon Targaryen slept without dreams.

When he awoke, it was already dark outside. He lay on his side, feeling Rhaenyra pressed against his back, her arms wrapped around his waist. Her riding leathers hung from the chair before him, meaning she wore only a loose blouse and her usual black riding trousers.

Daemon fidgeted slightly, trying to press closer to his wife. He felt her squirm and heard her soft groan as she tightened her hold around his waist, her hands drifting lower to rub his stomach.

He hummed softly as her breath warmed the back of his neck. Her lips trailed downward, leaving kisses in their wake. "We can't," the omega moaned.

"Hm, says who?" The alpha whispered into his ear, her hands slipping beneath his shirt to squeeze his still slightly swollen breasts.

Daemon couldn't suppress his loud moan, hastily covering his mouth with one hand. Rhaenyra smirked against his skin and moved her hand lower, slipping it into his pants.

The omega swiftly grabbed her wrist, stopping her advance. "Stop, I haven't bathed," he breathed, trying to pull her hand away.

"And when have I cared?" Rhaenyra continued kissing his neck before, with surprising force, she pushed him onto his back and climbed atop him. "It just means you smell more like yourself."

Daemon stared up into her beautiful violet eyes, which burned with intensity. He reached up to cradle her delicate face, drawing her down into a sweet yet passionate kiss. Their tongues intertwined in a sensual dance, saliva mixing as it dripped slowly from the corners of their mouths when the kiss turned rough.

Their teeth clashed as the alpha began unbuttoning his pants. Rhaenyra broke away momentarily to tug his trousers down. Daemon lifted his hips slightly to assist. His undergarments followed just as quickly, leaving him half-naked and vulnerable before his alpha.

His arousal grew as his wife kissed him again, her hand slipping down to rub his wet cunt. "So soft and wet for me, my omega."

Daemon whimpered as Rhaenyra trailed kisses down his clothed torso to his hips. She continued lower but then paused, hovering over where he wanted her most. The alpha smirked up at him, gripping his thighs to spread them before kissing his inner thigh.

The omega moaned loudly, covering his mouth with his hand. Rhaenyra kissed down to his knee before pulling back. She studied him momentarily, a smirk playing across her beautiful face. Without hesitation, she leaned back down, biting his inner thigh to make him whimper before moving higher.

The alpha kissed his mound, then licked between his wet lips. Daemon groaned behind his hand, his body trembling with pleasure. He placed his hand on the back of her head, pressing her face harder against his core.

He continued moaning as she licked his cunt, her fingers slipping inside him. Her tongue flicked his clit while her fingers worked within, pumping in and out until he nearly lost his mind. Daemon became a moaning mess, thrusting his hips up to chase the pleasure his wife provided.

Whether from their long separation or simply the joy of being reunited, his climax built rapidly until it crashed over him like waves upon the shore. With a loud whimper he failed to suppress, Daemon came undone. Wetness dripped from his cunt as his insides twitched around Rhaenyra's fingers.

His spine arched with pleasure as the alpha continued licking his clit through his orgasm. As he came down, Daemon gently pushed Rhaenyra away and gestured for her to lie down. When she complied, he climbed atop her.

Daemon maintained eye contact with her dark, predatory gaze as he unbuttoned her pants. He quickly reached into her undergarments and freed her hard, leaking cock. Without hesitation, the omega positioned himself over it, guiding the tip to his cunt before sinking down with a moan as she filled him completely.

He wrapped his arms around Rhaenyra's neck as he leaned in to kiss her. Their tongues resumed their familiar dance, and he could taste himself on her lips. Her hands gripped his hips, helping him move back and forth in her lap.

Their coupling was slow and deep, unlike their usual rushed encounters during wartime. With the ongoing conflict, moments of intimacy were rare, and even then, they were often hurried—there was little time for leisure in war.

When they came together, Rhaenyra's knot forming inside him, Daemon felt tears welling in his eyes. A wave of grief and loss overwhelmed him, as if this might be the last time they'd share such intimacy. He couldn't stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks.

Rhaenyra noticed her omega's distress immediately. Though locked together by her knot, she managed to cup his cheeks and gently wipe away his tears. Carefully, she adjusted their positions so they lay on their sides facing each other.

"I love you," Daemon whispered, more tears trailing down his face.

Rhaenyra's heart clenched at her husband's words—not because he'd never said them before, but because they carried a strange finality. "I love you, my omega."

She leaned in to kiss him. Their lips met softly, conveying all the love they shared. They remained like that the rest of the night. After her knot subsided, Rhaenyra called for servants to draw them a bath.

They spoke little as they sat in the hot water. Daemon washed Rhaenyra with a clean cloth after she had done the same for him. After drying each other, they returned to bed and fell asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning passed slowly, both trying to delay the alpha's departure as long as possible. After Rhaenyra inspected the large army her omega had secured for her, the time came for her to leave. She hesitated, especially after finding Daemon in such a state upon her arrival, and even tried convincing him to return with her. But he insisted he would be fine and needed to stay to command their troops.

Reluctantly, Rhaenyra mounted Syrax. With one last glance at her omega, she commanded the dragon to take flight, carrying her back to King's Landing.

—————————————

Three days later

The camp of the Gold Cloaks sprawled across the river plain like a wounded beast, its fires guttering low in the damp evening air. Baelon Targaryen stood apart from the others, his boots sinking slightly into the rain-softened earth as he stared eastward. Somewhere beyond the dark line of trees, beyond the sluggish flow of the Trident's tributaries, Harrenhal waited. And with it, his mother.

The message had come three days prior—Daemon had secured the Riverlords, but something was wrong. The raven had borne no details, only Rhaenyra's terse command for the army to make haste. Yet here they remained, mired in mud like common foot soldiers while the skies wept and the wind carried whispers Baelon couldn't quite decipher.

He flexed his fingers against the pommel of his sword, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. The air tasted strange tonight—not the usual damp earth and woodsmoke of camp, but something sharper, something that set his teeth on edge. Like the moment before a storm breaks, when the world holds its breath.

Behind him, the muted sounds of the encampment continued—the clank of armor, the occasional burst of laughter from men drinking to ward off the chill, the steady murmur of voices. None of them felt it. None of them understood.

A hand clapped his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. "Brooding doesn't suit you, little prince."

Baelon didn't turn. He knew the voice—Ser Luthor Largent, the only man Daemon trusted enough to leave at his side. The knight was a constant presence, as steady as the sword at his hip.

"I'm not brooding," Baelon muttered.

Largent chuckled, stepping up beside him. "Then what do you call standing alone in the dark, glaring at nothing?"

Baelon exhaled through his nose, his breath curling faintly in the cool air. "Thinking."

"About?"

"Harrenhal."

Luthor's amusement faded. He followed Baelon's gaze toward the unseen castle, his expression turning grim. "Your mother commanded us to wait for the full host."

"I know what he commanded."

"And yet you're considering disobeying."

Baelon didn't answer. He didn't need to. Luthor had known him since he was a boy trailing after Daemon in the training yard. The knight could read him as easily as a parchment. A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant cry of a night bird.

Then Luthor sighed. "If you go, you won't go alone."

Baelon finally turned, frowning. "I'm not asking you to—"

"I'm not offering." Luthor crossed his arms. "I swore to your mother I'd keep you alive. If you're determined to throw yourself into whatever madness waits at Harrenhal, I'm coming with you."

Baelon opened his mouth to argue, but a sound cut him off—a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the earth beneath their feet. Vermithor.

The Bronze Fury had been restless all evening, his massive form coiled at the edge of camp, his golden eyes gleaming in the firelight. Now, the great dragon lifted his head, his nostrils flaring as he scented the wind.

Baelon knew that look. Something had stirred the old dragon. Without another word, he strode toward Vermithor, Luthor following at his heels. The dragon's scales were warm under Baelon's palm as he pressed a hand to his flank, feeling the tension thrumming through the beast.

"What is it?" Luthor asked, eyeing Vermithor warily.

Baelon didn't answer immediately. As he kept his hand on the great beast, a wave of dread and grief washed over him. "I think my mother's in trouble."

Luthor didn't question him. He never did when it came to this. "Then we ride."

"No." Baelon was already moving, climbing onto Vermithor's back. "I go alone."

"Baelon—"

"If I'm wrong, I won't drag you into defiance with me. If I'm right..." He met Luthor's gaze. "Be ready."

Then, before the knight could protest further, Baelon urged Vermithor skyward.

The dragon needed no encouragement. With a roar that shook the camp awake, Vermithor launched into the air, his wings beating hard against the damp night. Below, shouts rose as men scrambled from their tents, but Baelon paid them no mind. His focus remained fixed ahead, on the distant silhouette of Harrenhal.

Ser Luthor cursed as he watched the younger alpha fly away recklessly. Without hesitation, he turned to the men and women around the camp, barking orders as they scrambled to gather their equipment and prepare to follow their reckless prince.

The alpha's voice rose above the increasing noise of the falling rain. The Gold Cloaks fell into line with practiced ease, and under Ser Luthor's watchful eye, they began their march toward Harrenhal. The knight could only hope that whatever had driven Baelon to flee so urgently wasn't as dangerous as he feared. 

—————————————

The night lay too quiet. Daemon Targaryen stood facing the weirwood tree in Harrenhal's inner yard, his mind adrift in distant thoughts. Though he couldn't name the source, a creeping sense of impending danger kept him alert and armored. His fingers tightened around Dark Sister's hilt at his hip as visions of his family surfaced—hallucinations that felt just beyond his grasp, too faint to hold.

The stillness broke when a distant roar shattered the silence—faint to normal ears, but thunderous to Daemon's heightened senses. He snapped his gaze upward to the unnaturally calm sky, his body tensing as he felt the approaching presence like a storm gathering on the horizon. Someone was coming. Someone meant to destroy all he cherished.

The sky burned crimson as dawn broke over the Riverlands, but it was not the sun that painted the heavens red—it was dragonfire. Aemond Targaryen had come.

The Greens had marched under the cover of night, their army a creeping shadow through the hills, but Aemond had not waited. Vhagar, the biggest dragon alive, had taken to the skies alone, her massive wings blotting out the stars as she descended upon Harrenhal like death itself.

Daemon had been waiting. The mounting paranoia and dread that had haunted him crystallized into terrible purpose. Already clad in his battle armor, the omega sprinted to Caraxes, mounting the Blood Wyrm with practiced ease and securing the saddle straps with quick, sure movements.

Caraxes shrieked as he launched from the castle’s ruined towers, his serpentine body coiling through the air like a blood-red whip. The two dragons met above the God’s Eye, their roars shaking the earth, their claws raking at one another in midair. Fire rained down upon the lake below, turning the dark waters to steam.

Baelon arrived just as the battle reached its peak. Vermithor’s wings carved through the smoke-choked sky as Baelon urged him forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. Below, the Green army had reached the castle’s outer walls, their swords glinting in the firelight. But Baelon’s eyes were locked on the duel above the lake—on the two dragons locked in a death spiral, their riders clinging to their backs as they tore at each other with tooth and flame.

Only the sudden roar of battle below broke his focus. The Gold Cloaks had arrived, flanked by Riverlands troops charging against the Green forces. A terrible paralysis gripped Baelon as dread coiled in his gut, his mind screaming warnings he couldn't translate into action to avert the approaching tragedy.

Aemond fought like a man possessed. His sapphire eye burned with hatred as he drove Vhagar forward, her massive jaws snapping at Caraxes’ throat. Daemon was faster, weaving through the air with the grace of a man who had spent a lifetime in the saddle. But Vhagar was older, stronger, and Aemond was willing to die if it meant taking Daemon with him.

Then, in a move that would be sung of for centuries, Daemon unbuckled his saddle straps. Baelon’s breath caught in his throat. He watched as his mother jumped. Dark Sister flashed in the dawn light as Daemon launched himself from Caraxes’ back, his body arcing through the air like a thrown spear. Vhagar roared as he landed on her scaled hide, his sword already driving forward, straight into Aemond’s remaining eye.

The scream that tore from Aemond’s throat was inhuman. He thrashed blindly as Daemon wrenched Dark Sister free. Vhagar convulsed beneath them, her massive form writhing in agony. Seizing the advantage, Caraxes twisted his serpentine neck around the larger dragon's throat and clamped down with jaw strength fueled by his rider's courage.

And then they fell. Daemon did not try to save himself. He did not reach for Caraxes, did not call for aid. He simply held on as Vhagar plummeted, his arms locked around Aemond’s throat, dragging the younger prince down with him.

Baelon screamed. Vermithor dove before the command had fully left his lips, the wind howling around them as they raced toward the lake. But it was too late, the young alpha watched as the water swallowed them both.

Daemon and Aemond struck the God’s Eye with a force that sent up a plume of white water, the impact shaking the very shore. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath—then the waves closed over them, and they were gone.

Baelon's hands trembled on Vermithor's reins, his vision blurred by unshed tears, his chest too constricted to draw breath. Yet grief would have to wait—Caraxes still lived.

The Blood Wyrm shrieked in agony, his wings tattered, his body streaming blood from countless wounds as he spiraled toward the lake. Baelon urged Vermithor forward, his voice raw as he shouted to the wounded dragon.

"Caraxes! To me!"

The dragon's remaining eye focused on him through the pain. Baelon guided Vermithor beneath the falling wyrm, the Bronze Fury roaring with effort as he took Caraxes' weight upon his back, slowing the descent. Together, they skimmed the water's surface, Caraxes' claws leaving furrows in the waves until Vermithor finally bore them both to shore.

Before Vermithor fully landed, Baelon was moving. He slid from the saddle and sprinted to Caraxes as the dragon collapsed on the rocky beach, his breathing ragged and wet. Blood darkened the stones beneath him like spilled wine. Baelon pressed his hands against the dragon's heaving flank, feeling the labored but steady heartbeat beneath the scales.

"Easy, old friend," Baelon murmured, his voice thick. He turned to bellow at the approaching soldiers. "Fetch the dragonkeepers! And Maester Orwyle. Now!"

As helpers came running, Baelon carefully examined Caraxes' wounds. The injuries were grave—the wing membrane torn in several places, deep gashes along his belly, one hind leg bent at an unnatural angle. But the dragon's chest rose and fell steadily, his golden eye tracking Baelon's movements with clear awareness.

One of the dragonkeepers knelt beside him, hands fluttering over the worst wounds. "He's strong, my prince. These injuries...they're serious, but not mortal. With time and care..."

Baelon nodded, swallowing hard as he stroked Caraxes' snout. The dragon rumbled softly, exhaling a wisp of smoke that curled around Baelon's arm like an embrace. In that moment, he felt his mother's presence as clearly as if Daemon stood beside them.

"Rest now," Baelon whispered. "You've fought well."

As the dragonkeepers set to work stabilizing Caraxes, Baelon turned his gaze back to the God's Eye. The waters had gone still once more, holding their secrets close. Somewhere in those dark depths, his mother slept with his enemies.

—————————————

Daemon didn't feel the moment he hit the water. He didn't feel much of anything at all. Only cold—a biting, winter-deep cold that seeped into his bones. The icy water enveloped him completely as he sank deeper, his eyes fixed on what might have been the water's surface—the only light in the darkness. Or perhaps it wasn't the surface at all. He couldn't be certain. Not that it mattered. His body no longer obeyed him, whether from the cold or some other unseen force, he couldn't tell.

Darkness prickled against his back as the lake swallowed him whole. Instinct made him try to swim, his limbs moving sluggishly through the motions Viserys had taught him so long ago. Viserys...Where was Viserys now? Had his brother seen him fall? Was he coming to save him? No. Viserys was dead. The realization came dull and distant.

Names floated through his mind like bubbles rising toward that distant light—Baelon, Rhaenyra, Baela, Rhaena, Jace, Luke, Joffrey...Aegon, Viserys, and...Visenya. Why was he remembering them now? Laena, and...Alyssa. Perhaps he would see them soon. Or perhaps whatever awaited him would be different from where they had gone.

His eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion, but just as he began to let them close, movement caught his attention. A silhouette floated above him—familiar yet strange, its edges blurred by the water. It extended an arm toward him, reaching down through the murky depths. Some deep instinct made Daemon want to take that offered hand. He tried, stretching his own arm upward, but the figure remained just beyond his grasp.

He withdrew his hand, but the shadow kept its arm extended, waiting patiently. He tried again to reach, but exhaustion crashed over him like a wave. Something primal screamed within him to fight, to keep struggling, but his body refused. As his vision darkened at the edges, he saw the shadow stretch its arm further toward him. Then his eyes closed.

For the briefest moment, they opened again. Stars. A night sky full of stars above him. The cold still clung to his skin, sharper than ever. Then his eyelids fluttered shut once more.

Chapter Text

Seven Years Later

The morning sun shone through fluffy clouds as wind tousled Baelon's dark, shoulder-length hair. Vermithor soared through the clear sky, his rider securely strapped to the saddle, both enjoying the quiet peace of early dawn. They had taken flight before sunrise, and now as the golden light peeked over the horizon, it signaled their time to return.

Vermithor descended gracefully into the Dragonpit, allowing Baelon to slide down from the saddle. The alpha dusted off his riding leathers while watching the Bronze Fury move deeper into the cavernous space, where Syrax and Caraxes greeted him. Soon, his younger siblings' dragons joined them, including the sometimes-shy Morning, who mirrored his sister's timid nature.

The sight brought a smile to Baelon's face until the sound of an approaching carriage drew his attention. Before the vehicle came to a complete stop, the door flew open despite clear protests from inside, and out tumbled a five-year-old girl. Her dark curls bounced as she rushed down the carriage steps straight into Baelon's waiting arms.

"Kepa!" Baelon caught his daughter effortlessly, chuckling as he watched his five-months-pregnant wife, Arwen Arryn, carefully exit the carriage with assistance from a Kingsguard.

"Daena! You mustn't jump out like that," scolded Arwen, one of Lady Jeyne Arryn's daughters by her wife Jessamyn Redfort.

Baelon had met Arwen when accompanying his younger siblings to the Vale shortly after Aemond Targaryen's death. The beta carried a faint scent of roses and cherries, and Baelon had fallen for her instantly. Standing just above his shoulders like his mother had, with long dark hair framing her face, she now watched as their daughter mumbled a reluctant apology. Baelon stepped closer to press a soft kiss to his wife's forehead.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, pulling back slightly to study her face.

"Better than last night," she sighed in relief. "The Queen has summoned you to discuss the Runestone inheritance. With Ser Gerald Royce's sudden passing and no heirs..." Her voice trailed off, knowing the subject pained her husband.

Baelon remained silent, gently bouncing the now-fidgeting Daena in his arms.

"I can cancel the meeting if you'd prefer," Arwen whispered, her hand rubbing comforting circles on his shoulder. "He would understand."

"No," Baelon shook his head, offering her a loving smile. "You should go—we'll never hear the end of his complaints if you cancel your breakfast plans."

"Are you certain?" He answered with a nod and a tender kiss before the family boarded their waiting carriage back to the Red Keep.

Upon arrival, they parted ways—Arwen and Daena heading toward the castle gardens while Baelon made his way to the council chamber. His steps grew increasingly hesitant as he approached the heavy wooden doors, dreading the impending conversation. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the stationed Kingsguard, who announced his arrival in a firm voice as the doors swung open.

Rhaenyra looked up from the council table, her face brightening. "Baelon, I'm pleased you came so promptly."

"Your Grace," he acknowledged, hesitating before continuing, "You wished to discuss the Runestone... inheritance?" He moved cautiously toward the table where his stepmother sat.

"Yes," Rhaenyra began carefully, "As you know, Ser Gerald Royce passed recently, and your... alpha mother once ruled as Lady of Runestone." She measured each word with evident care. "Gerald assumed stewardship until you came of age, but the war delayed matters."

She paused, but Baelon remained silent. "With no heirs, the title now falls to you."

"I'm aware," Baelon replied at last, settling into the chair opposite her.

"Of course," Rhaenyra continued, then caught herself. "Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't suggest this, but given your history with Runestone, and after everything..." She hesitated. "I don't wish to burden your family."

"Thank you," Baelon said after a moment's consideration. "I'll need time to think and consult with Arwen. Was there anything else?"

As both alphas rose from their seats, Rhaenyra seemed poised to say more before thinking better of it. "That will be all."

Baelon nodded and turned toward the door. Pausing before the heavy wood, he sighed softly before turning back with a genuine smile. "Truly, thank you, Rhaenyra."

At his words, the Queen's posture subtly lifted. She acknowledged him with a nod, and with that, he departed just as small council members began filing in. His path now led toward the royal gardens on the far side of the Keep.

As he walked, his thoughts wandered far from the present. While he knew Arwen would support any decision he made, he needed time to consider carefully. The prospect of returning to his childhood home sent uneasy chills down his spine—he had no desire to revisit the years of suffering he and his mother had endured within those walls. Yet perhaps creating new, happier memories might finally bring closure. The answer remained uncertain.

Baelon's thoughts scattered as he stepped out of the castle and into the gardens. He followed the familiar winding path that led to a vine-covered pavilion, its entrance framed by cascading flowers that draped over a white square table set with six chairs. Before entering the beautiful structure, he acknowledged Ser Luthor and Ser Lorent with a nod—the two knights stood firm on either side of the entrance.

Inside the pavilion, his wife's delicate silhouette caught his eye immediately. Arwen sat in one of the chairs, her long, dark hair now gathered into a loose braid that made him smile softly. Beside her sat an all-too-familiar figure with long, straight silver hair—and two small heads (one silver, one dark) peeking out from behind his shoulders.

"Muña, should you really be carrying both of them? You'll hurt yourself," Baelon chided as he approached the table where his wife and mother sat with Daena and his youngest sister, Visenya.

"I've carried children my whole life," Daemon retorted instantly, his tone dripping with familiar snark as he glanced up at his son with a slight frown. "A little weight on my lap won't kill me."

"Well, I don't want to hear you complaining about your legs hurting later," Baelon countered, leaning down to press a kiss to Arwen's crown.

"I don't complain," Daemon protested, sounding genuinely offended as he fixed his son with a glare, his lips forming the barest hint of a pout.

Baelon chuckled softly before bending to kiss his mother's head as well. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," the omega shrugged. "You should worry more about your pregnant wife," he added in that particular scolding tone Baelon remembered from childhood.

"Yes, mother," Baelon replied with another quiet laugh, watching as Daemon rolled his eyes.

Taking a seat opposite Arwen, Baelon let his gaze linger on the sweet scene before him. His wife beamed as she watched Daemon bounce and play with the two girls in his lap. The air around them carried the comforting scent of a contented omega, wrapping them all in a peaceful atmosphere.

Yet his smile faltered slightly as memories of that terrible day came crashing down upon him, violent as storm-tossed waves in the blackest night.

—————————————

Seven years ago

Baelon stepped into the chaotic chamber where Maester Orwyle and Maester Gerardys shouted orders to scurrying servants, demanding tools and blankets. At the room's center, lying motionless upon a wooden table, his unconscious mother lay surrounded by the frantic activity.

The alpha froze in the doorway, paralyzed by uncertainty and fear. His worst nightmare unfolded before him—the possibility of his mother dying—and he stood powerless to intervene. The scene transported him back to childhood, to those helpless moments when he could only watch from a corner as Rhea tormented the most important person in his life.

Some unseen force—perhaps his own will, perhaps Laenor's silent urging—propelled him forward. Like a specter, he wove through the room's chaos, maneuvering around bustling bodies all working desperately to preserve Daemon's life.

After what felt like an eternity, he reached the table. His mother lay alarmingly pale, lips tinged blue, eyes closed in an expression of unnatural peace that turned Baelon's stomach. He reached to touch Daemon's shoulder, but recoiled at the icy coldness of his skin. The maesters had stripped the omega bare, ostensibly to warm him, though Baelon understood the necessity of removing wet garments. Still, seeing his mother's vulnerable nakedness exposed to so many eyes unsettled him.

His gaze shifted to servants rushing in with steaming water, pouring it into a waiting bath. Having dried the omega's body, they now prepared to immerse him in heated water to raise his core temperature.

When Baelon looked back at his mother, he wondered if his eyes deceived him—had some color returned to those pale features? The blue tinge seemed less pronounced, the skin not quite so deathly white. A fragile hope flickered within him, though he dared not embrace it fully.

Time lost meaning as he stood vigil over his mother's still form, until sudden commotion announced another arrival. He turned to see his stepmother's entrance, watching as Rhaenyra's eyes found the prone figure on the table. In that instant, Baelon witnessed her world shatter behind those violet eyes.

Words failed him. He longed for his mother's comfort, for guidance through this impending heartbreak. But now the roles had reversed—Daemon lay in peril, needing protection Baelon couldn't provide.

He couldn't say who moved first, but suddenly Rhaenyra's arms enveloped him. He clung to her, burying his face in her chest as tears broke free like floodwaters. Whether minutes or hours passed, he couldn't tell—time had lost all meaning.

When they finally submerged his mother in the heated bath, his body temperature began to rise. Now, only waiting remained, and prayers to any gods who might listen for Daemon's awakening. Those twenty-four hours stood as the longest day of Baelon's life.

—————————————

"You should say yes," his mother's voice cut through his thoughts. Baelon looked up, momentarily confused. His bewilderment must have shown plainly on his face.

"Runestone," Daemon clarified, seeing his son's expression. "It's your birthright." The omega's fingers absently played with Daena's small hands as the child twisted strands of his long hair. "Regardless of what happened there."

"I don't know," Baelon sighed, the weight of indecision pressing upon him. "It's not that simple, muña."

"It is," Daemon insisted, smiling down at his granddaughter before meeting his son's eyes again. "You should have a proper home for your family. At least that woman left you something worthwhile. Besides—"

"I said it's not easy!" Baelon's sudden shout sliced through the conversation.

"Baelon!" Arwen's reprimand came instantly, but the alpha kept his gaze locked with his mother's.

Daemon's initial surprise hardened into irritation. "Arwen, perhaps you should take Daena and Visenya inside," he suggested, his tone deceptively calm—that particular cadence Baelon recognized from childhood, the one that always preceded a scolding. "It's growing chilly."

The beta glanced between mother and son before silently gathering the children. Taking their small hands in hers, she departed with Ser Lorent following closely behind.

Silence settled heavily between the two remaining figures. Baelon opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut under his mother's sharp glare.

"I overlooked such outbursts when you were a child," Daemon finally said after a lengthy pause, his arms crossed. "But you're a man grown now. You know better than to speak to me that way."

"I'm sorry. It's just—"

"You think I don't understand?" The omega interrupted, his features hardening. "Of all people, I'm the one who truly comprehends." His voice softened slightly. "Your anger is justified, but don't direct it at me or your family."

"I'm scared," Baelon admitted, eyes dropping to his hands. "Terrified that every stone of that place will bring the past flooding back."

"You can't outrun memories forever," Daemon replied, his expression gentling at his son's vulnerability. "And you mustn't let that woman dictate your life even now."

A small smile tugged at Baelon's lips as he nodded. "I'll consider it," he conceded, rising to press a kiss to his mother's forehead. "I'm sorry."

Daemon's face brightened at the gesture. "Wait until after your sister's wedding celebrations next week," he advised, looking up at his son. "You can't very well miss those."

Baelon chuckled. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The omega's smile widened, but as he moved to stand, a searing pain shot through his legs and spine, forcing a groan as he collapsed back into his chair.

"Muña!"

"Your Grace!"

Both his son and sworn sword cried out in alarm, hovering over him in a manner that only stoked his irritation.

"I'm fine," he snapped, waving them back.

"Are you certain? Perhaps—"

"Your Grace, maybe we should call—"

"Enough!" Daemon cut through their anxious chatter, already feeling a headache forming. "I said I'm fine."

Baelon took a steadying breath. "It is getting cold. We should go inside."

The omega sighed, displeased but resigned. Gripping the cane resting against the table, he allowed Ser Luthor to help him rise slowly. The trio made their way toward the castle, heading for Daemon's chambers where he might rest properly.

—————————————

The dying embers in the hearth painted the royal chambers in hues of amber and gold as Rhaenyra pushed open the heavy oak doors. The scent of wintergreen and mint greeted her—Maester Orwyle had prepared the oils as requested, leaving them on the bedside table alongside a pitcher of warmed wine. The maester's note lay unfolded nearby, its careful script detailing what she already knew: the cold weather had seeped into her husband's bones again, tightening his muscles like iron chains.

Daemon lay propped against a mountain of pillows, his silver-gold hair fanned across the dark linens like liquid moonlight. The firelight caught the sharp angles of his face—the proud Targaryen jaw now slightly softened by age, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn't been there before the Dance. His hands, usually so restless, lay still atop the coverlet, the fingers of his right hand twitching occasionally as if remembering the grip of Dark Sister.

"You're late," he murmured without opening his eyes.

Rhaenyra set her crown aside on the dressing table, the rubies catching the firelight. "The lords of the Reach have apparently forgotten what grain stores are for," she said, working the stiffness from her own shoulders as she moved to the bed. "They demanded an audience to explain why winter requires preparation."

A smirk tugged at Daemon's lips. "And here I thought ruling was all feasts and flattery."

She huffed a laugh, seating herself beside him and reaching for the vial of oil. The scent of wintergreen sharpened as she poured it into her palms, warming it between her hands before touching his leg. Even through the thin linen of his sleeping trousers, she could feel the tension in his muscles—the legacy of Vhagar's flames, the icy waters of the God's Eye, the years of battles that had shaped and scarred him.

Her fingers pressed into the knotted flesh of his calf, working with practiced patience. Daemon exhaled through his nose, his body gradually yielding beneath her touch.

"You should have sent for me sooner," she chided gently.

"And interrupt the Queen's sacred duty of listening to fat lords complain about the weather?" His voice was dry, but she didn't miss the way his breath hitched when her thumbs found a particularly stubborn knot near his knee.

Rhaenyra smiled but didn't reply, focusing instead on the rhythm of her hands—the steady kneading of muscle, the occasional soft crack of a joint releasing tension. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by the occasional pop of the dying fire and Daemon's slow, deepening breaths.

Her thoughts drifted as she worked, her hands moving almost of their own accord as dark, heavy memories flooded her mind.

The memory sharpened into focus when her fingers brushed the jagged scar along his inner thigh—a gift from Crabfeeder's axe. Daemon's breath caught, and for a moment, she feared she'd hurt him. But when she glanced up, his eyes were open, watching her with an unreadable expression.

"Baelon will go to Runestone," he said suddenly, as if continuing a conversation they'd never started.

Rhaenyra's hands stilled. "You sound certain."

"He's my son." Daemon's voice was rough but sure. "He'll rage against it, he'll fear it—but he'll go. Because it's his."

Her fingers resumed their work, moving upward to his thigh. The muscle there was taut, the skin cooler than it should be—the legacy of near-drowning in the God's Eye. "You didn't push him?"

"I didn't have to." A pause. Then, quieter: "He's stronger than I was at his age."

The admission hung between them, weighted with things unsaid. Rhaenyra's hands slowed as she studied her husband's face—the way the firelight caught the silver in his hair, the faint scar that bisected his left eyebrow. Time had changed them both, carved its marks deep, but in moments like these, she could still see the reckless prince who had stolen her heart.

Her thumbs pressed into the hollow behind his knee, and Daemon groaned, his head tipping back against the pillows. "If I'd known you had such talented hands, I'd have fallen into the God's Eye years ago," he muttered.

Rhaenyra snorted. "Don't tempt fate." But her smile faded as her fingers traced the ropey scar tissue along his calf—the remnants of Vhagar's flames. The memory of that day rose unbidden: the smell of burning flesh, the way Caraxes had screamed as he dragged himself from the lake, the endless hours waiting to see if Daemon would wake—

A hand closed over hers, startling her from the memory. Daemon's palm was warm now, his grip firm as he tugged her closer. "Enough," he murmured.

She resisted slightly. "Your hip still needs—"

"Later."

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes silenced her. There was no pain there now, only quiet intensity—the same look he'd given her a thousand times before battles, before councils, before their children were born.

Her hands stilled on his legs, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself staring at them—her fingers splayed over his thigh, the scars and sinew beneath her palms, the faint tremor in her own wrists from hours of holding a quill and a crown.

How many times had these hands gripped the reins of Syrax? How many letters had they signed, how many cheeks had they cupped, how many times had they clung to Daemon in the dark?

"Rhaenyra."

She blinked, realizing she'd drifted too far. Daemon was watching her, his expression unreadable.

"You're thinking too loudly," he said, his thumb brushing the inside of her wrist.

A laugh escaped her, soft and tired. "Someone has to."

Daemon's mouth curved, but before he could retort, a gust of wind rattled the balcony doors, sending a draft through the chamber. The fire sputtered, and Rhaenyra shivered, suddenly aware of how late it was, how long the day had been.

Her hands, still resting on Daemon's legs, felt heavy now. The oils had soaked in, leaving his skin warm beneath her palms, but she made no move to continue. Instead, she simply sat there, her thoughts adrift once more—on Baelon, on Runestone, on the years ahead and the years behind.

Daemon said nothing. He never did in these moments. He simply waited, his breathing steady, his presence an anchor as the fire burned low and the castle slept around them. And for now, that was enough.

—————————————

Seven years ago

The moment the raven arrived with news of Vhagar’s sighting near Harrenhal, Laenor had known he needed to go. He didn’t question the instinct—just mounted Seasmoke and took to the skies, the wind screaming in his ears as his dragon cut through the clouds with desperate speed.

He arrived just in time to see the end. From high above, the battle unfolded like some terrible mummer’s show—Vhagar’s massive form twisting in the air, Caraxes’ serpentine body coiled around her, and then—Daemon jumping.

Laenor’s breath caught in his throat as Dark Sister flashed in the sunlight. Aemond’s scream echoed across the lake before both dragons—and both riders—plummeted into the God’s Eye.

The impact sent up a plume of white water, the shockwave rippling across the surface. Seasmoke roared beneath him, sensing his rider’s distress, but Laenor didn’t hesitate. He urged the pale dragon downward, landing roughly on the rocky shore.

He didn’t know why he had come. He didn’t know what he could do. But something, some pull deeper than reason, told him he needed to be here.

The lake was still, the silence oppressive. Laenor stood at the water’s edge, his boots sinking into the mud, his eyes scanning the dark depths. Then movement. A body resurfaced, limp and pale, silver hair fanning out like seaweed, Daemon.

Laenor didn’t think. He waded into the water, the cold biting through his clothes, his arms burning as he dragged the unconscious omega to shore. Daemon’s skin was ice to the touch, his lips blue, his chest frighteningly still.

“No, no, no—” Laenor hauled him onto the rocks, checking for breath, for a pulse, faint, but there.

Seasmoke crouched low, and Laenor lifted Daemon into his arms, heaving him onto the dragon’s back before climbing up behind him. He held the omega tight against his chest, shielding him from the wind as they shot toward Harrenhal.

The maesters were already waiting when they landed—someone must have seen the battle. Laenor carried Daemon inside, barking orders as they rushed him to a chamber where healers swarmed like ants.

Baelon stood frozen in the doorway, his face ashen. Laenor didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the younger alpha’s arm and pushed him forward. “Go,” he ordered. “He needs you.”

Baelon stumbled toward the bed, his hands shaking as he took his mother’s limp fingers in his own.

Rhaenyra arrived moments later, her crown askew, her eyes wild. When she saw Daemon, her knees nearly buckled—but Laenor was there, catching her before she could fall.

She didn’t speak. None of them did. The room was filled only with the sounds of the maesters working, the crackling fire, and Baelon’s choked whispers as he begged his mother to wake up.

When Rhaenyra finally broke—when she pulled Baelon into her arms and sobbed into his shoulder—Laenor didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and wrapped them both in his embrace, holding them together as they trembled.

He didn’t know what would happen next. He didn’t know if Daemon would live. But in this moment, he knew one thing for certain, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

—————————————

The Great Hall of the Red Keep shimmered with candlelight, its high windows thrown open to admit the warm evening breeze. The mingled scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh blossoms filled the air as laughter and music swirled about the gathered nobility. At the center of it all, the royal family presided over a long, lavishly set table—Rhaenyra at its head, her crown gleaming, Daemon at her side with his sharp features softened by the golden glow of torchlight, though his watchful gaze never ceased moving between their children.

Baela sat radiant in a gown of black and red, her silver hair braided with rubies, beside Jace, who looked every inch the future king in his dark velvet doublet. Their hands remained clasped between them, fingers intertwined as they exchanged quiet words and private smiles. Across from them, Baelon sat with Arwen, their daughter Daena drowsing in her mother's lap, while Luke and Joffrey bickered good-naturedly over a plate of honeyed figs. Rhaena, ever the peacemaker, rolled her eyes before stealing a fig from each brother and popping them into her mouth with a smirk.

At the table's far end, the younger children fidgeted under Elinda Massey's watchful eye. Viserys—a serious boy of nine with his mother's silver-gold hair—poked skeptically at his food while his elder brother Aegon attempted to coax a smile from their sister. Visenya, a wild-haired wisp of seven, paid little mind to her plate, her lilac eyes fixed raptly on the lute players instead.

The hall's glow intensified as Laenor Velaryon made his entrance, his sea-green doublet embroidered with silver seahorses catching the torchlight. A murmur rippled through the crowd as he approached the high table, his easy smile belying the weight of his years away from court.

"Father!" Jace rose immediately, clasping Laenor's forearm. The resemblance between them was striking—the same strong jawline, the same warm eyes—though Jace carried himself with an heir's assurance while Laenor moved with the relaxed grace of a man unburdened by duty.

Laenor turned to embrace Baela next, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You look radiant, my dear."

From his seat beside Rhaenyra, Daemon observed the exchange with a carefully maintained smile. His fingers tapped once against his goblet before stilling when Rhaenyra's hand came to rest lightly upon his.

Laenor continued down the table, greeting each child in turn before finally taking his place at Rhaenyra's other side. "I'm glad you could arrange matters in Driftmark to join us," the queen said as the alpha settled beside her. He responded with a small smile and a nod toward Daemon.

Course after magnificent course appeared—tureens of rich crab stew, platters of succulent boar glazed with pomegranate, delicate pastries stuffed with spiced lamb and figs. The wine flowed freely, golden Arbor vintages and deep Dornish reds poured into jeweled goblets that glittered in the candlelight.

When Visenya's patience for formalities finally broke, the girl slipped from her seat and darted toward the dancing, her laughter ringing like silver bells. Elinda moved to follow, but Rhaenyra waved her back with a fond smile. "Let her be," the queen murmured, watching as her youngest spun in reckless circles, her slippers flashing against the stone floor.

Baela, catching sight of her sister's antics, grinned and whispered something to Jace that made him chuckle before he stood, offering his hand. "Shall we?"

The hall erupted in cheers as the couple took to the floor, their movements fluid and assured. Jace led with the careful grace of a prince trained in courtly dances since boyhood, while Baela moved with the fearless confidence of a dragonrider—her steps bold, her laughter bright.

Rhaena watched them with a pang of bittersweet emotion tightening her chest. She loved her sister, loved Jace—yet seeing them so perfectly matched made her own loneliness ache like an old wound.

As if sensing her thoughts, Luke nudged her shoulder. "Stop brooding," he teased, stealing a honeycake from her plate. "You'll have your turn."

She swatted at him, though the gesture lifted her melancholy, if only briefly.

As the feast waned, the family slipped away one by one until only guests remained to enjoy the celebration's final hours.

Each royal mounted their respective dragon for the flight to Dragonstone, where the most sacred ceremony, as Daemon insisted, would bind the newlyweds properly. Upon arrival, they dispersed to prepare for the coming rites.

Before the ceremony, Baela found Rhaena in the Chamber of the Painted Table, where moonlight streamed through tall windows to paint Westeros's carved map in shades of silver and blue.

"You're not having second thoughts?" Rhaena asked lightly, though her fingers worried at her sleeves.

Baela laughed, pulling her twin into a fierce embrace. "Not one." Drawing back, her dark eyes searched Rhaena's face. "But you're worried."

Rhaena exhaled, her smile small but genuine. "Only that you'll forget me once you're a married woman."

"Never." Baela pressed their foreheads together. "You're my other half. That doesn't change because I'm Jace's now, too."

Rhaena's throat tightened, but she nodded, squeezing her sister's hands. "Good. Because I'd never forgive you if you did."

Baela's laughter echoed through the chamber, bright and unburdened.

Later that night, deep within Dragonstone's heart, before ancient stone effigies of their gods, Baela and Jace stood side by side, their voices steady as they spoke their ancestors' vows. The braziers flared with blue fire as the priest wrapped the ceremonial cloth about their joined hands. Both wore traditional Valyrian wedding garments—the same style Daemon had worn when he wed Rhaenyra.

Daemon watched from the shadows, his chest tight. Memories flashed—Baela as a babe clutching his fingers, her first flight on Moondancer, her triumphant grin after her first training yard victory. Now she stood a woman grown, pledging herself to another. His vision blurred, and he turned away—but not before Rhaenyra noticed.

Her hand found his, their fingers intertwining. She offered no empty words, simply stood beside him as their daughter became a wife.

When the final vow was spoken, Jace pulled Baela close, their kiss making the flames roar higher. The family cheered—Luke whooped, Joffrey clapped, Rhaena dabbed at her eyes—but Daemon only leaned into Rhaenyra's side, his heart too full for speech.

She pressed a kiss to his temple, whispering words for him alone. "She's happy, my love. That's all that matters."

And for once, Daemon let himself believe it.