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Chapter Text

On a random spring day, in the early morning, Alicent Hightower fell from her horse after attempting to jump. The fall would render her unconscious for most of the day; her best friend, the princess Rhaenyra, was absolutely bereft, never leaving her side until she woke up. The lady Alicent was declared physically fit and recovered well, aside from one small issue. She could hardly recall past events from the last three months, which was quite unfortunate for the lady, when her moonblood failed to come the following month. 

Alicent paced anxiously outside her father’s office, picking at the skin around her nails. She would’ve written off her missed menses as a one-time fluke due to the concussion or the stress she’s had lately, were it not for the entries she discovered in her diary. Ones where she fully admitted to coupling with an unnamed lover. Alicent had turned red upon reading them, horrified to discover she was no longer a maiden. As she had never been particularly prolific about her journaling, she did not know who her lover was or what circumstances led to their affair. Only that it happened. With a trembling hand, she knocked on the wooden door. 

“Come in,” said her father. Alicent entered, tightly clasping her hands, struggling to keep her composure. She had rehearsed what she was going to say to her father a hundred times, but when face to face with her father, she broke down. Sobbing like a little girl as she collapsed on the floor, as she told him of her condition. Otto sat at his desk, stunned by his crying daughter, confessing to having committed the sin of premarital sex. Rage filled him at the thought of the lecher who impregnated her walking around free of consequence. His hand clenched into a fist; no matter, he won’t let that harlot ruin his daughter’s future. “I’ll take care of this.” He told his daughter. 

“How,” she sobbed, clutching at her handkerchief.

“You’ll go back to Oldtown, and stay there for a year until you’ve had the child.” He told her.

“A year,” she looked up at him in shock. “Wh-”

“It will arouse suspicion if you are gone for exactly nine months and then miraculously return. A year will give you time to deliver the baby and recover, when you return, it’ll be as though your indiscretion never happened.”

Chapter Text

It is hard to be home under such circumstances. She is kept in relative seclusion, with only close family and the loyalist of maids interacting with her. No one can know of her condition. Instead of getting to explore the markets of Oldtown and promenade the different levels of the Hightower, she resides in the private apartments, protecting her from prying eyes and loose tongues. She has to start wearing gloves to keep herself from picking at her skin. A habit everyone tries to break her of, but has worsened now that she’s forced to walk around every day with sin growing inside her, infecting her blood, claiming her body for its own. Her dresses start to tighten, and it becomes harder to pretend the debacherous event has not happened. She grits her teeth and spends a lot of time praying, waiting with bated breath for the months to pass. For her life to be able to return to normal once that thing is sent away and her body heals.

The thing keeps making its presence known, with morning sickness, constant fatigue, and the odd cravings. She hates every moment of it. Almost as much as she hates the way her family treats her, ranging from handling her as though she is spun glass, disappointment, or pity. She can’t bear the indignities of her family, raised in the faith, knowing she had become a whore, so whenever asked what happened, she had taken the coward’s way out. “I don’t remember what happened to me,” she’d say with a sigh and a worried look in her eye. It’s probably a sin, allowing your family to think you may have been assaulted, but she’d rather that than judging glares and disdain. People treat you better when they think the bastard child growing inside you was forced upon you.

She tries in vain to remember her missing months, to recall her lover, to no avail. Whoever he is, they must not have been close. He did not approach her after her concussion, nor has he tried to write her. It is better for this thing to be given away. It has no parent that loves it. Alicent’s poured over her journal entries so often she practically has them memorized.

Dear Diary,

I did it and the world didn’t end. No one even noticed. My area throbs. I want more.

Gods, did I have another head injury no one else knew about? What was wrong with me? Alicent wonders every time she reads it.

Dear Diary,

Cocks have a taste and its salt for some reason. I love the way sucking one makes him fall apart.

The only thing worse than knowing you had given up your maidenhead was finding out that you had not only sucked cock, but loved doing it.

Dear Diary,

He took me in my bed again -

Again?! My bed? How had he gotten in there?

I love it when we can take our time, though I enjoy when he fucks me quickly in the alcoves :) 

She felt sick, how debaucherous had she been? How FOOLISH had she been? She glances at the slight curve of her stomach: very.

I love the way he fondles my breast. The way he kisses my lips, my neck, my breasts, my cunt. He eats me like dessert.

She doesn’t even know what that last sentence means. Alicent guesses it’s metaphorical.

I love the way he fucks me, long into the night, no husband will ever compare to this man and the way he leaves my cunt aching and yearning for more.

Alicent throws her journal against the wall, an action she has also done repeatedly. It must have been my lover’s fault, he seduced me and ruined me. Septas were right about how quickly a ruined woman falls. She paces around her room. Only half a year left before this thing came out of her and she’d be free. I will guard myself, she promises herself, when I return to court. This will never happen again.

She writes another letter to Rhaenyra, another consequence of her action, she is not there to comfort her friend as she grieves her mother. The Queen had died in childbirth shortly after Alicent returned to Oldtown. Her friend had begged her to return afterwards and it had caused her untold pain to have to refuse her. When I return I’ll make it up to her. I swear it.

Chapter Text

It’s about four months in when Alicent feels it. An odd fluttering inside her that takes her off guard. She pauses her embroidery, startled by the sensation. She places her hand on the more pronounced curve of her stomach, wondering what to make of this new sensation, as it crawls its way up and down the length of her stomach. She has never felt something like this, she wonders if it might be gas or hunger, but that is not the case. When a maid enters bringing her lunch, the mystery is finally solved. “That must be the kicking,” the older woman informs her, “makes sense, you're about at that time when you can start to feel their little feet and hands.”

The flutter of little feet and hands is her lunchtime companion as she eats a simple meal, then abruptly stops. She frowns at her stomach when the sensation stops, “you're just doing as you please, aren't you?” She says to her stomach, speaking to it for the first time. Typical bastard behavior , she thinks.

She returns back to her embroidery, focusing on the task of stitching vines on a handkerchief and humming to herself. After a while the fluttering returns, and Alison stops hesitantly placing a hand over her stomach again. It is truly odd, she can feel the sensation inside her, but there is no inkling of it when she places her hand over her belly. “Hello,” she says softly to the fluttering, sitting there engrossed in the kicking until it stops again.

Things slowly change.  After the quickening the thing growing inside her has become less an abstract thing, a testament to her fall from grace, and more... real. She marvels at the kicking, the baby already has a personality, and it's not even out of the womb yet, she is certain of it. It likes to kick after meals, especially when she eats sweet things. Alicent’s mouth quirks at the thought of the babe, whose face she cannot make out yet, having a sweet tooth and trying to beg for extra lemon cakes at meal times, the way her friend Rhaenyra used to do as a little girl. It likes her voice, her singing at least, if she hasn't felt any kicks in a while her singing to her growing stomach usually can summon the babe. It's territorial over her too, landing strong and resounding kicks against her whenever her brothers have embraced her too tightly.

She starts to think about the babe more often, not with hatred or disdain or resentment, but with curiosity. She wonders what it'll look like when it comes out. If it'll have her features, or the father’s, and if it does have the father's features will she be able to remember who her lover was? She wonders if the baby will be playful or quiet, curious or timid. If it'll take after her mother or carve its own path. She starts to touch her belly more, no longer horrified by it and what it means, no longer resenting the way it takes over her body. Well perhaps a little resentment as she starts to struggle to breathe when she climbs stairs.

This next part of pregnancy is easier, gentler. The nausea has abated then the fatigue has too. She has more energy now, and it’s easier to eat. She feels less lonely now, it's as though the baby is her companion in this. Keeping her company with its little flutters and kicks, staying active at all times of the day, which she doesn't mind, until she tries to go to sleep or it lands a particular hit on her poor bladder. The baby is the one person in her home that treats her normally. There are no looks of shame or pity or disappointment, mainly because the baby cannot look at her yet, but also it does not know what she has done. It is a relief to have a clean slate with someone.

Chapter Text

Alicent starts to worry for the babe as the months pass. She is in the last part of her pregnancy, her stomach has swollen beyond recognition. Her breaths are more shallow, she pees even more, her breasts have become heavy, she needs numerous pillows stuffed around her to fall asleep. The babe’s kicks grow stronger and less frequent - the midwife says it's natural, there’s less space for them to move - she hates it, it causes her no end of stress. When the babe kicks, she prays for relief from it, when it stops for too long she becomes frantic.

She’s grown attached, she can’t help it. Feeling the life squirm and grow inside her has broken through her initial revulsion she has over it being a bastard. She tries to picture its face, its cry. She tries to imagine the home her babe will go to. That is her only consolation in all this, her family will ensure a good family gets the babe. It’ll grow up common, but with upright parents and will be fed. 

She picks out names. She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help herself. Baelor if it’s a boy, Daisy if it’s a girl. She’s started sewing a blanket for the little one. It gives her something to do to pass the time. It feels wrong to send the child away without a gift. She wants it to look nice for it’s new family. The idea of a tiny babe wrapped in the handmade green blanket, with flowers sewn on both soothes and breaks her heart.

Alicent’s only desire now, aside from a safe labor, is to be able to hold the babe before saying goodbye forever. She’s been working to befriend the maids and midwives, building a rapport so they’ll grant her simple request. Just one embrace and a kiss goodbye and she’ll put this incident from her mind forever.

Though she imagines saying goodbye will be the most heartbreaking thing to ever happen to her, she starts to long for the start of her labor. It’s nearly time, her belly has dropped, her stomach keeps tightening in “false labor”, her back aches, her feet are swollen, and she can’t sleep. She is longing for the earlier stages of pregnancy when the baby’s movements didn’t interrupt her sleep, and when her body didn’t ache.

She’s grown restless, constantly tidying things, asking the maids to clean more, almost feverishly working on the blanket. Whenever she can’t sleep she wanders the halls of the private quarters, her brothers quip that she’s become their resident ghost in her flowing white nightgown.

Tonight sleep eludes her too, and she’s grown tired of pacing the hallways of the Hightower quarters. She’s desperate for a change of scenery. Holding a candle and her sewing basket, Alicent presses on a secret spot in the common area of their private quarters. The wall slides open and Alicent steps inside the secret tunnel, descending the many, many, many stairs. This is a well kept secret, only known to the close family of the Hightowers. Oftentimes spouses are not even informed of it. 

Their home is ancient, built during the time of dragon lords, perhaps even before. Their ancestral home rests on an island, a strategic move that has allowed them to defend it for centuries, and underneath the waters of the lake that act as a natural moat, are tunnels. Smooth black walls that run underneath the city to important locations, The Starry Sept, the Citadel, a few other strategic entrances. When Alicent enters the tunnel she touches her candle to the nearest torch and somehow, through science or magic, the fire travels along the pathway, sparking the other torches to life, illuminating the young woman’s way.

She walks - waddles rather at this stage, though only Garth, her most foolish brother, had made the error of saying such a thing to her, the tongue lashing he received had Gwayne and Loras too scared to speak to her for three days afterwards - down the path that’ll take her to the Starry Sept. Alicent enjoys being at the Sept at night, when there is no one here but her and the gods. The place brings her comfort, like a childhood blanket. The candles about the place flicker low, tinging the painted golden stars in a reddish hue.

Placing herself on a pew by the statue of The Mother, not kneeling because at this size, she fears she’ll never rise again without assistance. She prays for safe labor, a safe life for her child, and the chance to hold it. She sews by candlelight, occasionally stopping to pace back and forth when a false contraction seizes her, they’ve grown more frequent of late. A storm blows over Oldtown, rain pummeling the roof of the Sept. Wind howls outside, lightning occasionally flashes, and with it the rumble of thunder, muffled by the stone walls of the Sept. “It’s a good thing we’re inside, little one.” She murmurs, rubbing her belly.

Alicent ties off her final stitch of the last flower applique for the blanket, “I did it.” She unfurls the blanket, showing it proudly to the statue of the Mother. “I’m ready now.” 

A cramp tightens throughout her body and she lets out a low hiss, once this pain passes I’ll head back and try and get some sleep. She tells herself. Alicent dutifully folds up her blanket, waiting out the pain. When it abates, she stands up, ready to head back to her bedchamber when a warm gush of fluids hits her legs. She freezes as she listens to it drip down her legs and onto the floor of the Sept.

Oh no. 

She goes to move but another contraction hits, nearly bringing her to her knees, she grabs the pew for support, trying to breathe through the pain. Those were not false contractions. It was labor. Her babe is coming.

“Hello?” Alicent calls out, her voice echoing throughout the Sept with no answer. I need to get back to Hightower. I need the midwives. But the contractions have seemed to increase with her water breaking. She tries to take a few steps, but each time a contraction hits her she’s incapable of moving. She could make it back to the tunnel, but what if the babe comes before she makes it back to her chambers? No one will find her until a Hightower comes searching. If she stays in the sept she has a better chance of a septa or septon wandering in and helping her.

“Okay,” she mutters to herself, “we’re doing this.”

She has never been so grateful for her anxiety, causing her to ask detailed questions about labor and research the process. She knows what’ll happen, the birth positions, the midwife said the babe had turned head first, that was good. If this babe had still been in the more dangerous breech position she would’ve crawled back home to ensure a midwife could assist the babe out of her.

Alicent groans through each contraction, losing track of the time, listening to the storm rage around her as her labor progressed. She tried to distract herself with prayer or fixating on items about the Sept, like the candles that surrounded the statue of the Mother, their orange and yellow glow and small puffs of smoke. Eventually she is seized with the intense urge to push, getting to her hands and knees in front of the mother.

Sweat causes her nightgown and hair to stick to her body, her entire body is tired and aching when a burning sensation strikes her lower regions that make her feel as though she’s about to be split open. She thinks the midwives called this ‘the ring of fire.’ She reaches between her legs and feels something firm and wet and round between her legs, stretching her cunt. The head. She lets out a guttural groan as she pushes on final time and feels the mounting pressure finally stop as she awkwardly catches the slippery thing sliding out from between her legs.

The Starry Sept is now filled with the cries of an angry screaming newborn. The babe is red and purple, covered in fluid and mess as it screeches at the indignity of being evicted from its warm home to the cold outside. Alicent slumps against the pew, grabbing her robe and using it to rub the babe clean. She cradles the squalling babe in her arms, holding it against her chest. Streams down her face as she stares at the babe in her arms, “Hi Daisy.” 

Daisy stops crying at the sound of her mother’s voice, looking up at her with bright blue eyes. She strokes the pale fuzz atop the babe’s head. Her fingers lightly trail down as she continues to explore her babe, memorizing her features, tracing her lips, her chin, her soft belly. Daisy has pale hair that matches her equally pale eyebrows. Her lips are a bright pink, her skin is starting to change from its red and purple to a healthy pink. She has ten fingers and ten toes. She’s utterly perfect.

Alicent looks at the Mother with tears in her eyes, “I did it. Look at her, she’s perfect.” She gently wraps her babe in the new blanket, holding her tightly in her embrace. She presses a kiss to Daisy’s head, feeling overwhelmed with joy.  The newborn’s tiny hand curls tightly around Alicent’s finger and she feels a surge of protectiveness course through her.

The babe roots against her chest, whimpering for milk. After some fumbling, she manages to expose a breast to the babe, who latches on easily, still holding her mother’s finger. A fire builds within her as she watches the perfect little girl nurse at her breast. A fierce protectiveness roaring through her. “You’re mine now,” she whispers to the babe. Alicent lifts her fiery gaze to the statue of the Mother, as if to dare the gods themselves to cross her, “No one is going to take you from me.”

Chapter Text

There is a slight panic amongst the Hightowers that morning when Alicent is not in her bedroom. “Father is going to kill us if we’ve lost Alicent in her condition.” Loras mutters, even pregnant with a bastard, she’s still the favorite child. 

“Perhaps she’s praying?” Gwayne suggests.

“Good suggestion, go check.” His oldest brother orders.

Gwayne huffs in annoyance, “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll search the courtyard. Garth, go be useful.” The two younger brothers side eye each other before following his orders.

The lanterns are lit when he enters, which he takes as a positive sign that Alicent has gone this way. He imagines he’ll bump into Alicent on her way back as she only prays when the Sept is likely to be empty in her current condition. As he comes closer to the entrance of the Starry Sept he hears a familiar voice humming a song that their mother used to sing them. “Alicent?”

The humming stops, “Gwayne?” His sister responds, her voice sounds off. 

Gwayne hurries when he sees his sister is sitting down, leaning against the tunnel, something in her lap. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, just tired, we’ve had a long night.”

“We?” Gwayne glances down at Alicent’s lap and sees a babe bundled in a blanket. “Gods above, Ali, you gave birth? Why didn’t you fetch anyone?”

She arches an eyebrow at him, “because I was busy giving birth?”

“Oh,” Gwayne responds dumbly, “was… was it good?”

“Giving birth alone in a Starry Sept with no one to help me? It tickled.” 

I need to stop asking questions, “We need to get you back to the midwives so you can get cleaned up. Can you stand,” his sister nods, slowly pulling herself up with his assistance, holding the sleeping babe in one arm. He feels a pang of guilt that she’s been forced to be with the thing for an untold amount of time. It’s supposed to be swiftly taken away so Alicent could move on from this and return back to her old life. “Aunt Jeyne needs to be notified so it can be placed with it’s new family,” he says, talking aloud, more to himself.

“No,” Alicent takes a step back, clutching it tightly. 

“What?”

“I’m not giving up Daisy.”

Gwayne looks at her exasperated, “ you named it ? Alicent!”

Alicent stares at him defiantly, the flames flickering in her eyes, “I’m keeping Daisy.”

Gwayne sighs, trying to reason with her, “Alicent you cannot have this bastard, it will ruin you, you’ll forever be a sullied woman. This,” he gestures to the babe, “will define you for the rest of your life.”

His sister juts her chin out, “I’m not craven.”

It’s the labor, and the exhaustion that’s making her not see sense. “Ali,” he says gently, “when we return to the Hightower, they are going to take the babe. You cannot change that.”

“I’ll kill myself.”

Gwayne blinks, “what?”

“If they take Daisy, I am going to kill myself. I will slit my throat and stain the floor with my blood.” By gods, she sounds serious.

“Let… let’s just return to our private quarters and get you cleaned up.” She’s confused, by the time we’re in the private quarters, I will have made her see sense.

Brother,

Alicent’s condition has been resolved. Everything is proceeding as planned. Will send with more updates as she recovers.

Hobert

Otto feels a sense of relief reading the note, his daughter has survived labor and come out unharmed. It makes him more reassured of his plans for her return. The Queen died nearly a year ago, leaving the realm without an heir. The King needs to remarry, and he happens to have a daughter who has just proven herself capable of safely birthing one.

The man carries about his day, secure that he has protected his daughter’s reputation and will soon secure her future when she returns.

Until the next raven comes…

Brother,

Alicent is refusing to give up the thing. She is threatening to kill herself if it is taken. We think she is suffering from some sort of delirium from the event. 

Unfortunately this has spread to Gwayne, who is also threatening to kill himself. Your son Garth is helping to see reason and remedy this issue.

Hobert

Garth strides to the chamber door of Alicent’s room, a septa in tow. He knocks on the door, waiting till Gwayne opens the door. “The maid is here for it.”

“Oh, there’s been a change of plans. Alicent is keeping Daisy.” Gwayne says casually as if the most asinine thing did not just come out of his mouth.

Garth’s brows shoot up, “ she named it? ” 

Gwayne nods, “it’s quite fitting.”

Garth stares hard at his little brother, “Gwayne she cannot keep the babe, stand aside and let the septa come in.”

“Anyone who attempts to take my niece loses their hands,” he says, fixing the septa with a cold glare, his hand placed upon the hilt of his sword.

“I am a woman of the cloth, you-”

“Why are you still here?” Gwayne asks.

“Let me, he won’t raise a blade against his own brother,” Garth says.

“No, I will simply kill myself.”

Garth’s jaw hangs open, “ what? ”

“If you take Daisy, Alicent and I will kill ourselves.”

“M’lord, that is a grave sin.” The septa warns.

“So don’t cause us to stumble,” Gwayne retorts.

“You were left alone with Alicent for ten minutes and you’re folding like a cheap tent? Our sister is delirious from labor and lack of sleep and you’re going to let her ruin her life forever during a moment of weakness?”

“Yes.”

Garth drags a hand down his face, “move aside, I am going to talk some sense into our sister.” Gwayne opens the door to let him in.

Brother,

Your son Garth has now joined the suicide pact. Loras has gone to talk to them. The eldest son will be able to reign in this foolishness.

Hobert

“This is what happens when you let a younger brother do the job of the eldest,” Loras mutters. 

Garth opens the door, looking far too jovial for the disaster he is allowing to spread, “Brother! Are you here for the suicide pact?” 

“Let me speak to Alicent, you buffon. She is giving that babe to the septa, today. ”

Garth raises an eyebrow, “the septa’s still here?”

“Yes! And she’s incredibly insulted! Let me in!” Garth shrugs, opening the door slightly to let in his eldest brother.

Brother,

Not only have ALL of your children joined in in this hysterical suicidal pact, but Alicent managed to give the septa a crisis of faith. She is convinced the bastard is divine and refuses to take it. She said she would sooner cut off her  own hands than dishonor the Mother’s blessing, and went back to the Starry Sept.

Refusing to provide Alicent with a wetnurse so that she is solely responsible with the arduous task of breastfeeding has not resulted in her tiring of the thing, for some reason.

My son Ormund is going to talk sense into his cousins, since it seems none of yours were born with any.

Hobert

Ormund pounds on the door, feeling his face flush with embarrassment over the silent war a bastard has caused within his home. 

“Who is it?” Loras asks on the other side, as if he doesn’t know.

“Your cousin Ormund,” he grits out, “ with the High Septon.”

Loras opens the door in an instant, “Why is the High Septon here?”

“Because Alicent convinced the septa that that thing-”

“Daisy.”

Ormund clenches his fist, “is divine and she told the High Septon. ” He offers a weak smile to the elderly man dressed in the brown and maroon robes of his rank, the crystal crown balancing on his head. I can’t believe my cousins are committing heresy.

The door swings open, “Alicent says you may come in.” Ormund struggles to maintain his composure as he steps in, followed by the elderly man.

Gods damn you and the spawn that came from your loins Otto,

MY SON, the future of our house, has ALSO now joined the suicide pact. Our entire next generation is poised at the ready to kill themselves over the whelp. 

Did you not only spare the rod, but throw it into the fucking river? Now the High Septon has come to investigate this heresy, our family has never suffered such an embarrassment in our entire history!!

Hobert

What in the seven hells is happening there? Otto screams to himself as he clenches the scrap of parchment. His brother is so furious that the writing is barely legible. His daughter has never been rebellious, he does not know what’s come over her. She needs to separated from the thing to allow herself to regain her senses. No bastard is worth going to war over.

Brother,

After much deliberation, it has been decided that Daisy will stay with her mother. She and Alicent are to reside in Oldtown, where we will provide for your daughter, and a proper upbringing for your granddaughter. Enclosed is a letter from the High Septon. 

Hobert

Lord Otto Hightower,

After an enlightening discussion with your daughter, the Lady Alicent Hightower, I have come to the conclusion that Septa Hightower was right in her initial assessment. This babe was born under divine circumstances, and it would be an insult to the Mother’s blessing to separate her from her true mother.

Alicent gave birth, unassisted, in the Starry Sept, laboring in front of the statue of the Mother, suffering no complications to herself or the babe. It is clear this child is favored by the Mother herself. The fact that the father is unknown is further sign of divinity. We do not pray to the Father for the gift of life, only the Mother. Who’s to say She, Herself did not have a hand in Daisy’s conception? What her designs are for Alicent and Daisy, we cannot hope to know, only that separating the two would risk great punishment from the gods themselves.

Sincerely,

High Septon Oregano

Otto Hightower leans back from his desk, stunned by contents of the latest letter. His daughter, had managed to convince the High Septon her bastard was divine and belonged with her. She had swayed one of the most powerful men in all of Westeros. He would’ve felt endless pride for his daughter’s skill, had she not used it to ruin her life for a fatherless bastard.

Dear Rhaenyra,

For reasons I cannot explain, I will not be returning to King’s Landing. I wish I could explain more, but find myself unable to conjure the words. Please respect this decision and continue to write.

Your cherished companion,

Alicent

Rhaenyra squints at the scrap, well there’s a cry for help if I ever heard of one. She reaches into her writing, scrawling out a quick note for the maid to discover and bring to her father before departing for the Dragonpit.

Father,

Alicent is being held hostage by the Hightowers. I’m off to rescue her. Will do my best not to let Syrax eat anyone. Be right back.

Rhaenyra 

Princess of Dragonstone

Syrax’s war screech echoes through Oldtown as she circles the Hightower before landing. The Hightower household barely hides their surprise, stammering out a welcome and expressing excitement at the princess’ sudden visit. Sudden so you can’t hide Alicent from me.

Rhaenyra wastes no time demanding to see Alicent, a request causes a suspicious amount of sideways glances amongst Lord Hobert and his son. Syrax can be heard rumbling outside. She is about to pull rank when Alicent herself appears. Rhaenyra embraces her, relieved to find no signs of mistreatment on her friend.  “I shall speak with my dear friend, privately, ” Rhaenyra tells the men. I am going to feed you to Syrax if you refuse. She can hear her Golden Lady trill outside, eager at the thought. 

The princess has a sense of deja vu walking about the tower, she has never been, but Alicent’s vivid description make the place familiar. Alicent brings her into her childhood chambers, dismissing a maid that is inside. “What happened? Why won’t they let you come back?” Rhaenyra asks the moment the door is closed.

“Peace Rhaenyra, no one is forcing me,” Alicent pauses, only increasing Rhaenyra’s concern, “it is complicated…”

“What’s com-” a cry interrupts the princess’ question. She casts her eyes to the source, now noticing a cradle in Alicent’s room. “Um, your maid left a babe in here.”

“Yes,” Alicent says slowly, “she is mine.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw hangs open, “you got married? I… when? Why did you not tell me?”

“Because I did not… I am still unwed.”

Rhaenyra stares at her in shock, “You… you had a bastard?” She can scarcely believe that her devout friend would ever willingly have premarital sex.

“I did, and I’ve decided to keep her, and that’s why I cannot return to the Red Keep. I realize now that I should have explained more but it was a stressful time.”

“Who’s the father?”

Alicent shrugs, “I do not know.”

Don’t know? Why doesn’t she know? I need to kill all the men in King’s Landing. Oh wait she had that concussion. “You still have no memory?”

Alicent shakes her head, “I mentioned taking a lover in my diary, but I never named him. I came here to have my babe in secret and return back to my old life, but once I met her… I couldn’t.” Rhaenyra thinks Alicent might be about to cry, she isn’t sure what to say, staying silent as her friend rambles on. “I’m sorry I cannot return, and that I didn’t explain anything to you properly. I know this is insane but I love her. I can’t give her up Rhaenyra.”

The silver haired girl is silent for a moment, trying to process everything she has just learned. Alicent had a lover, Alicent kept it a secret, Alicent has a bastard babe now, and cannot return to court because of it. “Can I see her?” May as well see what was worth setting your entire life aflame for.

Alicent nods, going to fetch her daughter from her crib. The way she cradles the infant while bouncing her reminds the princess of her own mother, how she held her babes, the ones that managed to live a few days. “Rhaenyra, this is Daisy.”

Rhaenyra takes the babe from Alicent, she’s lightweight, like all newborns. She has pale hair and pale eyebrows. Her blue eyes stare inquisitive at her as she waves her arms, grasping at her braid. I guess you are kind of cute. She lets the babe grasp one of her fingers, “I suppose it is a good thing I have a dragon then.” She looks up at her friend with a smile on her face, “it’ll make visiting you easier.” Alicent smiles back in relief.

Father, 

False alarm. Everything’s all good. Be home in a few days.

Rhaenyra

Princess of Dragonstone

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra stayed nearly a week before returning to the Red Keep, something that caused both her father and sworn shield heart palpitations. Ser Criston throws a fit when she announces her plan to visit three months later. 

“She’s my goddaughter, I have to be at the christening!”

“I do not object to you taking on the mantle of godmother, I object to you being without a guard in Oldtown.” Ser Cole replies.

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes. “The Hightowers have their own guards.”

Ser Cole narrows his eyes suspiciously, “How many unwed sons do the Hightowers have?”

Rhaenyra shrugs, “I don’t know… four?”

Lord Hightower will surely be throwing at least one of them into Rhaenyra’s path, “You need to have a guard.”

She throws up her hands, “Fine, you’ll come with me on Syrax, pack some clothes for tomorrow.” 

Criston stares at her in confusion, “What?”

Brother,

The princess’s continued dedication to being an involved godmother to little Daisy could provide us with another opportunity to have our blood on the throne. A connection between my son Ormund and the Princess can be encouraged if she continues to visit, which I suspect she will. I would advise you to encourage the Princess’s visits. 

Hobert

Otto feels a rage-induced headache pounding at his temples. His brother had allowed his daughter to throw away her life for a fatherless bastard, and now he is attempting to get his son on the throne? Ormund would one day become Lord of Hightower, his brother wanted him to be King consort as well? He drums his fingers against the desk, this would not do. He grabs his quill and pens a letter.

Gwayne,

The princess is coming to Oldtown for the christening. It would be beneficial to our house for a connection between one of its sons and her to be formed. Find a way to encourage affections between you and Rhaenyra so that we may yet see the Hightower secession.

Your Father

Gwayne stares at the letter his father has sent. His father wants him to seduce the princess. How am I supposed to do that? I’ve been studying the blade and horseback riding, not seduction! Still, he knows that a command from his father must be obeyed. Sighing, he puts the note away and prepares for his hardest battle.

{...}

It is amazing how much of a personality Daisy has at only three months old. She’s a happy baby with a relatively calm temperament who loves to be held. She hates tummy time, as all babies do; her uncles are horrendous, constantly trying to rescue her from it when she begins to cry. Though those same uncles are attempting to put Daisy through a training regimen to teach her to roll over. Daisy falls asleep more easily when she’s sung a lullaby. Her periods of wakefulness start to increase, along with her activity. She enjoys kicking things with her feet, trying to grasp at dangling toys with her tiny hands, gurgling with joy as she does so.

Motherhood has not been easy, even with maids there’s late nights and feeding, and though Daisy does not do much, she somehow commandeers all her time. In spite of this, Alicent does not regret her decision. Daisy is worth all the trials and tribulations that will come from having a bastard.

“My little goddaughter has such strong legs,” Rhaenyra coos, tickling the soles of Daisy’s feet, causing the babe to continue her flurry of kicks.

“Please don’t rile up Daisy before the christening,” Alicent pleads from her seat at the vanity as a maid does her hair.

The princess sits up from the bed she’s lying on with Daisy, gasping, “Oh gods, I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I’m the heir now.”

“To the kingdom?” Alicent asks, whipping her head around to look at her, causing her hair to get painfully yanked.

“Mhm.”

Alicent turns back to the vanity, her scalp stinging slightly. “How did your uncle react to this?”

Rhaenyra lets out a snort, “badly.” She turns back to face Daisy, acting as though she’s speaking to her while continuing to converse with her friend. “I only got declared heir because Daemon called Baelon the ‘heir for a day’ while partying in a whorehouse.” There’s a bitter twinge to her voice.

Alicent feels a fury build within her, had something happened to Daisy, and her brothers had made a callous remark about it… perhaps kinslaying should not always be considered a great sin. “Sorry… this was his reaction before you got declared heir?”

“Mhm. Then he may or may not have gotten a whore pregnant, and guess what he did?”

Alicent feels a mix of dread, knowing how the prince is, and excitement, over learning about court gossip, “what?”

“Ran off to Dragonstone, setting up residence in my home, and stole the dragon egg I intended for my brother.” Daisy babbles in response, attempting to join in the conversation, providing her vital commentary.

“Can I call him a cunt?’

“Yes.”

“What a fucking cunt.”

“Mmm.”

Alicent stares in the mirror as she picks through what jewelry to wear, “I can’t imagine the Prince as a father.” Daisy babbles in response to her mother’s voice.

“Neither can I, though given his appetite for whorehouses, I’m sure there’s at least one bastard of his running around.” Daisy coos at her aunt.

Alicent shudders, “gods, could you imagine having one of his children? I bet his children would bite.” 

Rhaenyra giggles, “probably,” she says as Daisy gums at the finger she has managed to capture.

{...}

Alicent has enjoyed a relative bubble for the first three months of Daisy’s life. She’s stayed mainly in the private quarters, around family and servants who were aware of her condition. Now the seclusion period is over, Alicent is starting to see more people, dealing with judging stares and whispers as she holds her child in the Starry Sept. A bastard being baptized and anointed by the High Septon is highly irregular, she knows plenty of old bats were upset at the idea, but it was hard to argue her child isn’t blessed when she delivered in front of the Mother. And when multiple clergymen confirmed her divinity.

Daisy gurgles, waving her little rattle. She looks like a cloud today, dressed in a flowing white christening gown in which both her mother and grandmother were christened. Her godmother is far more engrossed in her godchild than in the High Septon’s words. Alicent has to nudge her occasionally when it’s time to stand or say a prayer.

Her baby girl is perfectly behaved during the anointing and when the High Septon pours holy water over her head. Alicent feels her eyes water slightly watching her daughter be welcomed into the Faith, imagining the pride and love she feels is what her own mother must have felt when she had been baptized. She keeps her back straight and refuses to show a hint of shame at her daughter’s bastardy as her name is spoken. The High Septon presents the newly christened babe to the congregation at the end, introducing them to the newest member of the Faith. The sunlight from the giant glass windows bathes her daughter in warm light, many congregants afterwards will claim they saw a halo around the little girl’s head.

{...}

Criston does not like visiting Oldtown, the Hightowers stare slurringly at his Dornish features, and unfortunately, they are wise enough not to say anything to avoid Rhaenyra allowing him to use his blade on them. Even worse than that, there are four unmarried sons in the Hightower family, and most of his time during the visit is dedicated to keeping them away from the princess. It would be easier if he were allowed to just kill them, but that is against the rules. He’s checked.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Rhaenyra asks the knight as she bounces her goddaughter. She’s asked him this question at least once a day since arriving, completely enraptured with the babe. Criston squints slightly at the child, for some reason, staring at her unsettles him. He doesn’t understand why he has no reason to dislike this babe, but for some reason, a sense of irritation floods through him every time he looks at her. 

“It’s time for her nap, the christening will have tired her out,” Alicent says as Daisy lets out a yawn. “I think I shall lie down for one as well, perhaps Gwayne can keep you company while we recover?” Criston narrows his eyes at the lady, Oh, you sneaky, heinous wench.

“Unless the princess is also tired and would like to rest,” Criston suggests, earning him a sharp look from Alicent. 

“No, I am not tired, I would not mind the company.” What am I? Chopped liver?

The boy has decided to attempt to entice the princess with his horseback riding skills. “I know the trails around here very well, I ride almost every day.” He brags to the prince as Criston is forced to watch on. He does not know why the princess has agreed to humor this blatant-and poorly done-attempt at seduction by a boy who has yet to grow facial hair.

“Alicent mentioned you were an accomplished rider.”

Gwayne nods, puffing up his chest slightly. Criston rolls his eyes in response. “I can mount a horse one-handed.” he grips the saddle, going to do a move he’s done a hundred times before, but today, something goes wrong. He’s too enthusiastic in the movement, there’s too much momentum, instead of swinging onto the saddle, he overshoots it, going over the other side, and falling onto the ground. He hears a snap as he lands. 

“Ser Gwayne?” Rhaenyra rushes to his side, and Criston walks slowly over to the foolish boy.

The boy manages to peel himself off the ground. “I am fine.” He mutters, looking incredibly pale, clutching at his arm. 

“Is your arm okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” he grits out. Criston strides over and pushes up the sleeve, revealing a dip in the forearm.

“It’s broken.” He declares, he fixes the boy with a smirk, “I thought you said you were a good rider?”

“Ser Cole,” Rhaenyra chides.

I’m never talking to a girl again, Gwayne swears as the world moves beneath before going dark as his body hits the ground.

Chapter Text

Alicent smooths a hand over Daisy’s soft, downy hair. “This is either the palest blonde hair or it’s silver.” She is inclined to believe the latter, seeing as her daughter’s eyes have changed from bright blue to lilac. Daisy gums her favorite green cloth ball as she sits on the blanket in a grass courtyard. “I think there’s some Valyrian in you.” She touches her daughter’s nose, whose eyes crinkle in response.

“That does not help narrow it down; people in our family have Valyrian features,” Gwayne says as he lies lazily stretched out on the grass, picking at blades. He glances at his niece, “though I suppose she’s not a Baratheon. Their babes always come out dark-haired.” Daisy flings the ball away from her, delighting in her uncle returning it, flinging it away again, and starting a game of fetch. “You must have loved him,” Gwayne comments, “for you to bed him.”

Alicent thinks back to her lewd journal entries, I am not so certain of that… she shrugs, “perhaps.”

“What about a Lannister? They have quite fair hair.” He tickles Daisy with a blade of grass, “Perhaps we should dangle coins in front of her and see if she gets excited.” Alicent wrinkles her nose at the thought of a Lannister being Daisy’s father; the few she had interacted with had been arrogant snobs, and she doesn’t want that influence near Daisy. 

Alicent pulls her daughter in for a hug, inhaling her sweet scent for comfort. She dislikes the idea of Daisy’s father reappearing, she hopes he never does. Daisy is her baby, she fought her own family to keep her. She won’t let someone else come into her life and try to separate them. 

“Were there any Celtigars at court?” 

Alicent shrugs, “They visit on occasion,” though Alicent cannot recall ever being close with any of them. Then again, this affair seemingly had only just begun in the months prior to her concussion.

Gwayne suddenly laughs to himself, “You know who has Valyrian features and was at court the same time as you?”

“Hmm?” 

“Prince Daemon.”

Alicent audibly gags, “Gods above, I would never!”

Gwayne giggles, “It’s more likely you'd bed Ser Laenor than the prince.” 

“Perhaps he outgrew his … proclivities,” Alicent teases, flashing a smile at her brother before leaning into Daisy. “Do you think your father is a sword swallower Daisy?” Her babe babbles in response, offering her toy to her mother. 

“Sword swallower or whore,” Gwayne muses to himself, “how will you ever choose?”

“Why are you choosing between a whore and a swordswallower?” Rhaenyra asks, apparating out of thin air like a Specter. 

“We are deliberating who my mysterious lover was.”

Rhaenyra tilts her head, “Ser Laenor or my uncle?” Alicent laughs as she nods yes. The princess picks up Daisy, who leans her head against her godmother. “Daisy is too sweet to be Daemon’s bastard.” She coos at the child. She nods at Gwayne, “Hello, Ser Gwayne, it seems as though your arm has healed.”

Gwayne, who has kept his gaze focused on the ground since Rhaenyra’s appearance, nods once, his face flushing red, nearly matching the color of his hair. Alicent fixes her brother with a hard look. He had sworn off talking to women after breaking his arm and had held strong to that vow for three months now. He hardly even spoke to the maids in their household. He kept swearing that he was going to take the cloth and join an order that took vows of silence. Loras promised to drag him from it every time he said such foolishness. Alicent feels annoyed at her brother, she knows their father is still bitter about her decision to keep Daisy. She had written to him about Daisy’s christening and hadn’t received a reply. She had never received such a prolonged cold shoulder from her father. It’s unsettling. She’s cried herself to sleep on more than one occasion. If only he came to Oldtown, he’d forgive her if he saw Daisy. She’s impossible not to love. Gwayne successfully courting Rhaenyra would surely soothe her father’s upset, but instead of helping her, he is focused on the embarrassment he suffered those three months ago.

Gwayne gets up, bows slightly to the princess, and turns on his heel to walk away, colliding with a tree as he does so. Ser Criston, Rhaenyra’s faithful shadow, smirks at the foolish boy; he almost doesn’t need to be here to protect her virtue. “What’s wrong with him?” Rhaenyra asks.

Alicent lets out a sigh, “he’s a dumbass. Come sit,” she pats the ground by her. “The servants will be bringing lunch soon.” Rhaenyra settles onto the blanket, still holding her goddaughter. “How is my father?” Alicent asks, knowing that he has taken the princess under his tutelage these past few months, training her up to be heir.

“He’s much happier now that Daemon and Lord Corlys are away at war.” She stands Daisy on her feet, holding her waist, letting the babe bounce herself up and down.

“He must be very busy,” Alicent says, staring at her fingers, thinking of her unanswered letter. 

Rhaenyra watches her friend’s downcast eyes. The Hand will discuss the optics of both visits to Oldtown, suggesting (telling) her to ensure she dines with the High Septon and Grand Maester, and Archmaesters from the Citadel while in Oldtown. Harping about how he needs to curry favor with two of Westeros’s most ancient institutions. Rhaenyra wishes the man knew how Alicent would say nearly the same thing verbatim to her whenever she comes to visit. He all but interrogates her about these dinners, but grows distant and aloof when Alicent and her babe are mentioned. She does not have the heart to relay this to her friend. “He is quite busy.”

“So…” Rhaenyra starts, attempting to change the subject, “your babe’s father?”

Alicent shrugs, “It is a fruitless endeavor, though my brothers insist on attempting to guess.” She stares at her daughter, taking in her pale skin, her silver hair, and wide lilac eyes. Valyrian, though from her line or the father’s, she did not know. “Surely any noble lover I had taken would have sent some missive inquiring after me when I was injured.”

“A dragonseed, perhaps? There are a number that work in The Red Keep.”

Alicent feels a sense of relief at the idea, a servant would never be able to contact her. Her family would certainly not allow him to attempt to lay any claim to the child. She leans forward, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s head. Daisy’s father is some lowly nobody servant. He will never come to claim the child. Daisy remains hers.

Chapter Text

Gwayne has stolen Daisy away to the courtyard for playtime with her favorite uncle, her play blanket spread out on the grassy courtyard beneath a tree to provide them shade, but as the nine-month-old babe has learned to crawl, she does not stay. “Daisy, Daisy,” he calls out to his niece, shaking a rattle to get her attention. It does not work, the babe remains fixated on the blades of grass, pulling at them with her hand, babbling to herself. He drops the rattle, sprawling out on to the blanket in defeat, “Well fuck me I guess.”

“So you do speak,” says a teasing feminine voice behind him, causing him to nearly leap into the air. He twists around to see Rhaenyra and her ever-present shadow, Ser Cole, both having managed to silently approach him. He flushes red as he scrambles to his feet to scrap into a respectable bow.

“P-princess.”

Princess Rhaenyra smiles slightly at him, either in benevolence or teasing, he can’t be sure. “I had thought that you lost your tongue when you broke your arm.”

He feels himself flush even brighter, “I … I did not…” He stammers pitifully.

“I can see that.” Gods above, please strike me down right now, he pleads to the higher beings of his faith. 

The princess glides past him to scoop up her goddaughter, Daisy glances at her uncle in askance, too young to recall her godmother from her past visit. “I do not think that Alicent would be happy to hear you using such language around Daisy, has she started speaking yet?” She tickles Daisy’s belly, “have you started speaking, little one?” Daisy nods her head, not understanding the question but knowing that nods and shakes are suitable answers to them.

Gwayne goes pale now, “Please don’t tell Alicent, she’ll kill me.” 

She smirks, a wicked gleam in her eye, “Daisy, shall we let your uncle live?” She leans in to whisper covetously, “Or shall we run and tattle to Mama?”

“If the princess requires, I will offer my services,” Ser Cole chimes in, Gwayne sid-eyes the Dornish man, who is delighting in his misery.

Daisy toys with the ruby necklace the princess has on before nodding once more, “That won’t be necessary, Ser Cole, our little beacon has decided Ser Gwayne shall live another day.”

“Shame,” he hears the knight mutter.

Rhaenyra sweeps past him, seemingly done with her torment of him, for now. He feels a twinge of irritation that she is taking his niece with her. “Ser Gwayne, bring Daisy’s toys to my chamber. I will have lunch with my goddaughter.” She orders him, as though he were a common servant, though, then again, who is he, the youngest son of a second son, compared to a princess? He lets out a slight huff as he gathers the toys. 

{...}

“Are you certain you do not wish to come with?” Alicent asks as she pulls on her gloves.

“I come here to spend time with my goddaughter, not hang around decrepit men.” Rhaenyra replies as she lies sprawled out on her bed, fiddling with the bedspread.”

“Maester Alfador is not that old.” Alicent counters.

“I do not come here to spend time with condescending twats either,” Rhaenyra says, “I’ve already been to one lecture.”

“I thought you enjoyed it.” 

“I enjoyed the contents, the lecturers I could do without.”

Alicent settles onto the bed next to her friend, “I understand some of the Maesters can be… not ideal with their temperament, but the pursuit of knowledge is a worthy cause.”

“Even when the teachers condescend to their female students by using smaller words?” Rhaenyra mutters.

Alicent rolls her eyes in agreement, “Bothersome, patronizing, pompous maesters, but I’ve been enjoying these series of lectures in spite of some of the teachers. Besides, perhaps one day, there might be someone who changes things,” she tugs playfully at a strand of her friend’s silver hair.

“You must think me very powerful, to change such an ancient institute.” Rhaenyra murmurs, “Most doubt I can even wear the crown properly.”

“That is why it is important for you to dine with the archmaesters during your visits to-”

“Charm them with your wit and taste for knowledge.” Rhaenyra chimes in, repeating her words perfectly, having heard them ad nauseam. “I know, I know,” she smiles at Alicent, “no one else believes in me the way you do Ali, you are my greatest supporter.” 

She blushes slightly, “I am merely being a good friend.”

“One day I shall have you back at court, you will help me deal with the dolards.”

“A ruined woman and her bastard child would not be welcomed.”

“Lords bring their bastards all the time, and none of them are divine,” Rhaenyra retorts before waving her off before she can argue, “go forth. Enjoy your time at the lecture. I shall spend my time with Daisy before subjecting myself to the Archmaesters tonight.”

“Do not wake Daisy early from her nap,” Alicent warns.

“I won’t!” Rhaenyra sighs, as though she had never been filled with such temptation. She immediately heads to the nursery, intent on watching Daisy until she awakens, and snatching her up the instant her eyes open, only to find the cradle empty.

“Where is my goddaughter?” She angrily asks the maid tidying the chambers.

“Oh… um… her uncle took her, m’lady.”

“That fucking cunt,” Rhaenyra mutters, “Ser Cole, come, we’re hunting Hightowers.” Ser Cole dutifully follows her, a gleam in his eye.

Gwayne has taken his niece to the rooftop gardens of Hightower, the greatest gardens in the entire Reach, second only to Highgarden. Though that family had the advantage of topsoil. The Hightower gardens were a construction of pure ingenuity. A series of ascending platforms filled with every kind of vegetation that is capable of prospering in this climate, leading up to the flaming beacon of Hightower. Flowers, greenery, vegetables, even fruit trees grew on these platforms, almost entirely covering the bright lime stone so well, one could forget they were not on the ground. 

Daisy loves the gardens, excitedly grasping at the petals, attempting to shove them into her mouth, giggling when her nose is tickled by one. “Shall we bring some carnations to your room, sweetling?” He asks, offering the flower to her. Daisy grasps it in her hand, squeezing it in delight. 

“There you are!” An angry voice calls out. Gwayne turns in shock to see the princess angrily approaching, trailed by her sworn shield. “How dare you?”

“I… Princess?” His mind scrambles to think of what offense he may have caused.

Rhaenyra snatches up Daisy, glaring daggers at the young Hightower. “I only get Daisy for a week, and you dare to intrude on my time with her.”

Despite her status over him and her witnessing his great embarrassment, Gwayne feels a sense of territorial irritation at being lectured for spending time with Daisy. “She’s my niece!”

“This is treason,” Rhaenyra declares, “I ought to have Ser Cole remove a limb for such impertinence.” 

Gwayne can see the knight’s hand go to the hilt of his sword, “if my lady commands it.” Ser Cole says.

“How?”

“Excuse me?”

“How is it treason?” He challenges. 

“You made a princess of the blood have to go on a wild goose chase and climb the numerous blasted stairs to these gardens.” He notes her cheeks are tinged pink from the exertion.

“I don’t think either of those things challenges your safety or the security of your succession, Princess.” The princess levies him with a look, and when he hears the faint roar of Syrax in the distance, it occurs to him that perhaps he should not anger her so.

“You are an impertinent boy,” Rhaenyra says while Daisy squirms in her arms, reaching for the flowers on the ground.

“We are the same age,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Rhaenyra snaps.

“Nothing.” 

Rhaenyra narrows her eyes at him, “Go and fetch us some refreshments and sustenance. Daisy and I shall promenade in these gardens.” He clenches his hands behind his back. The princess has the habit of ordering him about, much like his sister; no wonder they got along so well. “As you wish,” he says while bowing.

Gwayne returns, a servant in tow, carrying a lunch for the princess, along with some mashed food for Daisy. He finds them in a pavilion. Rhaenyra is sitting on the floor with Daisy, her skirts spread out around her as she coos to the little girl, dangling a red ranunculus flower in front of her. “Is this your favorite, my love?” Daisy babbles in response. “This is my favorite too, my goddaughter has excellent taste, does she not, Ser Cole?” 

“Indeed, princess.” Her knight responds.

Gwayne feels a smidgen of his irritation ease seeing the princess gleefully play with his niece. It is hard to stay irritated at someone who is kind to Daisy. “Oh I love you so much, sweetling,” Daisy leans forward, grasping the princess’ cheeks in her little hands. “I need to bring you and your mother to court so that I may see you all the time.” The irritation comes flooding back in, taking his niece away from Oldtown? That was illegal!

He steps forward to announce himself and present the princess with her meal when a buzzing noise catches his attention. A wasp is flitting about his niece’s bonnet, which is regrettably embroidered with many, many colorful flowers. Before he can call out a warning as the wasps goes to land on Daisy’s head, the princess’s hand lurches forward, snatching the offending creature away. 

“Did that naughty bug try to sting my Daisy?” She asks, her voice light, though her brows furrow together slightly.

“Princess, are you well?” Ser Cole asks, stepping forward. Gwayne stares wide-eyed. Wasps are known for repeatedly stinging when irritated, and she had the wasp caged.

She stood up slowly, “Pardon me a moment,” she says stiffly to the two knights before walking a distance away. They both stare in the direction she went until a loudly exclaimed, “FUCK!”  springs them both into action. Gwayne scoops up his niece, following after Ser Cole. The princess is pacing about on a grassy path, rigorously flapping her hands, her face scrunched up in pain.

“Princess?” Ser Cole asks tentatively.

“Are you alright?”

“No! That fucking hurt!” She whimpers, her bottom lip quivering.

Ser Cole tenderly takes the princess’s hands in his, inspecting the damage. Gwayne steps forward for a better look, there are three angry welts, two on her right, one on her left. Gwayne turns to the servant, “Fetch a maester for the princess, she is wounded.”

Rhaenyra sits on the floor, staring at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears as the maester treats her. Daisy sits beside her, playing with her skirt, occasionally glancing around in askance at her godmother’s odd state. Gwayne shifts awkwardly on his feet, watching her be treated, unsure of what to do. He is sworn to help maidens in need, but he doubts he can slay a wasp with a sword. 

“I think we shall have lunch inside instead,” she says in a weak voice once bandaged. She glances at her hands and then at Daisy, realizing the pain it will cause to carry her.

“I shall carry her, your highness.” 

“Thank you, Ser Gwayne.” Criston’s eyes narrow at the boy; he is lacking in the ways of courting and wooing, but he is still a boy, never to be trusted.

To add insult to injury, Alicent insists that being stung by a wasp, repeatedly, does not warrant a good enough reason to beg leave of dinner. She sits at the table, doing her best not to appear bored, slowly eating as she does her best not to press on the welts in her hand. She takes a small sip of her wine, wishing it were stronger. She leans towards Gwayne, who is seated at her left side during this arduous dinner of elbow rubbing. “I wish the wasp had been invited,” she murmurs to him over her cup.

His fair brows furrow slightly, “Why, princess?”

“So that it might help me stay awake during this.” Gwayne bites his lip slightly, he should defend the Archmaesters; it is a privilege to dine with them, but they could be … long-winded at times. Archmaester Garmund, in particular, loved to drone on with no concern for how invested or disinterested the others around him were in the topic at hand.

“The wasp would be in good company, Archmaester Garmund’s voice is not unlike a buzzing insect.”

Gwayne lets out a slight laugh at this, laboring to turn it into a cough, but it is not as successful as he hopes for; he catches annoyed looks from his family at the table. Rhaenyra, unscathed, smiles into her cup. A smile he had earlier labeled mischievous, but now found there to be some charm in it.

The week passes too fast for Gwayne; time with Rhaenyra is pleasant now that he has overcome his embarrassment. The princess is bold and loud; she is a sore loser when playing cards or board games, nearly as territorial over Daisy as Alicent is. But she’s also kind, especially to Daisy, and witty. When she flashes her mischievous smile at him, he feels as though he’s being taken into her confidence; it’s intoxication. No wonder Alicent speaks so fondly of her.

In the blink of an eye, it is time for the princess to depart again, she is lavishing Daisy with farewell kisses, promising to be back for her Name Day, though the girl does not understand. Daisy reaches out to stroke Syrax’s scales and the beast lets out a low hum. “Do you like my Golden Lady sweetling? Perhaps for your Name Day, I shall take you flying.”

“No!” Alicent snaps, Rhaenyra pouts in response before reluctantly handing the babe back to her friend. 

“Thank you for escorting us, Ser Gwayne,” Rhaenyra says.

“He does not need thanks, he is honor-bound as a knight to do so,” Ser Cole replies, looking at him tartly. 

“I am happy you managed to regain control of your tongue; let us pray you retain it.” She tells him, flashing that teasing smile that has the odd effect of making his palms sweat. 

He opens his mouth to bid the princess farewell, but multiple greetings crowd his mind, safe travel home, princess, or good day princess, get combined into the worst possible sentence. “Go home, princess.”

Alicent stares at her buffon of a brother in disbelief as Rhaenyra gives him an odd look before mounting her dragon, who also shakes her head, seemingly in disbelief as well over his choice of words.. Once she is in the sky and out of earshot, Alicent turns to him, “Perhaps you should maintain that vow of silence, brother.”

Chapter Text

Gwayne is ill. With what, he cannot say. It affects his ability to eat, to sleep, his focus is elsewhere. Perhaps it is a wasting illness, he thinks to himself. The only thing he can focus on while suffering this ailment is the princess. But who wouldn’t think about the princess? She’s amazing. She had risked her life to defend Daisy from that treacherous wasp. He doesn’t think he’s met a braver person than Princess Rhaenyra. 

She was charming as well, with her mischievous smile and lilac eyes that matched Daisy’s. The image of her smiling and quietly giggling over her goblet during dinner is seared into his mind, replaying again and again. Then he remembers the last thing he said to her was to ‘go home’ and he thinks about falling on his blade. She probably thinks I’m the worst person in all of Westeros, worse than Prince Daemon even! Why did I say that? I should get myself to a septry so she’ll never have to suffer my presence again. Worrying over whether he had hurt the princess’ feelings with his comment keeps him up at night, leaving him tossing and turning. 

A couple weeks later Gwayne is playing with Daisy, the only Hightower that does not remember his embarrassing moment. She gums a wooden horse as she sits on the floor with her uncle while her mother sits at her desk writing. “Who are you writing to?”

“Rhaenyra,” Gwayne stills, she’s writing the princess. He wonders if Rhaenyra has mentioned the incident , if he terribly wounded the princess. Does she want him to cut out his offending tongue?

“How…” his mouth goes dry, “how fares she?”

“Good, she’s detailing her opinion on the suitors her father is proposing for her.”

His head jerks up, “Other… other suitors?” Alicent glances at her brother, noticing his visceral reaction to the idea of other men courting Rhaenyra.

“Yes.”

He feels his cheeks grow warm as a pit forms in his stomach, “I thought father intended for me to court her.”

“I thought you had given up on that.” She says, raising an eyebrow.

“I have! I have offended her too greatly, and I’ll never be able to atone for it.” He’s so fucking dramatic.

“Perhaps… you could do something nice… as an apology?” Alicent ventures.

Gwayne nods sagely, “I could cut off my tongue.”

Alicent rubs her temples with her fingers, “no.” I have to do everything myself around here. “Perhaps when she comes back you might show her the gardens? She enjoys them.”

The idea of having to wait three months to speak to Rhaenyra again causes him to despair. Gwayne thinks back to when Rhaenyra played with Daisy in the gardens, remembering how she showed Daisy her favorite flowers. An idea forms in his mind.

Dear Princess,

First I must apologize for the awkward goodbye. I do not know what came over me and I hope you are well. I know some time has passed but I wish to thank you for taking on the treacherous wasp that intended to inflect its stinger on our precious Daisy. I know it is not much but enclosed I have seeds from your favorite flower, the ranunculus. 

It needs to be planted in full sun and the soil kept moist in order for the flowers to bloom.

Sincerely,

Ser Gwayne

“What is that?” Gwayne asks, halting his sister as she walks by with a letter bearing the Targaryen seal.

Alicent arches an eyebrow, “A letter from Rhaenyra?”

“She wrote you back?”

“Yes?”

“She hasn’t written me back,” he says, his voice coming out more petulant than he intended.

“She’s probably busy.”

“She wrote you!”

“I’m her best friend!” Alicent sighs, “I could tell her to reply to you.”

“That would be nice, cause I’m really worried about how the flower is doing.” Alicent gives him a look of disbelief before starting to walk away. “But wait.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me sound like I’m desperate for her to reply.”

“But you are-”

“Well don’t make me sound it!” Alicent lets out a huff before walking away to accomplish her Balerion sized task of making Gwayne seem cool.

Dear Rhaenyra,

Daisy has grown so confident with cruising around the furniture. She’s so curious, though it is nerve wracking the way she can grab for more things now. My brothers are all trying to get her to walk. If any of them witness her first steps before I do I am going to remove their eyes. 

Speaking of brothers, I heard Gwayne sent you some flowers or the like? How are they faring? Be sure to write Gwayne if you need any tips on them growing.

Fondly,

Alicent

~~~

Dear Ser Gwayne,

Thank you for your gift. I planted the seeds, hopefully they will bloom like the ones in the Oldtown gardens.

Sincerely,

Princess Rhaenyra

PS what does full sun mean?

~~~

Dear Princess,

Full sun refers to how much light a plant needs to grow. Full sun means uninterrupted sunlight for at least six hours. There’s different levels to sunlight exposure…

“Seven hells,” Rhaenyra mutters, staring at the letter.

“What is it?” Ser Criston asks.

“Ser Gwayne sent me a letter about how much sunlight plants need. It’s two pages.” 

Criston shakes his head, this fool is so smitten… and so foolish. 

“He wrote me two pages… I should probably reply,” she glances up at her knight, “right?”

Oh no…

“What?”

Fuck I said that outloud! “No… I think enough correspondence has happened, he’s written two pages, he’s basically written enough for the both of you.”

“You have a point,” Rhaenyra mutters, “plus I have all these suitors I need to worry about.” She folds up the letter, before pausing, “Oh, no, I should write a thank you note otherwise Alicent will make it a whole thing about manners.” 

That woman is my enemy, Criston grumbles internally.

Dear Ser Gwayne,

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Princess Rhaenyra

Syrax lets out a screech as she closes in on Seasmoke’s tail, Rhaenyra leans forward excitedly, urging her lady to pick up the pace. Seasmoke beats his wings, determined to pull forward as King’s Landing’s dragonpit draws closer. She flicked her reins, sending Syrax into a dive and sliding into a landing outside the dragonpit, kicking up dust. Seasmoke lands next to her a half second later with a roar. Rhaenyra slid off her mount’s saddle, “Beat you!” Laenor rolls his eyes in response.

Rhaenyra shades her eyes as she scans the sky, searching for a glimpse of Vhagar, “it’s going to be a few minutes till granny catches up.”

“Don’t let Laena hear that.”  Rhaenyra giggles in response. They decide to be generous and wait for the great she-beast to land, before riding the wheelhouse back to the Red Keep. 

{...} 

Laena lays stretched out on a divan, biting into a lemon cake as she shakes her head at the letter in her hand. “Ser Lannister has to be the most arrogant betrothal request so far,” she puts on a nasally voice, “Casterly Rock is quite magnificent, and my House’s great fortune means we can create a dragonpit worthy of your Golden Lady. She’s the future queen you idiot, why would she be at Casterly Rock?” Laena yells at the letter before flinging it aside.

“This letter isn’t arrogant, but it’s longwinded, Lord Dondarrion goes on forever and forever,” Laenor says, staring at the five pages. “Just tell us why Rhaenyra should take your son to mount.” Rhaenyra and Laena let out scandalized laughs. “Oh no,” Laenor says as he reads another line, “he’s not proposing his son.”

“Does he have a grandson?” Rhaenyra asks.

“He’s proposing himself. ”

Rhaenyra makes a face, “that man is old enough to be my grandfather.”

“ These are the best proposals for the future Queen of Westeros?” Laena mutters, picking up another letter.

“These are the ones Lord Otto has presented to me.”

“Speaking of Hightowers,” Laenor says, waving a letter around, “you didn’t mention Lord Otto’s putting his son out to stud.”

Rhaenyra’s brows furrow, “Ser Gwayne? He’s not, he merely writes to me about flowers. I wonder how that got in there.” She nibbles on a candied lemon. “Put it on the pile on my desk.”

She turns to Laena sighing, “father says he’ll allow me to choose whoever I want for a husband, but how am I to choose when my options are all arrogant lickspittles who only care for my royal womb?”

Laena shrugs, she does not envy the princess’ dilemma. “Perhaps a Northerner, they’re stoic, but they’re known for their dedication to duty.”

“Rhaenyra!” Laenor says, holding a handful of Ser Gwayne’s letters. “Why did you not tell us about this?”

“Tell you about what?”

“That Gwayne Hightower is absolutely besotted with you!”

Laena perks up, “he is?”

“He’s not,” Rhaenyra says, “all he does is write to me about flowers.”

“Why flowers?” Laena asks.

“He gifted me some seeds, he’s been concerned about their well being.”

Laenor scoffs, “you underplay it. Laena, listen to this: Dear Princess, First I must apologize for the awkward goodbye. I do not know what came over me and I hope you are well. I know some time has passed but I wish to thank you for taking on the treacherous wasp that intended to inflect its stinger on our precious Daisy. I know it is not much but enclosed I have seeds from your favorite flower, the ranunculus. 

It needs to be planted in full sun and the soil kept moist in order for the flowers to bloom. Sincerely, Ser Gwayne.”

Laena sucks in her teeth, “oh that poor fool is smitten with you.”

“He’s not-”

“He sent you your favorite flower, he remembered your favorite flower after you told him and sent it.” Laenor argues.

“I never told him my favorite flower, he must’ve asked Alicent or overheard me talking with Daisy.”

Laenor and Laena are quiet for a moment before they both start yelling at her. “ That means he likes you! ”

“If he wants to court me, why does he only speak about flowers?” Rhaenyra challenges.

“Because he’s a man, and men are idiots.” Laenor replies.

Laena snorts, “you would know.”

“Shut up!” Rhaenyra pursed her lips, still unconvinced, “let’s test this theory.” Laenor suggests, “tell him about something you’re interested in, and see how he responds.”

The princess sighs, “fine, it’s certainly more exciting than looking over these proposals.”

Dear Ser Gwayne, 

Thank you for your latest reading. I always enjoy your insight. Since you are a learned man, I was wondering if you could help me. I greatly enjoy reading books about Old Valyria, but alas, there are not many thanks to the Doom. I was wondering perhaps, if you knew if the Citadel may have any?

Sincerely,

Princess Rhaenyra

Princess of Dragonstone

  A month later, after Rhaenyra had declared victory to Laenor and Laena, a package arrived at the Red Keep from Ser Gwayne Hightower. She’s surprised by this, usually Gwayne writes on paper lightweight enough to be carried by a hardy raven. Or sends multiple ravens. The Pony Express is used for bigger packages and excessive amounts of paper. She turns over the package wrapped in brown paper. Did he send me a Valyrian tome? She rips open the letter.

Dear Princess Rhaenyra,

Sorry for the delay! The Citadel does indeed have some Valyrian volumes you may find of interest. As they are rare and precious, I was not able to remove it from the Citadel’s library so I copied down a book for you. To be more accurate, I copied the first part of a history tome for you. I hope to have another part copied by the time you arrive for Daisy’s first birthday. I hope my writing is legible!

Sincerely,

Ser Gwayne

Rhaenyra opens the package, the book has a simple cover, every page filled with meticulous Valyrian, written in Ser Gwayne’s handwriting. Laenor is right. The boy is in love with me. The thought makes her cheeks flush slightly. She’s uncertain why she’s having such a reaction. Alicent’s brother is youthful and awkward. She’s watched him run into a tree and break his arm trying to impress her. She finds him shy and a little annoying. And yet, he’s very genuine. He loves Alicent and Daisy almost as much as she does. He talks back to her, when it comes to Daisy. She can’t recall ever feeling condescended to with speaking with Gwayne. He’s put in more effort for her than the men trying to woo her into marriage. She looks back to the pile of letters of aggravating marriage proposals, then back to Ser Gwayne’s letter and the book. Hmmm…

{...}

Rhaenyra paces the chambers of her room, staring at the gowns she intends to pack for Daisy’s first birthday. She’s already sent her goddaughter’s presents ahead, knowing she can’t overburden Syrax. “Ser Criston,” she beckons.

The knight steps into the girl’s chambers, “Princess?”

“What do you think of Ser Gwayne?”

The man stills, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, “How… how do you mean princess?”

“His character, his deposition.”

“Clumsy and green.” He answers automatically.

“He’s not very ambitious is he?”

He’s not good at being ambitious, though he tries to court you. “It must’ve skipped a generation.” 

“Do you think he’d treat a lady well?”

“I don’t think he’d know what to do with a lady.” 

“So he’s malleable.” Rhaenyra says quietly, Criston lets out a slight pained noise, it begins.

“Jeyne, change of plans, pack my red dress, I wish to wear that to Daisy’s birthday.” oh, my job is about to get harder, Criston thinks, though he wonders whether his job will be protecting the princess’ virtue from the fumble knight or the fumble knight from the hot blooded princess. 

Chapter Text

Daisy toddled across the room before stumbling, falling to the floor, her skirts billowing out as she did so. Hands scooped her off of the ground before the little girl had a moment to react. “Oh, my sweet little goddaughter.” Rhaenyra cooed, resting her on her hip, tickling her stomach, causing the child to erupt into giggles.

“Am I going to hold my daughter at all today?” Alicent teased, watching her best friend fawn over her child.

“I haven’t seen her in months!” Rhaenyra pouted, her hold tightening slightly on the little girl who was grasping at Rhaenyra’s silver locks.

“Just don’t become melancholic when it’s time for her nap,” Alicent said as she picked up her daughter’s bonnet, fixing to her head, smoothing away an errant silver ringlet.

Rhaenyra had sent multiple presents ahead of her arrival. This was the first of them, a green dress embroidered with gerber daisies, along with a matching bonnet, turning the little girl into a rainbow of color. Daisy grasped at the ribbons as Alicent did her best to tie the bonnet, “are you ready to eat cake my love?” The babe shook her head no, her favorite response to questions now. “No cake for Daisy?” Her daughter shook her head no again. “I’ll have to eat all the cake, and then you!” Alicent nuzzled her daughter’s face, pretending to eat her, causing the child to let out a happy shriek. 

“Oh, her eyes have changed,” Rhaenyra commented, noticing the new lavender shade of her goddaughter’s eyes. “I thought they were going to stay blue.” 

“Daisy likes to surprise,” Alicent said, “she didn’t want to look anything like her Mama. Even though I delivered alone in a Sept,” she muttered to herself.

“She wanted to look like her godmother,” Rhaenyra replied, smiling at Daisy’s Valyrian features that looked remarkably similar to hers before gasping. “Perhaps I am the father.”

“Daisy, is Aunt Nyra your father?” Alicent asked, lightly tickling her daughter. The babe was quiet for a moment before nodding, causing the two ladies to start laughing. “Mystery solved, Nyra, you are the father.”

“I am the father,” Rhaenyra said gleefully, tossing the little girl up in the air, causing her to erupt into giggles. “Shall father take you back to the Red Keep?”

“No!” Alicent said, “my little beacon is staying in Oldtown with me.” She took her daughter into her arms, balancing her on her hip. “And you need to get dressed,” she told her friend, who was still in her dressing robe. The Hightower lady raised a brow at the dress her friend laid out on the bed. A showstopping red gown with golden embroidery, has Gwayne’s fumbling… actually worked?  

She helped her friend get dressed into the gown, tying off the laces while her daughter happily babbled and played with blocks on the floor. Alicent bit her lip as her eyes gazed over the red dress. It was a modest neckline but was well fitted to her body, extenuating her curves. She’s trying to catch someone’s eye, that’s for certain, Alicent thought as she watched Rhaenyra preen in the mirror, applying perfume to her wrists and neck.

“Poor Uncle Gwayne isn’t going to know what hit him,” Alicent murmured quietly to her daughter who squeaked in response to her mother’s voice.  Gods I hope I didn’t preen like that before I snuck off to couple with Daisy’s father.  

“I’m ready!” Rhaenyra declared, spinning around and holding out her grasping hands. “Birthday girl please.” She didn’t wait for Alicent to move, reaching down to scoop up the little girl. “Oh don’t give me that look,” Rhaenyra said in response to Alicent’s pout. “She’ll be back in your arms once she’s hungry.”

“Am I just food to you Daisy?” Alicent asked. Her little girl was still for a moment before nodding, earning laughter from her mother and godmother alike. 

The Hightowers’ Nameday celebration thrown for Daisy was what one would expect for a cherished trueborn son rather than the bastard granddaughter of a second son. Attendees cooed over the little girl held by her godmother while showering Alicent Hightower with gifts for the young girl. Rhaenyra watched with a sense of satisfaction and superiority that her present - or presents more apt - were the best. Her best present was being clutched by Daisy, a cloth dragon, the exact likeness of Syrax. Her goddaughter had insisted on keeping the dragon close by ever since receiving it. The princess smiled to herself, in a couple years, she was certain that Daisy would be begging to ride her Golden Lady. Alicent had been steadfast against the idea but the princess was certain she could wear down her friend if her daughter started begging too.

She caught sight of Gwayne, dressed in blue grey color with silver brocade that complimented his skin, his hair shining in the sun. Rhaenyra offered him a small smile when their eyes met, pleased when he looked slightly flustered as he talked to his brothers. Daisy rubbed her face against her shoulder, growing fussy. It would be time for a nap soon, leaving Rhaenyra free for other activities. This shall be fun.

Gwayne was having a miserable time at the party. Multiple representatives from local houses had come to attend his niece’s first Name Day celebration. Representatives who happened to mostly be eligible sons. Ambitious parents no doubt taking advantage of the princess’ regular visits to Oldtown. He watched as a Tyrell flirted with the princess, flashing a brilliant smile at her. Meanwhile he was on the outer edges of the party, trying and failing to come up with a topic of conversation that didn’t involve flowers. He grabbed a goblet and drained it as he watched Rhaenyra weaving her way through the party, talking to the different ambitious sons, none of whom managed to make fools of themselves like he had.

“Stop acting like a trembling fawn and go talk to her.” Loras muttered to him, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. 

“I’m… waiting for the opportune moment.”

“You’re going to lose your moment if you just stand here and let the others court her.” 

Gwayne thought that what was more likely was for everyone to collectively bore the princess to death. Rhaenyra had a far off look in her eye as the men spoke to her, idly twisting the rings on her fingers. If more suitable men are boring her, what chance do I have? 

“ Gwayne, ” Loras chided.

“I’m going,” he snapped, grabbing another goblet, “I’m just thirsty first.”

“Craven.” 

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“ Am not !”

“... you’re not moving.” Gwayne tossed back the rest of his drink.

“Now I am.” He headed towards the banquet table where Rhaenyra was standing, talking to some lordling. It felt far too hot despite the spring day as he tugged at his collar. I should have another drink, lest I pass out from sun sickness. The cold wine flowed down his throat, cooling his body. Tension melted from his body as the wine entered his blood, he rolled his shoulders, it’ll be fine. I can’t make a bigger fool of myself.  

“Ah Ser Gwayne, finally gracing me with your presence?” Princess Rhaenyra said, noticing the knight and flashing him a smile that made his stomach drop. Is she smiling wider at me? Or am I imagining things? He couldn’t tell, the only thing for certain was that it was causing his heart to hammer rapidly against his chest. Calm down, don’t get ahead of yourself, focus… wait she’s speaking to me. Fuck!

“... was just telling me about how he enjoys horsebacking riding, you’re quite talented at it too, aren’t you?” He swallowed thickly, is she complimenting me? Or making fun of me? 

“I’ve been told I’m quite proficient.” He managed to say. 

He didn’t miss the disdainful look the Tyrell son had on his face, clearly not seeing Gwayne as equal. “I’m certain Oldtown has some quaint trails for riding, though if you want to see something impressive, you must visit Highgarden your highness.”

Annoyance unfurled inside of Gwayne, how dare this upstart insult his hometown while being a guest of his family? He opened his mouth to come up with a retort but felt a fog rush over him. Stumbling slightly, he grabbed the table for stability, “I-” The world spun as he fell to the ground, crashing noises surrounded him as plates full of food clattered to the floor. That did not just happen, he thought as he stared off into the distance, feeling various foodstuffs soaking through his clothing. Noises dimmed around him as he fervently begged for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. 

I’m managing the guest list for Alicent next time, Rhaenyra had thought as boy after boy approached. Simpering fools who wanted to slobber on her hand and peacock around her, trying to curry favor. Only the desire to avoid a stern lecture from Alicent made her engage in the bare minimum niceties expected of her station. If Alicent had to spend more than five minutes talking to Whatshisface Tyrell she’d let me unleash Syrax on him. She could picture her dragon licking her chops in anticipation, Rhaenyra sighed inwardly, if only.

Perhaps I should fake a headache and get Gwayne to escort me to anywhere but here till Daisy wakes up. Ooo yes, I like that plan, then we can be alone, well, alone with Ser Cole. That knight has a sixth sense for boys. She smiled at Gwayne when he finally appeared, this’ll make things easier. Before she could beg off and claim a headache, Gwayne had managed to upturn half a table’s contents of food in a rather impressive feat of clumsiness.

Ser Loras swooped in and managed to haul his baby brother off the floor, excusing himself and Gwayne to go get cleaned up as servants tidy up the mess left on the ground. “If that’s how he is on two feet, I doubt having an extra four will help him,” the Tyrell boy smirked. Rhaenyra felt a surge of rage flood through her.

“It is a good thing that you have large estates in Highgarden,” Rhaenyra sneered at him, “it makes up for your personality.” Before the boy could respond Rhaenyra walked off, intent on checking in on Gwayne. This wasn’t how she planned on getting him alone, but an opportunity was an opportunity.

“I don’t care what father says, I can’t keep doing this!” Rhaenyra stopped before rounding a corner, hearing Gwayne’s voice echoing.

“Gwayne-”

“No!” Gwayne cut off Loras, “It’s humiliating trying to court her.”

Rhaenyra’s hand clenched into a fist as her face flushed. She had thought Gwayne different, but he was just like every other boy and manchild vying for her hand. Courting her out of ambition and greed, or a command from an ambitious father. Whirling around she stormed off, if being around her was humiliating, then she would ensure he didn’t have to endure her presence. 

“Princess?” Ser Cole said, catching her in the corridor.

“I’m retiring to my chambers,” she spat.

“What’s happened?” He asked, trailing after her, a hand on his sword.

“Boys! Boys happened! Stupid, arrogant, snobbish boys.”

“Do you want me to kill any of them?”

Rhaenyra let out a huff, shaking her head, “father would lecture me.”  She pushed open the door to her chamber, “don’t let anyone enter.” Her knight nodded in response. The princess paused, “unless it’s Daisy.” With that she slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the hallway as she flopped onto her bed, screaming into the pillows.

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra had been oddly cold since Daisy’s Name Day party, becoming downright frigid whenever Gwayne was near. Alicent stared at Gwayne in confusion but he had no idea what he did, typical. It was unsettling, Rhaenyra was not normally one to restrain her emotions, she nearly burnt down the Hightower when she thought that Alicent had been forcibly kidnapped. Daisy was the only one she showed any warmth towards following the party. Alicent’s brows furrowed, what did I do?

She got her answer a couple days later when Rhaenyra finally snapped. “Did you know?”

Alicent looked up from where she was sitting on the floor with Daisy, “what?” 

“Don’t play dumb,” Rhaenyra spat, her lilac eyes cold and hard. 

“I-”

“ Gwayne. ” What did you do now you fool? “Your father is an ambitious man, you had no idea he wanted Gwayne to court me?”

Alicent swallowed, knowing she needed to speak carefully lest she get caught in the backlash, “I… I knew that he would enjoy-”

“Having his blood on the throne?” Alicent said nothing as Daisy clacked her blocks together while babbling. “And you were what? Happy to let me be made the fool?”

“No!” She fidgeted with her fingers, I don’t want her mad at me. “I… my father won’t speak to me.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at Rhaenyra. “It’s been nearly two years and he won’t reply to my letters still. I… I knew if you married Gwayne he might… he might forgive me.” Her voice grew weak as she continued to speak, tears pricking her eyes. “So I tried to encourage you to spend time with him, I thought you would get along, that your depositions would be compatible.” 

“Mama,” Daisy crawled over to her mother, noticing the tears falling down her cheeks. Her chubby fingers wiped away them away, “no cry Mama.”  

“Thank you Daisy,” Alicent said as her daughter wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tightly. I’d kill for her, she thought fiercely before looking up at Rhaenyra. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I only thought that we might all benefit from this. I thought you liked him.”

“It is not my affections that are the issue,” Rhaenyra muttered bitterly, crossing her arms, holding herself tightly. 

Alicent’s brows furrowed, “What happened?”

“Gwayne… he said vile things about me.”

“What? What did he say?” She struggled to picture her brother saying anything but adoring praise towards Rhaenyra, she had been forced to watch him hopelessly pine after the princess these last few months, but Rhaenyra wouldn’t lie to her.

“I…” Rhaenyra’s lip began to tremble, “I do not wish to be upset around Daisy, excuse me.” She whisked herself out of the chamber before Alicent could protest, shutting the door soundly behind her. 

{...}

The door to the chamber slammed open with a resounding thud, startling the young knight. “ You. ” Gwayne looked up from his writing desk to see his enraged sister, her babe resting on her hip. “ You idiot. ”

He scrambled out of his seat, fear chilling him to the bone, “I’m sure you’re right but why?”

“What did you say to Rhaenyra?”

“Nothing!” 

She grabbed a pillow from the bed and hurled it at him, causing Daisy to giggle. “Tell me the truth Gwayne!”

“I didn’t! She’s hardly spoken to me since the Name Day… incident!”

“You insulted her!”

He balked at her claim, “I would never!”

Alicent pulled her slipper off, using it to smack Gwayne across the face, earning another giggle from Daisy. “Well you did! She heard you talking about how humiliating it was courting her. Did you say something like that?”

Gwayne turned slightly pale, “I… listen.”

Her sister’s glare hardened, she handed her daughter her slipper. “Daisy hit Gwayne.” Her daughter grasped the slipper, eagerly mimicking her mother and smacking her uncle repeatedly.

“Why are you hitting me? I didn’t insult Rhaenyra!”

“No but you were being foolish, which is just as bad!” 

“Is it? Ow! Daisy stop hitting me.”

“Bop bop,” Daisy giggled, striking her uncle without mercy.

“What idiotic thing did you say that has Rhaenyra in tears?”

He swallowed dryly, “she’s crying?” 

“What did you say?”

“I… I said it was humiliating trying to court, I always make a fool of myself and Rhaenyra doesn’t even care for me that way.” 

Alicent sucked in a breath, there’s so much miscommunication happening it should be a mummer’s play. “This needs to be fixed, you know what to do?”

Gwayne’s brows furrowed slightly, “... kill myself?”

She took the slipper from Daisy’s tiny hand and smacked him hard across the face as Daisy let out a shriek of glee. “ No! Apologize. ”

“Oh.”

She stared at the ceiling, praying for serenity, “I have to do everything around here.” 

“What if Rhaenyra has me fed to Syrax? Or tells Ser Cole to behead me?”

“That’s a risk you’re going to have to take.”

Gwayne groaned, burying his face into hands, “I can’t keep doing this, I keep making a fool out of myself.”

“Oh you’re going to do it, or else.”

“Or else what?”

His sister was quiet for a moment, “No more Daisy.”

“No more Daisy?”

“Yes!”

“You can’t do that!” 

“Watch me!”

“That’s treason!”

Alicent glared at him, “no it’s not. I’m her mother and if you want to keep Daisy privileges, you will apologize for the miscommunication before she leaves.”

“I-”

“Daisy say bye-bye to Uncle Gwayne.”

The little girl waved goodbye to her uncle. “Bye bye.”

Alicent paused at the door, “work on the apology. Or else. ” 

It took Gwayne a whole day, and endless parchment paper to formulate a response that he was somewhat certain wouldn't end in a political disaster. Would his family go to war if he was fed to Syrax? Or would they understand after he nearly ruined Daisy’s birthday party? Regardless, Alicent was resolute in her threat, keeping Daisy away from him during this time. 

He found himself wandering through the halls of the Hightower, like a man walking to his execution, trying to find Princess Rhaenyra’s whereabouts. She was not in her chambers, or Alicent’s. He searched through courtyards to no avail, only becoming successful in his search when he entered the gardens at the top of the Hightower. 

Ser Criston Cole was standing sentry outside a pavilion. Swallowing hard, he approached the knight, who stared at him with a hard gaze. “I-”

“No.”

You don’t get Daisy privileges until you apologize, he gritted his teeth, plowing ahead. “I wish to make amends.” Ser Cole remained unmoved. “Would you perhaps pass along the message, since the Princess is not receiving visitors,” in our open garden, “at the moment?”

Ser Cole rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, “let’s hear it.”

“I messed up-”

“Yes.” 

He paused, thrown off by Ser Cole’s added commentary, seven hells, this’ll be rough. 

   “I didn’t mean to offend the princess, I didn’t mean to almost ruin Daisy’s birthday party. It is difficult to put into words how contrite I feel-”

“As you should.” 

“-when the princess is near it is as though everything stops, my words, my thoughts, my wits take leave of me.”

“I did not know you were in possession of any.” Gwayne debated snapping at the knight, but then he remembered that Ser Cole could fight, and fight well, and continued speaking. 

“I wish to disappear before I can make a fool of myself-” 

“I also wish you would disappear.”

“-and yet I wish to spend time with her and hear her laugh, I’m not used to such contradictory impulses.”

“You could kill yourself, that would solve the issue.” The knight suggested.

“In soothe?” Gwayne asked, glaring at him.

“That was too far,” Ser Cole admitted, “carry on.” 

“It’s embarrassing to feel so much when she is near that I can’t narrow it down to one emotion to convey. I only wish…” he licked his lips nervously, “to be by her side, if she would grant me such a blessing.”

Ser Cole had a contemplative look on his face, “That… was not awful.” That was the nicest thing the knight had said to him.

“You’ll pass along my message to the princess?”

“I will, I cannot guarantee her response.”

“It doesn’t matter, as long as she knows I apologized.”  Gwayne replied.

{...}

A few days later Gwayne was reading in his bedchamber when Alicent walked in, holding Daisy on her hip. “Rhaenyra has left.” He bit his lip feeling both relief and a sting at her being gone. “She told me you apologized.” He did pass it along.

Alicent stepped closer, Gwayne now realized that Daisy was waving around a letter. Occasionally she tried to stick it inside her mouth, Alicent gently grabbing her arm every time to stop her. “Daisy give Gwayne the letter.”

Daisy holds out the letter to her uncle who smiles at her as he took it. “Thank you Daisy.”

“Rhaenyra asked me to give it to you.” Gwayne froze, staring at the letter, sealed with red wax, heart suddenly beating so fast he feared it would burst. “Daisy and I will be in the garden if you’d like to join us later.” His sister said, smiling encouragingly at him before leaving.

“Bye bye,” Daisy said, waving at Gwayne.

With trembling fingers he opened the letter to see Rhaenyra’s handwriting, the curves and loops of her lettering something he had grown acquainted with over the past few months.

Dear Ser Gwayne,

Thank you for your apology. You’re quite eloquent when you’re not getting in your own way. 

I owe you an apology as well. 

I have been plagued by fathers and sons courting my hand, desiring not me but my crown or the sons I can give them.  They posture and fawn and shower me with superficial praise. They don’t see me, they see the crown.  You were the first person to see me as I am. You were different than the others. In a good way. When I overheard you, I thought you were disingenuous and I got angry. I would like to start afresh.    

Ser Gwayne Hightower, I would like to court you. 

If you do not write me back, I will take that as your rejection.

Sincerely,

Princess Rhaenyra

P.S. Perhaps if we start with letter writing, it’ll be harder for another error to occur :) 

{...}

  A green and blue cloth ball sails through the air, landing on the ground and bouncing a few times. Daisy toddles after it, dressed in a peach gown, another gift from her godmother, picking it up and holding it up to show her mother. Alicent claps, “throw it Daisy.”

The little girl threw the ball a short distance, Alicent walked the rest of the distance to pick up the ball. “Catch Daisy!” She tossed the ball to Daisy who tried to catch it, but lacked the dexterity to do so. It dropped to the ground and Daisy bent down to pick it up, holding it aloft, beaming as she did.

“Good job my little beacon,” Alicent cooed. Daisy toddled forward, pressing her body against her mother’s skirts, hugging her legs while letting out a sharp shriek of happiness. She picked up her daughter, showering her cherub cheeks in kisses.

“Alicent!” She turned to see Gwayne running up to them.

“Guh!” Daisy said excitedly at the sight of her uncle.

“Rhaenyra asked to court me!” 

“Yeah,” Alicent cheered, though she had suspected the letter contained something positive, Rhaenyra preferred to eviscerate in person. Daisy clapped in response to her mother and uncle’s excitement.

“She thinks letter writing will prevent any mishaps. I wrote to her and told her it still could.”

Alicent’s brows furrowed slightly, “Your first move was to tell Rhaenyra that you were going to fumble her?”

“I… that wasn’t very smooth.”

Alicent shakes her head, “at least you haven’t sent it off yet. You have time to workshop it.” Gwayne’s eyes go wide. “Did you send it off already?” His eyes go wider, “it’s probably fine. You broke your arm in front of her and she still wants you.”  

Gwayne nodded slightly before bolting off to the rookery. Alicent shook her, “this is going to be entertaining, isn’t it Daisy?” Her daughter nodded. 

Chapter Text

“Gods Gwayne, stop messing with your hair,” Loras said, watching his brother run his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair for the umpteenth time. 

“I’m just trying to make sure I look good.” Gwayne replied as he stood in front of his mirror, inspecting his outfit for the umpteenth time again. 

“I don’t think you need to try that hard, she fell for your face after seeing your face.” 

The youngest Hightower son stuck his tongue out in response before inspecting his cuff links. “Where did you get those?” Garth asked, grabbing his brother’s wrist to stare at them. Rubies and pearls set in silver adorned his little brother’s wrists.

“Rhaenyra gave them to me.”

“She’s sending you courting gifts?” Garth asked, arching a brow at them.

“Jealous?”

He was, but Garth wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Rhaenyra had been showering Daisy in gifts and favors every visit, and now it seemed Gwayne was getting to benefit as well.

A servant entered the room, “my lords, Syrax has been sighted in the distance.” 

“Move,” Gwayne said, shoving his brother out of the way and bolting from the room, leaving his brothers alone in the bedchamber. 

“You know… it just occurred to me… Gwayne is going to be king consort one day,” Loras told Garth after being abandoned by their little brother. 

Garth’s eyes widened at the implication, their baby brother would outrank both of them one day. “We need to bully him more while we still have the chance.” Loras nodded in response.

{...}

His job had been easier before Rhaenyra had fallen for Sir Fumble Knight. It was easier to protect the princess’ virtue and reputation when every boy and man and crone that approached her repelled her. Now he had to deal with a princess who was eyeing a boy like he was an unguarded lemon cake. Gwayne might be honorable enough, or scared enough of him, to keep things appropriate, but the princess had no such fear. 

Ser Cole didn’t like the way the princess was staring at Gwayne, it looked too similar to Syrax eyeing her next meal before she pounced. She was infatuated with the boy. She had even brought the ranunculus flower he had sent her to show him how well it had grown. This is too much, he thought disdainfully, he doesn’t deserve all this attention. No boy does. He threw a hopeful look towards Syrax, trying to see if the dragon looked hungry, but the beast was merely grooming herself.

The boy was even more annoying, the way he was puffing out his chest, preening under the princess’ attention. I’m going to be sick, he thought, watching as the boy took Rhaenyra’s hand to kiss it. 

“No!” Daisy, now fifteen months shot between them, pushing at Rhaenyra. 

“Daisy,” Gwayne chided as the little girl wrapped her arms around her uncle’s legs.

“Mine!” Ser Cole’s mouth quirked into a smile, he had never been fond of the child, for reasons he couldn’t quite identify, but now, as he watched the little babe territorially cling to her uncle, keeping him away from Rhaenyra, she had just become his favorite Hightower. 

Rhaenyra fought to keep a neutral expression on his face, she didn’t know what irritated her more. The fact that Daisy wouldn’t let Gwayne near her, or the fact she was being territorial over Gwayne instead of her. You only see me every three months! You should be hugging me! 

“I’ve had the servants draw up a bath for you before luncheon.” Alicent told her as they made their way to the private quarters.

“Mhm,” Rhaenyra said, hardly listening as she watched Daisy, who was being carried by Gwayne to the private quarters.

“Rhaenyra.”

“Hm?”

“She’s a babe.”

“I know.” Daisy was laying her head on Gwayne’s shoulder.

“You’re jealous of a babe.”

“It should be me!” Rhaenyra whined.

“Being carried by Gwayne?” Alicent teased.

“Being chosen by Daisy!” Her friend giggled. “You laugh, but the moment Daisy starts having a favorite other than you, you’ll lose your mind.” Alicent’s face darkened at the thought, causing Rhaenyra to laugh in response.

{...}

Gwayne had invited Rhaenyra to stroll around the Hightower’s hanging gardens. It had seemed like a good activity to do when courting, and it would’ve been, had Daisy not heard about it. She insisted on coming along, and neither Rhaenyra nor Gwayne were capable of saying no to the babe. She happily toddled throughout the gardens, pulling Gwayne, and sometimes Rhaenyra, off into different directions to point at the flowers. 

Rhaenyra knew that bearing heirs was an expected duty on her part. Her most important duty, many would argue. She had viewed such a task with great apprehension, especially with some of the men who had desired to couple with her. Why did men old enough to be her grandfather think she would ever deign to share a bed with them? Ugh. 

Despite her trepidation around motherhood and childbirth, watching Gwayne sit on the ground so that Daisy could tuck flowers into his hair found her suddenly rethinking her stance. He’s so sweet with her, he’ll be a good father. She liked the idea of coming to the royal nursery after a council meeting to see Gwayne playing with their children. If only I could get him pregnant… she thought wistfully, it’d be the perfect arrangement. 

Daisy finally grew bored, toddling off to the plaza under the supervision of her maid. Rhaenyra sat down next to Gwayne, “Daisy’s got quite the eye.” She said, pulling out a violet and twirling it between her fingers.

“The day she is able to make flower crowns, I fear it’s the only thing my brothers and I will be wearing.”

“Sounds much more comfortable than a heavy metal crown. Perhaps I should have Daisy make me a flower crown for my coronation.”

“ No! ” Daisy toddled back up, inserting herself between them and shooing Rhaenyra away. “Mine.”

“Is that sugar on your face?” Gwayne asked, staring at the crystals on her face. “Where did you get sugar from?” A little ways away Criston brushed lemon cake crumbs off his hands. 

{...}

“When you said you wanted to go riding, I had thought you meant horses.” Gwayne said, feeling his knees grow weak. 

“You broke your arm last time,” Rhaenyra said, “this is much safer.”

He stared at the golden beast, now easily the size of a house, who laid curled up on the field. She’s like a cat, he told himself, a cat that can eat me. 

“Syrax,” Rhaenyra called. The Golden Lady opened one eye, purring slightly she yawned and stretched her lithe body. The princess said something in Valyrian which caused Syrax to stalk closer to him. 

“Say hello.”

“Hello,” Gwayne repeated as she lowered her snout to sniff at him. Is this how I die? She let out a low rumble, though Gwayne couldn’t tell if that meant a good thing or a bad thing. 

“She likes you!” Rhaenyra said, flashing him a brilliant smile.

If I have a heart attack right now, she’ll think fondly of me AND I won’t have to ride a dragon. Alas, his heart would not give out on him. As a final Hail Mother he looked to Ser Criston, surely he wouldn’t allow him to be alone with Rhaenyra. The knight looked nonplussed, the barely restrained fear the boy was showing made him feel certain nothing would happen while they were in the sky.

Gwayne managed to mount the dragon without falling off. He felt dizzy as he noticed how far from the ground he was. He’d never been this high off the ground before while riding something, and soon you’ll be higher…

Rhaenyra climbed into the saddle, quickly strapping him in with practiced ease. As she settled in front of him, wrapping chains around her waist, he realized there was a more pressing issue… pressing against him. A girl is pressed against me and the gods are watching. 

He kept his hands by his sides, not wanting to act wanton. Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder, “you have to hold onto my waist, otherwise you could fall off.” Gwayne thought that was the purpose of the chain around his waist, but he didn’t know anything about dragonriding. For a moment he debated risking falling to his death rather than committing the sinful act of impropriety by touching her waist, but his dying would probably upset Rhaenyra and definitely upset his sister and Daisy, which was arguably the worser of the two sins.

Heart pounding against his chest he gingerly placed his hands on her waist, “Syrax soves.” The dragon rocketed up into the air, causing his heart to plummet to his feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist, no longer carrying about propriety, just wanting to not die in a dragon related incident. 

Syrax stretched out her wings, gliding through the sky, which was slightly less terrifying than her climbing into the sky.  “Isn’t this fun?” Rhaenyra asked, shouting above the wind. “Syrax likes you, that’s why she’s being so gentle.” 

This is gentle? 

Maybe it was, she wasn’t taking any sharp turns, or going too fast, or doing dives. That didn’t make being hundreds of feet in the sky any less terrifying. 

“Focus on the clouds.”

“What?”

“Don’t look down, focus on the clouds, it helps.” He stared at the clouds, keeping his eyes level and not looking down. She was right, it helped some, ignoring the ground, keeping his mind off of the sky. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s kind of like horseback riding, except the horse breathes fire. Horses breathing fire… gods that’d be… awful. They’d set everything on fire the moment they got spooked. Gwayne let out a slight laugh.

“What is it?”

“I was thinking of fire breathing horses.”

Rhaenyra turned her head to look over her shoulder, her eyes dancing as she let out a laugh, “they’d set everything on fire the moment they got scared.” 

By the time Rhaenyra steered Syrax back to the ground, he was not not afraid of dragons, but he didn’t think he’d want to throw up again if Rhaenyra asked him to fly with her again. “She likes you,” Rhaenyra said excitedly as Syrax let out a purr while she petted her scales.

She didn’t eat me… so that must be true.

{...}

Lunch had been set up on the plaza, as was often the case for the Hightower family when the weather permitted. It would’ve been a nice relaxing palate cleanser to the dragon ride - his legs were still trembling from the flight - except for the fact that he had been banished from sitting near Rhaenyra by his own niece. Daisy had stopped being territorial over him, only to immediately become territorial over Rhaenyra. She saw Gwayne every day, Rhaenyra was shiny and new. She was sitting in the princess’ lap and had shouted no and shooed him away when he had gotten too close for Daisy’s liking.

“Daisy is stealing your girl,” Garth snickered, earning an elbow from his little brother. 

“Jealous?” Garth teased.

“No,” Gwayne lied slightly, watching his niece get handfed sliced apples by Rhaenyra. Why can’t that be me?  “She’ll take a nap eventually.” 

Daisy after lunch decided she wanted to spend time with her mother, treating her godmother like chopped liver, allowing Gwayne to finally swoop in and approach Rhaenyra without being yelled at. “Princess, would you like to take a turn about the gardens?” 

She flashed him another dazzling smile. “I would enjoy that Ser Gwayne.” 

“How has court been?” Gwayne asked as they strolled through the garden, “any new drama since your last letter?” Since Daisy’s First Name Day they had been sending each other frequent letters. So frequent that Loras had quipped the ravens ought to band together and demand days off from the pair.

Rhaenyra let out a deep sigh, “court is court.” 

Gwayne watched the princess study her rings on her finger, twisting them as she walked. “Has something happened?”

“It’s the same as it always is, men doubting my ability to rule, every step I take is scrutinized. If I were a man I could be out whoring and drinking every night and as long as I showed up to council the next day they would have faith in me. I show up late to a few duties sober and they whisper about me.” 

“Words are wind, your father chose you because he believed in you. In time they’ll see that.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, “he didn’t choose me, he just didn’t want Daemon.” Gwayne felt a surge of disgust at the mention of the prince, a wastrel who lived to make his father’s life difficult. The realm would burn if he was king.

“Mayhaps… but that doesn’t mean you weren’t the right choice.”

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “I wonder if the whispers are right… no Targaryen woman has sat the throne in her own right. It’s not how things are done. It goes against tradition.”

“That’s stupid,” she looked at him, a quizzical look in her lavender eyes. “Your House’s reign hasn’t existed for even two hundred years yet, traditions are still forming, and you get to decide what they are, not some idiot from the Westerlands.”

“It was an idiot from the Stormlands.”

“Even worse.” Rhaenyra giggled slightly, causing his heart to speed up a little. 

“Thank you Ser Gwayne, I can always count on you for council,” Rhaenyra said, looking up at him through her pale lashes.

He felt heat flood his cheeks as he stepped closer to the princess, “You can count on me for anything - AH!” Gwayne doubled over as pain raced up through his thigh. 

“Guh!” Daisy said happily holding up a small wooden practice sword. 

Rhaenyra tilted her head, “Where did you get that sword Daisy?”

She pointed to the pavilion, where she saw Gwayne’s two older brothers ducking behind a column. “I’m going to kill them - Daisy no! ” Gwayne said, dodging his niece’s next swing before storming off after his brothers. 

Daisy toddled up to Ser Criston, whacking her sword against his leg, tilting her head curiously at the knight when the action caused a clanging noise. “I’m covered in armor little one, you cannot hurt me.” Intrigued by this, Daisy continued to hit the man, taking joy in making him her practice dummy until Alicent swooped in to take a whining and tired Daisy away for her nap.

“Where did this sword come from?” She asked Rhaenyra.

“Your brothers.” Alicent let out an exasperated side as she carried Daisy off. 

{...}

“This cheese is exquisite, whoever ordered it has excellent taste. They need to order more.” Rhaenyra told Alicent before offering a cheese cube to her goddaughter. “Daisy, open.” The little girl obediently opened her mouth, accepting the piece of cheese offered to her. 

Alicent watched with a smile at the scene as she was sitting at the table, a canvas in front of her half painted as she took a sip of arbor gold from her goblet. In theory they were painting while sampling a charcuterie board and wine. It had turned into Rhaenyra playing with Daisy on the floor, occupying her while Alicent got to enjoy the easel as they chatted. 

“Your stroll with Gwayne seemed to have gone well.” 

“It did,” Rhaenyra answered before sighing, a contemplative look on her face.

“What’s that for?”

“I just,” Rhaenyra sighed again. “I wish I could get him pregnant.”

Alicent coughed slightly, “I’m sorry?” 

“He’s kind and sweet and he’s not ambitious like those other sons who wanted me for my crown or royal womb. I think he’d be a great support to me.” She bounced the mini Syrax in front of Daisy as she spoke. “I just do not enjoy the thought of the birthing bed.”

“I don’t blame you,” Alicent said, “Daisy’s birth was horrifying.” She could still recall the shock of realizing she would be forced to labor alone in a Sept. 

“If I could get him pregnant, he’d be the perfect husband.” Rhaenyra bemoaned.

“If it’s any consolation, Daisy’s birth didn't take too long, and you will be surrounded by an army of midwives.”

Daisy flopped forward, snuggling against Rhaenyra's lap as she let out a happy babble. The princess smiled as she ran a hand over the soft down of Daisy’s silver ringlets. “I hope we have a daughter as sweet as this one. Won’t you let me take her flying?”

“ No! I let you bring Daisy near Syrax and that alone gives me heart palpitations.”

“They love each other, and Gwayne enjoyed his ride.”

“Gwayne’s a besotted fool.” 

{...}

The courtyard was filled with the sound of steel striking on steel as Gwayne sparred with his brothers. Their training master watched shouting out corrections as the Hightowers sparred. “Ser Gwayne’s footwork is commendable, is it not Ser Cole?” Rhaenyra asked. They were supposed to be on a stroll about the tower, but they had all but come to a halt when she had come upon Ser Gwayne sparring in the courtyard. 

“There’s room for improvement.”

“Perhaps when he comes to the Red Keep you can give him some instruction.”

“I’d rather kill myself,” Ser Criston mumbled.

“What was that?”

“As you wish your highness.”

“I yield. Water,” Gwayne ordered a nearby servant. He doused the first ladle over his head to cool himself before downing a second. The young knight then pulled his shirt off, using it to wipe his face.

Ser Cole watched Rhaenyra’s eyes widen at the sight of the harlot’s bare chest, her eyes tracking him. Gods, she’s a moment away from attempting a coordinated predator attack. The boy would be safer with a pack of wolves. He stepped in front of Rhaenyra, blocking the shirtless boy from her sight. Rhaenyra crammed her neck, attempting to catch a glance of him. “Princess.”

She rolled her eyes slightly, “What?

“Look at me, do not get pregnant, if you do we are both fucked.”

The princess made a face, “I don’t want to get pregnant.” She peered around him to catch a glimpse of Gwayne. “I want to get him pregnant.”

Ser Cole furrowed his brow, “ can you get him pregnant?” They ride dragons, who knows what else these freaks can do.

“No,” Rhaenyra said mournfully. 

I am going to go grey before she’s married.

{...}

Syrax purred happily as Daisy patted her snout, “Dah! Dah!”

“Yes Daisy, she’s a dragon. Her name is Syrax. Can you say Syrax?” Rhaenyra said, as she held the little girl on her hip.

“Dah!” 

“You’ll get there,” she lowered her voice, “and one day I’m going to take you flying on her.”

“Rhaenyra give me back my babe,” Alicent ordered, a slight edge in her voice as she stood a distance aways from Syrax.   

“I am only saying goodbye to her.” 

“And if I do not reclaim her you will run off with her to the Red Keep.”

“I would never,” Rhaenyra said, though she absolutely would, as she handed the little girl back to her mother. “I shall miss you.” She told her friend, embracing her. Visiting every three months isn’t enough , I need to convince her to come back to court.  

“See you in three months,” Alicent said.

Rhaenyra stepped away, turning to face Ser Gwayne, smiling at him, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m sorry to see you go. I shall miss our conversation.” 

“Perhaps you may come to visit your father at the Red Keep, then I could return the favor and show you our gardens. Though they’re far less impressive.”

“I would like that,” he took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her knuckles in farewell. Alicent watched this, using all her self control to fight the urge to bully her brother for his fawning. “Until next time your highness.”

{...}

Otto Hightower was sitting at his desk, sorting through his papers when a guard opened the door. “His Grace and Her Highness are here to see you.”

The Hand put down his quill, keeping his expression neutral. He had expected, or rather hoped, for this to happen following one of the princess’ numerous visits to Oldtown. Princess Rhaenyra all but skips in, still dressed in her riding leathers. Otto took it as a good sign that she had not stopped to change since arriving. 

“I’ve decided I’m going to marry Gwayne. Father has some prenup negotiations to go over with you. If you don’t agree to them I’m going to take him as my mistress.” She said, sitting in the chair in front of him.

“ Rhaenyra! ” the King chastised as Otto bit the inside of his cheek. Normally one counted on the calming presence of a woman to temper a man. He foresaw this marriage being the reverse. “You will not be taking Gwayne, or anyone , as a mistress. What purpose would that even serve?” The king muttered, mostly to himself.

“He can’t marry someone else if his virtue is ruined.”

Otto didn’t bother to point out that men’s virtue was not ruined by bedding someone before marriage. Her territorialness over his youngest son was beneficial to his House and its ascension.

Rhaenyra didn’t pay attention to all the boring premarital negotiations. Gwayne was going to be her husband, their children would take on the Targaryen last name, something something something, he would be her future consort.

Now I just need to figure out how to move Alicent and Daisy back to court.

Chapter Text

Otto Hightower wasn’t meant for the history books, though he belonged to a prominent house, he was merely a second son. The best he could hope for was a decent marriage, perhaps a middling life as a septon or maester. But he hadn’t accepted that. He had worked and strived to rise above his rank, becoming the Hand, gaining more influence than his elder brother, and now his son was betrothed to the princess. One day Otto’s son would be the king consort, and his grandchild would sit the throne. He, a second son, had done more for his House’s ascension than Hobert ever had or could. (Suck it Hobert)

He had thrown himself into the wedding preparations after the betrothal was secured. It was the first time he and Viserys agreed on a large budget, much to Lord Beesbury’s chagrin. The miser didn’t understand the importance of this wedding, the first between a female heir and her future consort, it had to show off the strength of their future union. Otto had managed to convince the princess and His Grace to hold the wedding in the Starry Sept. The symbolism of getting married in the Sept where her forebearer, Aegon had been crowned would not be lost on the realm. Besides, gaining the support of the Faith would go a long way to securing Rhaenyra’s peaceful ascension. Something that, if Viserys was wiser, he would have already thought of doing. 

While arrangements were still being made, everything was set to run smoothly. Until Rhaenyra walked into his office on a random Tuesday afternoon and threw a wrench in the entire process.

“Why haven’t you gone to Oldtown yet?” Rhaenyra asked, not waiting to even take a seat before talking, as she often did.

“I will be going in a few months time to ensure the wedding arrangements happen smoothly.”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at him, “Alicent invited you home months ago to meet Daisy.”

Daisy. His stomach still clenched at the thought. While he had been able to turn around his family’s moment of destructive weakness, no thanks to them, the fact his daughter was forever ruined still angered him to this day. “I have been busy as the Hand and working to arrange for your wedding.”

“You’re still punishing Alicent for keeping Daisy.” She accused; he knew it would go poorly to give any indication she was correct. The princess was confoundingly infatuated with the babe.

“My personal family matters-”

“ Our family matters, I’m engaged to your son, your granddaughter is my godsdaughter, and your daughter is my best friend. Unless you wish to change that?”

Otto regarded the young woman, “how do you mean?”

“Write to your daughter that you’ll come to visit or I’ll call off the wedding.”

He gaped at the princess, “you wouldn’t dare.” Contracts had already been drawn up, Oldtown had been preparing to receive representatives from every great house for months, the arrangements that had been paid for… 

Rhaenyra leaned forward in her chair, violet eyes flashing, “yes I would, and you know it. You will write to Alicent that you are ready to visit your granddaughter, you will go to visit your granddaughter and have a pleasant time or else.”

“You cannot just call off the wedding.”

“Oh I won’t just call it off, I will fly to Oldtown today and go to the High Septon with tears in my eyes about how I cannot go through with this wedding because of familial strife.” She smirked at Otto, “Daisy is all but a god to the people of Oldtown, Alicent is asked to bless the smallfolk’s children every time she steps into the market, if they find out that you treat the Beacon of Oldtown with contempt, or her mother…” Rhaenyra trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

“The High Septon? You will tattle on me to the High Septon?”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said, looking quite pleased with herself. “I wonder if he’ll interdict you for failing to uphold your duty as a father. You can’t step inside a Sept during an interdict, correct?” She tilted her head, looking off thoughtfully into the distance, “perhaps calling off the wedding is unnecessary, you do always tell me not to go to extremes.” Which would mean that no matter what, he would miss the wedding. Otto gritted his teeth, the lessons he had been giving Rhaenyra in statecraft had been paying off, to his detriment this time. 

“I am due for a small vacation.” Otto replied finally.

Rhaenyra smiled brightly at him as she stood up, “you do so deserve it goodfather. I’ll tell your servants to start helping you back.” She called over her shoulder as she left.  

{...}

         After a week of travel - godsdamn you Princess Rhaenyra - Otto strode into the courtyard of his ancestral home. Vines and flowers decorated the walls while the middle was filled with working servants, and his sons, who were entertaining a toddler in a pink gown and bonnet who had managed to get ahold of a small practice sword and was attempting to strike at the shields they held.

         “Father!” A familiar voice drew his attention away. Alicent hurried over, her pale green skirts fluttering about her. She had not aged much in three years, but there was still a marked difference. There was a maturity about her, brought on by motherhood, no doubt. Her hair was done up and tucked away underneath a caul now, a sign of her womanhood. She embraced him, the familiar scent of her rosewood perfume, like the one her mother favored, wafting up to him. “I’m so glad you’ve arrived.” The frustration he had felt over his daughter casting aside a prosperous life for a bastard faded slightly in that moment as he held her tightly.

         She pulled away, abuzz with nervous energy as she called out to the toddler. “Daisy, come here.”

         The little girl broke away from her uncles and bounded over to her mother’s side, still clutching the wooden sword. Alicent hoisted the child onto her hip, bringing her at near eye level with Otto. “Father, this is your granddaughter, Daisy.”

         His granddaughter rested her head against her mother’s shoulder in a gesture of affection as she regarded her grandsire. Otto stared at Daisy, a cold chill running down his spine as he regarded her. The girl had silver-blond tresses that brushed her shoulders. She had violet eyes and an aquiline nose. He knew these features, he had watched them sneer at him from across the table at countless council meetings. 

His bastard granddaughter, Daisy Flowers, was the striking image of Daemon fucking Targaryen.

{...}

Otto stared at the demon spawn sat in the highchair next to his daughter as his blood boiled with rage. 

Daemon Targaryen. 

Daemon fucking Targaryen.

Daemon fucking Targaryen had known his daughter and gotten her pregnant. The cunt was somewhere on a rock, having gotten away with his crime. He gripped his fork tighter, fuming at the thought of the guttersnipe smugly walking around having gotten away with such a sin without any punishment. 

Having a bastard granddaughter is bad enough, but a bastard sired by the Rogue Prince? He was a moment away from having a stroke.

“How was the journey father?” Loras asked.

“Pleasant enough, we made good time, I suspect the journey back will be of a similar duration.” He took a sip of wine, though he would need a barrel to take the edge off after learning of this calamity.

“How are the wedding preparations Father?” Alicent asked, “Rhaenyra informs me you’ve been ensuring everything will go smoothly.” He wondered if Alicent had suffered a head injury before the first one, that would explain what had caused her to lose her senses and her maidenhead to that whore Daemon Targaryen.

“Everything is progressing nicely, the king is determined for it to rival the likes of the Golden Wedding.”

“Mama!” Daisy offered her mother a slice of her lemon cake.

“Thank you my love.” Alicent told her, accepting the piece from her daughter’s small hand.

Daisy’s violet eyes fell on Otto, reaching out her hand towards him, offering another slice to him. Loras took the slice from Daisy’s hand and passed it along to his father. “Her manners are commendable.” Otto commented as he took a bit of the lemon cake. Alicent beamed at the compliment, feeling hopeful this visit would finally turn the tide on her father’s feelings towards Daisy. 

In spite of her features, it seemed that mercifully, Daisy had inherited her mother’s nature. She was kind and affectionate, though she had her share of tantrums as Alicent and her brothers had when they were her age.

The princess had not been hyperbolic in her claims at how beloved Daisy was. When the family went in for Sunday service at the Starry Sept, every septon or septa they came across cooed over the toddler, eliciting smiles from Daisy. The silver haired girl grabbed his hand, excitedly trotting him around to point out every statute of the different gods, not knowing this was her grandsire’s childhood sept. “Mama,” she said pointing at the statue of the Mother. 

“Yes, that is the Mother.” He stared at the marble statue, noting, with some surprise, it’s features looked similar to Alicent. Otto studied the facial features trying to determine if it had always looked that way or if someone had altered it since Daisy’s birth.

“Grandsir?” Otto turned his head to see Daisy offering him a cookie. 

“Where did you find that?” She pointed to a matronly septa standing slightly aways a way. “Do you have all the septas giving you treats?” Daisy smiled, still offering him the cookie, which he finally accepted.

He took his seat at the family pew before the service started. She crawled into his lap during service, clinging to him, patting his beard with her small fingers. His beard was a marvel to Daisy, none of her uncles sported one of his length. The little girl always wanted to run her fingers over it. When she grew impatient she was allowed out of the pew to run back and forth in the side aisle like the other young children when they grew restless. Her uncles took turns “escorting Daisy” as she ran back and forth till she tired. 

{...}

“I think he’s come around,” Alicent said as she watched her father stroll the hanging gardens with Daisy who was showing her grandsire her favorite blooms. He had been stiff and reserved when first arriving, and while her father would never be an overly affectionate man, he had softened around the edges as every day passed with Daisy. He had started speaking to her more often as well. 

“Thank the gods,” Garth replied as he lined up a shot with his croquet mallet. “It’s been too strange, not having you be Father’s favorite.” 

Daisy let out a sharp cry, causing Alicent to drop her mallet and pick up her skirts as she rushed over. She was already in Otto's arms, eyes welling with tears when Alicent reached her. “What happened?”

“She fell and it startled her, but she realized she was alright.” Otto said, bouncing her slightly.

Alicent kept her face calm as Daisy watched her. If she showed a sign of distress, Daisy would copy her and start crying, instead Alicent smiled wide at her daughter. “You’re alright my little beacon.” The toddler smiled back in response.

“You and your brothers were like this, you’d fall and look to your mother, if she wasn’t upset, you all would stay calm.” 

The redheaded lady reached out and stroked her daughter’s ringlets, “I’ve been thinking of her more often. It is hard, being a mother when your own was taken so soon.” Daisy leaned forward towards Alicent, reaching for her. Alicent took her into her arms, holding her tight as her daughter played with her veil. 

“You have raised a sweet daughter thus far, she is a credit to you.”

Alicent took a deep breath, her eyes growing wet, “Thank you Father.”

They walked together in comfortable silence for awhile, Daisy resting her head against her mother’s shoulder. She was growing tired, soon it would be time for a nap. “Daisy’s father…” Otto started.

She paused, her heart clenching slightly as shame flooded through her. “I do not remember, the memories continue to evade me. Isn’t that for the best though?” She asked, turning towards her father. “Daisy and I are happy here, we have a good life. She is well loved by her family and has a princess for a godsmother. Whoever the father is, by now he would have heard of my condition, I have no interest in a man who refused to ever check in on me or his child. My brothers will provide better examples to Daisy of what a man ought to be.”

Daisy let out a whine, rubbing her fist against her eyes. “Forgive me, it’s time for her nap.” Alicent walked off, grateful for the distraction. One day soon, she hoped, people would stop asking her who the godsforsaken father of Daisy was. As far as most of Oldtown was concerned, Daisy was Alicent’s and Alicent’s alone. The lady preferred it that way, though she would consider allowing Rhaenyra to step up as the father.

{...}

         Otto sat silently in his carriage as he rode through the streets of King’s Landing. He had been nearly boiling over with rage at the start of the visit. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to remain calm and not spoil the trip. His temper had soothed during the stay, parting had been difficult. Daisy had clung to him, wailing pitifully at his departure, but now, during this journey, he had been left to constantly think about the fact that Daemon Targaryen ruined his daughter.

         He strode through the Red Keep, having arrived early enough to attend a council meeting. A sickening sight greeted him when he entered the chambers. There, sitting in his old seat, hair cut short, though all the posturing and arrogance remaining, was Daemon Targaryen, his characteristic smirk plastered on his face.

         Something took over Otto’s body. If someone spoke to him, he did not hear it; he strode over to Daemon, grabbing a hold of the prince’s silver hair, and slammed his head down onto the council table. Everyone sat there frozen, too stunned to move. Otto Hightower had never been a violent man, nor a foolish one. He knew the consequences of attacking a prince of the blood, yet it seemed the years of animosity had caused him to snap. Only Larys Strong leaned forward slightly in glee at the display.

         Daemon slowly peeled his head off of the table, blood freely flowing from his nose, dripping onto the table and his doublet. Even he was too stunned to act until Otto punched him. The two men began to grapple with each other as Otto screamed curses at the man. The council remained in their seats, still stunned, only Larys getting up to move his chair away from the fighting pair. Finally, Viserys acted, standing up, ordering them to stop. They did not. It took every able-bodied man of the council, including the king, to pry Otto off of Daemon.

         One would think Daemon would be mad with fury, but instead his eyes were filled with a sickening delight. Otto Hightower had attacked him, made him bleed; he could kill him now.

         “What is the meaning of this?” Viserys snapped.

         “He,” Otto pointed accusingly, “impregnated my daughter!”

         Viserys felt the air leave his lungs, oh gods no, not Alicent, anyone but Alicent. The Hightowers will be screaming for blood. “He assaulted a prince of the realm unwarranted,” Daemon said, not believing Otto’s claim. “I will have satisfaction.”

         “Daemon, please,” Viserys said.

         “I will disembowel this man and leave his entrails scattered about the courtyard!” Otto snapped.

         “Otto, please!”

         “You are threatening a prince of the realm! That is treason!”

         “Actually,” Lord Wylde piped up as he maintained his grip on one of Otto’s arms, “as a father, Lord Otto is within his rights to demand a blood repayment. As established by your grandsire, King Jaehaerys.” Viserys looked to the ceiling, wishing, more than anything, that he had fled into the night instead of attending the Great Council, or shipped his crown to cousin Rhaenys when the old king had died, with a simple note: it’s your problem now. 

         “Does the law state that I cannot fight back?” Daemon asked.

         Lord Wylde thought for a moment, “No,” he said slowly.

         “Stop this!” Viserys said, desperate to avoid bloodshed. He turned to his brother, “Daemon, please tell me that you did not bed Lady Alicent Hightower.”

         “I am a chivalrous knight of the realm,” Otto scoffed, “sworn to help maidens in their time of need.” He flashed a gleaming smile at Otto, “Your daughter was very needy.”

         “Gods be good,” Corlys muttered, tightening his grip on Otto.

         “What a daughter you raised, Lord Hand. Mewling like a kitten as she rode my-”

         “I’ll kill you!” Otto damn near wrenched out of Corlys’ and Jasper’s hold, Viserys and his kingsguard had to keep Daemon restrained as well. “You seduced my daughter!”

         “I never gave her more than what she begged for.”

         “Daemon! Shut up!” Viserys ordered. “You have gone too far this time!” Why couldn’t it have been a whore? I missed when he was only getting whores pregnant.

         Daemon scoffed, “Do you truly believe this tale? He has been trying to get rid of me for years, and is now using his own grandchild for his schemes.”

         “She is the spitting image of you!” Otto snapped. “You are welcome to see for yourself!”

         Daemon straightened, a bone chilling calm on his face, “Fine.” He strode towards the exit.

         “What are you doing?” Viserys asked, his voice cracking with worry.

         “I am flying to Oldtown to see this little bastard,” he turned to face Otto, “and once I determine that she is not mine, I am returning for your head.” He spun on his heel and left the room.

Chapter Text

Gwayne’s first impression of King’s Landing was… underwhelming, to say the least. Alicent had warned him, though it was one thing to hear, another thing to smell the city. Father is truly the most ambitious man in all of Westeros, the fact that the stench did not drive him back to Oldtown. His thoughtful sister had made him several sachet bags that he was now deeply grateful for. 

Thankfully the Red Keep provided some isolation from the smell of King’s Landing. The young Hightower was slightly taken aback when a manservant was there to greet him, instead of his father or the princess. 

“They’re engaged in a council meeting right now, your father has given instructions for you to bathe and be prepared to receive the princess.” Gwayne fought the urge to laugh. Of course, until the vows were exchanged, nothing was set in stone and his father expected him to continually put his best foot forward.

{...}

“Have you talked to your father about Alicent?” Rhaenyra asked as they strolled through the garden.

“I did, he was… not receptive.” Gwayne admitted, earning a scowl from Rhaenyra.

“I could order him.”

“Please don’t,” Gwayne begged, “forcing it will only be a superficial remedy.”

Rhaenyra twisted the rings on her fingers, “I mislike this, Alicent tries to brush it off but I know Lord Otto’s shunning distresses her.”

“My father is a proud man, he needs time.”

 “I had a thought that,” Rhaenyra said almost shyly, “after the wedding, perhaps Alicent and Daisy might come back with me, she could rejoin my household.”

Gwayne bit his lip, hesitating slightly as he chose his words, “I do not think that Alicent would like to separate Daisy from Oldtown so soon.”

The princess let out a sigh, “maybe in a few years after Daisy’s grown?”

“Daisy is treated well in Oldtown, I do not know how King’s Landing would receive her.” He hated the thought of the people of the Red Keep leering at Daisy, looking down at her for her bastardy. A part of him felt shame knowing that his reaction would have been the same before Daisy’s birth. Perhaps we should have more sympathy for them, they did not ask to be born in such a manner.

“I miss her,” Rhaenyra said softly, “she is my oldest friend, I still have not gotten used to her absence.” 

Gwayne gently took his hand in hers, feeling Ser Cole’s eyes burning into him as he did so. “Distance cannot truly dampen a bond as great as yours.” The princess squeezed his hand in response. “And,” he smiled playfully at her, “I will certainly never object if you are seized with a sudden impulse to visit Oldtown after we are wed.” I would not object if you moved the capitol to Oldtown where we could breath clean air every day.

She smiled at him, “I told you you would get used to Syrax. Shall we go flying right now?” Gwayne swallowed.

“If you wish it.”

She offered him a sweet smile, “I do.” 

I should’ve kept my mouth shut. 

{...}

The training yard was bustling with knights and young squires, though Gwayne paid them little attention as Ser Cole put him through his paces. Ser Cole didn’t stop until Gwayne was covered in sweat, with his sides heaving, “Your footwork is improving.” 

“I appreciate your instruction Ser Cole.”

“I am at the Princess’ command.” 

“You’re always a delight to talk to Ser Cole. I sense a friendship in our future.”

The knight stared at him with a level expression, “Have you struck your head recently?”

They finished soon after, the council meeting would be ending soon and he was expected to be at luncheon with Rhaenyra and their fathers, looking presentable. He had been in the king’s presence a handful of times by now, though it did not help ease his nerves. Gwayne had a talent for making a fool of himself and a part of him feared managing to cause such a catastrophe that His Grace not only cancelled the betrothal but exiled him to Essos for good measure. His racing thoughts caused him to nearly collide with another young lord. “Apologies.” 

The blond haired boy, a son of a house that Gwayne was unfamiliar with, looked him up and down, “No matter. You are Ser Gwayne of House Hightower, are you not?”

“I am. I do not believe we have been introduced.” 

“Ser Jon Darklyn, this is my friend Ser Edwin Massey.” Gwayne nodded politely in greeting.

“Your family has had quite the meteoric rise,” the dark haired Massey boy said. “A second son as the Hand, his third son a future king consort, inspiring, considering recent events.”

Gwayne fought to keep his voice even, “what recent events would those be?”

“Your sister’s fall from grace of course, a lady of her status becoming an unwed whore with a bastard? It’s a wonder she wasn’t sent away to a sept.” Jon Darklyn said with poorly disguised contempt.

“Take that back,” Gwayne snapped, stepping closer to the two boys.

“Take what back? The truth?” The Massey boy asked. “Your sister ruined herself with some stable boy or the other.” Blood started to roar in Gwayne’s ears as he clenched his hands into fists. “It seems praying wasn’t the only thing Lady Alicent was doing on her knees. The princess visits her frequently, one wonders what kind of influence the lady is having on our future queen.” 

“Explain yourself.” 

“Only that she might find herself in the same ruinous situation.”

Gwayne moved before he could think, his fist connecting with Massey’s face, knocking the smirk off of it. It was not a smart fight for Gwayne to pick, both the boys were older, and Darklyn was a head taller with more muscle. He managed to tackle Massey to the ground, but only landed a few blows before Darklyn ripped him off the boy. The dark haired boy kept his arms pinned as Massey punched Gwayne in the face, causing hot blood to spurt from his nose. Clumsily grappling continued, Gwayne managed to wrench himself out of the hold, but still continued to take more blows versus landing ones. 

“Enough!” Ser Cole’s voice roared, forcibly separating the three boys. “This is not how knights are expected to conduct themselves. Explain yourself.”

“Apologies Ser Cole, it was merely some friendly fighting, Ser Gwayne’s reflexes were poor and he accidentally got hurt.” The Darklyn boy lied.

Gwayne stared ahead, not saying anything as Ser Cole’s doubting gaze swept over him. He was fairly certain that if he did speak, it would end in him launching himself at the two knights again. Besides, he couldn’t bear to repeat their vile words.

“Go see a Maester,” Ser Cole finally told him, when no one else was forthcoming with information.

The good news was that his nose wasn’t broken, the bad news was that it still hurt to seven hells. Both his nose and eye had started to swell by the time Maester Geradys was inspecting him. His split lip had started to scab over at least. As the master gathered supplies to clean his wounds, the door to the office swung open. Rhaenyra entered, looking frantic as her eyes swept over Gwayne, taking in his injuries.

“What happened?”

He swallowed, “it was some harmless playfighting.”

“You’re injured.” Her eyes darkened as they took in the bruises blooming on his face.

“It got out of hand. Hot headed boys and all.” He said lamely. 

“You’re not like that. You’re not brash or ill tempered.” She stared at him contemplatively before continuing to speak, “What did they say?”

He averted his eyes, face flushing slightly, “I do not wish to repeat it.” Rhaenyra was silent, watching him with an intent expression. “They insulted your honor,” he admitted, “and Alicent’s.” 

“Do you want me to have Ser Cole take their heads?”

Gwayne smiled in spite of the pain from his swollen lip, “I do not believe that is necessary.”

Rhaenyra reached out, brushing her fingers against his ruined doublet. His breath hitched slightly at the intimate contact. “They got blood on my present, I think it’s quite appropriate.”

Maester Geradys cleared his throat, reminding the young couple of his presence. Rhaenyra looked slightly annoyed as she slowly pulled back her hand. The maester put his supplies on the table next to Gwayne, “I need to clean his wounds-”

“I can do it.” Rhaenyra said, interrupting him.

The old man looked taken aback, “It’s not proper for a princess-”

“Are you commanding me?” Rhaenyra asked, a glint in her eye as she drew herself up to her full height. Gwayne looked away trying to hide his smirk.

Geradys cleared his throat, “No, Princess.”

“Good.” She took cloth and dipped it into the bowl of water.

“I will… go make a poultice for the swelling.” Geradys said, shuffling off awkwardly.

Gwayne flinched slightly as the cloth brushed against his bruised skin. “Sorry.” Rhaenyra said softly. 

“It is nothing.” He said as she continued to clean the blood off of his face.

“I suppose you’re right,” she said after a moment, “taking their heads is too drastic. I will tell my father, let him and the Hand sort it out.” 

“Telling our fathers? Taking their heads might be more merciful.”

Rhaenyra smiled, laughing softly, “Do your lips still hurt?”

“Slightly.”

She glanced at Geradys who was bent over his work table, busy making the poultice. Seizing the moment she grabbed Gwayne’s chin, dipping her head and gently brushing her lips against his. “Better?” She asked, pulling away after a moment.  

He blinked, trying to formulate a response, the kiss having wiped his mind blank. A part of his mind cried out that this was improper for two unmarried persons such as themselves. The rest of him was happy to fight a hundred more men if it meant being granted such a favor from Rhaenyra again. 

“Much better.” I need to be punched again.

Chapter Text

The Hightowers had been preparing for the wedding the moment the betrothal had been confirmed. It was meant to rival the Golden Wedding as the house finally saw its rightful ascension with its blood on throne, with someone much more agreeable than King Maegor the Cruel. Though that was admittedly a low bar to clear. 

“The arrangements for lodging all the guests have been going as planned.” Hobert’s steward reported. “The assignments for everyone will need to be reconfirmed soon.”

“More like people trying to jostle for better lodgings to show off their status,” Hobert muttered.

Those of the highest importance and familiarity to the Hightowers would reside in Hightower, those of lesser status would find themselves in local inns or making do on the outer limits of the city, now being repurposed as campgrounds. Everyone was jostling to get the best lodgings and seats their status and connections could afford them.

“Also, another raven from House Tyrell has arrived.”

Hobert took the parchment and began reading, a scowl forming on his face. “Is everything alright uncle?” Gwayne asked, from his seat on the other side of Hobert’s desk. His family insisted on him being heavily involved in the planning as the groom, though that mainly meant sitting and watching his elders do all the planning. Along with reporting to his father what his uncle was doing and relaying messages that ranged from polite to outright threats if Hobert attempted to tweak any of Otto’s meticulous planning.

“The Tyrells think because they’ve helped arrange for enough food to be delivered to feed the masses that they can have opinions on our wedding plans.” Hobert looked up at him, a sneer on his face, “they have opinions on the seating arrangements.”

Gwayne glanced at the seating chart his father had written out during his visit to Oldtown. A scrap of parchment with his father’s handwriting was pinned on top of it.

Hobert, 

If you change anything on this chart without my approval I’ll scoop your eyeballs out with a spoon.

“Oh dear.” Gwayne said wryly. 

“You need to get another fitting for your outfit.”

“I had a fitting last week.”

“And?” Gwayne bit back a sigh. Time to spend another hour getting stuck with pins in front of a mirror. 

“Is my cloak almost finished?” 

His uncle’s jaw twitched slightly, “almost, though I’m not sure that design counts as yours.”

Gwayne felt a migraine building. Viserys had altered tradition, declaring that Rhaenyra would retain her family name, and that while their children would bear the Hightower last name, when Rhaenyra’s heir took the throne they would take on the Targaryen name. His betrothed was having a new personal crest made that combined both the crests of their houses. His uncle was greatly irritated that the princess would not be cloaked with the Hightower colors.

“Mayhaps not, but the children that will sit the throne will be mine.” Hobert seemed slightly mollified. 

Loras strode into the chamber without knocking. Gwayne felt a sense of relief, hoping he would pull him away from this mind-numbing monotony of wedding planning. “We need to go.”

“What?” He said as his brother all but dragged him out of his chair.

“A dragon has been sighted outside of Oldtown.”

Gwayne’s brows furrowed, “Rhaenyra isn’t planning on visiting.”

“It’s not Rhaenyra,” Loras said, a troubled look in his eyes, “it’s Caraxes.”

Hobert swore, jumping up from his chair, “Get Gwayne out of here.”

Gwayne’s heart pounded against his ribcage as his brother escorted him through the hallway. We should’ve expected this, he thought, we’ve had it too peaceful for too long. He probably flew off in a tantrum the moment he heard of our impending nuptials. 

He wondered where Rhaenyra was, she must’ve been out flying somewhere because she would not have tolerated this behavior from Daemon. She was the only one he ever headed with any consistency. 

His brother led him to the tunnels under the Hightower. “Stay here till it’s over.”

“Loras,” he called after his brother as he turned to leave, “be careful.”

“I’m not the one he’s after,” Loras said, offering him a wry smile.

Lord Hobert and his lady wife were there to greet the prince upon his arrival, polite strained plastered onto their faces. “What an unexpected honor my prince.”

Daemon rolled his eyes at the perfunctory courtesies being performed, “I won’t be here long, I’m merely proving a point.” He strode past them, “Where are the family quarters?”

Hobert followed after him, “I’m sorry my prince?”

He didn’t bother to reply, too focused on his mission to prove Otto a liar so that he could finally, finally be allowed to rid the man of his head.

{...}

Alicent picked at her nailbeds as she stood in the hallway of her family quarters. “He’s hidden?”

Loras nodded, “Prince Daemon won’t find him.”

She sighed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be her relaxing time, she had handed Daisy off to her nurse so she could have a moment to herself only to find out Prince Daemon had all but barged into her home. He can’t do anything to Gwayne, Rhaenyra would feed him to Syrax, she reassured herself. Then again he IS stupid. 

“Is there any chance you could convince him to leave? Or to at least not do anything stupid?”

Alicent huffed, “I hardly knew the prince. Besides, he’s not one for listening. The best I could do is inform him that Rhaenyra will be calling for blood repayment if anything happens to her betrothed.”

“Lady Alicent,” a voice called her name, she turned to see the most arrogant man in Westeros approaching her. Still dressed in his riding leathers, his silver hair pulled back, Dark Sister hanging at his side.

A tidal wave of memories slammed into her all at once.

No…

No no no no no no.

She buried her face into the pillow to muffle her moans, Daemon roughly grabbed her hips as he took her from behind.

No no no, I let him take me like a whore in MY BED?

Daemon lifted her in the air, pressing her against the trunk of a tree -

In soothe? In the godswood? What was wrong with me?

- her skirts bunched up around her waist as he thrusted inside her.

Alicent squeezed her eyes shut as memory after memory poured into her. Far too many involving her take his cock into her mouth. Bile rose in her mouth as the faint taste of salt filled her mouth. This isn’t real, this can’t be real. Prince DAEMON was my secret lover? 

“Where’s your bastard?”

What does he want with Daisy? “Beg pardon?”

“Your father assaulted me, claiming that I sired your bastard-” the rest of his words were drowned out as dread filled her. If he was her secret lover that would mean that Daisy was - no… NO! “...so where’s the whelp?” Alicent blinked at him, too horrified to speak, “where’s the babe Alicent?” He repeated, more irritated this time.

You DO NOT get Daisy, she thought vehemently, rage boiling through her, “What babe?”

Chapter Text

“What babe?” Alicent asked, doing her best to maintain a look of blank confusion on her face.

“Your bastard.” She could tell Daemon was getting increasingly irritated with her, if she were a lowborn man, he’d have probably struck her by now.

“You are mistaken, my prince, I do not have a bastard.” He might kill my father for this, but he’d understand. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice. Alicent maintained her straight face as her brother and uncle and aunt stared at her with matching looks that could only be described as ‘be so fucking for real right now Alicent.’

“I tire of this,” Daemon snapped, moving past her and towards the family quarters. 

Oh gods he’s going to keep searching till he finds Daisy.

“Why would Father accuse the prince of being Daisy’s father unless…” Loras trailed off as he stared at his sister with horror. “Alicent? You didn’t… did you?”

“I… need to go find Daisy.”

Alicent picked up her skirts and hurried into the private quarters, quietly walking past the room Daemon was in before speeding off again. Her mind was racing, she didn’t have much of a plan, aside from keep Daemon away from Daisy. Perhaps I can hide her behind a curtain, or in my wardrobe. 

She nearly collided with the nursemaid as the woman exited her bedchamber. “Oh, Lady Alicent, the little beacon has gone down for a nap.”

Before Alicent could hurriedly explain the situation she heard an irritating voice behind her. “Beacon? Gods above, even your pet names are ridiculous.”

Rhaenyra would pardon me if I slapped him.

“Don’t-” Alicent started, but of course, Daemon didn’t listen, swinging her door wide open.

The curtains of the chamber had been drawn mostly shut, only allowing a small amount of light to filter in. He swept his eyes over the room as they adjusted to the dim lighting. There was a trundle bed beside the four poster bed, a small, child sized lump was covered by blankets.

Daemon stepped closer for a look at Otto’s grand-whelp. The child was lying fast asleep in it’s bed, lying on it’s stomach, face turned to the side. One arm was wrapped tightly around a golden stuffed dragon. Alicent’s child had silver curls with pale brows and an aquiline nose. Otto had been telling the truth, it was as though the gods had taken his face and copied it exactly.

He knelt down beside the bed, as his hand reached out towards the small child he felt something cool press against his throat as a hand grasped his hair tightly. 

“If you wake up Daisy from her nap I swear by the old gods and the new I will slit your throat here and now.” Alicent hissed quietly into his ear as she pressed a blade against his throat.

Daisy. He had a daughter and her name was Daisy.

Chapter Text

“You named my daughter Daisy?” Daemon asked, disdain in his voice.

Alicent bristled, “What’s wrong with Daisy? It’s a wonderful name!”

“She’s Valyrian, she should have a Valyrian name.”

“She’s not even your daughter.” Alicent snapped, glancing at her child’s features. I labored for hours alone in a Sept and you come out looking exactly like this whore? How could you Daisy? 

Daemon scoffed in response, “you’re not the only Valyrian man at court.” Alicent replied, digging her heels in. “The Keep has some very handsome stable hands.”

“Stable hands?” 

Alicent dug her letter opener hard enough into Daemon’s throat to draw blood in response to him raising his voice. “I swear to the gods if you wake her up I will slit your throat right here and now.”

“You’re going to kill me in front of my daughter?”

“Not your daughter.”

“You’re going to commit treason?”

“Rhaenyra will pardon me, she loves Daisy more than you.”

“Rhaenyra isn’t Queen.”

“When has Viserys ever refused his daughter?” Daemon was quiet, for once, realizing Alicent was right. “I could light you on fire in front of the entire Red Keep and Rhaenyra would say that I was just being a little silly.” Alicent waited for him to make another snarky remark but nothing came out of his mouth. Odd. She decided to take advantage of the situation. “Now you’re going to quietly get up and get the fuck out of this room so Daisy can finish her nap.”

“Fine.” 

He’s agreeing with me? He must be having an apoplectic fit… which would get him out of my hair… 

She let out a slight breath of relief as the door closed behind them. “When?” Daemon asked.

“When what?”

“When does she wake up?”

“In about an hour, why?”

“So I may see my daughter without having a knife shoved at my throat.”

“Not your daughter.”

“Sister, is everything alright?” Loras asked, only to be ignored by both Daemon and Alicent. 

“She has my face.”

“The gods have a sense of humor.”

Daemon’s eyes slid to Loras, “has Alicent ever told you how I took her maidenhead? She was quite… enthusiastic,” he said with a smirk.

Loras’ eyes go black as he started towards the prince, “You-”

“Loras!” Alicent stepped in between them, “go… go do… something.”

He arched a brow at her, “go do something?”

“Go do something!”

She tried to take a few calming breaths as Loras reluctantly retreated down the hall. Alicent turned to face the plague that was Daemon. “You don’t like sharing stories of our affair?”

“Alleged affair!” Alicent snapped, “you can’t prove we laid together.”

Daemon arched a pretentious silver brow at her, “I’ve been inside you. I’ve spilled enough seed to plant a garden in-”

“Whore I will gut you from navel to nose!” Alicent snapped, pointing her letter opener at him. “You’ve seen my child, now leave.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I want to speak to,” he paused for a moment, rolling his eyes as he spoke her name, “Daisy. Honestly Alicent, there are plenty of good Valyrian names. And why didn’t you tell me about her?”

Alicent stared at him, her jaw hanging open. “I had fucking amnesia. Why didn’t you check in on me?”

Daemon shrugged, “it was a mostly physical affair.”

Memories of the “mostly physical affair” flashed in her mind’s eye.  Am I… a whore? She wondered as she rubbed at her temple.  I let him fuck me against so many surfaces.

She glared at the man who leaned against the wall across from her, waiting for her daughter to wake up. Alicent didn’t want to spend another moment in this cunt’s presence but she would be damned if she left him alone with Daisy so she was stuck spending the better part of an incredibly awkward and silent hour standing in the hallway. 

I didn’t know he could hold an interest for this long, Alicent thought after the hour had passed and she heard the sound of her daughter quietly playing in the chambers. She scowled as Daemon moved to follow after her into the bedroom.

“Do you have to follow so fucking close?” She hissed, her grip tightening on her letter opener.

“Mama.”

Alicent’s scowled dropped as she faced her daughter, “hello my little beacon!” She cooed, trying to causally place her knife down on a nearby table before kneeling down and scooping up her daughter. “Did you have a good nap?”

Daisy nodded, grasping the cloth of her mother’s hood and playing with it. “Who dat?” She said, noticing the man standing behind her mother. 

“That’s,” Alicent bit her lip, trying to think of an appropriate word she could say around Daisy. “Daemon.”

The aforementioned man knelt before Daisy with an odd calmness that made Alicent once again wonder if he had had a stroke. “Hello little one.” Gods he’s so fucking pretentious.

“You smell like dwagon.” Daisy perked up, “Sywa?” She grasped her golden dragon, the replica of Syrax Rhaenyra had given her for her Name Day. “Mama, Nywa? Nywa here? Nywa here and Sywa?” 

“No my love, Nyra isn’t here right now.” 

Daisy’s face crumpled into a pout.

“I have a dragon.”

Who told you you could speak? Alicent wanted to snap.

Her daughter let out a gasp, “you do?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t your father have a dragon?”

Alicent’s jaw hung open as rage flooded through her, he just TOLD HER?  

“Mama! Dwagon!” The little girl excitedly said, bouncing up and down in her mother’s lap, entirely ignoring Daemon’s confession of paternity. That’s my girl. “Mama! See dwagon! See dwagon!” Daisy repeated, grabbing at her face to get her attention.

Godsdamn you Rhaenyra and your stupid plan to get my daughter on a dragon. Why’d you have to make her obsessed with one?

“Oh we can’t see his dragon, because he has to leave and it’s time for lunch.” Alicent said. Daisy’s face crumpled into an even more heartbreaking pout.

“No I don’t.”

“Beg pardon?” Alicent said, irritation unfurling within her.

“I don’t need to leave.” He turned to Daisy, “we can see Caraxes after lunch.” Her 

“You’re… staying?”

Daemon looked at her as though she were a simple fool, “of course.”

Alicent felt nausea rise within her at the thought of her family sitting at the same table, knowing that Daemon, of all people, had fathered Daisy. 

Fuck.