"There are teeth marks on everything you have ever loved."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Daenys Velaryon had been awake long before they came to get her.

Sleep eluded her these days, and she had stayed curled up by the open window all night, eyes wide open in the silent communion with the stars and storm outside. The room—her husband's room and her prison—remained draped in shadows, and she relished in the chill that wrapped around her like a phantom, seeping into her very bones. She welcomed its frigid breath and the thousand piercing needles of the rain's relentless assault. 

She used to be afraid of storms, afraid of the flash of lightning that momentarily lit up the dark world, chased by the peal of thunder that sounded as if a great beast had taken up residence in the sky. She used to be afraid until her father taught her not to be. 

She never even had to go to him. He would simply be there, a candle in one hand, and a book in another, slipping into her chambers when the sky began to darken in the slightest. He would tell her all about his voyages at sea then, and teach her to count the moments between the streak of lightning and the crack of thunder, for they always came at an interval. He always knew when the storms came, he always knew when he would be needed. 

Perhaps not always though, for how was Laenor Velaryon to know that he was so desperately needed by her now, dead and gone that he was, forever swallowed by the waves at Driftmark. 

The night was almost over, and along with it the downpour, when she spotted a familiar shadow, a hulking silhouette flying into King's Landing. She could not make out the beast's rider of course, but she imagined him all the same, silver hair streaking across the sky like a falling star. She wondered what errand could have possibly had him out at such an hour, during a tempest where the gods wept and raged in the heavens above. 

She was awake when the first tendrils of dawn crept into the room, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls, and in the timeless space between night and day, she wondered what troubles the encroaching day would bring.

She was awake when moments later, the heavy wooden doors to Daenys Velaryon's chamber burst open with a resounding crash, breaking the fragile tranquility of the damp morning. Two knights stormed in, clad in armour that clinked with every step, and the first, his eyes betraying a hint of regret, offered a shallow bow and spoke with a tone of reluctant apology.

"Princess, forgive the intrusion-"

The second knight, however, exuded none of the first's courtesy. His eyes, cold and unyielding, narrowed as he impatiently interrupted, "Enough with pleasantries. Your presence is demanded in the Dowager Queen's chambers. Now."

Daenys remained seated by the window, her gaze fixed on some faraway point. She felt the energy shift in the room, the air thickening with tension as the knights awaited her compliance, but her resolve remained unbroken, and she did not stir. A gust of wind, carrying the scent of wet earth and uncertainty, swept through the open window, rustling the tendrils of her dishevelled hair.

"Princess, please understand. It is not our desire to disturb you, but the orders are explicit."

Daenys finally turned her gaze toward the knights, her eyes reflecting a weariness that went beyond the physical. "Orders," she mused, her voice a quiet whisper carried away by the storm. "Whose orders?"

"The King's orders!"

The impetuous knight scowled at her apparent defiance. With a brusque motion, he advanced toward her, his gauntleted hands reaching for her drenched shoulders to haul her to her feet. Daenys resisted the urge to flinch at his touch, her eyes closing in silent protest. 

She knew she should resist, and fight back, but her malnourished body betrayed her weakened state. She doubted the outcome of a real chase, and her chamber held no weapons to aid her escape. Still, she refused to grant them the satisfaction of obedience. She allowed her body to remain uncooperative, forcing her captor to exert more effort in dragging her from her perch.

"On your feet! The king does not appreciate delay."

"Tell your precious king he can take his orders and shove them where-"

She did not even have the time to fully unleash her volley of disdain, before the force of his hand shot forward with alarming speed, striking across the face. The metallic gauntlet caught on her lip, splitting it open, a crimson bead forming at the corner of her mouth.

The other knight, his eyes wide with horror, rushed forward to intervene. "By the Seven, what have you done?" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of shock and rebuke.

"Nothing she did not deserve for insulting the king."

Daenys wiped the back of her hand across her bleeding lip, a scarlet smear left in its wake. "A bit heavy-handed, aren't we?" she quipped, her defiant grin widening. "Seems manners and chivalry are quite scarce in the Red Keep."

"Mind your tongue, princess, or you might have it removed. We won't tolerate insolence."

Her captor's companion frowned at him. "She's still the prince's bride, and more importantly, the granddaughter of King Viserys. Show some respect," he chided, his tone firm.

"Respect? Oh, what a novel concept," Daenys mused. "Yet another scarcity."

"Princess, please," the kinder man pleaded, taking her arm from his partner. "Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Daenys, a portrait of silent rebellion, allowed herself to be pulled unceremoniously across the chamber's stone floor, and as they crossed the threshold into the corridor, she maintained her stoic demeanour, stumbling along only because she didn't fancy another strike to the face. 

Reaching Alicent's chambers, they heard a commotion. There was yelling, a frustrated sigh, and then furious whispering as someone paced back on forth inside. Daenys could barely make out the words but she could swear her name had been said, along with her brother Lucerys's. 

He was here then. 

A burst of hope, wild and untamed, bloomed in her heart. 

Her mother had not forgotten about her. She had sent Lucerys, and he was here to take her home. He had promised her that he would visit on her name-day and she would forgive him for being a day late. She would forgive him if it meant she could finally go home. 

The traitors couldn't very well keep her in King's Landing if her mother sent an envoy to bring her back. 

The knights accompanying her knocked on the door, earning them a cheerful response from Aegon as he bade them to enter. His voice was an upbeat contrast to the disgruntled sounds emanating from the chamber earlier, but Daenys did not let that dissuade her. 

She was going to see her most beloved brother again, and she was going home, where she could pretend that this farce of a marriage had all been a terrible nightmare. 

With significantly less resistance, she allowed them to drag her into the room, where everyone fell silent at the sight of her. Her brother was nowhere to be seen and she was greeted by a strange scene. 

Alicent was pale, pacing the room with tears streaking down her face. Her nailbeds were a bloodied mess as she picked at them incessantly, peeling away at the skin until fresh blood seeped to join the scarlet crusts of the old. 

"Mother have mercy on us all," she muttered repeatedly.

Otto Hightower was there too, his hands gripping his grandson's shoulders with a grip that might have shattered bone. 

"You only lost one eye at Driftmark. How could you be so blind-" he was saying, just before he cut himself off at Daenys's entrance. 

Aegon, however, shared none of their concerns. He was sprawled across his mother's chaise, legs thrown over the arm as he lounged with carefree approval. 

"What is she doing here?" Otto snapped, being the first to notice. 

The knights at her side balked at his sharp tone, their fingers still digging into the flesh of her arm. 

"The...king requested the princess's presence, my Lord," one of them stammered. 

"Well, she is here now, isn't she? You may leave us," Aegon waved a hand to dismiss them. 

The Hand sighed, releasing his grandson to massage his temples. It was only then that Daenys finally managed to bring her eyes to her husband. 

Aemond Targaryen looked lost. His eyepatch was missing, his eyes were wide in what looked like equal parts of disbelief and horror. His hair was mussed like he had just been riding, and she imagined something must have disturbed him while he was out, though she couldn't think of a single thing that would possibly scare the mighty one-eyed prince. 

Despite herself, she found worry gnawing at her, and she resisted the urge to rush to his side and take his trembling hands in her own. 

He was no one to her now. She did not owe him the kindness. 

When the queen's eyes landed on her, they softened immediately.

"You should not be here, my dear," she whispered. "Oh, you should not be here."

"No, here is exactly where she must be, Mother," Aegon responded with a mischievous grin. 

Daenys swallowed, finally finding her voice, "What is going on? What has happened?"

At the sound of her voice, Aemond flinched. 

Aegon smirked.

"Tell her, dear brother. Tell her how you've secured Storm's End for me. Go ahead. It is the most interesting news I've heard in a long time," he crowed with pleasure.

He was clearly drunk, and Otto's lip curled in disgust at the display, which only added to the young king's amusement. 

"Daenys my dear, pay him no mind. The King simply has too much on his mind," Alicent said gently, coming over to put her hand comfortingly on Daenys's shoulder.

The princess scoffed, already steeling herself to be struck again.

"Aegon is no King."

No one moved to say anything, and when she did not receive even the slightest admonish, she knew something was deeply wrong. 

"Oh for Seven's sake, stop being such cowards. Tell her the truth. Tell her about her brother, Aemond?" Aegon turned to him. "Tell your beloved how you earned your new title! "

Daenys stilled. His new title? Her brother? 

Is that why they were talking about Luke earlier? Had something happened to him? Her heart stuttered, a sparrow thrashing against the cage of her ribs, aching to be freed. She tried once again to meet her husband's gaze, even as his remained glued to the floor.

"Daenys, there's been an accident, I'm afraid..." Alicent tried again before Aegon interrupted.

"Why let Mother fight your battles, Aemond? You seemed perfectly capable of fighting for yourself against that Strong Bastard. An eye for an eye was it then?"

An eye for an eye. 

My brother should have taken out both your eyes.

The sparrow in her chest thrashed harder, laden with dread.

Slowly, she approached the one-eyed prince, her eyes brimming with questions and her jaw clenched so tight she might have ground her teeth to dust. 

"You fought with my brother?" her voice was barely above a whisper. "Was that the accident then? Did you...did you hurt him? Where is he now?"

"At the bottom of Shipbreaker Bay..." the false king stopped with a scowl as his brother glared daggers at him. 

"Lucerys Velaryon is dead," Otto Hightower finally grunted, impatient with the proceedings. "A regrettable accident, no doubt, but there is no point in beating around the bush when the truth of the matter remains. Lucerys Velaryon is dead."

"Mother have mercy on us all," Alicent whispered again, a hand clamped against her lips, both to hold in the sob building in her chest, and to stop her fingers from trembling. 

Lucerys Velaryon was dead. 

Lucerys Velaryon was dead. 

No. 

No, he could not be dead. He was just a boy. He was coming to visit her on her name-day. He could not be dead before he fulfilled his promise to her. She would not let him. 

"I don't believe you."

Her voice was quiet, but filled with steely determination. 

Otto's expression remained unchanged, his features stoic, "I wish it were not so, but the news is unfortunately true. He perished in the storm last night."

"I. Do not. Believe you."

"Oh, but it is the truth, dear niece," Aegon sneered. "A name-day present from your husband. The true blood of the dragon he is, for he has made us a good beginning."

Silence hung in the chamber like a shroud. 

Aemond Targaryen stood like a shadow in the dimly lit room. His eyes, usually a source of comfort, now bore the weight of a terrible secret. As Daenys turned to him, desperation etched on her face, he averted his gaze, unable to meet her pleading eyes.

"Aemond," she implored, her voice cracking. "Tell me this is not true. Tell me they are lying. Tell me that Lucerys is still alive."

She searched his eyes for reassurance, for a glimmer of hope that would dispel the nightmare unfolding around her. Tears, unbidden, traced a path down her cheeks, mingling with the blood from the cut on her lip. She clutched at the fabric of her gown, her knuckles turning white with the intensity of her emotions.

Her husband remained silent, his countenance grim, and his shoulders hunched. 

"I am sorry, please, I am sorry." 

She sank to her knees before him, the cold stone floor beneath her unforgiving as she looked up at him, her voice reduced to a soft, hoarse whisper.

"I am sorry...for what I said. I did not-I did not mean it. I swear, I meant none of it...so please, please, say it is not true. Be done with this cruel jest, and tell me it was not your doing."

"He cannot do that."

She ignored Aegon's comments, hands reaching out to clasp Aemond's fingers in hers. She held his hand like she held his gaze, with a desperation that bordered on manic. She begged as one begged the divine — for forgiveness, for relief, for respite. She'd stay there until he told her what she needed to hear, which meant she'd stay there for all eternity, she'd stay there until her knees bled and her bones melded into the ground. 

Or until Lucerys Velaryon rose from the dead to greet her. 

Whatever came first. 

Aemond's gaze slipped to some distant point, a void that mirrored the emptiness in his wife's heart. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, to witness the pain he had wrought upon the woman he had once promised to protect. He noticed the carmine cut marring her lips, and he yearned to wipe away the blood, just as he yearned to take her into his arms and comfort her. 

It did not suit her, the kneeling and the begging, and guilt flooded the one-eyed prince in torrents. He had reduced her to this. To this crumbling, snivelling creature who clutched at him like he was her lifeline, like he was the only thing who could give her what she wanted. 

And perhaps he was, but he could not give it to her. He had nothing in him but the truth and the truth was far too ugly to push past his lips again. Already he had struggled to form the words the first time around, when his mother eyed him in horror, when his grandsire branded him a Kinslayer with scorn, when his brother celebrated. 

Kinslayer. 

Monster. 

Murderer. 

Was there a more hateful creature to the gods? 

He could not do it again. He could not bear the inevitable look of disappointment, disapproval, and loathing that would fill his beloved's eyes once she learned the truth. 

It was wishful thinking on his part, for she would learn it anyway, but it would not be through him. He would do her this minuscule kindness. Or maybe the act was for himself more than it was for her. 

Perhaps Aemond Targaryen was a bigger coward than he thought.  

"Lucerys Velaryon is dead, and my brother has returned home a victor, so let us not curse the occasion with this ceaseless crying," Aegon sighed. "Perhaps we might hold a feast."

"Be silent!" Otto admonished icily. 

"No," Daenys mumbled breathlessly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please. I am so sorry. I know we had our quarrels and I said things I didn't mean but please...I just...need to hear you say it, Aemond. Please, tell me you did not kill my brother. Tell me you did not take him from me."

"I cannot."

His words were barely audible, but they crashed down upon her with all the fury of the tempest she had been watching earlier. His face was a picture of torment, of guilt, of shame, and his sapphire eye glittered in the flickering candlelight of the room. 

Daenys felt sick. 

"Please."

"I am sorry, Daenys."

"Ple-"

"I cannot."

Oh.

Her hands fell to her side, all the fire inside of her going out. 

The sparrow ceased its thrashing. 

Silent. Still. 

Like the dead. 

Like her brother. 

Oh.

Alicent reached for her, but she flinched away from her touch, her tears still tracking well-worn paths down her cheeks. It still hadn't quite sunk in yet, the reality of it. It felt unreal. 

"You should rest, dearest."

"Daenys, listen..." Aemond's voice made her flinch again. 

"Don't," she let out a sound that was halfway between a whimper and a plea.

"Daenys, please."

Aegon, the only occupant of the room who was vehemently enjoying the scene, stretched out his arms and grinned at his brother. A grin no one returned, but that did not matter. For once in his miserable life, he was not the object of everyone's ire— of their disappointment and their contempt. For the first time in his life, it was his brother, his paragon of perfection brother, who held that position. 

Helaena would be furious too. She would now disdain Aemond as much as she disdained him, and the thought brought a miserable sort of satisfaction to Aegon. 

This is what they were now. 

Brother, brother, sister. 

Kinslayer, king, kook. 

What a miserable group of children their mother had birthed. 

"You have finally rid us of that bastard, brother, and secured us Lord Boros's support no less."

Aemond's single eye remained rooted to Daenys as she slowly lifted her head to look at him.

"Why...how..." she could barely get the words out, stilted and choked.

"It was an accident, I swear it. I would never...you know I would never..." 

His words trailed off. It was the truth—or most of it was anyway. 

"Oh quit being modest brother. You finally went after the bastard who took your eye. You were even kind enough to offer him a choice. It was only after he so rudely denied you your repayment that you went after him. As king, I declare it to be a fair game to be sure," Aegon winked at Daenys, regurgitating the tale of Aemond's chase that the one-eyed prince had himself spilled to their mother. 

The false king's grin grew wider as his niece's expression grew more horrified.

"If you are too upset with my brother to warm his bed, you know where to find me, don't you? After all, it was his dragon that took a bite out of your brother."

A strangled sob of horror and disbelief escaped Daenys's lips.

"How could you-"

"Your brother did steal his eye first."

"You are still on about that?" she hissed, whirling to face her reluctant husband. "After all these years, you still haven't let it go?"

"He took my eye!" he finally protested.

"He was five! A child!"

A new feeling reared its head inside Aemond Targaryen's chest. Hot and self-righteous amidst the guilt. 

"And what of me? I was a child too. A child who lost his eye and had to live with this hideous disfigurement for the rest of his life!"

He resisted the urge to cover it then, as Daenys's gaze trailed over it in scrutiny. He had thrown out his eyepatch in his hubris and it had been swallowed by the storm, the same way Lucerys had been. 

"He was a child..." she hiccuped—he still was...he still was a child— "he was a child and didn't know better. That still didn't give you the right to take his life."

"I... I'm telling you it was an accident. I didn't mean for it to happen like that. I just...I just got so angry and wanted to teach him a lesson. I gave chase only as a prank, to scare him a little. I didn't mean for him to get hurt. He was not supposed to get hurt."

Another half-truth. 

"You chased my little brother and his baby dragon in a storm on that monstrosity you ride, and you tell me that he wasn't supposed to get hurt?" Daenys was finding it hard to breathe now, her breath catching in the cavities of her lungs, refusing to let go. "What did you expect? What did you expect? What did you expect?" 

It didn't feel real. 

"You killed him? You...you and your stupid giant brute of a dragon killed my baby brother."

It still didn't feel real, her voice a forlorn whisper, as if the mere act of speaking the words pained her with the unbearable truth.

"Daenys, please. I'm sorry. I swear I didn't mean for this to happen." 

Liar. Liar. Liar. 

More half-truths. 

Aemond knelt next to her then, unable to keep his distance any longer. It was a foolish act—he knew it even before he touched her shoulder and tried to take her into his arms as her entire body vibrated with grief and rage.

She was damp, her dress sodden. She'd catch her death of cold, he found himself thinking absentmindedly. 

She was so quiet. 

It hurt him to see her this way, coming apart at the seams, and still so quiet. He expected her to scream, to hit him, to throw something. The gods knew he deserved it. But she was so quiet.

Just shaking. 

Trembling. Shuddering. Quivering. 

So utterly quiet. 

She pulled away from him violently, trying to catch her breath, but the sparrow in her chest remained motionless and her lungs would not pull in the air they needed.

He reached for her again, and she recoiled from his touch as if his hands were searing brands.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" she shrieked—or so she wanted to. In reality, the sound that pushed itself past her frozen vocal cords was more of a wheeze, a mere puff of air. 

Aemond lowered his hands, heart aching, eye throbbing. She looked beseechingly at his mother, and Alicent, attempting to provide solace, knelt too. 

"Shhhh, my darling, you're going to be alright," she whispered, her voice gentle, reminiscent of the occasional lullaby she would grace her with, back when Daenys was still a child, and none of her brothers had been born yet. The memory was sharp and bitter. 

The room felt claustrophobic, the walls closing in on her like a vice. Daenys, now on her hands and knees, scrambled away from the encroaching figures. They surrounded her, each face a mask of deceit. Aegon leered at her with malicious satisfaction and Otto eyed her warily, as if she were a time bomb about to go off.

Perhaps she was. 

In her desperate attempt to escape, Daenys pushed herself to the edge of the room. The carpet beneath her palms felt rough against her skin, and another burst of nostalgia threatened to drown her in its memory. This was where she and Aemond spent hours playing with Daeron when he was just a babe. Crouched on the floor, just as she was now, her knees stinging. 

She chewed on her lips and tasted blood. 

Oh, how the times had changed.

She was now a dragon trapped in a pit of snakes.  

She closed her eyes and doubled over, her body convulsing with the weight of her grief. It felt as though her insides were burning, a relentless fire consuming everything in its path. She pressed her forehead against the warm carpet, willing the ground to swallow her whole, to escape the reality that now seemed a cruel nightmare.

It was not real. None of it was real. 

If she could just go back to sleep, she'd be able to wake up in a reality where none of this had happened. 

Her chest tightened, each breath becoming a laborious effort. When the sobs threatened to escape, she clamped down on her grief, choking back the sounds that sought release. 

She would not make a single sound. 

The threads beneath her blurred as her vision clouded with tears, and as her strength waned, Daenys allowed herself to slip into the darkness that hovered at the edge of her consciousness. The pain became a distant echo as the shadows claimed her, offering a temporary respite she hoped she would never wake up from. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Alicent Hightower looked at the girl who lay slumped on the floor in pity, her own tears having long dried. First, by crowning Aegon as King and now by killing her son, her family had officially earned the undying enmityof Rhaenyra Targaryen.

War was sure to come. 

She didn't want to believe it, not when her father returned from Dragonstone with the self-proclaimed Queen's threats and warnings, but now the truth was plain to see. 

There was no coming back from this. 

She did pity her son though, and by extension, his poor young wife. She had hoped, in some foolish naive way, that at least one of her children would have what she never did—a pleasant marriage. 

Perhaps she'd try again with Daeron when the time came. Perhaps he might be granted a chance at happiness. 

She doubted it. Unhappy mothers carried unhappy children, and she was almost certain that she had passed on some of her loneliness to them. Blood was inherited after all, and if all a woman felt was resentment and loathing, how could some of it not flow into her children, when they were so deeply connected? 

Viserys Targaryen did this to her, and to her children. He made them what they were, and she would never forgive him for it. She hoped that he would only rot further wherever he was now. 

The words, once so traitorous that she could scarcely even think them without feeling guilty, now came with ease. 

It was easy being hateful. 

It was easier than grieving. Grieving the girl she should have been, the woman she could have been. 

It was agony being fully conscious of the injustices she had been dealt, and expected to swallow with all the patience and penance of a Queen. 

Alicen needed to pray. The gods were all she had now. They were all she had ever had. 

"Take your wife up to your room, Aemond. She needs to rest," she sighed. 

Her son nodded, gathering the girl into his arms as carefully as he could to take her back to his chambers. He was wound too tight, like a coil waiting to spring, and Alicent wondered what new havoc he'd wreak when he finally did. 

"And make sure her room is secured," Otto called out after them. "A wounded dragon is a dragon nonetheless."

Aemond did not dignify his grandsire with a response, but he wondered all the same. 

A wounded dragon was a dragon nonetheless. 

Who would this dragon destroy first?

He looked at his wife with eyes full of remorse. He never meant to hurt her like this. He supposed the cruel part of him wanted to hurt Lucerys, but never her. 

He wondered if they could ever come back from this, if she would ever forgive him for this crime. He wondered if he even deserved her forgiveness.

He couldn't resist placing a gentle kiss upon her troubled brow, and she whimpered at the contact.

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A/N: Divorce era lessgoo. Sorry, this was delayed a bit more than expected. Uni has started up again and it's been a total pain lol, but I've finally gotten this out. Also what do we think of this being the average length of chapters? Like some will obvi longer when I try to cram more stuff but I wanna keep it no shorter than about 4k-4.5k words. As I'm re-reading my old work, and it's like 1.5k words, that felt silly lol. Also I'm just gonna update all 32 chapters on ao3 after the rewrite so the ao3 version as of now is still the old messy one lol. 

As usual, don't be a ghost reader, comments really motivate me to continue writing so share your thoughts plz and thank u ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡