"A dog that kills is no different whether it weeps after or not. Your guilt will not purify you."

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Cassandra Baratheon, now the lady of Storm's End, stood in the courtyard of her home, surveying the horizon. The knight in front of her whom she had spared the wrath of her friend's beast dropped to one knee before her with a graceful flourish, bowing his head in a gesture of reverence.

"Lady Cassandra," he began, his voice steady and unwavering, "I pledge my sword and my life to you. From this day forth, I swear to honour and protect you with all that I am."

A soft laugh escaped Cassandra's lips, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she regarded the knight before her. "Ser Reynard," she replied with a playful smile, "you always did have a flair for the dramatic."

"I...do my best, my lady."

"Of course you do. And I suppose I could do worse than having you as my sworn protector."

"You will not regret it."

"I know I won't. You know I don't make wagers when the odds aren't in my favour," she nodded, a smirk lifting the edges of her lips. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Ser Reynard's expression softened at her words, a hint of pride shining in his eyes as he rose to his feet. "I am at your service, my lady," he said earnestly, "whatever you may need, I shall endeavour to provide."

"You better."

As they turned to make their way back into the castle, Cassandra's satisfaction was short-lived as she was met with her sister's fiery gaze and even sharper tongue. Maris Baratheon stood at the entrance, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression one of undisguised anger.

"Are you fucking insane?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific, dear sister."

"You...you killed him. You killed Father!" Maris's voice dropped into a furious whisper, eyes darting around as her hand closed around her sister's bicep in a vicelike grip. 

Cassandra scoffed, sending a cursory glance toward the charred corpses that still littered their grounds, "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. I had nothing to do with that."

"Liar! You really expect me to believe-"

"I do actually. You are now in the presence of the head of our house. I do hope I do not have to remind you of your manners again, Maris. What happened was surely a great tragedy, but this is what happens."

"What happens when one murders their father!"

"No, what happens when one breaks an oath," Cassandra corrected with a magnanimous smile. "Father broke an oath, and he paid the price with his life. I do not intend to make the same mistake."

"Have you no sense of honour?" Maris snapped, her grip growing tighter. "No filial piety at all?"

The lady of House Baratheon wrenched her arm away from her sister, meeting her gaze with cool defiance, her chin held high as she squared her shoulders.

"Respect for our family's honour?" she echoed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "What filial piety do I owe a father who would never have handed over my inheritance?"

"So you allied yourself with a psychopath?" Maris laughed, a short derisive sound. "She fucking set him on fire! She set him on fire and you watched her do it. 

No, I practically begged her to do it. 

"Is that truly the kind of person you wish to ally yourself with? She could turn on you any day, and then it will be you on the receiving end of her destruction. She'll set her god-forsaken dragon on you one day!"

"Is that what you're afraid of, Maris...being the target of the princess's rage?" Cassandra's eyes flashed as she took a step forward, her voice taking on a sickeningly saccharine tone. "Afraid she'll find out what you said to her husband?"

Maris blanched and her sister's serpentine smile grew wider at the confirmation. 

"I hear what you said to him. I heard how you toyed with him, how your words sent him practically sprinting into the storm after the little prince. I heard it all, and you're right to be afraid. She would practically skin you for it."

Cassandra wasn't entirely sure how much of what she had just said was true. She had never known Daenys to be a particularly violent person, but her earlier display had silenced any doubts she may have had. She hadn't even known if Daenys would take her bait, but it seemed that her rage overshadowed any sensibility she may have possessed. 

"You wouldn't dare tell her," Maris snarled. "Even you have to have some sense of loyalty to your family. And besides, it would not endear you to her, which I know you so desperately want."

Cassandra hummed in agreement, "You're right. I will not tell her. The princess has other matters to concern herself with, and I would be a fool to make an enemy of her, especially after what I have seen her to be capable of."

"Mother will not be pleased to hear of this."

"Well, then aren't we lucky she is not here to show her displeasure? She is away in Nightsong and we have work to do, so do excuse me, dear sister."

"You're making a mistake. What happens when the other side comes knocking on our doors, asking about the promises Father made."

"And they say you're supposed to be the clever one," Cassandra rolled her eyes. "We will have protection of course. The princess murdered our lord in cold blood. Surely she owes us that much. We shall summon her should the need arise."

Maris scoffed incredulously, her hands curling into fists at her sides. 

"The princess is not some bloodhound you can whistle at and she'll come running."

"No? I have a feeling she just might."

Cassandra had gotten to know Daenys quite well over the years, and she was familiar with her tendency to allow guilt to weigh heavy on her mind. She was almost certain that the Targaryen girl would prove herself useful should Cassandra ever need her. She had always come running in the past when Cassandra would invite her as a friend, and now in her mind, she owed the Lady of Storm's End a debt. She would hasten twice as fast. 

With that, she turned on her heel and strode purposefully into the castle, leaving Maris fuming in the courtyard behind her. There was much to be done to clean up the macabre sight outside, as well as to look over her father's affairs and put them in order. There would be time later for Cassandra to examine the slight thrill that she felt at the pure venom in Daenys's voice at the mention of her one-eyed husband. Aemond Targaryen had lost his place in her heart, so perhaps there would be space for another.  

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Rhaenyra stood at the head of the grand hall of Dragonstone, her regal stance not betraying the turmoil of her thoughts. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows upon the walls, and at her side stood Rhaena, whose presence brought both comfort and distraction. She insisted on Rhaena's attendance at every meeting, a decision born of a desire to involve her in matters of state, but today, it was also a means of filling the void left by her other absent children.

Lord Celtigar, one of her most trusted allies, spoke with urgency, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His words were of great import, no doubt, but Rhaenyra found it difficult to focus. Her mind wandered, pulled by the invisible strings of worry and uncertainty.

Daemon was away at Harrenhal, while Jace and Baela remained in Winterfell, esteemed guests of House Stark. It was a strategic move, one she had orchestrated with the hopes of strengthening alliances, but it left her feeling vulnerable, bereft of the familiar faces that had always stood by her side.

Her thoughts drifted, inexorably drawn to the daughter she had sent off that morning, to the place where her son had met his tragic end. Would she lose Daenys too, as she had lost Luke? The thought clawed at her heart, filling her with a deep, gnawing fear. Then came another, far more worrying, for her daughter's intentions had been difficult to predict, her emotions hidden behind a mask of forced stoicism. 

She was brought out of her reverie by the gentle touch on her shoulder. She looked up to meet her daughter's concerned eyes, raising an eyebrow in response. Rhaena tipped her head toward the entrance where a knight stood waiting for her attention.

"Yes?" she inquired.

The knight bowed respectfully before delivering his message, "The Princess Daenys has returned from Storm's End with urgent news, Your Grace."

Lord Celtigar, sensing the gravity of the moment, paused in his address, his gaze shifting towards the entrance with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. When Daenys finally stood before her, Rhaenyra could see the weight of her daughter's burden etched in the lines of her face, and yet she looked the same, making the Queen almost sigh in relief. 

She inclined her head in acknowledgment, silently urging Daenys to speak, and the girl did so, bowing her head respectfully before handing a sealed letter to her mother. 

"Your Majesty, Queen Rhaenyra of the Seven Kingdoms, Storm's End is now yours," she announced solemnly.

Oh. 

She wasn't quite sure how to react. Rhaenyra had become so accustomed to receiving bad news that when finally, she was met with something promising, she did not know how to accept it. She did not know what she was expecting but it was certainly not this. Her daughter stood before her whole, not a single new scar upon her where it was visible —because of course a mother charted the course of marks across her child's skin like constellations. It was only her hair that was in disarray, and fresh blood seeped from the bandage wrapped around her eye. 

With trembling hands, she broke the seal of the letter, her eyes scanning the words penned within with building confusion. The contents confirmed Daenys' proclamation, detailing the surrender of Storm's End and the unconditional pledge of fealty to the new queen of Westeros, although the most baffling part was the name signed at the bottom. 

Lady Cassandra Baratheon. 

Lord Celtigar and Rhaena scrutinized her for a reaction, and Rhaenyra felt almost suffocated. She wanted to send them away but instead, she had to stand here and endure their eyes. Her life had made her accustomed to people staring at her, watching her every move, but sometimes their gaze still pricked. 

"I'm not sure I understand," she began, "Why has Lord Borros not signed the letter?"

Daenys avoided her gaze guiltily and immediately her mother's blood ran cold. 

"May I suggest that you send your condolences to House Baratheon on the passing of Lord Borros, my Queen."

"What have you done?" Rhaenyra whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of her blood rushing through her ears. Horror crept into her words, chilling her to the core.

Daenys met her mother's gaze with unwavering resolve, her expression impassive and her single eye empty. "Only what was required," she replied calmly, her tone devoid of remorse.

Rhaenyra recoiled inwardly, her mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. The realization dawned upon her with a sickening clarity – her child had played a hand in the death of the Lord of Storm's End. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her – disbelief, anger, and a profound sense of betrayal. How could her own daughter commit such an act, knowing the consequences it would bring? She wanted to scream at her, to drag her into a standing position and shake her until she had pried lose the information from between her clenched teeth, but she found herself unable to confront Daenys, to demand answers that she feared she already knew.

The new Lady of Storm's End, content with the arrangement, sent her regards in a letter that seemed penned much too eagerly – a hollow gesture that carried the weight of bloodshed and treachery.

The Queen's mind raced with the implications of her daughter's actions. The lords would surely cause an uproar, their outrage fueled by fear. The fragile alliances she had painstakingly forged threatened to unravel, their foundation shaken by the spectre of bloodshed and the promise of violence. However, there was potential too. 

If a King isn't feared, he is powerless. If you are to be a strong queen, you must cultivate love and respect, yes, but your subjects must fear you. 

Daemon's words echoed in her head once more, reinforced by the weight of Daenys's actions, and Lord Celtigar's incredulous expression as he watched on. 

Well, they certainly would have some cause for fear now. They would fear what else she might be capable of. They would wonder who she would set her hunting hound upon next, for that was the only way she could describe the desperation with which Daenys looked up at her now, still on her knees. It was the expression of a dog so wretchedly yearning for its master's approval after presenting its latest kill. 

The image of her son flashed in her mind too, her brown-haired babe who would never again ask her to hold her hand. Very well then, Rhaenyra Targaryen was done being forgiving. She would remove her hand from the cage and allow her daughter to carry out her revenge in her name. 

A daughter and a dog. They were not so different. She felt guilty for placing such a burden on Daenys, but there was nothing else to be done. There was no one else who could bear it like her, and in time she would forgive her for it. Daughters and dogs were like that, so loyal, so forgiving. 

How did one deny a weapon that was so eager to be used, that practically begged you to set it upon your enemies? 

You didn't. 

With a heavy heart, Rhaenyra turned away from Daenys, unable to meet her gaze. "You are dismissed," she said curtly, her voice equal parts displeasure and regret.

It pained her to be this way, but she could not appear too eager at the news. She could not express enthusiasm or approval at her daughter's misdeeds, not while Lord Celtigar waited to relay the news of their victory to the rest of her council. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

As Daenys made her way to her chambers, a heavy sense of unease settled over her like a suffocating shroud. She couldn't help but feel a pang of hurt at her mother's coldness, though she knew deep down that it was to be expected. After all, she had orchestrated the downfall of a noble lord, a deed that would not go unpunished or unnoticed. But even so, the biting chill of her queen's demeanour cut deeper than she had anticipated, confirming her worst fears of who she was becoming. 

In her chambers, Daenys noticed that someone had already drawn her a bath, anticipating her return, although its water was now cold and forgotten. Despite the chill in the air, she refused to call for her handmaidens, choosing to instead undress herself with shaking hands. The tremours had returned and she knew she would have to raid Maester Gerardys's storage chambers once more if she was to quell them. 

The bandages that wrapped tightly around her arms felt constricting, like shackles binding her to the consequences of her actions. As she carelessly peeled them away, the fabric clung stubbornly to her wounded skin, sending tendrils of pain shooting through her body.

It was a welcome relief. 

As she scrubbed at her wounds raw, the tears she had been holding back welled in her eye, blurring her vision with a veil of sorrow, and with each sob that wracked her body, Daenys felt the weight of her guilt pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. What else was there to do with so much remorse, so much regret? How could she ever hope to atone for the sins she had committed, and those she had not?

She did not touch the bandage around her eye, even though she could feel its uncomfortable dampness pressed warm against her skin. Every twinge of discomfort served as a cruel echo of the torment her husband must have suffered, and it was a cruel twist of fate to be haunted by the memory of a man she despised, his mark etched into her very being. To wish to forget someone, only to have a permanent reminder of them carved into you, by your own hand at that. Her hatred for him was only slightly tempered by her pity. Perhaps, she mused darkly, she should have blinded herself long ago, before his scars had hardened into permanent reminders of his past. Perhaps then, she might have understood him better, seen the world through his tortured eyes.

Later, Daenys sat in solitude, the silence broken only by the sound of her own ragged breaths. Still in just her shift, she wrapped fresh gauze around her arms, the texture chafing against her wounded skin as she tightened the bindings roughly with a grim determination.

With each turn, memories of that fateful night flooded her mind – the night Aemond had tended to her wounds with a gentleness she had not known him capable of after all that he had done. It had been the last shred of kindness she had received from him, the final flicker of warmth in a marriage fraught with bitterness and betrayal.

Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't hear the soft knock on her door, nor did she notice the presence of her mother as she entered the room. It was only when Rhaenyra cleared her throat that Daenys turned around abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise.

She scrambled to her feet, the instinct to show deference to her queen kicking in, but Rhaenyra shook her head, a troubled expression clouding her features. 

"Oh, none of that in here, my darling."

Daenys faltered, unsure of what to say or how to react. Her mother's presence was both a comfort and a source of unease, a reminder of the terrible deeds she would go on to commit in her name. 

Rhaenyra approached her daughter with a measured step, her gaze searching her face for signs of distress, "I came to check on you."

"I'm fine, Mother."

"You don't have to bear this burden alone, Daenys," the Queen out to brush her daughter's wet hair away from her neck. Her gaze drifted across her arms and her lips twisted into a grimace. "I never did ask you how you got these. What did they do to you? What happened there?"

Daenys did not know what to say. How did one talk about such things, and to their own mother? Above all, she did not want to be the cause of more worry or pain, for the one woman who had suffered the most. She gently shrugged off her mother's hands and hurriedly dressed herself to cover her arms and all the painful reminders they bore.

"It is nothing, Mother. It is the least of my problems, to be truthful. They are already beginning to heal."

"Then perhaps we should talk about Storm's End. What happened there?" 

"There is nothing to talk about Mother. We have the alliance we need. And House Baratheon is no longer headed by a disrespectful man. I see no problem," Daenys's voice came out slow and measured.

"You blame Lord Borros for Luke's death? Is that why you are so angry? Why you feel like you had to do this?"

Daenys tried not to acknowledge the bitter feeling at the mention of Luke. Every time someone mentioned him, she felt a hot stab of self-loathing. It opened up a well of resentment inside her so deep that she thought it would consume her.

"I blame many people for it Mother. And all of them will suffer for it!"

"Do you blame me then? Speak the truth. Do you blame me for sending him, for if anyone is at fault, it should be me for making that sweet boy go when I could see so clearly that he desperately didn't want to!"

"I don't blame you. How could I ever blame you? I just..." Daenys was at a loss for words once more.

Rhaenyra's sigh echoed in the quiet chamber, and with a resigned expression, she settled down beside Daenys, drawing her daughter gently into her lap. With careful hands, she began to undo the bandages around her injured eye, revealing the raw, tender skin beneath.

As she pressed the poultice against the wound, Daenys shifted uncomfortably, a protest forming on her lips. "Mother, you'll get your dress wet," she murmured, attempting to rise from her lap.

But the queen only scoffed, her expression one of unwavering determination. "I don't care about the dress," she replied firmly, her voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. "All that matters is that you're taken care of. I do not know how much longer I will be granted the privilege of caring for my children, but I will ensure that I make the most of our time."

It was cruel to be constantly waiting for the shadow of death. 

After several moments of silence, in a voice tinged with sullen defiance, Daenys spoke, "I will not apologize."

"I do not expect you to."

"It was necessary. You know that it was necessary. We cannot allow these foolish men to keep spurning you simply because they do not think you are worthy enough. They think Aegon will make a better king just because of that thing between his legs. And well yes, I will admit I had a personal grudge to settle against Lord Borros. My brother died on his lands. He could have saved him, protected him, but instead, he let that monster go after a little boy!" 

She felt her mother flinch under her, and she felt guilty again. The whole ordeal brought out something ugly and vicious within her, something that did not care who got hurt as long as someone did. The tendency of the wounded to inflict wounds upon others. She waited for her queen to bring up Luke's true killer. For her to voice the thoughts that plagued Daenys every single day. For her to finally say that all this anger was simply displaced and that her brother's true murderer was someone who used to live in her heart. But perhaps Rhaenyra had seen the fragile thread of composure near its breaking point and she remained blessedly silent. Thank the gods for small mercies. Daenys didn't think she could talk about him.

Rhaenyra watched her daughter cautiously. Others might have thought that her daughter's reckless viciousness was akin to Daemon's but surely that is who the lords would liken her to once they heard of her misdeeds. However, there was another to whom she bore an even closer resemblance. The queen was familiar with what the people whispered about —once upon a time she had shared those thoughts herself. 

Foolish Harwin's foolish daughter. So much like him in every way except for her appearance. She had named Daenys her heir, and the silly child had begged so desperately to give up what had been her divine right. Content to watch from the shadows in the name of love and loyalty, satisfied with pecking crumbs when she could devour. Still, everyone forgot that Harwin Breakbones Strong once beat a man to a bloody pulp for insulting her honour, the honour of the woman he loved, and he would have ended Ser Criston for it too. When it really came down to it, love was violence, devotion was violence, and he knew it well. 

Harwin Strong had more in common with his daughter than most imagined.

Rhaenyra sent him a silent prayer to spare Daenys. 

You have our son. Do not take our daughter from me too. 

"Ah, there she is. The girl I have always known. You were most like your father. So fiercely loyal and stubborn to a fault. And so protective of those you love. As Queen, I should be most thankful for your loyalty but as your mother, it gladdens me more that he passed on his love for family to you. If anything were to happen to me, I know you would protect this family with everything."

It was difficult for Daenys to muster within her some sort of positive emotion but she tried. It was some reassurance that her mother saw fragments of Ser Laenor within her; that she wasn't a complete and utter disappointment to his memory. 

What she did not know was that Laenor was not who Rhaenyra spoke of at all. There was only one person Rhaenyra could refer to with that kind of grief in her eyes. The kind of grief that spoke of not enough time and a love that went unexpressed. 

"Nothing will happen to you Mother. I swear it. I swear by all the gods that I will not let anything happen to you. I will not fail to protect another person that I love."

Rhaenyra swatted at her arm gently, "Enough with your oaths. You have given too many in too few days. I wish you would give me truths instead. I cannot stand not knowing."

"One day you will have all my truths. I promise."

"I suppose that day will not be today, will it?"

No. 

Some truths were meant to be carried to the grave. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

A/N: rip girlie's mentally ill and rlly going through it. 

As usual, don't be a ghost reader. I live for yalls comments/questions/predictions/reactions, even a keyboard smash is highly appreciated and encouraged!