A/N: I wrote this first as a oneshot (see Sprinting Fox: Unwritten for the chapter with an OC paired with Otto Hightower) but then decided to write it as an actual fic. The oneshot avoided the Dance of Dragons but this fic will not. Additionally, several things have been changed.

As with my previous stories, I wanted to make a note about a few things. One, you can expect the usual Game of Thrones themes of abuse, miscarriage, traumatic childbirth, underage marriage, violence, incest, etc. Two, it will be depressing in many aspects and have a great deal of angst. Three, I am basing this off of the show. And four, as with my past fics, the main point is NOT necessarily the love story, it is about the growth of the character! The majority of the focus is on the OC's journey.

If you're still interested, go right ahead. For reference, the OC's face claim is Thea Sofie Loch Næss (but with Valyrian features!). If you look up gifs from her role as Skade in The Last Kingdom, you'll see the image I have of her.

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The Red Keep, King's Landing, 97 AC

Before the Great Council: 49th year of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator's rule

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Her favorite seat in the whole castle was the Iron Throne.

When she'd been a little girl, only just starting to become curious about the extents of her speech and movement, the castle had been a solemn place. She couldn't quite understand the cloud of grief that floated over the castle, only that she was somewhat important in bringing out smiles and laughs whenever silence swallowed the Red Keep.

She was her father's most precious jewel. She was her grandmother's porcelain doll. She was her grandfather's ray of light. Since the age of three, she'd had the responsibility of keeping her family happy.

Her grandsire would call upon her to bring this joy out into the world, whenever he felt it necessary. She'd be drawn away from her toys, books, and sword toward the throne room, escorted by tall knights who were increasingly shorter each year. She'd be threaded like a string through the needle of people who'd come to see their King, and even they would cry out in delight at the sight of the growing Princess, always prim and proper for the crowds.

She'd skip up the steps of the Iron Throne, past the swords of Aegon's enemies, until she reached the Old King, who would scoop her into his arms and plant her on his knee. She'd cuddle up to him and sit quietly as he listened to grievances and requests. On days such as those, it was up to her grandmother to carry her to bed, little head tucked neatly on her shoulder as she dreamt of swords and crowns and dragons.

Ten years later, she understood the weight of her role in the castle— the significance of her piece on the game board. All of the knowledge the world could seemingly offer a girl of three-and-ten came crashing into her all at once the moment she was introduced to her niece.

"She's so..." She could not find the words to describe the babe. "She's... pink."

Her father gave a hearty laugh, clapping the shoulders of his sons, the younger of the two snickering at his sister. "Pink," laughed Baelon Targaryen. "The Pink Targaryen Princess."

The girl's face burned with embarrassment. "It isn't a bad thing," she tried to say, smiling awkwardly at the babe's mother, her exhausted cousin only two years older than her. "She's as beautiful as you. I simply didn't know babies were so... strangely colored."

"I did not have her in mind to be pink, either," agreed Aemma Arryn wearily. Her lips turned into a weak, upturned smile, "But she is a beauty."

"That she is," agreed Viserys Targaryen, dipping down to kiss her forehead. "Well done, my love."

His sister sat herself down, staring intensely at the whimpering babe, eyes shut tight and fists waving rigidly. "What will you name her?"

Viserys turned proudly to his father, "We've decided to name her Rhaenyra."

"A beautiful name," agreed Baelon. "Your grandmother will enjoy it very much. Come, Daenys, let Daemon hold her."

"Just a moment," she pleaded, delicately tracing her fingers over Rhaenyra's little forehead in the shape of the Valyrian rune for 'health.' "Since Viserys cannot take her to fly on Balerion the way our mother did with him and Daemon atop Meleys, I am blessing her." She leaned down to whisper, "When I've a dragon of my own, I will take you into the skies, little Rhaenyra."

It was the sight of them all together that got Daenys to think about their love, their balance, how Rhaenyra would help to play the same role many needed of her.

To her grandsire, King Jaehaerys, she'd been a companion, a reminder of his elder sister Rhaena, and a substitute for the daughter who he turned his back on as well as the heirs he no longer had.

Both of them missed Rhaenys's constant presence in the castle since her marriage to Lord Corlys and Baelon insisted that she never speak of Saera (she'd been gone twelve years and despite how much he missed his little sister's mischief, Jaehaerys had not yet forgiven her and none of his sisters alive or dead had ever much liked her), yet allowed her to fill the heart of a man who could not accept guilt nor think of forgiveness.

For her grandmother, Queen Alysanne, she filled the void of the lost sons and daughters, one being her own mother. Her Uncle Aemon was dead, having been so kind yet barely someone Daenys could remember. Her Aunt Maegelle came only when Jaehaerys and Alysanne quarreled and after such distance, her untimely death last year left an inexplicable mark. Vaegon wanted nothing to do with them and stayed at the Citadel.

Viserra had passed ten years prior and though Baelon did not speak of her after she tried to seduce him, Alysanne missed her spirited girls— Viserra and Saera had been just like her Alyssa, just like little Daenys who still walked among them. Only the combination of her Aunt Gael's birth and Daenys's had seemingly kept Alysanne from cracking under the pressure, especially after losing Gaemon and Valerion as babes.

To her father, Prince of Dragonstone, she offered a chance to live out what he dreamed and thought he wouldn't have after Alyssa's terrifying hours birthing Daenys and her twin brother, Aegon, who hadn't lived very long. He'd prayed for a daughter and imagined her to be just like the wild beauty that was his wife, Princess Alyssa. She hadn't been considered a traditional beauty in the way many other Targaryen women were. Daenys had heard the stories– she had mismatched green and purple eyes, dirty blond hair, she was skinny and had a long face, her ears were too large, her smile was crooked, her nose was off-center after she broke it at the age of six.

Alyssa had not been like their sisters and Daenys had certainly taken after her. The fierce rider of Meleys had liked to climb and duel the way her brothers did. Daenys did the same, and her brother Daemon was all the better for it— it meant he had a proper companion in crime.

Baelon had told her of his favorite moment with Alyssa. When their brother Vaegon had insulted Daella, saying he would never marry her and that she needed to find a husband who wanted stupid children, as those were the only ones she'd be able to birth, Alyssa had poured over his head a flagon of Arbor gold.

Though Alyssa had named her after her dead sister, Daenerys, having borne a slight resemblance to her and being told the same existed in her daughter, Daenys was quickly growing into the spitting image of her mother, carrying a strange bit of luck and strength that allowed her to live even when Aegon and Alyssa did not.

Her brothers had been taken up on Meleys when they were a day old, eyes still closed as their mother flew and let them have a taste of the skies, swearing that they would be dragonriders. She was too weak to do the same with Aegon and Daenys.

When she died, Baelon took his little girl on his lap, holding her tight as he mounted Vhagar and promised her that she would ride a dragon, too, if she lived. He prayed she would and the gods answered him— his little Alyssa had survived, his sons had their sister, his parents had a piece of their most adventurous daughters. The process was repeated by Jaehaerys on Vermithor, Alysanne on Silverwing, even his brother Aemon atop Caraxes.

Somewhere along the way, a dragon had filled her with the will to live, and so she thrived. Viserys liked to say Vhagar herself had blessed Daenys, because while Daemon found more interest in Meleys and Caraxes, Daenys had always loved her special time flying with Baelon. It was the only time she was truly quiet. Her survival had thrilled Saera and Viserra when they'd been around, it had fulfilled Baelon, Aemon, and Jocelyn as they mourned Alyssa, and by default, all the dragons appeared to thrive so long as Daenys did, their riders less mournful as she lived to see each day.

As much as she served them, Daenys had found there were those in the castle that made her happy, too. When she was little, Rhaenys had carried her around gladly, much like a doll, and as Daenys grew, had let her ask a million questions and follow her around the castle or to the Dragonpit away from the watchful septas that Daenys didn't like (and who she terrorized constantly). Despite this dislike of lessons, Viserys would often drag her to the library to read histories to her, though Daemon would always find a way to rescue her, carrying her on his back and running as fast as he could before Viserys could catch up.

Since her wedding to Viserys at the mere age of eleven, her cousin Aemma had been a much closer companion— better at any rate than their Aunt Gael, who while only four years older than Daenys, seemed to never let her forget she was Baelon's sister and therefore not intended to be her friend. A timid and quiet girl, Gael kept to herself and let Aemma and Daenys run around having their fun (though at night, she agreed to read to them, the two girls fascinated with her stories as if she'd lived much longer than they had).

She still lived happy without responsibilities. She could spend most of the day with Aemma (and she had, the two practically inseparable except when she needed to be with Viserys, something Daenys felt she must not be understanding because no one found it strange as she did) or with Daemon as she pleased— the choice was hers. Most mornings, she was in the yard learning to wield a sword, her brother already loads better but always happy to give her a lesson.

On this particular occasion, he'd managed to land her flat on her arse, enough for her to skid a foot away. She was still small for her age and Daemon seemed to have reached his full height at six-and-ten, practically a man having tossed his little sister right onto the hard ground. "Sorry," said Daemon, offering his hand. "You'll need to be more attentive next time."

Daenys rubbed her behind as she stood, wincing but waving away a maester. "I suppose so. I can't be knocked aside like that while wielding Dark Sister."

"You're not going to get Dark Sister," said Daemon, hitting her lightly with the flat part of his sword. "That sword is already mine."

She huffed indignantly. "I might! The King told me he'll give it to whoever earns it. Viserys will have Blackfyre and you and I both want to be like Visenya. Only one of us can wield it."

Daemon leaned close, "And it will be me." He poked at her nose, frustrating her and encouraging her to take a swing. He tilted his hand ever so slightly to block it, the clashing of metal irritating her further. "I had a sword put in my hand from the moment I could walk, little sister. You won't be defeating me anytime soon."

"When I'm six-and-ten too, we'll see how much I've improved. You spend more and more time in the sky with Caraxes while I'm practicing, as of late."

"You spend more and more time shut away gossiping with Aemma. She won't have time for you anymore now that she's a mother."

Daenys crossed her arms. "Yes, she will. I will help her take care of Rhaenyra."

"If Father or Grandsire sees you doing that, they'll make you marry next. You were lucky enough they didn't choose you to marry Viserys in the first place." He swung his sword over his shoulder, looking down. "Grandmother has arranged a match for me."

She scrunched up her nose. "A match? To whom?"

"Some girl from the Vale."

"She cannot be just some girl. The Queen is strategic, she won't have you marry a nobody."

"Lady Rhea Royce. I know nothing about her yet I'll be leaving soon to wed her, and I must stay there."

"The Queen says House Royce is the second most powerful house in the Vale. It strengthens the alliance they have because of Viserys and Aemma's marriage. They never would have chosen me to wed him. Besides, Father told me he won't make me marry anyone in particular. I can marry whoever I want to."

He rolled his eyes. "No, you can't. You'll be a woman soon, you'll have to marry whether you like it or not. All of us will have to. Father is going to be the next King, you cannot be unwed."

"Well, I don't want to! Father promised and he won't break a promise. He loves me the most."

"Grandsire and Father made Aemma marry at eleven. What do you think he'll do to you when you're six-and-ten?"

"Shut up, Daemon!" she said, steadily growing annoyed. She didn't understand why he'd brought this up, why he pressed the issue. Sometimes, Daemon only wished to argue, and she was normally eager to bite back, but today's joy was being wiped away by force and her infuriating brother was still trying to rip off more.

He continued to jab, "You're three-and-ten, already bled, and you know the stories of what Grandsire forced upon our aunts Daella, Saera, and Viserra. You're lucky they haven't turned their sights to you for an alliance yet, but that might not last."

"I know the tales, I know the horrors! Father told me that our aunt Viserra tried to use me to have him marry her. She pretended to take care of me for him to see her as motherly, but grew too drunk and he found her naked and dancing while I slept on a chair about to fall to the floor. But Grandsire says I've always reminded him of his sister Rhaena– she fed her traitorous husband to her dragon and I know Rhaenys will agree to feed anyone I don't want to marry to Meleys."

Frustrated that he would try to argue for the sake of ruining her hopeful outlook on her freedom, she began trudging towards the steps, done for the day. Daemon lowered his sword, exasperated. "Come on, you've barely done a thing! If you're not going to be a dragonrider yet, you might as well use a sword properly."

"I don't want to practice if all you're going to do is talk about marriage," complained Daenys. "Today should be a happy day, we have a niece. She's beautiful and sweet. Can't we simply think of that?"

He made a face, practically a sneer at her. "Come off it," she said, even more upset. "You're jealous of a child? What, because no attention has been given to you today?"

"And my sister is walking away from me!" he snapped. "You won't even listen."

"I don't have to listen to you," she said snidely. "It is not Rhaenyra's fault that you're insufferable. Will you blame her for Grandmother deciding you must marry? Viserys told me that you used to blame me for Mother's death. You cannot remember her face, but you remember Meleys roaring in mourning, our father's sobs while he held me. So, you made methe center of it, made me responsible for something I did not ask for. Let it be, Daemon. We have a niece, we should rejoice. You do your duty to the Realm but do not sneer in my direction for a duty that's not been assigned to me."

This only served to make him angrier. She started to rush away, but he dropped his sword and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back. "Ow, ow, Daemon!" she shrieked, clawing at him like a mad cat to get away. Servants and stewards had begun to peek in from the halls, the yard normally empty for only them, though perhaps these people wondered if they could trust Daemon to not torment his younger sister.

"I don't want to marry a Vale girl," he said, making her face him. "Listen to me, Daenys." Once she'd calmed, he pulled her closer, leaning behind her whispering in her ear, "Come with me to Dragonstone. Right now, while everyone's distracted. We'll ride Caraxes and be wed as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. No one can force us to marry anyone we don't want to."

She shook her head, thinking it a joke. "You're ridiculous, Daemon. I don't want to marry you. If you've been given a duty, you must do it. You are next in line for the throne after Viserys, you'll be his heir until he has a son."

"All the more reason to strengthen my claim with children who will be dragonriders, not sheep herders. Come, with our swords we'll cut away any opposition to the Dragonpit. I'll take you to wife and be done with this Vale nonsense. Then Father would never have the room to break his promise— trust me, he will."

Daenys wiggled herself away. "No, Daemon. Do your duty, be a good husband. Father promised me I can marry when I am ready. At present, I am not. I like being here, without children, without responsibilities. I prefer it be that way for awhile longed, so I may focus on tending to the King and Queen, to Aemma and now Rhaenyra, and learning sword with you."

"I won't be here to teach you if I have to marry that girl. And if you are made to marry later... you might have to go live with him, like Rhaenys at Driftmark."

"Then that'll happen because our grandmother asked it of you, the Crown asks it of you, and eventually when I am ready, will ask it of me. I don't want to marry and I won't. No one will make me, least of all you. Why don't you ask our aunt Gael? She's only a year older than you and unwed."

"I don't like Gael and she doesn't like me. She would never understand me but you would. I want to marry you."

"Well, I don't want to marry you. I was told I would have a choice. If you won't even consider Gael, then I am sorry you do not have your own choice. You are the one who might be King after father if something happens to Viserys. I'll be a King's daughter or sister at most."

"You could be Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms if it comes to that," argued Daemon. "Daenys, see reason. You're being shown the illusion of choice. Stop being stubborn and come with me before anyone can notice. We don't need to consummate the marriage, we simply need to have witnesses. We could stay here forever and be whoever we want."

"If that's what you say," said Daenys, "if my choice is an illusion, you're not giving me a choice anymore than Father is. Besides, if I can be whoever I want... then I don't choose to be your wife, Daemon. I don't want to marry anyone yet."

He huffed, shoving her hard in the shoulder. He began to shout, "Everything has always been for you and Viserys. He was the first son, he was the one Father gave all his time to. And then there was you. Everyone fussed over you, incessantly."

"It is not my fault I exist," replied Daenys. "You need to come to terms with that."

"Uncle Aemon cared for me! Like I was his own! While the others doted on you, Uncle Aemon taught me to use my sword. I was like our mother, too, but Father only saw you bearing her image."

She threw her hands up. "I was a sickly babe! That is not my fault! Father thought I would die like Aegon had."

"Well, you did not," he said, as if he resented that. "For eight years, all he did was watch over you. Uncle Aemon died and I had no one. I thought Father would see it, that he'd offer me comfort. But the whole bloody castle was more preoccupied with how adorable you were, comforting Rhaenys when she flew to court, offering her flowers and hugging her legs. The least you could do is help me so I do not need to go to the Vale!"

Daenys shook her head, slowly backing away. "I do not owe you anything for the actions of other people. I do not owe you marriage because I am your sister. If I had a dragon, you would never dare to force anything on me. I will be my own dragon and resist you. You will not have me– no one will!"

She began to run, leaping up the steps and zipping through the castle to avoid him. She worried he'd catch her like he always did and drag her to Caraxes kicking and screaming– she did not have a dragon to defend herself with.

But Daemon had not even pursued. Only in her room did she feel safe enough to sit by the window and cry angrily, lamenting the lack of a dragon and the lack of respect from her own brother. She couldn't even think of Rhaenyra anymore. It upset her that Daemon had become cross with her as much as it upset her that she didn't know when she'd see him again.

She noticed a change in the castle after that. Daemon's absence weighed on her, her longtime companion now missing. He was right, Aemma was filled with different responsibilities now, caring for Rhaenyra and providing Viserys a male babe. The girls didn't understand each other the same without an overlap in motherhood. Daenys remained Jaehaerys and Alysanne's faithful little companion, but even they were growing older and more distant.

It was two years later that her aunt Gael died— they said it was sickness but Baelon told her the truth: a traveling singer had seduced and impregnated her, and when Gael gave birth to a stillborn son, she drowned herself in Blackwater Bay, always so quiet she did not tell anyone of her pain. Daenys didn't realize how much her absence affected her until she no longer saw Princess Gael entering her room with a shy smile and a new book.

The year after that, her grandmother had died. Not even Rhaenyra could distract Daenys. Daemon hardly wrote, still upset she had not taken him up on his offer. Aemma and Viserys were solemn, King Jaehaerys withdrawn. Daenys was alone, unable to even find solace in holding a cooing little girl because she could not have a conversation with her.

The Iron Throne began to lose its shine, and she wondered where she sat now on the game board.