The Red Keep, King's Landing, 101 AC

During the Great Council: 53rd year of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator's rule

_

Her father's promise was held until his dying breath.

His hands were cold. Daenys had not let up her grip since the day he came back from a hunting trip complaining of pain. She alone sat at his bedside, telling him stories and trying to cheer him up. Yet eventually, like her mother, he had to succumb to his pain. All that was left now was emptiness.

What purpose was there to serve? Who was left to serve it with? Daenys did not believe such a vacancy could exist in herself, having always filled and filled for other people. What did she have left if not to brighten the days of those around her?

She felt a hand on her shoulder, knowing it had to be Viserys. She hung her head, "I need one more minute."

"Take all the time you need," said Viserys gently. "I've asked for Aemma and Rhaenyra to remain in their rooms today. Ravens have been sent to Rhaenys, Daemon, and our Uncle Vaegon. The King will call for a Great Council."

She raised her head. "A Great Council?"

"Yes." He sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand over hers and subsequently his father's. "To decide who will succeed him."

Daenys blinked away tears. "Rhaenys is his eldest grandchild, daughter of his eldest son. And you..."

"There's that," said Viserys. "And young Laenor, even Uncle Vaegon. Other claims are sure to be heard— there's talk our Aunt Saera fathered three bastards and I imagine others will reach for a connection in the hopes of acquiring the throne."

"I admit, I often imagined gladly that Rhaenys would be our queen."

"It is up to the Great Council to decide. Our grandsire does not wish to make this decision alone. He cannot." He caressed her hand. "I know you cannot recall when mother died. It was a day... much like this. Whatever you need... I know how to make it easier."

She tried for a smile but failed. It was too much to think of, Daemon returning and Rhaenys being overlooked again as Alysanne had so hated. Daenys didn't feel anyone understood her in that moment. "Excuse me." She finally forced herself to remove her hand from her father's body, immediately sensing within herself a tight coil in her belly, like a drag that threatened to pull her toward The Stranger. Nothing would ever feel the same again. Her father, who thought her his world, had gone. And where was the rest of her world? All dead or gone.

She'd walked herself all the way to the Dragonpit, wanting to sit there waiting until Daemon arrived. It wouldn't be long— he'd drop whatever he was doing in the Vale and gladly abandon his 'bronze bitch' and all the sheep to come here as long as he could stay. Caraxes would deliver him swiftly and Daenys intended to be there to witness it all. Somehow, she believed only Daemon could feel her pain at that moment.

There was a low murmur in the back, within the cave Vhagar always nested in. She could not imagine the emptiness that poor dragon felt, too, having loved Baelon so much. She made a beeline for her, calling sadly, "Iksan kesīr syt ao, uēpa riña. Se syt nykēla. Gaoman daor jaelagon naejot sagon skoriot issaros kessa ūndegon nyke. Kesā shifang." (T: I'm here to comfort you, old girl. And to comfort myself. I don't wish to be where people will see me. You'll understand.)

As she neared, Vhagar emerged, long neck turning her head toward Daenys, serpent-like eyes blinking and regarding her as she let out a low groan. Daenys skidded to a halt as Vhagar began to walk towards her, spreading her wings and beating them once, hard, to send a gust of wind at her.

"Issa Daenys, Vhagar, rāpirī," she called, holding out her hands. "Mecorda nyke." (T: It's Daenys, Vhagar, be calm. Remember me.)

Vhagar groaned again, but at least turned her head aside. Daenys continued to approach carefully, hoping Vhagar would not have fully forgotten the countless times she had come to see Baelon mount her, the countless times she sat here with the Dragonkeepers listening to stories of the previous dragons and their riders. Vhagar had been her father's mount and there had to be some familiarity— even Caraxes had recognized Daemon from when Aemon had still been alive. Though Daemon had resented Rhaenys for claiming Meleys, even that dragon had recognized Alyssa's favorite niece.

She saw the opportunity before her and managed a weak smile. Her father had always told her she would one day have a dragon, that she would feel when one was ready for her. As Vhagar's low croons echoed through the Dragonpit, so too did her sadness. Another rider lost, another bond broken. It was said that Vhagar knew Baelon was the one she wanted to bond with after she saw him hit Balerion square in the face as a little boy.

Daenys saw a way to give the both of them something beautiful to remember Baelon by, a way of saying both goodbye to what they lost and hello to the future that continued regardless of loss. Jaehaerys had once told her that time did not stop simply because a loved one died— and he should know, having lost so many.

She approached and called, "Rȳbās nyke, Vhagar. Naejot māzīs, ynot." Vhagar turned her head back, seemingly narrowing her eyes. Her neck extended, far enough that she was obeying the command without moving her feet. Daenys added, "Investragī nyke rēnīs ao." (T: Hear me, Vhagar. Come forward, come to me. Let me touch you.)

Daenys moved herself, the dragon still, extending her hand toward the side of Vhagar's face. Her eye followed her until she finally placed her bare palm against her scales. She smiled to herself, whispering, "Dohaerās, Vhagar. Rȳbās." (T: Serve, Vhagar. Obey.)

The dragon lowered herself to the floor, sounding a loud thud and bringing up a small cloud of dirt. Daenys leaned her body fully against Vhagar's cheek, the way she'd seen Daemon do with Caraxes. She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes, chest tight as tears began to form. A dragon could not be claimed again until their previous rider was dead. Though she wasn't exactly questioning her father's state, she knew surely now that he would not come back.

She sat herself down, crying, curled up against Vhagar, who let out small noises as if in empathy— perhaps she was crying, too. She had them retreat into the cave once she heard movement at the entrance— maybe someone was looking for her or another was coming with their dragon.

She didn't want to see anyone, and would rather sit there with Vhagar, listening to the sounds of the other dragons further ahead. Syrax, named for the Valyrian god of fruitfulness and festivals because she'd always been spoiled. Seasmoke was a pale silver-grey resembling the fog rolling onto a beach. Silverwing herself had flown to Dragonstone the moment Alysanne died, probably preferring the company of the wild dragons and seemingly knowing her children would be fine here with the Dragonkeepers and the company of Vermithor. Dreamfyre was always in her quiet corner, especially more now that her children Meleys and Caraxes were away and her last clutch of eggs had remained on Dragonstone unhatched.

Daenys's favorites had always been Vhagar's hatchlings, born some years before Balerion's death. Aegarax, named for the god of all creatures, was the firstborn and a rather rambunctious green little beast resembling a garden snake when his wings were tucked in. Starbeam was a sky blue with strange markings on her wings like stars that'd collided with her and slid right up to her neck. Goldhorn, a dragon black as night save for the shining golden horns on his head and wings that glittered in the sun and seemed to glow brighter when he was happy. Her favorite was Frostbite, completely white with blue specks that resembled fallen flakes, the dragon having quite the temper in comparison to its siblings.

The noises at the entrance were fading, and she was glad for it. Someone had come, but they were probably going to mind their business and leave soon. She'd wait to emerge once they were gone— most likely Rhaenys had arrived or maybe her grandsire was visiting Vermithor.

Instead, she heard footsteps approaching, one set light and the other heavy. The rider was escorting their dragon instead of the Dragonkeepers, and there was only one person she knew who did that every time and hummed along to the dragon's strangled trills. She got to her feet, striding out quickly and calling for her brother. "Daemon?" she asked, voice breaking. She hadn't seen her brother in four years and in a moment she forgot why that was– she needed to see him and needed his comfort.

Caraxes trilled in greeting as Vhagar followed her out, prompting Daemon to stop in his tracks, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he leaned back. He gave her a look over, clearly finding her different from when he left. Last he'd seen her, she still hadn't grown and was awkward on her feet, tripping over the dragon-riding skirt she wore to train with her sword, always having enjoyed looking like a lady. Grief aside, she now stood with confidence, given a sword of her own to hold at her belt, and donning trousers with a silk bell-sleeved shirt under ringmail, not at all unlike what he'd seen Visenya Targaryen wear in the history books.

He gave a firm nod, trailing his gaze up to Vhagar. "You've finally claimed a dragon, little sister."

"And you've finally come home," said Daenys sadly, lip trembling. "For father's funeral." Whatever he must have intended to say angrily (surely he had something, considering he would never have had to leave if she'd indulged him four years ago) was swallowed back when he saw her crying. He sighed and approached, pulling her into a hug. "I'll stay as long as I can."

She buried her face in his chest, sobbing. "I missed you. I feel so alone here."

He was quiet for a moment. "I know. I missed you too. I am glad father kept his promise and did not send you away to marry. I'm glad you could be here for him. He needed you more than anyone. Your whole life everyone's needed you." He kissed the top of her head, rubbing her back as she sniffled.

He drew away once she'd quieted down, shivering and whimpering. "Listen to me, Daenys," he said, tucking his hand under her chin and making her look at him. "Viserys must be named Jaehaerys's heir at the Council."

"But Rhaenys is Aemon's daughter," she argued, furrowing her brows. How could he be bringing this up at a time like this? "She has two children of her own— her firstborn a son."

"Yet our father was heir more recently than hers. Viserys is our brother and we must support him."

She frowned, "Do you want him to be heir because then you'll be his?"

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, telling her all she needed to know. He said dismissively, "Viserys still has time to produce a son. Perhaps our grandsire will live long enough to see it happen."

His words rang in her head every time she stopped thinking. They'd rung when silence and pain filled her again as she watched her grandsire light her father's pyre. They rang each time she was playing with Rhaenyra and would drift off, remembering how much Baelon had adored his little granddaughter, the way he made her laugh.

Rhaenys met them at Harrenhal several weeks later, the Great Council called and ready. Daenys had flown herself there the day of, arriving with a few hours to spare and meet her cousin's children. Laenor was a clever little boy aged three and tiny Laena would turn one soon, a beauty just like her mother.

Daenys was disappointed with the outcome. The lords chose Viserys as the Prince of Dragonstone, and none was happier than Daemon. Before returning to King's Landing, she'd gone to find her cousin again, her chamber carrying a deathly silence. Her husband, Lord Corlys, sat by the window holding a sleeping Laena while Laenor read quietly, eyes drifting occasionally to his mother, who rubbed her forehead and sighed.

"I'm very sorry, Rhaenys," said Daenys. "Our grandsire allowed you to be robbed. He wished to prevent a war over his succession and instead ignored you entirely... robbed you of your birthright. Even our grandmother..."

"I know what she thought," murmured Rhaenys. "But what is done is done. The Good Queen Alysanne is not here to speak in my favor nor do I believe any of those lords and vassals paramount capable of seeing another path. I am a woman and I am... punished for it."

"Being a woman should not ever be such s deciding factor," lamented Daenys. "Aegon could not have conquered the Seven Kingdoms without Visenya and Rhaenys. Maegor was crowned because of Visenya's intervention, even Alysanne was always loved and greatly influential to Jaehaerys's reign... it is wrong."

"It is, dear cousin, but men would sooner put the Realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne. I should hope one day the perspective will be different but at present... it is not how the world works."

Daenys hung her head. "Unfortunately. Even now they assure Daemon will be Viserys's heir until he has a son. Rhaenyra exists and yet... Even Maegor temporarily named Aerea Targaryen his heir! Jaehaerys did too, I recall, as well as naming Daenerys his heir briefly."

Rhaenys tilted her head. "But never permanently." She eyed Corlys, perhaps saying something to him without words that Daenys would not understand.

Sensing her presence might be rubbing salt in the wound, Daenys got to her feet. "I'll leave you then, cousin," she said gently. "I wish you all a safe journey back to Driftmark." As she left, she wished that Visenya had sat the Iron Throne from the first. They might've created an order like the Martells in Dorne, where women were not looked down upon, where firstborns were rightful heirs regardless of sex. She almost wished that her Uncle Vaegon hadn't ignored his claim so that at the very least, there was more time to change people's minds.

By the time she returned to King's Landing, the new Hand had settled in with his family. Otto Hightower had been chosen for his clever mind and great reputation, though Daemon seemed to find it suspicious that he so quickly rose to their father's role. He made several snide remarks before mellowing down upon his receival of Dark Sister, Blackfyre sure to pass to Viserys. Daenys was sad to see him asked to return to the Vale, finding the castle solemn once more.

She was less alone this time around, Otto's family a new bit of entertainment for her. He had four children: his eldest son, Gwayne, was a boy of eight and already very interested in swords, the twins Norman and Bryndon were six and about as mischievous as Daemon and Daenys had been, and his sweet little daughter Alicent was the same age as Rhaenyra, a perfectly built companion.

Though his wife Alyrie was about ten years older than Aemma and Daenys, they both found comfort in her. Daenys had taken Rhaenyra and Alicent up on Vhagar within a few weeks of establishing a good rapport with the Hightower family. By then, her bond with Vhagar was well-established, ensuring the dragon would not immediately dive upwards into the highest clouds each time they rode.

And yet even with new possibilities to find happiness renewed within the castle, Daenys still pondered deeply (and at times uncomfortably) on Daemon's careful words. Would Viserys produce a son? Would Daemon inherit the Iron Throne?

She feared to think who her once favorite seat would end up belonging to throughout the rest of her life.

_

The Red Keep, King's Landing, 103 AC

After the Great Council: 55th and final year of King Jaehaerys the Conciliator's rule and 1st year of King Viserys the Peaceful's rule

_

An era had come to an end.

Daenys had been playing with Rhaenyra and Alicent after a tiresome session of swords with new Kingsguard Ser Harrold Westerling. She remembered the sounds of their laughter, she remembered the smell of roast duck drifting in, and she remembered how Alicent had told her of Gwayne losing an alarmingly large tooth in the back of his mouth.

Ripped into her memory had been the sharp opening of the door, the particular footsteps of Alyrie Hightower, the fear laced in her voice as she asked for Daenys to come see her in the hallway. With a frown, she'd risen, the little girls tilting their heads in confusion and not entirely trusting Alyrie's quick assurance that all was well.

"Your grandsire has passed," said Alyrie sadly, taking Daenys's hands. "In the night, Otto told me. Prince Viserys and Lady Aemma are with him now and I've asked the Grand Maester to send word to your brother and cousin."

Daenys felt a tightness in her chest again, blinking and squeezing Alyrie's palms. "Thank you for informing me. Gods... I only just saw him. Before I went to sleep, I read him a story the way my aunt Gael used to. He said he was tired, he asked me if I remembered the way my grandmother would carry me to bed after sitting the throne with him. I didn't think anything of it. For the past month he has always called me another name... yestereve it was Rhaena, before then Saera, before that Viserra..."

"He loved you so very much," comforted Alyrie. "I've heard the stories of your childhood, how much His Grace adored you. You were close to him for a very long time, in a way many of his children weren't. He will be greatly missed by the Realm. I am very sorry, Daenys."

She nodded, smiling weakly. "I am sure today will be a great day of mourning for all the Seven Kingdoms."

It was she that had the honor of being the last to see him before he was given to the Silent Sisters, she who had the honor of lighting his pyre. She stood alone, ahead of the crowd, even as everyone began to leave, all concerned with the proceedings for Viserys's coronation, which they hoped to schedule within a few weeks.

Daemon came to stand beside her once the last of them had gone, planting the tip of Dark Sister into the earth and leaning forward. She didn't acknowledge him beyond a quick glance, turning her eyes back to the smoke that still billowed off of the pyre's remains. Daenys tilted her head up at the sound of wings beating, Vermithor soaring over the pyre then continuing onward, disappearing into the clouds in the direction of Dragonstone.

Her brother remained through the ceremonies, first to crown Viserys as King and have all the lords bend the knee for him as he sat the Iron Throne for the first time, and second to declare their support for Daemon as the new Prince of Dragonstone. He certainly still hoped to ascend the throne afterward, Viserys not yet producing a son. Daenys worried he never would— she'd already told him that he needed to give Aemma a rest from the constant failed attempts yet he did not seem to think it wise to stop trying.

"It's my last day in this city, brother," said Daemon, sitting across from Daenys in the Small Council chamber. "What is so important you had to call us here?"

They'd returned from a ride to Dragonkeepers hurriedly ushering them to the Red Keep— their new King wanted an audience with them. Viserys stood over them, glancing across at Aemma before saying, "There are some things we must settle before proceeding any further."

Daenys figured he wanted to talk to Daemon about Runestone, about the wife he didn't attend to, the heirs he did not have. It was sure to become an argument now that Viserys was King and therefore capable of requiring things from them. She must have been brought there alongside Aemma as a mediator.

"I will keep Otto Hightower as my Hand," began Viserys. Daemon immediately made a face and turned aside, both Aemma and Daenys able to see his lips move to form curses in the Common Tongue and Valyrian alike. Viserys pressed, "I have made this choice carefully. Otto has already served as Hand for nearly three years. He is experienced, he is someone I trust—"

"Am I not someone you trust?" demanded Daemon. "I am your brother— your heir. Why am I not being named for this position?"

Viserys cast him a very telling look, as if the outburst explained it all. Daenys understood it, but knew Daemon would not be satisfied unless he got something else out of it. Unfortunately for him, there didn't seem to be anything. "You have a responsibility to your lady wife," said Viserys. "The tourney following my coronation has come and gone and you remain here."

"To comfort the family following our grandsire's passing. You've become newly occupied and Daenys is lonely."

"If only you showed such devotion to your family in Runestone," retorted Viserys in a clipped tone, his emphasis on 'devotion' sounding like a mockery. Daenys knew he didn't fully understand Daemon's strange way of showing he cared. He didn't come to talk to Aemma or play with Rhaenyra like Daenys did and somehow, Viserys saw that as the only acceptable way of demonstrating love.

Daemon scoffed, "I never wished to marry her and you know it. I demand you set aside that marriage and let me return here permanently."

"No. You will go to Runestone, attend to your wife, and that will be the end of it."

"You won't even name me Master of Laws? Master of Coin?"

"You will be named when I have need for it. At present the Council has no opening and you've not proven yourself enough for me to want to supplant reliable men I already have." He glared at Daemon when he started muttering curses again, "You are my heir and you will do the duty I present to you. You need heirs of your own, Daemon, and I see no efforts in that area."

Daemon sneered, "I've no desire to bed that bronze bitch."

Aemma and Daenys shared a look, the both shaking their heads in disapproval. Viserys heaved a sigh, rubbing his forehead. "I have spoken. I will make it my order as a King. Given some time for me to settle into my role and you into yours, we may reevaluate."

"Yes, you had better reevaluate your choice in that Hightower cunt," said Daemon curtly.

"Daemon," said Daenys. "Viserys is right, he's knowledgeable and he's blunt. More importantly, he is patient. There is plenty of time for you to be named Hand. I should hope for Viserys to rule as long as our grandsire, perhaps longer."

"Thank you, Daenys," agreed Viserys. He turned to her and smiled, though it was one of those awkward and pained smiles he always made when he knew he was about to say something unpleasant. Daenys tensed. "My dear sister. You were an immense comfort to Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and our father for many years. It is unlikely that any of us feels this change as sharply as you."

"Change comes and I adapt," she said carefully. "I'm not a child anymore, Viserys, you don't need to coddle me. I will always be sad about all those we lost but I will continue forward. Jaehaerys loved me dearly and I intend to love Rhaenyra the same way. I'll not lose my ability to exist."

Viserys glanced once more at Aemma. "No, you certainly won't. You've always been resilient. We saw it when you lived and Aegon did not. We saw it when you kept our family happy for years without much effort. We saw it when you continued to care for all of us even after Father's death. And you are also right in saying that you are no longer a child."

He tapped his hand anxiously against the table, beginning to speak uncharacteristically fast. "Jaehaerys had his reputation and I will have mine. We maintain a strong alliance with the Vale and I wish to expand this to other Kingdoms. I've treated with House Tyrell and have arranged a match for you with their heir, Gareth."

Daenys's entire body went as rigid as Valyrian steel. "A match? A match?"

"You are nine-and-ten, it is high time you were married. Gareth is only a few years older. I hear he is kind and peaceful and it would place you very comfortably in a beautiful kingdom with much room for Vhagar to fly—"

"No!" snapped Daenys. "Father always promised he'd never make me wed until I was ready, until I found someone I wanted. Even Jaehaerys and Alysanne never arranged anything for me out of respect for my wishes. What, you become King and you forget you're my brother first?"

"Daenys," pleaded Aemma. "Being married isn't so bad... I've met Gareth Tyrell and I believe you'll really like him—"

"You had Rhaenyra at the age of five-and-ten," retorted Daenys. "Viserys is torturing you trying to make a male babe. Marriage is bad and I am not ready for it!"

"You do not need the Tyrells," argued Daemon in her favor. "Father's promise did not die with him."

"It was his promise," said Viserys, exasperated. "Not mine. I am King now and I must think what is best for the Realm. We need alliances, we need rapport, and you cannot remain unwed much longer, Daenys! You will marry Gareth Tyrell and that is final."

Daemon got to his feet. "You cannot. If you even attempt to, I will take her to Dragonstone, make her my wife, and ensure a thousand lords witness the consummation."

Daenys covered her head with her hands, then clamped her palms over her ears as Viserys and Daemon began to argue without her. Daemon accused that because Viserys could not have her for himself, he didn't want Daemon to have her and that was why he would not set aside his marriage to Rhea in favor of keeping Daenys nearby and happy. Viserys accused that Daemon could not accept that his sister did not want him as he wanted her and had further ruined his chances by proving to Daenys he was a terrible husband to a perfectly good woman.

Finally, she ripped herself out of her seat. "I will not marry anyone! I will not be tossed over to Highgarden like some prized boar! You can very well make your own bloody reputation without needing to barter me off!"

"As your King," said Viserys, voice raised, "I will make it a command that you marry Gareth Tyrell. We leave for Highgarden in three days."

She faltered, hating that tears sprang to her eyes. "In three days? You've already arranged this all with them without caring how I would feel? Without consulting me? I have three days to... to leave this place? I-I grew up here, I always had my family here. I was loved and I have loved. I train with my sword, I keep your daughter company... I don't wish to go. Viserys, I do not wish to go!"

"You will go," he declared. "You will serve the Realm, you will serve your family."

She spent the three days furious, barred from going to the Dragonpit, all entrances guarded with men specifically on the lookout for her. Her things were packed and sent ahead against her will, and Viserys himself had to drag her into the carriage that took them to the Reach. She was exhausted from anger by the time they arrived at Highgarden, Vhagar circling overhead in equal irritation and making the Reachmen nervous. Wordlessly, she could have commanded Vhagar to burn them all. It would have freed her, but she knew she would feel guiltier having done it.

Her wedding made her miserable. Gareth Tyrell could clearly see how unhappy she was and Daenys supposed she could admit he was very kind about it all, only kissing her once for the ceremony and otherwise letting her be. Still, it was humiliating to feel her life slipping so far out of control, to find that no amount of pleading had done her any good.

The Iron Throne had taken a new King and it all but confirmed that the time had changed, that peace was near its end, that Daenys would never again feel the true closeness of family.