A/N: Timeskip! OC's faceclaim is now Sara Gadon (but imagine her with Valyrian features). She played Mirena in the movie Dracula Untold. If you look up gifs from this role, you'll see the image I have of her.

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The Red Keep, King's Landing, 126 AC

The screams were incessant.

Four young pairs of eyes looked up at her, wondering if she'd make a comment. Nothing slipped from between her pursed lips, reading the latest letter that had arrived from Oldtown. The youngest made a face, little hands reaching out to cover her own ears as another groan and wail rumbled through the castle.

Finally, the oldest heaved a sharp sigh, flicking in his palm a small blade that danced in the morning light. His mother glanced sideways, lips quirking up as she watched it leap between his fingers. He was a natural, of course. He'd always be able to defend himself– all of them would, one day. "I want it to stop," he said at last, when he noticed his mother was looking. "Why does it take so long?"

"The gods give and the gods take," said Daella calmly. A long and arduous labor is deserved after such sin. It is a pity the same had to happen to my own mother, who'd done no wrong. But Rhaenyra deserves it, she deserves every ounce of pain. "Life is not easy to bring into this world."

The littlest one leaned onto the table before her, cheeks puffed as she kept her hands over her ears. "Was it this bad when you had us?" she asked loudly, unaware of her own sound. "Will it be this bad when I have a babe of my own?"

"No," said Daella. "The Mother and Maiden took great care of me when I had each of you. Your father and the Queen prayed beside me. Vermithor lent me his strength and the four of you popped right out as a little dragon would from an egg." A blessing, otherwise I wouldn't have had so many of you. Yet, even in her pain and stupidity, Rhaenyra makes the same choice. She never did learn anything. "But I have no way of knowing how easy it will be for you. It is a very, very long time away, my sweet girl. You needn't worry about that." If it is up to me, I would never see her in such pain. Perhaps my mother's curse skipped me, but it might not have skipped her.

The other boy questioned, "Is that letter from our grandsire?" He wanted to see, he was itching to know. He was always so curious. His curiosity would've only grown if he knew that the writer wasn't his grandsire at all, but his true father, the father who could not be here to raise him.

"It is," said Daella. "Daeron's arrived in Oldtown by now and is settling in well. I know you will all miss him, but he will learn much squiring for Lord Ormund." Perhaps I'll send one of you to be a squire as well, to keep you safe from the influence of Rhaenyra's wretched brood. "We will visit Oldtown soon." Soon, I hope. It has been too long, too many years since I last saw my lover. Too many years since I felt myself carrying a child. I want another, another little girl.

The children made faces when another scream sounded, more exasperated than the ones who came before. Daella ignored them. None of it fazed her anymore, not the blood or the violence, not the sounds of agony. She'd felt it all in her own time. She hadn't forgotten the sound of the screams at Rhaenyra's wedding, or the way Joffrey Lonmouth's face was rendered a mass of flesh. She remembered how Ser Criston had lay in a pool of his own blood while members of the court watched and whispered, pointed and gasped. Such fools, spineless. She wouldn't ever have had to lift a finger if they'd been brave enough to act.

The act had followed her for a time. Her first months re-adjusting to the castle had meant whispers bounced off the walls around her. Larys Strong had brought her only a few of them, in a moment where he'd been worming his way into her good graces. He had seen her strength that day, as had others. He wanted to be on the winning side. She didn't trust him in the slightest, but had to admit he was good at what he did.

The first time he had come to her, she'd been in the gardens massaging her swollen belly, feet out and bare to caress the grass. He'd told her which ladies were saying what, and masked it as concern over her health. She knew what he wanted– an ally. A job. She gave it to him.

She'd wanted to change her mind after she gave birth to her fierce son, Aeneas. She'd been weak and unkempt, yet he visited her. She'd started to notice the way he looked at her, looked at her feet, even. How he sat near them, how he seemed to say more when her skirts were lifted higher. At the point that she noticed it, she'd been enraged. She'd almost exploded on him the first time he asked if she'd remove her slippers, right after her swollen feet had finally shrunk back to their normal size.

Otto had made her realize that feet were a small price to pay for his information. She couldn't kill Larys, no, but she would use him. Him and his anger, the anger borne towards the Hand she didn't like, that pompous Lyonel Strong, and his own brother, the Harwin 'Breakbones' Strong. She'd learned as much when Larys first mentioned to her a rumor that Rhaenyra's first son, Jacaerys Velaryon, had been fathered by Ser Harwin.

Daella had seen his resentment for a brother that was perfect in ways he wasn't, for a father that thought him the scum of the earth. She'd decided she could use that to her advantage, for who else understood the way she felt for her own father and sister? Ser Harwin Strong had once rejected her, claimed he did not want to cross a line. Yet he had, with Rhaenyra. Always with Rhaenyra. This boy she was birthing, it was surely another Strong bastard. That had been who she settled on after Ser Criston. Laenor hadn't confirmed it, nor had he denied it.

Larys had become her closest confidant within the castle around the time her daughter was born, named Aelora for a past Hightower. She could trust no one else. Laenor had never been the same after Joffrey's death, nor had he seemingly been able to speak to Daella as he once had. By the time her third child was born, little Alistair, Laena had been carted off to Pentos with Daemon of late, and had given birth to twins that took up most of her time. She hardly wrote, and Daella did not know if it was of her own volition or Daemon's. She stopped caring– she had three babes to attend to and it no longer mattered what these old friends thought of her.

He was who she could rant to, for while Gwayne would listen, he did not feed into her fire the way she wanted– the way Otto would have. When Rhaenyra's sons had been born with pug noses and brown eyes, she'd sneered about it to Larys while holding her own babes, beautiful Valyrian beauties that had been given her name and the titles of 'Prince' and 'Princess' as grandchildren of the King, and carried the Targaryen name at her request.

Rhaenyra's boys were nothing but an insult. Their hair was dark, but not Arryn brown or Baratheon black. The boys could hardly be counted as Targaryens, and much less as Velaryons. It was a miracle their eggs had even hatched. Only one of Daella's children had had an egg hatch to them. Her youngest, named Aemma for her mother, had her egg break open to reveal a beautiful pure-gold creature she'd named Āeksion, the Valyrian word for 'gold.' Daella knew her other children would claim dragons as she had– and this feat, she thought, was more special than Rhaenyra's little bastards having their eggs hatch. Her children might've had some red streaks in their hair, but they were undeniably Targaryens.

Whatever Otto's plan for Rhaenyra, it had not progressed. When they'd first seen each other after Aeneas was born, he'd given her a firm scolding about having killed Ser Criston, for all the same reasons she already knew it had been a mistake. It had been infuriating to her, but she'd wanted to trust he would find a way around it. He'd fucked her hard after that, giving her an ache so delicious that she'd become pregnant with Aelora by the time Aeneas was half a year old.

Since then, she'd been telling Otto every little detail, every time she noticed something between Rhaenyra and Harwin. Larys was gathering informants as well– he'd love nothing more than to see his father and Ser Harwin removed from their places of glory. Having more children did not stop her from being observant. In fact, if her little slip up had done anything good, it had made people hold a healthy fear of her. And fear was an excellent motivator... Daella could not believe how many came and offered her information in exchange for her protection, in exchange for making sure that she would never turn a blade on them.

(She wanted to with so many. To make them hurt, make them bleed, introduce them to the Stranger and ensure they would not bother her anymore. The only thing that stopped her was knowing that Otto would disapprove. It had already been so long since she saw him– she hadn't yet gotten to introduce him to Aemma, for traveling with four children had become near-impossible and that same year, Lucerys had been born, another spitting image of Harwin that Daella had as further proof of Rhaenyra being a whore.)

Daella had it all planned out. Her father, his illness growing more severe, was someone who always preferred the familiar. The moment she had hard evidence to throw in his face about the Strongs' traitorous and incompetent nature, she would have Otto brought back as Hand. Having him here would be all the more beneficial. Larys Strong could become the new Lord of Harrenhal, and then they would have an ally in the Riverlands. She'd been working on an alliance on her own– Aeneas and Alistair were of age with Lord Jason's eldest daughters, Tyshara and Cerelle. When the time came, they'd have the support of the Westerlands with a marriage or two.

The Council was hers. Save for Lords Beesbury and Strong as well as Rhaenyra– who had her seat as Princess of Dragonstone– Daella had taken care to get to know all the other members. Lord Jasper Wylde held the same firm belief that the King had erred in keeping Rhaenyra as heir. Young and impressionable Maester Orwyle, freshly sent from the Citadel, was malleable and cleaved to what he thought would be the winning side– Daella had assured him he'd be kept most comfortable bringing her any knowledge that might be of use, for she'd not forget it once her baby brother became King. As for Tyland Lannister, well, he could be a bit of a coward, but he'd do nothing to destroy the plan brewing between her and his twin brother.

She'd sworn a long time ago that she would never forgive Rhaenyra, and she hadn't. She avoided her sister as much as she could, and it was not as though Rhaenyra ever sought her out. Daella knew better than to trust her. She didn't need her, not her love or attention or even respect. Rhaenyra was nothing to her, or would soon be nothing.

She'd thought many times how easy it would be to get rid of her sister. Daella was quick and quiet, she could slash Rhaenyra's throat in the night and her sister would never even feel it. She only chose not to because it would condemn her and her children to a gruesome fate– they did not deserve that, though Daella would gladly accept exile in Essos. That was assuming her father would even have the gall to send her away.

(He'd never punished her for what happened with Ser Criston. He'd been beside himself with embarrassment, but not once had he thought to push her away. He knew she'd been trying to save Joffrey Lonmouth's life. For the first time, Daella felt her father cared for her. Of course, this had only incited Rhaenyra's ire– Larys told her that Rhaenyra was heard to say that Viserys was coddling a murderer and excusing an act that made Daella like Maegor. Gods, Daella had imagined sticking her blade between Rhaenyra's eyes that day.)

Alicent was another issue altogether. She'd not been the warmest with Daella right after Ser Criston's death. To Daella, it only meant that Alicent still supported Rhaenyra in some strange way... and perhaps had even had some of her own affections for the disgraced Kingsguard. It didn't matter to her. Alicent had hardly ever been her friend and Daella did not need her, either. In fact, it was better the further away Alicent was. She did not attend much to her own children. That was Daella and Gwayne's purview.

Daella loved her girls. Her little sister Helaena, a curious girl who was quiet and reserved and loved to fly on Dreamfyre. Her darling girls Aelora and Aemma, who dreamed of the day they would join their aunt in the sky on their own dragons. Daella and Vermithor would often take the girls up to follow Helaena and Dreamfyre, the four of them spending hours away from the castle. Helaena was with them constantly, much happier with girls her age and in Daella's company. Most of the time, they explored the gardens, read books, made dresses for each other, and– in Helaena's case– learned about bugs. She loved to talk, really, but it did not seem Alicent cared to listen.

Gwayne had taken care to teach all of Daella's half-brothers how to wield a sword. Aegon had learned first. Then Aemond, who was born months after Aeneas. Daeron had come afterwards, but had now gone to live in Oldtown. Of the three, Aemond had progressed most quickly in skill, training with Kingsguards and well-known knights from around the Realm. He was an excellent scholar as well, though not better than young and ambitious Daeron. Daella had taken care to monitor their lessons and their progress, to ensure all three boys were learning what would be necessary to become King. Daeron was unlikely to reach that point– she thought the boy might care for being a maester the way their great-uncle Vaegon was.

Her own son had been instructed in kind. Archery and riding had been a must-learn, and Aeneas had had his own interests in sword to join his uncles in the yard. He was good, very good. Daella was incredibly proud of the both of them, but knew that Aeneas was most well-rounded of all the children. He could fight at long and short range, he was brave and brilliant, and most importantly, he had a good heart. Though he had her same temper, he was ever gentle with his siblings, uncles, and especially with Helaena. She thought that he and Helaena might've made a good match, had Otto not insisted she wed Aegon– Aelora was too young to be his bride, and he would need a wife sooner than late.

Aegon, she worried about. He loved to talk and to fly on the dragon he'd claimed, the magnificent Sunfyre. But that was about it. He didn't excel at swords and he wasn't one to keep his eyes open during lessons in politics. She tried to encourage him, tried to instill in him a sense of purpose and value. She'd asked him to insist to their father that he be named cupbearer, as Rhaenyra was, but Aegon hadn't found much interest in it. In the end, she'd encouraged her father to have Aeneas placed in that position before Rhaenyra could think to parade her little bastards in everyone's faces.

The boys were not at fault for their nature, but Daella distrusted them all the same. Who knew what Rhaenyra told them behind closed doors about her, about her children. Daella did not wish them ill and treated them as kindly as she did her own children. She was aware, however, that they might grow up to do the same things Rhaenyra did– flaunt about committing sin and spitting in the face of duty. No, she would not tolerate bastards on the Iron Throne. Their mother had condemned them when she decided to be irresponsible.

Her children left for lessons in the Dragonpit once the screams had ended. Daella learned from Alicent herself in the afternoon that Laenor had named the boy Joffrey Velaryon. Another pug-nosed little thing that made further insult to the integrity of their house. How her father could be blind to it, Daella did not understand.

"This one has sixty rings," Helaena told her, a strange bug coiling through her fingers as Daella braided her hair. Helaena always preferred to go out for a ride after the other children were done, and would be taking a carriage to the Dragonpit as soon as they had returned. "And two pairs of legs on each. That is two-hundred-forty."

"You are quick with your numbers," praised Daella, carefully sliding her thumb around Helaena's neck to draw in a stray piece of hair. She loved her little sister dearly, and wished she had grown up with her and not Rhaenyra. If Daella and Helaena had the places of Rhaenyra and Daella, well, safe to say she never would have shirked her duties and never would have made Helaena feel as awful as Rhaenyra did to her.

Helaena hummed thoughtfully, "It has eyes, but I don't believe it can see." Daella questioned, "What do you make of that?" Her sister shrugged. "It is beyond our understanding. Perhaps it does not need eyes, with so many legs. It may find its own way in the world in a different way than the rest of us."

Daella teased, "Perhaps you and I should walk barefoot and blindfolded through the gardens and see if we can imitate this creature." She would have tickled Helaena when she smiled, but she knew her sister wasn't fond of being touched. To have her hair braided, she could tolerate it. Sometimes, if it wasn't Daella doing it, it was Aemond or Daeron. Hand-holding was off-limits to them unless Helaena sought it out. Sometimes, she did with Aegon, if she felt nervous. He was the one she felt protected her most, likely because he was older. Daella was glad that they were already growing fond of each other.

The door opened, Helaena giving a slight jump and shielding the bug with her hand. "Princesses," said the knight at the door, dragging with him the young form of Aemond. His hair was unkempt, face and clothes covered in ash and dirt– it was not uncommon to see him this way, but certainly unexpected for that disheveled state to be paired with a frustrated expression.

"Aemond!" said Daella. "What happened?" She let go of Helaena's finished braids, rushing up to examine his face as the knight stepped out. "Are you hurt?"

"He did it again," said Aemond angrily, turning his face aside as she tried to clean him with her sleeve. Daella tsked, asking, "Don't you know that this happens every time you try to get close to the other dragons, Aemond? You have to ignore them."

"They made me!" snapped Aemond. "They gave me a pig, they said they found a dragon for me! They called it the Pink Dread, they mocked me, they made me feel lesser than them. Those– those bastards."

She held his cheeks, giving him a firm squeeze as a warning. "I've told you, you are not to be heard saying that word. Until I have proof to show our father, saying such a thing can be seen as treason. Rhaenyra will use any excuse to send you away like she did Daeron. She saw him as a threat because he was so clever– he could have easily found evidence of her infidelity."

He jerked away from her. "I want a dragon, it's not fair! All of you have dragons except for me. Even those– those– Strongs have dragons and I don't. Why? What do I have to do–?"

"You'll have to close an eye," murmured Helaena to herself. Aemond paid her no mind, wiping his eyes in fury. "Listen to me," said Daella, taking his shoulder and caressing it gently, "not all of us are born to dragons. Those boys were Targaryen enough to be born to a beast, perhaps, but you must recall I was fifteen when I claimed Vermithor. It does not happen overnight. There is a dragon out there for you, that I know. The fire in your heart needs something to stoke it, the same way Vermithor knows how to feel my own fury. I promise, you will one day have a dragon."

He nodded wearily, seeming as though he did not believe her. "What exactly happened?" she demanded. "Who started all this with the pig?" She knew Aegon liked to tease him, but Rhaenyra's boys were not at all innocent. They liked their games, too.

Aemond gave a huff. "They're always teasing me. Jace finally solidified his bond with Vermax today. Aegon told me they felt bad for me, that they found me a dragon. Luke ran to get it and Jace was smirking the way he always does. That was when they showed me the pig."

Her hands clenched, shutting her eyes so that Aemond would not see her roll them. Gods, those boys. "Aeneas pushed Jace for laughing," muttered Aemond. "Said he'd have his future dragon eat Vermax. Aelora suggested his dragon should have the pig as dessert." At least her children had defended him– someone had to stand up to those little brats. Aeneas and Aelora always spoke their minds, which she adored.

As for Aegon, well... it was up to her to do something about that.