chapter nine,
lord of the tides — 132 AC.

SHARP BLADES surrounded her. Dark as coal, melted down to stone tiles— converging at the center to create a throne. It was a mountainous throne of swords, once wielded by men that defied the Conqueror, now acting as a seat for his voice. Though it was not a Targaryen that sat down upon its surface this day. It was merely a man. The Hand of the King and the Queen's very father, Otto Hightower.

Nobles and lords alike crowded the throne room for the discussion of Corlys Velaryons succession, huddled together like sheep awaiting their Shepherd. Valyria couldn't help to analyze each face on display, attempting to decipher their intentions. She stood at the base of the throne, her body placed between Aegon and Helaena. She felt the lingering stare of Aemond behind her, hands clasped together behind her back as she absently toyed with her silver hair.

The Queen claimed the space next to her daughter, wordlessly watching the events take place.

Daemon Targaryen stood amidst the crowd, lingering at the front with his wife, the Princess Rhaenyra, and her eldest sons. Every so often Valyria would find her fathers violet eyes on her, a smirk tugging at his lips each time she willed herself to look away. Rhaena was with them, her younger sister offering a small smile of comfort when their gazes crossed paths. As did Baela, the girl standing on the other side of the room with Princess Rhaenys.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark." The assertive sound of Otto Hightower's voice broke through the space, distant conversations instantly falling to a hush.

Valyria felt a tug on her right hand, glancing down to see Aegon pull her arm away from her back— intertwining his fingers with hers.

"As Hand," Continued Otto, "I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters." He informed, taking his place atop the melted swords. He had grown comfortable there during Viserys's illness, staking his own claim to the throne.

"The crown will now hear the petitions."

"Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon." The Hand called forth, a silence settling over the court.

Her mind was buzzing. Valyria could hear her heart thump in her chest as Vaemond stepped forward, stopping a few feet away from where they stood. Aegon paid no mind at all, absentmindedly running his thumb over the princess's knuckles— looking up at the tall ceiling to distract himself.

"My Queen." Vaemond bowed his head, eyes settled upon Alicent before turning to Otto. "My Lord Hand." He adds, clasping his hands together. "This history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velayron has ruled the seas." He began, his voice boisterous in the air.

"When the Doom fell on Valyria," For a moment, his stare moved to the princess who carried the name of their old home. Valyria shifted in her place, Aegon's hand squeezing her own. "Our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this new land, knowing that if were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name."

Vaemond looked back to the Hand, "I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

"As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." Rhaenyra quipped from where she stood, "If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition-"

The words began to ring too familiar for Queen Alicent who stepped forward to interrupt, "You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

There was a beat of silence. Valyria spotted the smirk that curled around her husband's lips, but one tight squeeze from her skinny fingers resulted in it fading.

Vaemond turned to face Rhaenyra, "What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?" He questioned— "I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours." He spat, facing the throne once again.

"My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood," His sharp stare fell to Valyria, who did not struggle to hold it. "Not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor... the Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides." He finished, eyes returning to the Hand.

Otto nodded, his hands resting upon his knees. "Thank you, Ser Vaemond." He spoke, "Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon."

Vaemond returned to his position amongst the crowd, the silver haired princess hastily stepping into his place. Rhaenyra fiddled with her fingers, taking in a sigh. "If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this-"

The great doors to the throne room creaked open, the echoing sound causing Rhaenyra to cease her words— a hush falling over the court. Two guards entered at once, hands resting upon the hilt of their swords as a third figure slowly approached. His head was down, rotten hands and nails gripping a cane that supported his thin weight.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

The nobles and lord bowed their heads upon his entrance, a look of shock gracing Rhaenyra. The realization that he had been outplayed settled onto Otto as he stood from the throne, retreating down the steps, eyes landing upon Vaemond and the Queen— who only shared the same expression as he.

There was a golden mask that covered the right side of the King's face, masking the rotting hole that had formed over the years. He made his way forward, his sickly eyes landing upon Daemon, his brother, but the man avoided the look sent his way. Valyria watched as her father glanced to the floor, she could almost see regret. Or was it shame?

Viserys climbed the long stairs to the throne, the eyes of his niece trained on him as he passed. A stumble in his step caused him to stagger forward, his crown slipping off his head and clattering to the stone with an echo.

The court fell silent.

When the King began to wave off the helping hand that gripped his elbow, he stopped his movements upon the beat of realization that it was Daemon that aided him. Valyria struggled to register the sight at first, a rare wave of confusion washing over her as her father gently placed his brother onto the throne. He retrieved the crown, his thumb running over the cold silver.

Then, he placed it upon the King's head.

Her violet eyes followed Daemon like a hawk, her father's body wordlessly retreating down the stairs and returning to his wife's side. He did not care to look his firstborns way, which failed to come as a surprise to her.

Viserys settled into his throne, leaning his cane against the sharp sides. He cleared his throat, "I must... admit... my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession." He began, Valyria's head idly nodding in agreement. She told Otto this. He did not listen.

"The only one present..." The King sighed, catching his breath with a rasp. "Who might offer keener insight into Lord Corly's wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

Eyes turned to the cousin of the King, who stood with a tight lipped smile upon the sound of her name. Rhaenys stepped forward with a nod, "Indeed, Your Grace." she spoke softly— moving to the center of the room. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him."

"As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena." Rhaenys continued, a smiles curling around the girls lips at the news. "A proposal to which I heartily agree." The Princess finished, a scatter of whispers heard around the court.

Though this did not make the Queen happy. Nor the Hand.

But especially not one Vaemond Velaryon.

Valyria instinctively straightened her back, hand still clasped in her husband's— his fingers boringly picking at her long nails. She steeled herself for what was to come, her violet eyes focused on the younger brother of Corlys.

"Well," The King weakly smiled, "the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides."

Princess Rhaenys returned to her granddaughters side, and it was then when Vaemond chose to speak up. For one last time. "You break law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me... who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No." He began, "I will not allow it."

"Allow it?" Viserys echoed from his throne, "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

Two times. A total of two times Valyria Targaryen had heard the word bastard uttered. Each resulted in a blade being drawn. Aemond lost his eye. Alicent opened Rhaenyra's arm. She tried to warn Vaemond. But he did not listen.

"That is no true Velaryon!" He yelled, his voice snapping across the court like a strike of lightning at sea. "And certainly no nephew of mine."

Rhaenyra moved in front of Lucerys, her attention focused on the Velaryon man. "Go to your chambers. You have said enough," Yet another warning gone unnoticed. Unheard.

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you... are no more than the second son of Driftmark." Viserys breathed, weakly so.

Vaemond eyed him— "You may run your house as you see fit. But you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides! And gods be damned..." He turned back to the young Luke, "I will not see it ended on the account of this..." He stopped himself, the word threatening to roll off his tongue.

Valyria watched her father challenge Vaemond's stare with a testing smirk, "Say it." Daemon whispered.

Aegon felt his wife's hand tighten around his own, a silence scattering throughout the throne room.

"Her children... are bastards!" The word echoed, bouncing off the stone walls and drilling into every present mind. "And she... is..." With each syllable, Vaemond turned to face the King, "a whore." He finished, speaking the last word that would ever be uttered from his pathetic lips.

Gasps were heard by nobles as Viserys struggled to stand from his throne, unsheathing the Valyrian dagger by his side. "I..." He panted, a blade glinting against the sunlight, catching Valyria's violet gaze. "Will have your tongue for that."

The blade she saw was not the one held by the King, instead it was that of Dark Sister. Wielded by her father, crimson splattering across the stone tiles as it cut through the thick air. It was smooth, like the wings of a dragon fluttering in the wind. Within a second, Vaemond's body fell to the floor— the top half of his head sliding onto the tiles next to him.

Valyria remained still unlike Aegon, who jerked back in shock. Her eyes were stuck on the pool of blood that began to form, his grip becoming cold around her hand. Helaena slapped her palms over her ears, turning away from the sight as her mother's arms hastily wrapped around her. She could not see Aemond's reaction, but she felt his body step closer against her own, getting a closer look at the damage her father had inflicted.

Daemon rested his sword against the stone, "He can keep his tongue."

"Disarm him!" Otto commanded, the hiss of blades being unsheathed scattering around the throne room. The Kings Guard moved to arms and Valyria felt her body instinctively step forward— numerous sharp blades angled at her father.

For some reason that she could not even begin to explain, she was ready to defend Daemon. After all these years, she was still that little girl begging for her father's validation.

But then she remembered. Like a fist cracking into her face. How her mother winced and whimpered, how his heel pressed against her padded wrist. He turned and simply walked away. Without ever saying a single word.

"I knew you couldn't finish." She could hear Rhea gasp in the back of her mind, "You could never even love your own daughter. Craven!"

Then he bashed her skull in with a rock.

Valyria ceased her movements, body falling still. She thought of her boys, Aegon tugging her back to his side.

Daemon raised his hands, wiping the dark blade of his sword before returning it to its sheath. "No need." He assured softly, his eyes falling to his eldest daughter. Then, just like he had done to her mother, turned on his heels and retreated.

Viserys let out a groan from where he stood, slumping back into his throne with a soft thud. The dagger he held clattered to the floor, the Queen rushing to his side with worried eyes. "Call the maesters!" She shouted, hurrying to help him.

It did not take long for court to come to a close, and a part of Valyria hoped things would go back to familiarity. That her father and his family would return to Dragonstone, to leave her where he once left her. But she knew it would not be as simple as that, that it never would be again.

The King wished for a supper with his family.

One in which they all were to attend.

A mere hour before, Valyria found herself to be in the cellars of the Red Keep. She stood before the skull of Balerion the Dread, hundred of candles lit ablaze around her. Jaehaerys and Maelor had been put to bed for the night, leaving the princess to wallow in her own thoughts. Athens returned from his journey, his body standing watch outside the entrance to the cellar.

Her dreams told her many things. But tonight... tonight was a lingering uncertainty in the back of her mind. She knew something would happen— but the flashing images were being stubborn. At least that was what the princess decided. She could not grasp it. There was a heavy doubt that sat solemnly in the pits of her stomach, gnawing at her insides.

A heat pressed into her pale skin, hands tightening around the stone she leaned against.

She could see her mother.

She could see the blade cutting into Vaemond's head, slicing clean through. The rock that caved Rhea's skull in. The tongueless men that sat fire to Harrenhal. And then Laena, her bloody knees pressed against the sea shore as her body was consumed by the great flames of Vhagar.

Needless, senseless death. It would only continue, Valyria thought, her violet gaze attached to the burning candles. The fire reflected in her eyes, a war of amethyst and flame seen within.

There was a silent thump of footsteps that made her body turn, her back facing Balerion's skull as she spotted the approaching figure. He had an all too familiar walk, Valyria recognizing almost instantly who it was. Her father.

The dark shadows of the cellar curled around his silver hair as he stepped into the torch light, nodding softly at his daughter. "Still wishing for a dragon, I see." Daemon noted, his stare shifting from the great skull to her, his movements slowing. "You've grown." He adds, eyeing Valyria.

"That is what time does to a person." Valyria comments, assessing her father's figure in return as she clasped her hands together. "Could you not say this around the Queen?" She quipped, her head tilting to the side with her question.

It was true, the daughter had grown brave. Or perhaps more careless. Daemon once scared her, but that fear had not been felt for six years. She had to be reminded as to why she once kept her head tucked down and mouth zipped shut.

He stood still, his jaw clenched. "You said much around Alicent." He retorted, "Even went so far as to defend her. Tell me, did I raise you so poorly?"

A scoff fell from her lips before she could stop it, "You did not raise me at all. You left me to fend for myself in a world that only sees me as a pawn." Valyria felt her heart quicken in her chest— taking a small step towards her father. "I needed you. For whatever pitiful reason."

Daemon's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. "You needed me?" He echoed, "You had the King, the court, everything you could ever want."

"Everything except a father," Valyria did not hesitate to shoot back. "You abandoned me, just as you abandoned my mother." The words fell from her lips like venom, her hand jabbing into her father's chest.

His expression only hardened, hand snapping out to catch her wrist— holding it tightly. "Your mother was a Royce. No name, no meaning. She had no place in this world."

"She was your wife!" Valyria jerked her arm out of his grasp, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "And you left her to die alone. You left me to grow up without a mother, without a father." Her voice was wavering a thin line between breaking down and snapping, all thoughts lost in her mind.

Daemon took a step closer, his face inches away from hers. She could see the anger storming within his violet eyes. But she did not care. Her frustration, all this pent up rage she had built up— had finally come to the surface. Why could he not love her? Why did he take her mother away from her? To get what he wanted, her mind answered. Not you. Never you. But for power, the free rein to marry whoever his cold heart desired. 

"I heard Aerion." She said, her chin raising to meet his stare. "At Driftmark. You split open my mother's head with a stone and left her twitching in the mud." Valyria repeated the words that had haunted her for six long years, "I know what you did. I've dreamed it. You're a coward. A coward who hides behind his anger because he cannot bear to face the truth. And you will never be King."

It was then when her father showed his true colors.

Within a second, his hand was clasped around her throat— jerking her small frame forward, his grip tightening. "You think you know everything, don't you?" Daemon said, his breath hot against her face. "Dreams did not make us Kings, Valyria. Dragons did."

Her ears rang, as if she was listening from beneath rushing waves. She felt frozen, her vision blurry as her slender hands latched onto his wrists. Once upon a time, before the truth, she viewed her father as a god. Now she only saw the monster within, anger stinging her veins.

There was a short silence, his hand tight around her throat, watching the pale skin of her face grow red. "You wish to be Queen? Is that it? To sit the throne with your fool of a husband? I would sooner see your children fed to hounds." He seethed, shoving her body to the ground in a swift release.

Valyria hit the cold stone tiles with a painful thud, her crimson gown pooling around her. Her hands pressed against the floor, the taste of blood filling her mouth where she had bitten her lip in the fall. The thought of her boys crossed her mind at his threat, her heart aching in her chest. She raised her chin again, meeting her father's sharp stare.

For a moment, Daemon stood there, looking at his daughter. She could've swore there was a beat of regret in his eyes, seeing her on the stone, blood falling from her bottom lip— her throat red with his handprint. But it disappeared, the two of them locked in a silent battle of wills. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the cellar, leaving the princess alone in the flickering candlelight.

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Rest in pieces Vaemond