Three months. That was how long she was Viserys' wife for true.

"What is that?" Her brother asked, eyeing the cup the maid brought to her as they lay together in her bed. 

Daena downed as much of the foul mixture as she could, to minimise how long she had to taste it. "I should hope you know, Viserys, or else you might have two dozen silver-haired bastards running around King's Landing,"

It took him a moment to catch her meaning. "Moon tea? Daena, what are you doing?" He looked... aghast, sitting up and staring down at her in horror. 

She swallowed the last of the tea and set the cup down on the bedside, raising an eyebrow at him. "Drinking it,"

"But what about - you - you might be with child!"

"Well I'm certainly not drinking this vile concotion for the taste,"

"Have you taken it every time?" Viserys said, horrified.

Daena scowled. "I told you after Baelon was born, Brother - no more children,"

"But I thought - " He broke off.

She realised what he was about to say, however, and her temper rose. "Is that what you've been playing at the whole time?" She should have known. "You just wanted another child!"

"That's not the only reason, of course it's not," He protested. "You're beautiful. But yes, I do want another child, I thought you understood that. That accepting me into your bed again meant you had changed your mind,"

"I have borne you two children," She said. "An heir and a daughter. I have no desire to condemn myself to an agonising, pitiful death on the birthing bed for the sake of having a third,"

"You were perfectly healthy with Rhaenyra and Baelon - "

"Pregnancy was miserable and birth was the worst kind of agony. Mother was healthy, with you and I. Aegon, however, killed both of them,"

"I understand you are fearful, but if you would only consider - "

"Have you listened to a word I said?" She snarled, getting up from the bed and throwing on a dressing robe. "Picture, Viserys, that I am lying in childbed, screaming in pain, soaking the sheets with blood as that little creature tears me apart from the inside. Imagine I spend half a year wasting away, a withered shell, like Mother ended up being. I would beg you to slit my throat, and if I were strong enough to lift Dark Sister I would fall on my own sword. Would your precious third child be worth it then? Worth your own sister?"

Her brother looked hurt, but for all the wrong reasons. "Don't say such terrible things, Daena," He insisted. "Remember how you loved Baelon and Rhaenyra, when they were babes? Wouldn't you want Rhaenyra to have a little sister, or Baelon a brother to play with?"

"I couldn't stand to be in Rhaenyra's presence for a week," She said. "She didn't feel like my child until I first took her on Caraxes, and even for a while after... She was a duty, something that had caused me such pain and misery, belonging to you and the rest of the realm before me,"

"You were young! And you loved her fiercely soon enough - "

"I hid my second pregnancy from you, and everyone except Father, until after the birth. I love our children, but I loathed bearing them, and I will not let you turn me into another sainted dead mother to fondly tell Rhaenyra and Baelon of," 

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you?"

For the love of... "No, no, a hundred times no. If you want another child, sire a bastard on one of those whores of yours, and do not bother coming to my bed again," Daena's anger made her cruel. "It's for the best, I suppose - fucking you was fast becoming a chore again, now the novelty is gone,"

For once, it was Viserys storming from her presence, furious and hurt. Daena was not sorry for being vile. He would so gladly pretend there were no risks to bearing a child, pretend her very real fears were as foolish as a childhood fear of the dark. Likely, she would have borne another healthy child and live to fly into another sunrise. There was not an insignificant chance, however, that she would die horribly in a bed of blood. A chance that she was not willing to risk, for the sake of an unnecessary prince or princess.

His disregard for her life hurt. Daena would only admit to being angry at his willingness to ignore truths he thought too unpleasant, though deep down felt the sting of it. As she dressed herself in a fury, she thought of her father, how the only family who truly cared about her as a person, not as a weapon or broodmare, was years dead. If she were a gentler woman, perhaps she would have wept. 

She was tired of her brother, and everyone else who condemned her one moment and used her the next. Daena had all but handed Viserys his crown, though he still complained about her methods. Without my brutality and my dragon, you would be bowing and scraping to cousin Rhaenys. She had given him two strong, healthy children, but her brother wanted three, four, five. Her work with the Watch reduced crime in the city drastically, saving the treasury considerable expense and made the royals infinitely more popular by showing her face, but her actions were not clean or pleasant enough, too unladylike and crass. She shared his bed, brought him more pleasure than any whore ever would, but even that was too little when she would not give him her health or her life.

A wine glass left from the previous night shattered against the wall as she let out a scream of frustration. She needed to do something, lest she tear her chambers apart and the hair from her head. Mysaria was away, conducting some business of her own. She sought after Rhaenyra and Baelon, only to learn they were with their father. Even Gael was entertaining some of her friends, the more gentle of the court ladies, who would eye her like a wolf amongst hens. 

As always, she went to her most faithful of companions.

Caraxes welcomed her in the Dragonpit with smoke streaming from his nostrils, whilst the dragonkeepers kept a wide berth. She flew near every other day, but her dragon resented any amount of time in chains, and his mood matched her own. Daena saddled him herself, not wishing to deal with Viserys' bleating when the Blood Wyrm scorched another of their valued servants, and was scarcely chained to the saddle before calling out to him.

"Soves, Caraxes,"

They shot off the ground, into the sky over King's Landing, with a force that still took her breath away. The weather was as foul as her temper, rain falling in heavy droplets from moody grey clouds, the wind howling in her ears. In the distance came the rumble of thunder, and lightning far over Blackwater Bay, towards Dragonstone. A storm was closing in.

She pushed them both to the limit, that day, practicing manoeuvres that would have been dangerous in fair weather, never mind as it was. Her dragon had fought in battle, after all - as his scars showed - and was still fast and lean compared to the likes of Vhagar, Vermithor and Dreamfyre, huge but slow. She did not want to think, and this was the best way to achieve that.

"Dracarys," She shouted over the wind as they flew high over the Red Keep, soaked to the bone, knowing she did not have long before she had to descend; Daena had never heard of any Targaryen who had been struck by lightning, and did not intend to be the first.

Caraxes let loose a blistering spurt of flame that lit up the grey sky far above the castle, followed by an ear-splitting roar that echoed as far as the thunder, and Daena laughed at the chaos of it all. Let the smallfolk tremble in fear, let Viserys glance anxiously from the window, let Otto Hightower and the rest of the scraping, twittering cunts at court wonder what would happen if one day the Queen finally had enough and decided to burn it all.

She returned to the Red Keep with her hair plastered to her forehead and a sharp grin on her face, in a considerably better mood than she had been when she left. Her husband could treat her as he liked; after everything, she was still a dragonrider. 

"You didn't tell me you were going flying, Mother?" Rhaenyra was there to greet her, pouting. "I wouldn't have stayed with Father if I'd known,"

"Me neither," Baelon said, indignant. "I want to fly in a storm,"

At that, she laughed. "Oh, I'm glad you're more mine than your father's," She put an arm around each of their shoulders, walking with one on each side. "One day, I'll take you both flying in a storm. And if your father tries to keep you on the ground, we'll laugh in his face as we soar over his head,"

They both looked excited by the prospect.

Needless to say, her brother did not come to her bed again, neither did she go to his. Viserys got fits of unusual stubbornness every now and again, and became even more immovable than Daena. He wanted his third child, and would spite both of them if she did not. Or perhaps his pride was hurt by what she had said. 

What did it matter? She may have enjoyed the nights they spent together - more for the feeling of being held in his arms afterwards than anything else (and the knowledge that was over made her more disturbed than she cared to admit) - but she had Mysaria for that, or when her lover was away, there were plenty of discreet whores in the city who were delighted to be spared a night with a man. They could not punish the Queen for laying with a woman. They could whisper and judge and insult, but she had not committed the sin of adultery.

"Did you argue?" Gael asked her, a week or so after the incident with the moon tea. "With Viserys?"

"He wants another child," She said, not caring to lie. "I refuse to give him one,"

"Oh," Her aunt said, considering that. "Sometimes, I think I might quite like a child,"

Daena laughed. "By all means, tell Viserys. He will be delighted,"

The joke went over Gael's head. "Not Viserys' child," She screwed up her face. "And I don't think I'd want to be pregnant. It seems dreadfully uncomfortable, and I heard you scream for Rhaenyra,"

"Wait until you find out how to make the child," Daena muttered. "You'll want one even less,"

"I'm not completely stupid, Daena," Her aunt said. "I know how a child is made," A shadow crossed her face.

"Yes, I suppose you do," She said by way of apology, remembering the singer's screams as her blade plunged into his flesh. "It's not - not meant to be like that. If you ever did want to get married one day,"

Gael was silent for a while. Her aunt was one of very few people who Daena may feel a hint of regret for upsetting. But then, finally, the woman spoke.

"Don't have another, Daena. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you,"

*

"I don't like the look of him,"

Daena and Mysaria were in her chambers late one evening, Daena sprawled out on the chaise, her head on Mysaria's lap as they shared a bottle of wine. Viserys had thrown a tourney for Baelon's nameday, and Rhaenyra had been infatuated with the stand-out knight of the competition, a man named Ser Criston Cole. So much so that she demanded he become her sword shield, and Viserys had agreed with an indulgent smile before Daena could object.

"I do," Mysaria said with a smirk.

She laughed. "He is easy on the eyes, I'll grant you. But something about him makes my hair stand on end,"

"He is a no-name knight from nowhere," Mysaria said with a shrug. "A steward's son, one step from a commoner. A position as sworn shield to the Princess is more than he could ever have dreamed,"

"Perhaps you're right," Daena said. "Just... watch him, would you?"

Mysaria inclined her head. "As if I would do anything else," She paused. "Though you face more pressing threats than Criston Cole. The Hand of the King tries to undermine you at every turn,"

"I've known that for years," She waved a careless hand. "I can handle Otto. He whispers irritating nonsense about me to Viserys, who agrees just to shut him up, and nothing ever comes of it,"

Her lover smiled, in the way she always did when she knew something Daena didn't. "My sources tell me he tried to convince the King you are guilty of adultery. He knows of the quarrel between you both, knows both your beds are cold, and wants to take advantage. Behind closed doors, my informant tells me he told his son he wants you set aside,"

That got her attention. "He did, did he?" This was much more serious than whining about her conduct in public and her bad attitude. "What exactly does he say?"

"That you cavort with lowborn men in taverns, dancing with them, letting them far too close," Mysaria told it like a story, amusement sparking in her eyes. "Then one takes your fancy - or two, perhaps - and you disappear from your Kingsguard, upstairs, in private, where Gods know what could happen,"

"The only man I have ever let touch me outside the practice yard is Viserys," Daena scowled. "I have friends in the city, granted, but as if I would stoop so low as to lay with any of them, and for what? Men offer women nothing but discomfort in that regard,"

Mysaria smirked. "You enjoyed your brother's company, for a brief spell of madness,"

"Any enjoyment was hard wrung and fleeting," 

"Is that not the sweetest kind?"

"No. You give me more pleasure for much longer," She said, and the woman laughed. "Either way. Hightower is spreading filthy lies, whether Viserys believes them or not. It used to be that any man slandering the blood of the dragon would lose his tongue, though my brother is rather more soft than our previous kings," She got up. "You stay here. I'm going to pay the Hand a visit,"

"Careful, Daena," Mysaria warned, any traces of amusement fading. "His hatred of you runs deep, and his ambitions would be much easier if you were dead," She hesitated, not out of true reluctance, but with the air of someone hammering the final nail in the coffin. "Today, he offered to foster Princess Rhaenyra in Oldtown, to give her a good holy education away from the corrupting influence of mother. The King seemed discomforted, but said he would consider it,"

The silence in the room was deafening.

Daena had not known such fury in a long time. Perhaps ever.

The idea of her precious daughter being taken away was... unthinkable. Seeing Rhaenyra ride on Syrax, speak in High Valyrian, throwing her little arms around her mother with that wide, beaming smile on her face. All of her bold, precocious spirit, her fire, gone, trampled under the foot of a series of cold, grey, faceless septas.

"Bring me Dark Sister," She ground out. 

Mysaria fetched the sheath without a word, though paused when she handed it over. "If you kill him, your brother would have reason to set you aside,"

Daena smiled, cold. "I won't kill him,"

The Tower of the Hand was a part of the castle that she rarely, if ever, found herself in. It was late, after dinner, but the guards had no choice but to let her through. One did not refuse the Queen's direct order, no matter the feelings of their master towards her. Daena was shown into the Hand's private solar, and did not take the offered seat, merely stood stock-still in front of the fireplace, waiting.

"Your Grace," Hightower appeared, his face making it clear just what he thought of her being there. "It is late, for a visit," 

His eyes flickered down for a split second, noting Dark Sister at her hip. His guards had not left the room. She took vicious delight in causing even that hint of fear.

Daena bared her teeth in the semblance of a smile. "I have heard several fascinating things of late, Ser Otto. First and foremost, how the Queen is supposed to have opened her legs for half the City Watch, and spend her nights on her back in Flea Bottom,"

"Filthy rumours, Your Grace," He said blandly; she wanted to punch him right in that stupid smug face, to bury Dark Sister in his gut. "It is unfortunate that people gossip so. I am sure you expected such talk, however, given that you insist on spending your time in such company without a care for what others might say,"

"Without a care," She said, stepping forward, closer to him. "You are right, I suppose. I care little for what others say or think of me. They are not dragons, after all, and are thus beneath me," A pause, where she looked up at him - he was taller, though not by much more than Viserys - and tilted her head. "Though when it comes to the same pitiful, unworthy rats sniffing around after my children, I care very much,"

Hightower laughed lightly, indulgently, in a way designed to infuriate her, moving away from her to behind his desk. Coward. "I suppose you are referring to my offer to foster Princess Rhaenyra in Oldtown. It was hardly meant as an insult, Your Grace. Quite the opposite - it would serve your daughter well to have a more varied education and childhood experience,"

"Remove her from my corrupting influence, you mean,"

His lip curled, the false humility he showed to Viserys slipping in favour of his dislike for her. "Do you wish for the Princess to grow up to be like you, Your Grace? I suppose few mothers would wish for their daughter to regularly fraternise with dozens of lowborn men, share her bed with whores and mannish women, or possess such a brutal, bloodthirsty nature. Few fathers, too. The King amongst them,"

Daena laughed. "You haven't been listening," She said. "I care not what you say of me. You are nothing. Beneath my care or notice. Lord Hightower's landless brother, trying to claw every scrap of power you can from my weak-willed husband,"

She saw him bristle, her words cutting deep despite how he tried to hide it. "His Grace heeds my council," He started through gritted teeth. "Where he shuns yours - "

"I am not as blind as Viserys is, Ser Otto," She cut him off. "That is why you want me gone. Tell me, if by some miracle you get him to set me aside, what do you think I will do?" Her hand fell on Dark Sister's hilt. "The only thing stopping me from taking your head from your shoulders and feeding your carcass to Caraxes is that I still have something to lose. Though not something significant enough to permit you taking my children from me. I will gladly throw away my crown, my brother's regard, to keep your grasping hands off of Rhaenyra,"

He swallowed, though did not falter. "You are not doing anything to disprove that you are Queen Visenya come again, Your Grace," 

"I thought it was Maegor you compared me to last?" 

She smiled without humour, drawing her blade and slowly moving it under his chin. The guards in their room went to draw theirs at once, alarmed, but were stopped by Hightower's raised hand; after all, it was treason to raise arms against the Queen, though they had never had a queen quite like her before. His expression was calm despite the Valyrian steel at his throat, though his eyes were slightly wild.  

Daena continued. "Mad, cruel, ambitious, unnatural. I've heard it all before. I can see that I've scared you, Ser Otto. Viserys would be furious if I killed you, of course. But I am still his sister, his wife, the mother of his children. He will forgive me, perhaps within a year, perhaps two. Even if he does not forgive, he needs Caraxes and I too badly to see me exiled forever, or killed. Your memory will fade, he will easily find a new Hand," She smiled, lowering the sword. "Perhaps I could send your mousy little daughter to the Faith in Rhaenyra's place. What was her name again? Alerie?"

"Keep Alicent's name out of your mouth," 

That was the first true show of temper from him. Daena smiled.

"But it's just a kind, helpful offer, is it not?" She shook her head. "Stay away from my daughter, Ser Otto, and I will stay away from yours,"

With that, she sheathed her sword and left, not caring for a reply. No doubt Viserys would be whining at her the next day, about mistreating his Hand, but Daena could not care less.

Her husband was angrier than she thought, when he summoned her the next morning.

"You cannot go into the Tower of the Hand armed with threats and vile words!" He shouted, truly angry. "I know you dislike the man, Daena, but you don't exactly give him an option but to dislike you in return. You drew steel on him, for Gods' sake! Lord Otto - "

"Ser Otto,"

" - is a loyal servant of the King and the realm,"

"He wants to take Rhaenyra from us, to crush under the heel of the Faith. The septons hate our family, did you not pay attention when learning of Maegor?"

"The offer was an honest one, made with good intention," He insisted. "Even so, I was never going to agree. I want our daughter here, the same as you do, how could you think I love her any less?"

A small comfort. It had not been an instant 'no'. "What of the filthy rumours he spreads of me, the poison he whispers in your ear? Anyone else calling a Targaryen Queen a whore would have had their tongue torn out, but you let him keep the second highest position in the realm,"

"The Hand informs me not of what he believes you have done, but of what others say you have done, which is important for the King to know. Is it so unreasonable, that half the lords in court believe that you... fraternise with common men, given the way you conduct yourself?"

"You believe these lies?" Daena said, more vicious than her brother would ever be. "Viserys, he plays you like a fucking lute! Did you not stop to think that the reason he wants me gone is that you would be far easier to mould to his liking? You are determined to see the best in everyone, it seems - everyone except me,"

"No, Daena, I do not believe you have lain with one other man or a hundred, but that is because I know you! Others do not, and thus they talk! And I do not know where you got the outlandish idea that Lord Otto is trying to get rid of you - "

"Because he is, you blind fool! And he's not a lord!"

"Stop making enemies that do not exist, you stubborn, ill-tempered woman! Perhaps some time away will be good for everyone - you could take the children to Dragonstone and - "

"Do you not hear yourself? This is exactly what I mean! Why is it that I, the Queen, is sent away, out of sight, out of mind, whilst the one slandering me is allowed to go on as though nothing has happened?" She did not give him a chance to reply. "Perhaps I will go - to Driftmark, not Dragonstone, and play the treasonous bitch you believe me to be,"

That remark ended their disagreement quite effectively. She was good at doing that.

It was not the most well-thought-out thing she had ever said, but in her anger, Daena did not care, turning her back on the King and storming out of the room. Upon seeing that none other than Hightower himself was waiting on the other side of the door, already waiting to capitalise on the argument, it took all her strength not to spit at his feet.

"You do not help yourself, Your Grace," He said quietly, as she passed.

If Daena let herself turn around, she would have gutted him. 

*

I love writing Daena and Viserys argue, the dialogue just flows out. What did you all think of this one? To make it very clear, Daena's actions are not smart, politically astute or beneficial to her in any way; she acts on impulse, out of anger, and has little care at all for consequences due to her innate arrogance and recklessness. Please take 30 seconds to leave a comment, I love reading every single one, and seeing how the readers interpret this story.