Slash. Block. Dodge. Parry. It was a dance she knew well, by now, one she had missed during her months of pregnancy. Daena had started training with a sword at ten, unlike the boys who started at half that age, and had since done her best to make up for lost time. She was good, she knew she was good, and not just for a girl. Fighting did not give the same thrill and freedom as flying, but she enjoyed the physical outlet for her frustration, enjoyed doggedly working to improve her skills, and most of all enjoyed being able to beat grown men into the dirt. She still remembered that thief from years ago, the smell of his foul breath; even without Caraxes, no man would ever manhandle her again.

"Daena,"

She did not look around at the sound of her father's voice, still facing off against Harwin, her opponent. "What, Father?"

"Viserys asked me to speak with you," Baelon raised his voice a little to be heard of the clashing of practice blades. "I am sure you can imagine why,"

"Enlighten me," She gritted her teeth, knocking the sword out of her friend's hands with a particularly vicious blow.

Harwin was better than she was, especially since her hard-won skills had softened in the time she had been with child. Daena suspected he did not want to be too rough with the Princess in front of her father, and had let her win, which was irritating. At least he was one of the few men who paid little attention to the fact she fought in flying leathers, and did not spend half the time gawping at her figure.

"Ser Harwin, I would have a private word with my daughter,"

Harwin hastened to obey. "Of course, my Prince,"

Once he was gone, Prince Baelon continued. "Viserys is concerned that you are doing damage to your reputation, sparring in the courtyard with grown men. His argument is that you are both wife and mother now, and should act like it. My father agrees,"

He did not sound overly concerned, himself. Though her father loved both of his children. Daena had always thought herself his favourite. The only reason he was bringing this to her, and not laughing at Viserys and telling him to speak to her himself, was no doubt because of the King's displeasure.

"Then they have both forgotten that Mother was a Princess too, and liked to spar even more than I do,"

"I suppose they have," Her father said, then smiled sadly. "You remind me a lot of your mother. Fierce and brave, with a sharp tongue and a mean streak. Though she always seemed... happier. I don't care if you fight with a sword, but that does make me worry for you,"

"She loved you," Daena said. "I don't love Viserys. Not like that. Though that's fine. I don't want to be like her enough to end up dead from childbirth at twenty-four," At the look on his face, and her own twinge of guilt, she added, "Grandfather will have forgotten about the matter already. And Viserys is a pushover. He can grumble all he likes,"

"That he is," Her father sighed, then stepped back. "Well. Show me what you've learned,"

For the first time, Daena grinned. "Really?"

"Really," He reached for the abandoned practice blade. "It would be nice, to practice with at least one of my children,"

Viserys could fight passably, but not well, and loathed it enough that since becoming a man, rarely ever ventured into the practice yard. Beaming like Rhaenyra had after she took her up on Caraxes, Daena advanced on her father, sword raised.

*

It was early one evening when there came a knock on the door of Daena's chambers. Seren was helping her prepare for dinner with her father, Viserys and one-year-old Rhaenyra, and she was currently changing out of her riding leathers and into a gown.

The handmaid went to answer the door. "Princess Gael?" Daena heard her friend say, puzzled. "Are you well?"

A muffled sob was the only reply.

Daena hastened to the door herself, yanking it wide open. Her youngest aunt was stood there, silent tears streaming down her face, shaking like a leaf.

"What in the seven hells happened?" She ushered the girl in, shutting the door in the faces of the questioning guards.

Gael did not say a word, sinking down into one of the chairs like a sad little ghost. Daena shared a look with Seren. Gael may be soft and naive and sheltered, but she did not cry often; she never had any reason to. She had also come here, to her less-than-comforting niece, instead of to her mother, who would have fussed over her hurts and made everything alright again.

"Tell my father I will be late," She told her handmaid, more to get her out of the room than anything.

Seren understood. "Of course, Princess," She left quietly, shutting the door behind her.

"Gael," She sat beside her aunt, her tone hard but not unkind. "Gael, tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?"

The young woman, newly eighteen, just shook her head, screwing the palms of her hands into her eyes as though she could scrub away the tears. Daena was at a loss. If Gael wouldn't speak, what could she do?

Then she saw the marks on Gael's wrists, where her sleeves had slipped down. Bruises.

"Gael, who grabbed your wrists?" Her tone was quiet, dangerous, rage coiling in her stomach, hot as Caraxes' fire.

This was something her aunt could answer. "The singer," She said, starting to rock back and forth. "The man with the lute and the pretty songs,"

Daena wracked her memory, but then realised that there was a travelling singer in the Red Keep of late; Viserys had heard him play and invited him to court. "Did he do anything else?"

"I - I don't know what he did," Gael's voice was barely above a whisper. "It was... wrong,"

Daena truly was the wrong person to be comforting her in this, but she would try. "Was it... what happens between a husband and wife?"

"I don't know," Her aunt started to sob again. "No one ever told me. Daena, it hurt. Mother will be so ashamed. Will Father send me away, like Saera? I didn't mean to, Daena, I promise I didn't,"

"No," She said at once, knowing her grandfather's reputation when it came to his daughters. "No one has to know. We won't tell anyone. I'll have Seren help you get cleaned up, and I will go to the maester and ask for moon tea myself," 

Let them chastise her for it later; it was believable that she would take it, given how much she detested being pregnant with Rhaenyra. The worst they could do was shout at her, and all she would have to do was agree to not take it again. 

All of that seemed to go over Gael's head, however. Did she even know what moon tea was for? Daena's anger was fast growing, at the idea of anyone laying hands on her aunt. She was pretty, and technically a grown woman, but just so obviously... naive, young, trusting, vulnerable. Taking advantage of any woman was enough to earn a man a place in hell. Taking advantage of Gael was enough for Daena to send them there herself.

When she spoke, her voice was hard, dangerous. "Though you must tell me, Auntie - this singer, where are his rooms?"

*

The following morning, the castle was in uproar. Guards hammered on Daena's door as she broke her fast, and she barely batted an eye.

"Princess, you must stay in your rooms," One of the Kingsguard called through the door. "There has been a terrible murder - a guest of the Prince was found dead in his bed,"

"How awful," She replied dryly, though did as she was asked.

Never mind that the dagger that did the deed - now clean of blood and gore - lay sheathed on her bedside. The fool had not even thought to flee the city after violating the King's youngest daughter, believing her too weak-minded, too scared of her father, to tell anyone.

"At least try to sound like you didn't do it, Princess," Seren muttered, but looked amused.

"A murder?" Her aunt, who had slept in her bed that night instead of her mother's, was looking around, confused. "But Daena, I don't understand,"

"There now, Gael," She soothed, with a sharp smile. "What good luck that is! He can never hurt you again,"

"Oh," Gael seemed to understand then and smiled tremulously, as Seren met Daena's eyes with grim satisfaction.

Killing her second man had been even sweeter than the first. She had relished the look on his face, relished in the blood that spurted hot and red from the wounds, knowing how he had enjoyed hurting poor Gael. The singer had been wary from the moment he saw it was Daena; evidently, she was thought to be less of an easy target than her aunt. Coward.

"Please, Princess," He had begged, pitifully, and she had laughed and ignored him, just how he ignored Gael.

The killer never was found, though she did catch her father eyeing her more closely than usual, in the coming days. If Prince Baelon knew, however, he did not let it on. Daena had paid off two of the guards in that corridor to ignore any sounds coming from the room, but she cared little if they told anyone. What would the consequences be? Her family would cover it up; the worst outcome for her was idle rumours.

Though it was better for Gael if it was kept quiet. The Queen treasured her youngest daughter, but the King... Given how Viserra and Saera had ended up, Daena did not want to risk it. Even if he did not blame Gael, she would still be married off, and that would be no better than letting the singer have her.

*

It was to Daena's disgust that she realised she was pregnant again. Remembering the smothering that had happened last time, she had hidden it for as long as possible, swearing Seren to secrecy and wearing looser, concealing clothes. She even managed to get away with a month on Dragonstone with Caraxes, Rhaenyra and Syrax, stretching out her relative freedom even longer. She was six months along before the mighty wings of Vhagar descended on the island; her father had come to visit, and saw her swollen belly.

"I do wish you had told us, Daena," He said, bouncing a giggling Rhaenyra on his lap. The child adored her grandfather.

"What, and be held hostage in Maegor's Holdfast for half a year?" Daena scoffed. "I don't think so. And unless you are willing to physically drag me back, I will stay here," She shot him a sardonic smile. "It wouldn't be safe to fly back at this late stage, after all. Besides, Viserys likes to tell me how temperamental I get. If I have to put up with any more of his fussing, my emotions may get the better of me and I may rip his head off,"

Prince Baelon shook his head at her, but to her delight, did not object. He remained with her, however, ensuring that she did not try to mount Caraxes, though being able to roam the island and still see her dragon was infinitely better than last time. Gods only knew what he told everyone in King's Landing, to get them to leave them alone, but Viserys doubtless enjoyed the time away from her just as much as she did.

"I can't help thinking," Daena said to her father one evening after a private dinner. "That I am meant for more,"

"You will be Queen of the Realm," He said, but sounded like he understood.

"I only wanted to be Queen because it was better than being some lord's wife," She said, a note of pleading in her voice as she continued. "Father, I could be King and it still wouldn't be enough,"

Baelon considered her, silent for a moment, face cast in candlelight. "I know you are ambitious, Daena, but chasing power and politics will never make you happy - in that, at least, you are like me. Enjoy your children, enjoy your dragon, enjoy the challenge of learning to fight. The Iron Throne is a duty. It is not meant to be enjoyed. You must be more than it alone,"

Daena had never looked at it quite like that before. To most, the throne was everything.

Princess Rhaenys visited her on Dragonstone eight months into her pregnancy, bringing with her her daughter Laena, and her son Laenor, aged six and five, along with Laenor's young dragon Seasmoke, who had hatched from the egg in his cradle. As Syrax and Seasmoke shrieked and whirled through the sky, Meleys, Vhagar and Caraxes circling much higher up, and Laena and Laenor playing with Rhaenyra under Prince Baelon's watchful eye, Rhaenys came to sit with Daena.

"I never saw you pregnant the first time," Her cousin said, amused. "It doesn't suit you,"

"Of course it doesn't," Daena scowled. "I'm fat, miserable and can't do anything I want,"

"Is there a reason you are hiding on Dragonstone instead of being waited on hand and foot in King's Landing? And that no one has heard any announcement of a royal pregnancy?"

"Last time, I was all but a prisoner, and almost went mad. It's bearable, out here,"

Rhaenys seemed to understand. There was a pause. 

"When will you tell Viserys?" Her cousin asked. "When the child is two years old, or ten?"

Daena laughed. "When it's born. Gods, I hope it's a boy. Then I won't have to have any more,"

"Yes, two was quite enough for me," Rhaenys frowned. "It would seem to be pushing my luck having another, given how unfortunate Targaryen women tend to be in the birthing bed,"

That was exactly Daena's own thoughts. Her own mother, who was hale and hearty, had died birthing her third child. She herself still might with her second.

Rhaenys stayed longer than expected, until the child arrived. In that time, Laena and Laenor both grew very fond of little Rhaenyra, which was no doubt a good thing for future familial relations. Despite the fact that Daena often bickered with her cousin, she was grateful for her presence there. Her father was a great comfort, but Rhaenys had birthed two children herself.

Prince Baelon Targaryen was born in 99 AC, two years after his sister. Her father was there with her until he was sure she and the babe were healthy, then made the journey back to the Red Keep to inform Viserys. Her brother was a mixture of furious and feverishly excited when he arrived, slipping off of Vhagar's back and hurrying towards Daena and the baby faster than she remembered him moving since he was a boy.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me!" He half-chastised, half-sobbed, eagerly looking at his son. "Oh, Daena he's perfect,"

She shared a look with their father over his shoulder, acknowledging the mutual good timing of the reunion. Viserys was too distracted by meeting his son to be that angry with her.

"I chose his name, this time," She said. "Rhaenyra is enough of a mouthful,"

"His name is Baelon!" Laenor Velaryon said excitedly. Holding his sister Laena's hand, Rhaenyra giggled.

"Perfect," Her brother said again, beaming. "May I - ?" He reached out to take Baelon from her.

"Of course," Daena handed their son over. "But Viserys?"

"Hm?" He said, distracted.

"No more children," She had survived two births relatively unscathed, and Daena did not want to tempt fate.

"No more children," He agreed, as relieved as she was.

Like his sister, Daena took her son flying when he was scarcely a week old. 

"Māzīs, Caraxes," Stood on a cliff, the grey sea churning beneath them, she called for the great red beast to come closer, to land. "Ninkiot," 

Whilst the dragon commands were simple, her High Valyrian was the best of any of the family, except perhaps Rhaenys. Her two children would be fluent too. She had spoken to baby Rhaenyra in the language of their forebears almost exclusively, given everyone else spoke to her in the Common Tongue, and planned on doing the same for Baelon.

This time, Viserys stood beside her but slightly back, Rhaenyra's hand in his own, looking on anxiously as Caraxes's huge form landed on the clifftop. The Blood Wyrm was notorious for snapping at people. Daena ignored him, grinning at her dragon, whose enormous snout was nosing at the bundle in her arms.

"Lykiri, zaldrīzes, lykiri," She laughed, hearing her brother's small noise of protest from behind her. "Shut up, Viserys, he can sense your fear," She turned back to the dragon. "Hegnīr, Caraxes. Issa, issa, ipse es meīs trēsy," 

Caraxes would never harm a child of hers. 

"Do you have to take him up with you?" Viserys asked. "He is scarcely a week old,"

"This is why I didn't want you to come," She said, strapping her son securely to her and climbing onto the saddle. "Sōvēs, Caraxes,"

Her husband and Rhaenyra - who was used to riding in front of her mother by now, but had solemnly agreed that it should be Baelon alone, for his first ride - grew smaller and smaller as the ground grew further away. Her baby son was warm where he was strapped to her, wrapped up in layers of clothes to protect him from the cold of the upper air. He had no concerns in life, yet, no idea that one day he would become a king. Part of her thought it was no less than her beautiful son deserved, to sit the Iron Throne; another, hidden part couldn't bear to see him so trapped, wanting him to stay blissfully ignorant and unburdened forever.

Enough melancholy. Caraxes let out a piercing cry and Daena smiled into the biting wind. Her son would be a dragonrider, and know this joy for himself; that would be enough. In the Red Keep, Daena's children were a Prince and Princess; in the skies, they felt like hers, and hers alone. 

*

Baelon Targaryen, rider of Vhagar, heir to the Iron Throne, was not ashamed to admit that he adored both of his grandchildren. Rhaenyra, even aged three, was a precocious, bossy child but full of character and with a fierce spirit that reminded him of his own daughter, and his beloved long-dead Alyssa. The little girl was clever for her age, too, and knew just how sweet people found her, playing on that shamelessly.

His namesake, the little Prince Baelon, was just learning to walk. He was a much quieter baby than his sister had been, but got into even more trouble, crawling into places he shouldn't, reaching for dangerous objects and being too curious for his own good.

"Daena, the one-year-old future King really should not be playing with his mother's dagger,"

"Hm?" His daughter looked up from scribbling a letter to her newly-married friend Leona Strong, and grinned. "Oh, it's fine. It's in its sheath, he does it all the time. Keeps him from getting into trouble, such pitching himself head-first down the stairs, which he attempted yesterday,"

As she spoke, the baby managed to unsheath the blade with a big grin, waving it around in his chubby baby hands. Baelon immediately swooped in to snatch it away.

"You are a little menace," He told his grandson.

"He'll only cut himself once before he learns to be careful," Daena shrugged, unconcerned. 

As a mother, she was exactly how he would have expected her to be, for better or worse. Baelon did not quite share her relaxed nature on the matter. 

"Or he might poke his own eye out. Viserys would have thrown a fit, if he saw that,"

"Viserys would throw a fit if a servant spilled a glass of milk in their vicinity," She rolled her eyes.

Baelon had to agree with her. If Daena was ridiculously lax, then her brother was the opposite. He would not have matched his children together, if the choice was up to him. The two were as different as siblings could be, and just as unsuited as the other to their future roles as King and Queen. Viserys was kind and amiable, but a people-pleaser, who preferred to ignore unpleasant things and was prone to indecisiveness. Daena was irreverent, hot-tempered and reckless, often cruel, and cared little for the negative opinions of others.

He privately believed that Rhaenys would make a better ruler than either of them, but his father had seen fit to push Aemon's daughter further down the line of succession in favour of Baelon and his son. Baelon had never wanted the Iron Throne; Aemon was the elder brother, and would have been a great king. Alas, it was not to be.

"He loves them both dearly," He said instead.

"As do I," Daena countered, eyes flashing. "Just because I don't fawn over them day and night does not mean - "

"I did not say otherwise," Baelon cut his daughter off, knowing how fast her moods could change from laughing and relaxed to moody and ill-tempered.

Daena did not acknowledge that, though kept quiet, continuing to scratch out her letter.

"Grandda," Rhaenyra said, tugging on his shirt. "I want to fly,"

He smiled. "A good idea, little dragon. Shall we find Vhagar?"

"Yes," The girl said decisively, in her imperious child's voice. "Find Vhagar. And Craxes,"

"Well, you will have to ask your mother," Baelon said. "Caraxes is her dragon, after all,"

Rhaenyra beamed, rushing over to Daena. "Mama, mama! Come flying!"

"Dicāre Valyria, dārilaros," 

Say it in Valyrian, Princess. Baelon's daughter had only ever shown enthusiasm in her lessons as a girl for the history and customs of Old Valyria. All of his family spoke the language, though Daena, Rhaenys, and King Jaehaerys, were the ones who were truly fluent.

The little girl pouted, but replied in a flawless accent. "Licet nās sovēis, Muña?"

"Valdā hegnīr," Daena smiled. "Yes, I am tired of sitting in here writing letters. Do you want to fly with Grandfather or me?"

"You," The little girl said. She adored both of her parents, though was always vying for Daena's approval; perhaps because it was more rarely shown than Viserys' constant attention.

"I'll take Baelon," He told his daughter, lifting the small boy onto his hip. Even at this age, he looked more like Daena than Viserys, where Rhaenyra looked more like her father.

They rode to the Dragonpit escorted by the Kingsguard. Baelon could not help but admire his daughter, watching her with Caraxes. She was like Alyssa, but not, somehow more fierce, more intense, more... ambitious. It was a good thing, he decided, that he had married her to Viserys. Though they did not love each other as husband and wife, it at least put them on the same side. Daena's son would be King, and she would never have any reason to go against her brother.

His daughter grinned from atop the Blood Wyrm's back, her daughter fastened to the saddle in front of her. "I daresay I shall have gone to Dragonstone and back before you can catch up on Vhagar, Father. Sōvēs, Caraxes, aderī,"

With that, they launched into the sky, with more force than was advisable with a young child accompanying her, though Rhaenyra never seemed to mind.

Grinning - being around Daena made him feel younger than he had in years - Baelon hastened to Vhagar, his young namesake in his arms. "We can beat her, my boy, can we not?"

The baby smiled.

*

I wanted to highlight the relationship between Baelon and Daena in this chapter, that it is loving but complex. Baelon knows his children better than anyone, and sees both their strengths and flaws. As for Gael, in canon she 'was seduced' by a travelling singer, had his bastard who was stillborn and she killed herself not long after - the whole story seemed a bit off to me, and I've given Gael more of a chance here. Also, I love Rhaenys as a character and writing her and Daena is entertaining to me, so here she is. How is my High Valyrian? I got what I could from the wiki page, but I've improvised with butchered latin for the words that weren't there. Finally, I saw no reason not to give Daena and Viserys a son, as Daena is not as young nor as fragile as Aemma was. Thanks for reading!