Emotional Damage–Chapter 10–Lyn Gala

Reading Time:
19 Minutes

Daemon was dressed and sorting through his clothing when his father appeared at his door.  “My son, the married man,” he said with a smile.  Shame drifted through Daemon like a cloying mist when he considered the misery he had put his father through in the last life. Instead of joining Daemon for the morning celebration, Baelon had been trying to placate the Valemen, but how did one repair a relationship when one’s own son had said such terrible things?

And then Rhea had spoken of Daemon’s inabilities in bed and the die had been set. There had been no repairing that relationship. They could only make each other miserable until Rhea Royce had the grace to die and free Daemon.

This time would be different.  “I am. Now you have no sons to chastise about their lessons,” Daemon responded.

Baelon’s smile widened more.  Daemon looked behind his father, but no one else followed. Daemon had not expected his grandfather. Not only was he king, but he tired easily, and he would need to be present for the official presenting of the gifts, but as a close male relative, Viserys should have come with their father.

“Where’s Viserys?” 

Baelon grimaced. In his first life, Viserys had appeared the morning after to both upbraid Daemon for his terrible behavior and console him for the inappropriately arranged marriage. That was why Daemon had been sure Viserys would annul the marriage as soon as he had the power.  He had always expressed sympathy. But now he was acting more like the older Viserys who had, in the dream, exiled him over and over. 

“He’s a new father. I believe he was worried that Rhaenyra was poorly this morning.” The excuse was given with appropriate solemnity, but Daemon didn’t believe it.

“She is a beautiful child,” Daemon said.

“I hope she will make a good bride for one of your sons,” Baelon said.  I know you wanted a sister to marry, but in truth it is hard to maintain a strong marriage when you grow up together. Your mother and I had to work to overcome many childhood grudges.”

“But you loved each other.”

“We did,” his father said.  He moved to the sitting area, inviting Daemon to join him with a gesture.  “We didn’t at first. I thought she was too wild and I feared she would shame me the way Saera shamed the family.  She thought I was too controlling and I would crush her the way your grandmother has crushed Gael. We worked to find our love, and it started by deciding on a common goal.  We had planned to claim land for our own and we worked on plans to make it financially viable.”

“Rhea and I discussed how we wanted to raise our children.”

“Did you find common ground to stand on?”

“We both want them to be strong and able to defend themselves, girls and boys both.”

Baelon smiled. “If you can agree on that, then I trust you will find love by taking one step at a time and making one agreement at a time.”

Daemon frowned. “I hope she likes the sheep. The gift is unlike any I have bought before.”

“It is.” Balon said. “But the Umber necklace is unlike your usual gift, and she was quite taken with it.”

“She was,” Daemon said with pleasure.  He’d given her the necklace when the Vale contingent had first come to the capital, making sure that the Umbers and Starks were among those welcoming Rhea’s caravan. She had ridden in front on her black courser, her father at her side.  He had looked pained when Rhea swung off her horse still in riding leathers, but Daemon had greeted her with the necklace.

When he had explained the origin of the piece, she had been speechless.  Daemon knew Lord Umber well enough to recognize his pleasure when Daemon talked about the Umber honor in gifting them the necklace to recognize their marriage and Daemon’s role in saving the Umber heir from a wilding attack.

Lord Stark had looked on in approval, but Baelon had seeme uncomfortable, although Daemon hadn’t known whether it was Rhea’s arrival upon her horse instead of in the wheelhouse or Daemon’s gift of a plain, brass necklace.  His expression had cleared when Rhea had praised the necklace as extravagantly as if it was finely worked gold and precious gems.

In the dream, Rhea had come dressed in more traditional clothing, riding with two female cousins in the wheelhouse. Daemon had watched from the window above.  He’d even poured wine out the window in hopes of hitting the lady.

If he had seen her riding, clearly unapologetic and unwilling to hide her strength, maybe he would have found something to like in her, even if she was unattractive.  The Strong boys had been equally unattractive, and he seemed to have loved them.  He’d felt sorry for his daughters who had a future bedding such unattractive boys, but the dream had shown him only respect and, when they died, feral rage.

Then again, maybe he would have continued to act the part of a wretched child insulting a woman because he did not like her nose. It was an unattractive nose, and Daemon hoped his seed was strong enough to give his children finer features.

“I questioned your grandmother when she brought up the match,” Baelon said.  “I had not spoken to you about it because I hoped to talk her out of the betrothal, and your grandfather seemed ready to listen to my advice, but when she announced it in front of the lords, we could not end the betrothal without insulting the Vale.”

“Two ladies from the Vale marrying two princes. I would think you would worry about offending the rest of the realm,” Daemon said.

Baelon leaned back. “Aemma is a Targaryen even if she carries the name Arryn.  Everyone expected that match.  Had the lords known you were free to marry outside the family rather than wedding Gael, most would have put daughters forward.  Your grandfather and I have spent many months soothing offended lords.  I fear we have blamed your grandmother shamelessly. While that might be churlish, she is the one who has placed us in this position.”

In the dream, Daemon had not gotten the sense that the other kingdoms were upset, but after seeing how Daemon treated the Lady Rhea, most were likely relieved they’d had no chance to put their own daughters forward for such abuse.

“Do you know how you can help us?” Baelon asked?

“How?”

“Children.  Have many children and many betrothals and the lords will be pleased.”

Daemon frowned. “I will not marry my children to Andal lines without magic.”

“I fear you will need to.  I do not foresee Viserys having many children, and you will need good matches.”

“I will match them in the North or with First Men families like Royce or Blackwood. I could even discuss a betrothal with the Martells. The Rhoynar have water magic.”

His father sighed. “Sometimes we have to do what is right for the kingdom, even if we would make a different choice for ourselves and our families.”

“Like my marriage to Rhea?” Daemon asked.  In the dream, he had felt so betrayed. His anger with his father had lasted until his father died.  He had regretted that deeply. Maybe he had held so tightly to Viserys, even after all the betrayals, because he had let go of his father so easily.

“I would have chosen differently, but I would have stolen a good match from my son.” He leaned forward and rested a hand on Daemon’s knee.

“I find her unattractive.” Daemon whispered his confession.

Baelon took a long breath.  “I hope you have not said as much.”

Daemon snorted. “Of course not. I focus on what I do like about her, including her strength, while I ignore her hair and her nose and her face in general.”

“Do not say that again, not even when alone, not when you are on Caraxes flying so far above the world that you cannot see individuals below.  There were things about your mother that I refuse to ever voice, and refusing to give life to those complaints allowed them to fade into the background.”

Daemon nodded.  He saw the wisdom in what his father said.

Baelon squeezed Daemon’s knee.  “I must ask if you did your duty by the lady if you feel that way.”

Daemon nodded.  “I blew out most of the candles, and I focused on her body. She is strong and I know she will give me many children.”  His ancestor had promised as much.

“Good boy.” Baelon patted Daemon’s knee. “Now, I believe your grandfather is waiting for us before he breaks his fast, and I must go see if Rhaenyra is feeling better and if Viserys is free to join us. I understand your goodfather will also attend with three Royce cousins.  Yorbert is a fine man, and he could likely use some reassurance that his daughter has not shamed the family. We know she punched one of her escorts to the wedding chamber, and I hear he was horrified that he could not get Rhea into the wheelhouse for her arrival.”

“That was likely my fault. I told her I would rather have a wife with a chest of riding leathers than one who debated the quality of silk.”

Baelon stood. “You are your mother’s son. You always have been.”

Daemon stood as well.  “She liked flying on Caraxes. Gael never would have.”

“You are right about that. Now let us reassure your goodfather that you are not displeased with your bride’s inability to follow proper decorum.”

Daemon followed his father out of his room, grateful that this time his father would not die with them at odds.  “The first time we met, I told Rhea how I crawled under a table to escape a state dinner.”

Baelon roared with laughter.  “No wonder she rode her horse into the Red Keep. You two are going to give me grey hair. Just remember to teach your children to respect others, even if they must violate some social expectations.”

Daemon thought about the coming war.  He couldn’t afford to raise a household of Saeras who would betray the family and abandon them.  “I will raise them to value family, and Rhea will do the same.”

“The more we talk, the more I think your grandmother made a good match. She is going to remind your grandfather and me about this far too often.”  They walked to the large dining hall where Yorbert Royce sat with his cousins on one side of the king while Viserys sat on the other, with seats left for Daemon and Baelon.  Baelon took his place next to the king, but because this was part of Daemon’s wedding celebration, he took the place at his father’s side, replacing Viserys.

“Is Rhaenyra feeling better?” Daemon asked.

Viserys gave him a confused look, but before he could say anything, one of the Valemen at a lower table laughed uproariously. Daemon’s stomach knotted.  In the dream, this was the moment when Valemen started whispering about Daemon’s inability to bed a woman.  Some lady tending Rhea had practically run to spread the story to her kin.

“Is something amusing?” King Jaehaerys asked.

“The prince inspired Lady Rhea to ask why women would want separate bedchambers if a husband can make a woman feel such amazing pleasure,” someone in the back shouted.

Daemon’s face warmed, but at least this time the embarrassment was not paired with humiliation and fury. In the dream, Daemon hadn’t received any of his wedding guests in person as was proper because he had left without breaking his fast and gotten winesick before noon.

Baelon smiled.  “Funny, I hear from my son that he is pleased with how strong the lady is. It appears the young people are well matched in bed.”

Daemon’s face heated more.  “Father!” he said in a horrified voice. To his humiliation, his voice broke.

“Excellent!” Yorbert Royce said loudly.  “Runestone will be in good hands and they will provide strong heirs.” He looked relieved, which was odd. If anyone had spoken that way about Daemon’s two girls in the dream, he would have skewered them with Dark Sister.

“I am glad you are pleased with your match,” Viserys said, his voice stiff. Daemon swallowed an urge to list the ways he was not pleased.  He was making his own happiness, and Viserys’ barely hidden bitterness was not appropriate during the celebrations.

It occurred to Daemon that Viserys had appeared so supportive in the dream because Daemon wallowed in misery. Daemon had no doubt that his brother loved him, but he had never seen how jealous he had been.

Delusional, yes. Daemon had seen his brother ignore the growing hostilities between Rhaenyra’s and Allicent’s families and supporters.  Personally, Daemon put the blame on Allicent. She had been a woman grown when Rhaenyra had been an unflowered child, even if there were few years between them. Allicent had even treated Rhaenyra well until Heleana had been born, and then Rhaenyra had been a rival who threatened to take her daughter’s spot on the throne next to Aegon. No adult should target a child who did not yet understand the political realities of the game of thrones they all played.

But now Daemon saw not Viserys’ delusions but his jealousy. Daemon had possessed nothing for Viserys to envy in his first life, but this improved marriage had soured their relationship. From the way Baelon gritted his teeth, he was more than aware of Viserys’ attitude.

Daemon focused on their gentlemen’s breakfast. More than a few crude comments were made about Daemon’s performance in his marital bed, and the Royce men were more pleased each time. By the time the king stood to lead them all to the audience chamber, most of the men were ready to slap Daemon on the back and shoulder.

He wasn’t used to people touching him, and he bit down on an urge to push people away. He had almost lost the battle when his goodfather appeared at his side.  “Go on, you vultures. Leave my goodson alone,” he shouted, shoving a Valeman away with a laugh.  Prince Baelon gave them both a quick nod before going ahead.

“I know that look from years of raising Rhea. You were about to say something unforgivably rude,” Yorbert said.

“Possibly,” Daemon admitted.

“You two will either create a century of strength for Runestone or you will kill each other.”

“I would rather avoid killing the mother of my future children,” Daemon said.

“Remember that when she says something offensive,” Yorbert suggested before he stepped aside to allow Daemon to walk into the audience room.  He had not seen the room so crowded since Viserys’ wedding. Lords bowed as Daemon passed, even though he was now technically the lord of Runestone, which was not even the Vale’s seat.  He nodded at those he knew and walked up to Rhea who stood beside a seat to one side of King Jaehaerys. The wedding sheets were hung on the wall, blood and other fluids smeared across them.  Daemon averted his eyes and spotted his grandmother’s smug expression.

Ignoring her, he moved to Rhea’s side, lifting her hand to kiss the knuckles before he bowed to his grandparents. “Your graces,” he greeted them.

King Jaehaerys lifted a hand, and the court scribe moved to a small table. “To celebrate the wedding of our grandson to Rhea Royce, heir of Runestone, the crown gifts to Runestone three docks sufficient for deep keeled ships, a half wall to protect the port from winter storms, and improvements to the road from the Gate of the Moon to Gulltown and then to Runestone.

The lords shuffled, several clearly surprised by the extravagance of the gift, but the king lowered his hand, marking the end of his gift.

Daemon was equally shocked. He had to swallow and gather his thoughts before he could continue. “Thank you, Grandfather. Our people will thrive with such improvements.” He turned to his wife and swallowed, still nervous about what he had done. “Wife, I know how you value your lands.  Caraxes and I flew to Ibben and I have purchased six rams and twenty ewes of their finest thick-wooled sheep.  The number includes four rams and nine ewes having golden fleeces.” He signalled to a servant who came forward with a small chest.  Daemon opened it and lifted out the thick skeins of wool he’d bought to demonstrate the value of the creatures.

Rhea’s mouth came open and she took the soft wool in her hands, turning it so the dull golden sheen glowed in the light coming from the high windows.  Several ladies made appreciative noises. Good.  Daemon wanted them all to covet Runestone wool.

“I thank you, husband,” she said, a quaver in her voice.  The fear that had gripped his heart eased as he saw her honest appreciation. In the dream, he had been a fool because the lady was quite easy to manipulate into being fond of him. Then again, in the dream, he had thought having children outside a Valyrian bride meant that they would have less magic, or worse, no magic.  Aemma was even afraid of dragons. His concerns had been rational even if his reaction to the marriage had been childish.

“The ship will have arrived by the time we return to Runestone,” he told her.

She nodded and reverently put the wool back in the chest before the servant whisked it away.  Lord Yorbert as the father of the bride was next with the dowry.  Daemon moved to Rhea’s side and urged her to sit as he did.  Being a prince gave him the right to sit in the presence of the royal family, and as his wife, Rhea could do the same since she shared his status.  She glanced toward her father before sitting.

Lord Yorbert stepped forward.  “As Lady Rhea’s father, I gift to my goodson, all the lands to the north of the castle of Runestone including the pastures and animals grazing upon them.”  Daemon was genuinely startled.  In the dream, not only had he been denied any inheritance after Rhea’s death, but Lady Jayne had practically driven him from the Vale.

He bowed his head in appreciation. “I thank you, my goodfather.” Yorbert smiled, and when Daemon glanced over at his father, Prince Baelon seemed equally pleased.  After that, the gifts were presented by order of rank. His father gave them a library of rare Valyrian texts copied from those at Dragonstone, and Rhaenys came with a chest of spices and a critical gaze that judged Daemon and found him wanting, although he had no idea what he had done to aggravate her. Lord Baratheon brought elaborate laces that Rhea barely glanced at, and Lord Tully’s young son, Elmo, offered fifty fine spears with iron heads. And then Lord Stark stepped forward, although Daemon did not understand how the Warden of the Riverland’s son outranked the Warden of the North.

Lord Rickon did not seem bothered, though.

He waved a hand at the back of the room; there was a great disturbance as the crowd scrambled out of the way.  Daemon stood to see what the servant was bringing, but then a head appeared above the crowd, and shock made him sit again.  The head was formed almost like a horse’s, only the skull domed outward above close set eyes, and above those eyes was a long, curving horn shaped like blades Daemon had often seen in Pentos, blades which would eviscerate a man with little effort.

The animal finally came into full view as the servant led it through the crowd by a rope around its neck. The body was more horselike than the face, although it resembled a sturdy Northern garron more than a war horse. The beast had thick curled fur over the shoulders and up the neck, but had more typical horse hair on the legs and rear. The legs ended in a two-toed hoof like a goat’s, and the tail was curling and twitching like an aggravated cat’s, only it had a great tuft of long hair on the end. 

Lord Stark had brought a unicorn.

The beasts were so rare that even some in the North believed them legend and he knew of no Southerner who thought them real. That had changed now.  Women clutched their husbands’ arms, and even the men looked uncomfortable because this was not a domesticated horse to be controlled. There was something wild and dangerous in the beast, and the crowd could sense it.

Lord Stark spoke. “The Magnar of Skagos traded three stallions and three score of mares on the condition they go to Prince Daemon. Winters on Skagos are milder than the rest of the north, and the unicorns prefer mountains over our forests, so the Vale is more appropriate to their health than my lands.  And the Magnar said that a man who rides a dragon would know how to ride a unicorn.”

“Excuse me?” Daemon was offended on behalf of Caraxes.

Lord Stark had the audacity to look amused at Daemon’s outburst.  “The Magnar said that horses carry men but unicorns fight beside them. They are partners, not beasts of burden or slaves.”

Daemon stood slowly and studied the unicorn.  If the North and First Men had magic, then perhaps the unicorns were more than horses with horns.  Perhaps they were magic.  He took a step forward before stopping. Daemon lacked more than a few drops of First Men blood.  He held his hand out for Rhea who looked so odd in an embroidered court dress with her short hair done in braids with precious gems pinning them.

The fripperies only emphasized the width of her nose and stripped her of the strength that was her most attractive trait. She took his hand and Daemon led her closer to the unicorn, ready to pull her to safety if the beast proved irritable. 

Rhea put a hand out for the unicorn to smell, and Daemon followed close behind, not wanting to seem as if his wife had more courage than he, but also wishing for the beast to smell her more potent First Men blood before his.  After all, a dragon must smell a Targaryen before being introduced to a new person.  Once the unicorn had smelled both of them, Daemon ran his hands over the animal’s withers.  Thick muscles bunched and Daemon immediately understood the reason for the curled fur. A predator would have difficulty biting through the pelt.

Daemon lifted the unicorn’s lip and gasped.  Rhea had knelt to study the goat-like feet.  “What?” she asked as she looked up.

“Look at the teeth,” Daemon told her.  She stood and took a startled step back.

Lord Stark said, “They eat both feed and meat, whatever is available, and the Magnar warns that they enjoy small birds or rodents, so do not keep them near any chickens unless you want to treat the herd. They are hunters.”

And the vicious fangs would rip through enemies as quickly as the horn. No wonder the Skagos warriors rode unicorns. “The gift is without compare,” Daemon said.

“Sixty of them?” Rhea asked, which was not technically incorrect by court standards. Gifts must be accepted with only a complement, a rule his grandmother had ingrained into Daemon with the tip of her cane.  However, Lord Stark only smiled.

“Indeed. The Magnar recommended the number if you wish to breed Vale unicorns in your mountains. I have had the remainder of the herd delivered to Runestone with a tender from Skagos and a translator who can speak Common and Old Tongue. This beast is the oldest and calmest of the herd, and I have no doubt they will aid you well in protecting your lands from the Mountain Clans.  They do not require a pass to cross steep terrain.”

Which also meant that if the Greens or Blacks tried to invade the Vale, the Vale would have unicorns capable of flanking them and sweeping them off the mountain trails.  Daemon wondered if Lord Stark had shared the dragon dream of the coming Long Night with the Magnar of Skagos or if he had used his authority as Warden of the North and the Stark of Winterfell to make the trade.

Either way, this was a gift that would see Daemon’s family stronger and safer.

Lord Stark gestured to the servant to lead the mare away, and Daemon held out his arm for Rhea before they returned to their seats of honor.

But after Lord Stark, all other gifts faded to insignificance, even Lord Lannister’s carved gold ewe and lamb, which he presented with a hope that Rhea would have many children, and Lord Umber’s pile of soft, pure white pelts.  Rhea looked unimpressed by the Lannisters and seemed more interested in Umber’s enormous war hammer than in their gift. Daemon thanked the lords for both of them.

Never did Daemon think he would be the one to cover for another’s lapses in courtly manners, but he would do anything to protect his family. And Rhea had become a valuable tool to ensure his children lived better lives than they had in the dream. He would do whatever was required to protect her and her reputation because that was the same as protecting his future children.