Emotional Damage–Chapter 11–Lyn Gala

Reading Time:
21 Minutes

Runestone was as boring as Daemon had feared, but having seen the horrors he might have lived through, he had more patience in this life. He came to their bedroom, stripping off his clothing as he crossed the room.  “Wife,” he greeted Rhea. She wore a simple chemise as she sat at a desk between the window and the fireplace.  She had a scroll she was tilting so she could read by candlelight.

“Husband,” she said, her voice distant.  Daemon sat on his favorite chair and began unbuckling his boots as she asked, “How goes training?”

“Your men both hate and love me.”

“Then you are likely doing something right.”  They’d had this conversation before, but there was something in her voice.  Daemon padded across the room and looked at the scroll over her shoulder. If some house were defying her, Daemon would spill blood. Instead she appeared to be reading a healer’s scroll.

“What is that?” he asked, fear gnawing at him. In the dream she had been healthy until she fell from her horse during a hunt, but much had changed. He wished the dream had shown him the details of her fall so he could prevent it, but all he knew was that it was many years in the future and that she would rise from her bed claiming to be fine before she dropped dead.

She looked up at him.  “Healer Gevgo has given me a list of suggestions.”

“For what purpose?”

She finally looked up at him.  “He confirms that I am with child.”

Daemon stumbled back and took a sharp breath. Words fled him, and he stared at her.

“Are you not pleased?” she asked with a frown.

Daemon surged forward, scooped her up and swung her around with a happy cry.  “Our child. We are to have a child!” Love surged through Daemon until his chest was tight with it.  He had never understood the dream—he had never understood why he had lost all logic after the death of Rhaenyra’s first child. But if this is what he felt for those children that had died from Hightower schemes, the vengeance was justified. Never again would he go as far.  A child lying on a bloody sheet.  However, he knew why he had hated so much.  

He would kill for this child. He would simply not kill another child.

Rhea laughed.  “So you are pleased.”

“I have no words to say how pleased I am.”  Daemon put her back on her feet. “I do not want Maester Dolweg near you. Neither you nor your food.”

Rhea put a hand on his arm. “I will not let him near me. He handles the ravens and the copying of texts, nothing more.”

Daemon kept his hands on her arms, but he stepped back to study her. “If he comes near you, I will kill him.”

Rhea rolled her eyes. “First, I know you killed one maester already. We cannot afford to kill many if we wish Oldtown to remain ignorant. Second, if it is a boy, he will be a Royce. Oldtown has no cause to harm a Royce, but still, I am wary of him, and the servants do not allow him near the kitchens.”

Daemon could not hide a wince.  Instead of getting angry, Rhea’s expression turned contemplative. “You are upset that your first son will not carry your name.”

“Every man wants his sons to have his name.”  Daemon wondered what Strong felt, watching his sons be named Velaryons and seeing Laenor claim them in public. Daemon knew the knight had loved Rheanyra, perhaps as much as Daemon had, but he could not imagine a love that allowed a man to step back and allow another to claim his children.

“I will give you a dozen more to carry your name,” Rhea said softly.

Daemon smiled. “Two dozen would be better.” If Daemon could have an army of dragon riders to confront Allicent’s spawn, he would.  Helaena had been a kind girl. Daemon would not mind marrying her to one of his sons, and he could do the same with Daeron. He had been a pawn of Oldtown, but Daemon would raise strong daughters who could keep a boy like that in hand.

However, Aemond was not redeemable. Rhaenyra had called for him to be tortured that night he had lost his eye, it was true, but he had been prepared to kill a child far younger than he.  He was a kinslayer, and while Daemon had carried that burden as well, in the dream, Aemond had tried to kill his own brother to put himself on the throne. He was motivated not by protecting his own side but by ambition and power.

That was a sin Daemon would not have in his bloodline.  And Viserys’ Aegon was weak. Daemon believed much of his weakness came from an effort to run from the responsibility that his mother and grandfather illegitimately pressed on him. The burden had been more than he could carry, but he had a dragon in the dream. He could have fled. He could have forged a life for himself elsewhere. Instead he had stayed and whored and drank and indulged in any activity that could take him from the pressure of his reality.

Rhea pulled him back to reality by poking him in the side.  “If you plant two dozen children in me, I will castrate you. I have worked in the fields long enough to know how it is done.”

“Blasphemy. You speak treason against your dear husband, wife-of-mine.” Daemon caught her around the waist and pulled her close.

She snorted and wrapped her arms around him.  “Insufferable man. I will have you know that if you hover over me as though I am some bird with a broken wing, I will indulge in violent fantasies.”

Daemon pulled her toward the bed.  “You want more children and you like what we do in bed. I have no fear for my stones. Have you given thought to any names you favor?”

“Robar was the last Bronze king. Is it arrogant to want to name a son after him?”

Daemon laughed. “I am not one to judge another’s arrogance. I would like to name a child after Tessarion, so naming one after a king is of no consequence.”

“Tessarion, one of your gods?”

“Or goddess,” Daemon said. “The Valyrian gods have no gender. They are male and female, so I could use the name for either a son or a daughter, but I would name someone after my god of prophecy and archery.”

She gave him an odd look.

“I would also like to honor my parents, although I am not sure I would name a son Baelon. Perhaps some variation like Baelmon or Balelys. And I want a daughter named for my mother.”

“I would like to name a son after Nabor, the hero of the Mountain rebellion and Yohn, my grandfather.”

“You do seem to have many names chosen for boys.  I would like to have one named after me, and a daughter named after you.”

“I want a daughter named for your grandmother. Queen Alysanne arranged our marriage, after all.”

“We will need a score of children at this rate,” Daemon teased.  He closed his eyes and let his hands explore the curves of Rhea’s body.  Soon enough she would swell with his child. She did not have Targaryen blood from birth, but she would have Targaryen blood in her from the child Daemon had planted in her womb. She would give him strong sons and daughters, and Daemon would find a way to give them dragons. The idea of her growing heavy with his seed, his child, made something tighten in his chest.

This life would be different. Better. His family would be stronger. The dragons would survive.  Daemon lost himself in the fantasy of a Targaryen empire that lasted a thousand years, all starting with his seed in Rhea’s womb. Despite the fact that she was already with child, Daemon could not resist planting her again, and he removed her shift before he stripped.

– – – – – – – – – – –

Weeks later, Daemon flew to King’s landing for the first time since his wedding.  Rhea was with child, so they agreed that it was time for him to establish himself here and make the political connections their children would need. Daemon saw his father in the courtyard just as an unburdened Caraxes flew overhead, leaving to hunt in Blackwater Bay.  “Daemon,” his father called.

Daemon loved seeing his father so young and vibrant. He didn’t know what had led him to getting ill, but he lived in fear of his father dying. He had years left with his father, but as the world he’d seen in his vision increasingly veered from reality, he feared Baelon would die younger.

“Father,” he said as he swung off his horse.  “You look ill.  Are you riding and getting out of your solar?”

“You worry too much. I never thought you would be the son to worry,” Baelon said with a smile. He rested a hand on Daemon’s shoulder.  “Why are you here? Is all well with Lady Rhea?”

“All is excellent. She is outgrowing her dresses and riding pants, which is making her cross, but I am quite pleased.”

Baelon’s eyes widened. “She is with child? Enough to show?”

“She is,” Daemon said with a smile.  It had only been five moons since the wedding, and Daemon was so enamoured of the small bulge of her belly that he would wake her stroking it.  “Was mother difficult when she was pregnant?”

Baelon laughed.  “She was intolerable, especially with you. She sent two vases at my head. Two. I learned to be careful walking into our rooms.” They started walking into the Red Keep.

Daemon had so few memories of his mother, so he loved hearing the stories. “Rhea is not that bad, but she did inform me that she is more than a broodmare and that she is perfectly capable of running Runestone and unless I intend to offend her by implying otherwise, I will get away from her, her swollen belly,  her solar, her paperwork, and her books.  I took the opportunity to flee.”

“Wise man,” Baelon said.

“Which is why you should listen when I tell you to ride more and work less,” Daemon said. The skin under his father’s eyes looked bruised with weariness. Perhaps his father’s death in the dream had been fated, and perhaps the machinations of Andals had caused it, but he was clearly aging much quicker than was normal.

“I must learn much to run the kingdom.”

Daemon found that ironic given that Viserys had run it without knowing anything.  “Have Viserys take on more of the tasks. He should be learning anyway, should he not?”

“He is a young man with a young wife.  Give him time to have his family.”

“I will have a family soon, yet I work. In fact, I came here seeking more work.”

“More work?” Baelon frowned at him.

“If my child is a girl, she will be a future wife for Viserys’ future son, assuming he does not want to marry Rhaenyra to Aemma’s future son.  Either way, my sons or daughters are likely to end up back in King’s Landing.”

His father looked at him sadly. “I had hoped you would return to be your brother’s hand once I passed, so it is you who would return. Why do you not speak of that?”

“I have Runestone and I will soon have a child to raise.”

“And I hope to live thirty or forty more years. Your son will be grown and ready to take over Runestone before you are needed here again. You need not worry for your child, although as a father, I do understand that it is the prerogative of a parent to fret.”

Daemon hated to hear his father speak of the future because it made his death feel so much closer.  “If you hope to live that long, you must take better care of yourself, father. Let Viserys do some of the work now.  It’s important that he learn, just as I went to Lord Stark to learn of a lord’s duties.”

Baelon tilted his head at Daemon but didn’t answer until they had reached a morning room where Baelon chose a chair and gestured Daemon to sit.  “You never worried so much as a child.  What has brought this on?”

“I always worried,” Daemon lied, “but my worries were dismissed as childish.  But now, as a man grown, I say that Viserys should be helping you. He needs to know how much work you put into preparing to be a king.”

“My children are grown. I can spend time on my office.  Viserys has a young daughter, and Aemma is pregnant again.” He sounded pleased, but Daemon was not.  Aemma would not have another survive the cradle. When Daemon’s thrived—as he hoped they would—and Viserys’ did not, that would be another knife carving away the bonds that tied him to his brother. He loved Viserys, but the dream had worn at that love, showing him all the ways they had failed one another, and it made Daemon seek distance. Daemon’s choices in this life would only exacerbate that.

“Aemon thought he had time to prepare Rhaenys to take the throne. Life does not always warn us before danger appears.”

“Do you believe we will be invaded soon?” Baelon sounded almost amused, and part of Daemon wanted to verbally lash out and tell his father all the terrible things that would happen because he had failed to prepare Viserys. Viserys had taken the throne believing that it took little effort and no skill.  He let Otto Hightower steal the real power from him.

“Did the Myrish pirates warn Uncle Aemon that they planned to invade Tarth and kill him?”

“Daemon,” Baelon said, his voice carrying his annoyance.

“Think on it,” Daemon said, “but in the meantime, I am seeking work in King’s Landing.”

“You have a child coming.”

He leaned back in the elaborately embroidered chair. It seemed pointless to add such decoration to a place intended to set one’s ass, but perhaps he had spent too much time in the Vale and North to appreciate tiny vines and flowers on a chair cushion. “And I have a wife who wishes me to prove that I still trust her to lead our people. I would like to make sure that King’s Landing is safe for whichever of my children return in the future.”

“You’re concerned about safety?” Baelon was shocked. He leaned forward and studied Daemon’s face.

Daemon snorted. “You clearly do not spend much time in Flea Bottom.”

“Do you?” his father demanded, a warning in his voice. Daemon wondered if his father had watched from some afterlife as Daemon had practically lived in Flea Bottom in another life. He wondered if his father had seen him take Rhaenyra there. He wondered if he had been plotting to claim a Valyrian bride or if he had simply wanted revenge against a child who was loved when he was so hated. Daemon could not know. Perhaps the version of Daemon who had lived in that dream had not even known.

“I was thirteen when Viserys first took me to a whorehouse, and by fourteen I had a favorite I visited regularly.” And this time around, Daemon would not support Mysaria or provide the funds required for her to buy her own house. Let her make a living on her back and live in poverty as she should, given her betrayal of his family.

Baelon ran a hand over his face. “I can’t believe he did that.”

“He does a lot that you don’t see,”  Daemon said, “but I have seen how dangerous the city is and how corrupt the… city guards have become.” Daemon had almost called them gold cloaks because the term had become ubiquitous for the guards that Daemon had trained and equipped.

“You want to lead the city guard?”

“I have the skill with a sword to command respect and the position in the royal family that would make men listen. Who would be better?” Daemon waited to see if his father would suggest Viserys because Daemon planned to laugh at him. Viserys did not practice with his sword often enough to be good, and Daemon had won multiple tournaments. Viserys was getting soft around the middle already and Daemon kept himself as fit as any knight.  Daemon was the natural choice.

“Others have tried to improve the guards,” Baelon warned.

“They nibbled at the problem,” Daemon said.  “I plan to gut it.  I will announce that any guard who takes a bribe to help a criminal will share the criminal’s guilt.  Hide a thief and both your hand and the thief’s will be taken.  Help a rapist, and both of you will be gelded. I will fire those who are drunk on duty and when that frees their salaries, I will use the coin to raise the salaries paid to those who remain.”

“Such sweeping change will encounter resistance,” Baelon warned.

“And the common folk will welcome it. I hope to equip those who earn it, offering a gold cloak to those that demonstrate strength and honesty.  It will make it easy for common folk to spot those who are sworn to protect them.”

Baelon blew out a long breath.  “Bribery is so ubiquitous, I don’t know if you will find enough guards to wear those gold cloaks of yours.”

“Then I will bring a few knights from the Vale and train men I can trust.” In reality, Daemon knew exactly who he would promote to lead his gold cloaks.  Harwin Strong would be young, but not so young he could not take up the sword. He would be in King’s Landing with his father. Gwaine Roote, Elwood Mudle, Jarman Iplan, and Bryen Stillwater were all in the guards now. He assumed. They had all been loyal to Daemon in the dream, and they were old enough to be respected men. They would be the core of Daemon’s goldcloaks, and he would build from there.

He knew how to make himself their beloved leader and how to ensure that he had men in the capital no matter how much Viserys turned on him.

“You will need to commit significant time to the endeavor,” his father warned.

Daemon smiled. “I have a wife to avoid, and I will not spend this time whoring or hiding from Rhea’s tongue. I have little else to do but make sure that the city is safe.” Daemon planned to go even farther than he had in the dream.  If his goldcloaks could train orphan boys, they would have loyal men to join their ranks in a few years  or perhaps even pledge to the North.  Daemon and Rhea had committed to sending food and furs to Eastwatch.  They needed the wall to be a place of refuge for good men seeking to avoid poverty and old men who did not wish to eat the food their grandchildren needed.

Yes, Daemon had plans. He and Rhea had plans.

It was a unique experience, having a wife who plotted with him and trusted him, and Daemon would not let her down.  He would avoid her until she gave birth because she was a sharp-tongued harridan who drove servants to hide in the cellars until her temper cooled, but he would not let her down.

Baelon nodded. “I’ll speak to your grandfather. You’ll need to work with Septon Barth and present a budget, but it is doable.”

Daemon smiled even though his stomach twisted at a septon being so close to power.  He felt the hand of the Hightowers already closing around his neck.  He had begun planting weirwoods and quietly executed a septon who had tried cutting them down. He had built a temple to the fourteen flames near the sept, and a chapel to the merling king near the new docks. He had done what he could in Runestone to make the Seven one more god among many.  Hell, he’d considered building something to the damn drowned god if only to minimize the power of the sept.

But here the Seven still held tight control over the levers of power, and his father didn’t see the danger.  Nor did his grandfather.  Maegor had, but he had indulged his own vices to the point that even his rightful warnings fell on deaf ears.  Daemon hated to say it, but his brother had a point calling him Maegor come again because Daemon had also damaged his own positions through carelessness and selfishness.

A little boy on blood-stained sheets.

But now was not the time for Daemon to indulge in his self-destructive habits.  He had to keep focused on building his powerbase, and right now that was claiming his Gold Cloaks while Rhea saw to the breeding of golden fleeced sheep and unicorns and the development of their trade routes.

Baelon stood and rested a hand on Daemon’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you,” he said, and Daemon’s stomach lurched as his emotions raged out of control.  Forgetting all rules of propriety, Daemon stood and hugged his father.  His father awkwardly patted him on the back.

“Becoming a father has made you emotional,” Baelon said with a laugh. “I was the same. So was your Uncle Aemon for that matter. We Targaryens are weak in the knees when it comes to our children. I see that every time Viserys looks at little Rheanyra.”

Daemon stepped back.  “I brought a gift for my niece.”

“Good.  You’ll find Aemma in her quarters and she has kept Rhaenyra in the room next to her. I’m not sure where Viserys is, but I’ll send guards to seek him out.”

Daemon smiled.  “Excellent.  Now, if I can convince you to go riding with me….  We could even go up to Runestone and you could tell Rhea how beautiful she looks with her belly swelling. She does, you know.”

“I have duties. Go deliver your gift and then write out your plans for the city guard. I’ll speak to your grandfather to sweeten him to the idea. And visit your grandmother. She has been insufferable about being right with your betrothal, and she will delight to hear of a child.” Baelon shoved him toward the corridor that led to the family rooms.

“Yes, father,” Daemon agreed.  He took several steps back, relishing the approval of his father and dreading the day when he would lose him. Maybe Daemon could speak to Viserys and get his help to get their father to care more for himself.  His father strode away, and a kingsguard followed.  

Daemon hurried up to Aemma’s rooms. A knock brought one of her ladies to the door, and Daemon announced himself before leaning against the wall while the ladies arranged Aemma’s sitting room and Aemma herself for visitors. Daemon wondered whether this meant Aemma was already struggling with fatigue this early in her pregnancy. He wondered whether she had been as worn during the dream. If so, Viserys was a great fool to miss such a sign of fatigue.

Eventually, though, a lady opened the door, and Daemon nodded to her before turning his attention to Aemma who was seated on a settee with a blanket over her lap.  “Good sister,” Daemon greeted her.

She smiled at him. “How are you, Daemon?”

“I am to be a father,” Daemon said. His joy was so great that he could not help but share it, even if he knew she was fated to lose the child she was carrying.  

Aemma’s smile lacked even a trace of jealousy as she held her hands out to him. “Congratulations. And how is Rhea?”

Daemon took her hands. “My wife has threatened to geld me if I treat her like she is less than capable. We agreed I would work here and limit myself to visiting Runestone for a time.” There were shocked gasps from the ladies, but Aemma laughed.

“But you will not leave her alone, surely?” Aemma leaned forward.

“She is healthier than the unicorns and twice as willing to run someone through with a sharp point if they suggest otherwise. I will visit often and return to Runestone when she is less sensitive.”

“Are you sure she does not wish for you to fight to remain at her side?” Aemma looked on the verge of tears.  Daemon sat on the chair closest to her.  

“I am sure she is a confident woman who tells me what she needs, and she has ordered me to go away so she does not feel like a broodmare whose only value lay in her womb,” Daemon said. A couple of Aemma’s ladies started to whisper.  “I trust her to tell me when she changes her mind, but father tells me that my mother sent multiple vases flying at his head when she was pregnant, so I have to believe that some women wish to be left alone.”

Aemma’s gaze skittered about the room before it settled on her hands.  “She is an independent woman.”

“Very,” Daemon agreed.  “I brought a present for Rhaenyra.”  Daemon pulled a set of toys from the bag slung over his shoulder. There were dragons and unicorns and horses, all sewn from the softest leather and trimmed in fur. “Has her dragon egg hatched?” 

Aemma frowned. “She was not given one. King Jaehaerys said that she will likely marry outside the family and that she is not to have an egg.”

Daemon blinked, startled because he had seen her with an egg in the dream. Syrax had hatched when Rheanyra was still young, and the girl had been terrifyingly small when she first flew.  “But she is Viserys’s child.”

“A girl cannot be an heir, and Jaehaerys does not want a Targaryen with a dragon married into another family. And you know there is a dearth of Targaryens for her to wed. I am hoping you and Rhea solve that problem, but Rhaenyra would still not be allowed a dragon if she were betrothed to a Targaryen of Runestone.”

Daemon breathed deeply. To strip a Targaryen of their dragon was an abomination, but he had done exactly that. Something he did or didn’t do had stolen Syrax from Rhaenyra. That would make her easy prey for the Hightower brats. But Daemon smiled and nodded and took Rhaenyra into his lap when the ladies brought her. He wanted to strengthen his family for the coming war, but he refused to weaken Rhaenyra’s. She had made disastrous choices, but she was family. He had loved her.  Not in a way that served her well, but he had loved her passionately. Obsessively.

He had to fix this.