Emotional Damage–Chapter 3–Lyn Gala

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17 Minutes

Daemon guided Caraxes to land in the largest courtyard, but it was a tight fit. “We have arrived, my lady,” Daemon said to Rhea Royce. “How did you enjoy your first experience on a dragon?”

“In truth, I prefer a good horse where I can keep my own hands on the reins.” 

Daemon had not expected that. Not only was Lady Rhea blunt, but she had a unique view of the world. People were either thrilled by dragons or terrified of them. She was, apparently, annoyed that she didn’t control Caraxes.  That was still an improvement over Gael and Aemma. He had expected worse from a lady of the Vale.

“Unfortunately, a dragon is not one to tolerate anyone’s hands on the reins. Even with Caraxes, it is more that I work with him regarding where we go rather than I control him. If I had attempted to task him to land in one of the smaller courtyards, he would have informed me of his general unwillingness,” Daemon explained.

Rhea said, “A stallion is much the same until they learn to trust the rider’s hands,” Rhea said. 

Daemon wasn’t sure, but he thought Lady Rhea might have just implied Caraxes did not trust him. Part of him wanted to offer an angry retort, but he couldn’t afford to make an enemy of her. He never again wanted to experience a war when his only allies on dragonback were children. The dream had included so many young lives lost. He had a war to win, and it involved saving lives, including those of the dragons. He could not alienate allies, especially when it was his children that would die if he failed.

This time he would have children while he was young. He did not want to see little Lucerys lost to Vhagar. No, he would have his adult son on Vhagar when the war started, and to accomplish that, he needed to lie with Rhea soon. His children needed to be older than those Hightower mongrels. They would protect their Strong cousins.

“Allow me to help you off,” Daemon said before dismounting to offer her his assistance. 

Instead of waiting for him, she unclipped her belt from the saddle and slid off, ignoring his offered hand. “No need. My father often jests that I was comfortable in the saddle long before I learned to walk.”

“Speaking of Lord Royce, is that not him coming right now?” Daemon asked. The man’s hair had turned white at the temples, but he had a strong resemblance to Rhea. Unfortunately, that meant he was equally unattractive with that pug nose that Rhaenyra had tried so hard to pass off as Valyrian. 

Daemon had not seen every conversation that had taken place between himself and his niece in that vision of the future. But he had to think that at some point he had told her to not be a fool. A woman could easily choose a lover to father her children. Plenty had. But why would she not choose someone who could reasonably provide a facsimile of Laenor’s trueborn sons? Corlys had left enough dragonseeds for her to choose. She would have been far better off choosing one than sleeping with her sworn shield. 

Harwin Strong did give her healthy magical children, which was the primary goal of choosing a spouse. But no one in all the kingdoms was fooled about who had fathered those Strong boys. And given Westrosi hatred for bastards, Rhaenyra had set the lords against her three older boys with that one choice.

Had Daemon lived, he suspected that he would’ve tried to broker a deal once Aemon was dead by offering to bypass the three Strong boys and put his son with Rheanyra on the throne. That would’ve removed at least half the objections to Rhaenyra as queen. It was as if the woman was trying to make herself appear unequal to the task of ruling.

Then again, Viserys had been unequal to the task for years, and no one had sought to remove him. Daemon would’ve been a far better choice as king, but he had another task, and saving dragons was far more important than sitting on an ugly chair.

Lord Royce closed the distance between them, bowing low as soon as he reached an appropriate distance. “My prince, the Eyrie is yours.”

“I don’t believe I want it,” Daemon joked. Royce’s head came up and his expression was one of alarm. Daemon grimaced. He did not mean to make a poor first impression on his future goodfather, but it had always struck him as silly offering members of the royal family the symbolic ownership of whatever castle they stood in. Technically, the Eyrie wasn’t even Lord Royce’s to give away. Before Daemon could come up with a way to patch the awkwardness, Rhea saved him by distracting her father.

“Father, why did you not tell me I was betrothed?”

Lord Royce’s gaze went from Rhea to Daemon and back, his gaze flicking as if he wasn’t sure where the greater danger lay. Daemon leaned against Caraxes side and watched with an amused smirk.

“We can discuss this in private,” Lord Yorbert Royce said.

Rhea crossed her arms in a way no proper lady ever would. “You gave me your word that we would discuss any potential betrothals. I do not want to be sold like a cow. I am to be the Lady of Runestone, and I will rule my ancestral lands. You gave me your word on that.”

Lord Royce clearly decided his daughter was the greater threat and he focused on her.

“Rhea, you are almost nine and ten, years past when you should have chosen a husband. Queen Allysanne’s offer is a great honor to the family, and she assures me that Daemon has little interest in ruling.” Lord Royce’s gaze flicked back to Daemon as though hoping for some support in his battle with his daughter. But Daemon was having far too much fun watching. He rested his hand on Dark Sister’s hilt and watched. After all, he too had also been blindsided with this betrothal. Had not his ancestor appeared in a dream to castigate him for his handling of the marriage, Daemon would be screaming curses and the kingsguard would be holding him captive in the Red Keep right now.

Allowing Rhea to vent both their frustrations was a small measure that gave him great pleasure.

“I don’t care if he wants to rule or not. He’s a prince. He’s going to outrank me, and you said that I would be the Lady of Runestone. That’s why we agreed on cousin Weimar.”

“Cousin Weimar has been dead for three years,” Lord Royce said in a frustrated tone. “It is time for you to choose a husband. You need an heir. It is not enough to rule the castle, you must secure the future.” That struck at Daemon as well. He had spent his life fighting battles and losing the war.  The dream made that clear.

A little boy on blood-stained sheets.

Rhea’s voice rose. “You thought to secure my future without even discussing it with me? Is not the word of a Royce worth more than air which passes by my ears without meaning anything? For truly, your vow to let me choose my own husband was no more than air.”

Daemon winced. Clearly his lady wife’s tongue was as dangerous as it had appeared in the dream.

Lord Royce turned to Daemon and bowed again. “My prince, I apologize for her. We understand the great honor your family does us by agreeing to this match. I hope you and my daughter find great joy in one another.”

Daemon wanted to let his goodfather suffer a little, but he was more interested in having a decent relationship since he needed allies for the coming war. “Tell me, Lord Royce, does your family still carry signs of the North’s magic? Do you have greenseers or skinchangers or wargs in your line?”

Lord Royce’s eyes grew huge. “My prince, things such as wargs and skinchangers are seen as signs of corruption within the doctrine of the seven.”

“And I am more interested in making sure that my children have the strongest magic possible. After all, is not Targaryen magic the source of our power?” He patted Caraxes’s neck, and his boy raised his head before peering down on Lord Royce and all the other servants gathered along the edges of the courtyard.

“You want a bride with magic?” Lord Royce sounded confused.

Rhea snorted. “At least he wants me for something other than my womb and I told him Runestone was mine and I would rule as its lady,” Rhea said.

Lord Royce looked as though he might die of humors at any moment. He was practically trembling.

Daemon decided to save his good father from imminent death through discomfort. “You will be the ruling Lady of Runestone,” Daemon agreed. “I assume I can amuse myself by training the men, if that is acceptable with my lady.”

“Prince Daemon,” Lord Royce choked out. “I sincerely apologize for my daughter.”

Daemon waved his hand as though dismissing Lord Royce’s concerns. “I am most happy to help with the training of the men and the patrols, and having a dragon means that I can travel with far more ease than others. No doubt I shall spend some time at the capital or even patrolling and easing my boredom through burning a few mountain clans, but I have promised her that I will not interfere with Runestone.”  Daemon had a far more important task than running  a small castle on the arse end of Westeros.

“I can only hope the prince’s word is worth more than yours, Father.” 

Daemon’s future wife was a harridan. It was amusing when that tongue was not aimed at him.

“Daughter,” Lord Royce said in a chiding tone. “When the queen of the realm asks for a match, none of us have a choice.”

“He is right about that,” Daemon said, and Lord Royce looked relieved that he had not offended by suggesting that Queen Alysanne was a pushy, arrogant termagant who refused to allow anyone to disagree with her.  Daemon was prepared for Rhea as a wife because he had grown up with Queen Alysanne. Rhea only aspired to be as arrogant and uncompromising as her.

Still, insulting her father and the head of her household in front of all the servants and her future husband was making a good start if she hoped to usurp the Good Queen’s throne of arrogance. Daemon would have to convince her that any arguments needed to take place behind closed doors because he would not want to cast himself in the role Lord Royce was playing right now.

“So Lord Royce, does your family have stories of magic in your blood?” Daemon asked before Rhea’s words grew sharper. 

Lord Royce’s gaze travelled the courtyard as if he was judging the foolishness of speaking about magic in front of servants. Daemon considered assuring him that it was far less dangerous to offend servants than it was to refuse to answer a prince of the blood. Luckily, Yorbert spoke before Daemon had to say as much.

“The Royces were once known for greenseeing, much like the Reeds still are today,” Lord Royce said. “Warging and skinchanging is a skill more commonly associated with the Starks, the Karstarks, and the Umbers. The Boltons are also known for greenseeing, and many other families have intermarried so often that it is difficult to say with any certainty where the magical lines lay. We are not like Targaryens to keep the magic pure.”

Daemon would have to lay down rules for his children and grandchildren so they did not match with First Men so often that they lost the connection to dragons.  The Strong boys proved that half Targaryen, half First Men created powerful dragon riders, but he did not want his children diluting their dragon riding in favor of other magical talents.

Daemon told Lord Royce, “I told my grandmother I was happy to have a marriage that would maintain the magic in the blood for my children. The magic of the First Men is admirable.”

Lord Royce opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. They were surrounded by Andals with their love of their neutered gods with their moralistic rules, and clearly he did not want to embrace his blood if it put him at odds with them.

“We should talk,” Rhea said.

Lord Royce took a deep breath and focused on his daughter. “When you first came, I believe I did say we should talk in private.” He sounded unhappy. “I do not want to chastise you in front of others.”

“Chastise? For what reason? You are the one who has broken your vow to me.”

“And you came up here with a man, unchaperoned. Why do you not have a knight to ensure your honor is protected?”

She gave her father an incredulous look. “If being alone with one man endangers my reputation, how would it be better if I were alone with two? Besides, Prince Daemon is to be my husband.”

“Then you should have brought a maid!” Lord Royce shouted.

Daemon interrupted. “My saddle my can accommodate two, not three.  And I offered to bring the Lady Rhea up here so she could discuss the betrothal with you. We were both caught off guard with the speed at which it was arranged.”

“He flew straight to Runestone to introduce himself once he learned of the betrothal, but I should not have learned of it from him.” Rhea walked forward, her back stiff with anger.

This conversation was leaving the realm of amusing and starting to become tedious. “Lord Royce, Lady Rhea,” Daemon said in his most polite voice, the one he would use when he wanted something from his grandmother. “I had hoped to find an appropriate nesting spot for Caraxes within the Mountains of the Moon, so I must leave.” 

And perhaps he could travel north to speak to Stark. However, Daemon did not mention that part. Maybe Rhea would be his family one day, but right now she was simply the moderately unattractive woman that he was going to be forced to marry to ensure that he had strong children.

“Do you plan to leave me here?” she demanded.

“Yes, he will leave you here,” Lord Royce said loudly. “You will return to Runestone with an appropriate escort.”

“That will take too long. I much prefer riding on dragonback,” Rhea said.

That was a sentiment Daemon appreciated.  Perhaps having a plainspoken wife could be a good thing.  Daemon had seen more than his share of conversations between himself and Rheanyra, and they always seem to talk around each other, their aggravation expressed in riddles and poorly hidden insults. At least with Rhea he knew what she wanted.

“You will not use the prince like a carriage service, and you will not be alone with him until you are wed.”

“We cannot be inappropriate upon a dragon, Father.  This is unnecessary.”

Lord Royce sighed before turning to face Daemon. “My prince, I do not wish to cast aspersions on your reputation, but it would be inappropriate for you and my daughter to ride alone. I shall ensure her return to Runestone and escort her to King’s Landing for your wedding.”

Daemon looked at Rhea. He’d seen how Rhaenyra and Laena liked to have people speak for them, so he waited to see what she would say.

“Rhea,” her father said, his voice low.

She rolled her eyes before turning to face Daemon.  “Thank you, Prince Daemon, both for coming to tell me of the betrothal the day you learned of it and for offering to fly me here.  Your Caraxes is an amazing… dragon.”  She had almost said ‘beast,’ but at least she stopped herself in time. Daemon rewarded her with a smile. He would need to reward her for bending to his needs because he could not demand her obedience. He’d tried that in the dream, and it had not ended well for either of them.

Lord Royce said in an earnest tone, “Prince Daemon, thank you for escorting my daughter, and I am beyond pleased to welcome you to the family.”

Daemon nodded his head. “I look forward to making the Vale my home, and I hope to strengthen Runestone.”  In fact, he hoped to strengthen it until it could stand up against the power of the Iron Throne, no matter which of Viserys’ idiot children sat on it.

Aegon had been worse by far, but Rhaenyra had mishandled everything from the dragons to the taxes to the loyalty of her people. Aegon had the excuse of rampant drunkenness, but her selfishness came without need for an excess of wine. Daemon would no longer tie himself to Viserys’ issue.  He would protect Rhaenyra, but he would not fight for her, and he would keep his children safe from her.

And she would be more likely to earn the loyalty of the great lords if she didn’t have him at her side.

A little boy on blood-stained sheets.

Daemon climbed back into the saddle and called, “Soves, Caraxes!”  Caraxes launched into the air, leaving the Eyrie behind within minutes.  In his dream, he had seen where Nettles had ended with Sheepstealer, one of the few dragons to survive the Dance.  She had been so afraid of being executed that she had lived the rest of her life in a cobbled together cabin on the edge of a crater that dominated the top of a volcano where Sheepstealer dug a nest.  The deep pit in the center was kept hot by steam vents that meant that the top of the volcano stayed warm, even in winter when mist encompassed the whole mountain.

Because the mountain was so steep that only goats ventured near the top, Nettles had been safe from the Mountain Clans, but for all her life, she had lived alone for the sin of loving Daemon, not as a lover as Rhaenyra suspected, but as a potential father.  Of course Daemon had not been sure she came from him, but her mother had been a purple-eyed whore, and Daemon had a preference for Valyrian features. When she had been born, Daemon, Viserys, and the Celtigars were the only possible fathers if Nettle’s mother had told the truth that someone with Targaryen features had fathered her.

He wanted to believe he had a daughter of his blood flying at his side, especially when he faced death in his attempt to defend Rhaenyra’s claim. While the dream had denied him the emotions attached to the life he hadn’t lived, he knew how he felt because he still felt it.  It wanted sons and daughters to fight next to him. He wanted a family that would stand together instead of tearing itself apart.

And instead he had died a kinslayer twice over and Nettles had lived on a lonely mountaintop with Sheepstealer her only companion.  

Daemon guided Caraxes to the general area before he gave Caraxes freedom to choose their direction.  Left on their own, dragons would find volcanic nesting grounds, which was no doubt how Nettles had found her sanctuary.  At first, Caraxes flew in random directions, his attention on the ground below as he spotted prey on the hoof.  But the second Caraxes noticed the volcano, Daemon felt the determination as Caraxes raced toward their destination.

They found it in minutes. Steam rose from the crater, and the faint scent of sulfur drifted through the air. The cavern at the center led deep into the heart of the volcano, and Caraxes wanted to dig a nest without wait.

“Soon,” Daemon promised Caraxes.  He jumped from the saddle and walked the shallow slope of the outer crater.  Lush grass filled the space, tangling around Daemon’s ankles as he walked. The land lacked the many bushes he’d seen in the dream, so Nettles must have brought seeds up here. Either that or she had eaten berries and her shit pile had given rise to bushes.  Even now in summer, they were high enough up in the mountains they should have been cold, but the rim of the volcano rose all around them, protecting the area from mountain winds, and the volcano provided enough heat to make Daemon sweat.

He shrugged out of his jacket and walked toward the rim of the crater.  Caraxes crawled on the ground beside him, whistling when Daemon climbed to the top edge.  The moment he stood above the rim, the breeze cooled him. Around him, the ghosts of mountains surrounded them, clouds and mist blurring their forms. 

“We’ll have to bring building materials up here,” Daemon told Caraxes. He didn’t want to use his dragon as a beast of burden, but he needed to build something more sturdy and more hidden than Nettles’ cabin. There were many places where the stone of the mountain was exposed, and buildings tucked close and disguised with stone facades would be invisible to a passing dragon.

This would be the final fallback position if the war went badly.  He knew from the dream there were two more volcanoes nearby that would make excellent nesting spots, so he could separate out the wild dragons. That way this place would be for his dragon-riding children. If the worst came again and the dragonseeds claimed Silverwing and Vermithor and Aemond flew Vhagar while his children had only young dragons, he would hide his family here.

If Rhaenyra had to lose the war for Daemon to protect the dragons, he would mourn her.  He would burn the world to protect her if he could, but he could not allow dragons to burn. He would not allow his children to burn.

If Aegon won, he would marry his children to the Westerlands. He would bring Hightower hatred for magic into the Targaryen line, and then it would only be time until they lost dragons. Daemon would teach his children and grandchildren to bide their time. Once the Hightowers lost their dragons, then Daemon’s family would bring fire and blood. If Daemon could not save Rhanerya, he would avenge her.

But dragons would not fly against dragons. Dragons would not burn. Dragons would not die. And Daemon would not be a kinslayer.

A little boy on blood-stained sheets.