dancing with our hands tied | r. targaryen

xx.

115 A.C.
KING'S LANDING
•••

RHAENYRA FOUND HER UNCLE IN THE GODSWOOD, STANDING BENEATH THE OAK TREE WITH HIS EYES SHUT AND HEAD TILTED BACK AS THOUGH SOAKING IN ALL IT HAD TO OFFER.

"You seemed so content on Dragonstone," Rhaenyra speaks in High Valyrian, "Why did you come back? There is surely more to your return than simply taunting my father."

Daemon's lips curl up in a smile, he notices that Rhaenyra still has the necklace that he gave her years ago and he reaches out, tracing his fingers over the Valyrian steel before looking up at his niece.

"So?" she asks, "What do you want?"

"Only the comforts of home," Daemon responds as he walks by her, heading over to the table with an assortment of food. Rhaenyra is confused by the answer, no, she is unsatisfied with the answer, as she follows her uncle.

"I had not thought you particularly comfortable in this home," Rhaenyra responds, "Though I do suppose you seem changed by your adventures." She looks at him, her eyes narrowing, "More mature perhaps."

"You've matured yourself these last four years, Princess," Daemon responds as he takes a drink of wine, "You'll get used to the attention."

"The attention I can endure. It's the rest I could do without. My father seems content to sell me off to whichever lord has the biggest castle."

Daemon shrugs, "There are worse things to be sold for."

Rhaenyra watches as Daemon takes a seat and kicks his feet up.

"Marriage is only a political arrangement," Daemon tells her in High Valyrian, "Once you are wed you can do as you like."

"For man marriage might be a political arrangement. For women it is like to be a death sentence," Rhaenyra points out. She knew that she'd never have the freedom and even if she did, someone somewhere would find a way to punish her.

"Would that it were, I would have been rid of my Bronze Bitch ages ago," Daemon holds his wine out to Rhaenyra, and she takes it.

"Your wife has been fortunate," Rhaenyra responds as she looks at the wine, "You haven't put a child in her."

Daemon laughs, "I doubt a child could grow in such hostile environs."

Rhaenyra laughs at the comment, but it quickly comes to an end. She knows her duty and she knows how it differs from her desire and needs. If she takes the throne she's going to have to sleep with her husband. She's going to have to produce heirs.

But she cannot forget what happened to her mother.

"My mother was made to produce heirs until it killed her," Rhaenyra shakes her head, "I won't subject myself to the same fate."

"What happened to your mother was a tragedy. But this is a tragic world. You cannot live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it," Daemon tells her, and weirdly enough it's the best advice that Rhaenyra's heard in a long time.

"I have no desire to live in fear," she tells him, "Only solitude."

"Such a lonely prospect," he responds in the common tongue as he sits up slightly, "I'm certain that there's someone for you."

Rhaenyra holds her uncle's gaze for a moment before looking away sheepishly. Daemon stares at her a moment longer before he looks away himself.

As night falls in the Keep, Alayne finds herself in the nursery with Helaena, lying on the floor with her niece as she rolled around. A smile crossed Alayne's lips as her niece went to grab her toes and she chuckles.