The Rogue Daughter (House of the Dragon - Aemond Targaryen Story)

Prologue

Author Note ~ This work is inspired by George R.R. Martin's Fire and Blood and HBO's House of the Dragon. The world is captivating, expansive, and unforgiving. This story contains spoilers for the Dance of Dragons, but it will diverge in other, fiery directions.

~*~*~

Lady Rhea Royce was not just any bitch. She was the Bronze Bitch—the unenthusiastic wife of Prince Daemon Targaryen.

The marriage had been arranged by the Good Queen Alysanne and they'd been thrust together in 97 AC, much to both their displeasure.

Rhea was a Lady in title, but not in looks or manners. She wore leather breeches and sat astride her horse. Her hair was rarely braided, as it was curly and unruly, just as she was. Rhea was of the opinion that her husband's dislike for her began the moment he realized she could wield a blade and had little problem turning it on him if he so much as touched her without permission.

So, he did not touch her and that was an arrangement Rhea could live with. Runestone passed to her in 101 AC and her estranged husband only showed his face every once in a long while, bringing his red, flying snake with him when he did so.

Rhea was content as the head of House Royce and had the favor of Lady Jeyne Arryn of the Vale since her late father had nobly ruled as Jeyne's regent until she came of age. Her life was comfortable—full of hunts in the lush valleys and sailing competitions in the rocky sea that sat below her castle. She could have lived peacefully, succeeded her titles and lands to her sister's son upon her death, and let the Stranger take her when it was her time.

Unfortunately, her errant husband had once again been dismissed from the Small Council after his return from the Steppstones and sought fit to pay her a visit. To make matters worse, Rhea took pity on him and allowed him into her bed after a glass too many of wine.

He'd been drunk and rambling on about how his older brother had finally sired two sons, while he had nothing to show for his life but a royal title, a sword once wielded by Visenya, and a wooden crown gained in the Stepstones that he'd relinquished to his brother. Rhea had never been touched by a man, though she'd taken up with a few women to keep from growing lonely. In seeing her husband so disarmed, she'd become curious at what his attentions might feel like.

They'd felt nothing like the pains of birth. It hadn't been worth it. Daemon wasn't a man changed by their coupling and left on his beast, Caraxes, before she'd learned of her pregnancy.

Rhea, however, was irrevocably changed. Becoming a mother was much like becoming a wife—she did it unwillingly. She'd initially wanted to rid herself of the babe and told no one of her pregnancy in those early months until it became apparent that she couldn't stomach taking the herbs that promised to make her life as it once was.

It then became apparent to Rhea that her child would be born into danger. The Targaryens could not be trusted. Her husband could not be trusted. The child would be her heir—heir to House Royce. A child of the Vale.

In order to ensure sure that, Rhea did what was necessary. Servants were dismissed. Tongues were removed. Only a small circle of trusted family and advisors were made aware of Rhea's condition.

When a crying girl was handed to Rhea by the Maester of Runestone, she was initially relieved. A son would have been problematic. A son could have fallen in line for the throne assuming Daemon was willing to cut down those closer in the line of succession. A tuff of brown hair made Rhea weep with joy, but when the little babe opened her eyes, Rhea wept with mirth. There'd be no hiding the vibrant, violet shade passed down from her father.

It changed Rhea's plans.

Her husband's rotten, ruling family would come for her daughter eventually. Secrets could only be kept for so long. The Targaryens would rope her into a web of politics and incest, burning her alive with one of their dragons if she failed to cooperate. The Seven wouldn't save her and the Old Gods didn't care for those born south of Winterfell.

Rhea vowed that her daughter would never find herself in the den of dragons unprepared.

Her plans may have unfolded as she intended and under far less dire circumstances had her husband not returned to Runestone unannounced and with murderous intent.