After enduring a loveless marriage for many years, the Rogue Prince was believed to be incapable of fathering a child with his Bronze Bitch. However, a miraculous event shatters this notion with the birth of Vhaela Targaryen. Raised in the confines...
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Chapter Fifty-Five: Nothing Can Prepare You for Daughters
Daemon Targaryen
The stone-grey halls of Dragonstone have become even duller than usual. Despite the cold exterior, it was once a place filled with happiness and joy. But ever since the Hightower cunts decided to overthrow Rhaenyra everything seemed void of joy.
First, it was having to listen to hear of my brother's death at the hands of his own wife. The Hightower bitch surely smothered him in his sleep. Her father's ambition drives them to put her own son on the throne.
A young boy unseasoned in battle, a true green boy. Who is a whore that held little interest in being king. He would never be able to keep the throne that his mother worked so hard to give him. Even with his grandfather controlling his every movement.
It would be little challenge to overtake them.
But what enraged me was having to hear that Vhaela was still in their grasp. She had told me she was headed back to Runestone. I should have known better. Her defiance rivaled that of my own which was impressive in its own right.
I suspected she had stayed to see the newly appointed pretender queen. Then got caught up in their ambitious acts of treason. For Rhaenys had seen her at the crowning of Aegon. Standing beside the traitors.
Then Rhaenyra going into her labors early, ending in the death of our daughter. Our Visenya. Our daughter who never took a breath of life. Who was cursed with scales on her body and malformed features.
But despite everything that has occurred over the course of several days. Nothing prepared me for the news I would have to be delivering to my wife. To my wife who just lost our child. Only for her to lose another one so soon.
My feet pound against the floor as I make my way to the council room. A frown disperses on my face at the sight of Rhaenyra strategizing with the other lords. The bright glow of the candles emits the only source of light through the table of Westeros.
As my feet reluctantly carry me over to the other side of the table the nearby guards and lords give a soft bow as I pass. I feel my head lower as I try to prepare myself to inform her of this news. I watch as her attention shifts to me.
She grants me a soft smile as I move closer to her. But the look on my face is telling as I see her smile drop. My hand raises slowly before moving it to grab one of her own. I then lead her away from the lords and closer to the roaring fire.
With our fingers entwined together, I begin to gently say, "I have received a letter from Storm's End. It contains reports of... of Arrax's wings being washed up on their shore."
I feel Rhaenyra's hand go slack in my own, but I finish off, "There were reports of flames in the sky... and there has been no sign of Lucerys."
Rhaenyra slowly drops her hand from my hold and clutches it to her side. She moves absentmindedly toward the flames before stumbling in shock. I follow her with slow steps, careful to keep my distance. Rhaenyra moves one hand to clutch her stomach.
