𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐃 | alicent hightower

𝐢. we remember

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The day Maellara Targaryen watched her father kill her mother was the first time she was introduced to the cruelty of men. 

She was six and ten years of age and had never once been introduced to her father but she knew him from the silver hair that seemed to stick to his face as her mother's blood stained his ivory skin. Maellara knew of the Silver haired folk only as demons as a child, the villains of the stories her mother would tell. But as she grew, she saw the same ivory skin and violet eyes she saw on the killer reflected back in her mirror.

Was she a monster or was she herself?

"Who are you?" The man and murder who was her father stated more than asked, finally catching sight of the small figure on the rocks above him, watching like an angel of death in the body of a teenage girl. 

"Maellara Targaryen." She replied without another thought, watching the mans violet eyes flash in something between irritation and realisation. After a moment of silence, she spoke again, unable to look at the sight of her mother's mangled skull and the rock dripping crimson in her father's hand. "You're Daemon Targaryen."

"I am." He muttered, tossing the rock to the side and taking some satisfaction in the way Maellara flinched at that. "I suppose I am your father."

"Who else would be?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you had answered anyone else." Daemon scoffed, taking note of the violet eyes that stared back at him. He could not declare her a bastard. She looked far too much like him for her own good. Maellara stiffened at that.

"Must you call my mother a whore as her blood still stains your skin?" She spat and Daemon huffed in amusement.

"Would your like yours to stain my skin as well?" He shot back, noticing how her eyes widened. "For I cannot say it would not provide me a far easier escape from this situation."

"The same could be said for me." Maellara said, ignoring the sharp pain of hurt that seemed to press on her abdomen at his statement. "For I do not ride a horse like my mother, it seems I take after you in that respect."

Daemon cocked his head in confusion but with a brief gesture to the field beside them and a few steps to the left, the Rogue Prince's eyes fell on a emerald scaled dragon peering at the two from its place curled on the grass. It was no surprise Daemon had not seen it. It seemed to blend in with the fields.

But it was waiting, he could see that in its piercing yellow eyes.

"It seems you do." Daemon hummed as he turned back to the girl on the rock, taking in her charcoal black hair and violet eyes as he attempted to figure out the best way to deal with this situation. "Why are you not crying?"

"Should I be?"

"You have just watched your mother's skull be crushed at the hand of the father you have never known and you did nothing to stop it." Daemon stated, crossing his arms as both their cloaks flowed back and forth in the wind. "Was she so bad a mother?"

"She was a wonderful mother." Maellara bit back. "In fact, she was wonderful enough to teach me to pick my battles. She would be so terribly disappointed to learn I died in some foolish act of martyrdom when I could kill you myself. I cannot do that with tears in my eyes."

Daemon laughed at that.

"Why haven't you killed me yet then, ōtor riña?" Daemon mocked her, spitting out the insult with a grin on his face. "Are you afraid?" ( sheep girl )