green queen, black ace | daemon, rhaenyra and vaegon

i. before

AS A LITTLE GIRL of five namedays, young Ceryse Hightower declared her intentions to become a Princess before her family at dinner.

It was a bold proclamation for a child of her birth, the second daughter of a second son; her cousins had laughed at her and her brothers rolled their eyes. But it was something that she only drew more adamant about over the course of the next year.

After all, it was that year that the court visited Oldtown for a tourney; it was a great honour bestowed upon her house for her father's steadfast dedication to King Jaehaerys and King Viserys.

It was in that tourney that Ceryse first saw Prince Daemon Targaryen. He was barely a man, freshly turned ten and seven, though had infamously been so reluctantly wed the year prior.

That didn't stop the young girl from gazing admiringly at the knight with the shining hair and fearsome healm, whose beauty was otherworldly in a way that no other Westerosi family was capable of.

On the second day of the tourney, it had been all too easy to sneak away from her strict Septa.

Ceryse knew that the action she was about to take was not proper, but nor was sneaking away so she supposed she was already in trouble as it was.

Darting past all the knights readying themselves was similarly simple, given that she was not even as tall as their hips.

It took but moments before she arrived at the tallest tent, unmistakably coloured with red striped with black.

Ceryse shuffled her feet, took in a deep gulp of air, and knocked.

"I told you to leave me the fuck alone, little Lord Strong. If you've come back to drop my helmet again I swear to Arrax-,"

"Daemon!" A woman's voice reprimanded.

Ceryse was immediately filled with shame. Was it his wife? But her father said they hated one another!

The tent flaps parted, and it was not Rhea Royce who stood before little Ceryse but a woman unmistakably Targaryen.

Her expression was warm as she regarded her. "Is everything alright, little one?"

Ceryse's face reddened. She had hoped that there would be no one else here.

"I," the little girl began, fisting her hand into her pocket clumsily, wiggling it about for a few moments before producing a small piece of cloth. "I wanted to give this to Prince Daemon. To bring him luck."

As if summoned, the tent flaps rippled once more. The unnaturally beautiful boy popped his head around it, looking down at Ceryse with distaste.

"A Hightower cu-,"

"Daemon," the woman hissed again. No, not just any woman: Queen Aemma.

The Queen squatted down to her knees carefully, the Prince moving to hover worriedly behind her.

It was only then that Ceryse saw her protruding belly, round like her Aunt Malora's had been before she'd given birth to Manfred.

Queen Aemma placed her palm upwards in front of Ceryse.

Reluctantly, as she'd wanted to give it to Prince Daemon directly, Ceryse handed it over.

The youngest Hightower girl saw the Queen's lips twitch as she opened the cloth out - and the girl's face burned scarlet again.

When Alicent had seen it, she'd been convinced the creature was a boar. Ceryse, of course, had quickly corrected her that it was in fact a dragon - and a very fearsome one at that.