Claiming the Dragon

Iron and Shadow

"One more push!" the midwife urged excitedly, breathing in Rhaenyra's ear in a way that made her want to throttle the woman. Covered in sweat and blood and tears, the princess bore down once more with all her might. She gripped Daemon's white knuckles, screaming and straining with effort, until searing pain and relief mingled into one overwhelming sensation. The room went silent, sickeningly so; the only sound was Rhaenyra falling forward, trying desperately to catch her breath. Every soul in the castle knew that a birthing chamber should never be silent.

"What is it, what's happening?" Daemon asked, his voice thick with concern. Panic set in as Rhaenyra realized Daemon sounded completely distraught. Her heartbeat pounded in her skull, and she grew lightheaded as she quickly sat up.

Something was wrong, very wrong. The nursemaids were panicking about, talking in frenzied whispers. A moment passed, turning into three, then five excruciating minutes. Rhaenyra watched in disbelieving horror: no matter how they tried, the babe would not cry, would not breathe. Eventually, they passed the child to her hysterical mother, and she clung desperately to the purple-faced babe, who, aside from her skin, looked as if she were merely sleeping. Remembering her mother's many instructions, Rhaenyra sucked on the babe's nose to remove any mucus, before blowing in her tiny mouth. Rhaenyra prayed as she clutched the bundle against her breast, promising anything to the Gods in return for her child's life, but still the tiny princess did not wake. Minutes, or hours later, one of the nursemaids wrestled and pried the infant from Rhaenyra's reluctant, frantic clutches, as a harsh sob wrenched itself from her chest.

"I'm— I'm so sorry my princess," Maester Mellos continued to speak, on and on he talked; the nursemaids continued to bustle about, removing linens, and cleaning the mess, but Rhaenyra heard nothing. The world had gone cold, silent, lifeless... The aching emptiness in her womb was nothing compared to the gaping hole rapidly consuming her heart.

"Perhaps it was for the best..." the queen offered softly, her voice stabbing through the dark void that was filling Rhaenyra's entire being. How long had she been standing in the doorway?

"What?" Rhaenyra gasped, blinking away the tears in her eyes as Alicent's cruel words sank in. The queen offered a sad, apologetic look and stepped closer.

"Well, perhaps the Gods saw fit to—"

"Get out," Daemon seethed, taking a threatening step toward Alicent a his hand reached for the pommel of his sword. His voice was venomous, deadly, "Get the fuck out! I don't care if you are the queen, I will cut you to fucking pieces if you utter another word." The queen's eyes widened in fear, and she retreated fractionally.

"Get out, you hateful cunt!" Rhaenyra cried, reaching for the nearest item, a water bowl, and threw it in Alicent's direction. The queen retreated as Rhaenyra fell over in the bed and screamed desperately into the sheets. She screamed over and over, filling the mattress with her anger and sorrow and emptiness. She screamed until her lungs ached and her throat began to sear. Then a pair of strong hands pulled her up and into his arms, attempting to console her.

"No, let me go! Let me go, Daemon!" she begged, fighting against him. Tears streamed down her face; her chest aching so deeply she could scarcely breath. He took hold of her tightly, gripping her face in his hands and gently shaking her.

"Look at me. Look at me, little dragon." Her eyes finally found his through the haze. "It's going to be okay, Rhaenyra," he choked out, voice heavy with anguish, and then he kissed her sweaty forehead and squeezed her to him as she broke down into inconsolable sobs once more.

The funeral was bleak; the morning had dawned dull and rainy, matching the feeling about the Red Keep. Rhaenyra was near comatose, unable to even utter the words to light the pyre as she stared blankly at the babe wrapped in cloth upon the wood pile. Eventually, it was her husband that forced out the command and Caraxes finally set the wooden heap ablaze.

The mist that swirled about them, the heat from pyre... Rhaenyra felt neither. She felt nothing, only dark, ceaseless emptiness. She took three shaky steps, stumbling blindly toward the flames, desperately praying for an afterlife, where she might gaze upon her child's face once more. Daemon caught her roughly around the waist and held her tight to his chest, as she fought to free herself, eager for the flames to consume her, the pair finally sinking to the damp ground in a heap of shared misery.

Long after the rest of the attendees had returned to the keep and the pile of wood and bones had turned to ash, Daemon and Rhaenyra remained there on the hillside, wrapped around one another...

For weeks after, Rhaenyra was silent, listless, diminished. The world around her was cloudy-grey, the fog of grief as thick as tar. Her once fiery luster had been reduced to black ash; a deep, unshakable cold seeping into her bones. Her mother had lost so many children, and yet, never said a word to the princess about the grief she might possibly endure. Rhaenyra had been completely and utterly unprepared.

Night after bleak, barren, night Rhaenyra sat in front of the fire, staring blankly into the flames, unable to feel the warmth it offered.

"We should return to Dragonstone," Daemon suggested one afternoon, nearly a month later, as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Or to Essos.... Anywhere but here." Rhaenyra sat on the edge of her bed; she had scarcely left it since the stillbirth. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, willing herself to be understanding; willing herself to feel anything other than numbness.

"You don't understand, Daemon." Rhaenyra breathed, "You didn't... Carry her... I— I just want to be here with my father, can't you understand that?" she pleaded. Her father had been her saving grace, spending nearly all his free time attempting to occupy her days, much to Daemon and the queen's dismay. Her father's presence had been the only thing keeping her from throwing herself from Maegor's holdfast.

"For what?" he demanded, stepping toward her, "I understand that you're mourning, but you don't sleep, you barely eat! I can't sit here and watch you waste away, Rhaenyra!"

"Go, then!" she yelled, shoving hard against his chest, anger rising like bile in her throat, poisoning her against him. "Go back to Dragonstone! Go back to your battles and your cups and your fucking whores and leave me be!" She turned away, biting the inside of her cheek until she could taste the metallic tinge of blood, refusing to let him see how his indignation wounded her. Refusing to let him see the tears that rolled down her cheeks. The silence between them was deafening.

"I don't want any of that, I just want my wife back!" he hissed, spinning her around to face him, gripping her shoulders. She longed to give him what he needed; she wanted to remember the wife she was before, but she couldn't. All she could feel was glacial despair. The princess shook her head, unable to muster a response, tears dripping down her chin and into the silk of her dress.

"Jurnegon rȳ nyke ." He shook her abruptly. " Jurnegon rȳ nyke Rhaenyra. Kesan daor urnēbagon ao morghūljagon gō ñuha laesi!" Look at me. Look at me Rhaenyra. I will not watch you die right in front of me! "Avy jorrāelan, gaomagon ao daor shifang? Avy jorrāelan, zaldrītsos." I love you, do you not understand? I love you, little dragon.

She had never doubted it, for Daemon had been kind and offered many sweet things to her since their binding, but for nearly four years, he had never uttered those three words. Rhaenyra blinked up at him; finally seeing him for the first time in weeks. The prince's hair was unkempt, his face unshaven; his eyes held a grief she hadn't noticed before. Beneath his eyes, dark circles had appeared, caused by sleep deprivation or stress, she wasn't sure which.

"Daemon?" It came out a dazed question, as though she had merely awakened from a bad dream. Rhaenyra wished it had all been a bad dream, for reality was far more horrific. Reality was barren and cold.

"I'm here," he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight, "I'm here, little dragon. Come back to me..." Rhaenyra scrunched her eyes tightly closed, pressing her face into Daemon's collar, inhaling his essence. She clung tightly to him, her nails digging into the skin beneath his shirt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered as he kissed her wet face. He ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the tears that lingered. "I'm so lost, Daemon..."

"I know, sweet niece," he pressed his lips to her forehead, "I know..."