The Maddest Obsession → aemond targaryen, hotd

Chapter 1: Shadows of Legacy

AN:
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Born and raised amidst love and protection from everyone around him, Daervon Targaryen looks smaller than his age suggests. His dark hair frames a face with a fairly light complexion, accented by shining dark lilac eyes that seem to hold secrets beyond his years. His oval face, long lashes, thin nose, and strong bone structure are reminiscent of his Targaryen heritage, but it's his spirit that truly sets him apart.

From the moment Lady Leana lays eyes on the babe in her husband's arms, she makes a silent vow to raise him as her own. She pours endless love and affection onto him, shielding him from the absence of his late mother and ensuring he never feels the void in his life.

Daemon, the Rogue Prince, loves his son fiercely, seeing in him the heir to his legacy. Yet, as Daervon grows, his mischievous acts become harder to overlook. The boy shows signs of the scandalous behavior of his father's youth, his sharp wit matched only by his lack of interest in the martial pursuits that his father values most.

At the age of five, Daervon fluently speaks High Valyrian, a testament to his intellect and early aptitude for learning. But it's his unyielding belief in peace and harmony, coupled with his disinterest in battle, that often disappoints his father.

Despite being legitimized before the king as a true-born Targaryen, whispers of Daervon being a bastard haunt him, serving as a constant reminder of his lineage and the stigma attached to it.

It has been ten years since Rhaenyra's and Laenor's wedding, and ten years since Laena and Daemon reside in Pentos, accompanied by their ten-year-old son, Daervon, and their seven-year-old twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena.

In the opulent surroundings of the dining hall, Lady Leana sits, her heavily pregnant form a picture of serene elegance. Her gaze drifts out over the valley below, a peaceful expression gracing her features until interrupted by the entrance of her son.

"Mother," Daervon's voice is soft as he takes his seat at the table, his movements betraying a weariness beyond his years.

"It's good you're up early. Your father wants you in full dress for the training yard," Lady Leana greets him warmly, her eyes filled with concern.

Daervon's shoulders slump at the mention of training, a longing for solitude evident in his dedemeanour. "Wonderful."

Sensing her son's unease, Lady Leana pours him a glass of water, her touch gentle as she offers it to him. "Something bothering you?"

"Baela hates me. She thinks I stole you from her, which is a true accusation," Daervon admits, his voice tinged with sadness.

"Come here, my sweet boy," Lady Leana beckons, setting aside her cutlery to envelop him in a comforting embrace. "She is young, and tempers flare easily. You both are. And we all say things we do not mean when we're angry. They're just angry words with no meaning."

"But her words are true. I am a bastard and I have no mother."

"You're a Targaryen, and I am your mother. Am I not?"

"You are," Deavon states and looks up with his adorable dark lilac eyes. "Would you love me less when the babe comes out?

"Never," Lady Leana pokes on his nose with an amused smile. "You are my sweet boy, now and always."