"Do you know what makes Targaryens so dangerous?" Daena asked, taking a moment to stare around at the sept's interior.
The High Sparrow remained wordless.
She turned to him with that violent look in her eyes, "We have the Blood of the Dragon, fire r...
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Her clothes were still damp and salty but would dry quickly. And surely did by the time she had ascended the flights of stairs and narrow passages to the dragon skulls.
Jamie, having ensured her arrival, moved towards the doors to the Holdfast and took his post.
Aerys stood, hunched over and staring acutely at the skull of Balerion the Black Dread.
"Finally, I've been waiting for you," he said, though not his normal sneer.
Daena bowed lowly, "I apologize, father."
She still hadn't recovered from her time at the beach, lamenting Rhaegar's death.
The Mad King picked absentmindedly at a scab on his arm till he bled, "With your idiot brother dead. I am in need of a new heir."
Daena steeled her rage against her father's dismissal of Rhaegar's death, "By rights, Aegon is your heir," she said.
Aerys huffed, beginning to pick at another scab, "The Dornish half-breed? I think not. I think not!" He shouted.
Daena bowed her head again.
"You will be my heir, Daena," he said, ambling towards her.
Her head shot up, "But Viserys-"
"Is a child. I will not have a mere child as Prince of Dragonstone when our rule is challenged! I will not have it!" Aerys yelled, blood trickled down his arm.
"The lords will swear their loyalty tomorrow," he said, yelling for his Kingsguard, "Rhaella and Viserys will leave for Dragonstone in the morning."
Daena bowed her head again as her father left, hunched over and flanked by his Kingsguard, "The prince who was promised... Aegon's dream... A song of ice and fire," he muttered as he went.
Her eyes widened, following after her father's maddened form. She'd heard those words before, or more precisely read them. Rhaegar's a Valyrian steel dagger had those words forged into the blade itself.
She doubted she'd ever be able to forget the words on the steel, red hot and glowing as she had read them aloud, 'From my blood comes the Prince who was Promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.'
Rhaegar had told her of the prophecy just after Aegon was born, she remembered.
On Dragonstone... oh how long ago that seemed. When everything was much simpler than now, when Rhaegar was still alive and Lyanna Stark's name had never passed from his lips, before this damned rebellion, before Harrenhal, before Lucerys, and before the wood's witch at Summerhall.
The three heads of the dragon, she thought to herself, what three heads would that be now? She was the last survivor. And with the threat of Robert Baratheon looming ever closer, she doubted they had even had the prophecy right in the first place.
It wasn't clear then.
And it wasn't clear now.
Daena stayed for a while longer, staring at Balerion's great skull, the Conqueror's mount.
And she reflected on her life and her lineage.
Dreams had brought the Targaryens to these distant shores but dragons made them kings.
The hundreds of candles around the Dread's skull flickered ominously. Daena felt as if the greatest of their dragons was watching her, as if it were still alive.
She left shortly thereafter and climbed back up into the Keep to visit her mother.
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"Daena," her mother smiled sadly as she entered the room.
Rhaella had always been small of frame, but now her gowns seemed to swallow her up, more so in the past weeks. Red and black silks did little to hide the fresh bruises that littered the Queen's pale skin.
She hugged her mother who was still raw with grief, Daena only pulled away when she felt Rhaella wince.
"Did he visit you again?" The Rogue Princess asked.
The Queen pulled the neckline of her dress higher, "You shouldn't worry yourself over me."
Daena frowned and moved to stare out of one of the Queen's windows and out at Blackwater Bay, "I can't believe he's gone," she finally sighed.
Her mother sucked in a sharp breath behind her.
Daena turned around, her mother had tears in her eyes, "My sweet prince," she lamented softly.
The princess moved to comfort her mother, grasping her thin pale fingers between her own and kneeled beside her mother's chair.
A silence overcame the two Targaryen women. A grief only made palatable by simple company.
Rhaella began to weave her fingers through her daughter's unruly hair, braiding it anew. The princess' hair had always been a tangled knotted mess when she was younger because of her boisterousness.
Daena often thought of cutting it, she only hesitated because she knew how much her mother loved her long hair.
"Father wants to name me as his heir," Daena said suddenly.
Her mother's fingers paused their movement. She turned to see Rhaella's haunted face, "The Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the realm, Daena," the older woman whispered.
"I know."
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The Queen and Prince Viserys had left that morning for Dragonstone, the sea at ease. Daena had said her goodbyes on the docks and watched the ship fade onto the horizon.
Now she stood at the foot of the Iron Throne, her mad father lording above.
She was dressed in the finest damasks and silks emblazoned with the colors and symbols of House Targaryen.
The remaining lords loyal to the crown, who had not returned to gather their hosts, were assembled in the throne room. Ravens were to be sent to all the high lords following the ceremony as well.
Though Daena recognized what it would mean: A larger target on her back for more than just her House name now.
She had even pleaded with Aerys to forgo the ceremony completely but Varys had whispered in his ear and he desired to uphold tradition.
The Mad King stood from the throne and proclaimed, "I, Aerys Targaryen, the second of my name, King of the Andals, the Roynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm do hereby name Daena Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne."
Daena bowed to her father, the other lords of the court following suit. She locked eyes with Jamie as she stood and felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.
