Chapter Text
“Please Daemon,” Viserys said beseechingly, his violet eyes gleaming in the flickering flame he held to shed light on the secret passages of the keep, his other hand grasping tightly to Daemon’s shoulder. “Brother they’ll die out there without you, you know of the savagery that lurks in those mountains.”
“Fuck Viserys!” Daemon spat, his eyebrows knitted together in frustration. “I have just been knighted, grandfather himself gifted me Dark Sister not three moons ago and you’d have me desert King’s Landing!”
“I know what I ask of you brother,” Viserys replied, his voice heavy with guilt. “Grandfather will not live forever, do this for me…and I will grant you whatever you wish when I am king.”
Daemon’s jaw flexed, hard knuckles echoing through the passageway as his hand met the stone wall beside him in his rage. How dare his brother ask him this? He was a prince just shy of ten and seven, recently knighted, his entire life before him, and his brother would have him play the role of sworn shield to his bastard child and mistress in the fucking Vale of all places?…
His brother had made him an enticing offer though to be sure, it was true that King Jaehaerys grew withered, it would not be long before their grandfather passed and Viserys was named king. The future Lord of the Seven Kingdoms offering you whatever you wanted? The mercurial prince was opportunistic at heart, he wouldn’t be giving up such an offer.
“Very well,” Daemon growled, shoving Viserys hand off of his shoulder. “I’ll go with them, protect them, you have my word if I have yours brother.”
“Anything you wish Daemon,” Viserys said solemnly, violet meeting violet. “You have my word.”
Daemon refused to leave Caraxes behind and he had grit his teeth at the way Aemma bitched and complained about it, she had always been uncomfortable with dragons and was downright terrified of flying on one. That’s how he had ended up with the Rhaenyra sized bundle in his arms, Aemma being too afraid she wouldn’t have the strength to both grip onto Daemon and hold Rhaenyra safely. He had suppressed a snarl when he went to take Rhaenyra into his arms and Aemma smiled sheepishly when she thanked him.
He had always rather loathed children, they made a dreadful noise and had a tendency to stink, but looking down into Rhaenyra’s big lilac eyes as she gazed at him with curiosity, he couldn’t help the small tendril of warmth that bloomed in his chest. She was rather pretty he supposed, as far as infants went, with her chubby cheeks the colour of marble and head full of thick silver hair. She may not be a Targaryen by name, but his blood ran through her veins, she would always be his family.
The gods certainly had a funny sense of humour.
By order of King Jaehaerys they were to be secluded to Runestone under the protection and care of House Royce. Daemon had scoffed at “protection” and snorted quite unattractively at “care” but had kept to his word, agreeing to stay in the castle. Aemma had begrudgingly relented that travel by dragon was the far more practical approach to the Vale, seeing the harsh mountainous landscapes from atop Caraxes.
The flight had been uncomfortable but they had arrived that same evening. Yorbert Royce, The Lord of Runestone, had met them as they landed just outside the castle walls. Daemon thought the old man may clutch at his chest and die at the sight of the Blood Wyrm and was mildly disappointed when he did not, he could of done with a good laugh after such a dull journey.
“Prince Daemon,” Yorbert called, his eyes still gazing in wonder at Caraxes. “A truly magnificent beast.”
“He is no beast,” Daemon replied quite coldly, dismounting and passing Rhaenyra gently back to her mother after helping her safely to her feet. “This is Caraxes, who might you be?”
“I am the Lord of Runestone,” Yorbert replied, hobbling over to shake Daemon’s hand. “And I meant no offence my prince.”
“But of course,” Daemon responded faux cordially, gripping the man’s hand a little more tightly than he knew would be comfortable. “You can make it up to us by feeding him your fattest ugliest sheep, granted she isn’t married already of course.”
Yorbert had looked particularly red as he lead them into the castle and Aemma had barely contained her giggles at the facial expressions flittering over the prince’s face as he took in the Vale. It was clear to see that Valemen were not to his liking, and that the castle was even less so. Rhaenyra had begun to fuss and she had excused herself, requesting to be guided to her chambers, giggles finally breaking free as Daemon continued making colourful and distinctly unflattering comments about whatever had the misfortune of catching his eye.
As the years went on Daemon made frequent trips to the port-city of Gulltown, frequenting brothels and making himself well known for gambling and drinking as well, quickly earning himself the title of “Rogue from the Red Keep” - a title he was rather flattered by. He would be back each day however to spend time with Rhaenyra, a fact Aemma tried not to dwell on, it pained her to think of Viserys and how he would not be able to see his daughter grow up.
And grow she did, lovelier with each passing moon as Daemon told her often, it never failed to make her blush. Aemma was fascinated by the way Daemon treated Rhaenyra, it was clear she was his favourite person despite her mere seven years at this point, what was less surprising to Aemma however, was that Daemon was Rhaenyra’s favourite person in turn.
How could she be surprised?
She had spent years watching Daemon spoil her, lavishing her with exotic jewels, often sneaking her sweet treats before dinner, beguiling her with tales of Old Valyria as she sat upon his lap. More than once Aemma had even spied on them, watching Daemon gently twist Rhaenyra’s hair into beautifully intricate braids as she spoke excitedly to him in the High Valyrian he had taught her, childish prattle about something she had read or seen that day, but the Rogue from the Red Keep always sat silently, a contented smile on his face as he listened.
By the time Rhaenyra was five and ten she had convinced Daemon to take her into Gulltown with him, they had argued over it, he had lost. He never was any good at denying her. After that first trip he couldn’t help but want to take her with him every time he went, enchanted by the way she lit up seeing the busy streets and delighted in the festivities of the city, often joining in as the commoners danced and sang, filling the cold night with warmth…
Then afterwards she would skip, hand in hand with Daemon into the darkest, ugliest taverns without a moments hesitation, ignoring the eyes that followed her as she pressed her lovely body against his. Soon enough every time he went she would accompany him, giggling at the glares he would give her as she stole sips of his wine, sat comfortably upon his lap, her head resting on his shoulder, a strong steadying hand on her hip.
On one of those very nights, Daemon had been particularly heavy handed with the Dornish wine, Rhaenyra had been softly stroking his hair as she gazed at him adoringly and something in him had just snapped. A calloused hand gripping firmly at her neck before his lips descended onto hers, a muffled squeak that had quickly turned into a moan leaving her, the hand that had been stroking through his hair gently turning into a tight fist as she pulled him more firmly against her mouth.
It wasn’t long before Aemma heard news of her daughter earning her own title in Gulltown…
“The Rogue’s Delight.”