Chapter Text
The day she left him on that cold and quiet beach was the day his heart was ripped to shreds. The day any part of him that was kind, soft, good , was forever gone. His heart and anything good in it disappeared as easily as her ashes picked up and swept away from the cool summer breeze.
The sounds of her demand to her blasted dragon still rings in his ears. The way she wailed, begged with the last strength she had to be turned to ash by a conquers beast, it sent chills down his spine. And in those few seconds of shock he knows he could've joined her, been bathed in the flames alongside his darling siren.
And the way that blasted beast looks at him with a mournful cry, as if it didn't burn away the woman he loved, as if it didn't burn away its own rider. No, in that moment he knew that perhaps a human could kill a dragon, for he has never felt more rage in his life than when that beast cried for his darling siren.
Why didn't he just run to her? Held her as they took their final breaths together? He wonders this every second of every day, and without fail one of his darling girl's will waltz into the room as if their Mother had whispered in their ear to find me so she may play another one of her silly games.
He even expects to hear her quiet snorts as she tries to be quiet. She never could keep her laughter in though, could never shush or dim the joy that lived inside her. That radiated off her like rays of sunlight.
But he was always disappointed when he heard them say that his wife needed him. Not their Mother, no his wife. The one he took for greed and pride, not the woman he loved. No never her, and he must always be reminded of how she left him in one final act of independence and stubbornness.
Always my stubborn girl. He would muse before standing from his desk to find his wife.
As he walked the halls he would look for her, wait for her to jump out of a dark hall to scare him. Though she never truly did, but he would never damper that smile, not in his wildest dreams. Not when it made his heart clench in all the right ways, not when it made him know what love was truly supposed to feel like.
And he knew now, gods did he know. Loving her was like tasting the cool summers breeze everywhere you went. Loving her was like being able to breathe for the first time, taking gulping and greedy breaths to try and take the ache away. That burning searing pain that never seemed to leave, that seemed normal and almost comforting.
Loving her was like living in a dream, one that is perfect and kind. The ones that make you have a smile when you wake up, the kinds that make your cheeks burn with strain. The kind of dreams that leave you begging for this to be your reality. He never wanted to leave, he never wanted her to leave.
But in the end we all must wake up, we all must meet the world that is cruel and cold. But we can try to find those dreams again, but it won't be the same. Those smiles won't feel as warm, no they will feel cold and pinched. The laughter will feel forced while before it was as easy as breathing. It won't feel like you're falling and flying at the same time. No it only feels like a dagger has embedded itself into your heart, twisting with each kiss, plunging deeper with each thrust into a willing cunt that never feels quite right.
He's brought out of his thoughts by the sound of children laughing, children that don't look how they should. He forces himself to smile, one that for any child would be of pure joy but for any person well astute with expressions it would be clear he is far from happy.
Each step towards that door feels like another weight was being added to his feet. This isn't what he wanted to do today, no he wanted to sit by the waves like he always does at this time, but he's needed by his wife.
He cringe at the laughter, too quiet, too restrained. The kind of laughter that you know took years upon years to perfect. But because of that training, it is now soulless. It's these laughters that grate him the most, especially since his wife has been teaching and telling his daughters to reel in their laughter. The ones they inherited from their Mother, the last thing he can truly believe might be her.
The thought of their wild and free laughter slowly becoming soulless like his wife’s makes him want to scream. But instead he grits his teeth until his head pounds and the slight taste of copper fills his mouth.
“Ah, Daemon you've made it!” He hears his wife say.
Daemon turns to take her in, the woman he married for power, for pride, for greed .
Her dress is a deep crimson that hugs her curves in all the best ways, it has sharp rubies and obsidian sewn into the bodice giving a deadly look to her. The neckline is square yet cuts deep enough that he can't help but wonder what is holding her breast into the dress. There are frills around the neckline, more than likely trying to imitate fire. Her long silver gold hair is braided into tight crowns along her scalp.
Daemon can tell in an instant this look was set to make him desire her, to want her. But it doesn't, it takes every bit of strength he has to not berate her for dressing this way in front of their sons.
“Rhaenyra.” He responds as he watches their sons play with wooden horses.
Daemon loves them, gods does he love them, but each time he looks at them he can't help but think of how their names weren't supposed to be Aegon and Viserys. How their skin was supposed to be a warm toffee, not the milky white that graces their flesh. They should have wild curls that bounce with each step, not that sleek straight that graces almost every Targaryen.
“I'm thinking Aether and Vaegon. Honor both our houses with our future sons.” Daemon remembers his Darling Siren saying one night. He remembers the way her blly bulged slightly, a small yet obvious sign of a babe to grace them in the coming moons.
“And who says it will be a boy? It could be another girl, and if so what do you plan?” He responded with one of his smirks that always made her needy.
“Don't be ridiculous, I say so and as the Mother I'm always right…but if it were a girl. Alyssa, we'll name her Alyssa.”
He still feels that clench of love each time he thinks of that moment. How she wanted to honor his Mother, how she was so adamant on it being a boy, but there was a slight twinkle of hope in her eyes that told him all he needed to know. She wanted a girl, if only to honor his Mother.
“That girl…Nettles? She will be going to face Vhagar soon.” She says snapping me out of my thoughts. Snapping Daemon away from the one place he wanted to be.
Nettles, a girl of wild nature. Braver than she ever needed to be and far too stubborn for her own good. Claimed that beast Sheepstealer by slowly feeding him sheep. One in the morning, and one at night. And by some grace of the gods she could climb that wild beast after moons of hard work. But what makes his blood run cold is that Rhaenyra knows she's his lover and knows what she means to him.
She never had a problem with any of them before. Mysaria, Maids, gods even some of her ladies in waiting. But for some reason, Nettles is a problem. And there's only one clear reason, she reminds Daemon of her , of his Darling Siren, and Rhaenyra knows that.
“Is anyone going with her? Sheepstealer can't face Vhagar alone. Both the rider and dragon are too inexperienced.” He asks as little Aegon toddles over to him explaining Papa with each imbalanced step.
She turns to look up at him, a scowl crossing her features that reminds him so much of his brother. Same disapproving and disgusted look he always gave him before hiding it behind boisterous laughter that always seemed devoid of any real joy.
“No, Vhagar is old and slow, I'm sure the girl and that blasted beast will be perfectly fine.” She says with a tight-lipped smile, but her tone is clear. She knows Nettles will die, betting on it even.
“Then why am I needed?” Daemon asks, tone clipped as he bends down to pick up Aegon who continues to call for him and even starts pulling at Dark Sisters sheath.
“Just…warning you I suppose.” She says but it's clear she wanted to see what his reaction would be. And he played right into her hand.
“Is that all, Your Grace?” He asks, trying to fight every urge not to run after the girl. To not silt Rhaenyra’s throat for taking the only girl that ever got close to the way he felt with his Darling Siren. And even then it was a flicker to the flame that burned between them.
Rhaenyra doesn't answer, instead standing from her seat to move towards him. He sets Aegon back down knowing before his Mother makes it to them. And he's thankfully for it, for once she's standing in front of him she reaches up to run her hand along his scarred neck. The implication is clear, he isn't anything to her besides a way to have ture born children, and even then it is debatable.
No he is a warrior, a weapon to use when she sees fit, a soldier and nothing else. Her wild dog that is fed just enough to live, but not enough to not slaughter the first sheep it finds. But it is not sheep the dog desires, nor violence, no it craves salt and sea. It craves her , his Darling Siren.
“Yes I suppose you may.” She says letting her hand fall with a look of betrayal crossing her features.
He has to fight the sigh that rises in his throat when her touch leaves his skin. The way it felt wrong, too forced. Her touch burns, no comfort to be found in it.
Instead he nods and quickly turns on his heel, the grip on his blade loosening. He hadn't even realized he was holding it so tightly, though it explains the burn in his hand and the smell of copper following him with each step.
He doesn't know where he's going, only that he needs to move. That he needs to figure out where he went wrong in all this. Why he can't just let his Darling Siren go, why she must haunt his mind with every breath he takes. Why he must see her in the Nettles girl, why he must compare their wet and willing cunts each time he lay with the girl. It isn't fair to the girl, it isn't fair to his Darling Siren. But even so he still finds the need to pretend, pretend she is back in his arms, that she never left him in a burst of roaring flames.
He's brought out of his thoughts once more by the sound of clicking. The sounds of the only thing that calms his soul after she died.
“Caraxes.” He says moving towards the crimsoned scaled beast. A new confidence in each step, one he hasn't felt in a long time.
The beast let's out an affectionate huff softly blowing his hair over his shoulders. Daemon can't help but close his eyes at the warmth crossing over his flesh. The smell of sulfur and charred meat enveloping him.
He doesn't know what he said to his beast, nor when he climbed up his back. But what he does know, is when they took to the sky, the wind beating against him in a violent thrash, is that Nettles won't be fighting Aemond and Vhagar. Because Daemon knows he can't lose his Darling Siren again, even if he must pretend with another that it's her. He won't, he wouldn't make it, he hardly does now.
The thoughts of death are always a breath away, the thought of leaving this world and seeing her again so tempting he will often gravitate towards the balcony only to look down at the thrashing waves that abuse the sharp and deadly rocks below. But he is always interrupted before he can fulfill his plan, before he can finish the letter to his daughters. Because just as soon as he finishes the first one of them comes in, looking at him with such pain it makes him feel more guilty than he ever has before. They know what he was going to do, just like they did that night their Mother died and left him on that cold forgotten beach.
But this time, they won't be able to save him, they won't be able to guide him towards a seat. Won't be able to hold his hand and whisper about their Mother with him. They won't get to even have a letter saying goodbye.
And that makes him question his decision, if only for a moment. But then he hears the song, the soft hum that always put him to sleep so many years ago. He can even pretend to feel her fingers running through his hair like they used to. And for some reason he feels like it's her, like she's telling him it'll all be alright. That their girls will be safe, that he doesn't need to protect them anymore.
And after a decade he feels like he might be able to breathe again, if he just finishes this one final thing he'll be free of the chains tethering him to the place he never wanted to be.
Before he knows it he's being pelted by rain, the laughter of his nephew ringing in his ears. The sound of the beast that once tolerated him and adored Caraxes now trying to rip them apart. Though reluctantly. Both beasts fight with such ferocity that even if one were to prevail the other would soon die anyway.
There will be no winner in this fight, not for the dragons and not for my nephew. But I will at least finally get to see my Darling Siren again. Daemon thinks as Caraxes lets out a pained wail with Vhagar slashed her claws against his chest. The smell of hot burnt copper floods the air around us with each attack from the beasts.
It is when both beasts clamp down on the other's throat that Daemon stands from the saddle and stares his nephew down. Unsheathing Dark Sister, gripping the blade in his hands and jumps towards Prince Aemond.
A deadly smirk crosses his face as Aemond tries in his last moments to unlatch himself from the saddle. But it's futile, their end is now, along with two of the greatest war dragons in history.
The sound of bones crushing and skin ripping is sickening, and yet Daemon has never felt more at ease. Aemond is dead, there is no more threat to his sons, to his daughters. He has done what he needed to, he did what he always did even in his last moments. He protected his family, and he did it with a smile.
And so when his body hits the water, taking what air was in him away. Leaving him gasping and reaching for the surface, but it's worthless it was always going to be worthless. Because without her, he drowns. Without her, he can't breathe. Without her, he is broken.
So in his last moments he lets himself think of her, his sweet Darling Siren. With her songs that lure him to sleep, something that was rare to find after her. Her, with her delicate hands touching his tight scarred flesh and somehow making it seem relaxed, like the flesh was never burnt in the first place. He even can see her face as darkness takes him, as his lungs fill with the hot bloody water of the Gods Eye, hear her Siren song, feel her delicate hands.
So he lets go, knowing he got to see her one last time. And the world goes dark.
But instead of feeling nothing he hears the soft hum clearer. Feels the delicate hands scratching his scalp just like they used to. And the smell of citrus and jasmine fills his nose.
“About time you found me, My Dragon.” He hears her say and instantly opens his eyes to be met with the gorgeous ocean blues he's been looking for since she left him a decade ago.
And before he knows it he is saying her name, like it's a dream, like it's the only things he's wanted to say in his entire life. And he does so with a smile of pure unrestrained joy.
“Laena.”