Chapter Text
Ser Daemon Waters married Lady Alyssa Arryn of the Vale when he was one and three name days and she one and two name days. The King Aegon IV arranged their match. There were no eligible Targaryen females in the family for Daemon to marry besides Princess Daenerys. Daenerys and Daemon desperately wanted to marry. But, Daenerys had already been promised to Prince Maron Martell. So to Aegon IV, an Arryn with their blonde hair and blue eyes was the next best thing. Daemon at 13 was confused. He hated the very thing he was, a bastard child. But he also knew the implications and expectations. Why would a bastard boy have a noble marriage?
Daemon asked his father so. His father, deep in his cups roared with laughter, choking on his spit as he did so. “I am the fucking king, Daemon. When I told the Vale to do as I say, or else I would strip them of the Paramount title, they changed their tune real quick.” He looked over at Daemon, a smarmy smirk on his face, “After all, I couldn’t let my favorite son be married to some Andal or Dornish filth, now could I?”
Daemon cringed before he could stop himself, and yet, a part of him preened. He hated his father in some ways, but he couldn’t help but grasp onto him whenever he was called the king’s favorite son. Aegon did have many sons after all. And Daemon wasn’t a favorite person of anyone else. It felt special, to be his father’s favorite.
So with the King’s decree, the wedding was set. Prince Daeron, Daemon’s legitimate older brother raised his concerns very plainly. “They are young father. As young as your father was.”
King Aegon, a man who hated his bookish and kind first born son, rolled his eyes, “Who gives a fuck? You will not question your king.”
“Will the marriage be consummated immediately?” Daeron asked again a few days later.
“Of course it will, boy. Stop fucking bothering me, and bring me my real son.” Daeron left his father with a heavy frown sat on his face.
And so, the wedding to the child bride Lady Alyssa Arryn, and the child groom Ser Daemon Waters, was set for the summer of 184 AC. Their children, if there were any, would be legitimate Targaryens the king had said.
The months leading up the wedding were anxious and quiet. Daemon could often hear his brother Daeron and his good-sister, Myriah speaking behind closed doors in hushed voices.
One particular conversation he remembered for the rest of his days.
“He is far too young,” Daeron said quietly.
“Very much so. It makes me nauseous to think about it.” Myriah murmured back. “We would never allow such a terrible thing to be in Dorne.”
“I know, I know. I wish I could stop it.”
They were quiet and Daemon strained to hear, “Myriah, I know may be cold sometimes…to them. All of them. And a lot of it is my mother’s dignity I try and preserve. But Daemon is my brother, no matter his mother. And I wish there was something I could do to protect him from this.”
“He wants to marry Daenerys, you know.”
“I cannot allow it, Myriah. We cannot break a betrothal with your family, as much as my father would love to. And I will not have my sister marry a bastard son. As much as it pains me, Daemon will have to marry the poor Arryn girl.”
The wedding day of Daemon and Alyssa arrived in a heat filled haze of days. The Arryns had arrived at the Red Keep days ago, with glares at the entire royal family the entire time. They were bitter, bitter at being made laughing stocks with threats from their liege. And their young daughter married to a bastard. In short, the Arryns were humiliated.
Daemon had staunch seen his bride to be, but many called her a ‘blossoming beauty’ whatever that meant.
As his bride walked down the aisle, practically quivering in her heavy dress and maiden cloak (and she was quite pretty, he decided), he glanced over at Daeron and his family. The heir to the throne had a solemn, pinched frown on his face. His eldest son Prince Baelor, a boy of seven name days and a good friend of Daemon’s, looked even more saddened than his father.
Daemon turned away, away from it all, and locked eyes with his king, his father. The man had a large grin on his face, a flagger of wine in one hand. He lifted his glass in a mock toast as he locked eyes with Daemon. For some reason, the action made Daemon feel strange. Even disgusted.
Finally, he looked at his new bride, the Lady Alyssa Arryn. She was short and small, a girl of only one and two name days. Her blonde hair was done up in an elegant fashion, and her eyes were the color of cerulean blue. ‘A blossoming beauty’ the court had whispered. He could understand it now. She would grow to be a beautiful woman with sweet, heart shaped face and full, pouty lips. She even looked like a Targaryen in a way if you squinted. She could even pass for Daemon’s sweet Daenerys if he looked at her in a certain light. Daemon supposed he understood why his father had chosen from the Arryn stock instead of another noble family.
The child bride and child groom said the words as they must, with clammy, shaking hands and downcast, darting eyes.
When it was all over, a feast was held. “A toast, to my favorite son!” The King exclaimed drunkenly, “May you and your fuckable bride bring many more children to glorify house Targaryen.”
No one exactly raised their cup to that statement. The Arryns who’d been angry since they arrived, looked even more furious. “My daughter-“ the Lady Paramount started in anger. Her son, Lady Alyssa’s elder brother, sharply grabbed her wrist. The Lady Paramount acquiesced with a rough swallow.
Before the bedding came, Daeron pulled Daemon aside. “Brother,” Daeron said a little awkwardly, “Are you…”
Daemon frowned, “What?”
Daeron sighed, “Do you know what’s expected of you in your and Lady Alyssa’s chambers.”
If you had a father like theirs, you probably would never be innocent about the ways of sex again. So Daemon nodded slowly, “Yes, father has informed me.”
Daeron blinked, “Father?”
Daemon snatched his arm away, “Yes, our father. He took me to a brothel just a moon ago. I know what I’m doing Daeron.”
It seemed Daeron didn’t quite know what to do with that information, and he watched his young half-brother walk away. Faintly, Daeron realized he felt a strange sense of foreboding in his chest, in his stomach, throughout his whole body. What if Daeron thought, with no immediate thought following. What if indeed.
Daemon and his wife were not close. Most of it was due to a lingering childlike shyness, and the extremely poor and awkward intimacy between them. So when the Maester informed now ten and four Daemon that his ten and two year old bride was pregnant, he did not feel much. And then he felt everything. Guiltily, he did not feel many thoughts about Alyssa. He didn’t know anything about Alyssa besides the feel of her small body in the dark. No, he mostly felt the anxiety that one does of impending fatherhood.
“Are you…” he swallowed roughly, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, very sure, Ser. The Lady Alyssa is likely three moons now. It must have taken on your wedding night.”
Afterwards, Daemon went to find his wife.
“Are you well, My Lady?” Daemon asked her.
“I am, Ser,” Lady Alyssa smiled nervously.
“You are having my child now. You may as well call me Daemon.”
Alyssa laughed quietly, “Well then call me Alyssa. The ‘My Lady’ does get quite tiring.”
After that, Daemon started to make more of an effort with his wife. She was a quiet girl, sweet and a bit lovely. He learned she enjoyed riding horses, and reading books, and stealing lemon cakes from the kitchens in the Vale.
“Daemon,” she often said, “I know I’m not a particularly interesting girl. They often said so in the Vale. The only reason they liked me was because I was beautiful.”
And if that wasn’t a depressing statement, Daemon didn’t quite know what was. But Daemon, despite his love of the training yard, and tourneys, found himself liking his little wife. She was nothing like his willful Daenerys, but he still liked Alyssa.
He found the pregnancy looked odd on his little wife. Her belly swelled twice the size of her own, tiny frame, and her skin took on a placid, gray hue. She often looked exhausted and sad when Daemon came to visit her. Daemon liked to feel his child growing inside her, and talk to the little baby. But looking at his little wife made him feel sick. Sick at himself for doing this to her, and sick even at his own father. Why did his father make him consummate the marriage, and subject his wife to this?
“I’m very ready to have this babe,” she said one morning with a book in her hand. She looked uncomfortable, lounging against the pillows of her bed. She was confined to bed rest just her fourth moon of pregnancy, and Daemon could understand why.
“I’m nervous,” Daemon confessed quietly to her.
“As am I,” Alyssa smiled reassuringly, “But many of my siblings have babes, and I have been an aunt much of my life. I am the youngest among my mother’s children after all. My mother says I shall take to motherhood right as rain.“
“Do you…” Daemon started.
“What is it, Daemon?”
“Well…do you think I shall be a good father? I’m not sure.”
Alyssa didn’t give him an immediate, placating answer. Instead, she mused. “I think you shall.” She said finally, “I know you have a complicated past with yours, but I find you are most attentive at the things you care about. So I think you will become a good father.”
A weight Daemon didn’t know was sitting on his chest settled.
As moons passed, and Daemon’s father died, legitimizing him and his bastard siblings, Daemon felt even more hopeless than he had before. Daemon hated and yet loved his father. Aegon IV was his occasional confidant, and Daemon was also his father’s favorite son. His father had knighted him, and given him the family ancestral sword. A sword that now he bore his legitimized name Blackfyre from. His father said he wished Daemon would have been his heir. He even wanted to name it so on his death bed. That made Daemon elated. And yet…and yet what about Daeron? Why about his older brother? Daemon’s mind became a tangled web of emotions about his father, ones he couldn’t sort through.
“She is kicking heartily today,” His wife smiled tiredly. His wife was now a shell of what he vaguely remembered her as. She was a happy child just 8 moons ago. Now she was a sad and sickly woman.
“How do you know it’s a her?” Daemon asked with amusement.
Alyssa smiled softly, “A mother knows these things.”
“Really?” Daemon asked a little in disbelief.
Alyssa laughed, a rare sound from her, “Yes, really. I can just tell. I dream sometimes that she’s a girl with bright silver hair like yours and with my blue eyes. I don’t dream of a son, at least not yet.”
Daemon’s lips quirked, “I believe you.”
Just a week later, Daemon stood anxiously outside the birthing room as his wife died inside.
As he was allowed into the chambers, a small squalling, silver haired, babe thrust into his arms (“You have a daughter, My Prince.”), Daemon realized him and Alyssa never even spoke of names. Why didn’t they speak of names? Looking down at his small daughter, screaming and crying for a mother that would never come for her, Daemon cried. Ashamedly, he sobbed into the forehead of this new life he had created. The Maester’s turned away, giving him privacy to grieve.
Alyssa? He thought as he looked down at the angry, red faced baby in his arms. No. She was not an Alyssa. His image of Alyssa was a sweet and quiet girl he knew only briefly. This baby was not sweet. He could already tell she’d be a menace to him and everyone around her.
Daenerys? No that was wrong too. He wouldn’t name his baby after his lost flame. He flipped through all the Valyrian names he could think of. And his darling girl screamed, he thought ‘Daena’. “You are a Daena, just like my Defiant mother. She died bringing me into this world too. Oh my Lovely Daena, you are perfect.”
The baby stopped crying and that was an answer enough for Daemon.
Daemon watched as the Maesters bundled up Alyssa’s body. The bloody, smeared sheets were stripped from the bed. Like she was never even there. Like his poor wife hadn’t suffered for hours. Alyssa’s body had grown ice cold on the birthing bed, and Daemon watched with his daughter in his arms. Sorrow filled him in a way that he didn’t exactly understand. He didn’t know Alyssa very well. He didn’t love her. But he cared for her. They had reached a mutual understanding during her pregnancy. How could the gods be so cruel to someone as kind as Alyssa? It wasn’t fair. It simply just wasn’t fair.
Daena Blackfyre, First of Her Name, daughter of Prince Daemon Blackfyre and Lady Alyssa Arryn of the Vale was the small babe announced at court later that day. A poetic name for a grandmother who died in childbirth, and her goodaughter who had succumbed to the very same evil.
“How does the Lady Alyssa fare?” King Daeron asked as he looked down at his younger half-brother. The small babe was snuggled in his arms, looking up at her Uncle with an expression of interest.
Daemons looked up at the King, and Daeron just knew. “Oh Daemon,” Daeron said quietly.
“I cursed her,” his younger half-brother said solemnly, “I cursed her with this.”
The King, like most times speaking to his younger brother, did not have any words to respond to that. Daemon left the Throne Room with Daeron’s new niece and a shadow of grief fell over Daeron. His poor brother.
Back in his chambers with his new daughter, Daemon looked down at her. He could tell she would be a marvelous beauty when she grew. He could also tell she would give him many gray hairs. “It’s just you and me, my Lovely Daena. Just you and me now.” The baby opened her eyes, and Daemon’s breath left his chest as the eyes of his late wife met his purple ones. Alyssa was right again. She always seemed to be.
Then the babe started to scream again, her beautiful blue eyes filling with angry tears, and Daemon laughed wetly. “Yes my Lovely Daena. A Daena you are.”
Many years later, that screaming babe would be known as Queen Daena ‘The Bloody Queen’ Blackfyre. But now, now she was just a motherless child, born to a legitimized bastard. She was just Prince Daemon’s Lovely Daena.