Dance with her ghosts

"Prince Daemon was the first man to hold Prince Aemond Targaryen, the third and last of my royal nephews. Aemond would be named after my sister's best friend, and in the years to come, it would show that not only was his name similar to that of the Rogue Prince, but his personality, his skill with a sword and his intelligence in battle.

Some say it cursed my nephew, others say it brought him to glory.

I say a name is a name until you choose what to make of it."

- Leyton "the brother" Hightower, the writer of "The Queens Not Targaryen" from 145 AC

Daemon Targaryen, contrary to what many believed, had settled into a meek life without wars, and, which is worse, he liked this meek, peaceful life without a sword at his throat in every corridor.

It wasn't bad living without a constant threat to your life or sleeping in a real bed and not on the hard floor that smelled like shit, piss, blood and despair, it was good to lie in a soft bed with freshly washed sheets and be sure that I would actually wake up alive the next day.

It was good to see Rhaenyra every day.

When Rhaenyra was little, she'd been a chubby little thing with giant cheeks and eyes so big Daemon had to look away to keep himself from drowning in them, and Daemon was a pervert, he'd admit that, but he wasn't that evil kind of pervert.

It was fun to tease Rhaenyra, her cheeks got puffier and redder every time her uncle - older, handsomer and more dangerous - gave her one of his oddities she called gifts.

He never really paid attention to her until he had to, of course, Laena and Rhaenyra were the only two Valyrian brides Daemon would gladly accept, but he never really thought he'd have an opportunity with Rhaenyra.

Viserys was a protective bastard and he knew full well how many people he had offended when he married Lady Alicent and how he could have chosen any woman, Laena, you should have chosen Laena, Alicent whispers in his ear, and should pray no children are born.

Daemon was no slovenly Lord Hand, he had heard the whispers, Corlys was furious and Viserys wanted a marriage between Laenor and Rhaenyra, and again, Alicent whispered, the day that boy has a child of his own will be the day a Lannister rides a dragon, and Daemon had watched his brother closely and knew he would offer him to Lady Laena Velaryon on a silver platter.

And Daemon wouldn't go into another marriage he didn't want, he'd been miserable the day he married Rhea Royce and even more miserable when he'd lived with her for less than a moon.

And as embarrassing as it was, Daemon fucking Targaryen had an embarrassingly huge crush on his niece who had gone from a chubby squirrel with cheeks the size of ripe apples to an incredibly beautiful woman who made words dry in Daemon's throat.

Worst of all, Rhaenyra was loved by everyone, the Lords, their Ladies, their ladies-in-waiting, the old Lords, the even older Lords, the servants and the smallfolk.

Rhaenyra has always been the People's Princess - well, not always, since Alicent came along and said something along the lines of bread and circuses and it worked, the townsfolk love her as if she were the Maiden who came to rescue them. They loved her, children handed her little trinkets, flowers and pretty stones, and on Rhaenyra's name day, the Keep seemed crammed with endless gifts.

So he takes her to the Street of Silk and introduces her to the brothels, the food, he introduces her to the life the ten and four nameday old Daemon knew and loved.

He just didn't expect it to blow up in his face.

Because Rhaenyra, with her pretty face and bright smile, made Daemon forget the fire that burned in her veins, as much as Rhaenyra was half Arryn and seemed like a delicate lady very different from Rhaenys, she was of dragon blood, there was so much dragon blood in her that her veins burned.

So she goes home and sleeps with Ser Crispin, of all the knights in the world, she couldn't have chosen Ser Erryk or Ser Rickard, no, it had to be Ser Crispin Colt's stupid cunt, greatest cunt of all time.

Daemon was livid, to say the least, and he couldn't even complain to Viserys or worse, Alicent - the only person who actually listened to his complaints - because that would involve explaining why Rhaenyra was at the Street of Silk in the first place and then Alicent would look at him with wide eyes. Her eyes would be sad and her mouth tight in disappointment and she would look so much like his mother that Daemon would feel like he had seven name days to him and was being pulled by the ear after dropping the servants' sack of flour.

So here he was, sitting in his brother's rooms while Viserys assembled his model of Old Valyria with a brush so small it disappeared in Viserys's hands and he was, for lack of words, bored and sulking.

Rhaenyra wouldn't even look him in the face, Alicent was so pregnant she looked like a watermelon, and as much as Daemon loved the two little monsters who were his nephew and niece, even he couldn't stand Aegon when he was sleepy and little Helaena, his favorite niece - Rhaenyra she was going to be his wife, so she was his favorite woman - she was also asleep at this time because Alicent insisted on putting the children to bed early.

Daemon was, for the first time in years - because being Lord Hand was incredibly interesting and the amount of paperwork Lor Lyonel Strong was going through to Daemon with a disturbingly satisfied face was impressive - bored to the bone.

— Daemon. — says Viserys, looking very tired, which was not unusual for his brother, despite the fact that Viserys was on a strict exercise routine that Lady Alicent made him adhere to daily, had reduced his consumption of wine and his food was healthy, some days Viserys simply looked tired, pale, and ill that no amount of fresh air, exercise, or healthy food would fix. — Sighing won't solve your problems.

Daemon, admittedly, sighs again.

The brush in Viserys's hands trembles, Daemon smiles.

It never gets tedious to annoy your brother.

Daemon sighs again.

— Has anyone ever told you that you're annoying? — Viserys asks, and Daemon laughs.

— Alicent, every day since she married you. — Viserys turns to his model back and mumbles something like I tried to send you away .

— I need a distraction, brother.

— You could go to the brothels now that you're a free and unmarried man, Daemon. — Viserys snaps and he seems very, very irritated by this realization, eh, apparently Viserys is still angry about the annulment.

— I've done that four times in the last seven days. — Daemon replies smugly, even if it's a lie because he was too busy fawning over Rhaenyra - which didn't work - to go to brothels.

Viserys huffs and wipes his brush on a piece of white cloth and goes back to his little houses and posts and whatever.Daemon resists the urge to sigh, because Viserys walks a very fine line with his wife if he tries to exile him, but nothing stops Viserys from sending Daemon to mop the floor or something as menial as that.

Daemon would like to say that there is no situation he is not prepared for but a maid breaking into the King's private quarters is not a situation he ever thought could happen.

— Prince Daemon. — the maid who bursts in is a tiny little thing that Daemon recognizes as one of Alicent's handmaidens, she looks pale, very pale and at the same time very green, but that's not what matters, what matters is that she's done it. Sneak past two Kingsguards, who look as scared as he is.

— How did you get in? — Daemon begins, even as Viserys shouts questions, but Daemon is … the maid, Pia, or Mia or Alayne or whatever her name is, has entered so abruptly - in a way that servants do not - that Daemon is, frankly, worried.

— Queen Alicent is calling for you, my Prince, the midwives say there is much blood… — the maid cries over Viserys's voice and Daemon knows this book, he's been there, he's seen it before, he's read the terrible ending.

Aemma could tell that childbirth was a women's battleground, Daemon knew the truth, childbirth was a losing battle.

— Where is she? — Viserys shouts, seeming to forget the thousand other questions he was asking.

— I'm sorry, my King, the Queen said she wanted to talk to Prince Daemon, him and him alone. — the maid says, and wrings her hands softly, she shifts from foot to foot, looking very distressed, very nervous.

Viserys looks affronted, but Daemon knows what's in the air, he knows, the maid knows, and the two Kingsguards know, whatever happens tonight, her nephew or niece born or not, Queen Alicent knows she is at death's door...

And she doesn't want Viserys to cut her.

— Take me to her. — Daemon orders, the maid nods and starts running down the halls, there is so much movement now, servants with basins of hot water, others with pristine white cloths, and those with the red-soaked cloths that make Daemon’s heart beat like a war drum.

The maid stops at the doors to the whelping room, Ser Rickard is standing in the doorway and his armor is stained with blood, as are his hands and part of his boots, Alicent's other shadow, Ser Arryk, is suspiciously absent.

Ser Rickard doesn't protest when Daemon opens the doors, but Ser Arryk looks suitably frightened, sword in hand and a determined expression on his face, and Daemon knows he would do anything to defend the Queen.

Alicent, on the other hand, looks awful.

She was always a person who preferred to walk in the sun, her skin never took on color, but she got freckles across her shoulders and the bridge of her nose and her curly hair was always in perfect messy curls and she was imposing just for the sake of looking imposing, and she looked big and tall and important without trying.

But now Alicent looked like a bad copy of herself, she was pale, with her hair tied in a bun at the back of her head, lips that looked the same color as her skin, and a layer of sweat glistened on her forehead that made her even sicker, and her white birthing gown was soaked with blood.

Alicent was leaning against another woman, a midwife's assistant, taking deep breaths, looking so tired Daemon feared she would fall to the floor and not get up again.

The midwife, an old woman from Flea Bottom whom the Queen had handpicked after asking the Maester how many successful births he had delivered and was horrified to discover that two was a number the man counted as experienced, so Alicent of nine moons pregnant, disappeared from the castle for a few hours and returned with a small, wrinkled, hairless woman who she said was better than a rat who considers two a big number.

And the woman, indeed, was so much better than the Maester, Alicent's first two deliveries had been a matter of hours and with so little screaming that Viserys was worried things had gone wrong before he'd heard the cries of his two babies.

He had never seen Nana - who was so old he didn't even know her real name anymore and Alicent had improvised the name and had simply been glued - worried, her lined face had gotten older and more lined.

— M'prince. — the old woman said, looking at Daemon with almost white blue eyes, blinded by time.

— What's wrong with her?

— I don't know. — the old woman replied, looking very confused. — There's too much blood, too little opening, too much baby, the baby's wrong.

— What's wrong with the baby? — but the old woman doesn't answer, she just looks at him with blue eyes that look blind and a toothless mouth that frightens him, she doesn't know, Nana doesn't know, Nana, the woman who midwifed all the whores in Flea Bottom and is as old, if not older, than the late King Jaehaerys, doesn't know what's wring with the baby.

Daemon doesn't know if the feeling rising in his chest is dread, horror, or terror.

— Dae-mon. — Alicent calls to him and her voice breaks mid-word, she looks even more exhausted, even more tired, even closer to falling down and never getting up again, and yet Alicent smiles at him, as if she is happy to see him.

— You have a little of her time, m'princ, no more. — Nana says, pointing a bony finger at his chest, she doesn't stop looking worried as she glances at Alicent.

Daemon, on the other hand, doesn't worry too much, Alicent is incredibly strong for a non-Targaryen woman.

— You look awful, — he says, because Daemon never learned to keep his mouth shut at times like this, Alicent, surprisingly, laughs, a full-length laugh that makes her wince in pain and squeeze the hands of the girl holding her.

— We're not here to talk about my appearance. — Alicent says, and she looks so tired, and very serious. — I have learned some pertinent information from Ser Criston telling me of the events of the last week.

And Daemon is suddenly cold with fear.

Because Alicent loves him and they are friends, but she adores Rhaenyra, Aegon may have been her first child, but Rhaenyra was the little princess of Alicent's, it was Alicent who took care of Rhaenyra when she was sick, it was she who taught her politics, who gave her friends and who cared for her for so long that Aemma would have been weepy and proud.

Daemon doesn't think there's anything Alicent wouldn't do for Rhaenyra.

—  I can explain. — The words tumble out of his mouth, because if Viserys hasn't banished him by now, Alicent will surely send him to the lands beyond the wall or to the farthest fields of Essos.

— That will have to wait. — she replies, finally sitting up in bed.— And I expect a very, very good, very convincing explanation from you Daemon, because I think that was one of the dumbest things you've ever done, and with Otto in town.

Well, well, she seems more annoyed that Daemon did something with Otto in town than that he did anything.

— We need you to get Laenor out of town. — Alicent sighs right after saying this and stands up again, she looks like… Daemon doesn't even know what she looks like. — I've already taken care of Ser Criston and Otto, now I need you to get Laenor out of the way and marry Rhaenyra.

— Viserys wants to marry Rhaenyra to Laenor, wants to make peace between us and Rhaenys. — carefully ignoring the part about solving Ser Crispin's problem , because a part of him, a carefully hidden part, thinks Alicent would make a bloodthirsty Targaryen, and another part of him is grateful that she can't ride a dragon.

Alicent, very maturely, sticks out her tongue and makes a farting sound.

— Viserys can take your peace offerings and shove them up your ass. — one day, Daemon would have cut the tongue of anyone who dared speak ill of his brother, today, Daemon carefully chooses to ignore that sentence, because one day, maybe today, or tomorrow, or a thousand moons from now, Queen Alicent will kill the King and take up the mantle of Kingslayer, that day, perhaps, he will care.

He doesn't know how he got to this point, Daemon thinks, a little hysterically, doesn't know when he got to the point where he doesn't care if his brother lives or dies, doesn't know when he cared about a Hightower more than a his brother.

Perhaps , something whispers in your mind, when you realized that a stranger valued you more than your brother, or when you realized that a man's daughter saw the worst in her father and decided to rebel, or when she stood up for you at court and annulled your marriage, or when she is in labor, clearly struggling to get you to marry her niece, and, the little voice keeps whispering, where is Viserys?

— Ser Laenor will never be able to father a child on Rhaenyra, not even if she were Maiden reborn and we cannot have a succession scandal for the first Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. — Alicent keeps talking, and at another point, Daemon would try to defend Rhaenys's son, but Laenor is such a pillow biter that it's embarrassing for Corlys and Rhaenys to pretend they don't know what their son is.

— What do you want to do? — he asks, Alicent smiles, hard, sly, ruthless, it's a pale-lipped smile on her waxy face, she looks gloriously mortal, yet at the same time dead in a way he's never seen.

So she speaks, placidly at first, as if she's telling a story and Daemon is… a little impressed, her mind is one of the brightest, smartest, most cunning things he's ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Sometimes he wonders what would become of his family if Queen Alicent decided she wanted the Iron Throne for her son, but then he remembers that little five-year-old Aegon said he wanted to be a blacksmith when he grew up and the worry passes. 

Try as Alicent might to place her, so far only son, on the Throne, Aegon would rather flee to Essos and sell oranges than rule, and the boy is only five years old.

— You have to do this while Rhaenys isn't in town, you know what I mean, Daemon? — Alicent says, and there's something strange about her face, she looks even paler and shakes her head slowly, like she's trying to get something irritating off of it. — It has to be quick and then you have to... you have to...

Alicent never finishes talking, she seems to have suddenly lost her strength, the dark circles under her eyes seem to turn blue against her pale skin and Nana looks suddenly paler.

— The baby needs to come, m'princ. — Nana says, after her wrinkled, bony hands run over Alicent's belly, her voice a shadowy dot in the room.

— Dae-mon. — Alicent calls, and her voice is a faint whisper, a mockery of the giant woman Alicent always is. — Don't let them cut me, don't let them, cut my head off first, but don't let them cut me.

She looks desperate now, and Daemon feels… he feels like he's going down a hole, sinking into his own head and paying for his own sins, that must have been how Aemma felt, and she was alone, awash in her own despair and the betrayal of her husband, the man who was supposed to protect her.

— What are you going to do, Nana? — he whispers, his voice locked in his throat with the dread, pure and simple dread, that courses through his veins.

— I'm going to knock her out. — Nana responds. — Birth will be easier if she doesn't scream when she's in pain.

Nana doesn't expect Daemon to protest, she has her aide shove two spoonfuls of milk of the poppy down the Queen's throat.

— You can get your balls back, m'princ. — Nana says in a voice of pure steel, and Daemon has the urge to straighten his back and wipe off his doublet. — Or you can remain a green boy and leave this room.

Daemon takes one, two deep breaths and nods to Nana, who looks determined in a way he's never seen before.

— Stay with her, be supportive, and stay out of the way. — Nana commands, and Daemon is holding Alicent's hand, which feels cold with sweat, like holding a corpse's skin.

From there it's a mess, Alicent is sleeping but isn't, she's even paler, her dark circles are blue against her skin and her lips are so pale he can't see them in the whiteness of her skin, her brown hair they are matted with sweat and there is blood.

Daemon has fought in so many wars, killed so many people and had so much blood in his body he didn't think it would affect him so much, but there is so much blood, Alicent's handmaiden, the same one who ran to call him, has armfuls full of red towels and blood on the arms, on the cheeks, on the forehead.

Nana doesn't look much better, with wide eyes and smeared hands and she's doing something between Alicent's legs and it looks painful and there are metal tools and muffled sounds and it's been so long.

And then there's a knock on the door and the voice of Viserys who wants to know what's going on and Ser Rickard who says no and Ser Arryk - where did he come from? Did he leave the room? He returned? Daemon doesn't know-he's drawing his sword and getting ready and Alicent's hands are so, so cold they look dead .

Daemon wants them to shut up, shut up and stop screaming

— SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP. — he yells, to the door, the handmaid looks scared and Daemon wants to know why, he's not even mad but Dark Sister is in his hand and he's in a defensive posture and there's the baby crying and...

The baby is crying.

It's a faint, sullen little sound in the middle of so much screaming but it's a cry, Alicent's baby is crying, and with each breath her cry gets louder.

— It's a boy, m'princ. — Nana says and Daemon is letting go of Alicent's hand and the baby is in the crook of his arm, Dark Sister in the other hand, the smell of blood hangs in the air and the baby is still crying and he is small with ten fingers and ten toes, the baby is covered in white goo and blood, and is red as a tomato and looks really ugly when he cries.

It's the most beautiful baby Daemon has ever seen.

Daemon raises his other hand, Dark Sister mirrors the baby's face and he has to put his sword away but he can't, he doesn't know what to do with his hands, the baby stops crying and lets out an irritated grunt, stretching his little hands and feet.

Ah, Daemon thinks with satisfaction, you like Dark Sister, smart boy .

— There's another one. — Nana's helper says and Nana's face loses the last of its color.

Targaryens don't have many twins, but twins are hard to handle, especially for the mother.

Someone takes the baby from him and Daemon is lost back and the baby is gone and Nana is gone between Alicent's legs and the maid has another armful of towels and Ser Arryk is still facing the door with his sword raised.

Daemon takes Alicent's hand and asks the gods of old Valyria to intercede for her.

There's nothing for a long time, Viserys has stopped screaming, Nana is still worried and the helper is changing the towels again and then there's the scream.

It's not the baby's, it's the midwife's assistant, the girl has her hands trembling over her mouth, eyes as wide as tea plates and white as milk.

Nana doesn't look much better, keeping her hands at her sides and an expression Daemon can't quite pinpoint.

— Take it, m'princ. — she says, and it's disgust, disgust, disgust in her voice, she holds out her arms and Daemon takes them, the thing lets out a pathetic groan and squirms in Daemon's hands.

It's a baby, but it's strange, the skin is gray almost blue, there are dark scales lining its head and most of its back, its spine is a poorly formed arch, it's all deformed, its little arms are different sizes and its nails have claws at the ends of its little fingers, long thin and covered in black scales, much like a cat's, tapered and sharp.

And then the thing opens its eyes, they are purple, slitted, and it's hair is white, just as it's father's. It's a Targaryen, like all Targaryens before it with golden-white hair and purple, lilac, and violet eyes.

Daemon has never let harm happen to a Targaryen before, and he is not going to start today.

“Prince Aemond had a twin brother when he was born, a small, misshapen thing, with black scales on his back and much of his face, his eyes were said to be lilac and slit, and his fingernails, small as they were, were claws, much like those of a dragon.

And worse, he was alive, moaning, writhing, whimpering, begging for a life that was lost.

The King wanted the child killed, the Maester suggested they study what they could of the strange animal-like baby, the Prince Daemon, in his rage, cut off the Maester's head and watched over the little Prince's life as long as he lived.

Queen Alicent named him Daeron the Daring, because in the few hours the little prince survived, he fought boldly for a life that was already lost.

Prince Daeron was burned in Valyrian rites before more could be discovered about the strange creature the Queen had given birth to, and this, to this day, remains one of the Cidatel's greatest annoyances, for to this day, it is unknown how a monster like that can survive."

- Maester Gallard in "Glory and Failure: A Targaryen History" 181 AC, later slain by Daeron