Chapter Text
Death is something Daemon always knew would come for him and it was something he planned to face with a sword in his hands, a snarl on his lips.
And Death came for him just as he’d hoped it would. Giving him a warrior’s end.
What Daemon did not anticipate was waking up after. Especially not in a feathered bed in what’s clearly the Red Keep. There’s a somber air that presses down on him as he sits up in confusion.
That confusion only grows when he notices his hands, almost entirely smooth and unmarked minus a few small scars and calluses from wielding a sword. His hands haven’t looked like this since he was young, very young.
Before he can investigate further, there’s a knock at his door, a servant saying that his brother has asked for him to break their fast together in his rooms.
What the fuck?
First off, Viserys shouldn’t be alive. He died and left a mess in the aftermath because he was a fool who listened to the cunt Otto Hightower. Secondly, his brother, when alive, hadn’t asked them to break their fast together in years, decades even.
This must be a joke, no, a punishment for the sins and horrors he committed while he was alive. Because if he was given a reward in the afterlife he would think it’d be waking up in Pentos with Laena beside him, beautiful, radiant, and wonderful.
( He aches, thinking of Rhaenyra, what she thought of him at the end, and the anger simmers beneath his skin at the thought she believed him capable of such things.
He’s a terrible man, cruel and vicious but he would never betray Rhaenyra so, not when the fate of their family was on the line, the Iron Throne infested by Hightower scum.
No, Rhaenyra would be a punishment as well, he thinks. )
The servant repeats their orders again and Daemon replies, agitated, that he will go to his brother’s rooms shortly. They leave and he is left to look around his own rooms. Dark Sister is where he usually keeps it, the canopy bed and decorations are straight out of his youth. It doesn’t take him long to find his clothing and he quickly pulls on something that is considered respectable for breaking fast with a king.
However, when he leaves his room, he is confused even further. The somber air grows and the braver servants who catch his eye give him a look of sympathy as they pass.
He wants to tell them to fuck off, he doesn’t need any kind of pity from them, but as he heads towards the King’s chambers, the same servant who relayed his brother’s orders calls after him.
“Yes?” he snaps, annoyed. Whatever punishment or farce this is he wants to get it over with and they are making it very difficult to do so.
They look nervous for a brief moment before finding some backbone to say, “Prince Daemon, your brother's rooms are not that way.”
Not that way?
The afterlife is getting on his fucking nerves. And he does not have time for its games, so he sneers and says, “lead the way then.”
He’ll give the servant credit, they merely nod and turn around without another word or glance in his direction. His steps slow as they near the rooms Viserys had before he was named heir, before their grandfather passed, and he stares dumbly at the door once the servant nods and takes their leave.
No one pays him any mind as he stands, frozen, in the corridor.
It’s in a stupor that he knocks, announces himself, and then steps inside once he’s given leave to do so. Immediately upon entering, there’s a small blur that shouts, “Kepus!” before slamming into his legs.
Rhaenyra.
He stares down at her in disbelief and it’s only the laughter of his brother that draws him back to reality. Aemma is smiling, amused, and very clearly pregnant as she walks towards them. “Rhaenyra, it is not polite to accost our guests the moment they arrive.”
Rhaenyra pouts as she steps back, “but he’s my kepus! He’s not a guest!”
They all break their fast, Daemon in a daze, shocked at the sight of his good-sister and brother so young and hale. Though, Aemma does look pale and a bit drawn as she weathers a pregnancy he knows won’t bring forth a living child.
Rhaenyra rambles on about visiting Syrax later that day and trying to see if Daemon will take her up on Caraxes since Syrax is still too small for her to ride. (The she-dragon is not but they all let Rhaenyra think that so she doesn’t get the foolish idea to try and ride Syrax at merely four name-day’s old.)
After they finish eating, servants clear away their dishes and left over food while Aemma readies Rhaenyra to take a walk around the gardens while the weather is nice.
Once Daemon is alone with his brother, Viserys grows serious.
Gods, he looks so young.
“Brother, it’s been decided that a council will be called to decide the next heir,” Viserys begins and Daemon has to ball his hands into fists beneath the table to keep the shock off his face. “Grandfather says it will take place six moons from now and I am hoping you’ll support my claim.”
Oh gods.
This must be his punishment. His penance for standing behind his brother so he could be king, for it was that decision that helped his brother be chosen, which ultimately led to the ruin of their House and the Realm thrown into chaos.
The gods are making him relieve the biggest regrets of his life and Daemon wonders if he’ll live through them on loop until he’s gone mad.
“Daemon?”
What is he supposed to say? Will whatever words come out of his mouth be what he said all those years ago? No matter how much he wants to say that he’d rather throw Dark Sister into the Narrow Sea before he supports Viserys’ claim again?
So, he is surprised when instead, the words out of his mouth are, “are you sure you want it, brother?”
Viserys blinks in surprise and his expression sours slightly when Daemon doesn’t give his unwavering support immediately. And why the fuck should he? He was loyal to his brother until the end, loved his brother despite the banishments and angry greetings whenever he returned to Kings Landing. Daemon gave so much of himself to Viserys and what did he get in return? Not even the simple, unconditional love of an older brother.
“Why would I not want to be king?”
Daemon scoffs and crosses his arms, looking out the window behind his brother as he speaks, “because our family line was never meant to be on that blasted throne? Which means you never got the education an heir needs to rule properly. Grandfather is old, he likely has little time left to teach you anything useful. Do you really think you can be just as great a king as he is with no preparation?”
Ah, Viserys is growing angry. Good, Daemon is far more familiar with this side of his brother.
“Grandfather wasn’t prepared either! He was the third born son and look at how great a king he is! Brother, I need your support at the Great Council, it is the only way to ensure the realm does not fall into chaos after grandfather spent his reign bringing peace.”
It takes everything within him not to throttle his brother at those words. If his brother truly cared at all about ensuring the realm did not fall to chaos, he should have never taken that Hightower whore as his wife and threw his entire support behind Rhaenyra after ridding the Red Keep of vipers. Rhaenyra was heir for years , and Viserys should have spent those years preparing the Realm for their first ruling queen.
Truly, grandfather should have done so when their uncle Aemon died with only a daughter instead of naming their own father heir.
Daemon does not doubt their father would have been a good king, perhaps even great, and he would’ve prepared Viserys well to step into his shoes once he passed, but that is not an option for them, for their family, or the realm.
No, no, they are stuck in this mess because life is a cruel bitch who abandoned most of Grandfather’s children and their family has made home in a land filled with Andal scum who only care about cocks between a ruler's legs, not who would actually be a good leader.
Viserys was a terrible king. Will be a terrible king. And well, if this is the afterlife and a punishment, perhaps he is meant to make different choices.
He stands, startling his brother, and asks one question: “If you become king, will you promise to annul my marriage to that bronze bitch? Grandmother should have never chained me to her. We never fucked, so it’s unconsummated.”
The silence stretches on long enough that Daemon already knows the answer. It is the one he got over and over again until that bitch broke her neck during a hunt.
“I can’t promise you that,” Viserys finally says. “Grandmother made the match for a reason, I won’t disrespect her by dissolving the marriage.”
“Very well.”
Daemon ignores his brother's calls as he leaves. There’s an itch under his skin, his warring feelings about his brother bubbling to the surface. He will always love his brother, on some level, but his brother distrusted and betrayed him countless times over their lives. The loyalty he gave Viserys was never returned, always dismissed because his brother was a weak man.
His feet take him to the Dragon Pit without his conscious input and he can feel Caraxes is as agitated as he feels.
Perhaps a flight will clear his head.
Once they’re up in the air, they fly aimlessly, or so he believes until Driftmark appears on the horizon. The breath is punched out of his lungs at the sight of it.
Rhaenys.
Fuck. She’ll likely detest a visit from him, after all she was passed over as heir for his own father and she likely knows she’ll be passed over once more in favor of Viserys.
Grandfather is truly foolish to not make her his heir. If Valyria had not been destroyed and their family still resided there, Rhaenys would never have her place as heir questioned or stripped from her. When did their family forget such things? Surely it takes more than a few generations to lose sight of important traditions such as that?
Fuck the Andals and their stupid faith, they have fucking dragons, they should bow to no religion and no other men.
Caraxes lands on the beach not far from Driftmark’s castle and he gives his dragon a pat on the neck before he takes off to find a cove to settle in. When he makes his way up to the castle, Rhaenys is waiting for him. Her expression is carefully blank, which Daemon knows to mean she’s hiding an ocean of fury beneath it.
“Cousin,” he says, greeting her.
Rhaenys does not reply and he waits as she looks him up and down, likely debating whether to throw him into the sea or invite him inside. Eventually, she nods and turns around, leading him inside.
They settle into her solar not long after and once Daemon settles into his seat, his cousin gets right to business. “Why are you here? Should you not be with Viserys shoring up support for his claim?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Viserys will be a terrible king. He’ll bring the downfall of our family if he is chosen as heir.”
His answer throws his cousin off-kilter, he can see it plain as day, which is unlike her. “You sound certain of this.”
“I am.” And he does not elaborate further. And thankfully his cousin doesn’t push.
“I will throw my support behind your claim, if you agree to three conditions,” he continues and Rhaenys can no longer hide her surprise.
Her eyes narrow after a moment, however. “And what would those be?”
“First, you annul my marriage to Rhea Royce. It’s unconsummated and we despise each other. Nothing will come of it, no children, nothing.”
Rhaenys’ answer is surprisingly quick, “alright, that can certainly be done. And the others?”
“Secondly, you never let the Hightowers hold any significant positions of power in the Red Keep. I’d prefer if the whole lot of them were banished from King's Landing for eternity. Those snakes wish to see their blood on the throne and our family destroyed. You must only keep the council of trusted family members and those with Valyrian blood.”
And perhaps the North, they never wavered in their support of Rhaenyra and the Starks are known for honor and keeping to their vows.
“Lastly?”
Daemon reorients himself and blinks at his cousin before finally saying, “you will never allow Viserys to remarry.”
Once more Rhaenys can’t seem to keep her expression neutral. She doesn’t reply right away, instead she leans back and takes a long look at him. “While I’m not sure where your hatred for House Hightower stems from, that is a condition I can meet. But why do you think Viserys would need to remarry in the future? Aemma is—”
“He will drive Aemma into her grave in desperation to have a son. They will only have Rhaenyra and no other issue. Not from her.”
Rhaenys’ brow furrows and he notes her fingers tap against the arms of her chair and he can’t help but smirk at the sight of it. An old childhood habit come to life once more, at least he can be reassured that his cousin never truly changed at her core. Unlike so many in their family after their grandfather passed.
“Again, you sound certain of this,” she says, gaze sharpening. “Daemon, are you a Dreamer?”
He laughs, full bellied and until his eyes brim with tears. Oh how he wishes he was a Dreamer when he was alive. How much grief and strife he could have prevented. He could have saved Aemma, could have killed Otto Hightower long before he could send his whore of a daughter crawling into his brother’s bed with Aemma’s life blood only just cleaned.
“Daemon!”
His cousin’s fierce tone wretches him back to this farce of an afterlife. He expects her to look angry but instead she looks concerned and perhaps, slightly afraid.
Shaking his head, he controls his laughter and says, “no, I am no Dreamer. I merely lived it and now I am being punished for my mistakes.”
“Daemon, you aren’t making any sense.”
“No, I suppose not. But does that really matter when I am willing to throw my support behind you? Between your husband and myself, no one will be able to consider anyone else when we bring the largest fleet and hundred of men to the Great Council for you.”
Rhaenys clearly wants to push for more, to understand why Daemon is throwing his lot in with her over the older brother he was groomed to protect at all cost, especially at the cost of his life. But Daemon is no longer that man, no longer a boy trailing after his brother with love in his heart and the foolish assumption his brother loved him in return.
He’s grateful when she sighs, eyes closing as she slumps in her chair. “Very well, if Aemma passes I will not allow Viserys to remarry. I wish you would explain to me why but I will not push. For now.”
Relief sweeps through him and he darts forward, kissing Rhaenys’ cheek as he pulls her into an embrace. “Thank you, cousin. I will take my leave now, there is much to do before the Great Council.”
Before he can turn to leave, Rhaenys stands and grips his wrists firmly. “Absolutely not,” she says, and gods she will be a great queen. “You will stay for the evening meal and say hello to my children before you go. Corlys is conducting business so you are lucky he is not here and have witnessed your utter lack of decorum since you arrived.”
He chuckles, adjusting his hands until he is holding her own. “As my Queen commands.”
Rhaenys rolls her eyes and doesn’t justify his teasing with a response as she tucks her hand into the crook of his arm and leads him out of her solar.
Oh how he wishes this could have been his life. This punishment will whittle him down until there’s nothing left, he’s sure of it. Being shown what could have been, what happiness he would have found had he made better choices will be his undoing and there is nothing he can do to stop it.
Until that happens, he will draw comfort from seeing those whose deaths deeply wounded his soul.