"The blood of Lucerys will be repaid tenfold. A brother for a brother."
In which Daenys Velaryon, the oldest child of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, must come to terms with the fact that the man she loves has committed an unforgivable crime...
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"Who else can forgive the creation? Only that which created you."
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It took three days for the fishermen of Durran's Point to find a dragon's head and the accompanying scrap of silk embroidered with the Targaryen sigil washed up beneath the cliffs below Storm'sEnd, the waterlogged thing almost unrecognizable as it made a feast for crabs and seagulls. It took another two for the raven bearing the news of Lucerys Velaryon's death to reach Daemon Targaryen at Dragonstone.
The Prince Consort was busy preparing for his journey to Harrenhal when the message arrived, and he knew before he even unfurled it, what the scrap of parchment held. Perhaps it was the grave countenance of the maester who delivered it to him, or perhaps having already suffered the loss of one child made him more attuned to another.
Nonetheless, he read it over several times to make sure. He had to be sure. He had to be absolutely sure, because it would break his wife, and the realm would not survive a broken Queen.
Rhaenyra was still at the painted table, where she spent most of her days now, accompanied by Rhaena, both of them going over the ravens that had been sent out to the various lords of the realm, and the responses they had received. It was such a tender moment that Daemon almost didn't want to spoil it.
"A message...from Storm's End."
She straightened at his arrival, planting a kiss to Rhaena's temple to dismiss her, as Daemon watched them carefully.
Always so careful.
She looked weary, the shadows were dark beneath her eyes like spectres, but there was a spark of hope too, a spark that dimmed at his grim expression. Just the day before, they had received a raven from Baela and Jace, announcing their success at The Vale, having won Lady Jeyne Arryn to their cause. No doubt, she expected similar news from Storm's End.
Daemon reached out for her, the slightest tremble in his hands, whether from grief or rage, he wasn't quite sure, but when their fingers touched, Rhaenyra knew. She knew before he turned her toward the fireplace so that the gathered nobles would not see her reaction, knew before he whispered the cursed words into her ear.
Lucerys Velaryon was dead.
Her son was dead.
Another babe dead.
And there wasn't even a body to burn.
Rhaenyra stumbled, her hands flying to her womb. Her achingly empty womb, that throbbed in fresh agony, as if someone had taken a rusted utensil to it, scraping out her insides to deposit them at the bottom of Shipbreaker's Bay.
The gods had taken from her once again. No, the Greens had taken from her.
Crushed. Shredded. Almost beyond recognition. The work of a larger dragon.
