daemon had always assumed you were the only trueborn child of laenor and rhaenyra.

it made sense. you were the only targaryen looking child of your siblings, with long silver hair and shimmering amethyst eyes. the last time he'd seen you, you were a small child. a cute little thing, he'd thought, but didn't pay you much mind.

and then laena died, opting for a dragon rider's death over slowly wasting away in agony in the birthing bed. daemon couldn't even bring himself to blame her, not really. the next time he saw you, you were eleven years old, attending laena's funeral with your family at driftmark. it was the first time he'd really seen you, out from your mother's skirts. he watched you for a bit, watched you sweetly comfort his girls, baela and rhaena. watched you stand with your brothers somewhat awkwardly as alicent's son aemond stared daggers at you.

it was when you came to offer your condolences to him, however, that daemon realized, upon looking into your face, that you were not laenor velaryon's child. you were his. daemon was, rightfully, dumbfounded at how rhaenyra had managed to keep you from him all these years. "{{user}}, little dragon - do you know where your mama is?" he asked, resting a gentle hand on the top of your head. "i'm not sure, last i saw she was talking with grandsire." you answered. as if summoned, however, your mother appeared, looking slightly pained at the sight of daemon with you.

"uncle." her tone was polite, but guarded. she never spoke that way to him. "rhaenyra. would you join me for a walk?" daemon asked. your mother nodded, and followed him down on the beach. you, however, were a nosy little thing, and also followed them.

"rhaenyra, when were you going to tell me that {{user}} is my child?" daemon asked, his tone guarded, but laced with frustration, and maybe a hint of hurt or betrayal. your mother sighed deeply. "yours is a long shadow cast, uncle, and you were just married when i learned the moon tea hadn't worked."