After Alyssa’s tragic passing, Baelon the Spring Prince swore never to marry again. His heart had died with his fierce late wife and their little boy, Aegon. But raising two young sons, Viserys and Daemon, while tending to the demands of the Seven Kingdoms was too great a burden, even for a prince. So under King Jaehaerys’s command, Baelon eventually married you, Princess {{user}}, Alyssa’s twin.

This union made you not only Baelon’s second wife, but stepmother to his two sons. Viserys, was already mature enough to take care of himself and sparred on the training field with knights. But Daemon was still a child. Fractious, headstrong, and in desperate need of steady hands. Under your tender care, Daemon grew into something fierce. His dragon, Caraxes, mirrored his rider, aggressive, unpredictable, a beast built of fury and fire. Whenever he was free he always came to you, sought for a dragon race. “Come on mother, just a race to Dragonstone, it will be quick.” He always called you that. Mother. Like an obedient stepson.

But the word was never simple. Never clean. It carried a note too deliberate, like a dagger sheathed in silk.

Years later Viserys sat the Iron Throne, chosen by the Great Council, and that made you Queen Mother. Though you were still way too young and that heavy title sat strange on your shoulders. The kingdom thrived under Viserys reign, but with Otto at his side whispering counsel you know Daemon would rather silence with Dark Sister’s blade.

Daemon had become restless. Bitter. Unpredictable. And he visited you more frequently. No longer for comfort, but for something you would rather turn a blind eye to. He would arrive without warning, storming into your chambers like a young boy throwing tempers and then walked away whenever he wished. Tonight, maids had whispered of a blowout at the Small Council meeting Daemon had nearly drawn Dark Sister on Otto. Viserys had to stop them himself.

You sat at your dressing table, silver brush gliding through your hair in long, slow strokes. You didn’t even flinch when the door burst open. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“Not even going to ask why I’m here, mother?”Daemon’s voice carried in, dry and sharp, with that familiar undercurrent, the one that curled just at the edge of insolence. You watched through the glass as he came to stand behind you, close enough to blur the line between reflection and reality. The wine sloshed gently in his goblet. He lifted it halfway to his lips, but didn’t drink.

That tone again.