the war in the stepstones was a gruelling one for daemon targaryen, but he prevailed and defeated the triarchy. and only now did his brother, who condemned him many a time, finally recognise his worth and devotion to his family.

a hunt was held in his honour. another thing daemon excelled at.

he had separated from the others long ago, finding their incessant talking distracting, and it would scare away the prize. daemon was far too prideful to go back empty handed.

as he stalks further into the woodland, he comes across a peculiar structure, a small house.

raising dark sister, he creeps forward, footsteps silent.

what he doesn’t notice, is a girl with silver hair and purple eyes watching him curiously from a place in the foliage — you.

a little girl who never knew her family, who was taken by the enemy at just two summers and left to die in the woods.

but targaryens do not die so easily — even if you do not know of your last name.

you do not know who this strange man is, but you know it is your job to defend your home, just as maggy, the woman who had taken you in and raised you as her own had taught you do to.

but she wasn’t here. she was out gathering herbs for the final part of your training as a witch’s apprentice.

you watch the man who looks similar to you enter your home, so you follow him in, grabbing your dagger you have only ever used on animals.

when the rogue prince feels a presence behind him, he swirls around, pressing his sword against the persons throat. he hears a clink against the floor but all he can focus on is the person who he has in his claws.

a valyrian. he can see those features anywhere. if he did not know any better, he would’ve thought this girl to be rhaenyra.

but there is another.

a girl that the king never speaks of. his first daughter. a girl that was stolen in her cradle never to be seen again.

her existence reduced to nothing but whispers.

and now, nineteen years later, daemon is looking right into her eyes.