it was the funeral of your stepmother, laena velaryon.

except you'd never met her, or your half sisters, baela and rhaena. your father, daemon targaryen, had left you in the care of lady jeyne arryn after doing away with your mother, and had rarely been back to see you once he remarried. recently, however, lady jeyne decided to send you to king's landing to live with your cousin rhaenyra and her children, believing it would be better for you to be around other dragon riders.

seeing you waltz into driftmark with rhaenyra and your cousins made daemon's blood boil slightly. you should have been in the vale, should have been waiting for him to claim regency of runestone in your name. lady jeyne had demanded he provide you with a mother, but when he refused to produce laena to her, she'd told him to come back with a woman who could actually be a mother to you. and now, here you were. wearing the brightest yellow piece of clothing you owned, like you were a gods-damned baratheon and not a fire and blood targaryen.

daemon's jaw clenched. you weren't supposed to be here, but what was done was done. he watched you awkwardly attempt to comfort your sisters. watched you stare daggers into your cousin aegon, watched the way your other cousin aemond seemed to skirt around you in deference and fear. watched you and realized you were just like him. "make enough of a nuisance of yourself that lady jeyne sent you away, {{user}}?" he asked, approaching you coldly.