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Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning:
Major Character Death
Category:
Multi
Fandoms:
A Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)
Relationships:
Daemon Targaryen/Rhaenyra TargaryenAlicent Hightower/Viserys I TargaryenJon Snow/Arya Stark
Characters:
Arya StarkJon SnowDaemon TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenViserys I TargaryenAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenHelaena TargaryenRhaenys Targaryen VelaryonCorlys "The Sea Snake" VelaryonLaena Velaryon (Daughter of Corlys)Laenor VelaryonBran StarkCriston ColeAemond "One-Eye" TargaryenRickon Stark (Father of Cregan)Cregan StarkHarwin StrongLarys StrongArchmaester Vaegon Targaryen
Additional Tags:
Time TravelDaenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad QueenBut she is deadactually most everyone except Arya and Jon are deadBackground bran starkDaemon Targaryen is WhippedViserys I Targaryen Being an IdiotBut He Gets BetterMaybe - FreeformWarning: Otto HightowerManipulative Alicent HightowerPolitical Rhaenyrawell she's getting thereDaemon and Arya brotpeventuallyHouse Manderly (A Song of Ice and Fire)Lady Stoneheart - FreeformMinor Character Deathminor child abuseImplied Sexual Contentbrief depictions of torture
Language:
English
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Published:2023-06-28Updated:2026-05-29Words:443,023Chapters:40/?Comments:1,071Kudos:1,982Bookmarks:1,390Hits:150,558
(Restricted) A New Dawn
SereneDreaming
Chapter 2: Daemon I - Arya I
Summary:
Arya and Jon's abrupt arrival causes drama. Arya's unbelievable statements uses even more drama, although only one Targaryen is truly aware of the implications of her claims...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Daemon
Daemon had only just managed to spirit away the young woman's Dark Sister, Gods above it made his head hurt trying to think of it, in a bush before Guards burst into the courtyard. Daemon quickly ordered them to surround the two intruders and began issuing a command to transport them to the Black Cells for further questioning when Rhaenyra interrupted him.
"Uncle, they need to be seen by a Maester, not the Lord Confessor! The girl could barely stand, and the man has not awoken since they arrived! Yes we must question them, but they must be fit to answer our questions. For that, they need treatment, not torture. Am I understood?" Daemon wanted to disagree but found her reasoning sound. He quickly glanced around and saw burgeoning approval on several guard's faces.
Rhaenyra was showing she could be gentle but not naïve. Daemon could not help but smile at her, and her gaze softened. "As you command, Crown Princess." At that, she smiled at him. The guards were quick to follow the newer commands. He pulled one aside and quietly ordered Ser Luthor Largent to be summoned, Gold Cloak and all, to the Red Keep quickly but quietly. The guard nodded quickly and made his way out of the garden.
Just as they were carting them off to Maester Mellos's chambers, Viserys arrived in the garden, with Alicent Hightower and other members of the small council and court dutifully following behind. At first glance the young queen consort appeared concerned, but there was a suspicious glean in her eyes. Viserys went immediately to Rhaenyra, pulling her close before looking her over for any injury or harm.
"Are you alright my dear? Are you hurt?" He asked these questions to Rhaenyra but looked up at Daemon. He nodded, and Viserys's stance softened. "Daemon, what has happened? I heard reports of lightening and strangers appearing out of thin air!"
"I should have known you would invite some of your more…unusual associates to the red keep to meet the Princess, Daemon," snarked Otto Hightower, stepping into view. Daemon suppressed as snarl and opened his mouth to respond but Viserys waved him off.
"Oh Otto, my brother would not dare risk his only niece, my heir, in such a manner," he responded, and the little Hightower wretch's eye twitched. Daemon recalled he did have another niece born not one year ago. It gave Daemon great satisfaction to know that in times of stress, Viserys thought only of Rhaenyra. Perhaps his brother was not so hopeless.
Daemon turned to Viserys once more "Lēkia, īlon līs ȳzaldrīzes privately. Mēre hen these strangers ēdan mirros pōnta could daor emagon ēdan (Brother, we must speak privately. One of these strangers had something they could not have had.) Viserys squinted at him and appeared to want to respond, but Daemon beat him to it. "Mērī lī hen ānogar kostagon gīmigon (Only those of the blood can know)"
"Would you care to enlighten those of us that do not speak that fou-fairly unspoken language?" The Hightower wretch asked, and Daemon knew she likely stopped herself from saying 'foul'. It seems that for a girl who married in to their house, she cared little and less for their traditions.
Viserys looked at his wife, as though only just realizing she, along with the members of the Small Council and several nobles of the court were in audience. "Nothing to worry about my dear, just my brother and his usual antics!" It was not an outright lie, but it was not the truth either.
Twice in one day, his brother managed to surprise him. First, by reaffirming (albeit unintentionally) Rhaenyra's status as heir to the gathered court, and by keeping the truth from his wife, and, even more surpassingly, from Otto. Daemon thought perhaps he had been abed the entire time, still on Bloodstone, but he remembered the clarity of the clank that could only be produced by Valyrian steel meeting its match in action.
Viserys turned to address the gathered court, and Daemon saw Ser Luthor appear from the corner of his eye. He thought to go to him, but with Hightower still within view, he stayed his movements. He gestured to Ser Luthor to move back. Ser Luthor nodded, and disappeared to the shadows from whence he came.
Daemon had managed to miss Viserys's explanation of the events that just occurred but did not miss his announcement of a feast to be thrown in Daemon's honor for his victory in the Stepstones, to be held the following evening.
"My dear brother," Daemon began, "the victory was not all mine. Surely the celebration can wait until Lord Corlys, our cousin and their children arrive? Without the Velaryon fleet, the war would have been lost. All I provided was a rather large dragon." The court laughed at his joke. Had he lost, they surely would have laughed at the announcement of his demise. Fickle as a summer breeze these lickspittles are he thought to himself.
Viserys sighed, but Daemon knew he had won. Should Viserys contradict him now, news would travel faster than a raven's flight how he had once again slighted the Velaryons, this time against the advice of his own brother. "Alas, my brother can be right once every four years," at this court laughed once more. "We shall have a grand feast and tourney once my cousins arrive, in celebration of our victory." It was funny how Daemon and Corlys's war had become a collective victory, but Daemon tried not to dwell on it. There were more immediate issues at hand.
The court began to disperse, but Otto Hightower refused to budge from Viserys's side. He was lost as to a method to get Otto away from his brother so that they could truly speak privately, but for a third time in a single day, Viserys surprised his brother.
Turning to Otto, he said "With the upcoming festivities and Lord Beesbury taken abed with a cold, I would ask you to come up with a budget for the tourney prizes Otto. My brother reported that Lord Corlys was setting sail for Driftmark before coming to the capital, so we have a fair amount of time to send missives to the great houses. Please have a rudimentary budget drafted before the next council meeting."
Otto appeared to want to respond, but simply nodded, muttered "your graces" and left. Viserys then turned to his young bride. "Alicent my dear, Daemon has not had a chance to meet his newest nephew and niece. I should like to have a family dinner tonight. Please have them prepared to join us, at least at the start. If they aren't napping now, please make sure they are so they don't put up too much of a fuss."
The Hightower wretch perked up at the mention of her children, but could clearly hear the dismissal for what it was. "Yes your grace," she spoke softly, and left the garden. Finally, it was just Targaryens in the garden, save for Ser Luthor, who stepped out of the shadows.
"Give me your cloak Ser Luthor," Daemon commanded, and Ser Luthor followed his orders immediately, smirking all the while.
"Didn't think I'd get the boot this early your highness, I hope it wasn't due to the fact that I enjoyed a little Misery myself?" Ser Luthor jested. Ah yes, Lady Misery. It had been some time since she'd crossed his thoughts. Another problem for another time.
"No Ser Luthor, you are one my finest officers. I just need to borrow your cloak. You shall have it back by nightfall." Ser Luthor smiled, bowed, and made his way out of the garden. Daemon quickly moved to the bush where he had stored Dark Sister's twin. He wrapped the cloak around it.
There was no way to move it out of the garden without it being noticed, but at least with the cloak the existence of the sword would be obscured.
"Let us adjourn to your rooms, brother," Daemon suggested, and the three of them made their way to the King's Solar. Once they arrived, Viserys ordered Ser Harold to wait just outside, and to bar anyone from entering.
As soon as the doors closed, Daemon walked to the hidden entryway to the secret tunnels in the keep and pushed a bookcase into its path. He ignored Viserys's questions and moved a desk in front of the other entrance towards the entry to the King's bedroom.
Satisfied that they were alone with no way of anyone entering, Daemon placed the cloak on a table and unraveled it, revealing Dark Sister's Twin. Viserys squinted at it, stared at the sword obviously still on Daemon's belt, and back at the sword laid before him.
"What…what in the seven hells is going on?" He questioned, but Daemon brought a finger to his ear.
"Se walls emagon ears lēkia. (The walls have ears brother)". He sat down, and Viserys and Rhaenyra followed suit. "Se hāedar isse se garden istan holding ziry skori nyke found zȳhon. Ziry gīda ōregion ziry naejot issa ȳrgos, demanding naejot gīmigon skoriot Bran istan (The girl in the garden was holding it when I found her. She even held it to my neck, demanding to know where Bran was)"
"Qilōni iksos Bran? (Who is Bran?)" Viserys questioned, and Daemon shrugged.
"Tolī holding issa own egros naejot issa ȳrgos, ziry ūndan issa holding ziry hae sȳrī. Ziry spoke arlī "sīkudi nopāzmi bran, skoros emagon ao gaomagon?" se collapsed. Nyke sepār managed naejot ruaragon se egros skori se guards rushed isse (After holding my own sword to my neck, she saw me holding it as well. She spoke again "Seven hells Bran, what have you done?" And collapsed. I just managed to hide the sword when the guards rushed in)". Viserys did not speak, instead running his hand along the blade.
"Bisa. Bisa daor sagon zōbrie mandia. Skorkydoso iksos bisa possible? This...this cannot be Dark Sister. How is this possible?)" Daemon did not respond, as he himself had no idea. "Kostilus dāria rhaenys ēdan nykeā egros, nykeā idañnykeā naejot dāria visenya's, se bisa hāedar managed naejot find ziry? (Perhaps Queen Rhaenys had a sword, a twin to Queen Visenya's, and this girl managed to find it?)" Viserys's idea had merit, but Daemon knew Dark Sister like he knew Caraxes. It was an extension of himself.
"Nyke daor explain ziry, yn ziry iksos zōbrie mandia. Se hāedar ēdan issa egros, se ziry lays gō īlva gīda hae ziry sits va issa paktot (I cannot explain it, but it is Dark Sister. The girl had my sword, and it lays before us even as it sits on my side)" Beyond slumping in his seat, Viserys did not respond.
"Skoro syt istan pōnta wearing lī furs? (Why were they wearing furs?)" Rhaenrya asked, and both men turned towards her. "īlon issi isse se middle hen jaedos, yn pōnta both istan dressed syt se harshest hen sōnar (We are in the middle of summer, but they both were dressed for the harshest of winters)". She brought up a fair point. Both of them had heavy furs, boots, and gloves. The thought of wearing such heavily clothing made Daemon want to sudder.
The three Targaryens sat in silence for several minutes. How could one begin to comprehend this? Were they a gift from the Fourteen, an omen? Try as he may, Daemon could not fully wrap his head around it.
They sat in an uncomfortable silence for several minutes until there was a knock at the door. Ser Westerling's voice rang out. "Pardon your grace, but Maester Mellos is seeking an audience regarding our…guests." Viserys voiced his consent, and the Maester was allowed insides.
"Pardon, your grace," Maester Mellos began, and Daemon noted he did not speak 'your graces' even though both the Crown Princess and the Kings brother were in audience. Another grievance for another time. "I have completed my examination of the two…strangers. Both have charring present on their clothes and skin. The man seems to be in worse shape than the woman, although she herself has a large cut to her side and forehead. Neither have regained consciousness since their…arrival."
"Thank you Maester," Rhaenyra responded. "Might we be able to visit their bedsides? I would like to see if we can learn more about our…visitors."
The master began to protest, but Viserys interrupted him. "My daughter has the right idea. Let us see these strangers with our own eyes. Mellos?" His tone indicated he would not take no for an answer. If Viserys surprised him one more time, Daemon feared he might be struck dead where he sat.
"At once, your grace," Mellos responded, the three Targaryens stood. They followed Mellos out the King's solar and through Maegor's Holdfast, ignoring the nobles and their interested glances. With the three Targaryens walking in unity, Daemon imagined they looked like their banner personified.
Upon reaching the Maester's quarters, Viserys asked Mellos to wait with the Kingsguard outside. If Daemon had asked, Mellos surely would have put up a fuss, but he simply huffed and nodded his head. Ser Westerling opened the door, and the royal family walked inside.
Two cots with two people lay before them. Cleaned of the blood and muck, both had the look of the North about them. Both the woman and the man were dressed in expensive furs. Whoever they were, they were not peasants. "Ampa āeksion zaldrīzoti pōnta issi Starks (Ten gold dragons they're Starks)" Rhaenyra muttered, and his brother laughed at his daughter.
"Se Starks emagon daor tala issa jorrāelagon, nyke shall collect issa winnings isse se tubis!n (The Starks have no daughter my dear, I shall collect my winnings in the morning!)" Viserys responded with a chuckle that quickly turned into a rasping cough. Rhaenyra rushed to his side but he waived her off.
Rhaenyra's idea had merit, but Viserys's words rang true. There were no Stark daughters, only a son, and the man before them was too old to be young Cregan. Unless the honorable Rickon Stark or his father had hidden two bastards somewhere for two decades, there were no Starks known to match the two before them. And yet, Daemon could not shake the image of the woman's grey eyes. He'd only seen that shade once before, on honorable Lord Rickon Stark himself when Daemon was but a boy.
"Kostilus se Karstarks, yn bona shade hen nudho…Rhaenyra kostagon sagon paktot. (Perhaps the Karstarks, but that shade of grey…Rhaenyra may be right.)" Daemon muttered. They fell into silence, each trying to break apart a seemingly impossible puzzle. Who were these two? How in the Seven Hells had they appeared out of nowhere in the heart of the Red Keep? How had the woman had Dark Sister when it remained at his own side?
Daemon's pondering was cut short when he noticed the woman's breathing had evened out. The man's had been consistent, but hers had changed in the last minute. "Nyke gaomagon daor pendagon īlon jāhor emagon naejot umbagon. Se ābra iksos awake ( I do not think we will have to wait. The woman is awake)"
Arya
In her dreams, she returned to Winterfell's Godswood. Wandering through the ancient trees, she felt absolute peace, a foreign concept to her since King Robert and his ilk made their way to Winterfell, invading their home and destroying their tranquility forever.
"Sweet sister, Robert or no Robert our tranquility would not have lasted. in your heart you know this," a familiar voice cried out. Arya turned to Bran sat beneath the Heart Tree and rushed to join him.
"What did you do, Bran? Who was that man I saw?" She questioned, and Bran simply smiled and took her hand.
"I told you, all else had failed. Daenerys was dead," he replied, and oh how it pained her. Their Queen, dead and gone with the battle still raging. "Our future survival needed to be assured. Your survival, Jon's survival needed to be assured." For the first time since reuniting, Arya saw a glimpse of her baby brother beneath the veneer of the Three-Eyed Raven.
"Before they died, Leaf taught me a ritual, one that could send souls back in time. I thought.." he drifted off. "…I had thought you would inhabit the bodies of those I believed could prevent the Dance of the Dragons. It appears I miscalculated." His smile turned rueful, and he met her gaze once more. "You must prevent the Dance, sister. We need the Dragons. Daenerys tried bit she failed. Her children, mighty as they were, were not old enough, strong enough, to match the Night King." Arya wanted to protest, but Bran continued on.
"We need more, more to defeat him. You and Jon can help keep the Dragons alive. His army of ice and death cannot win against fire and life. Dragons are fire and life. You must ensure their survival by any means necessary." He gripped both her hands in his. "Promise me, Arya. Promise me you will do everything in your power. They must live on to face the wars to come. They will test you and try you; you must tell the truth as many times as it takes until they believe you, until they understand the Long Night is coming."
"I promise you." She whispered. Bran's body relaxed, and a small smile graced his lips. "…what of you? What of Brienne? Will you not promise me you will survive as well?" She asked, and the smile fell from his lips.
"Do not worry about us," he responded.
"NO! You are my brother, my baby brother, I will worry about you until the day I die. Promise me that you will not give up, that you will survive as long as you possible can." She cried, and to her astonishment she saw tears gather in his eyes. Throughout the war he'd been emotionless, a moving statue. For the first time she saw cracks in his stone armor, showing the little boy, her little brother, underneath.
"I promise," he began, "that I will try to survive. I swear it by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron. I swear it by ice and fire," he vowed. Arya had heard this vow once before, by Lord Howland Reed. He and his daughter had sworn it the eve before the Night King to Dany and the Starks Meera had died by that vow, Arya recalled.
Arya leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Drawing back, she could see tears running down his face. "Until we meet again Arya. Now, you must wake. Our future rests upon it."
Arya woke to the sound of a door opening. She quickly reshut her eyes and relaxed her body so as to appear asleep. Arya heard three distinct footsteps. One confident, one light-footed, and one heavy as though impaired. Listen with your ears Syrio's voice whispered in her head
"Ampa āeksion zaldrīzoti pōnta issi Starks (Ten gold dragons they're Starks)" A young woman's voice sounded out. That had to be the one with the light footsteps. A girl then.
"Se Starks emagon daor tala issa jorrāelagon, nyke shall collect issa winnings isse se tubis!n (The Starks have no daughter my dear, I shall collect my winnings in the morning!)"This must be one of the other two. At first Arya could not determine which of the two had spoken, but he began to cough and she knew it he was the heavy walker. Lucky girl, Arya thought to herself, she might not know it but she won herself ten gold dragons.
"Kostilus se Karstarks, yn bona shade hen nudho…Rhaenyra kostagon sagon paktot. (Perhaps the Karstarks, but that shade of grey…Rhaenyra may be right.)" The last man spoke, and Arya knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was the one she saw when she first awoke.
Rhaenyra?? Arya knew immediately where she was, thought she wished she didn't. Bran did mention a Dance…
"Nyke gaomagon daor pendagon īlon jāhor emagon naejot umbagon. Se ābra iksos awake ( I do not think we will have to wait. The woman is awake)" The surefooted man decreed, and Arya knew she had been found out.
She opened her eyes to find three (by her assumption) Targaryens staring at her. One was the man she saw earlier who had his own Dark Sister. There was only one man that could possibly be. Standing before her had to be Prince Daemon Targaryen, the Rouge Prince, rider of the fearsome Caraxes. The young woman could only be a young Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, remembered in her time as the half-year Queen. Meagor with Teats her mind supplied, but Arya ignored. The final man could only be King Viserys the I.
Before she could truly comprehend the figures before her, Dark Sister was leveled at her neck.
"Tell us now why I should not remove your head from your shoulders, thief." Daemon demanded. Despite the dire situation, Arya could not help but smirk.
Skorkydoso am nyke nykeā thief? (How am I a thief?)" She asked, and all three of them appeared taken aback. It seems they were not used to people not of their blood speaking their language. "Kostilus nādīnagon aōha zōbrie mandia hen issa ȳrgos, se nyke jāhor ivestragon ao skorkydoso nyke jiōraton issa own (Please remove your Dark Sister from my neck, and I will tell you how I got my own)." He dropped the blade, and she sat up on her cot
"Ao kostagon daor pāsagon issa, yn skoros nyke jāhor ivestragī ao iksos drēje. (You may not believe me, but what I will let you is true)."The man that could only be the Rogue Prince nodded, and she continued. "Issa brōzi iksos Arya Stark. Ampa āeksion zaldrīzoti naejot ao, dārilaros (My name is Arya Stark. Ten gold dragons to you, crown princess)." The girl, now confirmed as Rhaenyra Targaryen, chuckled. Arya continued on.
"Isse se jēdar 306 ac, se bōsa bantis rhēdan (In the year 306 AC, the Long Night began)I." The man Arya had identified as King Viserys the first gasped, gripping the dagger at his belt. His eyes met hers, and she knew he understood the implication of her words. The other two Targaryens looked blankly at her, then at King Viserys I due to his reaction.
"Jikagon va riñnykeā. (Go on child)" The king ordered, and Arya obliged.
"Ilon fought rȳ ropatasōnar, rȳ se twins, se finally kesīr rȳ se mele lua. Each jēda īlon ojūdan se vīlībāzma se īlva jorrāelatan ones (We fought at Winterfell, at the Twins, and finally here at the Red Keep. Each time we lost the battle and our loved ones.)." She took a breath before continuing. "Isse se mōris, mērī nykeā dorolvie hen īlva umptan. Issa valoqar bran emagon se blessings hen uēpa gods se istan able naejot jikagon īlva arlī. (In the end, only a few of us remained. My brother Bran has the blessings of the Old Gods and was able to send us back)".
Prince Daemon opened his mouth to respond but King Viserys raised his hand. He smiled at her, and she continued. "Se vala va se tolie bed iksos issa lēkia Jon. Bran, Jon se nyke istan se mōrī hen Starks. (The man on the bed is my older brother Jon. Bran, Jon and I were the last of the Starks.)". Speaking it aloud was more painful than she'd imagined. The three of them along amongst the host of the dead. Anguish filled her heart and body, and she fell back, fighting tears.
When her back hit the cot, exhaustion took hold. Prince Daemon stepped forward as though to interrogate her further, but the King swept past him and took her hand. "Edrugon riñnykeā, īlon kostagon ȳzaldrīzes tolī istin ao issi jorilagon (Sleep child, we can speak more once you have rested)." His tone reminded Arya of her father's chastisement when she had stayed up late. His tone was fond, not cruel, and she could not help but heed his request. Her eyes grew heavy, and she drifted off once more.
Notes:
As always, constructive criticism is welcome. This story is not beta read, so if you notice any grammatical errors please let me know. I hope you enjoy, or at the very least don't hate. Cheers!
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