#riptide wp

He couldn't escape it.

The dripping, the foul smells seeping through the bricks and wood. He let out a shaky breath when he leaned against the door he sealed behind him. He blinked and sighed.

His nose twitched at the aroma of firemilk wafting through the air.

A soft hum soon followed, making him snap his attention to a familiar figure. A Lady. She stopped her humming and slowly turned her head; platinum blonde braided locs fell over her shoulder. A wicked smile breached her bronze lips, before she faced away, drawing the Prince to the table she worked over.

His firstborn. His daughter Daenys, the very image of her late mother Laena, was before him. Just how she looked before her passing. Both of their passings. Daenys was as beautiful as ever and healthy. She appeared so healthy, and yet no bump in sight. No reminiscence of a child in her womb. Daenys aided the figure on the table, but he could not see who. It was a haze, perhaps due to the dressings and the dimly lit room.

"I was wondering when you'd come." She uttered, barely glancing at him.

"Daenys," His hand reached out to touch her, but she made a noise of disgust. "You're here."

She scoffed, "Trust to find you here, in this mess. Harrenahal? This is your doing, I take it? For the war?"

He bit back, "They waged war the second they usurped the throne."

"Rhaenyra's throne, or yours?" She retorted, before pouring milk of the poppy into her patient's mouth.

Daemon stepped closer, "Daenys --"

“Isn’t this wonderful? Your ploys to uphold your Queen, gain an army, a base for your politicking, and to do as you please. To do what you believed was entitled to you, Father? The crown. A crown for a King. A King that pulls strings under the guise of love and protection. Of the realm or your ego? This is all because of such. A stolen claim. A stolen title. Forced to cater to a… woman?”

The crulety of her laughter would’ve been enough to wound his spirit, but the sight before him as he rounded the table caused a broken cry to fall from his lips. The figure's face she patched up, became violently vivid. They were a child. She was a child. The very age Daenys wed, only the burns and boils clinging to her scorched face belonged to Daenys in death, along with the swollen bump attached to her abdomen. Older Daenys paid no mind to his weeping and continued her work, pouring the firemilk onto the open wounds of her youthful yet crisp face, earning whimpers and cries in response.

“Where were you?” A young, broken Daenys asked. Addled on milk of the poppy, the scent clung to her slurring tongue. “I needed you and you weren’t there,” she tried to say Kepa, but it was no use. "I waited on my birthing bed. I waited when blood pooled between my legs. I waited in the Dragonpits." She sniffled, eyes reddening whilst he desperately gripped the side of the table, letting Dark sister slip through his hands. “You left me.”

“I’m sorry, my girl, I should never have left your side,” Daemon whispered, glancing between the two iterations of his daughter.

“You abandoned me." Young Daenys snapped, shaking him to his core, before both girls yelled, "You abandoned us.”

He could hardly blink back his tears before they let out a harrowing scream as they perished, leaving ash in their wake.

"No, no, no, no. I'm here now," Daemon's eyes drooped, shutting. And when they opened, he was alone in his bedchamber, clutching his sheets. Tears streamed down his face as he repeated, "I'm here now."

a/n:

yup, this is how i'd imagine daenys haunting her father. crazy but it makes sense in my eyes. even in her final moments he wasn't there for his firstborn.