Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Daemon!” that had been the last thing he had heard, the loud cry of his father as Daemon hit the floor, after that everything became muffled; the yells of the servants around him, the women screaming, his men shouting orders and his horse panicking as its rider lay wounded on the ground.

As he lay there he could see red spilling onto the stone floor from his head as his vision grew darker and darker. He could feel his body being pushed onto his back as a pair of hands pressed the side of his head.

He watched as his father knelt over him, fear and worry etched onto his face.

Am I going to die?

Is this how I die?

A Brick, a loose brick falling from onto his head was going to be the death of him…

Please Gods… don’t let this be my end…

He could see the tears running down his father’s cheek as his body was lifted from the ground, by how fast the sky was moving whoever was carrying him must have been running. Daemon could only hope he could be brought to a Maester in time.

In that moment he begged for someone to save him, he wanted to carry on living.

Please… God, I don’t want to die like this…

That wasn’t his voice echoing in his head; someone else’s voice spoke in his mind as his vision faded into darkness, feeling himself slip into nothingness, as the feeling of a thin bed sheet was being pulled over his face.

That was where Daemon’s memory had ended. And where a new life, his life, took over. That was the last living moment that Daemon had experienced and the start of someone else’s.

Strange… I’m outside…

His eye lids felt heavy, it was as if small weights had been keeping them shut for an age before he was able to open them, though not fully to his dismay. Who knows how long it took for him to open his eyes but when he had it must have taken longer for him to adjust to the light from the window.

He could feel his heart beating, the stillness of his own breath, the ache of his body and the feel of silk sheets over his skin and a feather pillow underneath his head.

Wait…

Where’s the sirens?

Every morning, sirens would pass through his window, ambulances rushing down the road. That’s what he had heard for a solid week while at the hospital even when he passed in an out of consciousness. He should have been recovering from a car accident he had. He should hear the sound of doctors, nurses, the other patients next to him, the beeping of those machines… something! Anything that wasn’t this! Silence.

As his eyes began to focus on the ceiling; where once a grey and brown leak stained tile had existed now was the top of what he recognised to be a large bed, one of those kind of fancy beds that overtly rich people had trying to mimic royalty

These sheets…

These felt like linen against his skin, speaking of which, as he began to regain feeling around his body he noticed he was naked underneath

Did the doctors take my clothes…

Why am I here…

Through the ache and pain he tried to lift his hand from the covers and lift it as he rubbed his eyes, wiping away whatever sleep remained. His eyes scanned the room around; within his vision he could see a wooden desk and bronze colour bathtub at the far end of a large room, curtains around his bed with pretty patterns on it, cream colours walls with gold and red trimmings around the edge of the walls. If his new room could be described as anything it would either be opulence or bougie.

He shuddered to think about the cost this place would bill him afterwards.

Had they moved me to a private hospital?

He tried to force himself to sit up, his body still aching as he tried to looks around his room better; his surprise and confusion now overwhelmed his pain.

Where the hell am I?

He looked down at his shirtless body.

Why do I look paler?

The door to his room opened, a woman carrying a large bowl entered in; she wasn’t a nurse, wasn’t dressed in the blue scrubs or apron but dressed like a  servant, like a medieval servant you’d see in those renaissance festivals. As soon as they both locked eyes with each other, she dropped the bowl onto the ground, water spilling out onto the floor

“My prince!” she exclaims.

“Nurse…” Daemon mutters, he tries to reach out to her, as he leans forward he almost falls out of the bed, before he could slip the woman runs to him and pushes him down onto the bed.

“Prince Daemon, wait here!” she tells him before running out of the door “Maester! Maester Allar!” she heard her call out, her yelling echoing in the hallway, he could hear other people running around in the hallway.

As he lay his head on the pillow, his head spinning, he pondered on her words.

Who the hell is… Daemon?

That’s when his memories became to play in his head, memories of a life that wasn’t his; of a large castle, of a mother with blond hair and mismatched eyes, of a father who has platinum hair and purple eyes, of a doting grandmother and his grandfather wearing a crown of gold with gems on it, an elder brother who loved to laugh…  a monstrously large chair of swords in a large hall and a banner or flag with a three headed red dragon on a black background.

No… I’m dreaming, this is a dream…

When he had opened his eyes once more he saw an old man draped in brown robes with long chains wrap around his body watching over him.

“Prince Daemon, you’ve finally awake, thank the Gods.” The man said.

He shouldn’t recognise the man in front him and yet “Maester Allar…” he mumbled as the maester placed a warm wet cloth over his forehead.

He tries to move his body but the maester quickly stops him “You mustn’t exert yourself, your body is likely still recovering from the accident.” He took the wet cloth from his head and rinsed in the water into the bowl “Your father and brother will be here soon to see you, no doubt they will be joyous to hear the news of your awakening.”

The memory of his father Baelon and his brother Viserys seeped into his mind “Father… Viserys…”

“Will be here soon, my Prince, in the mean time you must rest.” Allar assured him “I have asked the servants to bring you some food, no doubt you a famished after your long sleep.”  He felt the maester run the cloth down his arms, across his upper chest and neck as Daemon stared at the ceiling.

This is not… this can’t be real…

He couldn’t come to terms with it, he had all his memories; another life that wasn’t the one he had awoken in now. A regular and boring life; he lived in a flat in a city, worked a boring government job, would watch documentaries and fantasy or sci-fi films or read boring books.

One of them was this one, one of them was Fire and Blood…

And yet he had a whole set of new memories now, a whole other life that had been lived and he was now in the body of that person, he was in the body of the guy who’d be the brother to a king! Father to a king! Husband to a Queen!

One of the main instigators to a bloody civil war, perhaps the first domino that falls towards causing the Dance of Dragons!

Yet despite all that he still had his old memories, the memories that were… his? His first life, the one that was not Daemon but his. His mind was a blur with the two lives; he remembers an accident, he remembers hitting his head on a steering wheel yet also remembers a brick hit his head and him falling off his horse.

The door to his room opens once more “He’s in here, my prince.” Came the voice of the maester. “please by careful as prince Daemon is still recovering.” A middle aged man rushed into the room and knelt by his side, taking Daemon’s hand in his.

“My boy.” The man said, tears welling in his eyes as a smile adorned his face “It gladdens my heart to see you are finally awake.”

Daemon stared at the man for a second, a moment of confusion as the memories of his life here took over “Father…”

Baelon smile widen “Yes, my boy, I had thought I’d lost you.” A tear rolled down his cheek as Baelon rubbed Daemon’s “I do not think I could bare another loss, thank the Gods for their mercy.”

Daemon felt something inside him, something burning, a fury within his core. It was rage yet it was not from himself, it felt as though it was from something within wanting to get out.

He shut his eyes trying to focus on fighting away the feeling.

“My boy, are you well?” Baelon asked, his hands gripping at Daemon’s tighter.

“Yes.” Daemon mutters out “I am just, fighting through a pain in my head is all.”

“Maester, have the servants bring milk of the poppy.” Baelon commanded.

“No please, I am fine.” Daemon said “I only need but a mere moment before this passes.”

Why am I speaking like this? Why have I adopted this ye-olden time English…

As he opened his eyes, more people entered the room, a servant came in holding a tray before placing it on the nightstand next to the bed. The smell from it was overwhelming to the senses yet still very alluring.

“Roasted duck with leaks and some potatoes, my prince.” The servant said before bowing his head and leaving the room. Baelon let go of his hand and along with Maester Allar helped Daemon up to a sitting position.

Allar lifted Daemon’s hair to the side “It seems the stitches have healed well, that is fortunate.” Baelon poured some wine from a jug into a cup.

Little bit early to drink isn’t it?

Baelon places the cup to your lips and slowly tilts it forward, Daemon sip on the drink; thankfully it is not as strong as he expected it to be and it was nice to have something wash down his parched throat. He then cuts a bit of the duck and feeds him it.

It’s really good, I could certainly get use to this…

“Viserys will be here to see you shortly, no doubt he and Aemma will bring Rhaenyra too to see you.” Baelon said.

He quickly remembered a woman with wavy pale blond hair and purple eyes cradling a baby in her arms standing next to his brother, a tall man with a strange looking mustache that bordered on being a bit hipster looking.

“Allow me, my prince.” One of the servants say as Baelon hands them the fork as she feeds Daemon some leeks.

I’m dreaming… this has to be it, this is all a dream. I’m going to wake up in my hospital bed and eat crappy hospital baked potatoes with cheap melted cheese and a stale pudding cup.

The servant then fed him some duck and boiled potato.

“Brother!” came a loud cry as Viserys walked into the room, arms open approaching Daemon. He laughed as he wrapped them around Daemon tightly, Daemon coughed in surprise and agony as Viserys pulled him in closer to him.

“Prince Viserys, you mustn’t be too rough with your brother, he is still recovering.” Allar advised.

“Right, my sincerest pardons, brother, its just so good to see you awake.” He placed a firm hand on Daemon’s shoulder “Almost a moon’s turn you were asleep for brother, some in court doubted that you would wake, but we knew, we never doubted your return for the briefest moment.”

“You have my thanks, brother.” Daemon replied.

‘You have my thanks’? again who talks like this? Just say ‘thank you’

A woman walked in, dressed in a blue dress while his father and brother were adorned in the colours of House Targaryen. “Prince Daemon.” She called out, a baby in her arms, almost squirming to be free of her mother’s arms, walked towards him “It gladdens me to see you awake, both I and Rhaenyra have been praying for your return to good health.”

“It seems your prayers have worked, it seems that the prayers of our city, our kingdoms for the return of my son to good health have been answered by the Gods!” Baelon proclaimed. “Your grandfather will be pleased to hear this no doubt and so will your grandmother and aunt Gael when word reaches them in Dragonstone.”

“And your lady wife Rhea will be joyous about this news.” Viserys added.

My wife? I’m not married…

The hazy memory of a young woman standing before an alter as a septon had them recite their vows to some statutes as a long ribbon was wrapped around their hands. What stood out from the memory was the feeling of unpleasantness that surrounded it.

Daemon pushed that feeling down and listened intently to this family, still believing himself to be dreaming vividly about somehow being in a the book Blood and Fire of all places.

“What… what year is it again?” Daemon asked timidly.

“That brick must have hit you quite hard, brother.” Viserys japed. “It is 99AC, our sweet Rhaenyra was only born just over a year ago.”

“Right, of course.” Daemon replied before the servant fed him another helping of roasted duck before placing the cup to his lips to wash it down. “Forgive me, it appears I have lost some of my wits.”

“You are alive and well, that is more than enough.” Baelon said.

Aemma walked closer, turning so that the baby Rhaenyra could see her uncle.

Such a cute baby…

He felt a horrible pain in his chest, an ache, a want and anger. His mind shifted to what he had read in the book; Daemon trying to via for the throne through his niece, their sons Aegon the younger and Viserys, both kings in their own time yet. The legacy of Daemon Targaryen.

He placed his hand over his chest and he took in a deep breath.

“Are you well?” Baelon asked as only a concerned father would.

“I am well, father.” Daemon responded “I just need a moment is all, I am still recovering.” That seem to calm him down just a little bit.

“I think it’s best if we allowed the prince to gain more rest.” Maester Allar.

“Yes, that would be best.” Baelon said almost sadden by that omission “We will be back soon, my son.” He placed a tender kiss on Daemon’s forehead before departing.

Viserys gave him a softer embrace “Get some rest brother, you will be up and back to your old self soon.” He placed his arm around Aemma as they both walked out of his room.

Both Maester Allar and the servants helped Daemon back into a laying position, resting his head on the pillow, they all bowed their heads as one servant took the tray of finished food and left him alone in the room once more.

Daemon stared at the roof of his bed.

He began to laugh gently to himself.

I’m gonna wake up in some hospital bed after this, it’s was really something to dream about Westeros, but I need to dream up other stuff than fantasy knights and dragons, maybe The Expanse next time?

For the first time today he allowed himself to think of his life; that civil servant job that awaited him and maybe he’ll finally listen to that colleague who wouldn’t shut up about love island when he has recovered, he couldn’t wait! Afterwards he’ll go back home and read that pile of books on his shelf, maybe watch his favourite shows or films… maybe he’ll go see his family, it must have been a few years since he’s seen them since moving to the city for work, he missed his nephew and niece, his sister and his parents.

They must be so worried about me, they’re probably at the hospital watching over me now…

He smiled at the thought as he allowed himself to dream of that life once more as he fell into a blissful sleep.

When he awoke, he was greeted to the nightness and the light of the moon pouring into his room and washing over him.

And silence.

And the roof of the bed.

“No…” he muttered.

He shut his eyes again for a few seconds before opening them.

He looked around, he was still there. Still in that damn room.

His breathing became more frantic as his eyes searched the room, trying to find something, anything that felt more real than this dream!

He tried to imagine the sound of sirens, the beeping of the machines, the muttered talking of hospital staff, the sterile smell, anything that wasn’t this damn medieval place!

“This isn’t real, this isn’t real.” He shut his eyes again, longer this time before opening them. Still he remained in the room. Panic became to envelop him now as the reality of his situation took over.

“No, no, no, no.” he whimpered loudly “No, no, Please, Please, Please.”

This can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real.

It was impossible. How could this be possible? He couldn’t have woken up in some damn fantasy novel he read; they weren't real, this place wasn’t real, Daemon wasn’t real, Targaryens aren’t real! Westeros is not real!

Yet his eyes showed him what he couldn’t not accept.

Tears began to well up in his eyes; was it out of frustration, anger, disbelief, sorrow? It had to be a mix of all of them. The life that he lived may be gone for him forever and in its place. He was now stuck in the body of someone else living out a life in a book, in a world that should be fiction.

He leaned over to the side of his bed and saw an large empty bowl, no doubt a chamber pot. He reached for the bowl and began to throw up into it. What he saw only caused him to weep further.

The leeks and bits of potato mixed in with his sick only confirmed to him that yesterday was real, it was all real.

He lay back on his bed, placed his hands over his eyes as he began to cry, the tiniest part of him hoped and prayed that maybe when he removed his hand he’s be back. Yet as he tried to remember his family, the one he had from his old life he knew within his heart and soul he’d never see them again.

In his heart, almost within his soul he felt his sorrow become even more compounded by anguish and pain; as if there within him was another person weeping, angry, heartbroken.

Someone must have heard him as only a few seconds later there was a knock on the door. “Prince Daemon, are you well?”

He didn’t respond, only continued to weep into his hand; hearing a servant’s voice call him Daemon only made him more upset, only further told him how real this all was.

 He heard the door open slightly, the squeeze of the hinges and creak of the door giving it away. “My prince, are you in any pain.”

Again he didn’t respond, he didn’t have the heart to and all they were doing was upsetting him further. The servant quickly shut the door. Perhaps a couple minutes later, Maester Allar came back into the room.

“Prince Daemon, are you in pain?” he asked, clearly concerned. “what ails you my prince?”

Again he couldn’t find within himself to answer, only to weep. The Maester removed Daemon’s hand from his face and looked at him as he wept like a baby. Allar checked his bandages once more “The wound is clean…” he looked once more at Daemon “Does something trouble you, my prince?”

Please stop saying that… please don’t call me that.

Daemon nodded his head weakly.

How could I explain it? ‘I’ve lost everything, I’ve lost my whole life and I’m stuck inside this body of a dickhead from Game of Thrones?

Even if he tried to explain it, his sobbing got in the way of his words.

“Fetch Prince Baelon.” Allar commanded to one of the servants.

It might have taken a bit longer than when the Maester had come to attend to him but soon Prince Baelon had entered, dressed in his sleeping wear.

“My boy, what is the matter, has something happened?”

Just the sight of Baelon made it worse.

He tried to think of his real father, the one likely sitting next to his hospital bed, an old man with grey hair, square glasses and has a love of sweaters and crafting trinkets and toys.

Not the Prince of Dragonstone, not the son of a King, not a bloody Targaryen.

Daemon tried to speak yet his words came out slurred, whimpers escaped his lips and grief the only thing he could express.

Baelon gripped Daemon’s hand “Is there nothing wrong with him, Maester Allar?”

“None that I could see, my Prince.” The maester replied.

Baelon nodded his head “All of you shall leave us, I will stay here with my son.” He commanded, those in the room bowed their heads and left the two alone, taking the chamber pot of sick with them. Baelon stood up and walked over to the empty side of the bed before laying down next to Daemon but still holding his hand tightly. “I had not lay next to you since the time you were but a boy of eight name days.” He japed, still tenderly holding his hand. “When you are ready to speak, I shall be here to listen.” He said with a reassuring smile “Or fall asleep, you best hurry, I have a small council meeting in the morning and I’d rather not fall asleep when Ryman Redwyne gives his newest report on grain harvests.” He almost scoffed when he spoke of that.

Daemon must have lay there for Gods knows how long trying to calm himself down as Baelon held his hand. But the time he was able to control his breathing and dried his eyes, Baelon was now fast asleep next to him, snoring loudly.

For some reason he took comfort in it, a feeling of calm coming over him as he shut his eyes again, squeezing Baelon’s hand as he let sleep take him once more.

He prayed that, at the very least, he could dream of his life before this.

Chapter Text

When Daemon awoke in the morning he was once more greeted to the roof of his bed, the feel of the bedsheets against his skin and the feather pillow below his head.

The silence had given way to the distance echo of activity from the city with the chirping of birds by his window.

He turned his head to the side to see that Baelon had left already.

He lay there for a few minutes staring at the roof, the feeling of acceptance over his new circumstances clawing at him now, peeling at his eyes now no matter how much he tried to shut them and deny it.

I am Daemon Targaryen.

There was a burning feeling in his chest as those words passed through his mind; was it anger? He wasn’t sure, it felt as though a part of him rejected that and was actively trying to fight it. He closed his eyes and tried to extinguish the feeling, bringing it under control. He tried to sit up, putting the pillows behind his back as he leaned his back against them.

He looked around his room once more, surveying his surroundings. He then looked at his own hands; his pale skin felt alien to him as he stared at them, flexing his fingers. He rubbed his face, trying to get a feel of what he looked like, his hand running over slight stubble. He remembered in both the show and in the artwork, Daemon didn’t have facial hair.

If all you can grow is stubble in just a month then maybe it wasn’t much of a choice.

He suddenly felt that strange feeling of anger or frustration again, this time it felt as if it was directed at… himself?

Once more he fought down the feeling in his chest.

There was a knock on the door “Prince Daemon?” a servant had called out from the other side of the door. “I have brought you breakfast, my prince.”

“Please come in.” Daemon replied, he really tried to listen to his own voice, even that was alien against his ears.

The servant entered the room, carrying a tray of food; on the plate was freshly cooked bread, a small block of butter and a rasher of bacon at the side with a cup next to it.

The food, as last time, smelt amazing; yet at the back of his mind it, he could not rid himself of the feeling of loss, his stomach rumbled yet he wondered if he had the energy to eat. The servant placed the tray down on the nightstand as was about to feed it to him as last time.

“Please, place the tray down on my lap and the cup of ale next to me.” Daemon requested. “You go about you day, I can feed myself.”

“By your leave, my Prince.” The servant bowed his head before leaving the room.

Daemon took a few bites of the bread, breaking off little pieces and almost nibbling on it. Doing the same with the strips of bacon and taking small sips of ale; enough to placate his hunger but avoid being sick again.

He looked at the knife and wondered for a moment.

Maybe…

A searing pain quickly knocked the thought away, distracting him from the possibility. He shut his eyes and took in a few deep breaths trying to calm the pain.

He placed the tray to the side of himself, on the side of the bed where Baelon had slept next to him.

Father, he is your father.

An almost intrusive voice in his head told him, Daemon shook it away, trying to remember his other father; the one who bore him with facts of random topics, not the heir to the throne.

In lay in bed for what must have been an hour or so, staring through the window he began to miss seeing the windows of other flats rather than an open sky. Yet his sadness quickly gave way to boredom; no longer able to just check his phone or laptop or even read a book he experienced the torturous tick of time.

I need something to do…

The servant came back, they looked to the tray and almost circled around the bed to get it when Daemon picked it up and handed it to them “Please my Prince, there is no need.” The servant rushed over to him and collected the tray.

“It’s is quite fine, I assure you.” Daemon said with a smile, trying to reassure the servant. “You have my thanks.” The servant bowed his head to Daemon “If I could make a request, is it possible you could bring me an empty journal, a pot of ink, quill and a mirror?”

“Of course, my Prince.” The servant said before leaving the room.

It must have been a couple minutes or so when the servant returned with a the small bed tray holding both the ledger, pot of ink and quill and a small hand mirror. Setting it down in front of me. “Thank you.”

“If you need anything than do not hesitate to ask, my Prince.”

Wish you’d stop calling me ‘My Prince’

Daemon nodded his head as the servant bowed their head and walked out, leaving him alone once more.

Daemon picked up the mirror first, his hand almost shaking as he lifted up to view his face.

In front of him was Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince, the Lord of Flea Bottom himself staring back at him.

Or at least a younger version of him.

He was not unattractive, quite the opposite, he had to admit he was quite handsome. No doubt that had helped Daemon with charming people while he used them and also helped feed into his ego. His long platinum hair reaching beyond his shoulders and almost covering his chest and is shoulders looked broad and muscular, no doubt Daemon of old had put in the work to stay in shape.

A sudden feeling of envy and want came over him, once more his emotions had surprised him.

What is going on?

Once more he fought the feeling down, regaining control as he picked up the empty journal, flicking through its blank pages.

“Okay… what first?.”

For the rest of the day he had done nothing but writing in the empty journal, filling its empty pages; first he wrote of his past life, hoping that by putting ink to paper he could somehow keep the memory of it alive, keep the memory of what he had loved alive, keep the memory of those he had loved within his memory while it was still fresh in his mind.

At times even staining the pages of his journal with ink and tears as he recited each memory he could think of with his father, his mother, his sister, his niece and nephew, pausing for moments at a time as he wept into his pillow.

When the first journal was filled he then asked the servant for another one as he brought him something to drink while he wrote. With a new journal he began to write about what he could remember from the book Blood and Fire, in his mind there was only one thing that came up, a title etched in this world’s history that sent a chill down his spine.

The Dance of Dragons

He began to write down what led to the war; the crisis of succession, the Great council, the death of Aemma and her son Baelon. He clenched his teeth and swallowed a lump in his throat as he remembered the young woman before him yesterday with her and Viserys’ baby.

I must warn her…

How? How do I tell someone to be careful having children and giving birth in the bloody medieval ages?

He wanted nothing more than to avoid that, he wanted to avoid the Dance and he had a few decades to do it but possibly a handful of events to try and change something.

He wrote about the possibility that Aemma may survive and Baelon or a son will live to succeed Viserys from her, if that comes to pass then it would be a problem solved But there existed what was written in story; her and Baelon’s death and the issue of succession between Rhaenyra and Aegon II.

Yet as he retraced his memory on the events, its major players and catalysts he deduced that should Aemma not survive and Viserys remarries with Alicent and has Aegon or not… There was one action that had pushed them down that path to begin with.

“The heir for a day.” Daemon muttered softly, yet not lacking in its harshness, he glanced at himself in the mirror and almost felt disgust. Almost. For some reason his emotion over that was almost countered by a feeling of injustice.

Why? Why do I feel like this?

He needed to convince Otto Hightower, should he come to King’s Landing to serve as Hand of the King, that while Viserys was without a male heir to the iron throne that Daemon could serve as a substitute to that before Viserys could have one.

Again, a feeling of envy, a feeling of anger and a feeling desire or want began to peer its head.

Why the hell….

He then glimpsed himself in the mirror once more and he could have sworn that the face staring back at him wasn’t his, didn’t belong to him, but belonged to-

“Daemon… you’re- you’re still here.” He clutched at his chest as the realisation hit him like a ton of bricks over his head. The conflicting emotions he felt in his chest were trying to get out. That was Daemon trying to break free.

Quickly he shut his eyes and focused on the feeling as he began to supress them and restore some kind of calm over his body. Establishing control over it.

“I won’t let you…” Daemon muttered to himself, to his old self, the true him.

The bastard… he knows, he knows everything. And he wants that future where his blood sits the Iron throne.

The written memory of Aegon III and Viserys II played in his mind now, the sons of Daemon who would be kings, his legacy and a desire to do whatever it took to achieve that, even if a mountain of bones.

“No… that won’t happen, it can’t happen.” He muttered to himself “Go away... just go away…” as quickly as the pain came so too did it go, he wondered for a moment if he had truly gotten rid of the old Daemon, he lay his head against the pillow as waited for the pain to subside yet, there existed an ache which remained.

After weathering the inner storm he once more put quill to paper as he wrote down his next steps, plans and writing about his own loves and wants, else he forgets that he is not Daemon Targaryen, he is not the rogue prince.  

By the time Viserys had come to visit him, he was already onto his third journal and possibly his tenth refill of ink in his pot.

“By the Gods Daemon, if you continue as you are then you’ll have used up all the ink in Westeros.” He joked. “You crafting some secret plots?” he said as he took one of the journals sitting on the nightstand. “You don’t mind if I read them?”

Daemon smiled “I assure you brother, I do not mean to horde information between each other, we are more than just gossiping chamber maids.” In truth Daemon had hidden the journal containing the events of the dance under his pillow, the rest were either his old memories, ideas he thought of or old stories that he loved to read or watch as an attempt to keep his grounded.

“What is this? The story of the Mino-tar?” Viserys said, unsure how to pronounce the name.

“The Minotaur.” Daemon corrected him “Story about a monster locked in a labyrinth and a hero who slays the beast.” It was a simple story to write and one of his favourites as a child that his mother would read to him.

My mother… she was a professor on folklore and mythology… she was not the daughter of a king or the sister-wife married to Baelon…

Yet as he thought of his mother, the two images and memories of the women seem to shift in his mind.

“A story of a hero rescuing his people before they could be sacrificed to a half-bull half-man monster.” Viserys said as he reads through the notes for the story “Compelling, I await to read the finished version, I’m sure Rhaenyra will love it too.”

Daemon smiles at him as he continues to write in his now fourth journal, trying to remember what he had learnt from his father about making matches and how to make a rudimentary pen after developing a quick and deep hatred for writing with a quill and pot of ink.

“She would probably would appreciate the story of the noble lady from Yi-Ti who saves her kingdom from an invading horde and slays the conquering king.” Daemon said pointing to the journal still in Viserys hand.

Viserys flicks through the pages more before he finds it “Mu-lan?” Daemon nodded his head.

They can’t all be ancient stories now…

“She will love this, I’m sure of it.” Viserys said placing the journal down. “You seem to have become quite the story teller in your time awake.”

“There’s nothing else to do except write, take my meals or go to the privy.” Daemon complained.

“Ah well it won’t be long till your back on your feet and you’ll be back to fighting, drinking and riding Caraxes once more.”

Daemon stopped writing, the ink of the quill forming a splotch on the page as he came to that daunting realisation.

Wait… no… oh no.

Terror seem to grip him now over the possibility or inevitability that one day he will have to face the dragon locked away in the pit. Daemon’s dragon.

“Yes, quite.” Daemon replied, trying to hide his apprehension over it.

“Sadly I must be gone now, father wishes for me to attend this small council meeting, try and accustom myself to the rulership sooner than later.”

Daemon clenched his jaw and within his chest he could feel the old Daemon bubbling underneath the surface like an overheated pot ready to explode.

“Right, that would be wise.” Daemon agrees. Viserys gives Daemon a brief embrace before he leaves the room. Leaving Daemon alone once again with his thoughts. All which was now focused on the Blood Wrym.

Impossible, he shouldn't have been a dragon rider now!

He searched through his memories, trying to find a clue that he must have missed.

105 AC, that was the date, wasn’t it? Just before the war on the Stepstones! Unless he got it sooner than… what else don’t I know?

He suddenly felt very queasy over the idea of having to come face to face with one of those large beasts and worser still, somehow trying to ride the monster and bend it to his control.

I had just learnt how to drive a car, that’s what got me here in the first place! Now I have to learn how to ride a dragon?

He placed the book down on the small pile he had made as he lay down on his pillow; going over every possible scenario he could think of when meeting Caraxes. In most of them he gets eaten, a lot of them he is crushed under the dragon’s heel, slain by the whip of its tail, burnt to ashes or falls to his death after managing to pull off a miracle and ride the thing.

I’m gonna be here for a maximum of a few months and then die from a dragon accident.

Maybe I could spend my time as a recluse…

Maybe I could just die… that might solve the issue of the dance?

A sudden bout of heart burn told him that ‘Daemon’ would not allow that.

He wondered about what would happen if Daemon was to perish; yet every time he thought there might be a way of avoiding a bloody struggle, more issues began to rear their ugly heads.

It would change nothing; there’d still be a succession war…

Yet his own lamenting over changing fate was overshadowed by an immediate concern.

I’m gonna die painfully in my past life and then die painfully in my next one. And that’s if I don’t die from some accident or sickness that can’t be cured without modern medicine or specialists.

He reached under his pillow and began to read through the journal of which he wrote about the events of the dance. He had written down a list of people whom he could recall were still alive during this time, hoping to distract himself from the fear.

“My prince.” A servant called out, the door opened and he stepped into the room, bowing their head “A raven had arrived, with a message from the Good Queen Alysanne.” The servant walked to Daemon and handed him the letter before bowing their head once more and leaving.

Daemon broke the seal of the parchment, brushing off the wax from his sheets.

‘To my Dashing and daring Daemon’

‘I had received word from your father Baelon that you had woken up from your terrible accident, It gladdens my heart to know that you are alive and well again, I had feared the worst and that the Gods had been cruel enough for this old woman to once more outlive someone beloved of her  but it seems they have answered our prays and for that I could not be more overjoyed.’

‘I do not think I could endure another loss in our family.’

‘Both I and Gael are praying for your fast recover, I know you must hate the feeling of being trapped within that bed, but I ask you to endure for now and follow the Maester’s advice in taking as much rest as you can.’

‘Your aunt Gael and I are doing well on Dragonstone for a little bit, being away from court was best for us, away from the scheming, arguments and plots of the capital, I do wish you could come visit us. The castle may be the home of my grandfather the conqueror but the isolation would be daunting if I didn’t have your aunt with me.’

‘Your cousin Rhaenys visits every so often, with her children Laena and Laenor, they are growing up so fast, I only wish that they remain innocent for just a bit longer.”

‘Look at me, an old woman rambling even when she writes a letter to her grandson, I know you must resent me in my dear grandson, truly I believed I was doing right by you when I had arranged the match between you and Rhea Royce, but hearing that you have been miserable breaks my heart.’

‘For that Daemon I cannot be more sorry, I ask that you find it within yourself to forgive this old Queen who neglected her family for far too long.’

‘Please come see me Daemon, and come see Gael too, she’s so excited for the birth of her child, she says it a boy. I’m sure there are whispers around court about this but I have longed stopped caring for the gossip of such lickspittle lords, I wish only to see my family well and our new addition to the family hale.  

‘It would bring joy to an old woman’s heart if you could find it in yourself to forgive me and join us even for just a short while.’

‘If not then I shall not begrudge you of it, for you have every reason to not.’

‘Farwell my grandson, know that I will always hold you dear in my heart no matter what.’

‘Your Grandmother who loves you so dearly,’

‘Alysanne.’

By the time Daemon had finished reading the letter had he noticed the trail of tears that stained his cheeks. He had no memory of the a grandmother from his past life, his parents had him when they were past their youth and in their late-thirties and even if he had seen the photos of his elderly grandparents with him as a baby he had no lasting memory of them in his mind.

But Alysanne…

He could remember her being there for his birthdays, he remembered her showering both him and Viserys with gifts and giving them treats from the kitchen, he remembered her reading him stories and even attending to him when he was sick.

He could remembered her comforting him when Daemon’s mother had die even when she herself was, no doubt, sick with grief over the loss of her daughter and grandson.

He remembered her being there when he was knighted and had Dark Sister bestowed upon him, he remembered her when he had tamed the Blood Wrym, the dragon of her son Aemon and presented himself to court. And he remembered that she was among the few who had shown up to the wedding between himself and Rhea Royce.

Every high and low point in his life, she was there.

He thought of Gael, the last daughter of Alysanne who will die soon before Alysanne too dies.

The sadness in his heart gave way to something else, a feeling of anger, or defiance and pain. Only further compounded by similar feelings of the old and true Daemon that resided within himself.

He looked back in his book.

‘Gael Targaryen – died 99AC, grief over the stillborn death of her son.’

Daemon looked at those words and then glanced at himself towards the mirror, violet eyes staring back at him.

No.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Baelon watched as his youngest son carried out his first training match since his awakening; he watched as Daemon swerved an attack by the Kingsguard member, Clement Crabb, before blocking the next attack with his tourney sword and trying to strike at the knight.

Ser Crabb, skilled as he is, however saw the attack soon and swatted away the strike before hitting him at his side. Daemon stumbled away, clutching at his ribs. From his seat in the yard he could see the sweat dripping from his son’s forehead and hear the heaviness of his beath.

“Again, Prince Daemon.” Daemon nodded his head, gripping his sword and taking up a stance, almost lacking the confidence that Baelon had seen Daemon exude before.

Daemon strikes first, Ser Crabb blocks, Daemon steps back and blocks an attack before blocking another one, then another one before finally trying to attack.

He’s far more defensive.

The Daemon prior to the accident would have tried to land far more attacks on his opponents, trying to overwhelm them through sheer gusto, speed and skill. He strikes at Ser Crabb who easily blocks the attack, disarms Daemon and pushes him down to the ground before pointing his blunted sword in the direction of his head “Yield.” he commanded

Daemon nods his head “I Yield.” Ser Crabb places his sword at his side and helps Daemon back to his feet.

“It seems time away from the yard as dulled your skills, my Prince.” Ser Crabb comments “I mean no offence of course.”

“It is fine, Ser.” Daemon says, not being able to hide his grimace.

Baelon gets up from his seat and walks towards them “You are still recovering, a dulling of your skills is natural.”

“Indeed, my Prince.” Ser Crabb said “Many a man have been worse off after suffering from injuries on the head and skull, you will find your feet in time.”

“I hope I find it soon.” Daemon said, Baelon noticed his eyes wonder into the sky.

“Come my son, get washed and dressed into new clothes, I wish for you to attend lunch with your brother’s family and myself soon.”

Daemon bowed his head “Of course, father.” Daemon placed his tourney sword back onto the rack and walked back inside.

Baelon breathed in deeply before letting out a loud breathe “He is doing well, all things considered, my Prince.” Ser Crabb commented. “I have known many a man who was skilled with a blade struggle with their return after an injury.” Baelon nodded his head “It will take time.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

“It seems the memory is all there.” Ser Crabb said “I believe he will just need to trust his body once more.”

“Indeed, good ser.” Baelon said “You have my thanks.”

“I live to serve, my Prince.” Clement Crabb bowed his head.

In his own apartment, a table had been laid out in the main hall; a spread of small foods from fruits and berries, bread and slices of ham and cheeses were awaited him and his family. Viserys, his eldest son, Aemma his good-daughter and his darling granddaughter Rhaenyra were the first to arrive.

“Prince Viserys, Lady Aemma and Princess Rhaenyra, my Prince.” One of the servants announced as his son entered with his family.

“Father.” Viserys said with a smile as the two shared an embrace, laughing with each other.

“Viserys, my boy, it is always good to see you.” Baelon greeted him, while he understood his duties and responsibilities as heir to the throne, Baelon did dislike how it had kept him from his family over the last few years. Despite being in the same castle he would go days without see either of his sons.

He truly treasured these moments with them.

He turned his eyes to Aemma, carrying Rhaenyra in her arms, even as maids followed her; she was always so close to the new babe and Baelon could understand why. Both her and Viserys had lost children in their cots.

He walked over to her and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek “Good-daughter, you look as beautiful as ever.” He complimented.

“Thank you, my Prince.” Aemma said smiling, Baelon could have sworn he had seen Daella standing before him for by a mere moment.

Baelon smiled warmly before turning his attention to his granddaughter looking up at him as she rested her head on her mother’s chest. “And who is this?” he said playfully “Are you not the fairest girl in all the Seven Kingdoms?” he tapped her on the nose ever so lightly.

The doors to his apartment opened again.

“Prince Daemon, My Prince.” The servant announced.

Baelon looked up to see his youngest son enter through the doors; his eyes looking around the room, taking everything in. “Daemon.” Baelon called out as he greeted his youngest son with open arms.

Daemon smiled and the two embraced “Father.”

“Brother!” Viserys greeted Daemon with a wide smile and a strong embrace, knocking the wind out of his younger brother who laughed wheezingly as wrapped his arms around him too. It truly warmed his heart to see his family, to see his sons care for each other. Viserys pulled back from the embrace “Look at you, walking around the Keep now.”

“And getting his hide tanned by Ser Clement Crabb.” Baelon laughed as he patted him on the back. Viserys laughed with him as Daemon smiled, looking almost sheepish.

“Aemma, good-sister, you look as beautiful as ever.” Daemon greeted him, taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on it.

“You are too kind, prince Daemon.” Aemma replied.

“And Little Rhaenyra, still as precious.” Daemon said he gently tapped at her cheeks. Suddenly he stepped back from them, closing his eyes and clutching at his chest.

“Daemon?” Viserys said, quickly moving to his brother’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“My boy, are you well? Baelon asked, trying to mask the fear in his voice.

Daemon swallowed “I am well, just a slight ache, nothing more and nothing I had not experienced.” He looked at them with a smile.

“Do you need to rest?” Baelon asked. “Should I call for Maester Allar?”

“No please, I am well, father.” Daemon said. “I promise all is well.”

“We should sit down.” Viserys said, taking his hand off of Daemon’s shoulder and escorting his wife to their seat as one of the maids was handed Rhaenyra.

Baelon patted Daemon on the back and showed him to his seat.

The four of them all sat down at the table, his eldest son and good-daughter on one side and his youngest on the other as they took to the dishes already laid out on the table before them as more food was served; a veritable feast of meats from chicken, pork, pheasant and salmon with side dishes of carrots, leaks, lettuce, potatoes and bowls of fruit.  Viserys was eager to eat and enjoy himself with his wife Aemma, likely he did not get the luxury of time with her since Baelon had been made heir with Viserys being his.

They had all been so busy, the realm never rests and it seems neither does the king, the small council or even my own family

Viserys fed Aemma a grape from the bowl and his good-daughter giggled at the gestured. Baelon smiled at them, his heart aching for a memory of himself and Alyssa.

He glanced over to Daemon, holding a piece of bread in one hand, feeding himself as his other hand rubbed his chest, rotating it in circles.

He must be recovering from the yard.

“Viserys, how was the council meeting this morning?” Baelon asked.

“It was insightful, father.” Viserys replied “His Grace and the small council had gone over the recent events over the Stepstones.”

“Once more?” Baelon said as he picked up a chicken leg.

Viserys nodded his head “There is some growing concern regarding the tariffs being placed by the Triarchy from some of the lords and merchants, it’s their belief that that the payment to pass through the islands is becoming far too exorbitant; some even wish the islands had returned to piracy.”

Baelon sighed “Perhaps we will need to negotiate with the Triarchy for fixed tariff.” He said “Ryman Redwyne will need to speak with their council and magistrates.”

Viserys grimaced “If I am to speak freely.”

“Of course.”

“I believe that his grace is losing patience with Ryman Redwyne as his hand.” Viserys said, Baelon grimaced yet even he was aware of the truth in those words “I mean this in no offence to the Lord Commander of course, but I sometimes think that the duties of being hand are far past him.”

“I do not know what my father was thinking when he had appointed Ryman as his hand after the tourney.” Baelon said “I have nothing but respect for Ser Ryman, however I don’t not think he is suited to the duties of being Hand.”

“I think even Ryman would agree.” Daemon added. “Being skilled with a sword does not mean they’ll be a good administrator.” He saw Daemon’s fingers press into his chest once more after the comment yet he did not show off any pain from it. “I think it takes certain kind of temperament to govern.”

“Septon Barth was a difficult man to replace, I think anyone would fail to imitate the role he did in my father’s small council.” Baelon said.

 “I’ve heard from others in court that his Grace is considering others for the position as Hand.” Viserys said “Some in court suggest that Corlys would be a good choice as hand, having served on the small council and will likely be an offer of friendship to him and Rhaenys.”

“Corlys will only be satisfied if and when he believes his blood will sit the Iron throne, until then he and Rhaenys will likely be content to remain in High Tide.” Baelon said, it pained him to see Rhaenys; she was so much like her mother Jocelyn yet he would see glimpses of Aemon in her and her children.

His eldest son looked to him “I hear that his Grace may ask you to be his hand, father.”

Baelon chewed into his chicken leg as he considered Viserys’ words; he had known that his father was considering for a position in the small council as a way of preparing him for rule as he had done with Aemon when he had been Master of Laws but he never considered the position of Hand.

“If my father wishes for me to take the role as his Hand than I feel I would have no choice but to accept the position.” Baelon said.

“I think you would make a great hand, my Prince.” Aemma complimented him.

“He will make an even better king!” Viserys said, raising his cup to him, both Aemma and Daemon followed his example.

“I am confident that you will follow me in greatness, Viserys.” Baelon said, prompting a laugh from his son.

“And Daemon will serve as my Hand no doubt.” Viserys said. “Or any position he wants on my small council; perhaps Master of laws or maybe coin?”

Daemon smirked “I don’t believe coining count would be a task to be fond of, sounds far too dull.” Viserys laughed “Truly could you imagine having to count every coin in Westeros? I would go mad before the year’s end, maybe even before then!”

“That’s why I would rather it be you than me.” Viserys laughed. “Still though brother, I would like you on my small council.”

Daemon chuckled “I am flattered brother, truly, though I would need to consult with my wife at Runestone before joining your future council.”

“Ah yes, the last thing we would want to do is upset our wives!” Viserys laughed, putting his arm around Aemma and bring her close to him.

“How is your lady wife responding to the news of your recovery?” Aemma asked.

“She had sent a raven saying she is glad to hear from me and that she awaits my arrival soon.” Daemon replied, yet Baelon knew the mummery behind any kind words between them.

“We will miss you greatly brother, but know you will always have a place at court.” Viserys said as he picked up a cherry from a bowl in front of him.

“Thank you, brother.”

“Please give send dear cousin Jeyne my love when you reach the Vale, Gods knows she will need it.” Aemma said.

“Of course, good-sister.” Daemon said “It is horrible what had happened to her family, I will do what I can to support her.”

“Her poor father and brothers, slain by those savages in the mountains.” Aemma lamented.,

“What had happened to Lord Arryn and his sons was horrific; leaving a girl of only five name days to rule an entire kingdom.” Baelon said “The years ahead will be trying time for the Vale of Arryn.”

“I’m sure Yorbert Royce will do good work in keep the kingdom stable until she reaches her majority but can we really trust her to govern the Vale, a woman as warden of the East?” Viserys said.

“I think she will do a fine job once she reaches her majority.” Daemon said “There have been ladies governing lordships since before the Conquer, my lady wife will become the Lady of Runestone after her father.”

“Yes a lordship, but never an entire kingdom.” Viserys pointed out. “It is without precedent.”

“Who is to say there might not be a Queen sitting on the Iron throne one day.” Daemon commented.

“A Queen of Westeros?” Aemma asked. 

“Yes, who knows, it might even be our delightful Rhaenyra who becomes it.” Daemon smiled and for a flicker Baelon could see some of Daemon’s old self. “Rhaenyra, first of her name.”

Baelon rubbed his eyes, the mention of this only reminded him of Rhaenys.

Viserys let out a loud laugh “Ah yes, our sweet Rhaenyra would make a great queen.” He said “But that will be as wife to my son or maybe even a son of yours! She had be a Lady Royce!”

Daemon smiled at that, however Baelon noticed he lacked the mischief as did previously. Daemon placed his hand over his chest again “I would be honoured, brother.” He replied.

“Speaking on a son, I would be honoured if you would allow me to name a future son of Aemma and mine’s Baelon.” Viserys said.

Baelon felt his heart melt “I would be more than honoured, my son.”

Viserys lifted up his cup “Here’s to a future Baelon, second of his name!” he proclaimed as a jape.

The other members of his family raised their cups to that.

 For the rest of the meal he and his family chatted, japed and reminisced amongst themselves of simpler times before he became heir.

I will miss these times when I am king.

When the meal had been finished he made sure to embrace each one of them before they parted ways from each other once more to their own responsibilities. Baelon then headed to his own solar; inside his office was an ironwood desk carved with the images of dragons along its legs with a polished table surface. A low fire was burning in his stone fire place keeping the office cosy and comforting, the walls were decorated with the banners of House Targaryens along with the laurels of his victories at tourneys gone and the stone floor was partially covered by a large Myrish carpet.

One that had been picked out by Alyssa when she had spotted it at a market place in King’s Landing; enamoured with the patterns of red dragons on the rims of the carpet. He remembered how she would watch and play with their boys in his solar every so often.

He sat in a chair, covered with large furs, by the fire place.

He reached for his head and removed the thin golden crown that had rested upon his head. The symbol of his status. As he held it, Baelon glimpsed at his own reflection within the crown, even now he still could not be rid of the thought of Aemon, how he wished it was his brother who was still here, still heir to the throne and the one to be king.

How I still wish you were here, brother.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Enter.” He called out.

The door opened “My Prince.” A servant said “His Grace requests your presence at the Throne room.

Baelon sighed “I shall come at once.” He said, standing from his chair. The servant bowed his head, outside of his door was ser Robin Shaw.

“My Prince.” He said with a bow “Allow me to escort you.”

“Lead the way, Ser Shaw.” Baelon said, the two made their way to the red keep until they reached the large doors of the Great Hall. The doors opened before them; the polished marble floors, white towering columns and large banners of his house decorated the hall yet at its centre was one thing.

The Iron throne.

There is two other members of the Kingsguard stood guard as his father Jaehaerys sat upon the mountain of swords.

“You may enter.” His father spoke, the two walked towards him, the looming figure of the tower almost overshadowed them. Both he and Ser Shaw bowed their heads before him.

“Your Grace.” Baelon spoke.

“My son.” Jaehaerys slowly got up from the throne, his steps were laboured and tired, Baelon fought back the urge to run to his father and help him down.

One day, you won’t be able to climb those steps.

Jaehaerys reached over to Baelon and embraced him. “My son, my heir.” He said patting him on the back. His father had made it a point to refer to him as such, like carpenter using nails he wanted to hammer in his decision to those around him that he had chosen Baelon. Even when it had caused a rift between him and his wife.

“Father.” Jaehaerys pulled back and looked at Baelon’s face with a smile. “May I ask why you have summoned me?”

“Can’t a man, a king, ask to see his son?” Jaehaerys asked in the manner of a jape. He breathed in deeply as he looked towards the throne

“Have you heard back from mother?” Baelon asked. “How is Gael? Has she…”

His father was silent, hesitating to answer “You’re mother is doing well, so is Gael.” He answered “And no, she has not given birth to her child yet.” The last part has almost come out as a groan, he knew his father’s feelings around this.

Baelon thought of Gael; his little sister who had always clung to his mother’s skirts, even now she had been almost connected to their mother by the hip, she had reminded him so much of Daella. He could not begrudge his mother of trying to protect her; the loss of so many of his sisters had taken a toll on all of them.

Sometimes he contemplated inviting Sera back home once he became King, he would hope that his mother would still be alive to see that.

“I’m sure she will give birth to a healthy son.” Baelon added. “Another addition to our family.”

The old King sighed, his father could never truly accept it; this scandal and Daemon’s injury and near death had drove them apart once more as their mother declared to him that she would ‘save him his pride, as that is all he cared for.’ When he had refused acknowledge Gael’s child as a member of their royal family.

“I believe that I am not long for this world, Baelon.”

Baelon grimaced “Do not speak as such, there are still many more days ahead of you, many more years to come.”

“Years maybe, but not so many.” Jaehaerys countered. “Soon you will take your place at this seat… and I fear I have placed far too much on your shoulders.” He turned away from the throne and to Baelon “I know that you have the bravery to take on anything yet I fear it will be too much, even for you my dear boy.”

“Whatever comes our way, we shall face it together.” Baelon said, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I shall face it with my sons.”

His father sighed “Family can be the end of us as well as what makes us.” He warned, Baelon eyed his father “Maegor, mine own uncle, betrayed his brother and killed two of my brothers to usurp and keep the throne. And Rhaenys resents me for passing over her.” Baelon swallowed slightly at the mention of Rhaenys “Her boy has a dragon, House Velaryon has a dragon now, and who’s to say they will not have more? Who is to say that her son does not harbour dreams of kingship?” Baelon opened his mouth “And who is to say that Daemon does not either.”

Baelon clenched his fist “Daemon would never betray his family.”

“He is ambitious, perhaps too much for his own good.” The King said “Yes he may play the good Prince now but what in five years from now? Maybe ten? Who is to say that he would not believe his sons should inherit more than Runestone? Yes I forbade him to give dragon eggs to his children but even Aerea had stolen Balerion and took off to that forsaken land… and Balerion and other dragons are still untamed.” Jaehaerys shook his head “And then there is the Triarchy, who knows what may become of them, for their control over the Stepstones and growing power in Essos may threaten stability on our shores.”

“You make it sound as if my reign will be one fraught with peril.”

“I fear that there is still so much for me to do and yet I do not have the strength to do so.” His father lamented “I had hoped for you to inherit a realm in peace, a united realm, instead you are left with challenges.”

“What you leave to me is leagues better than what you had inherited, father.” Baelon assured him “We shall be well, I promise.”

Jaehaerys nodded his head as he smiled softly to his son “Yes, our house shall be in good hands.”

Chapter Text

As Daemon stared up into the sky, the clouds moving quickly as his father carried his body back into the castle; he begged the Gods to spare his life, pleaded with them for spare him of this fate. As his vision began to fade into darkness he thought that this would be his end.

The young prince Daemon, received by the Gods far before his prime, sharing a fate similar to his uncles and aunts whom had met their ends in ways they could not predict and he would become yet another unfortunate accident inflicted upon House Targaryen.

Please Gods… don’t let this be my end.

As his vision turned to pure darkness, he heard a voice utter one last desperate pray to the heavens to spare him.

Please God, I don’t want to die like this…

In the briefest of moments before the lightless oblivion consumed him, he wondered to himself where that voice had come from as it certainly was not his; yet it did not matter now, his body was limp, his heart beat slowing to a crawl and his breathing weak, he drifted into a gentle sleep as a strange feeling of someone placing bed sheets over his head put him to rest.

When Daemon felt his eyes open, he was greeted to the sight of his bed and the sound of Kings landing and the Red Keep around him. He would have wept with tears of joy; his prayers had been answered, the Gods have been merciful! he was alive!

And yet he did not cry, or cheer or even smile.

He tried to move his body and yet it stayed in place; only his eyes moved around as if trying to figure out what was going on, its own movement independent of his thoughts and control. 

Then he felt it; Fear, it was fear that he could feel. Yet it was not his fear that he was experiencing, it was as though someone had placed the fear upon him. 

He saw his arm rise to his face as it rubbed his eyes.

As his eyes looked at his hand, he could then feel confusion at the sight; as if a part of him couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

His body rose from the bed, Daemon could now see his room around him and yet the feeling of comfort wasn’t there. 

He felt confused, unsure as to what was happening. 

What is this… Why can’t I…

The fear that he had felt being placed onto him, was now becoming his own. 

He tried to move his mouth to speak yet he couldn’t, he tried to move his arm once more yet he couldn’t, he tried to move his eyes yet they would not.

A maid entered into his room, carrying bowl of water, she dropped it onto the floor when she saw him trying to reach out to her.

Maid… help me!

Yet his mouth would not move…

“Nurse…” his voice called out to the maid, he sounded broken and raspy.

What?

The maid quickly pushes him back down onto the bed as she hysterically runs out of the room, running to get Maester Allar. Daemon would normally be bitter about this, a lowly peasant woman putting her hands on him. Yet his mind was clouded by a horrifying thought.

I did not speak, that was not what I had wanted to say…

Then all at once he was struck with flashes of memories that were not his of a life that he had not lived; he saw a house? a small manse? On a street not made of cobblestones or rock, he saw a woman, a person who was his mother? With almost Dornish like skin, dark curly hair now greying with age carrying stacks of books and reading him strange stories. He saw an aged man with greying brown hair, pale skin wearing a strange round metal thing around his eyes and who tediously kept showing Daemon these strange things he had made. There was also a younger woman, his sister perhaps, with a boy and a girl but no father with them.

He remembered working in a building of white stone and glass, writing reports and talking to people who looked to be dressed in formal attire discussing about events and problems he had not heard about but which left him bored nonetheless.

This was the life of vassals to minor lords, castellans or stewarts to landed knights… why do I have the memories of someone so insignificant?

Among his memories was something else, a revelation hidden within that would come to him sporadically; it was of what would come to pass in the decades to come.

He remembered a time when he was exiled by his brother and passed over as heir to the throne by his niece Rhaenyra.

He was crowned as a king in his own right over the Narrow Sea by Corlys Velaryon and  then losing his small kingdom at the hands of the Triarchy and Dorne, he remembered marrying Laena who had given him two daughters who would then be tied to the sons of Rhaenyra, plotting for a day when his grandsons would sit the Iron throne and the Driftwood throne, two great Valyrian houses.

He suffered the death of his wife and first son, yet remarried with his niece who would become Queen, chosen by his brother, and himself a King as he had desired.

He held his own sons in his arms, the little Aegon and Viserys, given to him by Rhaenyra.

He waged a war for the throne against his nephew who sought to usurp his eldest sister of her birthright, crowning his niece himself as she named him Protector of the realm.

He had love affairs with Myrisa, a Lysene dancer who served him well as he master of whispers, and Nettles who claimed the dragon Sheepstealer and tried to claim Daemon too.

He fell from the sky as he slew his nephew, burying Darksister into his eye as Caraxes bests the legendary dragon Vhagar beofre crashing into the Gods’ eye.

His own death.

Yet his victory remained; his sons Aegon and Viserys would both sit the Iron throne, Daemon’s blood will flow through the veins of every Targaryen from then till the end of time. His name, his memory and his legacy now forever a part of his family lineage.

Kings… I am the father to a line of kings

But as he glimpsed his future, he wanted more. Far more.

When he awoke once more, did the next few moments truly illuminate his situation; he was surrounded by his family, his father embracing him with tears in his eyes. His brother celebrating his return from his long sleep and seeing his good-sister Aemma and niece Rhaenyra.

And yet he could not say anything to them, not a single word that left his lips were his. He tried to strain against himself, against the walls that seem to hold him in from regaining control of himself, all in vain.

Yet that was not the end of his torture.

His eyes fell upon his young niece, Rhaenyra. His key to such a legacy. But he knew now; he was no longer in control of his own life try an form such a fate. Once more he strained against himself, wanting nothing more than to reach out to her as his body stayed still and merely watched them.

He still could not move his body but learned something of the upmost importance as whoever controlled his body gripped his chest with his hand.

You can feel I am here?

Empowered, he tried to break free once more. All smashing his head against his cage as whoever was in control restrained him, choking him as he faded to black. He had never felt so powerless before, the feeling of death pulling him into the abyss.

That night he looked through his own eyes as he felt tears roll down his cheeks; whomever was using his body as a puppet felt nothing more than anguish, surrounded by nothing but the feeling of sorrow he too wept even if he could not try of his own volition.

Yet as his father held his hand he felt comforted in that moment.

Father... please, notice I am still here... 

The next few days since then had been the dullest days of Daemons life. He had feared that whomever controlled his body would abuse his powers and rights as a prince; living a life of luxury and royalty that could be afforded to a Prince.

but that would have been a mercy, a hedonisitic lifestyle and abuses of his rights and powers would have been a far more interesting use of his time, his life and body as all the person who controlled him did was write.

And write.

And write.

And write.

By the Gods, can you do something else?!

He wrote about strange ideas and contraptions, he wrote about stories and memories from his own life and then he wrote about Daemon’s future. And how he planned to avoid that future.

It was in that moment that Daemon was able to make himself known to whoever or whatever was using his body. Straining himself against the trappings of his own body as he wrote down about that moment his own brother Viserys removed him as heir and plotted to put his nephew as the Prince of Dragonstone.

“Daemon… you’re- you’re still here.” Daemon felt alive, it was the first time he was acknowledged as himself, his true self trapped inside. He continued to try and break free but the weakling who used his body restrained him “I won’t let you.” The bastard muttered.

Daemon raged against that, had he any hands they would be bloody as he slammed them against the walls of his prison.

“No… that won’t happen,  it can’t happen.” The puppeteer muttered to "Go away... just go away” Daemon felt a hand grab his chest as it pushed him back and once more he was thrown back into total darkness.

When he had come back, Daemon decided to bide his time; sitting, watching and waiting for the moment he would strike and try to regain his body. He allowed this puppeteer to write, and write, and write as he looked through these new memories as he plotted to change his fate.

Through him he learnt more about this world of the foreign invader which occupied his body; it appeared that this foreigner had gotten something of maester’s education in his younger life until he reached manhood, then working for the “civil service” which looked to be the arm of those who wielded power in his world; there he wrote words on contraptions made of glass and metal.

A scribe… a lowly scribe, I am a prisoner to someone so beneath me. 

He did not know whether to be disappointed by this revelation or angered by it; that a man who would have served as a maester or, if they were lucky, would have held the most minor of minor offices in the Red Keep had control of Daemon's body. 

His family were not mere peasants however, it seemed them had come from a scholarly background; a mother and father who indulged in books on a different subjects, watched pictures move about in the metal and glass which spoke of their world and a sister who dotted on two bastard children without the need of a father getting the children on her but had memories of said sister seeking the companionship of other women, which puzzled Daemon as to how that was possible.

His father, he was a carpenter by trade? How did his mother gain a maester’s education? Who is the father to his sister’s bastards if his sister takes only women to her bed?

But the greatest discovery was that of the books of Westeros, of The Seven Kingdoms and of events now far into the future, he had glimpsed his own future and the more he searched the more he found of those more than a hundred years from now.

But what he found only enraged him the more he peered into it; his descendants toppled from the throne by a rebellion and by replaced House Baratheon, whom could trance their lineage to him, a little girl carrying the hopes of house Targaryen across the narrow sea with three dragons at her back, a war between five kings, Lannister bastards seizing control of the throne and…

A winter never ending and within a cloud of ice and frost, blue eyes peering through displaying something unworldly just beyond the mist. He tried to peer closer into the fog before he felt himself being quickly pulled back into the present.

What was that?

He had tried to peer back into the memory only to be met by darkness, no matter how hard he had tried to peer into the memory it was as if someone had lifted a veil of shadows over it. Daemon quickly composed himself, dismissing what he saw and instead focusing on what was before him.

A servant appeared before his vision, handing the imposter a letter. He broke the wax and unravelled the letter reading its contents; it was a letter from the Queen, his grandmother Alysanne. As his eyes poured over every word, every letter and space in between Daemon could only feel anguish as the once proud Queen Alysanne confessed her sorrow and pain.

Had Daemon of been the one to read that letter, hold it in his hand then would have have rejoiced, feeling vindicated for his emotions and pushed to have it annulled with his grandmother's 'blessing.' 

Yet in that moment he was overwhlemed by sorrow with the knowledge of her and Gael's fate. And for the first time both he and the puppeteer were united in the feeling; sparing their grandmother of more loss and saving their aunt from the pain of losing her child.

However this moment would be fleeting, extremely fleeting.

As time passed, he felt himself get closer and closer to this spirit that controlled his body; soon enough he was able to hear the creatures thoughts as if he was being spoken to. 

Monster! Can you hear me? Address me, I am a Prince of House Targaryen!

He knew of this imposter’s plans; he wished to hold Daemon back from his destiny, he wished to push him into irrelevance, deny him the throne for fear of conflict. 

Yet despite his yelling the other did not respond, it likely couldn’t not hear Daemon’s angered calls. But he could still feel pain, especially that inflicted upon by Daemon himself. 

Seeing his own face, clearly was strange and almost comforting but it had felt perverse and wrong as he watched his body move against his will and thoughts.

And when he was handed Darksister, the sword of Targaryen kings and Queens. It took everything to not immediately lash out. 

Yet when the puppeteer had met with his grandfather the king and told of what he had planned to do after his recovery, Daemon could only rage at the words that were being spoken without his own thoughts on the matter. 

“I plan to go back to Runestone, your Grace.” This imposter spoke; he acted weak, a craven who was willing to beggar himself to that Bronze Bitch and deny Daemon the legacy that could be his! And every concession that the weakling allowed only further enraged him.

Truly you are no better than a cowering girl…

To Daemon, the worse part of all of this was that the imposter knew; he knew that within his chest Daemon was raging at his choices, angered by the injustice and despised the attempt to confined him to such a horrid fate.

The only moment of solace he could take was when his grandfather had placed this imposter into a corner, trapping him in a prison of his own making. He took great pleasure in the fool’s hopeless challenge.

But even those moments of triumph was short-lived as the fool did what he did best; putting quill to parchment and grovelling at the feet of the Bronze Bitch of their cursed marriage.

Had I control over but one hand I would straggle the life from both of us!

He tried his best to look away, the control his body and fight back against this yet he could not move a finger or twitch a muscle

Daemon could feel it, he could almost see it; the future of his lineage, the legacy of house Targaryen, the glory and infamy that his name would carry dying before his eyes as this puppeteer, this imposter, this demon that wore his skin and moved his arms and legs, sought to place him as nothing more than a footnote in history as the consort to some landed lady in a kingdom of sheep fuckers.

He thought of his children, the ones who may never be born or live to have their names in history.

Aegon…

Viserys…

Baela…

Rhaena…

If he only had control over his eyes he would weep, yet all he could do was rage, and rage, and rage. Rage against the monster that controlled him, that sought to have him grovel to his lesser and snatch away the future that he deserved.

With his new found freedom, the imposter seemed to just wonder around the Red Keep like a simpleton quawking at everything around him; every tapestry, every window and even the tiles on the floor seem to amaze this fool. 

Are you a scribe or perhaps a bumbling fool? 

Then the imposter came upon the doors that Daemon was all too familiar with; the large doors to the throne room. 

No! you shall not step in there!

Daemon did all he could to will the monster than controlled his body, this craven not worthy of being a ratcatcher let alone a Prince, from setting his eyes upon the Iron Throne. 

When the imposter stopped, his hand on the door as the pain held him back, he once again focused on Daemon; soon the restraints or hands that pulled him back dragged Daemon almost into the edge of darkness. 

He fought as hard as he could, will all his strength yet the more the imposter focused on banishing him, the closer to the edge it seemed Daemon got. 

Before Daemon was thrown over into the void, he saw through his own eyes the imposter stepping into the throne room; the Grand hall with the banners of his House displayed proudly on the walls. 

And the throne of swords at the heart of it all. 

As his vision grew dark he glimpsed the throne as the imposter stared at it. 

Yet as he fell into the pit, Daemon resolved himself to keep going, to see a history that would be even close to the one that he had learnt of. Instead he would live to see that day than die in a glorious battle or be the prisoner to this stranger wearing his skin, content to be subservient to others. 

He shall have more. 

No matter how, no matter what, I will rise, I shall live on.

In the writings of Maesters shall be my history,

On the lips of the smallfolk shall be my tales,

In the veins of Kings shall be my blood,

In the annals of legend shall be my name. 

People will rememeber who I am. 

Chapter Text

That night he couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed as his awaking thoughts were consumed with the dread thoughts, anxiety devouring his body and in his mind a constant back and forth went on whether he should go ahead with it or should just avoid it entirely.

Dragon…

Just the mere thought of it had made him sick, he wanted to just get up from his bed and run away; take a ship to Runestone, Dragonstone, Essos, wherever he could go and not have to deal with what would be certain death.

Maybe I could just ignore it, just go about my day and just take a ship to Dragonstone now, warn Alysanne and Gael then head to Runestone and live quietly.

The now familiar pain in his chest started to burn once more, he clutched his chest and shut his eyes. Trying to force the old Daemon away, yet this time, he would not relent, instead the pain was now burning even more intensely, it felt as if a molten object was trying to break through his chest.

For just a few seconds he found even the act of breathing difficult.

“Fine.” He muttered. “Fine, just stop, please.” The pain slowly began to die away.

Daemon sighed and placed his hand on his eyes; caught between a rock and a hard place. 

Either I learn how to fly and maybe die in the process or live this life in constant pain…

In his mind he viewed the memories of Daemon’s dragon; the Blood Wrym Caraxes, a giant serpent like creature, scales hard as plated armour, teeth like rows of sharp knives, wings like a demon from hell and the ability to breath fire from its mouth.

He remembered a younger Daemon fearlessly placing his hand on the snout of the giant monster as if petting a common farm animal. Even the image of the creature in his memories had sent a bolt of dread coursing through his body.

He didn’t know how he was able to sleep that night but somehow he managed to get a few hours of sleep before the dawn had arisen and light spilled into his room. After quickly washing himself, getting dressed in the clothes given to him by the servants, outside of his room a member of the Kingsguard awaited him.

“My Prince.” The knight dressed in the white plated armour and cloak of the Kingsguard greeted him.

“Ser Shaw.” Daemon greeted him, he tried to remember the members of the Kingsguard from both Old Daemon’s memories and from the book.

“Where to Prince Daemon? You have a few hours before your training with ser Crabb.”

“To the library, ser.” Daemon said “There is some things I need to research.”

“Research?” Robin asked puzzled.

Fuck.

“Read, my apologises, I’ve been reading some books by foreign scholars, seem I’ve picked up some words.” He lied.

“Of course, my Prince, allow me to escort you.” Ser Robin then looked to Daemon side “But first my Prince, you seem to have forgotten to bring Dark Sister with you.”

Fuck that’s right!

Daemon quickly ran back into his room and picked up the sword that he left on the stand of his bed “Thank you for reminding me, Ser.” Daemon said “It seems my memory is has yet recovered from my injuries.” The Kingsguard nodded and led him to the Red Keep’s Library, once more through the grand halls of the castle.

The Library in the Red Keep was vast; books, ledgers, parchments held by string or even rope and scrolls were stacked on the shelves.

“Prince Daemon.” A voice called out to him, he turned to see Maester Allar “I am surprised to see you here.” He walked toward him and bowed his head once he approached.

“Maester, I’ve been reading so many books I figured that it would be best to visit the library than ask the servants to give me more.” Daemon’s eyes still scanned around him at the large library.

“Have you broken your fast yet?”

“Not yet I’m afraid, I was eager to get here and do some reading first.”

“That will not do.” The Maester looked towards a servant who had been attending him “Bring Prince Daemon some food while he reads.” The servant bowed their head and quickly scampered off.

Yeah I’m never gonna get use to that…

“Thank you, Maester Allar.” Daemon said “I should find a place to sit and make myself comfortable, only have a few hours before training.”

“Please, allow me to show you.” Maester Allar said leaving it to a secluded spot in the large hall.

Daemon made himself comfortable on a wooden table by the window, ser Robin standing close by. “Ser Robin, can you help me find some books or scrolls?”

“Certainly my Prince, what did you have in mind?”

“Try and look for anything concerning the knowledge of dragons.” Daemon asked. “I realised I’ve been away from mine for a while now and need to find out if perhaps pro-longed absences of the rider impacts the two’s connection.” He lied. “I think we could find more separated.” Ser Robin looked at Daemon incredulously, Daemon tapped on the hilt of Dark sister “Worry not, I won’t be far behind.”

“As you say, my Prince.” He responded as he walked away, disappearing into an alley of shelves. Daemon walked towards one of the shelves on the other side, pulling out one of the books. They all seemed to be bound in leather covers, rough against his fingers at times, the titles of each book written on the first cover.

Internally he cursed at God, the various authors of these books and the maesters who organised these books.

These fuckers just shoved the books on the shelves with no order to it!

He placed the book titled ‘The history of House Forrester’ back into the shelf as he picked out another book, then another, then another and then another. It was only until he reached the tenth book on the shelf did he managed to find something even remotely related to dragons.

“A History of Old Valyria…” he muttered before closing it and placing it under his arm.

For what must have been a good thirty minutes he walked around, scouring for more books; a small stack of them held by one arm as he continued to look before finally giving up and heading back to the table. Ser Robin waiting patiently for him, another small pile of books sat idly by.

“My Prince, I hope you find use in what I was able to get.” He said, bowing his head slightly.

“No doubt, ser.” Next to the books a tray sat at the centre with a plate of fried bread, cooked eggs, a healthy serving of bacon, slices of apple on a smaller plate and a slice of but looked like raspberry pie and a jug of watered down wine with a glass.

Why can’t I just stay here forever; read, write and eat?

His heart then tried to claw his way of his chest, causing him to momentarily press his hand onto his chest.

Alright! Jesus! Fuck!

“My Prince, are you well?” Ser Robin turned to him, his voice was stern as if ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble.

Daemon raised his hand to the knight “I am well, Ser.” He said trying to reassure him “For whatever reason this just seems to happens but it passes relatively quickly.” He tried to laugh off the pain. “Like now.” He sat down and opened one of the books and began to write as he read through the first book, every now and then taking a piece of bacon, egg or fried bread and biting into it. He tried to his best to eat, despite the nervousness that seemed to devour him instead.

Dragons…

He read through a book that a scholar had written of the experiences of those dragon keepers of his Grandfather, he tried not to wretch up the food in his stomach as the author had described how a dragon keeper was torn in half after being too careless.

A feeling of disappointment emanated within him, no doubt the old Daemon felt bothered that the person possessing his body didn’t possess his bravery. But he knew that the old Daemon was right, he was scared, terrified about the prospect of having to see a dragon. And the more he read about them, wrote down about them, and looked at the drawn pictures of them. The more he felt himself being dragged deeper and deeper into his pit of fear and despair.

Wish I had my phone… or my laptop, just anything…

He tried to finish food as a way of occupying his mind away the feeling; he needed something to distract him, something to do and he didn’t care what, he didn’t want to think about…

A servant appeared in front of them, he looked to the woman dressed in the dull brown dress with a dirty apron wrapped around his waist.

“Oh!” he called out to the woman, lifting up the empty tray and standing up, the woman panics and rushes over to him.

“My Prince, please let me.” She says, taking the tray off of him. “Please forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive.” He said with a smile “Here, allow me to help.” He said taking the half full jug and two empty plates “I’ll follow and you tell me about yourself, I insist.” As they began to walk, Maester Allar spotted him, a puzzled look on his face “Maester, save those books for me!” he called out to him. So he and the serving woman who introduced herself as Agatha, shadowed by ser Robin, walked to the kitchens of the red keep. Every so often a different serving maid or servant would walk by and try to take the plates from Daemon and politely each time he waved them away.

The kitchens of the Red keep were themselves impressive and interesting to look at; the numerous cooks and servants who stared at Daemon as he walked pass them, still asking Agatha about her responsibilities and life.

“So you have two small boys?” he asked her. “That’s lovely.”

“Thank, my Prince.” She placed the tray down on a table as another servant quickly grabbed the tray, turned to Daemon, bowed their head and scurried away to a side room with large bucket of water to clean the plates.

He turned his head towards the other servants “Let me help you!” he calls out them, as he walks towards them they all stare, shoot up to their feet and greet him, bowing their heads. “How’s everyone?” he asks them. They all give him some variation of “Well” he looks over to the large bucket, bits of food floated to the top of the water.

Disgusting… It seemed as though old Daemon was in agreement as his own sense of uneasy looking at it was further compounded by the person’s whole body he possessed.

“Looks like you’ll need a new bucket of water.” He told them “Ser Robin, will you help me?” he smiled at the Kingsguard. For the rest of the hour he helped them scrub down the plates, after some insistence on his part, all while Robin stood guard; he got to know the maids around him, firing off different questions to them again and again, his hands and his rolled up sleeves soaked in water.

Anything and everything he need to do to distract himself from what was to come.

When it had been time to leave he waved them goodbye, keeping their faces in his mind as he tried to block out the memory of… it.

“If I can speak freely, My Prince.” Robin had asked.

“You can.”

“When did you become so invested in the lives of scullery maids?”

“These people, the maids and servants, shan’t have them doing all the work around.” Daemon said “Gotta-”he coughed, stopping himself  “I should be more humble, despite my own standing, they are subjects of house Targaryen and even they must see their lords and Princes among them” The answer seem to be satisfactory as the knight nodded his head. “I should perhaps warm up before meeting with Ser Crab for sparring.”

“Very good, my Prince.”

Heading to the courtyard, Daemon had changed out of his doublet emblazon with the insignia of the red dragon and into more comfortable fitting tunic and worn pants, sowing marks and stitches marking them.

Daemon took a tourney sword from the rack and approached a dummy person stuffed with straw. Once more he searched through the memories of the old Daemon.

He slashed at the dummy, bits of straw falling the ground as it was hit out of it. He sliced at its side remembering how the old Daemon had done so when taking down a squire during the tourney that had him knighted.

Block, attack, block, attack, block, attack-

There was a feeling of want in his chest, a burst of determination, a feeling of strength.

He struck the dummy again and again at both its side, stepping side to side with his feet as if dodging imaginary attacks from the dummy.

It felt intoxicating, it felt maddening, it felt great.

He felt powerful.

Attack, attack, attack, attack-

“Prince Daemon!” the call had snapped him out of his trance as he regained control of himself, the cocktail of emotions he had indulged himself on quickly subsiding as he turned to see Clement Crabb standing nearby waiting for him, dressed in his white armour and cloak. “Shall we begin?”

The training with ser Crabb had only gotten more difficult; even with the memories of past sparring matches, lessons and some drunken brawls that the old Daemon had gotten himself into, an actual fight was an entirely different beast.

Ser Clement swung his sword to Daemon’s left and he blocked the attack, the tourney sword was far heavier than Dark Sister. Daemon pushed his attack away and tried to strike at the knight’s side only for him to parry the attack and strike him on the side of his body, the padded amour absorbing most of the blow.

Most.

“Argh!” Daemon exclaimed as he left to one knee.

“Again, My Prince.” Clement said offering his hand. Daemon looked at Clement who stood over him; he could feel the shame and embarrassment that the old Daemon was feeling swirling in his chest.

“Yes.” Daemon said grabbing his hand as Clement pulled him up.

“It’s all there, My Prince, I can see your training and skill there.” Clement encouraged him “But you seem to be more restrained, does something trouble you?”

Seeing a dragon is what’s troubling me  

“I do have a lot on my mind.” Daemon admitted, the anxiety of what was to come looming over him like a colossal shadow “But mayhaps I am still getting use to moving after my long sleep.”

“It can take a man an age to regain the skill they had after an injury.” Clement said “Doubtless you shall regain the skill you once possessed before.” He stepped a few paces backwards and readied himself “You shan’t get there speaking.”

Daemon nodded his head slightly as he readied himself for the next bout, this time he went on the offensive; the searched through his memories for inspiration. Daemon swung his blade sword to the side the side, Clement parried the attack and tried to counter when Daemon reeled back and when for a stabbing motion which forced the knight into a defensive move again.

The Daemon’s style was quick, swift and decisive.

Daemon used Clement’s focus on defensive in that moment to close the gap and went to strike at Clement’s open spots, forcing the knight to step back.

Daemon’s style is overwhelming

That same feeling of power had gripped him once more as his body began to move on its own, relinquishing control over it to his emotions, to his memories... to something else. 

Daemon’s style is confident…

Daemon brought his sword up and swiped downward onto the knight, who quickly stepped to the side and raised his sword to Daemon’s neck.

Too confident.

“Do you yield?” Clement asked politely.

“I yield.”

Clement lowered his sword and took up a guarded stance. As the adrenaline wore off and his emotions began to recede into the corners of his being did he start to feel the pain and ache within his joints. Daemon almost crumpled to the ground, just about catching himself as he knelt down, using the dull sword for support.

“You should not exert your body as such, you are still recovering, my prince.” Clement said “But that was much better, much more like the you of old, with more practice you will be as you once were soon.”

Daemon nodded his head as he caught his breath, noticing now the drops of sweat running down his face. He clutched at his chest; the feeling of power that had almost consumed him had now almost vanished, leaving only a chill in its place.

How much… how much of that was me?

 “Shall we go again?” Clement asked.

After another hour in the training yard, a quick bathe and some light lunch he returned to his room; there the books he had taken from the library were stacked neatly on his desk. Daemon breathed in deeply before letting out a rough sigh. He sat down at his desk and once more began to read.

He found himself engrossed in the words of Septon Barth’s book on dragons yet with each word he read the pit of dread grew deeper and deeper. Doubt now began to set into his mind and visions of a gruesome death at the whim of the oversized lizard that could breathe fire.

His curiosity had gotten the better of him as he had gotten to the part of the book where Barth described what had happened to the Princess Aerea. Daemon covered his mouth with one hand as he shut the book closed, fighting back the urge to be sick all over the table.

He beat his chest with his fist a few times as the feel subsided, he sat hunched over his seat. He turned his head to the window, the sun was now beginning to lower itself.

Its almost time.

Maybe I shouldn’t do it today? Maybe today was just a research day, maybe a research week or two?

The idea of postponing this was an attractive option for him.

But not for Daemon.

The burning in his chest began to spark, shimmer, flicker before then spreading in a wildfire that burned the inside of his chest.

Daemon clutched his chest as he tried to fight off the rage and defiance of the true one, yet he would not backdown or be cowered once more.

“Fine…” he submitted, his voice a pained whisper “I’ll do it…”

The fire that caused him agony soon died down, yet the pain was there, hiding underneath the surface like a knife pressed just against the skin without piercing it.

Daemon stood up from his seat and walked towards his door and saw Robin standing guard. “Good ser.” He said “Can you escort me to the dragon pits?”

The pit itself was on one side of the city, away from the Red Keep on a hill named after one of Aegon’s Queens, Rhaenys.

The Queen who never was… Daemon thought to himself as he thought of his cousin rather than the Sister-Queen. The thought that still made him grimace.

The Queen who should have been really… that thought earnt him a ‘kick’ from Daemon.

Can’t I have an opinion without you lashing out, you bloody cry-baby? He placed his hand on his chest as he forced the old and true Daemon away for a bit.

The dragonpit was colossal, even if it wasn’t sitting upon a hill he could easily see the structure ahead. It reminded him of the capitol building in the US from his memories as a child on holiday, but instead on a scale that was almost incomprehensible.

How the hell did a medieval society build something like this?

As they arrived at the entrance of the Dragonpit both he and Ser Robin were greeted by men dressed in black armour, polished almost to a gleam that reflected the light of the sun. “My Prince.” One of them said to him as they bowed their heads. Daemon and Robin dismounted their horses and approached the dragonkeepers, he could see the scales and etchings of dragons on their amour and the swords on their hips.

“Caraxes awaits you inside, my Prince.” One of the keeper said.

To the Daemon of old this must have sounding like the sweetest of promises.

But to this Daemon. It sounded more like a threat.

“Thank you.” He spoke, he turned to Robin, in that moment he wanted to tell him to come with him. “Wait here, ser.” Robin nodded his head.

Daemon looked out to the vast entrance of the dragonpit,  a gaping void into the darkness.

The lord is my shepherd… he recited a prayer his father had taught him, hoping to find comfort in it as he took the first step forward with the dragonkeeper as his guide into hell.

The tunnels of the pit were enormous, like vast ancient caverns, each wall showed patterns and drawings of dragons and the Targeryen banner. When he first glimpsed the sleeping form of a  dragon, his heart shot up into his mouth; the almost unimaginable scale of the beast as it slumbered, its wings wrapped around its body, he felt small just looking at it.

He couldn’t help but stare.

“My Prince.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, snatching him from his trance. “Magnificent isn’t it, your father’s dragon, Vhagar.”

That’s Vhagar! Fuck me, how big was Balerion?

In that moment he felt the urge to run, yet the burning feeling in his chest kept his feet on the ground.

“Caraxes, is further down.” The dragonkeeper pointed the way. The tunnels of the pit seem to go on for ages, perhaps he wished that was the case. Yet they reached it.

There in its own section of the pit, a blood red dragon; it slept curled up with its own wings wrapped around its body. Even if it wasn’t the size of Vhagar it was still gigantic in it’s own right.

The keeper opened the cage, the bars of the cage letting out a chilling screech of metal and rust, in that moment Daemon wanted to die.

Caraxes raised its sleepy head and looked at him with deep baited breathe as the air from Daemon’s lungs had escaped.

“If you need me I shall be near, My Prince.” The dragonkeeper said as he walked away, Daemon tried to think of every reason he could concoct to keep him here yet his very mind escaped him in the face of the mythical and terrible.  

Now he wanted to run, as he went to turn and leave through the gate the burning feeling in his chest almost intensified. He clutched his chest as he tried to fight back the pain that kept him here. His head began to spin as he fell to his knees as he struggled to breathe and whimpered in pain.

“Somebody help me… Please…” it came as a whisper than a cry.

Caraxes then crawled towards him, its footsteps loud, imposing and impending.

His body shaking, Daemon raised his head to see the blood Wrym now loom over him, its breathe brushing his hair. And its large golden eyes looking back at Daemon’s.

“Caraxes, please… don’t’ kill me-” He pleaded weakly to the dragon, reaching out to him before his vision went black as he collapsed to the ground.

Chapter Text

When Daemon awoke he found himself in his room once more, a cold and damp cloth resting on his forehead and his chest as he faced the roof of his bed. Outside he could hear the birds and distant sounds of people speaking.

I’m back here? What happened?

His memories seemed like a haze as his head ached from a pain within.

He tried to sit up, removing the cloth from his head and chest and placing it to the side in a bowl of water. Suddenly his door opened and a familiar face greeted him.

“Agatha?” Daemon asked, his voice croaky.

“Prince Daemon!” Agatha exclaimed as she rushed over to him “Please, lay down!” she reached out her hands to him yet hesitated touching him, she looked towards the door and back to him “I shall go and get Maester Allar, please stay put!” she quickly rushed out of the room and Daemon flopped back into bed, placing the palm of his hand against his forehead.

A few moments later Allar entered the room, Daemon had already placed on some clothes he had gotten from a wardrobe and sat on his bed, washing his face with the water from the bowl.

“Prince Daemon, you’re awake.”

“Maester Allar, good to see you, this has become a rather annoying occurrence.” Daemon jested with a smile as he got up from his bed.

“Please sit down.” Daemon sat down as Allar instructed as the old man stood over him “Maid, fetch the prince a fresh bowl and a skin of water now.” He told Agatha, she quickly picked up the old bowl and rushed out of the room “How are you feeling, My Prince?”

“Agatha.”

“My Prince?”

“Her name is Agatha.” Daemon told him, irritated by the tone he had spoken to Agatha with “Not ‘Maid’ it’s Agatha.” Maester Allar looked at him perplexed before nodding his head. “I had a slight pain in my head but that has gone, what happened?”

The Maester breathed in and wet his lips slightly “We are not sure, what we know is only what had been reported by the dragonkeeper who had escorted you; he said that your dragon Caraxes had cried out, waking the other dragons in the pit, when he rushed back to the chamber that contained your dragon he found you laying on the ground.”

Daemon must have looked at the man completely perplexed.

Why wasn’t I eaten?

“And afterwards?” Daemon asked “Did the dragonkeepers retrieve me from Caraxes chamber and bring me here.”

“It not that simple, from what the keeper and ser Robin had said, your dragon seemed to be guarding over your body, threatening anyone who dared to approach and take you away.”

Daemon raised his eyebrow.

It was guarding me?

“One of the dragonkeepers got a rather horrible burn when they tried to retrieve your body.” Allar explained, Daemon bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fist at the news of that “It was only until your father was brought before the dragon that they were able to take you away from Caraxes and back to the Red Keep to be examined.

God… they must have been so worried.

He thought of Baelon, no doubt the sight of his son, laid out on the ground once more had terrified him that the worst had happened once more.

Viserys must have been worried too, and Aemma.

In that moment he was thankful that perhaps Rhaenyra was too young to understand what was going on around her. Else he bring worry to her too.

He thought of his the old king, his grandfather and wondered whether the news had phased him.

But what had set a pit in his stomach was the thought of Alysanne, the dotting grandmother waiting for him with Gael on Dragonstone; no doubt she was racked with fear, stress and worry at the news of him going back into a coma again.

“How long was I asleep for?” Daemon asked.

“A about ten days this time.” Allar replied “When you were brought to me it was as if your body was burning on the inside, you were hot to the touch, we had tried to cool down your body and it seems the Gods were good; we were able to bring you back to normal very quickly, much to the relief of everyone, My Prince.”

Daemon swallowed slightly “That is good, thank the Gods it was not longer.”

“I recommend that you remain in bed for a few days, perhaps it was too soon for you to be exerting yourself after your long sleep.” The Maester recommended.

Daemon shook his head “Afraid not, I had promised his Grace that I would be gone in four turns of the moon, I shan’t break our agreement.” Daemon stood up and Allar placed a hand on his shoulder

“I am sure that his Grace, your grandfather, can be persuaded to reconsider after this.” Allar argued. “Your father Baelon will no doubt argue in favour of it.”

Daemon sighed.

He would, wouldn’t he…

“I can’t stay here and have my father worry over my every move.” Daemon said “I have caused him enough stress already, I have a lot of work to do and such a short time before I head back to my lady wife, if his Grace must inform Lord Royce that my return will be postponed despite being able-bodied then some may question the word of the king and House Targaryen.”

Maester Allar stood silent and considered his words “Perhaps you are right.” He admitted.

“I thank you for your service, Maester Allar.” Daemon said “But I should return to my duties, no doubt this time away will have made my body weak once more, you have my word that I will not over exert myself.”

“That is good, please take care.” Maester Allar said “But for today, I think it will be better for you to be watched over.” The door opened and Agatha re-entered the room, Allar paused “Agatha, place the bowl and skin of water on the bedside table.” Agatha placed both down and bowed her head “That will be all, you have our thanks.” Daemon looked to Agatha and gave her a say smile and bowed his head slightly. “I recommend that you take sips of this throughout the day, keep yourself cool.”

“Of course, thank you.”

“All your writings and journals have been left here for you too.” He pointed to them, stacked neatly on his desk “No doubt Prince Baelon and Viserys will be around to see you once they hear the good news.” Allar bowed his head “Take care, My Prince.”

“I thank you, Maester Allar.” The Maester left his room, closing the door behind him. Daemon sat down on the bed once more and placed his head in his hand.

What the hell happened again?

He tried his best to recall what had happened to him back in the dragon pit; the longer he sat down and tried to reach into his memories the more he was able to recall.

He remembered being in such immense pain; he had collapsed onto his knees and his vision went dark, unsure what had happened afterwards.

Daemon placed a hand over his heart and clutched at his chest.

Fucking Daemon…

He remembered the urge to run out of the chamber that Caraxes was in and then whatever pain or control that Daemon had managed to exert as he forced him to stay put. The two in conflict with each other.

He stood up from his bed and began to pace back and forth as he contemplated this.

How much control does Daemon have? Not a lot, close to nothing, but enough to hurt me and push me into a certain actions or directions maybe? All I feel is his emotions… and when he is angry and that’s directed at me, that’s when it hurts.”

He sat down at his desk and opened one of his journals to a blank page, writing it down.

If neither of us budge then… does the body overheat? No that’s stupid. But it must cause some kind of damage, maybe it causes too much stress to our body? Either way, I’ll need to work on overpowering him more in future.

I can usually throw him into some kind of box each time but he caught me off guard there... and then there's the question of whether he would stop even if I kept throwing him in. 

He placed the quill back into its pot as he rubbed his face and thought back to his experience in the dragon pit; the blood Wrym just a mere meter away from him. He had thought he would die right then, end up as a nice meal or snack to the dragon yet-

He guarded me? The dragon must still be loyal to its rider?

The fear that had once consumed him was replaced with curiosity.

Why?

He must have spent hours of this day trying to figure out the question to that; did the dragon still see Daemon as Daemon? Did the dragon know that I’m in control, does the dragon know that his rider is still here? Did the dragon simply take pity on him?

Too many questions with varying implications.

Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra were the first to visit him this time. Viserys seeing Daemon looking hale and hearty seemed to bring some encouragement to him as he embraced him tightly “Brother!” he exclaimed “It seems the Gods can not keep you down no matter how they try and how many time they may!” Viserys laughed as he tapped him on the back roughly.

“It is joyous to see you already in good health, Prince Daemon.” Aemma said, carrying Rhaenyra in her arms. “We had all kept you in our prayers during those times.”

Daemon placed a chaste kiss on both her cheeks before placing one on Rhaenyra’s forehead. “Thank you, good-sister.” He smiled at her “You’re prayers seemed to have worked wonders.”

“Father had been in a horrible state when he received word of your accident, we had all feared the worse but I’m sure he his gladdened by the news that you have returned to us, he had told us what he had come upon when he arrived at the pit.” Viserys said. “What had happened?”

Daemon recited what the Maester had told them and then what he could remember from his own memories, doing well also to hide what had a happened between him and Daemon.

“My sincerest pardons, I had never meant to worry you all as such.” Daemon said.

“All is forgiven, Grandfather was prepared to send word to the Vale to inform Lord Royce and your lady wife had you of not awaken soon.” Viserys waved his hand.

Daemon nodded his head “And how is Grandmother? How is Gael? Were they told?”

Viserys visibly grimaced “We thought it was best that we should not inform the Queen of what had occurred just yet, she’s already too much to shoulder on.”

Daemon clenched his fist and squirmed in his seat a bit, he could feel the time slipping through his finger tips as he wondered how much longer he had to prevent Gael’s death. “I think we should send her a raven, at least saying that I am now in good health but also of the incident.”

“Are you good health?” Aemma questioned, forgoing the titles.

“Maester Allar did say they would need to keep watch of me for now but as of now I am well.” Daemon said “I hope that by tomorrow I will be back in the courtyard and maybe-” he cleared his throat, hiding the fact he had to force the words out “get back to riding my dragon.”

Viserys laughed “Nothing can stop you there, not even the Gods.”

“Please take care of yourself, Prince Daemon.” Aemma said “And do get plenty of rest.”

“Please Aemma, Daemon is a man-grown, he does not need any mothering.” Viserys jested.

“Thank you for your concern, good-sister, it warms my heart.” Daemon said, placing his hand on his chest. Daemon looked to Rhaenyra “Make sure to be on your best behaviour, little one, your mother gets enough grief from your father and uncle as it is.” The remark earned a giggle and chuckle from both Aemma and Viserys respectively.

“We should head off now, father will be here to see you soon.” Viserys said clapping his hands together. “Aemma is right, Daemon, do get plenty of rest, even just for today.”

“I shall brother, worry no longer.” Viserys embraced Daemon tightly, Daemon lightly hugged Aemma and Rhaenyra as they departed from his room.

For the rest of the day, Daemon continued to read and write in the empty pages of his journal of what had happened to him in the dragonpit.

I will need to ask Ser Robin what he had seen and the dragonkeepers too.

As he thought back to Caraxes he was still filled with a sense of foreboding and anxiety, yet now confusion had been layered in. The night had come, the light of the moon pouring into his room. He stood up from his desk, his hands aching slightly.

Why do I write so much now?

He thought back to when he had a laptop and a phone to use whenever he was bored. He really started to miss all the home luxuries he had in his past life; he started to wonder about his friends and co-workers, his neighbours his- 

Wait. 

Something was wrong. 

Why? why can't I- why can't I remember their names? 

He poured through his own memories, trying to pick anything from the now blurring memories in his mind. Yet each time it came out muffled or missing.

Fear gripped him as he came to an even greater, more terrifying realisation. 

My name- why can’t I remember…

He walked over the balcony in his room, the soft night breeze brushing his long hair against his cheek, he hoped it would clear his head. And yet as he gripped the railing of the balconey, closing his eyes trying to focus he searched through every inch of his memories, he tried to remember someone saying his name. But their words were muffled and worse... it was being replaced by another name. 

Daemon. 

No they didn't call me that! I had a name! I had name! 

My name... it's Dae- No, no it wasn't Daemon, I had a name before him... it was- 

Suddenly he heard the door slowly click open, he turned to see Baelon enter his room; a bewildered look on his face as he tentatively approached Daemon. The two were silent as they looked at each other; Daemon not knowing what to say and likely neither did Baelon.

As Baelon stepped out onto the balcony, Daemon could see the tears welling in his father’s eyes. Baelon threw his arms around Daemon, holding onto him tightly as he buried his face into his shoulder weeping. “My son…” he muttered. “My boy… you’re awake.”

Daemon wrapped his own arms around Baelon as he held him tightly, his own tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “Father…” he could feel his own sadness being strengthened and empowered by the grief of the old Daemon.  

Baelon pulled away and held Daemon’s face in his hands as they both looked at each other with red eyes filled with relief. “I had thought I lost you…”

Daemon smiled “I’m not going anywhere, father.” He told him. “Not yet at least.” Baelon couldn’t help but laugh “Forgive me, I never meant for you to worry about me once more.”

Baelon pulled him back into a tight embrace “There is nothing to forgive, I will always worry about you, it is part of being a father.” He pulled back once more and looked at him for but a moment, as if carefully considering his next words “I shall speak to my father, we will write a raven to Lord Royce and your lady wife and tell him not to expect you too soon.”

“Please father, I am fine.” Daemon gripped one of Baelon’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze “Trust me, father.” He asked him “Place your faith in me, I can do this, the king has said I have four turns of the moon and that is all the time I shall use.”

“Daemon… I can not risk that.” Baelon looked to the floor “I will speak with the king, I can plead, beg or argue, I just… I can’t let something happen to you again.”

“Truly father I am fine, you have my word that if anything happens then I shall quickly alert Maester Allar to it.”

“Daemon… I see you clutching your chest every so often? You think a father wouldn’t notice their own son in pain?”

Daemon paused for a moment “I will not lie and say I haven’t been up to full strength but please… please believe me when I say to you that I can control it.” He felt is chest burn slightly and he fought back the urge to grab at his chest and instead breathed in deeply. “I know my own strength father, I cannot let the word of house Targeryen been seen as something that can be swayed than ironclad.”

Baelon shook his head, leaning his own weight against Daemon as if to stop himself from falling to the ground “Even now, you are too much like your mother; I can not stop either of you two to do something you set your mind to.”

Daemon remembered the princess Alyssa, the fiery personality who rode Meleys, wore chainmail and wielded weapons. “It’s why you loved her.”

“That is indeed why.” Baelon agreed, a soft smile on his lips “There is likely nothing that will change your mind and I know you well enough that you will see a curfew as a challenge than anything, at least until tomorrow you should rest.” he paused “So be it, I trust you."

In the calm silence Daemon asked Baelon one simply question. 

"Father, who I am?" his voice was almost feeble, weak and unsure. 

Baelon gripped his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. 

"You are Daemon, you are my son." 

When the morning came, Daemon was already awake before the birds had begun to herald the sun. Unable to do anything until the kingsguard member by his door allows him to leave. Doing some stretches and exercise when the orange light of the sun gleamed through.

He wiped his face with a dry cloth on his table and stared at himself in the mirror; a part of him still hadn’t gotten use to seeing the reflection before him, as he looked away his eyes drifted towards some empty parchment.

Maybe I should write to Alysanne, warn her of what will happen?

Yet he knew deep down he couldn’t; if it went either way, either telling Alysanne that Gael will take her own life after the death of her son, then questioned would asked of how Daemon could have known and he could not risk being seen as something mystical and place a target on his back.

Plenty of those types meet bad ends in this world.

When the servants came to wash him he greeted them, washed himself, got changed into his clothes and ate breakfast did he finally leave his room.

Ser Robin waited for him outside “My Prince.” He said, bowing his head “I am overjoyed to see that you are well.” Despite the silence, Daemon knew there was more Robin wanted to say “I- forgive me, for my moment of weakness, I could not protect you.”

Daemon raised his hand “There is nothing to forgive, what could you have done? Slain Caraxes? You would have either died or brought the wrath of my House on you; do not be so unkind to yourself ser, you are a good knight and a good man.”

Robin bowed his head “Thank you, my Prince, you are too kind, where to today?”

Daemon shifted his belt, the scarab of Dark sister tapping his thigh as he adjusted the strap of his belt carrying his journals. “The Dragonpit.”

The ride to the dragonpit this time round was still terrifying, with each step of their horses Daemon could feel that familiar fear and dread begin to dig its claws into him and yet. But, perhaps from Daemon or himself, he felt determined and drew courage from that. When they arrived at the entrance to the pit they were greeted to by the dragonkeepers.

“My Prince.” They greeted him “it gladdens us to see you well.”

“Thank you, I’m here to see Caraxes.” He turned to Robin and nodded his head as if to say ‘I shall be fine.’ He told h before once more entering the dark entrance into the pit. This time Daemon took in more of the pit; he spotted Vhagar, slumbering in its chamber, he also spotted the dark scales and wings of Dreamfyre and then the bronze colouring of Vermithor as he devoured the charred remains of some animal.

Daemon shut his eyes and tried to steady his rapidly beating heart as he continued to follow the dragonkeeper. When they reached the chamber that held Caraxes he felt the urge to run once more yet Daemon held still as he stared at the red dragon, this time awake and aware of it’s rider’s arrival.

Daemon stepped into the chamber and walks towards it, trying to hide the shaking in his legs.

It didn’t kill me when I was here before, it could have killed me when I was on my knees and it tried to protect me when I was unconscious.

He could feel the golden eyes of Caraxes on him staring back at him, digging holes into his skull. Daemon dug deep, taking some of the bravery and determination had swelled in his chest; he did not know if that was his own or if it was Daemon’s and yet he drew from it.

Please…

Caraxes approached his rider, its steps almost shaking the ground. As the dragon began to overshadow him he wanted nothing more than to run for the door. Yet the burning in his chest urged him to stay put. He reached his hand out to the snout of the dragon, its hot breathe rushing through the spaces between his fingers.

He placed his hand on the snout, it was warm to the touch and strangely smooth as he rubbed his hand on it. Caraxes almost most seemed to lean into his touch, Daemon placed his another hand on it’s jaw, his hand brushing against it’s scales, softly growling or purring as he did so.

Daemon almost wanted to laugh as the dread subsided and he himself became more familiar to the dragon, he could feel the smile form on his lips.

You’re like a dog, a giant fire breathing lizard dog.

“You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” the dragon hummed in agreement, he turned to the dragonkeeper standing by the door watching him “It is fine, you can go.” The dragonkeeper nodded his head and left Caraxes and Daemon alone together. His eyes traced the outline of every scale, taking in the moment as his hands pressed against the scales as if to convince himself that this was real.

Dragons are real.

Now I have to figure out how to ride a dragon?

“We have a long journey ahead of us.” Daemon looked up to the dragon’s neck and sighed as he pressed his head against the scales.

Chapter Text

Baelon tried not to lose focus and keep a calm expression on his face as he listened to Ser Ryman go through his reports of trade imports into the Seven Kingdoms. The old commander of the Kingsguard stammered over his words as he read out the report of how their exports concerning wine and alcohol to other parts of the world had seen a small dip with the tariffs imposed by the Triarchy and whether this was an issue.

The man could rouse a hall of warriors and soldiers to fight to the last man yet reading a report he sounds so unsure of himself.

“What merchants in King’s Landing have told me, well us, is that their own profits have fallen.” Ryman said as he put aside one piece of parchment on the table “While not a large amount, this could represent a loss in tax over time.”

“Lord Beesbury, is this true?” his father asked, stroking his long beard.

“It is, your Grace.” Beesbury replied “Though it should be mentioned that the loss in tax revenue is small, we can cover it raising taxes in different areas or making adjustments elsewhere.”

“I have it under good authority that many a lord and trader has been pilfered from the Triarchy’s tariffs.” Ryman said.

“If I may ask my Lord, who are these lords?” Baelon asked, he felt he already knew the answer to this.

Ryman was silent for a few seconds “Houses Rosby, Masseys and Celtigar have reported losses in trade concerning these goods, houses Grafton and Sunglass have also said that their incomes have lessen somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” Baelon asked. “Have they provided any numbers or estimates? And while have nothing but admiration and respect for these houses, they are all relatively minor ones, have other houses reported any losses.”

“House Velaryon-”

Ah there it is…

There were audible sighs across the table; of course the Sea Snake will have pushed this cause too, when the imposition of tariffs by the Triarchy came he was the first to champion a cause to seize the islands.

Protecting your House and interests are you, Corlys?

“House Velaryon, a sister house to his grace, have reported their own trade and incomes hampered by the Triarchy.”

“I have read the reports of their income losses, Lord Ryman.” Lyman said “It seems that Corlys is aggrieved over the loss of a few gold dragons worth of incomes and is likely trying to band an alliance over the matter.”

“Some may wonder if he has other ambitions for lords coming to his cause.” Maester Allar suggested.

“Careful Maester.” Baelon said “Corlys may be ambition but accusations of treachery to my dear niece’s lord husband will not be tolerated.”

“Of course, My Prince.” Maester Allar said. “Still the matter of the Triarchy’s tariffs on luxury goods is not something this council should concern itself with.” He turned to Ryman who looked himself aggrieved as the council dismissed the petition he had alerted them to and worked on. “What responses have the Triarchy sent regarding this?”

“None so far, they have asked instead with an audience with myself or his Grace over the matter.” Ryman replied “I had hoped that the council would support me in the endeavour but it seems I find myself without allies around this table.”

The tension in the room became palpable and Baelon wondered and fear if Ryman would lash out against them; in a fight he could take them all easily.

“That is enough, Lord Ryman.” Jaehaerys spoke up, raising his hand “The council is dismissed, that shall be all for today.” The members rose from the seats and bowed their heads before leaving through the door. Baelon was about to leave the room “Baelon, stay and be seated.” His father commanded as the Kingsguard on the other side shut the door.

Baelon turned to face his father and walked back to his seat

“You did well today, Baelon.” His father said. “It gladdens me to see you conduct yourself well during these sessions.”

“Thank you, your Grace.” Baelon replied “You are too kind.” He disliked the formal manner of speaking with his father.

I shall tell Viserys and Daemon to address me as their father than their king when the time comes.

“I do not think that Ryman will last long in his position, I am looking to a replacement hand.” Jaehaerys said.

“I am sure that even Ryman will be relieved to hear the news.”

His father scoffed “I should think so, let this be a lesson to you Baelon, even a king can make mistakes. I wonder at times why I picked him as my hand, perhaps I needed a familiar face at all times when Barth died.” He looked off into the distance “dwelling on the past serves no-one, I have a small number of those who can fulfil the role.”

“Such as who?”

“I had considered Lord Manderly or Lannister for the position, or a Reacher lord.” Jaehaerys contemplated “Someone who would strengthen my hand within their region too and perhaps give my brother some pause regarding his staunch support for Rhaenys.” Baelon swallowed slightly as the mention of her name “There was a young man, a second son to Lord Hightower; by all accounts he has been an exceptional administrator and is married to a Tyrell. He was my second choice.”

“And your first?”

“You, my son.” Baelon had expected this, he knew that him taking charge in council sessions was not only his father’s way of letting him become accustomed to rulership but also a test of his skill. “I have decided you shall take the position as my hand, this hopefully ease you into rulership.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

“Now, tell me, how is Daemon?” his father asked “Last I had heard he has awoken again, yes?”

Baelon exhaled through his nose “Yes, Daemon is back on his feet again; he had taken to light training and visits the Dragon pits every other day or so.”

“It was a strange accident; no one had seen what had happened to him in the pit.” He commented “No matter, Daemon had always been a stubborn and prideful child, it seems this has not held him back; has he tried to forgo our agreement?”

Baelon bit the inside of his cheek.

You should be more worried for his health.

“Daemon has sworn he will  be ready and able to travel to Runestone by four turns of the moon.” Baelon said.

“Do you believe him?”

“Yes, he is aware of the importance of House Targeryen keeping to it’s word to our vassals.” Baelon wanted to tell his father that it shouldn’t matter and that he should be more concerned for his grandson’s health than his own pride.

It is also Daemon’s pride that pushes him forward too.

“Good, that is good.” Jaehaerys stroked his long white beard “Perhaps Daemon has truly taken to his duties to his House and the realm, but we shall wait and see.”

“Father, have you gotten word from mother and Gael?” this time Jaehaerys sighed audibly as his hand stopped stroking his bread and instead clench it between his fingers.

“You mother… I have no yet received word from her yet- or my sister.” his father confessed. 

“Or anything on her babe?” Baelon asked.

“Her bastard has not yet been brought into this world.” Jaehaerys said, Baelon sighed; he wanted to berate his father for his callousness and tell him to treasure his children, after everything they’ve been through. “That is all I know, or what your mother allows me to know.”

“Perhaps you should reconcile with her again.”

“Perhaps, there may still be time for that, but not today.” Jaehaerys said. Baelon looked down to the table, hiding his disappointment “Do not mistake it for cruelty, Baelon; I still care deeply for your mother and sister but I must also care for our reputation.”

“I understand, your Grace.” Baelon got up from his seat “By your leave.” Jaehaerys nodded his head and Baelon walked through the council chamber doors. As soon as the chambers to the council doors had closed he let out a loud sigh, it was as if he had been holding his breath the entire time.

“My Prince.” A kingsguard greeted him, Erryk or was it Arryk? He bowed his head.

“Ser.” Baelon replied “Walk with me, I shall see my son and his family in the Godswood” The two began to walk through the Hall of the Red Keep. When they arrived the garden containing the large tree he spotted Viserys and Aemma sitting on a velvet rug, feeding Rhaenyra an array of food set out for them as another member of the Kingsguard stood by. “Viserys!” he called out to them.

Baelon must have sat with them for an hour or so, dotting on his sweet granddaughter Rhaenyra as she laughed and giggled as Baelon bounced her on his knee on his chair. While both Viserys and Aemma watched smiling.

If only you could have met Alyssa…

 “Perhaps you need a little sister or brother to keep you company, yes?” he said laughing.

Aemma giggled while Viserys chuckled “Mayhaps soon father.” He said rubbing Aemma thigh. Baelon smiled, he had wished that this moment could stretch out for longer and he could enjoy the peace afforded to him. Yet there was still one person missing.

“Where is Daemon?”

“He is back in the Dragonpit.” Viserys said.

“Again? He must miss taking his rides upon Caraxes.”

“He doesn’t ride Caraxes when he visits the pit.” Baelon raised his eyebrow “From what others tell me he merely spends time with his dragon.”

Strange…

“Not even once?”

“It doesn’t seem so, the only dragon I’ve seen fly over King’s Landing is Silverwing before Grandmother had left for Dragonstone with Gael.”

“That is peculiar.”  Baelon scratched his beard as he held little Rhaenyra with his other hand. “It seems unlike him.” He remembered how proud Daemon had been to claim Aemon’s dragon and how he had ridden the dragon often around Kingsland. Though now the memory of Daemon lying still as the dragon stood over him filled him with unease.

“I heard that he taken to spending time with some of the servants; speaking with them and even doing tasks with them in the kitchen keep.” Viserys added. “It is unlike him, mayhaps the accident has given he a change in his past ways.”

“Mayhaps.” Baelon handed Rhaenyra back to Aemma and stood up from his chair. “I should go see him, I would hate to have him feel neglected.” He bayed his son and his family goodbye as the kingsguard member escorted him to the stables where he took to his horse and made his way to the dragonpit.

As he walked the paved roads of the city, knights and guards flanked around him, the smallfolk of the city bowed their heads and greeted with him with a curtesy.

As he approached the Dragonpit he was met with rows of the Dragonkeepers lined up by the entrance. As he dismounted his horse and approached them, all seventy seven of them knelt before him. “My Prince.” The commander of the keepers greeted him.

“Rise.” Baelon commanded, the dragonkeeper stood up “I am here to see my son, is he still here or has he flown away with Caraxes?”

“Prince Daemon is still in the chamber his dragon, I can escort you there.”

“Lead the way.” Baelon followed the guard as he led him into the mouth of the pit and into the chambers, he glanced the slumbering dragons. He stared at Vhagar for a moment; his proud and mighty mount as it feasted on some charred cows.

As they approached the chamber that held Caraxes he could hear the dragon walking around and the sound of his son’s voice underneath the noise.

He saw Caraxes stomp around the walls of his chamber as his son stood in the centre, his back turned to the entrance as he watched the dragon “Good Caraxes!” he called out to the dragon before he then starting to write down something in his hand, a pot of ink in his hand.

He wields a quill more than a sword now.

“You can leave us.” He told the dragonkeeper, he bowed his head and left him “Daemon!” Baelon called out, both Daemon and Caraxes turned their heads to Baelon, stopping what they were doing, surprised by his visit.

“Father!” Daemon called out “This is… a surprise.”

“I thought I should come see you, Daemon.” Baelon walked towards his son and embraced him tightly, memories of the incident in his head as he stepped back into the chamber. “It is good to see you.”

“Likewise, father.” Daemon replied.

“I heard that you’ve been visiting the dragonpit frequently?”

Daemon seemed to hesitate for a second “Yes, I have been making notes on dragons.” He said holding up a small journal. “I thought it might be helpful for future riders to have writings of the dragons by a fellow rider or to have their knowledge put to paper.”

“I have heard you have not ridden Caraxes yet? Not since before your first accident.” Daemon seemed to shift uncomfortably, Baelon could tell that Daemon was trying to think of something to say, which confused Baelon; his son was a rider and keen on dragons, why not go flying once again?

“I…” the words seem to die in Daemon throat. Daemon dropped the quill and closed his book “Fuck.” He muttered and looked away at the ground, almost ashamed of something.

“Whatever ever is the matter?” Baelon asked.

Daemon breathed in deeply “I had… tried…” Caraxes moved towards Daemon, he could have sworn he saw Daemon flinch slightly before raising his hand and placing it on the snout of the dragon, rubbing it affectionately. “It is difficult to explain.” He clutched at his chest again and shut his eyes.

“I have time, my son, you can speak freely with me.”

“I feel… scared.” Daemon admitted “I don’t know how to describe it, it is as if I’m having to learn once more what I had skilled at.” Baelon blinked and nodded his head “I still have the memories of it! Of fighting and of flying and yet, it is as if I am doing it for the first time, feeling the fear of it again for the first time.”

Baelon raised his hand and gripped Daemon by the shoulder, he knew well what Daemon was ails him; he had seen many a man, a brave warrior or knight, leave battlefield scarred not only of body but of the mind, sometimes gripped with fear which haunts them for the rest of their lives.

He must overcome this, he can overcome this.

“You fear flying?” Daemon nodded his head sheepishly.

“I shall fulfil my promise to my grandfather, I will leave for Runestone.” He turned to his dragon “But I cannot leave Caraxes here.” The dragon seemed to hum in agreement.

“I understand.” Baelon said, he turned his head towards the gate “Dragonkeeper!” he called out, there was a scampering of feet as a dragonkeeper rushed towards the entrance.

“My Prince.” The dragonkeeper replied.

“Have my dragon ready, I’ve decided to go flying with my son.” The dragonkeeper nodded his head and quickly moved away. “Let us face this fear, Daemon.” He grabbed his son hand “Together.”

There was a look of apprehension on Daemon face “Together.” He followed Baelon towards the chamber that held Vhagar. Baelon smiled as his dragon rose its head and looked upon him, Daemon seemed to stared at the dragon with his mouth slightly agape, like a child witness it for the first time. It almost made Baelon laugh.

Baelon patted Vhagar’s jaw “Come now, the skies await.” He felt a rush of excitement; it had been a while since he had ridden his dragon, it would be a good opportunity to clear his head somewhat. Vhagar lowered her wing, allowing the riders to climb up to its back as the dragonkeepers fitted the saddle. He noticed Daemon legs wobble as he sat onto the saddle with him. “Trust me.” Daemon nodded his head. Baelon grabbed the handles at the end of the saddle and gave Vhagar a quick pat on the neck “Dohaerās, Vhagar!” The dragon rose to its feet “Jās!” Vhagar moved through the entrance of her chamber and into the large corridors towards the open dome, dragonkeepers circling around watching “Sōvēs!”

Vhagar flapped his wings, striking against the air as the dragon rose from the ground and into flight. As Vhagar past through the hole in the dome he looked up the vast city of King’s Landing; an ocean  of houses, temples, manses and keeps greeted him and above them all was the Red Keep on Aegon’s Hill. As Vhagar  continued to rise he could spot the crowds of people watching as the mighty dragon took flight in the sky above them.

A smile lifted his lips “Vēzot!” Vhagar craned it’s neck up into the sky “Dracarys!” he commanded as Vhagar shot fire into the sky, creating a spectacle for those on the ground, above the rushing wind and wings he could hear the cheers of the spectators watching him. A memory of youth rushing to him of all those times he showed up for the people. “Sōvēs!” Vhagar then took off, passed the smoke left from his flames and up into the clouds while Baelon cheered on.

The wind rushing through his hair as he leaned forward into his saddle, Vhagar climbing higher and higher to the heavens. “Paerī, Vhagar” the dragon halted its ascend and took to gliding forward. From this height Baelon was able to gaze upon what was in front of him; from a distant he could almost make out the faint green of the landscape and the hills that dotted it. Yet it was the blue of the sky and the clouds that held his sight.

He turned his body around, his belt still locked In placed to his waist. He turned to see Daemon breathing heavily, as he looked around him wide eyed; a look of terror but also… wonder.

“Breathe it in, Daemon.” He said, speaking to him as he had when Daemon was but a child “There is no air more clearer than that which touches the heavens.” He said smiling, waving his hand up to the sky just above them. “So few will ever see the view we Targaryens will see.”

“Its… it’s beautiful…” Daemon said, truly his look was one of someone who had never seen such a sight.

Mayhaps the accident had taken away his memory of flying?

“A view like this, it never fails to amaze.” Baelon looked out before he, he could now make out the bay of King’s Landing. “Your mother loved the view from here too.” He said “You remember how she would strap you to her breast and take you and Viserys riding on Meleys.”

“Yes- I know.” Daemon said “She always told us, said Viserys had been laughing the entire time.”

Baelon laughed at that “It is true! Your brother was a jolly child and now a jolly man.”

Joy is what is needed in these times…

“Come now, we should head back, let us see more of our city up close!” Baelon declared, spinning back round “Hold on tight!” he gripped the handles “Embrot, Vhagar! Aderī!” The dragon craned it’s neck down as it dove down through the sky and hurtled towards the ground. The ground was now in clear view as they passed through the clouds, the city of King’s Landing growing larger and larger and they continued their dive down. “Vēzot!” he commanded, the dragon stopped it’s descent down and swirled and circled around the city. “Nopot, Vhagar!” he said as he spotted the dragonpit.

Vhagar flew towards the dragonpit and hovered around the entrance to the dome “Tegot!” Baelon ordered, the dragon flapped its wings as it made it’s descent down into the pit before it’s feet touched the ground and lowered its body onto the ground. Vhagar lowered its wing onto the ground, allowing both Baelon and Daemon to unstrap themselves and climb off it’s back.

Balon slid down Vhagar wing with all the experience of a seasoned rider while Daemon tumbled down, landing on his back. He tried to get up and yet his legs wobbled as he tried to stand up. Baelon rushed to his son aid when Daemon raised his hand.

“Stop, let me-” it may have taken a minute but Daemon was able to stand up, his legs growing stiller and stiller.

“Was it as you remembered?” Baelon asked his son as he placed an arm around his shoulder.

“Far greater than that.” Daemon smiled.

“If you still desire my help than you need only ask, I shall always make time for you and Viserys.” Baelon assured him.

“You are too kind, father.” Daemon said “Next time, I shall be riding Vhagar.” The two laughed and for but a moment Baelon could see his son’s old smile there as the two walked out of the dragonpit together.

Chapter Text

“Rȳbās, Caraxes!” Daemon commanded, the words seem to fall off of his tongue easily, the perks of having the memories of speaking this strange and almost extinct language. In his previous life he had struggled to grasp the basics of French or German taught at school by disinterested teachers.

Here, he worked off of the memories of another who was fluent at it and was privately taught by maesters and scholars.

Perks of an education exclusive only for the rich and powerful I guess.

He scribbled down the command in his book “That is a command to listen and obey.” He muttered. He looked back at the dragon who watched him “Demās!” He watched the dragon as it sat down, he walked towards the dragon and patted it on the snout “Gevī! Caraxes; good, good.” He had grown use to the dragon by now; confident in its presence and almost protective of it.

My sister and I had always wanted a pet; dad tried to convince mum to get a dog but she didn’t want hair on her white carpet.

“Whose a good boy?” Daemon said as he rubbed the dragon’s scales “Yes you are, yes you are.” He placed his hand back to the journal in his other hand, he flicked through some of the pages and reached the end, he reached his tally.

On it were one hundred and ten tally marks, each one symbolising a day spent here.

I’ve been here for over three months now…

He rubbed his face, pressing into his jaw and closed his eyes. While the memory of his name had escaped him, he could still make out the memories of his past life; the smell of the food he loved to eat, the look of his flat, the old books in his room no doubt collecting dust, the sound of his mother’s voice, his sister’s voice, his niece and nephews laugher… yet when he thought of his father, Baelon seemed to skew that memory.

Will I forget him… Will I forget them…

As if sensing his rider’s distress, Caraxes nudged Daemon slightly and gently rubbed its snout against his arm. Daemon smiled and patted the dragon “Thank you, Caraxes.” Still he looked into his book and at the marks he made.

Ten days… I have ten days.

He had trained for the moment as best he could; the first time he went flying with Baelon he had thought he would die, it took tapping into all the courage and determination that the old Daemon had and the pain in his chest to stop his refusal, and then an even greater amount to strap himself onto the saddle of the dragon.

When Vhagar took flight Daemon wanted nothing more than to cry out to land yet the pain kept him silent, it was as if Daemon was holding a dagger to his heart and threatened to take them both down it he tried anything; he spent the ascent into the sky grappling with the old Daemon and tossing him back, as he tried to maintain his own composure.

Yet when he looked upon the view from the dragon, he was instantly struck by it; he had seen the views from tall towers and on plane windows but nothing could have compared him to this, the wind in his hair, condensation of the clouds wetting his cheeks, the cold air in his lungs and the sight of a green expanse leading to a vast ocean, with the massive city of King’s Landing just an anthill below. It was one of those moments he wished he could use his phone to take a picture with.

From there the rest of the experience was almost similar to the feeling of being on a rollercoaster, one that could possibly kill him. It had scared him but by the end he had almost enjoyed it.

“Next time, I shall be riding Vhagar” he didn’t know where he managed to summon the courage for that one, in truth it took him more than a few journeys with Baelon at the helm before he tried riding a dragon and that time holding the reins.

 “Caraxes?” he called out to his dragon who looked at him quizzically “Should we try a practice run?” he smiled at the dragon. He turned to the entrance of the Chamber “Good Alyn!” he called out. The dragonkeeper rushed into view. “I’ll shall be flying this morning and will likely not be back until later tonight.” The keeper nodded their head as they opened the gate. Daemon climbed onto Caraxes’ back.

If I’m to fly to Runestone, then I’ll need to try flying long distances; a trip to Dragonstone

He thought back to the first time he had gotten his driver’s licence and the long trip from Croydon to Norwich as one of his first journeys.

I guess it’s something like that.

Yet he knew there was a greater purpose to the visit.

Grandmother… Gael…

“Jās!” Daemon commanded and the dragon moved forward, out of the cage and towards the dome. He looked down on the dragonkeepers and ser Robin who watched him “Pass this message to my father, ser Robin!” he tossed rolled up parchment which Robin caught in his hand “I would not be so unkind as the disturb my father at such an hour” he winked at Robin “I shall be attempting a practice run for my journey, the message shall explain as such to my father.” He saluted the knight, Robin looked at him confused. “Godspeed ser!”

“Take care, My Prince.” Robin replied.

“Sōvēs!” Daemon commanded. Caraxes began to flap his wings as his feet was lifted from the ground and he ascended through the hole in the dome and into the sky. Daemon took in the view of the city; each time the city looked different depending on where the sun was. Now an orange haze bathed the city as morning began to break through the night.

Daemon breathed in the cool and crisp morning air

If only I had my headphones.

He looked out into the bay of King’s Landing, a vast stretch of water in front of him; beyond the bay was Dragonstone.

And Alysanne and Gael.

“Onwards!” he told the dragon as he hovered in the fly “We’re heading to Dragonstone.”

We have someone to save.

“Naejot!” he commanded Aderī! Caraxes!” he leaned forward into his saddle as Caraxes leaned forward and burst forward through the sky, the wind striking against his face. He squinted his eyes as he focused straight ahead at his destination.

Through the rushing winds he could waves and birds that soared by his side. “Double-time, Caraxes!” he didn’t know if the dragon understood what he meant by he could have sworn that the dragon had responded to his command and began to move faster.

It started as a spec on the horizon before growing larger and larger as they went on; an island came to view. Daemon’s heart leapt out of his chest for a moment, thinking he had come upon his target.

When he spotted a dragon flying over he had truly believed that he reached Dragonstone.

Wait… shouldn’t there be a giant black mountain?

The other dragon began to circle around him as he pass by the coastline; a Red dragon, large in size with a rider hailing him.

“Daemon!” the rider called out, raising their hand. “Land!”

Daemon patted Caraxes on the neck “Ninkiot!” he commanded, Caraxes slowed his flight and began to approach the rocky coastline of the island below them as the other dragon did the same. The ground below them was lush and green. Before Daemon dismounted he looked to the beach and spotted logs of wood being pushed onto white sands.

Driftmark…

He turned to face the other dragon, now he began to recognise the dragon and its rider.

“Rhaenys.” He spoke as his cousin approached him.

Daemon’s cousin… both my parents were an only child.

Rhaenys was wore a black breastplate with the red insignia of house Targaryen emblazon on it, there were the trimmings of chainmail around her shoulders and arms over the rest of her clothes, with a red cloak attached to her amour and a dark helmet on her head.

“Cousin.” Rhaenys said as she grabbed her helmet, removing it from her head, her black hair falling to her shoulders.

The book had described her as a great beauty and in Daemon’s memories of her wedding day she was nice to look upon, someone who was obviously beautiful. But through his eyes?

“Woah.” He spoke involuntarily, Rhaenys raised her eyebrow at the remark “You look well, cousin, beautiful as always.”

She’s my cousin, thats gross!

“Thank you, cousin.” Rhaenys said “You look well yourself, we had heard about your accidents, it is good to see you on your feet again.”

Daemon bowed his head “Thank you.”

“What brings you to Driftmark?”

“I was actually on my way to Dragonstone to see her Grace Alysanne and Princess Gael.” Daemon then pointed to the sky “Then I happen to fly pass you, a small world it seems.”

“Quite.” A few guards approached them, sea green livery with the insignia of a seahorse on their amour. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Ah no, I have not, I had planned on breaking my fast on Dragonstone.”

“Would you care to join my family for breakfast?”

Daemon looked at her, then looked at his dragon as he contemplated the offer. He didn’t have too much of a memory of Laena or Laenor but he did have a vast recollection of Corlys; he was a proud man, almost intimidating but highly ambitious.

If I refused… Would he view this as a slight? A Targaryen Prince stopping on his lands yet not greeting it’s lord?

He thought of Alysanne and Gael, he wondered how much time he had.

“I fear I cannot stay for breakfast but I shall see your home and children dear cousin, I’m sure your lord husband will want to know I was here too.” He clasped his hands together and smiled “I best not upset the Sea Snake.”

Rhaenys almost scoffed and rolled her eyes “Yes, best not.”

The two quickly mounted onto their dragons and flew towards High Tide; from above Daemon could only marvel at the castle. Despite being smaller than the Red Keep it looked to be almost grander, reminding him less of medieval western Europe castle and more of ancient Greece or Roman temple. The Castle looked to have been made from white stone or some kind of marble and its towers were capped with a shiny metal on which the morning sunlight gleamed.

Daemon followed Rhaenys, they landed their dragons onto a platform connected to the castle. “High Tide has an underground cavern for dragons.” Rhaenys told him “The servants are experienced in handling dragons.”

Daemon dismounted the dragon and quickly moved to Caraxes head “Dohaerās, Caraxes.” He told the dragon “Lykirī, be calm, I’ll be back.” He turned to the guard “If anything happens just tell me.” The guard nodded. “What is your name?”

“It is Gaeron, My Prince.”

“Good Gaeron, I thank you.” The guardsman bowed their head.

“Come cousin, are you not in a hurry?” Rhaenys pointedly asked. Daemon nodded his head and rushed over to her as they were escorted to the main gate.

Two large finely smoothed oak doors opened before them to reveal a grand hall; the floors were polished white stone, finely cut pillars held up the building as the Seahorse banners decorated the hall on each wall, silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling and at the centre were steps on an elevated platform of three steps, a blue carpet with teal trimmings covered the steps and behind it a stain glass window of an ocean and ships.

On the platform was a large throne that looked to be made of dark wood, a seat carved into it.

With Corlys sat upon it.

Daemon swallowed slightly, he felt apprehensive standing before him. Yet a curiosity about the Sea Snake stirred in his chest, a sort of kinship between two souls.

Daemon knows… a key to his legacy lies through Corlys….

Daemon shifted uncomfortably in place as he sought to push the old Daemon away.

“Prince Daemon.” Corlys called out from his seat. “I welcome you to High Tide.”

Daemon quickly bowed his head “You have my thanks, my lord.”

Corlys stood up from his seat and walked down the seats, Daemon held his breath “Come, you must stay with us, let us break our fast together, I’m sure the children will be overjoyed to see a new visitor.”

“I would love to stay lord Corlys, but as I have told my dear cousin Princess Rhaenys I must be off to see my grandmother and aunt the princess Gael.”

“Come I’m sure an hour or two will not go amiss.” Corlys insisted he grabbed Daemon by the arm and almost dragged him towards the hallway.

There was a burning frustration emanating in his heart, as if telling him “Stand your ground!”

It’s best I don’t offend this guy, he’s a key player in the Dance… I might need to stay in his good books if I need to work with him.

He was led to a private dining room, a finely crafted wooden table at the centre with a white cloth covering the surface, polished plates and cutlery was laid out on the table, on the white stone walls was a large view to the ocean.

“Take a seat, Cousin.” Rhaenys said “I shall join you with the children after I’ve gotten changed.” Rhaenys then left him Corlys as he took his seat at the head of the table while Daemon sat on the right hand side of him.

“How are you finding High Tide, my Prince?”

“It is truly something to behold.” Daemon said.

“The old seat of our house was a rundown castle, truly unfit to house a family such as House Velaryon.” Corlys commented “It was through my own endeavour that this castle stands, but it is merely just a part of my own legacy.”

It took Daemon simply nodded along; he had known many ambitious people in his life. He had heard this kind of talk before and how to handle them. 

“It is a testament to you.” Daemon complemented.

“We are a proud house, one of the few families that survived the Doom, much like your own.” Corlys said. “Some chronicles say we were here in Westeros even before House Targaryen yet we were loyal allies to your house.” Daemon listened intently to the self-aggrandisement yet Daemon was irritated with each word. “Which is why it surprised me how easy it was for your grandfather to spurn us.”

Oh no…

“I do apologise for any offense that my grandfather, his Grace, had caused on your House.”

“It is not your mistake to apologise for my Prince.” Corlys said. Rhaenys arrived in the room; dressed in a red and black dress with gold woven into the seams, Laena and Laenor arrived, their clothes bearing the colouring of House Velaryon, a sea green with silver seams and trimmings.

“Children, greet the Prince.” Rhaenys told them.

“Good morning, Prince Daemon.” They both said it unison.

Daemon smiled at the pair “Good morning to you too.” As his eyes fell upon Laena, his chest once more ached, the same feeling he had when he first saw Rhaenyra.

Daemon…

The memory of the twins, of Baela and Rhaena, flickered in his mind.

Can I have one day… without you doing this?!

He clutched his chest and shut his eyes.

“Daemon, are you well?” Rhaenys asked.

Daemon quickly raised his hand “I am well, after the accident I’ve been experiencing chest pains but they go away.” He said, successfully banishing Daemon down once more. He placed his hands down onto his lap and smiled softly at them again

“Children, take your seats.” Rhaenys said, his cousin sitting opposite to him as Leana sat next to her and Laenor sat next to Daemon as the servants brought in the food, it was only when the trays of food were brought in that Daemon realised he was famished.

Rashers of bacons, meat or fish pies and pastries, hot and fried bread with butter and honey jam with jugs of sweet wine.

“As I was saying, it is not your mistake to apologise for.” Corlys said “But that does not mean we should live with the decisions made by those currently with power.” Daemon bit into a piece of fried bread as his eyes looked to Corlys “While the old King has caused some friction between our houses that does not mean your father, Prince Baelon, needs to continue it as such.”

“I remember Prince Baelon being a staunch ally to my father and dotted on me as a child.” Rhaenys said as she cut into a piece of fish pastry. “I am sure he is more willing to hear out our grievances.”

Daemon felt as if he was being forced into a corner.

“Family is of the upmost importance to him.” Daemon said as he looked at Rhaenys “He still speaks fondly of your father cousin and of you.” He turned to Corlys “Speaking only for myself, I do believe that how House Velaryon was treated was unbecoming of the second house in the realm” he said buttering a piece of hot bread. “This is a schism that should be mended and I am sure my father will agree.”

“That is all well in good but as you said, this schism should be mended and we will require supporters, would House Velaryon count on your support.”

Going straight for it huh?

“As a Prince I have some power but as the second son to Baelon I do not have the same amount of influence as my brother Viserys would have.” Daemon explained “But should the opportunity arise to mend this divide and unite our families than I shall work for both our interests.” He bit into his toast and bacon sandwich.

“That is all we ask for, dear cousin.” Rhaenys said with a smile as she ate a piece of her food.

Daemon turned to Laenor “I heard you have a dragon, young lord.” The five year old looked at him “What’s its name?”

“Seasmoke, My Prince.” Laenor replied.

“I have a dragon too, you know when the brick hit my head I forgot how to ride my dragon!” Daemon exclaimed faking surprise “So I had to write a book to remember all I learnt to become a dragon rider, would you like me to tell you what I learned?”

Laenor’s eye lit up “Yes please, Prince Daemon!”

“Can I hear too?” Laena asked almost jumping from her seat.

Daemon quickly glanced over to Corlys and Rhaenys “Of course!” he said, not waiting for their approval when he heard the eagerness on his niece’s face. Laena almost ran to the other side of table, Daemon stood up from his seat, picked her up and seated her in the now empty chair as he stood over them, leaning forward.

“What do you say, Laena?” Rhaenys asked looking at her.

“Thank you, Prince Daemon.” Laena said.

“Please, niece and nephew, we are family, you can call me uncle Daemon.”

“Thank you, uncle Daemon.” Daemon blinked a few times, fight back tears as memories of his sister’s children played in his mind. He focused back onto the book in his hand.

 “So for weeks I went back and forth to the dragonpit…” he told the two of them, he didn’t know how long he had spent telling them his story and some of the stories he wrote down but when Rhaenys had asked if he wished to stay for lunch did he realise.

As he mounted Caraxes he waved them goodbye “I shall return to see you soon!” he told them, looking at two siblings who looked distraught to see him leave.

“Safe travels, Prince Daemon.” Corlys said.

“Sōvēs!” Demon ordered as Caraxes flapped its wings and rose from the ground “Aderī!” Caraxes shot through the sky, its wings pushing it forward. In a few minutes the island of Driftmark had turned from a vast island into a mere spec on the horizon as Caraxes pushed forward “Quickly Caraxes!”  

When he came upon a dark island with a massive black mountain at its centre did the depressing sight bring a smile to Daemon lips. She spotted some dragons flying around the mountain. When he saw a castle of black rock with large dragon statues decorating its walls did Daemon land near the steps to the castle.

As he dismounted his dragon, a group of servants met him. “Prince Daemon, we welcome you.” They said bowing their heads.

“Thank you.” He said to them “I am looking for her Grace Alysanne, my grandmother, do you know-” he looked up to the steps leading the mouth of the castle to see an old woman flanked by a member of the King’s guard.

She wore a black dress and veil over her head which almost hid her face.

“My Prince-” Daemon ignored the servant as he ran up the stairs and towards Alysanne.

“Grandmother!” he called out to her, all the memories of her that had fuelled his determination rushed back to him, he had forgone formalities as he held her in an embrace and placed a kiss on her head “It is lovely to see you again after so long.”

Alysanne held him tight as she placed her head on his shoulder… and wept. “Daemon…”

Daemon froze before then pulling away slightly, then he noticed her black dress had no red trimmings or seams. He gently lifted the black veil from her face, revealing her red eyes and tear stained face. “Where is Gael?” it was almost a whisper, less than that with how weak it sounded.

“My Prince.” The kingsguard spoke up “Follow me please.”

Daemon followed the knight through Dragonstone’s halls.

No…

There were servants carrying out their tasks with their heads bowed.

No…

He noticed a Septon meet his eyes. “Prince Daemon, you have my condolences.”

No…

There were silent sisters passing in and out of a room.

No…

As he reached the entrance to the room he saw the still body of a young woman lying in the bed, her skin paler than what would be for a Targaryen and a stench of seawater in the air.

Daemon gripped the frame of the door as he collapsed to his knees

“No…”

Chapter Text

Daemon could only stare into the corner of the room, it was the only thing the imposter had set his eyes upon. A dark corner of the room, just within his vision was the bed where Gael was lying in. His grandmother was being held in his arms; sobbing into his shoulder and holding him tight as his puppeteer whispered smoothing words to her.

“I know… I know….” He kept repeating to her. “I’m sorry, Grandmother, I’m so sorry.” Every so often Alysanne would cry out in pain as the Imposter rubbed her back and kissed her head.

“Why… why again?” she wept “What did she do? What have we done to deserve this?” she gripped at his side tightly “Why? Why?” her words turned to cries as she buried her head into him, muffling her anguish.

You know why… he tried to tell himself, not knowing whether the creature that controlled his body could listen to him You know exactly why!

If Daemon could strike himself, if only he could take control of just one arm, he would exact punishment on the utter failure of a man that held him captive.

This is your fault! This is all your fault! You knew! You knew this would happen and yet you were too much of a coward, too indecisive and too much of a weakling!

For what must have been hours he berated the imposter again and again, Daemon burned with a fury that no doubt must have been causing him pain.

“Ah…” he mumbled, a confirmation of the agony Daemon was inflicting. Through the rage and anger Daemon could feel the other’s sadness, their own anguish and their own guilt.

You believe yourself to be a failure? Good!

Daemon eyes moved over from the corner and towards the bed; the sight of his aunt Gael, the dainty and shy girl he had known growing up, who hid behind his grandmother’s skirts so often now lay dead as silent sisters prepared her body; changing her clothes into a dress fitting of a princess of House Targaryen.

He felt the imposter begin to choke up once more at the sight as the tears welled in his eyes, his hands holding his grandmother tighter. “I know… I know…” he kept saying, each word becoming more and more like a mumble as he rocked his grandmother back and forth in his arms like a child.

Hours… we were late only by mere hours…

This. This was the one thing we could agree on, the one thing. And you failed at it!

He wanted nothing more than to throw every silent sister out of the room and then throw himself off of the balcony. Yet he could only stare and watch as they wrapped Gael’s body and do their blessings on her.

It must have been some hours before they had left the room, each time the imposter urged Alysanne to leave the room she would only weep that she could not leave Gael.

“If only I was there!” she cried “How could I have not seen it? The grief one experiences from their child’s passing, I should have known!”

“You could not have known this would happen.” He assured her.

But you did.

“It’s not your fault, please do not blame yourself.”

It’s your fault, you’re the one to blame, not her.

When night had fallen on Dragonstone and Gael’s body was taken to another room for further preparation did they finally leave. They both retreated to her own quarters where she lay in bed with Daemon, holding him as she had done when he was a child. A tray of food was left for them on her dresser table, left untouched as their grief drained them of their appetite.

His grandmother seemed to have calm down slightly, resting her head on shoulder “Thank you.” He told him “Thank you for being here, Daemon. Gods know I do not want to be alone now, I can not be without family, not after losing another one.”

The imposter held her closer “I’m here.”

“How can the Gods be so cruel? To take another one of my children? They even tried to take you! What more do they want from me?” her own sadness giving way to a fury that mirrored Daemon’s. “They have taken a grandson and a daughter from me! I ask you Daemon, how much more can they take?”

“I will not be going to the Gods anytime soon, I promise you.”

Can you even promise that?

“Please Daemon, I can not survive another loss in our family.” The heart that was no longer Daemon broke along with him at those words, knowing that her end would not be long too.

The imposter moved slightly “I must use the privy grandmother, I promise I will return quickly.” He said to her, Alysanne looked at him with almost pleading eyes before nodding her head. He moved from the bed and towards the door, opening it he saw the Kingsguard staying watch by the door “Keep watch of her ser.” The imposter ordered, the knight.

“Yes, my Prince.”

The puppeteer walked down the hallway, with each step he could feel each step getting heavier and heavier, slower and slower. Daemon felt his hand touch his mouth as it tried to silence a sob. His eyes spotted an empty room, the imposter quickly rushed in and shut the door.

His back slid against the door as he sat against it, his hands covering his face as he wept into his hands. “I’m sorry.” Mumbled to himself “I’m so sorry, Gael, please forgive me.” He sat there repeating those words “Please forgive me.”

Through his own grief, anger and pain, Daemon whether this imposter was asking for forgive from his now deceased aunt, his grandmother, myself or to Daemon himself.

If it’s redemption you seek, you shall only find blame with me!

The imposter clutched at his chest yet did not fight back against Daemon this time, instead he let Daemon run rampant within him as the imposter covered his mouth, muffling their pain and grief from those outside.

It must have been a few minutes before he stood up and walked towards the dresser table in the room, a bowl of water left out with a cloth nearby. The imposter looked at himself in the mirror and Daemon could see his pitiful reflection; his hair looked dishevelled, his eyes red and cheeks wet with tears.

Daemon now hated him for adding embarrassment towards his own grief and anger. Daemon struck again at him and still the imposter refused to banish him and just bared the pain. “I know you hate me.” The puppeteer said “I hate myself too, do what you want, I can’t fight right now.” He washed his face with the water and cloth while he tried to recompose himself before going back to Alysanne.

And Daemon held back. For now. 

Ravens had been sent to King’s Landing and Driftmark and over the next few days only those who were part of House Targeryen or Rhaenys immediate family were invited to a private funeral.

It had been Baelon who arrived first on dragon back, falling into the arms of Alysanne, as she had done with Daemon, as he mourned the loss of another sister.  “Mother, forgive me, If I had only fought harder, if I had only just argued with father more-”

“Do not blame yourself, Baelon.” She stoked his head as she embraced him “There was nothing you could have done.”

Imposter, you could have done something!

The imposter shut his eyes and focused on Daemon yet did not push him away.

Say something!

“Father…” the imposter spoke.

“My boy…” Baelon reached over to Daemon and held him close as he held his mother.

“I love you both so much.” Alysanne said, trying to bury herself within the embrace of her son and grandson. “Promise me, that I shall not outlive you both, that I won’t outlive our family.”

“Nothings shall happen to us, I promise.” The imposter mumbled.

You liar.

“Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra will be here soon, they might have already docked at the harbour.” Baelon said “No doubt Rhaenys and Corlys along with their children shall be close behind.”

“And your father?” Alysanne asked.

“He will be on the next galley after Viserys.” Baelon said sheepishly.

She shook her head “His family continues to die around him yet that cur can think only of the throne.” She said, marching back into the keep, a servant helping her.

Baelon sighed deeply “Are you well, Daemon?”

“I am well, father.” The imposter spoke “Grandmother has been as strong as she could be.”

“It never gets easier.” Baelon lamented “You have been taking care of her?” The imposter nodded “Thank you, Daemon, I am proud of you.” Daemon struck at the imposter’s chest once more, causing him only to grimace “Is the pain back?” Baelon gripped his shoulder.

“Yes, I need only a moment.” Daemon felt himself being pushed back into the darkness, just close to the edge before it consumed him. Just allowing the puppeteer to gather himself.

“I will need to a take charge of funeral arrangements.” Baelon said, wiping his eyes of his tears “Go to your grandmother.” The imposter nodded his head before rushing off to her.

He traversed the halls and rooms of Dragonstone; the fool seem to stop every so often and look around, Daemon could almost feel the puppeteer reaching into his memories as if to try and find a way around the ancient Targaryen stronghold, stopping every so often to ask a servant where Alysanne had gone to.

Daemon would have shivered with disgust if he could as the imposter climbed the steps to the high floor of the Stone Drum keep, the Kingsguard opening the door for him, laying his eyes on the painted table.

There his grandmother sat at the table facing the open balcony and watching the clouds pass within a grey sky. “Grandmother?” he called out to her. Alysanne turned her head and looked over her shoulder towards Daemon and smiled, she turned her chair to face him before patting her hand down on the chair next to her.

That is the painted table, the table which the conqueror plotted his campaign! A glorified scribe, the son of a lowly scholar and a carpenter should not look upon the table let alone be seated at it!

“My dear grandson.” Alysanne took one of Daemon hands into one hand and  brushed his cheek with her other. “You and your brother have grown so much, and yet I still hold the memories of your youth, do you remember how your father scolded you and Viserys for leaving your toys on this table?” the imposter smiled and Daemon wanted to weep. “I had to chastise him myself saying ‘They have only done as you had once done at their age.’” The imposter laughed politely. “Daemon” she spoke weakly “Please forgive this old woman for her mistakes, I had only tried to do right by you but never considered what you wanted when I arranged your marriage to Lady Rhea.”

Daemon could feel the imposter grip Alysanne hand soft by firmly “Never apologise.” He told her “You did do right by me, I acted only as a  petulant child.” Daemon struck at his chest and the imposter pushed him away “When this is done I will return to Runestone and my lady-wife, I shall do right by her and you, I swear it, I will make you proud.”

You…

“I am already proud of you, Daemon.” Alysanne said “But thank you for easing an old woman’s heart.” Daemon was about to stab at his heart when door to the staircase opened, stepping in was Viserys alongside Aemma and Rhaenyra. Alysanne stood up and opened her arms “Viserys, Aemma…” she called to them. They both quickly approached her and allowed her to embrace them both while she planted kisses on their cheeks.

Daemon could feel the sorrow of his captor; both Aemma and Viserys had lost a parent so soon in their lives, both of whom were Alysanne’s children.

“Grandmother, we all mourn the loss of Gael, she was a sweet and gentle woman.” Viserys said.

“Thank you, Viserys.” Alysanne spoke “The Stanger has been cruel to us; they have taken my daughters and your mothers from you.” She looked at both of them “Promise me you shall not outlive me, I could not bare it.”

“We promise, grandmother.” Aemma said.

Alysanne looked down onto the small Rhaenyra “May I?” she asked, Aemma gently handed Rhaenyra to Alysanne and held her close “Oh sweet babe, at least the Gods have granted us some mercy as to allow you to not know the grief of this day.”

Viserys looked over to him, the imposter nodding his head at his brother, in his head he knew the bastard wanted to tell Viserys that he understood.

You understand nothing!

In the afternoon came the Velaryons' grand galley docking at the harbour, it’s sails displaying proudly the colours of their house. Almost all of those left within House Targaryen had come to greet them with the exception of Vaegon who stayed at the Citadel and still his grandfather, who likely had not yet left King’s Landing.

Alysanne stood at the head of the group to greet them, as Rhaenys and her family walked onto the dock. The harsh sea air blowing against them. They were all dressed in black this time, not the bright sea green colours of Velaryons.

You all looked so proud just a few days ago! Where is it now!

Daemon wanted to yell at them, tell them that they had a part to play in her death if only they had not stalled him. Yet he did not feel that same anger with the imposter.

Do you even have the bravery to feel angry? The sense to feel fury at them?

The imposter bowed his head in shame, he directed what anger he felt at himself.

“Your Grace.” Corlys said, bowing his head, both Rhaenys and the children followed his example “We grieve the loss of another member of your house.”

“Thank you, Lord Corlys.” Alysanne said, she looked to Rhaenys and the children “Rhaenys, will you not embrace your grandmother?” Rhaenys walked towards her as the two wrapped their arms around each other before Alysanne focused her attention to Laena and Laenor. “Sweet children, how are you?” she knelt down to embrace them.

“We are well, your grace.” Laena spoke and Laenor nodded his head, she placed a kiss on both their heads before standing up.

“Has his Grace arrived?” Corlys asked.

“My father will be here soon, there was still matters in the capital to attend to.” Baelon said, Alysanne shook her head, clearly she no longer cared to hide her displeasure on the matter, there was only one day left before the funeral procession.

“May the winds be kind when he begins his travels.” Corlys said, his eyes looked upon Daemon standing beside his father.

“Thank you, Lord Corlys.” Baelon stretched out his arm which Corlys shook “Come, let us show you to your apartments for the night.”

Both Laena and Laenor scurried up to Daemon and hugged his legs “Uncle Daemon.” They both exclaimed “Can you tell us more stories?”

“Children!” Rhaenys commanded angrily “Where are you manners? Is that how you address a Prince? In front of the Queen?” It was enough to make even Viserys lean back as if to avoid the scolding.

Daemon raise his hand “It is fine, Princess Rhaenys.” The imposter told his cousin; he knelt down, the children clearly scared “Another time, I promise.” He kissed them both on the crowns of their heads and embraced them. They quickly followed their father with Rhaenys behind them “Rhaenys.” The imposter whispered to her “They’re just children, do not chastise them… please.”

You dare…

Rhaenys scowled at him “Do not presume to tell me how to raise my own, cousin.” Before marching off. Daemon wanted to laugh at Rhaenys putting this imposter in his place.

Who are you to tell a princess of House Targeryen how to raise her children?

“Oh shut up.” His captor mouthed silently as he banished Daemon back into the void.

When Daemon returned, his vision was greeted to the banners of house Targeryen fluttering in the wind,  a body lying upon the top of the pyre with a white cloth draped over it and a Septon speaking at the front.

“We thank the mother for giving life to her even if only for but a moment.” The septon spoke “And we ask the stranger to guide her soul to the other world where she will be reunited with those she has lost and one day reunited with us.”

How long… how long was I gone for? How long have you locked me away?!

Daemon gripped at the imposter’s heart, trying to cause as much pain as possible, he could feel the scowl on his face “No.” his captor mouthed, once more he felt dark hands drag him towards the abyss, he fought hard to remain there. “Either behave or miss Gael’s funeral.” He was freed from the edge and in that moment Daemon swallowed his pride, however bitter it tasted.

“May the blessings of the Seven come down to her and all of us in this difficult time.” The septon spoke.

The imposter looked around, allowing Daemon to see; Jaehaerys was finally here, standing beside Alysanne and Baelon with Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra behind them, Kingsguards flanked on either side of them. With Silverwing perched upon a boulder, looking down at them.

And nearby was Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Laenor standing in front of them, being held closely.

“And may the father above judge Gael justly.” The septon closed his book, bowed his head and moved from the pyre.

For a moment there was naught but the wind and distance cry of wild dragons

“Dracarys.” Alysanne commanded, her voice wavering against the wind.

Silverwing stretched out its neck and opened its mouth, a torrent of fire bathed the pyre. A roaring flame of yellow and orange as the dark rock of the Dragonmount and the grey sky.

“I’m sorry Gael… please forgive me.” The imposter whispered.

It is far more than just her blood on your hands…

Daemon thought of his sons Aegon and Viserys, he thought of his daughters Baela and Rhaena; all who might never be born, for him this was their funeral pyre too.

The day after the funeral was the day; the day the finally day the imposter had promised to Daemon’s grandfather that he would return to that Bronze Bitch.

Daemon felt the scales of Caraxes against his hand, in his own heart he wanted nothing more than to ride Caraxes as he had done, to feel his scales against his own touch and see the world through his eyes and not as a prisoner of this lowly scribe. 

His puppeteer checked his belt, pulling at Darksister and then kneeling down to check the sacks of food he had been given. “Looks like enough to get me to Gulltown at least, I can restock from there.” He walked back into the keep leaving Caraxes and the supplies.

Inside the imposter seem to touch everything; the walls, the chairs, the tables. Truly it was maddening!

Two members of the Kingsguard stood watch outside the door to Alysanne’s apartment “Prince Daemon” they bowed to him before opening the door. He stepped inside to see Alysanne sat upon a chair holding Rhaenyra, fire burning in the hearth as Viserys and Aemma spent time with Rhaenys with Laenor and Laena.

“Your Grace.” He said “I thought I should say goodbye, before I make the journey to Runestone.”

Both Laena and Laenor ran up towards him, bowed their heads “Safe travels, Prince Daemon.”

He smiled, knelt down and embraced them both “You can still call me uncle Daemon.” He whispered to them before ruffling their hair. “Forgive me for not telling you a story, I promise I shall tell you an Epic when I return.”

 He walked towards Rhaenys who stood up to greet him “Safe travels, my Prince.”

“Thank you, Princess, give my regards to your lord-Husband.”

Viserys walked towards him and caught him in a tight embrace “Farwell brother, we shall meet again soon.”

“Of course.”

“Good, be good.” Viserys jested.

“When am I ever not?” Viserys laughed and patted him on the back.

Aemma waited before Viserys “Be safe, Daemon.” She whispered to him as she held him.

“I will.” He placed a chaste kiss on his head before turning to his grandmother. “Your Grace.” He knelt down beside her.

“Be well, Daemon.” Alysanne said “And above all be happy, that is all I ask from you.” She kissed Daemon on one cheek and rubbed her thumb on the other as she looked at him, as if committing his image to memory.

Grandmother… can you see me?

“I’ll see you soon, little one.” He said looking at a sleeping Rhaenyra. He stood and walked towards the door, waving at them one last time. He then walked up to the floor of the painted table up the stairs, seeing more Kingsguard by the door “I wish to see my father and his Grace before I leave.” The two looked at each other.

“Let him through!” came a call from the other side. The kingsguard opened the door and the imposter stepped in. He saw his grandfather and his father standing on opposite sides of the painted table.

“Prince Daemon.” Jaehaerys spoke.

“Your Grace, I thought I should tell you I’m leaving for Runestone now.”

“Ah yes, good.” Jaehaerys said “You have done me proud Daemon, carrying out your duties as a prince of our house.” he nodded his head as he finished.

Daemon wished he could scowl at that moment.

“Father.” He said, bowing his head.

“Let me see you off, my son.” Baelon said, walking towards him and placing his arm around his shoulder. They both walked down the stairs and through the halls of Dragonstone “Have you said goodbye to your brother?” Baelon asked, he nodded “Do you have everything you need.” He nodded again. Caraxes sat waiting as dragonkeepers loaded the sacks of supplies to Daemon’s saddle. “Safe travels, my son.” Baelon embraced him tightly.

Tell him.

He felt tears well up in his eyes as he held his father tighter.

Tell him!

Daemon could feel his breathing grow staggered and his lip quiver.

He’s going to die! Tell him! Stop him!

Daemon was now pleading to his captor, if he could he would have fallen to his knees begging.

Save him! Please!

“I'm sorry.” he mouthed.

“What was it Daemon?” Baelon pulled back to see him crying “Is something the matter?”

“I… I…” he struggled to form the words “I… I- I will miss you, father.” He spoke.

Baelon wiped away his tears “I will miss you too, Daemon.” He told him with a smile “Visit when you can.” He held him in the embrace for a little bit longer. Daemon wished it could be for forever.

When all was said and done, the imposter climbed upon Caraxes “Sōvēs!” he commanded “Forward!” the imposter allowed Daemon one more look at his father, waving at him from the platform, his image shrinking before him as he flew further and further away.

Chapter Text

As Caraxes flew through the Vale, Daemon took the time to admire the landscape before him; at King’s Landing he could see the city and the fields of crops and pastures with small towns, villages and hamlets dotted across it. But in the Vale it was almost dominated by mounds, hills and mountains capped with white crowns of snow which the late afternoon sun’s light struck and gleamed off of.

“Beautiful.” He murmured.

Moments like this, wish I had my phone with me.

He smiled as he looked back at Caraxes and patted him on the neck “Gevī, Caraxes! When we arrive I’m going to find you some sheep to eat, would you like that?” the dragon seem to hum in agreement “That’s a good boy!”

His eyes then spotted a massive structure in the distant; built onto a mountain was a massive citadel like structure, a fortress with tall walls and domed towers with bronze caps which burned orange under the light and a large keep of stone and rock in the centre. And it looked as though the only way in was one bridge connecting the main gate to another mountain that levelled out onto flatlands.

As he approached he could see the banner of House Royce flapping against the wind. As he landed his dragon near the entrance of the bridge he was greeted by several armoured men in Royce livery. They stared at Caraxes as he dismounted from him.

“Prince Daemon.” One of them greeted him, there was a tension in his voice.

“Hello ser.” Daemon bowed his head with a smile.

“Lady Rhea awaits you in the Great hall.” The rider told him.

“You have my thanks.” Daemon said, walking up to the knight “If it is too much to ask, is there a cave for my dragon to sleep in? and sheep around? Caraxes has not eaten and taken leave since our stop at Gulltown.”

The knight looked over to another “Lady Rhea has already arranged that, there is a cave less than a quarter league away from here.” He said “For now, the dragon shall stay here.” It sounded more of a command than anything.

“Of course.” Daemon placed his hand on his chest and bowed, instantly he was hit by a burning ache in his chest.

Oh keep quiet! I’m dealing with your messes!

The knight handed him the reins to a spare horse, Daemon climbed upon the horse and took it by the reins. “Lead the way, ser.” The bridge to Runestone was wide yet still daunting, tall towers were built along the bridge with arrow slits built in and iron gates hanging open.

The main gates were large and made from a dark wood were pulled open before them. As Daemon stepped inside he saw wooden and stone houses with servants coming in and out, blacksmiths working on a forge, a stables where horses were tended to and at the centre was the main keep of Runestone, towering over it all.

As he dismounted his horse, a stable boy rushed to him “My Prince.” He said bowing before Daemon. “Allow me to take your horse for you.”

“Thank you.” Daemon smiled “What’s your name?”

It’s- it’s Mychel, my Prince.” He stammered.

“It’s good to meet you, Mychel.” He nodded his head to him.

“Thank you.” Mychel said as he took Daemon’s horse

Finally someone who just says thank you!

“This way, Prince Daemon.” The knights flanked him as they marched him up to the castle. As the climbed the steps the doors to the castle opened before them; inside was a large hall, statues made of bronze with names emblazoned at the bottom of them lined the walls, each one carrying a sword, each one seemingly staring at him. Glass stained windows with bronze pressed onto the side allowed light into the hall while bronze chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

The Banners of Royce hung from the walls, tall and proud, with the two largest placed either side a stone throne with Bronze plated into the chair, as Daemon walked closer he could see runes etched onto the metal.

As he looked around the memories of a wedding came back to him; halls once filled with tables and guests from across the Vale and from his family with himself and Rhea sat next to each other in front of the throne.

As he approached the throne he saw a woman sat upon it, wearing leather armour with chainmail underneath, leather boots and bronze braces on her wrists. A sword in hand, unsheathed with its tip planted onto the ground, as its holder stared at Daemon with a look of calm anger on her face.

“Rhea.” Daemon muttered, she looked upon the face of the woman who loomed over him, he tried to get a good look at her; dark chestnut brown hair combed back and held into a tight bun, slender eyebrows, broad ears, a button nose on a round face.

It’s like she’s ready for a fight.

“Prince Daemon Targeryen.”  Rhea called out, her voice booming off the walls. “Lord-Husband. Welcome home.” Her voice was anything but welcoming.

She has a good reason…

“Thank you, lady-wife.” Daemon said bowing his head.

“We had received your letter some time ago, I see the Gods were merciful to grant your life after your accidents.” Rhea spoke “And were ‘good’ enough to bring you back to me.”

“The Gods have been… kind.”

I guess Jaehaerys hasn’t announced Gael’s death yet.

“Runestone welcomes you, Prince Daemon.” Rhea announced “You must forgive me, I have not been able to prepare any feast or celebration for your arrival.”

Oh she’s really mad.

Daemon could feel hostility burning inside of his chest, independent to how he actually felt, like a need or craving to berate and argue with her. “There is nothing to forgive, I would be more than happy to take my meal with you instead.” He said.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “Very well.” She said “I shall meet you at my apartments.” She stood up from the throne, on the elevated platform she almost towered over him. “You have my leave, Prince Daemon.” She walked off to the other side, leaving him and the knights.

Daemon placed a hand over his chest and sighed, letting out a deep breathe trapped within his lungs.

That went better than expected.

He was escorted back to the other side of the bridge; Caraxes had stayed put, a few armoured riders and servants watching him, some curiously and other with certain fear. “Caraxes!” Daemon called out waving his hand at the dragon. Quickly dismounted his horse and handed it to the knight before jogging to him, the dragon hummed to his touch “Gevī! Gevī!” he said, he turned to the knight “Which way to the cave?” he asked.

“Follow me, my Prince.” The knight led both him, Caraxes and the small group through some hills and towards a decently sized cave just a couple meters off of a dirt path. Caraxes quickly entered inside and made himself at home, curling into a ball with his wings wrapped around himself.

Daemon stepped inside, all around were old runes “What are these?” he asked.

“Ancient inscriptions, from the time of the Bronze king.” The knight said, both he and the group stayed outside and then some from the cave and Caraxes. “It was an old mine.”

Daemon traced his fingers against the etchings “You have my thanks.” He walked out of the cave and towards a man holding some sheep. “You are all free to leave, I shall be back soon” he told them “I shall feed my dragon and then meet with Lady Rhea, I wish not to take up too much of your time.”

They all bowed before him and returned back to the dirt path heading back. Daemon took the sheep, picking it up and carrying it towards the mouth of the cave.

Damn this sheep is heavy. How did Nettles do this every day?

He placed the sheep down and quickly left the cave as Caraxes bathed the poor animal in fire, turning it into charred meat and devouring it’s carcass, had his horse not been tied to a nearby tree it would have ran off. The smell of burnt flesh lingering the air. Daemon sat down on a rock outside the cave and took out his notebook. “Welcome to your new home.” He mumbled to himself as he took in the peace and serenity of the countryside and checking there was no on around.

“You know you’re a dickhead right?” he said out loud, trying to speak to Daemon “You should have just learnt to keep you mouth shut and then majority of your problems would have not existed, instead you had to go around waving your dick like you own the place.” His chest began to ache “Is that all you got?” his chest now burned with fury as the old Daemon quickly took up the gauntlet and tried to inflict as much pain as he could.

Daemon dropped to his knees, almost hunched over as one hand clutched his chest and another held him off the ground. “Agh- Ahh-” Daemon it seemed was giving it all he could give. Daemon allowed the old one to have his time wailing on him “My turn” he muttered. He focused within himself as the feelings of pain began to recede further and further away, flaring up at times but still being pulled deeper into himself.

I’m dragging him kicking and screaming.

He stopped, just allowing the ache to exist as almost an itch. “You listen well.” He told Daemon “I. am going to be cleaning YOUR messes so the least YOU can do is keep quiet or I swear to God I will keep throwing you into whatever void, abyss or sunken place I keep putting you in. Got it?”

The ache seemed to stop and Daemon allowed himself to breathe.

Before instantly doubling over. Daemon fell to the ground, rolling onto his back as he tried to get through the furious onslaught of a defiant Daemon “Oh fuck you.” He grabbed at his chest and focused inwards, pushing away the pain and Daemon into his chest, silencing him.

Daemon sat up off the ground and shook his head and turned to his dragon “Sorry you had to see that, Caraxes.” He said, standing up from the dirt he walked over to his horse “Goodnight, I’ll see you on the morrow- I’m mean tomorrow.”

He mounted his horse and rode back towards Runestone as the night approached. Inside the castle he was shown to his own quarters; the room was less lavish than his living space in King’s Landing it did have a more warm feeling to it compared to the opulence.

There was a hearth already burning, a large bed without the ceiling or curtains to it, a few draws and chests pushed against the wall and a desk in the centre of the room, near the hearth and a bath already filled with water.

He walked towards the water and placed his hand in it.

“Cold.” He chuckled.

She REALLY does not like you.

He shook his head, removing his clothes and stepping inside the bath to quickly scrub himself, shaking as his body tried to acclimatise to the cold. Afterwards he quickly got dressed; combing his hair and tying it into a ponytail and changing into some dark breeches and black and red tunic. He checked himself in the mirror one last time.

When was the last time I went on a date?

There was a knock on the door.

That must be my escorts.

“One moment please.” He called out, he rushed over to his bed and grabbed his satchel filled with his journals and Darksister, tossing them into a large chest and locking it. The knocking continued “One moment!” he sprinted to the door opening it.

“Prince Daemon.” A young maid greeted him, lowering her head “Lady Rhea is waiting for you in her private quarters.”

“Many thanks.” Daemon said “I should ask for your name, we will no doubt run into each other in future.”

“Edith, my Prince.”

“Many thanks to you, Edith.” He smiled.

Edith bowed her head and smiled back “Thank you, my Prince, allow me to escort you.” What memories of Runestone Daemon had were far and few between; images of stone halls and orange banners. In that moment Daemon cursed his previous self for his lack of curiosity. Edith brought her towards double doors, two guards on either side.

“Prince Daemon, Lady Rhea awaits.” One of the guards said as they opened the door.

“You have my thanks.” He told them, walking into the apartment as they shut the door behind them.

If the colours of house Targaryen was black and red then for Royce it was Bronze and black, with an emphasis on the Bronze; the windows of the living space, much like the windows in the great hall, were lined with bronze with brass coloured curtains, at the end of the room was a fireplace with bronze plates at the side, runes written going downwards.

At the centre of the room was a table, covered in white cloth with copper vases holding flowers inside it and plates laid out on either side.

I haven’t seen this much orange since I went to a club in Essex.

Suddenly he felt a bout of… elation? As if he wanted to laugh at his inner joke. 

Fuck he’s back already.

Daemon clutched at his chest, ready to banish the other Daemon when another door opened, with Rhea stepping out. “Wow…” Her hair once done in a small bun now flowed with a curl to her shoulders. The leather armour were now replaced with a regal dress of orange gold with black seams stitched in it, along her skirt were runic words woven with black thread. A necklace of black jewels hung from her neck and the only thing that remained of their first encounter was the bronze braces around her wrists.

Rhea narrowed her eyes at him “Prince Daemon?”

He had not noticed his mouth was slightly agape “You look stunning.” He said

“Stunning?” Rhea asked.

“Beautiful I mean.” Correcting him “Pardons, I had read many books during my recovery, some foreign; it seems I’ve picked up on their vocabulary.” He felt a pang of embarrassment and he didn’t know if that was him, Daemon or both of them.

“How surprising, I would not have assumed you had the patience for it.” She commented as she took her seat at one end of the table

“It seems the accident has changed me.” Daemon said as he took his place. Three servants walked into the room, two carrying trays of food and the other jugs of wine and glasses. The dishes placed before them was pheasant stuffed with herbs and carrots, potatoes served on the side with strips of cabbage. The servants quickly left, leaving them alone once more.

“Quite, I was surprised to read your letter to me.” She said, cutting into her pheasant, staring at him. “Tell me and speak true, were you the one to write that?”

“Yes.”

Rhea scoffed “Forgive me but I find that hard to believe.” Before taking a bit of her meal and drinking from her cup.

“That is understandable.” Daemon admitted.

“Is it?”

Daemon nodded “I know that how we started this marriage was, to put it generously, bloody awful.”

“That is rather generously put, you humiliated me.” Rhea accused him “You stood up at our table, raised your cup and proclaimed to all the lords in attendance that I was your, how did you put it? ‘Bronze Bitch’ did you not?” she said taking another sip of her drink.

Daemon wanted nothing more than the floor to swallow him whole while an awful feeling of pride swelled within him.

You’re such a dick…

“I do remember.” He said meekly.

“Good, I am glad you remember because I remember.” Rhea declared “And in the words of my house, ‘We Remember.’” Rhea glared at him “And I will not easily forget the slight on my pride.”

Daemon was silent, he knew Rhea deserved to berate him, yet inside he wanted nothing more than to tell her.

That wasn’t me! That was him!

“And you should not.” He replied calmly “You have every right to be angry with me, your father would have every right to detest me, so would the rest of your family.” Daemon looked up at her, a glance of confusion passed her face yet her resolve never wavered. “If there is anything else you want to say than do so, I shall not argue back, you deserve that much at the very least.”

“How kind of you.” She said before drinking from her cup again. “You are most gracious, I am surprised you called me beautiful or ‘stunning’ after what you had said to some of the lords in attendance, what was it? ‘In the Vale men are said to fuck sheep instead of women?’”

Daemon pinched the bridge of his nose.

Fuck he did say that…

There was that feeling of elation again, writhing around his chest.

Enough.

He pressed his hand at his chest and closed his eyes, forcing the old Daemon once more into where ever he sends him off to.

If I deny then I’ll look dishonest.

“Do you own words trouble you?” Rhea questioned.

“Yes, my lady, they do.” Daemon replied “To hear you repeat them, truly makes me hate the person I was not so long ago; those words are of a petulant child.” Daemon sighed and looked back at Rhea who took one more sip of her cup.

Is she getting drunk?

“And what makes you think I do not see that ‘petulant child’ before me now?” she questioned.

“Before I left for Runestone I had gone to visit my grandmother, what she had asked of me was forgive for arranging our marriage; Her Grace, one of the greatest Queens this realm has seen and she asked for my forgiveness when all she had done was for my sake…All I could ask from the Queen was her forgiveness.” Daemon said “Forgive me, my transgressions, lady Rhea; I could ask for your forgiveness a hundred times and it will not undo the dishonour I had inflicted upon you, but I will do more than tell you, I will show you; I meant what I said in the letter even if it takes our entire lives.”

“Our whole lives?” she questioned, more softly spoken “You will be showing me for a long while then, are you sure you can do that?”

“I have awhile.” He said smiling with a wink, he swore Rhea almost smiled back at him. Daemon took a sip of his drink, celebrating his small victory.

“Since I can speak freely, I am sure you are aware I take no pleasure in being in your presence.” Rhea said “But since you are here I suppose there is no better time than now to consummate our marriage.” Daemon choked on his drink, holding his hand to his mouth and nose. “I know the feeling between us is shared, but we have a duty to perform.”

She got up from her chair and walked towards him, her hand gliding on the table, as if to steady herself.

No.

Daemon quickly stood up from his chair and met her, she stumbled forward into him “Lady Rhea I- we-… we cannot.” She stood at just a head short of Daemon, staring up at him.

She narrowed her eyes “You cannot?” Daemon shook his head “And why is that?”

“You are drunk.”

“And what of it? I need to if I plan on getting through this, I suggest you do the same and quickly.”

Daemon breathed in “If we are to do this… if I am to lay with you, it cannot be as this.” He looked into her eyes, they were a light hazelnut brown. “We should not do this out of duty but because we desired it.”

“Do you desire me?” Rhea questioned, Daemon nodded. Rhea scoffed “There was I time I believed myself to be fortunate to wed you; many women in court called you a maiden’s fantasy, there was a short time I desired you.”

“Rude behaviour is unattractive.” Daemon said sympathetically “I understand why you would no longer feel that way.”

“Then why not just do our duty and get it over with?”

“Because I want us to be willing, truly willing.” Daemon reiterated “I have put you through so much, I do not want to put you through this too.”

Rhea sighed deeply “So be it Daemon, but I shall ask, what if I never becoming willing to you?”

“And now my watch begins.” Daemon jested, this time earning a smirk from Rhea he knew to be true.  

Chapter Text

Daemon rested on the flat rock, sitting just by the entrance to Caraxes’ new home, he peered inside the cave to still see his dragon asleep, the sound of it’s heavy breathing weaving itself into the sounds of the rustling tall grass, trees and the birds chirping as the chill morning air brushed against his hair gently.

It had been something of a routine for over a week; get up early, take a stroll over the bridge and catch the sun as it peaks over the mountains in the distance before heading off for a jog to see Caraxes and feed him some sheep, well buy the sheep from a nearby shepherd.

Daemon sketched the runes in the cave with piece of black chalk as he waited, when his eyes looked onto the ridge and spotted the shepherd. He shut his book and placed it back in his satchel. Standing up from his seat he waved at the shepherd and jogged over to him, climbing over some rocks and up the mound.

It’s a workout just to get somewhere on foot.

“Good morrow, Albar!” he called out to the man, a flock of sheep behind him.

Albar bowed his head “My Prince.” The first encounter with the shepherd had been a tense but fortuitous meeting in the end; Albar had been scared by the Prince’s appearance in the countryside and even more terrified by the dragon Caraxes who he had run into first and may have lost his flock of sheep had Daemon not intervened.

“I told you before, it’s just Daemon when it’s you and I.” Daemon smiled as he offered Albar his hand, the shepherd grasped Daemon’s hand firmly “Same as before?”

“One for three sheep.” He smiled, Daemon took out the silver coin from his pocket and handed them to the farmer.

“Don’t suppose you’ll help me take the sheep to the dragon?” Daemon asked with faux innocence.

“Afraid not, Daemon.” He laughed as he handed him the three sheep on a leash.

Daemon patted him on the back as he laughed with the shepherd. “Worth a try, take care and I shall see you again, give my regards to Kella for me!” Albar bowed his head and waved Daemon goodbye as he heading back down the other side of the mound.

Daemon wrapped the leash over his hand and dragged the sheep down the hill, the first time he had done this he felt pity for the sheep; seeing them struggle against him to not be eaten. A few times after however it became more tedious.

He had tried to kill them once with Darksister, yet as he tried he hesitated. Not able to bring himself to strike down the animal… even when Daemon almost seem to urge him to.  

“Damned sheep” he exclaimed as he dragged them just a few meters away from the entrance “Caraxes!” he called out, the heavy breathing quickly ceased and the hum of it’s throat croaked against the cave walls.

He tied the leash to a stake in the ground, one he had hammered in after a few attempts at bringing the sheep into the cave, before standing back.

As Caraxes breathed fire on the poor sheep, Daemon lay on the side of a mound catching his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead, a cool breeze offering him some slight relief. Now the sounds of his dragon devouring the charred carcasses of the sheep were the only thing he could hear.

Daemon got up “Dokimarvose! Caraxes!” he commanded “Clean up your mess.” He said, pointing to the charred bones. “You’re expensive to feed.” He jested, the dragon hummed back as it munched on the bones. “Gevī! Caraxes, very good.” Caraxes moved back into his cave.

When Daemon arrived back at the bridge to Runestone he was greeted by Cley, a guard serving as his escort yet Daemon felt acted more as a watchful eye for Rhea than anything.

Let him see, I’ve got nothing to hide

Daemon shifted the satchel by his hip and itched his chest.

“All done, Cley.” He said to the guard.

“Very good, Prince Daemon.” Cley said. “Will you be needing a horse.”

“It won’t be needed, I much enjoy walking.” Daemon said as he began to walk the bridge “It’s beautiful is it not?” he asked Cley as he rode his horse alongside him.

“Yes, my Prince.” Cley said “Nothing can compared to it.” He said, the sunlight now washing over them.

“Will you ever come and see Caraxes, Cley?” Daemon asked grinning.

“If the Prince demands it of me I shall.”

“But do you want to?”

“No, My Prince.” Cley admitted. “I fear I am not brave enough.”

“One day Cley, you’ll see.” He said tapping him on the leg reassuringly. “I have faith.” He wanted to tell him how terrified he had been when facing Caraxes, if only to strike up a conversation but held off.

At Runestone, for the most part Daemon had been left to his own devices; he made a point of making sure to ask the names of each servant or worker he ran across and addressing them as such as part of his ‘Charm offensive’ in trying to convince them that while he may be Daemon Targaryen he was not Daemon Targeryen.

Less the rouge Prince and more the team player.

He sat alone in his solar; it was a small office space, smaller than his room, both in King’s Landing and in Runestone, and likely had served as a storage place for items and wares before Rhea had cleared when he had asked for a quiet space to do his work.

His chest had burned with indignant fury at this; he felt that burning desire to argue roaring inside him and yet Daemon smiled, thanked her for fulfilling his request and got to work clearing the space, much to her own confusion and frustration.

Some shelves, a few cupboards with draws and a desk had filled the room with a small window looking out into a river flowing out into Gulltown, it felt very cosy and private. On a small stack of parchment he had the workings of some early and short-term ideas; nothing grand or costly he resolved.

They’ll probably never trust me if I asked them to spend Gods know how many golden dragons on building a canal or something.

On one sheet was a design for paperclips, a small idea and almost seemingly insignificant yet he remembered how dozens of his colleagues at work requested boxes of them each month in the stationary orders.

Before that though…

He stretched out on his chair, clicking his joints before getting up, taking a few sheets of parchment and walking out of his office, locking the door behind him.

Daemon wondered the halls, he had spent a bit of time trying to map out the layout of the castle after getting lost a few times only to be shepherded away like a lost child by a servant and once even Rhea herself, bumping into her after attending a meeting with Runestone’s treasurer.

That had been a funny encounter.

As he continued wondering around he pushed opened two wooden doors to reveal chamber filled with shelves and shelves of books.

“Ah that’s where it is!” he said out loud.

He stepped inside, his eyes scouring around him at the large selection of books and journals before him. He walked up to a shelf and began taking out books.

“Ah Prince Daemon!” someone exclaimed behind him, he turned to see Maester Hugo “I was not expecting to see you here.” He walked up to him, carrying a stack of books himself.

“Maester Hugo! Just the person I wanted to meet!” he said turning to see the Maester “I wanted to speak to you about a few things.”

“I would be honoured to hear it, Prince Daemon.” He said, placing the books on a table.

“Firstly, do you know where I can find any books relating to the history of House Royce?” he asked.

“Of course, if you shall follow.” Hugo led Daemon a different corner of the room “This is where I have kept the books relating to this house’s history, no doubt when I am gone my successor will change it.”

“I imagine each maester will have their own preference in how this library is organised.”

“Oh quite, it was rather tedious and I still find books out of place by those who take them out and not put in the correct place no matter how many times I tell them.” He said, some exhaustion emanating from his voice.

Daemon took out some of the books from the shelves as he listened to the Maester “What if we changed that?” he asked “What if we made a new system which all learned people can read?” 

“Forgive me, my Prince, if could then I would have done so many years ago.”

Daemon then took out the pieces of rolled parchment he had and smirked at him “What if, I had a new system of organising we can use.” He unrolled the parchment and laid it flat onto the table; on it was a list of numbers spanning from one to ninety nine, one hundred to one hundred and ninety nine and so on until it reached up to one short of one thousand.

Hugo scratched his wispy beard as he looked at the parchment “How would it work?”

“Simple, books based on certain matters or studies will go in one category and so on.” Daemon rushed off and picked up a pot of ink and quill from one table and wrote on the parchment “We can have all book relating to House Royce between one and ninety nine. We just need to write the number on the first page.”

Hugo’s eyes widen, his expression going from considerate to seeing a small revelation “My Prince, this would be a clever way to organise the library.”

Daemon smiled “Well Maester Hugo, when do we start?”

It must have been a few hours since he proposed the idea did both Daemon and the Maester get to work in sorting through the History of Runestone between the first set of numbers. Both he and the Maester had been working for a few hours until they were disturbed.

“Maester Hugo.” Rhea spoke, catching their attention “Am I interrupting something?”

Hugo glanced from Rhea to Daemon quickly “Not at all.” Daemon spoke first “Maester Hugo was just helping with an idea on how to organise the library.”

Rhea approached them, caution in her eyes and caution in how she moved, picking up a book “The Life of the Bronze King?” she said looking over at Daemon “When did you have a fascination for the history of my House, lord-husband?”

“Since I returned home.” He said bowing his head. “I thought it best to learn about your House, it will be the yours which our children would carry.” He fought back the pain in his chest at the comment, remembering how much of a sore point it had been for the other Daemon.

Rhea narrowed her eyes at him “Maester Hugo, please attend to my solar, I would like you in on a meeting.” She said, her eyes not once leaving Daemon “There is a matter on which I would require your council on.”

“At once, my lady.” Maester Hugo said, quickly moving away from both of them.

“Do you believe flattery will gain my affections?” Rhea questioned.

“Everyone likes a bit of flattery, wife.” Daemon said “But I am reading this because my interest in your house is sincere.” Rhea tilted her head, still wary of him. Daemon sighed “To know one’s history is to have pride, to know another’s history is to be wise.” He said.

Her face soften “Did the old king tell you that?”

“It was my mother who said that.” Not a lie, Alyssa Targeryen had never said anything like that to him when Daemon was a child, other than encouraging both Viserys and Daemon to take pride in their Targeryen heritage. It was his mother in his first life that had told him that.

Rhea turned away from his gaze “She sounds wise.” Rhea said “I shall leave you to your work, husband.” Before Rhea could leave, Daemon quickly grabbed her hand. Rhea turned back to him, a look of cautious anger on her face.

“I would be overjoyed if you could have dinner with me again.” Daemon asked, almost blurting it out. “If it pleases you, wife.”

Rhea rolled her eyes “If you wish, have you decided to end this mummers farse of yours and instead do your duty?”

Daemon almost lurched back at the comment, he let go of Rhea’s hand “No, nothing of the sort, and its not a mummer farse, I meant it then and I mean it now.”

Rhea blinked at him “So be it, meet me at my apartments and we shall-”

“If you would allow me and be so kind, can you meet me in the kitchen instead?”

“The Kitchen, and why is that?” she questioned.

“I… I plan on cooking myself.” He said sheepishly.

“You? Cook?”

“Yes, there was a recipe I had read when I was recovering in bed that I would like to try out, it’s mine own version of a dish from the free cities.” He explained “I would be honoured if you would try it with me.”

Rhea was silent for a couple seconds, for Daemon it had felt like an eternity when she spoke “So be it, I shall meet you at the end of the day, I am curious to see ‘what’ you create.”

Daemon wanted to laugh out in relief “You have my thanks, lady-wife.” He bowed his head as Rhea walked away. He quickly sorted through the books and raced back to his office, snatching from other parchments he left on his desk before jogging to the castle’s kitchen.

The kitchen of Runestone was large, there was no denying that but it was nothing compared to the one in the Red Keep. When he stepped in the kitchen, everyone turned to face him and bowed their heads quickly.

“Prince Daemon, you honour us with your presence.” The head cook said.

“Please, everyone, do not stop working on my account.” Daemon said to them “Pretend as if I was not here.” Everyone slowly turned their eyes away from him as they got back to their work, he turned to the head cook. “I must ask of a favour from you, if you may.”

“Of course, My Prince.”

Firstly stop saying ‘My Prince.’

“First I need a list of ingredients.” Daemon said, listing off a selection of foods and items he needed.

I hope that olive oil will be a good enough substitute for tomato sauce.

“Consider it done, My Prince.”

“Secondly I need a space to work and cook.” He looked over to unused oven “Can I use that oven for the night and I would require some aid if I need it though hopefully not, I have no desire to disturb your cooks.”

“Consider it and our aid yours for as long as you need it.”

“Excellent.” Daemon said  “Third thing, would Lady Rhea arrives can the cooks take their leave? She will be here at the end of the day.”

The head cook smiled “I am sure we would all be more than pleased to have an early finish later tonight.”

Daemon got to a corner of the kitchen, an empty table and his ingredients; he took in a deep breath, the air was the smell of cooking from different dishes and foods. He tried his best to recite and recount the memories of his past life, the fog of time clearing.

He remembered his mother standing before him and his sister in the kitchen at him as she had them make dough, a tradition of theirs from childhood into early adulthood before he moved out.

It was a way to keep her and us connected to her home.

He took a bowl and mixed in the flour, olive oil and salt together, mixed the yeast, water and sugar together; praying that it would work as he had done in his previous life. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to remember himself doing this, he tried to remember his sister beside him and then his niece and nephew trying to do it while making a huge mess.

He tried to remember his mother watching him, almost judging him as he tried to do it perfectly.

As he kneed the dough in his hands, his heart that belonged to him and not Daemon ached for the memory them, it longed for it to be more than a memory. Past the fog of the cooking he could smell the wet dough in his hands.

It almost brought him to tears.

Yet he shook his head and continued on, stretching out the dough before it became a flat surface.

In his mind he remembered his mother trying to instruct him, him arguing with her and him still following her instruction. He would have laughed if he wasn’t holding off the feeling of crying.

Through watery eyes he tried to go through the other steps; placing thin slices of cheese and ham on top of the flat bread, using a mix of olive oil and different herbs, replacing tomato sauce. He looked up from his work to see some of the servants and cooks staring at him curiously. He looked back at them, causing them to disperse.

He took what he made and placed it in the open oven on an empty metal tray; he watched and prayed that he what it made would work. As it began to rise so did his hopes. Now some of the cooks became more bold as they peered either behind him or to his side into the oven.

As the smell hit is nose did his eyes water and tears escaped from him, quickly he grabbed a cloth and wiped his face, trying to hide it.

I miss you guys, so much…

Being careful he took the metal tray out of the oven and placed it back on the table, everyone now crowding around watching him. “Knife and plate please.” A cook quickly handed him one, he cut out a slice and placed it on the plate. “So… who wants to try?” he asked, cutting the slice into smaller parts, handing a piece to the head cook, a serving girl and another cook. “You can be honest.” He told them before they ate it.

“My Prince… this is… good!” the head cook said, the others nodding enthusiastically nodding in agreement.

Daemon smiled and this time, he did laugh.

By the time Rhea had arrived Daemon was still being quizzed on his recipe by the head cook, Yohn, who wanted to copy it.

“Lady-wife!” he called out to her, the head cook turned and bowed before her.

“Take your leave.” she commanded him.

“You have my thanks, lady Rhea.” Yohn said before leaving them alone with a small table next to a window; a few candles with two plates and goblets, a jug of wine and Daemon’s cooking.

“You look lovely.” Daemon complemented her, Rhea was dressed in a simple and comfortable dress, nothing like the one she wore on this first dinner.

“As I had said, flattery will get you nowhere.” She sat down on the other side of the table, looking at the food curiously “What is this?”

“I call it ‘Pizza’” Daemon said as he cut off a slice and placed it on Rhea’s plate “Try it.” She looked at the slice then back at him “No I did not poison it.” He took off a slice for himself and ate some to prove that to her.

Rhea took a bite of it.

Daemon began to chuckle at the look on her face “Oh.” She said through the food in her mouth “Oh quiet.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Good, is it not?” he said with a smile as he took a sip of wine.

Rhea wiped her mouth as she finished her slice “Oh fine, you have amazed me here.” A smirk, wider than the last one, appeared on her lips and inside Daemon cheered loudly.

The rest of the evening the two sat together; talked and at times laughing through slices of pizza and cups of wine. Daemon looked down at her plate “You dislike the crusts?”

“I just preferred not to eat them.” Rhea said, shrugging her shoulder.

Daemon giggled, he remembered his sister not eating the crusts either, much to their mother’s disappointment.

“Did you mean it?” she asked, her voice becoming more solemn “When you said you’ll try to earn my forgiveness?”

“With all my heart.” He replied. “I can not ask for forgiveness enough from you, but I will earn it somehow, someway.”

“It might be the wine or mayhaps I have become a fool but I am starting to believe you.” Rhea said admitted, she quickly raised her hand up “But know this Daemon, if you break my trust again I will not hesitate to remove you from my family’s castle, that is my right as heir.”

Daemon smiled warmly “I would not have it any other way.” He looked down at the table “If it pleases you… Rhea, can we begin anew?” he looked back up at her, offering his hand to her.

Rhea was silent as she looked at Daemon’s hand and then him. Daemon clenched his jaw, trying not to show his nervousness.

“I could try.” She said, taking her hand in his, smiling softly at him.

“Lady Rhea.” Maester Hugo called out.

Rhea dipped her head “Yes, Maester Hugo?” she replied, a hint of annoyance seeming through her tone.

“Forgive me for the intrusion, there is a letter from your lord father.” He said “You will need to read this, alone.”

She glanced at Daemon “You go, I need to clean up.”

“The cooks can do that.” She said. 

“That would be unfair on them.” Daemon replied. Rhea nodded her head before getting up from her seat and moving towards the door.

“I’ll have a servant fill your bath when you return.”

By the time Daemon was done he was thoroughly exhausted, entering his room he flopped onto the bed, tempted to just sleep like this. He looked towards the bath sitting at the corner of his room, noticing the lines of smoke drifting from it.

With an aching body he got up and walked towards it, smiling to himself as he dipped his hand in the water, feeling its hot touch.

Chapter Text

Daemon pulled on his cloak as it fluttered against the wind; the air was freezing but as he looked upon the valley and hills near Runestone, it’s beauty more than made up for it. He took in a deep breath, the cold air coursing through his throat and into his lungs.

Nothing like going for a morning fly.

He patted Caraxes on the neck “Jātās!”, turning the steering to the side; both he and Caraxes circled around Runestone, no doubt there were people watching on as the two dominated the skies above them.

Is Rhea watching?

It had been a couple days since their dinner date in the kitchen; since then all they had were smiles and stolen glances before the two of them went about their own business, he had offered to have dinner with her again but Rhea always turned him down. It wasn’t for lack of want, or at least he thought so, there always seemed to be something else that caught her attention; letters from the Eyire, petitions or matters of state.

This lord business must be a pain.

In his old job he’d always see projects and plans hit dead ends or road blocks, much to the various people’s frustration, truly he did not envy his line manager for having to mainly be the one to tell them that. Plenty of times he had to talk down some vexed politician or advisor. The memory brought him both stress and laughter as he shook his head in recollection.

We’d flip a coin on who’d have to tell them the bad news.

A chill, absent of the weather, crept up his back, as he wondered whether he would be the person people would have to calm down now, the politician whose ideas will not see the light of day.

I can’t be that person… one of them even accused me of secretly hating the government!

“Wasn’t a secret.” He muttered to himself, he patted Caraxes on the neck again “Ninkiot!” he ordered, Caraxes began his descent towards the ground and back to his cave. Caraxes planted his claws into a mound and climbed down towards his home “Good, Caraxes!” Daemon unbuckled himself and climbed off his dragon, rubbing his jaw “Whose a good boy?” there was still a humour to treating this mythical creature as a large scaley dog.

Near a tree just a couple meters away, Cley waited for Daemon “Cley!” he said walking up to his escort “Hope it was not too dull waiting for me.”

“Was not, my Prince.” Cley said “It was interesting watching you fly around.”

“Perhaps I can interest you in a ride on Caraxes? Don’t worry I’ll be flying.” Daemon laughed.

Cley smirked “Afraid I must decline, I have a fear of high places.”

“And yet you were born in the Vale of all places.”

“The Gods have a strange sense of humour.” Cley laughed as he handed him the reins of Daemon’s horse and the two rode back to Runestone. As Daemon handed the reins of his horse to Mychel he quickly headed over to the castle forge.

“Gilwood!” he called out to the blacksmith “Horton! How are you two?” greeting the blacksmiths assistant.

“Prince Daemon.” The apprentice bowed his head “We have the first batch of ‘parchment clips’ here.” He handed Daemon a few paperclips; he visited the forge a few days ago and enquired about the wasted or useless bits of steel, planting the seeds in the first meeting of turning them into something else.

Daemon examined the clip in his hand, a faint smile coming to his mind as he remembered his irritation finding them all over his desk in his first life. He took out his journal and used it to seal together to pages, moving it about. “It’s perfect.” Daemon said placing his hand on the apprentice’s shoulder “I’ll need another small box full of these things if you can.”

“It shall be done, my Prince.” The apprentice bowed his head.

“I know you will not let me down, Horton.” Daemon said, he turned to the blacksmith “Be well.”

“My Prince.” The blacksmith bowed his head and Daemon quickly headed away from the forge and then into a wooden house built into the wall of Runestone, Cley quickly following behind him, he knocked on the door and opened it slightly.

“Good morrow, Donnel.” He said catching the carpenter at his work, over to his side he catches sight of his sons helping him with his work “Gyles, Humfrey how are you two?” the two boys quickly bowed their heads.

“Prince Daemon, it is always as pleasure to have you visit us.” Donnel said.

“The pleasure is all mine, just wanted to know if you had gotten to work on the object I requested?”

“It is here, my Prince.” Gyles, the older brother said, taking out a wooden box and then handing it to Daemon, bowing his head. Daemon gently took the box and opened it; a thin rectangle with forty two holes, seven rows of six with a stand and two small pouches. Daemon opened one to see circle tokens painted red.

“Perfect.” He said, he turned his head to the father “as agreed, a silver stag for the work.” He handed the boy the silver stag, who looked at the coin with wide eyes as his younger brother looked at the coin too. The father watched them, polishing a wooden pommel for a sword. “Take care!” he said to them before leaving the house.

Cley eyes the boxes in his had curiously “If I may ask, My Prince, what are those?”

Daemon quickly opened the box he had gotten from the carpenter family “This?” he said taking out the item “This is a game which I had thought of, I call it, connect four.” Cley looked at him perplexed “Would you care for a game?”

“Perhaps another time, My Prince.” He said, much to Daemon’s disappointment.

“That’s a shame.” Daemon said as the two head back into the castle. “I wonder if Perra will appreciate this instead.”

The younger sister of Rhea had sought to avoid Daemon no matter what when he arrived, it had taken a few pizza slices and answering a curious child’s questions about Caraxes to go from ‘evil good-brother’ to ‘cool brother who sneaks treats.’ He searched through the memories of Daemon and found only the recollection of a young girl who hid from him and whom Daemon looked on with distain.

No wonder and no surprise.

He didn’t recall Rhea having a sister in the book or show, only an unnamed nephew who had inherited Runestone after her death. Daemon could only assume why she never inherited it than her future son. The thought made him uncomfortable as the fate of Aemma circled his mind.

Yet as the young girl stared intensely at the connect-four board, it briefly escaped his mind; it was his turn and he could see her obvious move, he hid his smile in his hand as he intentionally misplaced his token allowing her to win. “Victory!” Perra proclaimed, placing her’s down quickly.

Daemon raised his hands up “I am defeated, well played lady Perra.”

“Are you not the creator of this game, my Prince?” Cley questioned with a smile “Defeated by a mere child.”

“Well ser Cley, how about you test your metal against the genius of lady Perra.” Daemon said with faux outrage. There was a knock on the door “Enter.”

Rhea enters into the office; Cley stands at attention and Daemon shoots up from his seat. “Rhea!” Perra said, hopping off of her chair and towards her elder sister, hugging her waist. She was once more dressed in her chainmail and leather armour with a sword at her hip; Daemon had known and observed her enough to know that she was to meet with someone she disliked and wanted to show strength to would dress for battle.

But who though?

“Little Perra.” Rhea rubbed the top of her head, she looked to Daemon; the bitterness that he had seen when he arrived was replaced with a softness “Husband, I hope you are well.”

“I am, wife.” Daemon replied, the two stared at each other for a few seconds before she broke her gaze.

“Rhea!” Perra exclaimed “Daemon had made a new game and I have bested him!”                                 

“Perra, what have I told you?”

“It is perfectly fine, lady-wife.” He assured her “I had told her she can address me without the title.”

“Perra, go get ready.” Rhea said, she paused for a moment and took in a deep breath “Uncle Gunthor and Arnold Arryn have returned from their trip.” There was an uncomfortable expression on her face.

“Must I?” Perra said, her face buried in Rhea’s stomach.

“Go, I shall not ask again.” Rhea commanded with the gentleness of an ask.

“I shall.” Perra conceded defeat before skulking across the hallway.

From what he could remember ‘Gunthor’ had become lord of Runestone at some point, how he did was unknown; little was known about him and even with Daemon’s memories he was more a passing figure. But what he did know was that this man may have more ‘traditional’ views of rulership and started a war for his former squire the Arryn boy.

I wonder if he believes himself the worthy heir to Runestone.

“Be ready too, husband.” Rhea said.

“Cley, you are dismissed for now.” Daemon said, the man bowed his head and left the office leaving only he and Rhea. “Is all well?”

Rhea grimaced “As well as it can be.” She replied.

Daemon stepped towards her “You can tell me, consult with me if you desire.” He almost reached out for her hand.

Rhea moved her hand away “You forget yourself, Daemon.” She warned him “I have ordered the servants to make you a hot bath, have yourself ready within the hour to greet my uncle and his squire.” She walked away from him “Stay quiet and do not seek to humiliate me as he had do so on our wedding day when they arrive.” She ordered disappearing down the hallway.

Daemon stood on the spot, he could feel the indignation and sense of injustice from the old and true Daemon, yet all he could feel for himself was deflated.

One step forward… two steps back.

Within the hour Daemon presented himself at the Great hall; Rhea sat on the Bronze throne, her sword placed along her lap as she looked towards the entrance. Perra was stood next to her on her right side while Daemon took his place at her left while a line of guards dressed in the livery of House Royce lined the long carpet to the throne. Rhea looked to Daemon, her eyes less angered and more thoughtful.

You lead, I’ll follow.

Daemon struck him in the chest as the thought passed his mind, Daemon placed his hand on his chest and forced the old one back into his cage for a moment as he stared at the large doors.

The doors to the castle were pulled open as two people marched towards them; Daemon spotted a middle aged man, if he had to guess possibly mid to late thirties with a young boy alongside him who must have been possibly around Perra's age.

“My sweet niece Rhea and lovely niece Perra.” The man proclaimed as he stopped before the steps to the raised platform “It is wonderful to see you again.” He then turned to Daemon, eyeing the him before speaking “Prince Daemon, a pretty as ever.”

Oh it’s like that huh? Big talk for a man in his mid-thirties looking like late-forties.

He had a large beard of dark chestnut hair and long slick back hair, both of which had signs of greying and, much like Rhea, wore leather armour with a sword tied to his hip and bronze braces and stylings.

“Uncle Gunthor, it pleases us to see you back from your trip.” Rhea said “Young Lord Arnold, I am pleased to see that you are well too.”

“Thank you, Lady Rhea.” The young boy said, there was an air of smugness about him, as if he was a child who had never heard the word ‘No’ in their life.

I’ve known plenty who have never heard that word before.

“I hope your travels have not been too hard on you both, I know the roads of the Vale have experienced attacks by the wild clans as of late.” Rhea spoke.

“Aye we are well, blessed be the Gods who guarded us from those unwashed barbarians who prey on the innocent and meek.” Gunthor spoke, clearly trying to project his own voice “It is a terrible sign for the times ahead when the mountains clans feel brave enough to venture from their caves.”

“Quite, rest assured my father is more than aware of this, proper action is taken-”

“Aye I know.” Gunthor spoke, cutting Rhea short “My brother is a great regent of the Vale, though these times trouble me.” He scratched his beard. “We should speak more of this in private.” He turned to Daemon “The Prince is welcome to join, I would like this opinion on the matter.”

Both Daemon and Rhea glanced at each other. “I will join you.” Daemon agreed, Gunthor smiled.

“Thank you.” Gunthor nodded his head.

“I’m sure this talk can wait though, yourself and lord Arnold must be tired from your travels.” Rhea advised him.

“Aye, myself and young lord have grown tired during our travels, we shall discuss this afterwards.” He said “I shall meet you in your father’s solar.”

“The rest of you dismissed.” The troop of guards and servants dispersed from the Great hall, Rhea looked over to Perra “Sister, head to my apartments.” Perra nodded as a guard escorted her away. Rhea stood up from her throne. “Follow me.” She commanded.

She had led him through the halls, two guards behind them, before stopping before a large oak door, beyond it was a large office than must have been three time the size of his; a large orange gold and black carpet covered most of the stone floor, a large glass window allowed light to illuminate the room and give them a view of the vast chasm that the castle sat within. Stone columns were carved into the stone walls with runes etched into them, the banners to house Royce and paintings of an older man with his wife and two daughters hung on the walls and a large hearth built into one side with a large bear skin rug near it.

Daemon looked around the large room, eyes filled with amazement yet bothered by a chill in the room. He looked at the large portrait of the family; his memories recalling the man as Lord Yobert Royce, Rhea’s father.

“Sit.” Rhea commanded, pointing to one of the chairs opposite as she sat on the other side. 

Daemon sat down “Rhea, is something the matter?”

Rhea was silent “I wish you hadn’t accepted his offer.”

Daemon grimaced “My apologises.” Rhea only glanced at him and sighed “Do you know why he has asked for me to join?”  

“I do not know why but it will likely serve his motive.” Rhea said, she then took out some parchment from the desk “These have been letters by my father while he serves in the Eyrie; there have been mummers from other lords, discontent regarding Lady Jeyne.” Daemon bit the inside of his cheek, remembering Aemma’s words about her distant cousin.

Daemon recalled that Jeyne had faced two attempts to usurp her in favour of Arnold, with the later one being done by Arnold himself.

Gunthor may have lead the first one then…

“You believe that your uncle is attempting to seat his squire on the throne?” Daemon asked.

“I am almost certain that is the reason why he had been travelling the Vale, to shore up support among likeminded lords.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Undermining your father?”

“What my father’s opinion on the matter I do not know, but he has said he is honour bound to protect Jeyne’s rights as the lady of the Vale.”

Daemon was silent considering this, he swallowed uncomfortably as a thought entered his mind “If Arnold was to usurp Jeyne as lord of the Eyrie, then many in the Vale may question our own standing as the heir to Runestone.” Rhea stared at him, Daemon did not know if to acknowledge what he said or hate him for putting it out in the open.

“I know.” She said. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Enter.” She called out. The door opened, allowing Gunthor to step into the room and seat himself in the chair next to Daemon.

“Niece, Prince.” He said, casting a quick glance at each of them. “Thank you for taking the time to speak to me.”

“I always have time for family and matters of state, speak uncle.” Rhea said. "Firstly, how are you sons?" 

He has children? Were there another members of the family I haven't met yet?

"They are well, Guncer has just become a squire to Lord Templeton." he said proudly. "Brandon and Selard are with my lady wife still visiting her family in the Three Sisters." 

"Congratulations on your son's squiring, you must be very proud." Daemon said. 

"Very proud, Prince Daemon." he replied, staring at him in the eyes, he turned to Rhea "But dear niece, sadly I am not here to bring news of my family, instead it is of matters of state; the clans grow bolder, as I have said before, with each passing day more and more travellers are being accosted each day.” Gunthor said “The Vale grows unsafe by each hour.”

“Do you doubt my father’s leadership?” Rhea questioned.

“Never, he is not where I place the blame, the reason for this is our Lady of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale.” His tone almost became mocking as he spoke the last title. Daemon narrowed his eyes at him “The clans smell weakness and with a little girl sitting on the Eyrie’s throne, this kingdom shows nothing but weakness. And if the mountain clans see us as weak then what is to say the Riverlords or Northmen will not try to seek territorial gains on disputed lands.”

“And what is it you propose?”

“Jeyne may be the last child of Lord Eon after he and his sons passing but she need not be the inheritor of his titles.” Gunthor said, before his eyes turned to Daemon for moment “As His Grace has shown, succession should pass through to the male line when available.”

You son of a bitch.

Daemon bite his cheek as he fought back the urge to give Gunthor a dirty look.

He thought he could bully Rhea into accepting this idea.

“When your uncle Prince Aemon had been tragically taken in his prime, his Grace saw it best to name the brave and true Prince Baelon as his heir.” Gunthor said “He knew that what the realm needed was a leader after him, a man who could take up the mantle of Protector of the Realm, and I am sure many lords across the realm are thankful to him for it, would you not agree, My Prince?”

Jog on mate.

Daemon kept quiet “Jeyne is already lady of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, this is not a matter of succession but of removing an already seated sovereign.” Rhea said “To remove her would be to usurp her, there will be lords who will revolt at this, it would be seen as unlawful.”

“But others who will see this as necessary or, at least, will not interfere when he happens.”

He wants to know if she’ll not stop them.

“What say you, Prince Daemon?”

Daemon kept quiet, his eyes looked to Rhea who looked back at him “This is a matter of the Vale, I do not think it would be appropriate for me to comment.” He said “But when one mentions the House Targaryen, my house, then it is within my right to speak.” Daemon said. “Who my grandfather names as his successor is his right, that is a matter outside of others consideration, as should the matter of succession in the Vale.

Gunthor almost sank into his chair; Daemon almost felt powerful, for a brief moment he knew that both he and Daemon ruining this lord’s little plan.

“So you would believe the Realm would be well served by our cousin Rhaenys than your father?” he questioned. “I must have been mistaken by the stories of Prince’s Baelon courage and tact then if his own son considers his cousin a better successor.”

Keep his name out of your mouth.

“I said no such thing, other than that who my grandfather chooses as his heir is his choice, his word is law as law dictates that Jeyne succeeds her father.” Daemon said sharply “And had my uncle lived that day, Rhaenys would be his heir and trust me when I tell you, my lord, you would not have gotten to this point of our conversation if she were here.”

“Are you threatening me?” Gunthor growled.

“I am warning you.” Daemon told him “Neither I nor my cousin would take kindly to those who speak ill of my family.” 

Gunthor stood up from his seat and loomed over Daemon, in his past life he would have tried to calm him down, settle things down. Yet his own anger fed off of the burning rage. Daemon stood up meet him; Gunthor grabbed at his collar, he stood maybe a few inches taller than Daemon but it didn’t deter the confidence and defiance he gorged himself on, smiling at him.

Go on, I dare you!

“You think you can return to these lands after dishonour and disrespect you’ve shown our house, you cur?”

“Is that truly the best you could think of?” Daemon didn’t know where this was coming from, he felt as though his own frustrations and angry grew stronger as it roared as a flame inside his chest.

“Enough!” Rhea commanded, standing from her and slamming her fist on the table “Uncle, you are dismissed.”

Gunthor pushed him back, this time Daemon resisted the urge of the old to strike at him and stood and watched silently. “You would choose side with him, over your own family? Perhaps he was right to name you the bronze bi-”

“Finish that sentence, and it will be the last word you ever utter.” Daemon threatened, the smile falling from his face.

“I shall leave, it is clear neither I or Arnold are wanted here.” Gunthor growled.

“That would be best.” Rhea told him, they watched him march off, slamming the door behind him.

Daemon slumped against the desk as Rhea let out a loud sigh; the adrenaline that had fuelled him quickly dissipated and only regret remained. Rhea took out a jug of wine and poured some into two cups “Here.” She said, handing one of them to Daemon. He took the cup and eagerly drank from it.

“He spoke of treason.” Daemon said “We should inform your father-”

“He knows.”

“Your father knows?”

“My father had been tracking his whereabouts, seeing which lord would sway to his side.” Rhea explained. “We know, it is why he places his children outside of Runestone, my father would have used them against him and end these ambitions for his squire." 

“And he does nothing.”

Rhea narrowed her eyes “Many in the Vale believe my father to be overly ambitious by marrying myself to you, some distrust him as regent and look for any reason to remove him, what would it show if the lord regent had to imprison his own brother? Weakness.” Rhea drank deeply “Which is what Gunthor believes of me.”

“It was because of me.” Daemon said.

Rhea walked over to Daemon and stood by his side “After the wedding he urged my father to do something about it; letter of condemnation, annulment, and even removing myself from the line of succession so that your children would not inherit Runestone.”

“Our children.” Daemon spoke softly, Rhea turned to him “They would be your children too, they should not be punished for my insolence.”

Rhea smiled weakly as she leaned back into the desk “I thank you, you did not have to argue for me.”

“I want to argue for you” Daemon interjected. “I want to fight for you.” 

“I do not need you to fight for me.” 

Daemon shrugged “I would still like to.” 

Rhea snickered “How long will you play this role as a ‘new man?’” 

“I am still myself, lady-wife.” Daemon told her, a soft grin on his face. “But that does not mean I am not a changed one.” 

Rhea stared at him for a moment, Daemon gently took her hand. “Mayhaps….” She muttered, eyes focused on him.

Rhea finished her cup and placed it down, quickly grabbing Daemon by the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss. He was completely caught by surprise as she dug her fingers into his hair almost possessively. 

There was a knock on the door.

Rhea pulled back, breaking their kiss and looking at him for a moment as they caught their breath. “Enter.” she commanded, The door opened and Maester Hugo stepped forward “Maester.”

“Lady Rhea, Prince Daemon.” He greeted them, bowing his head “Forgive me for intruding, I assume things did not go well.”

“No they did not.” Rhea looked to the floor for a moment.

“Should we inform your father? Shall I ready a raven?”

“Please do, I shall be with you momentarily.” Hugo bowed his head and left quickly.

As the two talked, Daemon leaned back against the desk, hand clutching his chest as he fought back against a livid Daemon. while desperately trying to keep a calm demeanour; if not for the pain, he would have no doubt felt very flustered. 

What the hell was that? 

Rhea turned back to Daemon “I should leave, there is much to do.” she admitted.

“I understand, Rhea.” He smiled tenderly.

The two looked at each other for but a brief moment in total silence, wondering what the other was thinking “I am planning on going hunting in a week’s time, you are welcome to join me.”

Through the searing pain, Daemon smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”  

Chapter Text

Rhea stroked the neck of the horse “Good girl.” She whispered to the animal. Rhea quickly checked her saddle, fastening the strap again before checking her bow and quiver full of arrows, counting each one.  

“Rhea.” A frail voice called out to her, she turned to see Perra walking towards her “How long will you be?” she whined slightly.

“I shan’t be long, it will be just for the day only.” Rhea assured her.

“Is Daemon going with you?” she asked.

“He is.” Rhea replied “And remember what I said, use people’s titles; it is impolite to speak to someone without addressing them as such.”

“Can’t I go with you both?” she whined “I can learn to hunt like you, I want to ride on my horse and travel with you.”

Rhea knelt down slightly and embraced her sister “We shall, one day, I promise.” Rhea kissed the top of her head. “When you are older.”

“It’s not fair, I want to be older and go with you, we can play that game of join-four that Daemon made.” Rhea chuckled lightly; how the prince would always let Perra beat him and act the fool, yet when he had introduced it to Rhea he had strained himself to best her in the short time they’d get and had only done so a mere few times to Rhea’s considerable number of victories.

Much the knight not the strategist it seems. 

The memory of that made her smile, yet every time she pictured his face she was met with two emotions; one of anger and suspicion after what he had done to their wedding and yet another of curiosity and some desire.

At times when she thought of that smug young face at the table who showed nothing but distain for her and her family, she would almost shake with rage, even now the memory seem to set her off and sour her mood if she let it.  

And yet…

“Lady-wife!” a voice called out, both her and Perra turned to see Daemon walking towards them, the reins of his horse in one hand as he waved at them with the other. “Lady Perra!”

Even the way he smiles is different.

Daemon at their wedding seem to have a way of looking and acting superior to others even when he tried to charm them, always so proud and never passing up a chance to act as such; to lords or servants, it did not matter, one of the many things that irked her about him.

Yet now, he almost acted like a fool or subject at times, humbling himself to others no matter whom; she quickly noticed that almost every time someone addressed him as Prince, he’d blink as if he wasn’t use to the very word itself.

Even at it’s worse, his smile is more of mischief than pride… and most other times it is tender.

“Prince Daemon, can I go hunting with you both?” Perra asked him.

Daemon looked puzzled as he looked at Perra and then to Rhea “I- I think you should ask your sister instead.” He said.

“She said I could not, that I can only join when I am older.” Perra said.

“My apologises Lady Perra, but your sister is the head of Runestone while your father serves at the Eyrie, we can not go against her word.” Perra pouted, Daemon knelt down “What if, when I come back, I’ll tell you some stories I’ve written, does that sound good?”

Perra nodded her head “Yes, that would be good, may I also have pizza too?”

Rhea almost laughed as Daemon acquiesce to her sister’s demands “Only if you behave.” Perra nodded her head. “Good, now head back inside, I’m sure you have lessons with your septon.” Perra sighed heavily before walking back to the castle door.

Rhea could barely contain herself “I see my Husband has taken another woman into his life.” She jested.

Daemon rolled his eyes and chuckled “One woman from House Royce is more than enough for me.” Rhea slapped him on the shoulder gently, Daemon feign pain as he smiled at her.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Daemon looked behind at his arrows, quivers and pack before then tapping on Darksister strapped to his side. “Looks as such.”

“Good.” She turned to the small troop of guards who would accompany them. “Be ready to ride.” He called to them as she mounted her horse, sitting at the head of the group.

“So what are we hunting?” Daemon asked as he rode his horse up to her.

“Deer, elk, rabbit… maybe even dragon.” She said, glancing at him.

“I must warn Caraxes then, doubtless he would not like to end up in a meat pie.” He jested.

“I do wonder what dragon must taste like.” She pondered aloud, trying to get a reaction from him.

Daemon leaned in to her “Would you like to try?” he whispered, his breath tickled her neck, there was a rush of excitement… yet when she caught a glimpse of his eyes, she could have sworn she saw just a glint of the Daemon she first married, a chill clashed with it.

Rhea whipped the reins of her horse and rode off quickly, Daemon quickly followed her, the two almost leaving behind their troop of guards behind them.

Rhea was far from a stranger to her lands; sitting on her horse she watched from a mound over the valley, her eyes tracking for even the slightest bit of movement from the land, anything and everything.

She watched focused, noticing the slight moving of shrubbery just half a league away, the dark brown deer,

“Do you see anything?” Daemon asked, his voice made her jump slightly.

“I had, before you interrupted me.” She snapped at him, she turned back towards the shrubbery as Daemon rode next to her “You see there?” she asked pointing at it’s direction “Looks like a deer, must have been grazing there to break it’s fast.”

Daemon leaned in a bit closer to her, Rhea bit her cheek and tensed slightly. “By the Gods, how did you see that?” he asked, wide eyed. “I could barely make that out.”

“My father would take me hunting, before he left for the Vale.” Rhea said “Taught me how to notice and spot even a hare from half a league away and to predict one’s moves.” She proudly said, hoping to sting the Prince’s pride. 

Daemon was silent “My father taught me how to ride a dragon.” Rhea narrowed her eyes at him, Daemon smiled back. “Oh you fell right into that one.” She slapped him on the arm.

“Get moving.” She commanded, pulling her bow from the holder on the saddle along with an arrow. She whipped the reins of her horse and galloped off, leaving Daemon and the guards behind her who tried to catch up.

As she moved closer to the deer, it turned its head to her and began to sprint away. She pulled back the string of her bow and fired the arrow, striking the animal in it’s rear.

Daemon released off his arrow; the shot harmlessly landing meters and meters away from the deer as it continued its escape. “I see your father had not taught you archery.” She teased, she had hoped to get some kind of shamed or flustered reaction from him, yet he chuckled at that.

“He had not.” He laughed, he grabbed his chest and shut his eyes, leaning forward in his horse.

“Are you well?” she asked, perplexed, she almost reached a hand towards him.

“I am fine, truly.” Daemon said through pained breath “This… happens now after my accident.” He took in a sharp breath and straightened his back. “Please, don’t let it trouble you when it happens.” He tried to assure her.

Rhea raised an eyebrow “I shall try.” She said “Let us move, the deer looked to be heading north.” She pointed towards the deer’s general path. “Shall we race, my Prince?” she said, in an almost mocking tone, before Daemon could say anything she kicked her horse forward, galloping off.

She readied her arrow and bow once more, spotting the deer in a clearing between two small mounds; she released her arrow, striking the deer in the neck this time. The wounded animal frantically galloped around.

Daemon fired his arrow, again his arrow missed it’s mark yet landed just a little closer this time. “You are awful bad at this, did they not have deer in King’s Landing?” again she teased him, looking to get a reaction, almost hoping to frustrate and humiliate him… draw out the Daemon she knows he is and not the one he pretends to be.

He grimaced. And grabbed his chest, taking deep breaths before laughing “We had deer, it was just served to me before hand.” Rhea could not help but smile at the jape, though it irked her. 

He does not react…

She thought back to that moment she kissed him, trying to draw out that person who looked at her with disgust, expecting to see such a face when she pulled away. 

He just looked bewildered instead…

The deer pranced around in a circle, its crazed frenzy of movement growing slower and slower before it collapsed onto the ground. The two rode their horses to it; the deer lay on the ground, blood seeping from its wound stained the grass as it’s breathing slowed down.

“Perhaps now you can release your arrow and hit it?” she jested to him, looking at the deer. She turned her head towards him. “Or should we use Darksister?”

He instead stared at it, she could tell from how his jaw tensed and hands clenched on the reins he seemed apprehensive. “Perhaps you would like to do the honours?” he suggested “It was your arrows that had wounded it.” He unbuckled Darksister and handed it to her. Rhea stared at him, wondering if he was truly being serious.

Surely this is a trick…

As her hand touched the hilt of the legendary sword, did she notice the shaking in his own, when she took the sword did he quickly place his hand on his chest, shut his eyes and took in a deep breath.

Is it always that frequent?

She climbed off her horse and towards the deer, its dark pleading eyes staring at her. She looked at the legendary Valyrian blade in her hand, wondering how many hands it had passed from before reaching hers. She pointed the sword at the neck of the deer and ended it’s misery.

Why would he hand me the blade to do this? Why did he not want to do so?

She took a clean cloth from her satchel and wiped the blood from it’s blade, even under a grey sky the sword seem to gleam, and handed it back to Daemon who placed it back into his scarab.

She wondered if perhaps the Prince had a fear for blood, yet as she handed him a dagger to skin the animal he helped her in peeling back the skin and cutting the animal into smaller pieces for themselves and their escorts to transport back to the castle.

“Halt!” one of the guards called out, drawing their sword. The rest of their escort circled around them, weapons in hand. Rhea turned to see a lone sheep herder with his flock stop before them.

“Albar!” Daemon called out, jogging towards the sheep herder and moving past the guards. “My friend!”

“Prince Daemon.” The herder called Albar greeted him as he bowed his head, he then spotted Rhea who approached them too, her guards moving just behind her. “Lady Rhea.”

“How are you? How is Kella?” Daemon asked, the smile that had disappeared quickly brought back.

“She is well, Prince Daemon, we have only recently found that she is with child.” Albar said.

Daemon clapped his hands together “That is wonderful news.”

“Congratulations.” Rhea said to Albar.

“Thank you, Lady Rhea, Prince Daemon.” Albar bowed his head. “Truly the Gods have blessed us and I shall pray that they bless you both soon.”

Both Rhea and Daemon looked at each other “We thank you, Albar.” Daemon replied. “I have been meaning to feed Caraxes, I might as well do so while I am still out.”

“I can give you the sheep without need for payment.” Albar noticed his eyes glance at both her and then the guards around them.

“Nonsense, you have a growing family now, how would you support them by giving away your sheep?” Daemon said as he took out two three silver stags from his satchel.

“My Prince, this is too much.” Albar said, almost pushing Daemon’s hand away.

“Children are costly to raise.” He placed the coins in his hand and closed them. “You are my friend, we shall look out for each other.”

“Thank you, Prince Daemon.” He bowed his head and Daemon dipped his, the herder then handed him three sheep, each with a leash around their necks. “I should warn you, I fear the weather may worsen as the day passes.” Albar looked to the sky “Many times I have seen these clouds, heavy rain shall follow.”

Everyone looked to the sky “We thank you, Albar.” Rhea spoke “We should head back then.”

“Safe travels to you Lady Rhea, my friend.” Albar spoke, addressing first her and then Daemon who grasped at his hand and then headed his own way, waving goodbye to them.

Daemon tied the leash to of the sheep to his horse “And here I was thinking I would leave this empty handed.” He jested.

A drop of water grazed Rhea’s cheek and the cry of thunder echoed across the sky “We should move.” Daemon nodded his head as he mounted his horse once more.

Daemon led the group towards the cave where Caraxes, trailing through faint paths. Rhea recognised the lands; an old mine of the first men who settled on these lands and formed Runestone.

Rhea had picked the area specifically to house his dragon because of its history and the Runes that decorated that walls of the cave.

If it upsets him… he does not show it.

Daemon quickly dismounted his horse, now the rain was almost pouring down on them; she could feel the water seep through her armour and into her clothes. “Soldier, take the deer and head back to Runestone.” She ordered, giving the meat to a few of the guards who quickly left back for home.

Daemon wrestled with the sheep “Do you want to see him?” he asked, he sounded genuine, without a hint of challenge or condescension in his voice.

Rhea clenched her jaw, her hands tightening on the reins of her horse; her mind told her not to trust him “Looks more like you need help.” She said, dismounting her horse and then grabbing one of the leashes of the sheep and helped Daemon pull them to a metal stake in the ground surrounded by a burnt patch of land.

Now the rain was pouring down as they tried to tied the leashes to the metal stake, her hair and now her clothes and hair were soaking wet. Daemon approached the cave “Caraxes!” he called out. “Kisās, Caraxes!” he ran up to the entrance of the cave, looking inside.

Rhea moved away from the sheep and held her breath, her eyes focused solely on the cave ahead of them, waiting and bracing herself for the dragon to appear. “Is something the matter?” she called out.

Daemon turned his head “He’s not here!” he called back.

Suddenly a deep roar, almost as loud as the crack of thunder, echoed across the sky, everyone looked upwards to see the shadow of a dragon above them. From the sky, the dragon looked small but as it got closer to the ground, did the size almost dwarf everyone around them.

The dragon crashed on top of the entrance to the cave, it’s shadow seemingly blocking out the light from the sky as it raised its neck over them.

The dragon looked around at them; as it turned it’s head from the sheep and towards the horses. Possibly against the will of their riders, the horses began to panic at the sight of the dragon, many of them had thrown their riders off their backs, the riders quickly getting up and running away or simply ran off. Including Rhea’s horse.

The sheep that was once tied to the stake struggled against it, pulling the stake out of the now soft soil and almost escaping. Only for the dragon to quickly crush two of them under one of its claw and biting at the other.

Rhea fell to the ground at the sight, her eyes still staring at the dragon, her breathing as rapid as her heart.

“Caraxes!” Daemon voice cut through the rain and thunder. “Daor!” he commanded, the dragon looked at him as Daemon pointed at it, as if chastising a child. “Lykirī! Caraxes!” he pointed to the cave “Get back inside, now!” the dragon hummed and then turned to look at Rhea.

Every part of her urged her to run, yet her breathing quicken and her head became light as she collapsed to the ground. “Rhea!” was the last thing she heard.

When she awoke she found herself inside the cave; she lay on a bed of furs, her armour and boots set to one side, a fire near her illuminating the cave. And a sleeping dragon only a couple meters from her. Rhea panicked, quickly crawling back when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder “It’s me.” Daemon said as his hand gave her’s a reassuring squeeze “Calm.” He told her “You are safe, you are safe.” His hands clasped gently around her face as she grabbed him.

“I need to leave.” She told him.

“We can’t.” he shook his head, speaking to her in a deep whisper.

“We can’t?!” she exclaimed loudly, regretting her tone as she turned back to the still sleeping dragon.

“He’s a heavy sleeper, he’ll only wake up if I tell him.” Daemon said, as Rhea looked at him she noticed both his hair and clothes were still soaked “I tried to see if the way was clear, the storm has created a flood on the path, it wouldn’t be safe to move now” he told her “We have to wait out the storm here for tonight.” Rhea looked back at the dragon, in her mind she weighed up the risks of staying and leaving. “All is well, I promise.”

Rhea closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down.

Daemon moved to the side, placing himself between her and the dragon, sitting beside her, placing the blanket around her and then handing her some dried meat. “Sadly it’s all I have.” Rhea took a bite of the meat, she scowled at the bitter taste. “Dragon fire, I guess you know what dragon taste like.” He jested lightly before turning silent “When I awoke from my long sleep I had to relearn how to ride a dragon, when I met Caraxes again… I fainted like you.” He told her “You’re not the only one.” He gently touched her hand. “You’re braver than most… braver than me.”

She looked at him, his violet eyes seemed soft and his smile homely; even if she hated it, Rhea took comfort from it. “I want to trust you, Daemon.” She admitted to him “Truly I do but-”

“What I did to you… Even I can not forgive myself.” He said. “I know what you’ve been trying to do; you wish to hurt me, humiliate me as I had done to you.” Rhea tensed, wondering if perhaps she was in danger if he knew of her intentions “I wish I could be offended if it meant you took comfort from it.” He said gently “I wish I could rage and hate you as you desired but I cannot, because I will always believe I deserve it and more; you cannot hate Daemon as much as I hate him now.” Daemon bit into the strip of burnt meat “Gods this tastes awful.”

As she looked at Daemon, it felt as though the boy she hated had melted away to show a new man before her. She took his hand in hers and rested her head on his shoulder as the two took in the near stillness; the pattering of the rain outside, the deep rustling of the wind into the cave, the crackling of the fire and soft breathing of the dragon for what seemed like an age. Her body became less tense as she looked at the sleeping dragon.

She looked up towards Daemon and stared at him; she had hated him, yet now she couldn’t think of anyone she ‘wanted’ in that moment. As Daemon turned to look at her she leaned forward and kissed him; gripping his neck as he placed his hand on the small of her back, both of them pulling the other in closer.

This time there was no one to disturb her, disturb them. Rhea placed herself upon him as he slid from the wall and onto the furs. Their hands roaming their bodies as their passion grew as heated as the fire near them, fumbling with each other’s clothes and tossing them to the side between starving kisses.

Daemon then placed his hand on his chest again, this time he winced in pain “Are you well?” Rhea asked concerned, holding his cheek in her hand tenderly.

Daemon remained silent as he clenched his hand and squeezed his eyes shut before it seemed as though a calm had settled over him as he looked back to her smiling, he gently touched her hand and then cupped her face.

“Perfect.” Before Rhea could reply he pulled her back into a deep kiss and rolled himself on top of her, throwing some furs over them. 

Chapter Text

How long Daemon was awake for he did not know; the imposter still slept soundly and yet he was aware. Daemon could hear and feel everything around him; the soft and almost itchy tickle of the furs both underneath him and covering his body, the feel of the morning chill coming into the cave. He could hear the sound of Caraxes deep breaths, gentle snoring and its body moving against the rock and dirt underneath it with each twitch.

He also felt the warm body of someone next to him; their arm draped around his chest and head nestled between his neck and shoulders, their breath against his skin and subtle movements of their body against his.

If he could groan or yell in frustration he would.

As the imposter opened his eyes to the cave walls he turned his head to Rhea, he felt a smile grow on his face before the imposter kissed the crown of her head.

Bastard… you evil bastard.

When Daemon had heard that the imposter would wait for Rhea to willingly come to his bed he believed that there may have lay a path on which he could still avoid consummating his marriage with the Bronze Bitch, he had hoped that she would keep the imposter waiting just long enough for him to think of something, some way he could regain control and be free.

Fulfil the destiny that had been shown to him and maybe achieve more; to consummate his marriage to her might cripple his ambitions… anything more to come out of it may be its death knell for his dreams… and the lives of the children he could have.

Baela… Rhaena, my Daughters…

Aegon… Viserys, my sons…

Yet as she lay next to him, he knew that path of his may now be closed. That their own fate was sealed.

No! this cannot be my life! I am a Prince, third in line to the Iron throne! I shall not be the consort to some vassal lord!

The line of kings, my House, it must tie back to me! It must tie back to them!

Rhea stirred in her sleep, stretching her arms and legs out of the furs, groaning softly and opening her eyes to Daemon, the two sharing a gentle kiss.  “Sleep well?” the imposter asked.

“I slept well, surprisingly, sleeping in caves tend to be awful” She said, she pulled the furs over herself and pushed herself closer to his body. “Gods it’s cold in here, the fire has gone out.”

The imposter looked to the cave entrance; the distance chirping of birds hailed the coming of the day yet outside still remained dark. "I can help keep you warm." a smile crept on her face which must have matched the imposter's. “How long do you think we have until the guards arrive?”

Rhea glanced to the entrance “Not long, I’d say they may be on their way now, with the weather clearing.” Her hands moving around him, squeezing his arm, gliding against his stomach and then to his… “Best not waste time.” She quickly pulled him in for a longing kiss as he moved on top of her.

You bitch!

He could not forgive her so for the slights she inflicted upon him during his return to that dull holdfast of bronze; every attempt to wound his pride and belittle him, a Prince of House Targeryen!

Before Daemon could try and make his presence known to the imposter, he felt the long dark hands pull him back into the void and throw him once more into the darkness, succumbing to restless sleep; the imposter sought to remove him before he could strike at him and did so with ease. 

When Daemon awoke from the darkness he found himself upon a horse, crossing the bridge back into to wretched castle of the Royces. The imposter turned his head to his side, Rhea rode her horse next to him; the two gazing at each other, Daemon could feel the longing within the imposter.

Disgusting…

He was about to strike at him when he quickly felt the dark hands hold him “I can do this all day.” The imposter mouthed to himself with only Daemon listening. Every fibre of his being wanted Daemon to strike anyways, Gods be damned of the consequences. Yet knowing the dark slumber awaited him he held off, bending to the will of his captor despite what his pride demanded.

When the gates to Runestone opened before them, a crowd of smallfolk, servants and guards greeted them with cheers and smiles. As the two dismounted from their horses they were met with the surprise embrace of the little sister.

“I was so worried!” She cried as she wrapped her little arms around both of them.

The imposter ruffled her hair “Forgive us for causing you so much distress, Lady Perra.” Daemon wanted to roll his eyes as he looked upon the face of the crying sister “I hope you were good in our absence, good-sister.” He asked her, she nodded her head and wiped at tears. “Good, there is much I have promised you.”

A small feast was held for their safe return; the great hall that welcomed guests to their throne was now hosting tables as members of this accursed family, some lords already attending and courtiers of note sat at the table with Rhea and the imposter at the head of it all.

If I could vomit…

He felt Rhea’s leg brush against his as both her and the imposter shared stolen glances while eating their meals.

He leaned towards her and kissed her lips softly before whispering in her ears. “I want to set things right.”

Daemon knew exactly what the imposter had in mind, yet when he felt himself being pulled just on the edge of darkness he knew that he wanted to make Daemon watch. Powerless to stop him.

The imposter raised his glass and tapped on it with his fork, catching the attention of those around him. “If I could have your attention for but a moment.” Those in attendance turned to face him. “Let me first offer up thanks to the Gods for keeping myself and my lady-wife safe during our travels, truly we are fortunate to return home.” The guests murmured their agreement “Let this be a lesson to all here, when a sheep herder tells you it will rain, you should believe him!” the guests politely laughed. “If there’s one thing that must be said; some years ago I came to this castle and family and spoke in ways which were unbecoming of both this great house and of my Lady-wife, for that I could not be more sorry, I hope to make it up to this noble house one day.” He turned to Rhea “Rhea, till my last breath, I shall be by your side always; I shall follow your lead and be your rock, your Leal servant and close friend, that I promise you. I have nothing to offer you but my love, you can have it if you shall have me.”

Daemon wanted to be sick, as the imposter spoke his craven words and verbally grovelled at the feet of these lesser nobles and the Bronze Bitch, he stuck at his chest again and again before being dragged to the edge of the abyss, the imposter pressing one hand against his chest.

Rhea looked to be wiping away tears from her eyes, she was dressed almost near identically in a dress similar to their accused wedding day; a suggestion of the Imposter, done no doubt to spite him. 

“I shall.” She said, he could feel his puppeteer smile as he lowered his cup to the table and offered his hand to Rhea, she took his hand eagerly and the two pulled each other close for a kiss to the cheers of those in attendance.

Daemon wanted to hurt him, he wanted to take back control and berate everyone in attendance and the bronze bitch, yet the long dark hands held him just over the pit. He was powerless to stop himself.

As the imposter pulled away from the kiss, he smiled at her and then looked back to the attending guests “This is a new day for us, and a new dawn for our family” he declared, the attendees raised their cups to them. 

No! I cannot be tied to this place, I will not be tied to some lady of a minor house!

My blood is the blood of Kings! Not simple lords!

You have lowered me to them! I could be a king! Not the consort to some Lady of rocks and bronze!

The following weeks had been an annoyance at best and then agony for Daemon; from the crippling boredom of the imposter either writing whatever had come to his mind, attending meetings with the Bronze Bitch about the tedious happenings around this castle or in some village or hamlet in the mountains, attending the imposter’s own meetings with unimportant smallfolk or lowly merchants about some useless contraption he had thought up of and even trying to entertain that sister of Rhea, as if he was nothing more than a fool to serve for her pleasure. 

And if it was not that, it was the endless amount of time he seemed to spend with his ‘Lady-wife.’

Those stolen glances that she and the imposter shared soon became kisses either alone or in public which soon became locked doors away from prying eyes.

You will not even demand that the Bronze bitch you call your wife give us a solar befitting of my station! Demand that she beg for forgiveness for spiting me! 

Daemon had hoped that he may at least gain some respite from her with the imposter taking his own apartments, however the bastard seemed insistent in mainly staying at her one, so much so that even the servants had moved his clothes and some of his items in there. 

You act like a dog, a servant to this woman!

How he despised it; he despised how weak willed and subservient to Rhea he was to her, so quick to bend to her will or go with her suggestions, quick to comfort her. The Bronze Bitch has well and truly had this imposter wrapped around her finger. 

I am a Prince!

In his mind the only ones he could think of that deserved even consideration for such treatment were Rhaenyra and Laena; they were children and grandchildren of the dragon, of proud Valyrian families and of royal bloodlines, those more worthy of him. 

That is who I should be wed to!

The proud rider of Vhagar! The daughter of a Princess!

I should be the consort to a Queen! One who will grant me titles and honours!

My sons and grandsons should rule the Seven Kingdoms! Not these hills and mountains!

He desperately tried to hold onto to the memory, to the hope and belief that he could still fulfil that dream.

In his mind the Iron throne was still there, he could still reach it; the future that was his, that should be his and could be more must still be there, still within his grasp.

But for now he was recently freed from the dark clutches that had thrown his away just moments ago, awakening from the darkness and finding himself with the arms and legs of the Bronze Bitch draped over his body amidst her tangled bedsheets after he could assume was yet another passionate night between the two. 

Perhaps I should be grateful, at the very least you spare me from seeing such a horrid sight. 

Yet in some moments his irritation that the imposter had gotten Daemon now truly tied him to her was at times replaced by a kind jealousy; while the devotion the imposter made to her was pathetic and yet, it was equal to her own this him. How quickly acts of spite turn into works of love, harsh glares to swooning and disgust of him turned to a kind of want and lust that would make a Septa faint. 

It made him wondered if perhaps he could have used her to help his rise in another life. Yet he knew that the imposter used her as a way to keep Daemon down, to stop his rise and continue a descent into irrelevance. And that he would not want his rise to be joined with her. 

“Forgive me for saying this husband, but I think that brick falling your head was the best thing to happen to you.” Rhea said, resting her head on his chest.

Had Daemon control over his arms…

That was the worst day of my life… that was the day my life may have well of ended!

He could feel the imposter’s discomfort at Rhea’s comment and yet he laughed politely at it, far too weak to challenge her or tell her what he had lost because of it.

Have you no tongue to speak? Have you no spine to stand up for yourself? Are you so weak that you can not take offence?

“You are forgiven my love, but best not tell my father that.” The Imposter jested “He would be rather upset with you.”

Rhea hummed in laughter as she pulled herself closer to him. “I shall not.” She breathed in deeply, her breath tickling his chest “Gods I couldn’t imagine how scared he was when that happened.”

”It was… a dreadful time for him.” The imposter said “Dreadful time for everyone in our family, for my father though, he looked to have taken it worse of all.” 

Do not dare, do not dare speak of him as if he is your father! 

“My father… he has lost so much already; my mother and then his son, my sisters, his brother…” Daemon wished he could grind his teeth, to have the imposter speak of Baelon and his loss as if it were his family…

"I am sorry about your aunt Gael..." Rhea said, nestling her head between Daemon's neck and shoulder as she held him tighter. "If I had known you were arriving to Runestone just after her funeral-" 

"You did not know, if you did I do not doubt it would have been different." The imposter assured her "But you needed to assert your authority over me after what I had done, I understand that." Rhea, pressed herself closer to him, planting a kiss on his chest. 

You craven! you spineless fool! you would have allowed her to disrespect me after the death of a Princess?  Truly had Daemon control over his own arms he would have strangled himself then and now. 

”We are the same in a way.” Rhea said “My mother died from a fever when both I and Perra were young, my father never remarried; said he could never replace her.”

”What was she like?”

“She was… kind, loving and gentle, like any mother would be.” Rhea spoke “My father was strict with my sister and I, when he would chastise us it was our mother who comforted us. When she died my father changed, he remained strict yet became kinder, as if he had to take on two roles from then.” She was silent for but a moment “And when he left for the Eyrie it felt as though I had to take on his role.”

“That must have been difficult for you, it saddens me you had to go through that.”

”It is nothing you have not gone through too, Daemon.” Her fingers tapping gently on his chest and then drawing circles on it. 

“What was your mother like?” She asked. 

“My mother? She…” the imposter grew silent for but a moment “She was brave, fierce and proud. Much like you, my love.” 

No… how dare you compare her to that… how dare you…

"Whenever she wanted something, anything, she would never hesitate to get it, and that included my father." that had gotten a laugh from Rhea but burning hatred from Daemon; for the imposter to use Daemon's memories for his own gain... 

“My father refused to remarry too, said no woman could ever replace her.” The imposter said, it felt violating for Daemon to have his captor search through his memories. “He and my grandfather would argue for hours about it until my grandmother would step in.”             

“Seems the women in their lives have left quite the impression on them.” Rhea commented “I hope you can say the same.”

"The imposter chuckled “I think you have left more than an impression on me.”

“Good, if I die before you Daemon, know that I shall haunt you for all eternity should you remarry.”

“Do not say that.” He laughed “If anything you are more likely to outlive me.” Rhea slapped his chest playfully. “You take anger at me for merely saying what might be true?” He laughed, she slapped his chest again. 

"Would you be so cruel as to break your wife's heart twice, Daemon?" Rhea asked in jest. 

"Never, I do not plan on breaking your heart again." the Imposter kissed her again, drawing it out far too much to Daemon's displeasure. 

"It pleases me to hear as such." she said, resting her head on his chest as the two drifted to sleep, trapping Daemon in darkness once more as the hands pulled him over the edge and into his own slumber. 

When Daemon had regained consciousness he found the imposter holding the Bronze Bitch as she began to be sick into a chamber pot; gently stroking her back and holding her hair as he whispered words of comfort to her, a robe placed over her once naked body trying to maintain her dignity as a servant brought an empty pot. 

"Mayhaps it was the fish?" The imposter suggested "I shall speak with the head cook and ask if perhaps there was anything wrong with the food from yesterday." Rhea looked back at him and nodded, bits of sick around her mouth, Daemon wanted to gag and the imposter simply bared in his own uncomfortableness. "You need to head to Maester Hugo and tell him." Rhea was about to speak when she threw her head back into the pot once more. 

Then a thought passed through the mind of the Imposter, one that shook Daemon to core and one that imposter did not dare wish to speak aloud.

Gods save me... 

For the rest of the day, it was also if the imposter had been in a trance; taking meetings or council sessions, he acted like a dullard who would not pay attention to what was spoken or done around him. For Daemon this might have been the best time to strike, inflict some vengeance on him for all he had done and yet the thoughts of the imposter were enough to hold him down. 

Please Gods... this can not happen...

After the imposter had finished he went back to the bedroom that he and the Bronze Bitch shared and sat on the edge of the bed for what must have been hours and yet for both of them felt like just mere moments, a million thoughts racing in each of their minds. 

Then the door opened and Rhea stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, a look of anxiety and apprehension on her face. 

No... please... 

"Rhea..." the imposter muttered, it was just louder than a whisper but enough for her to hear.

"You look as though you already know." she nervously laughed, sitting next to him. 

Baela... Rhaena...

"I think I realised in the morning what it might have been." he spoke "I was unsure but then when Yohn said the fish he got was fresh that day... I think I knew." 

Aegon... Viserys... 

Rhea smiled, letting out a weak laugh as tears welled in her eyes, Daemon could feel the tears in his own. 

My Children...

"I am with child." Rhea announced, the two of bursting into tears and giggles as they held each other. 

Daemon was glad at least the imposter could weep for him for he could not. 

Chapter Text

Alysanne did not know how long she had been asleep for; the days and night now seemed to merge into one, first it would be midday and she was being forced to take her meals by the servants or being washed, bearing the pain as they went over the areas of her body that pained her.

Then she would awake to find it was night, the air cold as the servants shut the windows, emptied her chamber pot and tucked her in bed.

Sleep seemed to be a sanctuary for her; there she got to see her children, they were well, alive and most importantly, they were with her once more.

She could see Daenerys running to her, little arms out stretch to embrace Alysanne.

She could see Aemon with Jocelyn as they doted over little Rhaenys.

She could see Alyssa playing with a wooden sword with her boys as Baelon cheered them on.

She could see Maegelle was dressed in her septa clothes, taking to her prayers.

She could see Daella with Aemma in her arms.

She could see Viserra fretting over her looks a cohort of young ladies and lords tried to via for her favour.

She could see Sera and her boys coming to see her, their boat not so far away now from Dragonstone. The grandsons she had yet to see, there must still be enough time to spend with them…

She could see Gael sitting on the shores of the beach, holding a babe in her hands as she splashed her feet against the water coming to shore.

How she wanted to tell her to move away from the shoreline. To come back to her.

And each time she awoke from those dreams, she had wanted to weep for it was only just a dream to her. Nothing more.

This slumber had been no different; she had dreamt of simpler times, when she was young, as was Jaehaerys. Back on Dragonstone, before the dealings of the crown had taken over their lives and before age had consumed them.

She felt a gentle hand squeeze her shoulder, interrupting her sleep. She slowly opened her eyes to the sight of Ser Clement standing over her. “Your Grace, I am sorry to wake you.” He said politely “But you have a visitor, it is Prince Daemon and his lady-wife.”

Alysanne hummed in response “Help me up.” She said, two servants quickly moved her up, placing pillows behind her so she may sit up straight, the ache in her back easing slightly as she sank into them. “Bring him through.” She said, her voice was heavy with exhaustion. Clement nodded his head and disappeared through the door as she rubbed her eyes.

“Grandmother?” Daemon said, peering his head through her door in almost a nervous fashion, as if he was a boy avoiding punishment, he stepped into her room tepidly.  

Alyssa’s dear boy… my grandson…

“Daemon…” she said softly.

“I sorry this is a sudden visit.” He said, standing by the door. “I know you must have been resting.”

“Don’t be foolish, your father Baelon comes to visit me whenever he pleases and that includes when I am sleep, he does not apologise for it.” She reassured him before patting her hand on a space next to her. “Come, sit down.” Daemon approached her and sat on the bed “You know I shall always cherish each visit from you, Viserys and Rhaenys.”

Daemon took her hand gently, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “Have you been getting my letters from Runestone?”

Alysanne sighed “Truly Daemon I am sorry, this illness of mine… I feel myself getting weaker and weaker, the servants try to read me the ravens but yet sleep occupies my thoughts.”

“Is it the pain?” Daemon asked.

“Yes, I have been taking milk of the poppy to ease me into sleep.” Daemon nodded his head.

“I see.” He replied “It matters not then, I guess it will be better this way.” He said with a tender smile.

Alysanne perked up slightly, glimpsing the mischief on his face before smiling herself “Tell me, how are things with you and your lady-wife.”

Daemon smiled “Beyond words.” He said “We are both more than happy and I love her with all my heart.” Alysanne smiled at his words. “You have outdone yourself in arranging our match.” He laughed.

Alysanne laughed too, even if it made her ribs ache. “Well I am glad to hear it.” She replied “Is she here? I would much like to meet her.”

Daemon gave Alysanne’s hand a soft squeeze. “She is, and there’s someone else I would like you to meet.” He turned his head to the door, nodding the Clement who disappeared into the hallway again, a few moments later he reappears. 

"The Lady Rhea, your Grace." he said, bowing his head as Rhea stepped into the room.

Alysanne’s breath was caught in her throat when she noticed the small bundle in her arms.

“Your Grace.” Rhea said, bowing her head as much as she could while holding it close to her.

“Hopefully he is still asleep.” Daemon jested. "He can be a rowdy one when awake; Grandmother, I would like to introduce you to our son.” Daemon said, taking the babe from his wife and sitting back down onto the bed, her heart melting when she looked upon his face. “His name is Baelor.”

“Baelor….” She muttered weakly, she looked up at Daemon with pleading eyes “May- may I?”

“Of course.” Daemon said, gently handing the babe to her, into her arms.

Baelor squirmed gently as he rested in her arms, Alysanne had held many a babe yet feared if she had the strength to hold him. She watched him sleep, noting all the features of his face and hair as both Daemon and Rhea watched her. Rhea standing behind her husband, a hand resting on his shoulder.

Alysanne smiled, giggling “It looks like he takes after you more, Rhea.” She said, trancing her finger against a lock of his honey brown hair.

“He has my nose.” Daemon said he faux outrage, causing the two laugh “He also has my eyes too, you will see when he wakes up.”

“I would like to.” Alysanne said, she didn’t know what had come over her, yet she could feel tears running down her cheeks as a overwhelming feeling of loss and happiness swept over her. 

Oh Baelor… I had not known you had existed and yet I love you more than life itself…

Alysanne tried her best to make sure the tears did not fall on her great grandson, yet she could not stop herself from sobbing. She held Baelor in one arm while wiping away the tears from her cheek with her free hand. “Forgive me.” She mumbled to them “I do not know what has come over me.”

Through puffy red eyes she looked up to Daemon and Rhea, watching as they too wiped away tears of their own faces. “Do not apologise.” Daemon said to her, placing a firm hand on his leg “We are just happy Baelor got to meet his great grandmother.” He placed his hand back onto Rhea’s, rubbing it with his thumb affectionately, while Rhea nodded her head in agreement.

“And I am glad I was able to see him too.” She said with a smile. The noise must have disturbed him, Baelor slowly began to open his eyes to them, squirming slightly. Alysanne smiled as she looked into his eyes, she saw the violet of Daemon, of Baelon and of Jaehaerys in them. “He really does have your eyes, Daemon.” She laughed lightly through more tears.

“See, why would I lie about such a thing?” Daemon jested.

“You have lied about many a great things before.” Alysanne said, getting a giggle from Rhea. “He’s perfect, perfect beyond words.”

“We know, we’re both very proud of him.” Rhea said, rubbing Daemon shoulders as she spoke. 

“As you should be.” Alysanne agreed. 

There was a knock on the door “Your Grace, Prince Daemon, Lady Rhea.” Clement said, stepping inside the room “Prince Baelon has arrived.”

“Ah, let him through please.” Alysanne said, she turned to Daemon as Rhea turned to face the door. “Has he met Baelor yet?”

Daemon sheepishly looked at Alysanne and shook his head “No, this will also be his first time.”

“Oh Daemon, that is bad.” Alysanne said in jest.

Baelon stepped into the room, his eyes turning to them instantly “Mother…” he said walking to them “My Boy!” he said to Daemon, Daemon stood up from the bed, walked to him and was caught in a tight embrace by his father.

“It is good to see you too, father.” Daemon said weakly through the crushing embrace with a smile.

Baelon pulled away and turned to Rhea “Ah Rhea, forgive me as this is the first time we should meet since the wedding.”

“There is nothing to forgive, my Prince-” Quickly Rhea was pulled into a tight embrace by Baelon herself.

“Please Rhea, you are the wife of my son and the mother of my grandson.” Baelon said, pulling away from the embrace “You can address with as Baelon.”

“I thank you- Baelon.” Rhea said “Good-father.”

“Now where is he?” Baelon asked, before looking to Baelor still in Alysanne’s arms. The look on Baelon’s face when he saw him melted Alysanne’s heart as he walked closer to them “My… what a precious thing you are.” He said with a wide grin on his face, he looked to Alysanne “May I?”

“Of course, Baelon.” Alysanne said, though it still disappointed her slightly not to hold onto him for just a bit longer, the look on his face; the amazement and wonder she saw on her son's face more than made up for it. “Be careful.” She told him.

Baelon took Baelor in his arms “Please mother, I had held both Daemon and Viserys as babes and held Rhaenyra.” He replied “I know what I am doing.” He got a closer look at his grandson “He had your eyes and nose, Daemon.” He smiled.

“Thankfully someone has noticed.” Daemon laughed.

“But he does take after his mother, you must be overjoyed, Rhea.” Baelon said with a haughty grin.

“I am pleased.” Rhea replied, smiling back. 

Baelon laughed “He’s going to be a handsome lad when he grows up, ladies and maids in court will be chasing him soon enough! He will break many a heart.”

“Hopefully not too soon.” Rhea said “Both Daemon and I have no desire in being grandparents just yet.” That had gotten a laugh from all in the room.

“You will be great, Baelor.” Baelon told his grandson, as he rocked him in his arms. “I just know it; a great Prince, a great lord of Runestone and maybe even Hand to Viserys’ son.”

“He shall be a great lord of Runestone, I am confident of such.” Rhea said.

Alysanne noticed Daemon place a hand over his heart and shut his eyes, as if trying fight through some kind of pain “Daemon, are you well?” she asked.

“I am well, grandmother, worry not; this happens now and then since the accident.” Daemon assured her.

“You should speak to the maester, maybe he can help you.” Alysanne said.

“I have spoken with many maesters and they all tell me how there’s nothing to be done and that my life is not in danger.” Daemon told her.

“They’re bloody useless.” She commented, irritated at her grandson predicament, Daemon smiled and rubbed her leg. “When will Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra arrive?”

“They should be here on the morrow, they had left the capital last night.” Baelon said.

“And Rhaenys and her children?”

Baelon frowned “I had not received word back from them or Corlys.” Alysanne sighed.  

“It can’t be helped I suppose, if they are to arrive on the morrow then I hope you can all stay for breakfast tomorrow.” She asked of them.

“It would be a pleasure to.” Daemon said to her.

That night, Alysanne could hardly sleep; for so long she sought refuge in her dreams, seeking out the ghosts of those she lost, now she wished more than anything to be there for those she had left.

When the maids and servants came to wash and dress her, she bared the aches and pains that had come with their gentle touches. Through gritted teeth she held back her tears and kept her composure, trying to remind everyone that she was the ‘Good’ Queen still who had ridden on Silverwing, not the feeble old woman who left the capital for peace. 

Maegor could not take me…

You shall not have me just yet.

She defiantly raged against her illness, adjusting her dress and taking her cane in hand, while Clement helped her walk down the hallways of her childhood home into the private dining room where her family awaited her.

It had pained her that she could not take the meal in the painted table but she had long lost the strength to climb the Drum Stone steps.

When she arrived she saw her grandchildren Viserys and Aemma speaking to Daemon and Rhea, doting on the new addition to their family and trying to introduce Rhaenyra to her new cousin while Baelon had his arms around his sons.

“Grandmother!” Viserys called out, as both he and Aemma walked to her. She placed a kiss on both of them before doing so with Rhaenyra, the little girl squirming under her gentle touch.

“My loves, how are you?” she asked them. “How was the journey here?”

“We are well, grandmother.” Aemma said “The journey was well too.”

“That is good, that is good.” She said, touching Aemma’s cheek.

“How are you grandmother, are you feeling well?” Viserys asked, she nodded her head.

"Look at this, a room full of future kings!" Baelon jested. 

Alysanne stayed silent, looking at them and then glancing over to the others. “Come, there is much I must say to you all.” Her family all gathered around the table, with her son at one end of the table and her grandchildren on the sides while her great grandchildren were taken care of by the maids. “It brings me great joy to see you here, I wish that Rhaenys and her children were here but still I am grateful.” She took in a deep breath “I fear I do not have long left in this world.” She could see Baelon was going to speak but she quickly raised her hand “Please, I do not need reassurance, an old woman knows when her time is coming… I am just grateful that I get to spend it with you all, I thank you all immensely for being here with me.”

Baelon stood up from his seat “I believe I speak for everyone here in that there is no place we would rather be.” He said before raising his cup “A toast, to one of the greatest Queens Westeros will ever see.” Those around her raised their cups to her.

She sat down at the table, a servant cutting her food for her as the rest of her family ate theirs. For a moment she could shut her eyes and imagine them all around her; her sons were young exchanging talk and boasts, her daughters were as beautiful as ever and Jaehaerys sat beside her. Both of them young and still so in love.

As she opened them she saw here grandsons conversing “I would be honoured to squire little Baelor when he comes of age.” Viserys said, cutting into his meal. 

“I thank you, my Prince.” Rhea replied. “Prince Daemon and I will consider the offer in time.”

“It would be a great opportunity, Gods be good, Aemma and I will have a son by then and the two could be as close as brothers!” Viserys said, placing an arm around Aemma. 

“Viserys, please.” Aemma chastised “The poor boy has just been born as you’re already trying to take him away from his mother and father.”  

“It is merely a suggestion, my dear.” Viserys defended himself.

“And if someone was already arranging taking Rhaenyra into fostering so soon, how would you feel?” she asked pointedly. 

Viserys looked sheepishly at his food “You have a point.”

“It is the duty of us wives to temper our husband’s behaviours.” Alysanne jibed "Remind themselves to not get lost in their own machinations." 

“Oh I understand the feeling.” Rhea spoke “Daemon will lock himself away in his solar for hours and then come out with some crazed idea to get our poor blacksmith and carpenters to try.”

“You said you liked my ideas.” Daemon said, his tone a mocking hurt “And besides, it is I who is the consort, it is you shall inherit Runestone, it is you who I temper.”

"Your mother would been the one I tempered too, Gods be good she would have been a fierce Queen." Baelon remarked lovely, likely the memory of Alyssa still on his mind. "I would say Alyssa would have pushed endlessly for you two and Baelor to join with us in King’s Landing until you inherited Runestone, Rhea." 

Alysanne thought of her daughter.

Baelon is right, she would have pushed for them to stay and if not would have gone to see him every so often on Meleys. She may have even fought Jaehaerys on giving him a dragon egg, the consequences be damned.

It should be Alyssa who had seen him…

“Likely my father will have liked to have one of his bannermen or allies squire Baelor to help build alliances in the Vale.” Rhea said “Though he is not one to pass up opportunities when they arise.”

“Hopefully he will see more of his family, though doubtless both Rhea and I will be heartbroken to be separated from him.” Daemon said.

“Who would not?” Alysanne said “When Maegelle left for Oldtown I had slept in her old room  for almost a moon’s turn.”

“I could not imagine being away from Rhaenyra for too long.” Aemma said “Perhaps when she can ride her dragon, she will come a visit us whenever she can.”

“I doubt Rhaenyra will be too far away from us, my dear.” Viserys said, washing his food down with a cup of wine. 

When the food was finished and the table cleared, Baelon suggested that they all spend time on the sands of Dragonstone with the sun out. As the others went off, Alysanne called to Daemon to stay behind, leaving the two in the room.

“Come, Daemon, sit down for a moment.” She asked.

“Grandmother…” Daemon said.

“I know you had already apologised to me about what had happened and said you would do your duty to her and your family.” She said “For that Daemon I am proud of you, I know that trying to reconcile after one’s mistakes can be difficult.”

“I thank you, grandmother.”

“I only wanted to ask one thing, my grandson.” Alysanne said “Are you happy?” Daemon was about to speak when Alysanne stopped him “Before you left for Runestone, I saw… sadness in your eyes, it was as if you did not want to go, as if you were trying to call out to someone to help you.” She saw Daemon flinch slightly “Yet you still did it, you went back to Runestone and kept to your promise, no doubt your grandfather had tried to keep your hand’s tied behind you back but I have to know… are you happy with what you have now?”

Alysanne saw Daemon clutch his chest and he breathed in deeply, fighting back a sudden bout of pain. She tried to reach out to him, scared for a moment that perhaps he was in danger when he raised his hand to her “No, please… I am fine.” He spoke in an almost weak tone. His breathing calmed and he raised his head.

And sighed.

“I will not lie, grandmother.” He said “There was a part of me once that had been scared, that resisted going back to Runestone; it was a side of myself that I had to overcome day by day as I worked to make amends with Rhea.” Daemon took her hands “But it was something which I was able to conquer and for that I was grateful…. I would not have Baelor if I did not and now I love Rhea with all my heart.”

Alysanne smiled “I am glad to hear that.” She said “That’s all I wanted to know, if you were happy, it eases this old woman’s heart to know as such, I thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” Daemon said “You were the one who gave me this life.” This made Alysanne smile while his face became solemn “Grandmother… I- there’s something I want to say-”

“What is it, Daemon?”

Her grandson was silent for a moment, she knew he was trying to contemplate his words, his mouth opening and closing as if to speak before holding back. “Gael, if… I had only gotten there sooner, I cannot help but think that I could have done something.”

Alysanne touched his face “No, do not think in such a way.” She told him “You could not have known, none of us did,” Daemon looked to the ground like a lost child “But to know she is in your thoughts warms my heart, Daemon.”

“She is always in my thoughts and in my prayers.” Daemon said. “I promise you, grandmother, if I am lucky enough to have a daughter of my own, I will name her after my lovely aunt.”

Alysanne smiled, pulling Daemon into an embrace as a tear welled up in her eye “That would be very kind of you.”

At least in some way… you will live on, my sweet winter child.

Chapter Text

Rhea read through the newest reports she had received from her treasurer; the numbers were encouraging, in the last quarter they had seen an noticeable increase revenue from the taxes they collected from the merchants that were selling their goods made within Runestone and its holdings to elsewhere. Much to both Rhea and her treasurer’s joy the trend seem to continue if only slightly.

Still this is welcome news.

Throughout history; from the age of heroes, the Bronze kings to becoming vassals to House Arryn, their family had been notable for its wealth and power, even among those lords in the Seven Kingdoms. But for Rhea, this hope for it to continue, she knew they could become greater than before.

“There have been some costs that must be bared.” Her treasurer, Jafer whose family came from a minor knightly house close to Runestone, spoke “At the moment it seems that the new items produced within our holdings have been popular among other nobility and even in Essos for the time being.” He flipped through more parchment “And fortunately this has also led to an increase in services being paid for in a few towns which provide the labour and material needed, namely woodcutters and blacksmiths.” He flipped over a few more pieces of parchments “However I should mention this occurred entirely in larger towns, my Lady.” He explained “Villages and Hamlets have yet to experience this.”

“What would you suggest?” Rhea asked, leaning forward in her chair. 

“An improvement is needed on the roads to these holdings, which given our revenues we could afford to do, though it will take time.” Jafer explained “By then however I fear that the designs of these goods will be stolen and blacksmiths across the land will produce it themselves, we are already seeing some replicates in the Reach such as the parchment clips.”

Daemon has spoken of this, these designs were meant to be short-term ways of raising treasure for larger ideas.

At the start it had perplexed her that Daemon would invite merchants from Runestone, Gulltown and even outside of Westeros to meetings. When he had told him of his grand ideas and plans she believed her husband to be, at best, overly ambitious or perhaps a naïve fool; the latter more concerning being the father to her son, yet when he assured her that his first ideas were merely small creations and he’d only use what resources he’d have available to him without needing to take from Runestone’s coffers that had given her some relief.

And now it brings me just a bit more silver stags and golden dragons each month. 

“I suppose we shall be needing new roads and bridges in future regardless, allocate the necessary treasure towards it.” Rhea ordered. “I shall speak with my husband, no doubt he will be pleased by this mayhaps another idea he and his team of craftsmen can organise to replace any losses we may have to face.”  

“It shall be done, my Lady.” Jafer stood up from his seat and bowed his head, quickly marching the door of her solar and leaving the room. Rhea leaned back in her chair, playing with the ring on her finger; a strange gift, once more from Daemon, a plain ring made from Valyrian steel he had requested from the Citadel in Oldtown he had commissioned for her with strange Valyrian writing on it with another ring made of Bronze for himself, Runic words written on his saying ‘My Lady Love.’

A smile crossed her face at the thought, she had asked him what the Valyrian writing on her ring said and all he would do is laugh and ask her to find out herself.

I must ask Maester Hugo one day.

The thought crossed her mind that he might be playing a little jest on her and yet she had not removed the ring from her finger and she assumed neither had Daemon with his own. She stood up from her chair and left her solar.

Walking through the halls of her home she made her way to her husband’s own personal solar. A part of her still felt guilty for placing him in that room; at first she had only done it in order to humiliate him, make him suffer some indignity, she had originally hoped to see him rage and for the two to argue, an opportunity for her to confront him about the humiliation he had inflicted upon her.

Yet when he was introduced with the room that had once served as one of the storage rooms for the castle’s servants he merely smiled and commented ‘I have quite a bit of work ahead of me.’ Before thanking her for it.

After they reconciled she had offered him a number of times to change his solar for a different room, one perhaps more fitting for his station, yet each time he refused; Rhea wondered if he only did this as a plan to use it as leverage against her one day or to stoke the guilt she felt.

But yet…

She saw Cley stand by the door, she had assigned as her husband’s guard to keep an eye on him; watch his activities and see if he had planned anything that would undermine her or she could find something that might be used as a grievous insult to herself and her house to force the king to annul the marriage. Again, she had found neither.

Now she could not even imagine the possibility of finding anything of that matter.

“Lady Rhea.” Cley said, bowing his head. “Prince Daemon is inside, as too Lady Perra and Lord Baelor.” It sent her heart almost fluttering just at the mention of his name.

The time between herself being taken to the birthing bed to him now being over a year old had seemed to pass them by. 

“You have my thanks, Cley.” She said as he opened the door for her.

As she stepped inside it still amazed her how much it had changed; the room was still a small space and yet it felt warm and homely. Book shelves filled with parchments and journals and draws lined the walls, lamps hung from the some of the corners of the room to illuminate it when dark, the desk sat near the door and in the centre of the room was a large fur carpet.

Where Daemon sat down on a chair while Perra held Baelor in a sitting position as the two listened to him read one of his stories from a book, various toys laid out beside them while a maid sat down to attend them.

My boy…

When he was still in her womb both her and Daemon agreed that while their children will carry her name, their first names will be of Valyrian origins; a way of keeping them in touch with their heritage.

My son’s name will remind everyone who might look in envy or hostility of their position and standing just who his grandfather is.

They could not take the name ‘Baelon’ as Daemon had explained that his own brother had dreams of naming his son as such, but Baelor served well enough as a reminder.

At a glance there seemed to be so little of his father in his face; his hair, while not as dark a brown as her own, was still a closer shade of colouring to her own as well as its noticeable curls.

He was but a mess of brown hair when I received him.

He lacked the pale complexion of his father and, if Maester Hugo was correct, he would also grow into his ears much as herself and Perra did as babes.

Yet up close she could see the features of Daemon; the delicate shaped nose, Hugo had said he will likely grow into a longer face as he himself grows into a man and his eyes were unmistakably Daemon’s deep violet.

"He will break many a heart.” she thought back to the words of Baelon, complimenting his grandson; a future Royce prince to the Crown

“Rhea!” her sister exclaimed, both Daemon and Baelor’s heads turned to her, her son reaching his small arms out to her, only further melting her heart. Daemon smiled at her, picking up Baelor from Perra’s arms and carrying her child to her. Daemon placed a quick kiss on her lips before placing Baelor in her arms.

“I hope you have been good little one.” She asked Baelor as he wrapped his arms around her neck. “And what has your father being reading to you this time?”

“Daemon was telling us the story of Perceus!” Perra said, jumping to her question.

“Perceus?”

“Story of a Hero who slays evil monsters with the help of the Gods of his land.” Daemon said “One being the Goddess of wisdom and strategy which reminds me of a certain someone.” He wrapped his arm around her as she held Baelor.

Rhea rolled her eyes but giggled.

“He slays an evil monster who turns people to stone, rode a horse with wings over the ocean and killed a giant sea monster saving an innocent maiden!” Perra exclaimed, summarising the story. Rhea looked at Daemon who watched the floor sheepishly.

“And where did you get the inspiration for this?” she asked.

“Not from myself, that I promise you.” Rhea narrowed her eyes as she looked at him “You’re doing it again.” He said, the corners of his mouth moving up to form a sly smile.

“Doing what?”

“Whenever you have suspicions of someone or something you narrow your eyes at them.” Daemon explained. “That or you just dislike them.”

“I do not!” Rhea exclaimed.

“Sweet sister, does she or does Rhea not narrow her eyes at people whenever she dislikes them or they something she disapproves of.”

Perra giggled and nodded her head in agreement.

Rhea narrowed her eyes at her.

“See! You’re doing it now!” Daemon laughed as Perra joined in, Rhea now felt a little flustered until Daemon pulled both her and Baelor to him and kissed her head. “Is all well?” he asked her.

“All is well, I had only wanted to see our son.” Rhea said, rubbing her son’s back. “Perra, you have lessons with the septa to attend now.”

Perra groaned “Must I go?” she asked “Septa Della is such a bore.”

“A bore she may be but you must attend your lessons.” Rhea reiterated “Go now, I have had to tell father that you have been good, will you make a liar out of me?” Perra shook her head and conceded defeat, walking out of the room with her head down. “Helya escort her.” The maid bowed her head and followed her sister.

“Must you be so strict with her?” Daemon asked.

“You know I must, she will be six and ten soon enough and wedded to a lord one day, she must be ready.” Her husband grimaced. “You disapprove?”

“Six and ten is still so young, if your father does arrange a match for her, what is the harm in waiting until she is maybe eight and ten or maybe even later?”

“Daemon, we had married at six and ten.” Rhea pointed out “It is only two years less.”

“And perhaps we should have waited those two years, look how much had changed.” Daemon countered “All I am saying is that she is still so young, we should let her enjoy her life for now.”

“Do you expect a brick to fall on the head of Perra’s betrothed and make him into a better person?”

“Maybe?”

Rhea sighed “I shall think on it and write a letter to my father if need be.” Rhea said, pressing a kiss on Baelor’s head “I hope you do not plan on letting myself become the strict parent and yourself the one our children seek comfort in.”

“Of course I plan on being the fun parent among the two of us.” He laughed, Rhea narrowed her eyes “I jest dear wife, I promise you we shall share these burdens.”

“Speaking of parents, perhaps we should organise a trip to the Eyire, no doubt my father will like to see his grandson once more.” Rhea said; he had not seen him since possible a month after the birth when he allowed himself leave from the capital to visit her and Baelor, dotting on them both.

How I wish mother had been there too.

“We should arrange that.” Daemon agreed “I would also like to arrange another trip to Dragonstone or King’s Landing, it has been a while since Baelor has seen his grandfather, and no doubt both Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra will be pleased to see him again.”

Just a week after Rhea’s father had left back for the Eyire Daemon had arranged for them to visit Dragonstone; he was in a frantic state about going to visit his grandmother that she worried if he might just take Baelor and ride them both on Caraxes to the island himself.

Yet the memory of that visit still left both a warm touch and ache in heart; it had turned out that the Good Queen Alysanne was slowly dying of a wasting illness, when they arrived on the island the maester had already declared she was bedridden and may not have much time left.

To see the old Queen hold her great grandson in her arms, weeping as she did, had reduced both her and Daemon to tears too. And meeting her good-father and good-brother was a joyous occasion; the crown prince was certainly enamoured by his grandson and so was his heir who tried numerous times to arrange taking her boy as a ward and squire when he came of age.  

In the end they were incredibly fortunate to reach her just in time, it was within less than a month later she had passed away from her illness, had they hesitated or the winds not been in their favour then Baelor would never had met the good Queen.  

“Yes, that would be good.” Daemon gently embraced the two for a moment “Oh wife, I must show you my new plans.” He quickly rushed over to his desk; Rhea frowned, Daemon always seemed to keep his desk looking untidy, she wondered how he was ever able to organise anything. “I think I’ve figured out a way to make use of the hills and mounds.” He excitedly showed her a large drawing on parchment; it depicted a mound, cleared of rocks and grass and instead formed into different layers going upwards with each layer holding rows of crops. “I call it, Terrace farming.”

“Terrace farming?”

“Most of the land in the Vale is taken up by mountains, hills and mounds. Good to defend against invaders but for farmland it limits our potential, if we were able to start using that land however…”

“It would increase the value of the lands.” Rhea finished “We would produce more crops and increase our revenues.” Runestone and it’s holding was fortunate as having a good portion of flatlands which could be farmed, more so than other Vale lords who had mountains to contend with but with this.

“I’m still going through most of the details with the farmhands about what would need to be done, what tools would be need and I will have to speak to Gilwood and Horton to see if they can provide them and then there’s Donnel, I will need him to help build any supports needed for each layer.” Daemon, as Rhea noticed had always done when speaking about his ideas, rambled on and on. “Of course there is also hiring the labourers, this is all in the planning process for now before can try with a suitable strip of land which I will speak with Albar about, and that’s not even thinking about hiring the labourers needed.”

“If you need labourers then I am sure there are smallfolk who can work in order to pay off their debts.” Rhea suggested, Daemon grimaced.

“I would prefer if those working for me were paid for their work.” Daemon said “I will not be taking unpaid labour from anyone.”

“Will you require money from the treasury?”

“For now I can likely pay for the idea with the money I get from our other ventures, should I be in need to more than I shall have that conversation with you and Jafer.” Daemon rolled up the parchment “What do you think?”

Rhea was silent, Baelor had fallen asleep in her arms as she continued to gently rub his back “This may be worth pursuing, you have my support.”

“When do I not?” Daemon kissed her gently.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Truly have we ever had an undisturbed moment?” Rhea muttered.

“I can think of one occasion.” Had Baelor not been sleeping peacefully in her arms he would have slapped his arm, instead the two smiled at each other. “Enter.”

Maester Hugo entered the office “Lady Rhea, Prince Daemon.” He greeted them, bowing his head “My apologises for disturbing you both, but we have received a raven from the Eyrie.” He said holding the unopened parchment in his hand “Your father’s seal is on it.”

The air from the room seemed to have been sucked out entirely.

“Close the door.” Rhea ordered, her tone becoming sterner, Hugo shut the door as he handed the parchment to Daemon who broke the seal and unravelled it.

Both her and Daemon read the letter, their eyes moving across each sentence and every paragraph.

“How long ago was this?” Rhea asked Hugo, almost demanding an answer from him. 

“We had only received the raven today, my lady.” 

“Gunthor may have gotten enough support from different Vale lords to usurp Jeyne from the Eyrie.” Rhea said, both Daemon and Hugo were silent at the revelation.

“The question is what Lord Gunthor plans on doing now with this support.” Hugo said “He may advocate for those lords to raise their banners to forcibly install the young lord Arnold as lord of the Eyrie.” 

“My father will never allow that, he will resist any attempt by my uncle and his allies install Arnold.” Rhea said “He is honour and duty bound to protect the rights of Lady Jeyne, this may end up forcing his hand.” 

“The kingdom might be plunged into a civil war in that case.” Daemon pondered, the observation hung over them like a large shadow casting them in darkness. 

“If my father calls for it, I shall call our banners and rally to the Eyrie’s defence.” Rhea declared “The traitors will think twice if the might of our house comes to my father’s aid.”

“We do not know the strength of this alliance of Gunthor’s yet, his supposed support may perhaps be a farce.” Daemon suggested “Or he may have enough support that could rival both our and the Eyrie’s levies.”

“What do you suggest then?” Rhea questioned, frustration now seeping into her voice. 

Daemon was silent for a moment, likely pondering what to say “Let me go to the Eyrie, I shall offer what support and council I can provide to your father.” He said “I shall take Caraxes with me too; I’ll shall reach the castle faster that way and those Vale lords who might seek to march on the castle mayhaps think twice about moving against your father if he has the support of a dragon rider and Prince behind him.” he advised them "Let us not forget, that to declare war without the King's leave is to break his peace, that is akin to treason." 

This time it was Rhea who took a moment to ponder.

Any traitors will be hesitate to summon their banners if they knew that my father and Jeyne had the support of House Targeryen. 

“That may work, should they move against Jeyne it will be far clearer to them that they will be breaking the King’s peace.” Rhea said.

“There is one issue.” Hugo stated “Should this matter be brought to the King and council, the precedent that had been set will likely force his Grace to rule in favour of Arnold over Jeyne.”

“The King and Council may seek to wash their hands of this to avoid creating a political headache.” Rhea commented, the growing pit of worry in her stomach grew deeper and deeper as she contemplated this.

“To make a different ruling will likely raise the question of Rhaenys and her children’s claim to the throne.” Daemon added. “Still, I shall go, hopefully we can resolve this while avoiding any political upheaval by involving my grandfather and the council or, Gods willing, a possible conflict.”

Daemon looked to Rhea, she swallowed slightly as she fought back the fear that tried to claw at her “Then I give you my leave, husband.” She said.

“I shall write a letter to Lord Royce to expect your arrival.” Hugo said “By your leave, my lady.” He said bowing his head, leaving the room.

Rhea and Daemon looked at each other silently, finally a moment together yet tension straggled whatever elation they shared. “We should head to your apartment.” He suggested, Rhea nodded her head.

The two made their way back to their own private quarters; she had handed Baelor to one of the maid to be placed in his nursey to sleep as the two went to her chambers. There they lay in bed, holding each other in silence, hoping to immortalise the moment of peace between them as they had tried to do many time over.

She lay her head on his chest as the two wrapped their arms around each other.

“Please… do not do anything foolish, Daemon.” Rhea spoke, breaking the silence as she looked at him, holding him tighter.

“I promise I shall not.” He assured her, he gave her a sullen smile “Did you ever find out what writing on your ring said?”

Rhea raised her eyebrow “No, not yet, I do know that yours says ‘My Lady Love.” She took his hand with the ring on it, looking at the runic words  “I would guess that mine says a similar message?”

“No quite.” Daemon said, his finger rubbing the Valyrian steel band.

“Then what?”

“My Leal Servant.”

Chapter Text

Daemon pulled on the straps of his bags, making sure they wouldn’t fall off of Caraxes when he took flight. It was a late morning, he figured that he would be able to reach the Eyrie before the end of the afternoon to meet with his good-father Yorbert.

I hope this meeting goes better than the last one.

The last time they had met was just a month after the birth of Baelor; despite Daemon bests efforts to build a bridge with Lord Royce, it was clear he was still bitter about the whole affair of insulting his daughter at their wedding, no matter how many times Daemon had apologised while Rhea, Perra and other courtiers explained to him how he had changed from then to now.

If he is this stubborn then Gunthor has little hope of breaking him.

Daemon also reasoned that by arriving later in the afternoon it would mean more eyes will see his arrival to the Eyrie, a demonstrative show of force and support for the Protector of the Vale and Regent for Jeyne that she had the support of the Iron Throne, even if it was a bluff.

Yet deep down he knew the reason for his late start; as he looked on, the towers and dome of Runestone in the distance there was a ache in his heart that wasn’t caused by the anger of the original Daemon, he simply did not want to leave.

When he awoke in this story his reason for being, his reason to live and continue on despite losing everything was to survive this world, carve out some kind of life for himself; that meant preventing the coming conflict, preventing the deaths of people who he had grown to like and cherish even if it wasn’t the same feeling as he had for the family in his first life and living as peaceful a life he could have.

Yet when Baelor was born, when he held his son in his arms for the first time, it felt as though his entire purpose had changed, his entire reason to work and strive changed.

I can not let him fight and die over who gets to sit that ugly metal chair.

The thought of him having to endure any kind of horrific event, let alone the Dance, was enough to make him shudder.

I can not let this get out of hand too…

While lost in his thoughts he rubbed the ring on his finger, the wedding bands he had made for them. When he had asked Gilwood to forge him the ring from the Valyrian steel chain link he received from the Citadel and asked him to engrave on it those words Daemon had launched probably one of his worse attacks of terror on him.

Poor Gilwood thought he had to get the maester! You really scared the shit out of him, Daemon. 

Yet even that amusing thought wasn’t enough to push back the melancholy in his heart, it only ached further as he thought of Rhea and their son.  

Daemon climbed upon Caraxes’ back “Ready to go?” the dragon hummed and Daemon took that as sign Caraxes agreed with him. “Sōvēs! Caraxes!” he ordered, the dragon stood on its hind legs as it flapped its wings “Naejot! North East!” the Dragon straighten out it’s neck as it flew in that direction, Daemon turned his back and watched as Runestone grew smaller and smaller.

I’m coming back, I’m coming back.

Daemon pressed his hand on his chest “You’ve been really quiet lately?” he asked, trying to speak to the real Daemon “You finally gone?” a jolt of pain hit his chest, likely his equivalent to a kick. “Still there huh?” Lately he hadn’t been experiencing the familiar chest pains or aches that  Daemon would inflict on him in the past whenever he had done something the real one had disapproved of.

Even when he would lavish Rhea with praise all he would get in a tickle of pain and a feeling of profound boredom or melancholy whenever he would attend meetings. The only times he would feel anything different or any sign of true life from him now was during training or sparring, where his anger and frustration seem to spur Daemon on against his opponent.

Or the pride that would swell in his chest seeing Baelor; when his son began learning to crawl, it felt as if he’s own heart was about to burst with joy from the emotions from both, yet even that moment had the lingering moments of sadness from the true Daemon.

God… I hope I don’t miss his first steps…

The journey had taken more than a couple of hours yet the view of the Eyrie may had made the trip worth itself; Runestone stood out as a citadel on a mountain, imposing and authoritative. But the Eyire was a palace; it sat upon snow tipped mountains, built with an almost polished white stone which both it and the snow gleamed under the sunlight. The castle was not a monument of power but graceful and beautiful to look upon yet the seven towers stood as a message to its strength; nothing less than a worthy home to any ancient noble family. A waterfall poured from a nearby mountain, complimenting the beauty of the area.

As Daemon circled around he spotted falcons flying around the mountains, flying against the blue sky and pristine white clouds.

“Wow…”

As he flew closer he could spot people, a crowd watching him, in the inner court of the castle.

That must be the welcome party.

“Paerī!” he ordered, the dragon began to slow it’s flying “Ninkiot!” Caraxes flapped it’s wings as it descended onto the ground. “Lykirī!” he said, rubbing at the dragon’s neck as the crowd gawked and guards raised their spears at the dragon. Daemon climbed off of the dragon, among the group of onlookers he recognised Yorbert Royce, his father in law. “Lord Royce.” He said, dipping his head courteously.

“Prince Daemon, good-son.” Yorbert said, bowing his head to him. “I welcome you to the Eyrie.”  Yobert shared similarities in looks to his brother; full bread of dark chestnut hair, though his own hair was cut short. He was a giant of a man, standing noticeably taller than Daemon with a stocky built. On his face were wrinkle lines, a sign of his age and the dark brown eyes of his could mistakenly be seen as black at a glance.

As he had done when they met each other again, the look he gave Daemon was professional yet not less stern.

He moved to the side “And allow me to introduce to you, the Lady Jeyne Arryn.” A young girl dressed in a bright blue dress shyly stepped forward, she reminded Daemon of Aemma with her honey coloured blonde hair but where Aemma had light indigo eyes from her Daella, Jeyne’s were a watery blue.

“Prince Daemon.” Jeyne said, curtseying before him. “Welcome to the Eyrie.”

Very cute.

“Lady Jeyne, you have my thanks.” He said to Jeyne bowing his head. “What do you think of Caraxes?” he asked the girl.

Jeyne stared at the dragon for a couple of seconds, utterly mesmerised by the creature before her, Caraxes turned it’s head towards Jeyne and huffed air from its nostrils. “May I touch it?” she asked innocently, it was enough to make him laugh.

“Another time, my lady.” Yorbert interjected “I believe it would be appropriate to take your place on in the High Hall, make sure the feast for the Prince’s arrival is ready, yes?.” Jeyne nodded her head “Lead the way, my lady.” His hand pointing towards the door inside. Jeyne rushed to the front as the delegation followed her, Yobert sticking behind with Daemon “There is a large courtyard connected to the mountain, your dragon can stay there.”

“Caraxes! Rȳbās!” Daemon ordered, he pointed towards the direction of the outer courtyard “Stay there and wait for me.” The dragon hummed before flapping it’s wings and taking flight leaving the two to catch up with the others.

“How was your journey here?” he asked, his hands behind his back.

“It was well, Lord Protector.” He replied “The weather was kind and the sights of the Vale still as breath-taking as before.”

“And how is Rhea and Perra?” he inquired “And my grandson?” the stern look never disappearing from his face.

“Rhea is well, her governing of Runestone is nothing short of stalwart, the lands prosper under her care. Perra is well too, she continues her studies and dotes on Baelor” He said “And Baelor, he grows stronger each day, the maester says he may walk soon.”

“No doubt we both do not wish to miss such a monumental occasion.” Speaking to Yobert was still as tense as ever. “I do thank you for offering your support to our lady Jeyne at this time of turmoil, I hope that we can rely on the support of House Targeryen in providing stability in these times.”

“His Grace shall not falter, and even so you have my fully support.” Daemon tried to assure him.

Yorbert looked at him, a blank expression on his face “I should hope so.” He looked ahead “Come, let us show you to the High Hall.”  

Two guards stood guard over the entrance to the main hall, as they stepped forward Daemon looked around the hall; the hall was thinner than both the Red keep and Runestone, and perhaps even less grand but did not lack for beauty. The walls of the hall were a blue marble with slim pillars holding up the roofs of the hall, arched windows on the walls and a long line of lamps hung from the ceiling with torches lit.  The floors of the hall were marble polished to a shine and bright blue carpets leading to the elevated platform with a throne made of what looked to be a white coloured wood.

All around there was a prevailing feeling of coldness surrounding him, as he walked towards the throne his eyes drifted to two large wooden door, wedged between two white pillars and three bronze bars holding the door shut. Yet as he passed by it he could hear the unmistakable sound of heavy winds banging against the door.

Daemon held his breath, the air becoming colder as he walked by it, he pulled on his cloak.

Looked different in the show… this is worse…

As he reached the throne he saw the young lady Jeyne sat on which she looked far to small for, her feet kicking the as she waited for everyone to take their seats. Tables were arranged before the elevated platform before a woman next to her stopped Jeyne. “Everyone, please be seated.” Jeyne said, as only a child could sound trying to be both loud and regal. Daemon took his seat, there were candles placed over the table next to bowls of fruit.

“As Lord Protector let me welcome my good-son to these halls.” Yobert said, standing at his place on the table while those around him sat “The last Prince to visit the Eyrie was one whom the realm will sooner wish to forget, I hope that you my Prince will be one to remember and more fondly.”

Daemon smiled as the others around him laughed politely.

Comparing me to Maegor… you really don’t like me.

For the first time in a while he felt something inside him, the familiar burning sensation of indignation, of that of wounded pride and a desire to throw back the insults that he received.

Daemon… you’re back?

“The walls of the Eyrie are high, much like the honour of all good men who sat upon it’s throne, it is a standard which all lords of the Vale must uphold, and I am sure that the Prince shares the same sentiment with us.”

I see where Rhea gets it from…

Daemon stood up from his seat and raised his glass “Thank you, Good-father.”

Daemon… how would you like to get back at the father in law?

The anger and indignation soon turned into a form of elation, it seemed that the two had come upon a very rare agreement.

“I wish to assure those attending that while I may be the first Targeryen since my cruel great-granduncle to visit this lovely castle I am nothing like him.” Daemon announced “Firstly I heard he was taller than myself and stronger but I believe am more handsome!” that had gotten some laughs from other attending “Secondly, Maegor rode Balerion, the black dread, legendary mount that conquered the Seven Kingdoms! I just ride Caraxes.” He leaned forward towards Jeyne “Be sure to not tell Caraxes, my lady, he will be mightily upset with me!” speaking in a whispered tone audible to all which earned a smile and giggle from her. “And thirdly, I do not take multiple wives” he said seriously before a smile crept on his face “I promise you all that my lady wife Rhea keeps me more than honest.” The laughs from those attending were more guttural this time, holding them back as to not offend the Lord Protector who watched on as stone faced as the mountain the Eyrie was built upon.

Daemon feed off that bravery and elation that the old one gave out; both enjoying trying to assert their own authority.

There’s one thing you don’t know, Yorbert, that Rhea didn’t know too; You can wound Daemon’s pride, but you can’t wound mine.

“Lady Jeyne!” Daemon spoke, turning his head to her “I must say that your home is beautiful; I have seen and visited many keeps and castles in our Seven Kingdoms and there is none that can match yours, I will see to it that I shall remain yours.” Daemon looked around the tables; some had raised their glasses to the proclamation and others stayed their hand, his good-father being one of them.

Interesting…

The rest of the dinner went off normally, as normally as these types of medieval feasts go as Daemon learned; he made idle chat with a knight who sat next to him, zoning in and out of the conversation as the proud man seemed to brag about his accomplishments and tourney victories and enquire about Darksister, asking a list of question relating to the sword. All the while, his good-father would glance at him every so often.

I would say I feel like I’m under the microscope, if it were called that in this world.

When the feast was finished and the plates were cleared, the guests retired for the night and lady Jeyne looked to have fallen asleep on her throne and carried by one of the servants. Lord Yobert come to Daemon “See me in my solar.” He asked Daemon.

“Of course.”

Daemon followed him through the halls of the Eyire, still admiring the designs and craftsmanship of the castle.

The place has an almost Roman motif to it, mum would have loved this and dad he-

He tried to think of his father from his first life yet, the image of Baelon seem to flood his mind first, he blinked a few times as he tried to remember the face of his real father.

He had… silver- no. Brown hair? Or was it grey then? Purple? No blue? No brown eyes! He- wore sweaters, he wore sweaters…

Two memories seem to clash in his head, creating a fog in his mind. 

He loved crafting things, he loved crafting things.

He repeated it in his head, a mantra to keep him grounded, but when he tried to hear his voice; he truly did not know if it was Baelon in his head or the one who raised him since birth.

Two guards stood by a door, dressed in the livery of House Arryn.

“Lord Protector, my Prince.” They greeted them both, one of them opening the door to the private office.

Daemon looked around the room; it was smaller than Rhea’s office in Runestone and yet he felt colder inside this one, the blue tinted walls seem to stretch the room out, making it look wider than it appeared. At the centre of the room was a large desk and above that was a ceiling of clear glass, the moonlight pouring down upon it.

Why does every space in a castle have to scream ‘I’m so important!’

“Sit, good-son.” Yorbert said as he took his place on the other side of the desk. Daemon sat down in the empty chair, the two then stared at each other for a couple seconds, Daemon waiting for him to say something, likely something he has been holding back since he saw him in the courtyard a few hours ago.

“Say it” Daemon spoke “I know you wish to tell me something but the timing has never been right; either a month ago or a few hours ago. So say it.”

“I do not trust you.” Yorbert said. “Those letters that my daughter has received before your return to good health tell us you wish for forgiveness, and my daughters tell me you have changed from the boy you were, Rhea pleaded to me as much.” He said, his stern tone became more accusing as he went on “But how much can a man change in just two years? I have met plenty of mummers in my life; men never change their beliefs, they just hide them better for their plans or realise they can never achieve them and seek to survive.”

“What is it you accuse me of exactly?” Daemon questioned.  

“What changed Daemon? What makes a man humiliate his new wife and her house and then two years later grovel back to her and them” he questioned him “You think a brick just hits a man’s head and he wakes up a completely different person?”

Well… yes?

“You think lowering myself to your daughter, pleading for her forgiveness, trying to ingratiate myself into your house has been some kind of ploy?” Daemon threw back at him. 

“Aye, so which is it? Ambition or survival?”

Daemon was silent as he considered the question; in his mind the answer was simple, it was survival. He wanted to avoid the Dance, he didn’t want to fight in a war for the throne and he sure as hell didn’t want Baelor fighting one either.

But in his chest, there burned the desires of Daemon.

It was clear what he wanted, he wanted something far greater than what a second son and third in line to the throne could be afforded; the question only reigniting the damp fire within.

“Why does it matter?” Daemon asked. “I love Rhea, I would do anything for her and I would do anything for Baelor, why does it matter what I want?

“Because, ‘My Prince,’ if I am to ally myself with the likes of someone who would humiliate my family not so long ago then I need to know what you live for and what you want.” Yorbert stood up from his seat, leaning towards Daemon, narrowing his eyes at him.

Daemon could feel the fury in his heart, the temptation by the other to stand up and stare him down, show him that he wasn’t afraid of him and that this pitiful attempt to intimidate him was nothing.

Yet all he could do was smile.

“So that’s where Rhea gets it from.” Yorbert leaned back, perplexed by Daemon’s comment. “You both narrow your eyes when looking at something you disapprove of.” Yorbert sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “She takes after you my lord, quite a lot.” Daemon crossed his leg over the other “Both, good-father.”

“Pardon?”

“You wanted an answer, it is both.” Daemon said “I am ambitious; you believe I helped make different contraptions purely for my leisure? No because I saw a gap that could be filled, a way to empower the holding Baelor will one day inherit and write my name in history even if it is not a king and believe me what I tell you, I have far greater plans than simple games or items.” Daemon paused, he allowed the fire in his chest to be stoked, rising from its slumber as he feed off of Daemon’s tenacity. “But I also want to survive, I want Baelor to survive, I want Rhea to survive and I want Perra to survive too; mistrust me if you must and if it allows you to sleep better then question your dislike for me, but never doubt that I do care for them as I have my own House and that I view them as my family.”

As he uttered the final word, his felt vestiges of his own life, the memories of it, slowly chip away.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. They both turned their heads to it “Enter.” Yorbert called out, the door opened and inside stepped a maester. “Lord Protector, my Prince.” He said bowing his head to them.

“Maester Eustace.” Yorbert greeted “The hour is late.”

“Indeed it is, forgive my sudden intrusion, but we have received this raven just now.” He handed Yorbert the parchment, Daemon glimpsed the seal of it for but a brief moment by spotted the symbol of Royce on it.

Yorbert broke the seal, unrolled the parchment and quickly read through its contents, he looked over to the maester and then to Daemon.

“Head to your quarters and get some rest, tomorrow we parlay with my brother.”

Chapter Text

Yorbert could not sleep, he must have gotten perhaps more than a few hours of sleep that night yet his mind kept him awake; he could feel the tiredness within him, it had seeped into his very bones yet no matter how hard he tried sleep alluded him.

Instead he wondered around the halls of the Eyrie, the castle that he lived in for almost half a decade and yet it never felt like home; the elegance and mystique of the Arryn stronghold, with its pearly white walls and sky blue colours, had made him yearn for the warm bronze of Runestone.

As he walked the halls he came upon the inner courtyard to the Eyrie, where the Godswood had been located, there the unmistakably clanging of swords echoed through an open window. Curiously he walked outside, looking upon two people dressed in training leathers laboriously striking each other with what he could only assume to be tourney swords.

He moved in closer, one of the men had left their belongings on a white stone bench. He spotted a few other men sitting around them, watching the duel. As Yorbert spotted the long platinum hair of the fighter with his back turned to him, he stopped and watched.

He watched curiously as his good-son seemed to circle around his opponent, sword in one hand while the other was stuck out in front of him, as if trying to keep his opponent at literal arm’s length.  When the man tried to strike at Daemon he quickly weaved to the side, parrying and blocking attacks; watching, learning and trying to exhaust his eager challenger.

The man sluggishly struck at Daemon who blocked the strike and side-stepped to the side, Daemon then quickly hitting the back of the man with the flat of his sword, then knocking him onto the ground before pointing the blade at the fallen foe “Yield ser.” He asked.

“I yield.” Daemon pulled the sword away and offered his hand to his defeated opponent, pulling him up onto his feet.

“You fought well, ser.” Daemon complimented “You almost had me when I lost my footing.”

“You are too kind, my Prince.” The knight replied.

“Lord Protector!” one of the men shouted as he spotted him watching, quickly the men around the Prince stood to attention. While Daemon stood and stared, wiping the sweat from his face with a cloth on the bench.

“All of you are dismissed.”

“By your leave.” One of the men said as they quickly dispersed back into the castle, leaving only him, Daemon and the howling winds of the mountains that passed the Eyrie.

“Prince Daemon.”

“Lord Protector.” Daemon greeted him, dipping his head respectful. “I see you are early to rise too?”

“Indeed.” Yorbert circled around him, walking around the benches “This is a beautiful garden, is it not?”

“Yes, good-father, it truly is.” Daemon replied, removing his training leathers and placing his cloak upon himself, likely now feeling the morning chill of the Eyrie. “They call it the Godswood garden, yet it is absent of any Heart tree or weirwood.”

“It makes me long for the garden in Runestone, it’s heart tree would bring welcome shade during the summers.”

“Baelor loves to play with the leaves that fall from the tree.” Daemon said, looking to the ground, a lightness in his voice and Yorbert could not help but smile at the thought of it. “When can we expect your brother?”

“He will have likely be past the bloody gate by now and marching up the Giant Lance, likely he will attend to the Eyrie soon, possibly after we have broken our fast.” Yorbert reasoned.

“I assume we shall not be having friendly discussions together.” Daemon said, strapping on Dark sister to his side. Yorbert shook his head. “He must care for the boy, I shall give him that much.”

“He and Arnold’s father were friends, Gunthor has known the boy since birth and his own boys have know him.” Yorbert replied. “I do not doubt for a mere moment Gunthor believes he is trying to do his friend justice.”

“Justice is usurping the rightful ruler of the Eyrie?” Daemon asked. “I am sure sentiment is there but so is ambition, who would the boy and his supporters declare as the Lord Protector, as regent, until he reaches his majority?”

“I am aware.” Yorbert sat on the bench. “He is a man driven by his ideals, by his loyalty and by his ambition.”

“You asked me if ambition or survival drove me, what drives you?”

Yobert knew the answer to this “I was there when you were knighted by his Grace and granted Darksister, that you were a dragon rider and that you were the same age as my Rhea.” He spoke “I saw a chance to bring glory to my house by uniting it with yours, I thought the Gods had punished me when you spoke at your wedding, punished me for overstepping. “He stood up from his seat and walked towards Daemon “I hope you prove me wrong.” He looked over the statute of Alyssa “Come, you should get washed and ready in the Great Hall, we shall meet him there, once Lady Jeyne is awoken from her slumber.”

“Lord Protector.” Daemon bowed his head and headed back inside.

Inside, Yorbert met the young lady Jeyne; the poor girl looked to be exhausted having been woken up, washed and then dressed at this early hour as she was taken to the High Hall, placed upon the throne on the dais. Jeyne rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the sleep from them as a line of guards stood before the dais below her. “Be ready, my Lady.” He told Jeyne who quickly sat up straight.

Daemon quickly rushed over to Jeyne, standing on the other side of the throne, a bit later than he was meant to be. “Lady Jeyne.” He bowed “Hope the hour is not too early.” He looked to Yorbert “Your brother will likely have finished cross the Giant’s Lance, yes?”

“I would assume so.”

“Good.” Daemon said with a devious smile “I had Caraxes, circle around this morning.” Yorbert scoffed.

Ever a more subtle message.

The double wooden doors to the Hall opened, in stepped a troop of men glad in armour without their livery on display, with his brother Gunthor at it’s head.

A show of strength but not of support…

Gunthor and the knights stopped before them, the line of guards separating both him and them, he looked towards Yobert, then to Jeyne and then to Daemon, his expression turning to a scowl as he spotted the Prince.

“Lord Protector, Lady Jeyne… Prince Daemon.” He spoke, trying to make his voice boom against the walls of the Eyrie. “I see you did not come to greet me and my men at the Crescent chamber, I had hoped we could discuss this in a calmer place than this.”

“You address the Lady of the Eyrie first, Lord Gunthor.” Daemon was the first to speak “You are in her home.”

“Aye but it is my brother who rules the Vale, not her.” Gunthor retorted, venom in his voice, he turned to him “I would have hoped you’d have seen to sense brother, I fear that your wits must have left you completely.”

“Hold your tongue.” One of the guards spoke, their hand on their sword. As they stepped forward one of Gunthor’s knights did so too.

“Hold.” Yorbert commanded, the guard stepped back, as did the knight. “I had always took you to be a loyal man, yet I see that you seek to work against our liege lord and risk disturbing the King’s peace.”

“I am a loyal man, brother.” He proclaimed “I am loyal to the Vale, I want what is best for her, can the man who near you say the same? She suffers brother; her enemies, both inside and outside our lands look at her and see she is weak.”

“And you believe that placing the young lord Arnold will change that?” Daemon questioned “Tell me, what is the merit in replacing a child with another child?”

“She is the last child of Lord Gerold Arryn, the Eyire and the Vale passes to her.” Yorbert proclaimed “Anyone who wishes to dispute this brands themselves an enemy to House Arryn,  it’s line and the Vale.”

“I am not enemy to House Arryn.” Gunthor declared. “Nor the Vale, for thousands of generations the Eyrie has been a line of kings from before the Conquest and lords afterwards, I seek to preserve it’s history and tradition, that is what has kept the Vale going! A boy can grow into a man, but a lady shall always be seen as weak to the rest of the realm.”

“Such bravery, where is this boy then?” Daemon threw back “Will he not show his face to fight for his claim?”

“Do you believe me a fool, Prince Daemon?” Gunthor questioned “Do you truly believe that I would bring him here a risk his capture by the likes of you?” Daemon took a step back, as if hit but a suddenly realisation, Yorbert watched; his own expression was calm yet curious.

“I can not let you remove the Lady Arryn, brother.” Yorbert proclaimed.

“It matters not what you will allow, there are dozens of lords who stand behind Arnold.” Gunthor proclaimed “Many of whom are ready to march and put its rightful lord on the throne.”

“Even still, she is the Lady of the Eyrie.” Yorbert stood just a bit taller “And you risk breaking the King’s peace, the crime of which is treason and its price death.”

“The peace in the Vale has already been broken, the King will not act.” Gunthor argued, he glanced towards Daemon “Unless he is willing to open the wound of succession once more.”

Yorbert looked over to Daemon, this time the Prince stayed silent, a tenseness in his jaw as he watched and listened to Gunthor “The only one who can break the King’s peace is his Grace’s grandson… shall you do it, Prince Daemon?” Again Daemon stayed silent. “Do you not have something clever to say?” clearly he was now trying to goad the Prince into doing something foolish, Yorbert could only hope the Prince does not take the bait.

“If I had something clever to say, my lord, it would be wasted on you.” Daemon replied “And as I told you back at Runestone, the matter of succession for the Iron Throne is a matter entirely to his Grace, it is the sovereign of the Kingdom who chooses their heir and last I check.” He turned his head to Jeyne overtly before turning back “It is Jeyne who sits the throne, not Arnold.”

“I grow tired of this conversation.” Gunthor growled.

“That makes two of us.” Daemon agreed.

“I am not without sense, brother, or without the need to be opened handed.” Gunthor said, he raised his hand, one of the knights marched to his side and handed him a piece of parchment. “I come with terms, I hope you find them amendable and come to your senses.” Yorbert stepped off of the dais and towards the line of guards, the line parted before him as he took the parchment from brother’s hand. The wax seal of Arryn on it. “I beseech you, brother, read them and accept it.” He looked around; his eyes on him, then Jeyne and then Daemon. “I shall await your reply and pray that those who stand here today realise the occasion.”

Gunthor and his knights marched out of the High Hall, leaving the three of them and their guards alone.

“All of you are dismissed.” He commanded of the guards. The troop turned to them, bowed their heads and them quickly dispersed from the Hall. “Lady Jeyne, are you well?” he asked of the young lady, whom sat on the throne quietly.

Jeyne nodded her head “Yes, my lord.” She replied meekly. “It seems Lord Gunthor was angry with me.”

“Pay him no mind, my Lady.” Daemon said, trying to reassure her “He is a bitter and envious man, those types of men are always angry are what they can not have.”

“He said I was unfit to be a Lady…” Jeyne said. “Does he speak true? Am I not strong enough to rule? Should I let my cousin rule instead?”

Daemon knelt down to her “Do not listen to him, what makes your cousin a better ruler? He is still but a boy of one and ten name days; will he lead armies? Will he face the mountain clans? No. either way it will be someone else.” Daemon gently took her hand “You are going to be a great Lady of the Eyrie, and no one will take that away from you, I promise you.”

“Lady Jeyne, I believe you should get more rest.” Yorbert advised “You will have lessons with your septa later today.” A servant came over, Jeyne dropped from the throne and followed them down the dais.

“Lady Jeyne!” Daemon called out, catching her attention “Be brave, my Lady, I know you can.” Jeyne bowed her head as she and the servant left the hall, leaving only the two of them.

Yorbert looked at the parchment in his hand, he turned to Daemon who looked at him. “Let us head to the Godswood.” Finally the two of them left the hall and made their way to the inner courtyard. The peace of the Eyire still remained as they stepped outside, the morning chill still reigning over it yet absent of the strong winds which it’s fall guarded against.

Yorbert sat on a bench facing the white marble still form of Alyssa Arryn, a grouping of flowers growing behind her pedestal. He broke the seal, the wax falling onto the ground and unravelled the parchment.

Daemon stood behind him, just over his shoulder.  

As Gunthor read over the parchment a deep, almost bottomless, feeling of resignation and regret washed over him. He turned to Daemon and handed him the parchment to read; Daemon took it and quickly read through it’s words.

“This is outrageous.” He spoke, he looked at Yorbert “Lord Protector, we can not accept this; all this proves is that he seeks to rise above his station and use Arnold as the key to such.” He placed the parchment down on the bench “He wishes to have himself become the master of laws for the Vale?”

Yorbert was both perplexed if somewhat touched that his brother did not demand his removal as the Lord Protector and regent until Arnold reached his majority. “He offers to keep Jeyne as Lady of the Eyrie.” He spoke.

“Only as the wife to his squire when he ascends the weirwood throne.” Daemon spat “ I am sure he would love the idea; locking Jeyne in a tower to serve only as breeding stock, to her cousin no less.” The last few words were spoken with an unmistaken disgust behind them, puzzling Yorbert as the Targaryens would wed to much closer family than cousins. “I will not accept it, we can not accept this.” He sighed “Jeyne has lost so much already; her father and her brothers… she should not have to bare the loss of what is rightful hers.”

“Do you believe your cousin Rhaenys was denied what was rightful hers?”

Daemon was silent for more than a moment “Maybe… maybe she should have been my grandfather’s heir, maybe it should be Laenor… there is no point in contemplating on this now for it will not change anything; if you want my opinion on my grandfather’s choice, I believe both Rhaenys and my father would have both been good heirs and good rulers.” He looked up to the sky “Much as I believe Jeyne will make a good ruler some day too.”

“You sound confident.” Yorbert commented, Daemon nodded his head.

“I have been blessed to see a good heir rule Runestone in her father’s stead each day for nearly two years, Lord Protector.” Yorbert chuckled at the remark.

He took in a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs “I am proud of Rhea, truly I am, yet…” he paused, looking upon the statue of Alyssa “Yet… since the birth of Baelor I have wondered to myself if perhaps I should name him my heir.”

“Explain.” Daemon replied, his requested sounded more as a demand.

Yorbert looked at him, Daemon could not hide the fury on his face. “Since my houses rise during the Dawn Age, there has been a long line of kings and lords who ruled Runestone; Rhea will be the first Lady of our lands, I fear that our bannermen and other lords will look down us, perhaps even if I were to pass soon and Baelor made Runestone’s lord then maybe that will more acceptable to the lords who follow my House.”

The sound of the winds filled the silence between them, Yorbert waiting for an answer.

“No.” Daemon replied simply, the tone of his voice not matching the malice on his face.

“No?”

“No.” Daemon repeated “I reject this, good-father, Yorbert, who do you think will rule Runestone in your stead once you pass if you do this? Who will likely serve as regent to Baelor?”

“Rhea.”

“And do you, and speak true, believe that when Baelor reaches his majority he will be as capable a ruler as Rhea has with more than sixteen years of experience?” Daemon questioned “Yes? No?

“No.”

“Then why deny Rhea what is rightful hers?”

“Do not believe it would not pain me or that I do not believe her to be capable or that I love her less than I would a son or my own grandson.” Yorbert spoke “This is merely politics, the world that we find ourselves in.”

“I have spent my entire life in King’s Landing, good-father, I can say this with confidence; fuck politics.” Yorbert couldn’t help but scoff “I am serious, had my grandfather looked out for his children more than his reputation then I have no doubt some of them would still be alive, would still be with them.” He sat down next to him “My grandmother… she realised it far too late and my father wishes only to not repeat their mistakes. Maybe the lords will talk, let them, it will be up to Rhea to silence them and she shall do so.”

“You truly love her.” Yorbert commented.

“I am her leal servant.” Daemon jested. “Our first duty should be to those we love.”

“In perfect world maybe, but we live in a world the Gods have created.” Yorbert leaned forward as they both looked at the statute “One day… you may have to pick your duty to others over your duty to those you love.”

“I do not doubt that, good-father.” Daemon leaned back “But that day will not be today.”

Yorbert sighed “Have you ever heard the story of Alyssa Arryn?” Yorbert asked, looking upon the woman, covering her weeping face.

“I have, you have an extensive library at Runestone; I read a rather detailed history of House Arryn.” Daemon eye’s looked upon her form “It was cruel what happened to her, crueller still what the Gods had done to her; to judge and condemn a person for how they react to the loss of their loved ones, for a horrible fate to fall upon her when such had already scarred her life. I shall not allow fate to damn Jeyne when life has already been so cruel.” Daemon stood up from his seat “Good-father, Lord Protector, I must ask; if I had not been here, had Gunthor brought Arnold into the High Hall… would you have used that opportunity to seize him and end this usurpation?”

Yorbert pondered on it “Yes, I would have.” He looked to Daemon “Was that why you stayed silent for a moment when Gunthor spoke?”

Daemon nodded his head “For that, Lord Protector, I ask you forgive me for I have complicated this matter.” Daemon picked up the parchment on the bench “That however does not mean we cannot find another way to solve this problem.”

“What do you propose?”

“Your brother brings terms to us, quite unreasonable terms might I add, but that must mean he is open to negotiations, perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement; I am sure it will be one that can see Lady Jeyne remain as Lady of the Eyrie.”

“One can only hope, I shall write to my brother and tell him we can discuss terms with him, he is a hard man but a pragmatic one too.” Yobert stroked his beard “I am sure that he will be willing to listen to reason.”

“Good, if we can get this sorted without having to involve my grandfather and the small council the better.” Daemon smiled “And before long this shall all be over.”

“One can only hope.” Yobert replied.

Daemon shook his head, looked upon the sky and said with a grin on his face “Rulership… I would not wish it on my worse enemy.”

Chapter Text

Daemon tried to sit quietly, patient and still. Yet he found himself tapping his finger against the large desk in the Eyrie’s main solar; a part of him just wishing he could get it over with already and for Gunthor for walking through that door.

This is worse than waiting for any interview, supervision or high profile meeting, just get on with it so I can go.

Light poured in through the windows, the sky was clear and blue as the banners that flapped against the high breeze of the mountains. Even now he could feel the chill.

The faster I’m out of this place and back home the better.

His mind drifted to Runestone; his cosy office, the fire in the hearth in their apartment and warm bed. He had never appreciated the colour bronze more than ever; Daemon would be relieved to be in a place that did not instil a chill through his body with each step, the blue banners and walls drawing in him the urge to pull his cloak tighter to him.

Yet above that all were the thoughts and memories of Baelor and Rhea; he saw Rhea sitting at her desk, looking over her papers at him, even from her eyes he could tell she was smiling at him, how Daemon would try and make her laugh even when she wanted to be serious… she’d playful slap his arm and he would catch her, holding Rhea in his arms.  He missed his son; he pictured Baelor near the hearth playing with his toys with Perra, how he wanted to just pick him up and hold him close. A part of him still couldn’t believe he had a child.

When he first woke into this world he prayed that everyday he’d wake up back in that hospital bed, relieved it was all a dream…

If I wake up now… I would not know what to do with myself…

Now he could not imagine a nightmare as worse as that; he pained him now to be apart from them, he could not imagine never seeing them again.

I just wish… you had got to meet you cousins and grandparents, they would have loved you so much.

“He should be here soon.” Yorbert said as he took another sip from his cup, his voice disturbing Daemon from his thoughts.

“I imagine he is making us wait?” Daemon asked “Likely he may already be in the Crescent chamber.”

“There is that.” Yorbert tilted his head, as if to acknowledge the thought. “Making us way as recompense for not greeting him when he first arrived to deliver his terms to us.”

“Pettiness, sadly a big part of negotiating.” Daemon picked up his cup, swirling the contents around before taking a sip, the memory of their encounter in the Hall playing in his mind.

How long ago was that now? Like more than a few days?

It had taken both he and Yorbert probably two days to agree with certain terms of their own they wish to send to Gunthor; with Daemon’s biggest red line that Jeyne remain as Lady of the Eyrie and Warden of the East over her cousin Arnold.

I’ll swallow anything else, but she stays.

The door to the solar opened, a servant sticking their head in. “Lord Protector, Prince Daemon, Lord Gunthor is here.” He said. Both men stood up from their seats, Yorbert nodding his head to the servant who bowed his and quickly left.

The door remained opened as Gunthor, still dressed in the mimic bronze Royce armour marched into the room like a man going into battle, before the door was shut by one of the guards at the entrance.

Well he certainly looks dressed for a fight.

Daemon rested his hand on the pommel of Dark sister, already he could feel the urge within him to just wail on the guy with his sword from Daemon. Instead he bit the inside of his cheek, bore the pain and watched as Gunthor stood opposite to them.

The man turned his eyes from his brother to Daemon “Lord Protector.” He said, greeting his brother. He turned his head to Daemon “Prince.” There was a certain menace to his tone “I have come to discuss your terms.” He pulled back the chair and took his seat as both sat down next to him.

In his first life and even in this one, he was no stranger to negotiations; he’s had to deal with upset people, angry people, livid people and even the occasional one who might have wanted to punch him be it at work or in private. In the end compromises were always reached even if it took a while, life had to go on and someone had to leave happier or upset.

This however this was a new kettle of fish… from telling advisors and politicians to reassess their plans due to circumstances or issues to haggling with merchants who wanted more than what was reasonable, to now the fate of an entire kingdom resting on what is being said here.

He clenched his jaw and fought back the urge to fidget.

“I have read your terms and I find them unacceptable.” Gunthor spoke, handing them back the parchment they had written and signed.

“Let me be the first to say the feeling is mutual among us.” Daemon replied “We had found your terms to be… less than favourable too.”

“My terms would have the young lady Jeyne retain her title as Lady of the Eyrie, was that not what you both had wanted.” Gunthor said.

“With her as the wife of the Arnold who would be Lord of this castle and the Vale.” Yorbert spoke “What should remain is Jeyne retains her title as Warden of the East as it was inherited from her father as well as this castle.”

Gunthor scoffed “This girl can not serve as Warden of the East or rule over the lordship of this castle and it’s lands. At least this way she maintains her status and one day her blood will rule again.”

“A future as a broodmare, I am sure she will be delighted with such a prospect.” Daemon replied, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Well you certainly seem to take taken well to it, Prince.” Gunthor threw back at him.

Shit he’s got me there…

“Enough.” Yorbert said. “She is Gerold's child, by rights and Andal law, the Vale goes to her.” Yorbert glanced over to Daemon before turning back Gunthor “As Rhea shall have Runestone when I pass.”

“We can not just hope against the world that this girl who hides behind the skirts of those around her will be as Rhea.” Gunthor argued “Did Lord Gerold’s death not shake you to your core? The clans grow bolder, they see weakness-”

“What they see is division, what they see is a kingdom torn in two and lords squabbling over who sits the chair when it has already been decided.” Daemon asserted. “Needless division might I add.”

So you’re fine with Rhea ruling over Runestone but not Jeyne with the Vale?

“I assure you, Prince Daemon, my action are necessary.” Gunthor replied, a real gravel to his voice this time “Anyone from the Vale will find themselves agreeing with me, I would not expect a Prince from the capital to understand.”

“Brother, Prince Daemon, can we please keep this civil.” Yorbert looked over to Daemon, nodding his head ever so slightly.

Daemon took his cue and rolled his eyes, unsubtly while sighing “Of course, Lord Protector, forgive my outburst.”

Good cop, bad cop.

When the raven had been sent both Daemon and Yorbert agreed they couldn’t try and force Gunthor to agree to their terms, he was a stubborn man even if Yorbert believed he will be pragmatic enough to compromise on certain things. But they needed to sell it as Daemon not being pleased with this; he had to act that Yorbert was the one in total control and that Daemon was the one massively losing out in this.

The role of a petulant Prince.

I’ve got a best source of inspiration there is.

His chest ached when the thought crossed his mind, though this ache was more dull than anything; the equivalent of a light and irritated slap on the arm.

Though Daemon did not like Gunthor, so it was not entirely an act.

“We will allow Arnold to remain as Jeyne’s heir should anything befall on her or she decides to abdicate her throne to him.” Yorbert said “He shall have an honoured position in the Eyrie and titles when suitable and ready.”

“Do not take me as a fool brother.” Gunthor said, more calmly but not without authority and impatience “Arnold is a boy of eleven name days and Jeyne is of seven, any man with even a lowly grasp of numbers will see that she may outlive her cousin and that is without mentioning her having children of her own to inherit the title. Tell me brother what sort of terms are those, am I to accept Arnold being tormented by having what should rightfully be his hanging just out of reach?”

It was never his to begin with!

“The issue of marriage is something far into the future.” Yorbert pointed out “At present suitors have not be considered for her hand.”

“Aye it is for the future, but soon one year will be tomorrow, five years a week and a month a decade.” Gunthor argued “And each passing day Arnold will not get closer to the Lordship.”

Daemon sighed “We are getting nowhere with this.” He said tapping his finger on the table “Let us move towards something we can agree then, yes?”

Gunthor was silent for a moment “That would be best.”

“While we can not give you the position of justiciar, we can offer you and two other lords who support Arnold’s cause seats on the council.” Yorbert offered.

Gunthor looked to mulling over it “That can be… acceptable.” He spoke. “I am assuming that, should Jeyne be kept as the Lady of the Eyrie, the other seats will be filled by supporters of hers.”

“It is only natural that it should be.”

“So be it, should Arnold be placed on the weirwood throne then the same can apply for you, three supporters of Jeyne on the council.” Daemon nodded his head and wrote down on an empty piece of parchment their first point.

“In terms of the seats it shall be the treasurer,  steward and seneschal.”

“Is the position of Castellan not open to the other side?” Gunthor questioned. “Would it not make better sense if that position was held by one who supported the other as to better protect them from future retribution?”

“I would rather the Vale not be rife with indecision because tensions between the Warden and their chief advisor.” Yorbert stated calmly. “Else would you desire Arnold contending with Castellans who go against him when the Mountain clans seek to act upon weakness.”

“You have a point.” Gunthor conceded. “There is one other thing that should be simple to agree upon.”

“What is it?”

“Pardons.” Gunthor said simply “Should Jeyne remain Lady of the Vale then I want pardons for myself and those lords and knights who have come to Arnold’s cause.”

“You wish to face no repercussions should you fail?” Daemon questioned, putting on his best ‘you dare’ kind of tone and face.

“And I want a guarantee that no future reprisals shall come to us.” Gunthor added on, much to Daemon’s false annoyance.

Daemon opened his mouth when Yorbert ‘interrupted’ him “That can be done, pardons can be written and promises of protection to you and those who joined Arnold’s cause.” Gunthor smirked, his eyes looking to Daemon.

Fool.

Daemon wrote down the next point on the parchment.

“Now with that out of the way, there is still the issue of who becomes lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East.” Gunthor said “I will have Arnold sit upon that throne, at the very least if he is promised to be the heir to the Eyrie than I would I know you shall not go back on your word?”

“Do you doubt my honour, brother?” Yorbert spoke.

“I do not question your honour, do you believe I think so lowly of you?” Gunthor looked to Daemon “I question his honour and the honour of those who may take up Jeyne’s cause?”

Daemon was stumped; what could they offer in terms of an actual guarantee that he would remain Jeyne’s heir?

“I shall betroth Perra to Arnold.” Yorbert spoke.

What.

“What?” Daemon exclaimed “Yorbert-”

This wasn’t what we agreed!

“That is Lord Protector to you, Prince.” Gunthor interrupted him, a wide smirk on his face, in that moment he did not now if he or Daemon or both of them wanted to jump over the table and punch him in the face.

“I would never forsake the birthright of my grandsons, if that is what you and Arnold’s supporters require as a guarantee that Arnold will not be passed over as heir to the Eyrie than so be it.”

“That is acceptable.”

“Yorbert-”

“What have you got to say?” Gunthor questioned “Did this perhaps ruin your plans of betrothing Jeyne to your son Baelor? Did you perhaps hope that your blood would rule as Warden, seeing as you cannot be King, now thrown to the wind?”

Now Daemon really wanted to punch him, he wanted to punch both of them!

“No!” he exclaimed “That is not-”

“Then why do you object?”

Because Perra might die…

The thought of it was almost enough to send him into a panic, who could not bear the idea of it; had he not suddenly gorged himself on the fury and determination of the true Daemon within he might have pleaded and begged Yorbert to reconsider.

How can I tell someone their daughter might die from this? that they might die from childbirth?

Daemon managed to compose himself, he looked back at Yorbert who silently stared at him, as if trying to tell him ‘Go along with it.’

Does your ambition know no bounds?

Daemon placed his pen to the parchment and wrote down the term, it felt as those he was putting ink to paper Perra’s fate, her tragic demise and he felt powerless to stop it.

“There is still the issue of inheritance.” Gunthor spoke “Putting aside that we will share blood with Arnold’s children and that of future lords of the Vale, the question remains, what if Jeyne is to take a husband and produce heirs of her own? The Arnold’s right of inheritance will be forgone.”

She won’t marry… she doesn’t want to marry any suitor!

He wanted to yell this at Gunthor, at both of them, he felt the temptation; the idea that maybe if he told them then they wouldn’t have to worry about it, that they’ll just leave her alone.

No… they won’t, he would only use it as a pretext to further push for Arnold…

Daemon instead held back, shut his eyes and breathed in deeply.

It is not mine to say to begin with…

“Perhaps we should leave it at that, my lords.” Daemon suggested “We can reconvene tomorrow morning, Gods willing we shall have a solution to this problem.”

“Now that… I can agree with, Prince Daemon.” Gunthor spoke, getting up from his seat, leaving through the door and closing it behind him.

Before Yorbert could stand from his seat, Daemon grabbed him by his shoulder; holding him in place “You can’t help yourself can you?” he accused him “You saw an opportunity to rise above your station and took it when our priority should have been keeping Jeyne on that throne.”

Yorbert brushed his hand off “I am doing what is needed, good-son.” Yorbert shot back “I will not be lectured about overstepping or ambition by someone who took the dragon of his dead uncle when the opportunity arisen.” Yorbert stood up and marched towards the door, leaving Daemon alone in the room.

Daemon lowered his head into his hands.

I can’t let her die… I can’t-

He looked above himself, the moonlight pouring over him and tiredness seeping into his bones. He finally stood up from his seat and walked over to the door, the guard opening it for him. He walked back into the inner courtyard. He felt the need to sleep, the need to eat and rest but his own weariness and worries consumed him.

Is this the moment? The moment I must choose between those I love and other people? There has to be another way…

In his head he thought of a hundred different ways he could change it; each one seemingly a longshot and just a prayer of changing fate.

If I fail… I will never forget myself…

If I never showed up then none of this would have happened, it wouldn’t be either Perra or Jeyne… both of them could have been saved…

His eyes fell upon the statute of Alyssa Arryn.

Must I condemn one to their fate or the other to a horrible tragedy?

He thought of Gael, how he failed to reach her in time because he felt he could not offend a powerful lord… he thought of Baelon, who he knew will die soon and how but knew he could not do anything to stop it. 

I’m a Prince and fucking dragon rider, Why am I so damn powerless?

Under the howling of the wind, he froze hearing what sounding like crying coming from the statute. He stepped back, puzzled for a moment and believing himself to be going mad. He stepped forward; there was someone crying and it was coming from the statute. He walked towards it, sticking his head forward, the crying was weak yet clearly audible.

It sounded familiar.

“Lady Jeyne?” Daemon called out. The young lady peered her head from one side of the statute; in the moonlight he could see her red eyes as she sat on the ground. “It’s fine, you can sit down, I shall sit down here.” Daemon sat down on one side of the stone podium that Alyssa stood on.

“Forgive me, Prince Daemon.” Jeyne said between sniffles “I know you said to be brave but I do not know how, I am… scared.”

“The only times we can be brave is when we are scared.” Daemon said.

“But how? I do not know of any Ladies of the Vale like myself or others like me.” She said “Everyone looks at me and see me as weak and frail.”

“Then everyone is stupid.” Daemon said, earning a stifled giggle from her. “There has to be a first somewhere, you can be that.”

“Can someone like me be great?” Jeyne asked “I am not like my fathers, or my brothers, or my cousins or Lord Royce or you.”

“Then don’t be like them or me; be like Jonquil Darke, be like Visenya, or Rhaenys, or Alysanne Targeryen or even like Sharra Arryn.” Daemon urged her “You don’t have to be like Alyssa Arryn; our lives need not be tragic if we are brave enough to change them.”

Jeyne was silent for a moment “I don’t want to marry my cousin Arnold.” She said, Daemon could tell she was pouting from her voice “He is gross, boys are gross.”

Daemon laughed “Yes, my lady, they most certainly are.” He rested his head against the corner of edge of the dais, looking up upon the stars.

“I don’t want to marry them, they’re gross and stupid.” Daemon smiled and shook his head at her comments, he had needed that.

“I will try to make sure you don’t have to marry one if you don’t want to.” Daemon said “How would that make you feel, Lady Jeyne.”

“That would be great, Prince Daemon.”

But how? How do I do that? How do I-

Then it hit him, like the wind against his face as he flew on Caraxes, it hit him.

The answer were in that fucking book the whole time! Aegon’s council of regents, what if we just create a condition that Jeyne can only marry when there is a majority agreement on her council?

Daemon reached into his pocked and pulled out his journal, taking out his pen and quickly scribbling down his thoughts; a two-thirds majority to approve any suitor, in theory ‘empowering’ each faction and uniting them to agree but in practice constantly shooting down suitors and sparing Jeyne from marrying anyone.

She can be with that Redfort girl… if Arnold supporters can just keep shutting down betrothals then Arnold remains heir and Jeyne stays as Lady and Warden.

“Prince Daemon?” Jeyne called out “Are you still there?”

“I’m still here, my lady.” Daemon said “Forgive me for being silent there, I believe I may have come up with a way so that you will never have to marry anyone.”

Jeyne got up from her side, walked over to Daemon and hugged him “You have my thanks, Daemon.”

Daemon patted her back “Do not thank me just yet, I still need to convince Lord Royce and Lord Gunthor about this first… but hopefully they will see sense.” Jeyne sat down next to him, the two of them looking up into the stars “Would you like to hear a story, my lady?”

“Yes please.” Jeyne said. “What is it about?”

“I think you will like this one, it’s set in some far off kingdom called France, about a peasant girl who lead armies against an invading army who wanted to take over the kingdom she lived in.”

“Was she brave?”

“Oh yes, she was very brave; she wore armour, inspired many, waved a white banner and rallied others to it winning great victories to free her people.”

“What was her name?”

“Joan of Arc.” Daemon replied "You know what she said to her followers?" Jeyne looked at him, the stars in the sky reflecting in her eyes. 

"Go Forward bravely, Fear nothing." 

Chapter Text

Daemon could feel the imposter clutch his journal in his hand, his thumb pressing against the cover tightly; he hoped that the ink wouldn’t smudge from the pressure.

‘This has to work, it just has to.’ The imposter seem to beg in his mind.

A rather big annoyance of this he was learning was that he had to feel everything his captor was feeling too;  last night it seemed he was anxious to  sleep and instead did what he always seem to do when he had a million thoughts in his head.

Write and write and write and write; idea after idea, proposal after proposal.

Gods… you need to find something else to do! Go find a serving girl and fuck her if you need to relieve some stress!

Yet Daemon knew his imposter would never do that, the feel of his thumb pressing against that bronze ring just a reminder that he was almost religiously devoted to the Bronze Bitch. That had been the last time Daemon was truly angry at him; to have himself, a Prince, be called the ‘leal servant’ to a mere lady? Nothing less than an insult to his standing.

Even the weakness the imposter had shown to both Yorbert and Gunthor; he was a Prince and yet he acquiesced to their demands so easily, how Daemon wished he could take back control if only just to put everyone in their place.

We are the House of the Dragon, we do not show such weakness to our lessers!

And yet, despite it all, the past year and now, it all seem to wear down his anger and persistence; the dream of the Iron throne growing more and more distant with each day, when Baelor had been born it felt as though the dream had finally died. His name dying with him and his descendants being only those Bronze lords in the Vale, he did not know if a part of him had made peace with the idea or if the part of him that angered had died.

For the past year it had felt as though a weight had covered him, he could not find it within himself to strike at the imposter as he had done before; life was dull and tedious with only brief glimpses of life when sparring with someone, riding Caraxes or even fucking Rhea.

Seeing as he partial to fucking any other woman…

And then there was spending time with Baelor.

When Daemon had looked upon the boy… and he saw his own eyes in Baelor’s, he could not help be feel overwhelmed, those were the moments he felt more alive again. He wanted to hate the boy who represented the death of his ambition, and yet he could only feel pride and regret.

Maybe he has her hair, her ears and her complexion but he is still my son.

Even if he shares blood with the Bronze Bitch, he is still MY son.

He thought of his sons in other life, how they climbed the steps to the throne; how he wanted that for Baelor so much.

My son… oh my son, how I wish you could be so much more than just a lord, you should be a Prince of Dragonstone, not a lord of Runestone. 

The door to the solar opened, the imposter turned his head to see Yorbert step forward into the room; where the imposter felt apprehension, Daemon felt only irritation. Even after all the grovelling the imposter had done the old man still would not give him his due.

“Prince Daemon, I hope you slept well.”

Oh he didn’t, trust me I can feel the exhaustion in his bones.

“I did.” The imposter lied “I hope you had too.”

Yorbert nodded his head as he sat next to him, a tense silence separating the two and Daemon awaited patiently and interested to see who would break it.

“Tell me, and speak true.” Yorbert spoke first “Is Gunthor right?”

“Is he right about what?”

“Did you have ambitions to match Baelor to Jeyne? Did you hope to have your grandsons inherit the Eyire and become the Vale’s overlord?”

The idea had intrigued Daemon greatly when Gunthor had accused the imposter of such; while he did not like the idea of Baelor sharing a similar fate to himself as the consort than an actual overlord, being the consort to Jeyne, should she remain overlord of the Vale, would bring honour and titles and his blood flowing through the veins of a great house.

That would be a fine legacy to have… better a warden than a mere lordship.

“You can believe me or not, I do not desire a match between Jeyne and Baelor.” The imposter said, Daemon wished he could scoff or roll his eyes, the imposter seemed to lack any kind of ambition or imagination, content that pile of bronze. “Rhea and I had not given any thought to a match for Baelor seeing as he is but only just past his first name day.”

No, it is because Jeyne only desires women…

He had searched through the imposter’s knowledge of Westeros’s history; discovering the Lady Jeyne had never taken a suitor and instead preferred the company of one Jessamyn Redfort. It left Daemon very perplexed as to why the imposter seem to struggle and strain himself to finding a way to preserve such a future.

All women must marry and produce heirs, that is their duty, if she desires the company of women then what of it?

“Perhaps, Lord Protector, the reason I dedicate myself to keeping Jeyne as Lady of the Eyrie is because I think a woman can rule.” Had Daemon control over his mouth he would have scoffed, almost not believing the imposter’s words if he couldn’t feel the passion behind them “Aye there has never been a reigning Arryn queen or Lady of the Vale, but there have been plenty of kings and lords and I wager a few of them were pretty shit at it, there have been shit Targeryen kings and we have only been around for just over one hundred years now.”

That had earned a hit from Daemon to the imposter, which elicited a reaction; the imposter rubbing his chest gently.

Yorbert barked out a laugh “Mayhaps.” He said “Mayhaps, you are more candid than I thought, Prince Daemon.”

“I am far more candid than most give me credit for.” The imposter spoke.

There was a knock on the door “Lord Protector, My Prince, Lord Gunthor will be with you soon.” Yorbert nodded his head.

The imposter grabbed Yorbert’s shoulder “One last thing, Perra… please, reconsider.”

"Hold for but a moment." Yorbert the servant before turning to Daemon “And why should I?”

Daemon knew why; it was the driving fear behind Aemma and Laena, the only difference was the imposter didn’t know when she died whereas he knew when they did and planned to alter events to save them.

“Perra… she still just but a child.” He spoke weakly “Mayhaps we do not have to use her hand as a guarantee, what if there was another way and what if we can just guarantee Arnold’s rise to Lord without it?”

Yorbert brushed the imposter’s grip once again “Mayhaps there is, but if Arnold does ascend to the throne of the Eyrie than I, her father, desire it.”

Ah… he likes the idea of his grandson inheriting the Eyrie too…

Daemon could feel the anger in the imposter, the need to strike him down.

Do it… do it, you know you want to!

Daemon tried to feed his own determination and fury into the imposter, tempting him into acting. Instead it had earned him something which he had not had in a while; dark hands pulled him back just near the edge.

‘No, I will not...

 Gods, you are no fun!

'There must be another way-'

"If so then at least wait until she is ten and eight." the imposter said, Yorbert raised his brow "Wait until then before then, allow Perra the chance to grow into a woman, allow her to learn and become accustomed to the idea that she way be the Lady of the Vale one day." 

Yorbert was silent for a moment, Daemon could feel the overwhelming anticipation within the imposter "She would be a woman-grown at six and ten-"

"My good-sister, the Lady Aemma, had a child young... she lost him in the crib and now only has just one daughter, I am sure a maester or nursemaid can tell you the toll childbirth has on a woman, let alone a girl... mine own mother she had passed giving birth to my brother."

The memory of his own mother and her final moments flooded in his mind, he did not know whether that was by his volition or the imposter.

’Another way, I have to find another way…’

You have an idea?  A memory of the imposter sister once more came back to mind, a woman whose children had no father from what he could see in the imposter's memories. 

"Childbed is a woman's battlefield, it is always dangerous." 

The Imposter squeezed his fist, Daemon willed him to strike his Good-father. "Agree to this or I walk." 

"I beg your pardon?" Yorbert spoke through gritted teeth. 

"You heard me well. Agree or I walk." 

There was a knock on the door "Forgive me, but Lord Gunthor-"

"Swear on your honour you'll let her wait till then." The imposter demanded.

"Damn it all, fine." Yorbert conceded. "Let him through... Damn you, Daemon." the last words spoken in a hushed tone, the imposter breathed almost audible sigh of relief. 

If you could put that same desperation and anger towards rising then we’d be a force to be reckoned with.

When the door opened, the proud oaf Gunthor stepped forward; both the imposter and Yorbert standing from their seats once more.

Daemon couldn’t help but feel irritated each time he saw the man.

“Lord Protector, Prince Daemon.” Gunthor spoke as he took his seat.

“Lord Gunthor.” Yorbert spoke to his brother as both he and the imposter sat down. “Shall we resume?”

“Yes, lets get this over with.” Gunthor agreed “There was the issue of Lady Jeyne marrying and having heirs, pushing Arnold further away from the succession?”

The imposter bit the inside of his cheek before he spoke “I believe I might have come up with a solution to this.”

Both Yorbert and Gunthor looked at him perplexed “Have you?” Gunthor said, the mocking in his voice was slight but there.

Honestly, you should just hit him.

“We will need to stipulate that this will only occur within her time as overlord and no one else.” Daemon said “But what if we have the council approve her suitors? Should a suitor come for her hand it requires a two thirds majority on the council.”

Daemon wanted to smile; seeing the machination that the imposter had set up.

“If that were to happen then Jeyne would be married to anyone, I certainly would not approve and neither would any-” Daemon now wanted to smile as the realisation hit the oaf.

Gods you are simple aren’t you?

“Prince Daemon, I believe we may have found an actual term we can agree on.”

“Adding to that, even when Jeyne reaches her majority and has a vote, so long as three members of the council vote against, the suitor will fail.”

Not that she will.

“And Arnold will have three supporters.” Yorbert said.

“Perfect, I agree to these terms.” Gunthor proclaimed “I shall take these back to my camp once we have finalised everything.”

“Lady Jeyne may come to resent you for this.” Yorbert looked over to the imposter. “She may never marry or have children, trueborn at least.”

I am sure she is currently jumping for joy over the prospect of such.

Even Daemon found the humour when she had told the Imposter that the boys were age were not to her liking.

“I have a feeling she won’t.” the imposter smiled. “We will need to have this approved by his Grace, my grandfather, and his small council.” He spoke “No doubt my father will argue in favour this once I have written to him a raven explaining the situation and what had been agreed.”

“No doubt they will, to be free of such a political headache will be a mercy for them.” Gunthor jested.

“It will be a mercy for all of us.” The imposter added.

“Very well.” Yorbert spoke “I will have the maester ready a raven for you when done.”

 “One last thing, we need to show the Vale that this agreement is ironclad, that Jeyne’s position is as such."

“Mayhaps, it will need a show of strength itself.” Gunthor pondered “A message so that any other lord of claimant does not act.”

Daemon could feel the confidence of the imposter rise within him “I may have an idea, send a raven to every lord of the Vale, I shall tell them in person.”

It had taken for the maester and almost every literate person in the castle to write down letters to the Vale lords to assemble at the Eyrie and then a few weeks for them to all arrive at Eyrie. When Rhea and Baelor arrived at the Eyrie, the Imposter had sprinted to them, catching Rhea with a kiss before then holding his son.

Daemon did not know whether it was the imposter or himself, but the feeling of loss and the relief of being reunited had washed over him as he held Baelor, how he longed to be the one to actual do so.

When the lords of the Vale finally assembled in High hall, all of whom crowded onto the thin hallway facing the throne did Daemon feel the apprehension and nervous of the imposter. In a doorway behind the dais both Daemon and Lady Jeyne stood together.

The imposter had reason that it would be good for the two to be seen walking together, show the lords that House Targeryen stood by her. The imposter looked to the small child, Daemon could almost not believe that this girl would help depose his usurper nephew for Daemon’s son in another life.

The imposter knelt down “Are you feeling afraid?” he asked Jeyne who nodded her head. “Remember what I said.”

“Go forward bravely, fear nothing.” Jeyne said. Daemon stood up and ruffled the top of her hair.

‘Show time.’

Indeed.

As the two stepped out of the door did the hall fall silent “Lady Jeyne of the Eyrie and Prince Daemon Targaryen.” A herald cried. The two stepped onto the dais as Jeyne climbed into the throne and the imposter faced the room, beside the thrown stood Yorbert on one side and Gunthor and Arnold on the other.

“An agreement has been reached.” The imposter declared “Lady Jeyne shall henceforth be Lady of the Eyire and Warden of the East till her passing or otherwise, the heir shall be her cousin Arnold Arryn.” He looked around the hall, Daemon knew there was two people he was looking for; his eyes spotting Rhea and Baelor, whom were on the other side of the hall away from the Moon Door. “Guarantees are in place to maintain the agreement; first, the council is to include both supporters of the Lady Jeyne and Lord Arnold. Secondly, the council shall have the final word on Jeyne’s suitors. And finally, Lady Perra Royce is to be betrothed to Lord Arnold.”

Unsurprisingly the hall erupted into gasps and talking “Silence!” Yorbert commanded, the hall growing still.

“We await approval of this agreement from his Grace, my grandfather, and the small council.” The imposter announced “We are in no doubt they will approve.” The imposter walked forward, taking a step forward, his hand gripping the pommel of Darksister. “Lady Jeyne, please step forward.” He asked, turning to the girl.

Jeyne hopped off the throne and walked close to the edge of the dais, leaving a small gap.

Daemon creased over what was about to happen; he had known about it and disapproved, even if he saw and recognised the significance.

Perhaps that is why I dislike it.

The imposter drew out the legendary sword and faced Jeyne, some of the guards around her looked tense as their hands rested on the pommel of their swords. The imposter gripped the handle and lowered the blade into his other hand, holding it as if to offer it to Jeyne.

Gently and deliberately he placed the sword by Jeyne’s feet.

The imposter turned back towards the crowd “If anyone is in any doubt that House Targeryen will defend the rights of Lady Jeyne Arryn then doubt no longer, should danger befall the lady I swear upon mine own honour that I shall come to defend her.” He declared to all in attendance.

The imposter, leaving Darksister by Jeyne’s feet, walked down the steps and towards the Moon Door, two guards standing ready “Of course I do not intend on doing this alone.” He announced to them. He looked to the guards and nodded his head. The guards then began to remove the heavy bronze bars from the door.

Daemon could feel the anticipation, the nervousness, the anxiety and fear that coursed through his body at the imposter’s doing. And yet Daemon himself began to feel strong; as the imposter drew strength from him, as if devouring from Daemon’s table, Daemon felt him grow stronger and stronger.

For the first time since he begged Caraxes not to kill him… Daemon moved his hand; clenching it into a fist as the imposter shut his eyes, feeling the wind suck him towards the ever widening entrance. Those in attendance quickly moved back.

As the imposter turned to face them, Daemon could no longer feel fear in his body, only the strength that he himself had supplied. He spotted Rhea looking at him, worry writ on her face, she held onto Baelor closely as Daemon took a few steps back

I guess you broke your promise about doing nothing foolish

“Caraxes!” the imposter called out, his voice echoing off the walls.

Within a few seconds of silence a distance roar could be heard. Then another, this time much closer. Then closer.

Until even the flapping of wings could be heard over the howling winds.

This time the roar could be heard, loud and clearly.

Daemon did not need to imagine what was behind him as the shadow of Caraxes blocking out the light that poured through the door and the gasping faces of those lords and ladies looked on. The imposter wore a devious smile which matched Daemon’s own emotions.

Have must say… here you have outdone yourself.

“If anyone wishes to challenge this arrangement or wish to threaten the rights of Lady Jeyne then I welcome you to try.” The imposter declared “You will have to go through myself and Caraxes first.” His eyes watched over  all those in the hall “Any objections?” he asked. Those in attendance stayed silent. “Good!” he turned behind, Caraxes clinging to the walls of the castle as it peered it’s head looking in. “Caraxes! Sōvēs!” he commanded, the dragon detached it’s claws from the wall and took flight as the Moon door was shut and barred. “Enough standing around, we should celebrate yes?”

“Everyone head to your quarters, the servants shall prepare everything in the High Hall later this evening.” Yorbert informed them, without a second to wait those attending quickly left the hall. With only Rhea and Baelor left alone, who marched towards the dais.

The imposter walked back and took Darksister back in his hands, placing it in his scarab. “Lady Jeyne.” He said smiling “Stand proud, you were brave today.” Jeyne smiled back and bowed her head. He turned to Arnold “Lord Arnold, congratulations on your betrothal.”

“You have my thanks, my Prince.” Arnold said

“I am sure you shall treat my good-sister well.”  The imposter said “And myself and Caraxes will get on with yourself joyously.” Daemon enjoyed the sight of the young lord almost shrinking as the imposter placed a firm hand on his shoulder as he smiled at the boy.

“Come Arnold, let us prepare for the feast.” Gunthor said to his squire, likely much to Arnold’s relief.

“Lady Jeyne, head back to your quarters and await there for the time being.” Yorbert ordered, Jeyne was quickly curtseyed to those left before a servant escorted her away.

“Father, hold Baelor for me.” Rhea said, giving Yorbert his grandson, not a second after he had been taken from her hands did Rhea grabbed the imposter by the neck collar and pulled him down roughly to meet her face to face. 

Daemon wanted to wince.

She didn’t hit you, that must mean she loves you.

“I told you not to do anything foolish.” She told him, pointing her finger at the imposter “And what do you do?  She choked back a cry before throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace “Never do such a thing again.” She commanded, her face buried in his chest.

If not for the shock the imposter would have found this funny, yet he placed his hand on her back and whispered words of reassurance to her.

Strange… I should be angry at her for thinking she could command me…

The moment was interrupted by rushed footsteps, a serving girl rushed over to them “Lord Protector, Prince Daemon, Lady Royce.” She said, bowing her head quickly “A letter has arrived from King’s Landing, it bears the seal of the hand.” the serving girl quickly rushes over to Yorbert who hands Baelor to the her as he takes the letter.

Both Rhea and the imposter turn to him.

Yorbert breaks the seal and unrolls the parchment, his eyes looking at each line.

Daemon notices all the colour drain from his face.

“Father, what is the matter.” Rhea asked, “Is something wrong?”

Yorbert looks to Daemon. In that moment both he and the imposter knew, the day they knew and dread had come.

“Daemon, good-son, I-”

“No.” The imposter interrupted him “Please don’t say it, do not say those words.”

I thought we had more time…

“Father, what is it?” Rhea took the letter from her hand, covering her mouth as she too looked at him

The imposter stepped back and almost tripped had he not collapsed onto his knees, Rhea quickly rushed over to him, wrapping her arms around him as the imposter stared blankly at the floor, his breathing staggered and weak.

I thought I had more time…

Yorbert walked towards him, kneeling down and placing a hand on his shoulder “You have my condolences, Prince Daemon.” He said handing him the letter. The imposter could not look at it and Daemon could not have been more grateful.

His throat and mouth begged for water, his heart racing through his chest and yet the imposter could not move a muscle and neither could Daemon as Rhea held him, muttering a hundred different apologises through her own tears.

When his eyes did fall on the letter did it all seem real.

‘Prince Daemon of the House Targaryen,’

‘It with great sadness that I must inform you that Prince Baelon, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, has passed away suddenly. Myself, the other members of the small council and the Realm grieve with you and your brother Viserys Targeryen.’

‘Your father had received your letter before his sudden passing and approved the terms you had agreed upon, it is with a heavy heart and great pride that I tell you he was proud of your work during those tumultuous times and had urged those in the council to inform you of such.’

‘I ask that you attend his funeral in King’s Landing, where his Grace, Jaehaerys Targaryen, your brother Prince Viserys, your niece Princess Rhaenyra and good-sister Lady Aemma Arryn await you and your family.’

‘We mourn for the loss of a man who would have been a great king.’

‘Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.’

A thousand thoughts ran through Daemon mind and yet all he could hear was silence.

Father… he was my father…

“Father…” he muttered as the imposter gripped Rhea back as both of them wept.

Chapter Text

Empty.

Daemon felt so empty, so lost and so defeated. He knew this would happen, he knew that Baelon would die one day, knew the year it would happen and yet every shield and wall he thought would protect him from this day crumbled from the force of reality, the weight of inevitability.

Could I have done something? 

What could I have done? Encourage him to live healthier? Get him checked by a maester regularly? What? 

Every solution met with a simple wall he knew he could not break; he didn’t know how to treat the illness Baelon would die from. 

Now Baelon was dead

My father is dead.

When he thought of that word ‘father’ he pictured Baelon before him, a mix of both the memories of Daemon’s youth and the memories of his own. The memories of the man who comforted him when he wept that on his first night, who worried over his recovery, retaught him how to fly a dragon, who saw him off  when he flew to Runestone and whom dotted on Baelor, that had now enveloped the memories of the man in sweaters with a love of contraptions and trinkets.

Do I even remember his face? His name? Is he still alive?

The wind was less harsh on the ocean, the taste of salt in the air different from the chill and the rush of the water underneath the galley a new sound. He watched the dark horizon, waiting to see the lights Red Keep and King’s Landing enter into his vision.

Above him Caraxes glided in the air, the distance silhouette of his dragon against the bright full moon.

Daemon gripped the side of the ship and shut his eyes, trying to take in the calmness of the moment and clear his thoughts. Footsteps echoed against the galley floor and a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind as he was pulled into a gentle embrace.

“Rhea.” He murmured, familiar with her touch.

“Couldn't sleep?” she asked, resting her head against his back.

“No.”

Rhea turned him around, kissed him before resting her head on his chest “Come back to bed and try, the capital will be there to see you in the morning,  I promise.”

“Yes, you are right.” Daemon followed, Rhea back into their cabin; Baelor rested peacefully in his crib in the corner of their room, neither liked to be separated from their son for too long. He rested his head on his pillow as Rhea held him close, as if to stop him from leaving her side again, he shut his eyes and did not want to sleep.

Whose face will I see when I dream of my father?

Mercifully he awoke from a dreamless sleep, the swaying of the galley gone and the rushing winds and water replaced by the sound of voices and footsteps. Rhea rubbed his chest, coxing him from his slumber “We have arrived.” She said, already dressed in his dark dress appropriate for mourning. “The servants have fixed a bath and clothes for you.” She took his hand, rubbing her thumb in his palm. “Baelor and I will be on the deck waiting.” She kissed him again and rested her head on his “Take your time.” She asked before leaving their room.

Daemon sat up on the bed and placed his hand on his chest “Are you still there?” he asked of the true Daemon. He felt a flicker in his heart, weak but a confirmation. Daemon sighed deeply before quickly bathing himself and getting changed into his black doublet and pants, tying his hair back into a ponytail.

As Daemon walked out into the cabin he was greeted to the sight of the walls of King’s Landing before him at the harbour, the Red Keep standing above it against a grey morning sky. Rhea and Baelor stood on the deck waiting for him, he approached them and placed his hand on the small of Rhea’s back as they climbed down the steps of the galley to the docks.

On the docks they were greeted to men dressed in the livery of House Targeryen, a member of the Kingsguard at the head of the group of guards.

“My Prince.” Ser Robin had bowed his head as he faced them “Lady Rhea and Lord Baelor.”

“Ser Robin.” He said walking to him and taking his hand “You are welcome sight.”

“Thank you, my Prince, it is good to see you again after so long.” Robin said “I mourn the loss of your father and Baelor’s grandsire.” He said “He was a great man and would have been a great king.”

“He was an even better father.” Daemon replied “I thank you, ser Robin, for your kind words.”

“A carriage to the Red Keep awaits you and your family, His Grace, Prince Viserys and the small council await you.” Robin escorted them to a small wheelhouse, painted in black and red, the heads of dragons carved into the corners of the carriage.

Daemon watched as they passed through the streets of the capital, guards on horseback riding both as their side, behind them and in front.

“Gods, does it always smell awful?” Rhea said, holding his her nose as she held Baelor.

Daemon nodded his head “Sadly yes.” 

When the carriage arrived at the entrance to the Red Keep Daemon spotted more guards holding the banner of the dragon and a youngish looking man dressed in a similarly dark clothes stood among at the front of them. Daemon stepped out of the carriage, helping Rhea down from the steps as the man at the head of the guards approached him.

“Prince Daemon, Lady Rhea.” He spoke, he looked to be maybe a few years older than Daemon; few inches shorter than Daemon, short dark brunette hair with a well-kept beard, bowed his head. “I believe this is the first time we have met.” He spoke, a strange familiarity to the man. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Lord Otto Hightower, I serve his Grace as Hand of the King.”

Daemon bit the inside of his cheek and held his breath, holding back the sudden bout of pain in his chest, the explosion of anger. They both knew who he is, and one of them despised the him

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Otto.” Daemon grasped at the man’s open hand, hiding the painful discomfort.

“Prince Viserys and his family are currently waiting in their apartments.” Otto said “Your father’s body is currently lying in state for the time being before he will be brought to the dragonpit.”

“And my grandfather?”

“His Grace is resting in his personal chambers at the moment, this has been a difficult time for him.” Otto explained. “Allow me to escort you.” Daemon took Rhea’s hand as the two followed him into the keep, the kingsguard and guards following them inside.

The Red keep had not changed in the time he was away; the same banners stayed around, the same carpet on the ground and the same feeling all around of tension. Yet the faces were different; some new faces with old ones gone, it felt so different now.

When the reached the door of Baelon’s apartment another member of the Kingsguard stood by, nodding his head before opening the door. “Prince Daemon and Lady Rhea, my Prince.” The knight announced to those inside. As Daemon stepped inside he saw Viserys sitting in a chair alone as Aemma sat on a couch with little Rhaenyra standing in front of her.

Viserys raised his head to look at Daemon, his eyes red and his cheeks puffy. “Brother.” He muttered loudly. He almost jumped up from his chair, walking to him quickly before placing him in a tight embrace, one which Daemon reciprocated.

“Viserys…” Daemon muttered “I am sorry, I should have been there…”

“We did not know, it was all too sudden.” Viserys said.

I did know… I just didn’t know how much time I had, I thought I had more time…

If I wasn’t at the Eyrie then I might have had enough time to say goodbye…

Viserys pulled back from the hug and turned to Rhea, “Lady Rhea, good-sister.” Rhea handed Baelor to a maid as she was pulled into an quick embrace by Viserys who pulled back and held her hands “You look well.”

“I am, Prince Viserys.” Rhea replied “I mourn for the loss of you and Daemon’s father.”

“It is all our loss.” Viserys said “His Grace has lost a son, my brother and I have lost a father and Rhaenyra and Baelor have lost their grandsire.”

“Truly a dark day.”

“Come, sit and wait with us.” Viserys said, his hand pointing to the empty seats. The two sat down as Rhea took Baelor back into her arms.

“Young Baelor looks well, Lady Rhea.” Aemma spoke as Rhaenyra patted at her knees.

“He is, both my husband and I are very proud.” Rhea sat next to her, Rhaenyra padded her way to her trying to get a better look at her cousin.

“Ba, Ba.”  The Princess tried to speak, Aemma lifted her from the ground.

“That is your cousin, Rhae, do you remember him?” Aemma playful asked the princess who reached out to Baelor, sitting on his mother’s lap and observing those around him.

“When did it happen?” Daemon asked Viserys, sitting by the fireplace, both staring into the flames.

“It was maybe two weeks after we had received word about what had been happening in the Eyrie.” Viserys said “He was meant to go hunting yet called the council to deliberate, started complaining about a pain not long after but still ordered the small council to approve it.”

“Were you with him?” Daemon asked.

Viserys was silent for a moment “We were, both grandfather and I were with him.”

“Good.” Daemon muttered. “Where is Rhaenys, should she be here with her children.” 

Viserys sighed “We have not heard back from either her or Corlys since ravens were sent out for those to attend his funeral pyre.”

Daemon clenched the arm rests on his chair as he took in a deep breath in, there was a sweet aroma in the air making him feel queasy as a simmer flame burned in his chest.

It is likely Corlys is now organising his forces… already in correspondence with other lords to push Laenor’s claim.

Daemon remembered the Grand council, trying to remember how much support Laenor had gotten, instead remembering that whatever support he had was small in comparison to Viserys.

Yet the knowledge that he may have two kingdoms on his side was a terrifying prospect indeed.

Add to that… Rhaenys has a dragon and so does Laenor… it would only be myself on Viserys side who has a dragon…

He grabbed at his face, his fingers and thumb pressing his cheeks.

“Prince Viserys, Prince Daemon.” A servant called out “His Grace is ready and awaits you in the grand hall. The heavy silence fell upon them as they stared at the servant and then looked among themselves.

“We thank you, we shall attend his Grace immediately.” Daemon spoke.

“Let us go.” Viserys said, standing from his seat, taking Aemma’s hand as she carried Rhaenyra.

Both Daemon and Rhea looked at each other, following Viserys and Aemma’s lead as they made their way to the Grand hall, escorted by the kingsguard.

When they arrived at the grand hall; the first thing they saw was the monstrous throne of swords; when Daemon had first laid his eyes upon it, he stared in both wonder and fear, the throne before him was large and ugly, imposing and breath-taking. He could feel the want and desire from Daemon to climb it’s steps and anger that he stood before it.

Now both of them felt nothing, their eyes focused on the body of Baelon, laid on a marble table and dressed in fine clothes of black and red with a sword within his hands resting on his body. Had he not been holding Rhea’s hand, Daemon felt he would have collapsed.

Around Baelon those in court looked upon his body, either with their heads down or weeping. Among them he recognised members of the small council looking on as both of Baelon’s sons approached his body.

Jaehaerys standing at the head of the body and at the steps of the Iron throne; he looked far worse than when Daemon last saw him. His unkept beard must have grown longer, dark circles were seen around his eyes despite what make-up the servants tried to use, the clothes he wore looked to weight him down and the cane he leaned on shook with his hand.

I hated you…

Now Daemon could only feel pity for the old king.

As he looked upon Baelon’s body, Daemon found that he no longer had any more tears left to shed even as Viserys tried to hide his own. He shut his eyes and thought back to that day when they both rode Vhagar over the city, how a part of him wish to relive them moment once more.

Relive some many moments just one more time.

As Daemon opened his eyes, he looked again at the old king who stared into space.

“Silent sisters, please prepare the Prince’s body.” Otto commanded, behind him stood three young boys and a young girl of maybe ten.

Alicent…

The silent sisters then began to wrap his body in long cloth until he looked like mummy, his body placed on a stretcher as it was carried out by members of the Kingsguard out of the throne room, with those in attendance walking behind him.

His body was placed in a carriage with a carriage prepared for Jaehaerys himself, one prepared for Baelon’s sons and their family and one for those members of the small council. As they slowly rode through the street, he could see the crowds of onlookers watching them; many wept into their clothes or cloths in their hands and other stared blankly at the scene before them.

When the arrived at the Dragonpit they were greeted to the mass ranks of the dragonkeepers, dressed in their scales armour, they stood at attention as Jaehaerys walked slowly passed them, Baelon’s body carried behind him, the former heir’s sons and family behind him and everyone else behind them.

As Daemon stepped into the dragonpit once more he could feel a wave of anguish wash over him; the memories the place had brought rushing to him, this feeling only compounded by that same pain felt by the old Daemon.

The urge to run from the pit gripped him after so long; yet not out of fear, he did not want the memory of this place, which cemented his love for the Baelon, being associated as the place he was laid to rest.

Rhea squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Baelon’s body was placed in the centre of the pit, onto a neatly placed stack of wooden logs, the mighty dragon Vermithor at one end of the hallway, facing away from the guests, as they took their seats and stared at him.

Daemon looked at his son, whose eyes were focused solely on the dragon that rested its head and awaited it’s rider as he sat next to it. Daemon eyes drifted to those attending and noticed the empty seats at the front.

A septon stood before them all; it was all too familiar to Gael’s own funeral except the occasion was not a private affair between only her immediately family. He repeated the words and rite related to the Seven as those in attendance repeated the same phrases and scripture.

In the end, it was Jaehaerys who stood before the pyre, not Alysanne, this time it was he who looked upon his dragon and commanded it.

“Dracarys!” he commanded, everyone could hear the strain in his voice. His dragon thudded forward, craning it’s neck upwards and pouring a torrent of fire onto the pyre. The smoke from the pyre rose to the open ceiling and Vermithor was escorted back into it’s own chambers by the dragonkeepers.

The rest of the night from there had happened within a blur, walking and acting completely in a trance that neither he nor the real Daemon could wake from; he remembered the carriage ride back to the Red Keep and then a feast celebrating the life of Baelon in the Grand Hall where they had laid his body in state, he could not remember the food as not a crumble or sip of wine passed to his lips.

His thoughts were consumed by his father and the realisation that the more he thought of Baelon, the less he could recall of the man in the sweater. A hand gripped his shoulder; waking him from his trance, he looked up to see Robin standing over him “Prince Daemon, you and Prince Viserys are needed in the Small council chamber.”

Why?

Daemon nodded his head, he turned to Rhea whispering in her ear that he had to leave her and Baelor for a bit. She nodded her head and kissed him before Robin escorted him from the feast and to the Small council chamber.

Seated at the marble table were the members of the council, Viserys and Jaehaerys at the head of the table. “Your Grace.” Daemon, bowing his head.

“Be seated, Daemon.” Jaehaerys ordered, Viserys pulled back a chair for him which Daemon quickly sat in. “Lord Otto…”

Otto unravel a piece of parchment in his hand “Just an hour ago, Maester Runciter received a raven from High Tide; in it Lord Corlys reiterate the rights of his son, Laenor Velaryon as the new heir to the Iron throne after the passing of Prince Baelon.”

There were mummerings around the table.

It is starting... one of the focal points to the Dance...

“He goes on the further say that he has the backing of several prominent houses within the realm with Houses Baratheon, Stark, Manderly, Blackwood and even Celtigar among Laenor’s supporters.”

“This is an outrage.” One lord spoke “He disturbs the King’s peace, during the funeral of the crown prince!” Daemon did not recognise the man, in either book or memory.

“This is grounds for treason, to send thinly veiled threats to His Grace.” A lord spoke, Daemon did not recognise him either.

“I can not believe that cousin Rhaenys would allow this, at such a time like this.” Viserys spoke, he could hear the rage and disappointment in his voice.

“There is the question of succession.” Maester Runciter spoke “With the untimely death of Prince Baelon, the realm is without a clear heir to the throne.”

“What is this nonsense, Prince Viserys is Baelon’s oldest son, by rights the throne should go to him when his Grace passes.” Daemon looked to the king as the lord spoke, he sat silently watching them all.

“But Baelon is the King’s second son, while the king may have chosen him as his successor, both Princes Viserys and Daemon as the sons of a second son.” Runciter explained “Even within Andal law, succession passes through the line of the first son.”

“Do you advocate that Laenor be named heir to the throne?” the same lord questioned the Maester.

“I am merely explaining, my lord.” Runciter stated. "But this is an insult to the Crown, we must act at once."

Daemon had to act, and act carefully; what would avert this crisis? Prevent it from spilling into a full-blown conflict? 

A Great Council? No, that only happened because we were so close to war, because Corlys and Daemon butted heads over succession. 

A rising fury tickled his heart at the memory, a desire to press forward. One that Daemon was quick to temper with caution. 

One wrong move... and I risk starting the war earlier than expected.

A name came to his mind. 

"What of the involvement of our cousin, the Princess Rhaenys?" Daemon asked "As Maester Runciter said, succession runs through the first line, that would make her a claimant no?" 

His question was met with some laughs around the table. 

"Forgive me, my Prince, but I doubt the Princess Rhaenys will put herself forward as a claimant to the throne." Otto said "She herself lacks the support of other lords, it is her son that that precedence." 

"I am merely saying, with what I have done in the Vale... there may be those who would argue for her." feeling them out like a focus group, gaging how much support she would have.

"What was done in the Vale will stay in the Vale, the Iron throne knows different laws and precedence; a woman Queen, let alone heir, not being one of them." a Runciter said. 

"Mayhaps you have spent too much time in the Vale with your lady-wife and Lady Arryn, not everyone in the realm believes a woman is fit to govern." another spoke, almost jeering. Daemon clenched his fist; he, himself, wanted to punch that lord in the face. 

And I thought Gunthor was bad... no one will even contemplate the idea of Rhaenys being Queen, they only think of Laenor, rather a boy king than a woman sovereign... Rhaenyra was doomed to fail. 

He looked at the letter once more, remembering what support Laenor garnered during the Great Council from his memories.

It was Laenor who they pushed for, never Rhaenys. 

"My brother does speak true, Rhaenys was always a stubborn and proud woman, irked by our grandfather passing over her." Viserys spoke. 

"It matters not, Laenor doesn't even have the support of one-fourth of the realm, Rhaenys would have even less." one of the councillors said. 

“While we talk and debate legality, Lord Corlys assembles his fleet on the coast of Driftmark and his allies may yet still call upon their banners.” Otto explained “We must end this before he turns into an even greater problem.”

“Gods be good, we may see war on our shores once more.” Viserys spoke.

Maybe… maybe Laenor should become king?

And yet something else burned, the throes of jealousy gripped his heart; it seemed that the true Daemon still dreamed of that throne and did not want anyone taking it.

But when Daemon pictured in his mind the Iron throne, the ugly mountain of swords stood before him and sat upon it he could only see the five year old boy sat within its metal claws all alone and scared.

Within himself he felt fear and pity for Laenor; the poor child condemned to something of which he did not choose or could begin to understand.

He would just be a vessel for his parent’s ambition… he would just be a pawn to them. 

Daemon clenched his fist, shut his eyes and closed them.

No; even if Laenor became the king these people would still argue, many lords will hang Viserys claim over Laenor's head... some overly ambitious lord will take either Laena or Rhaenyra, use their children against him.

He's just a child.

“Viserys is the King’s heir.” Daemon spoke, catching everyone attention “It is my brother who should be the crown prince.” He looked at Viserys before then looking around the table “Viserys would have been the Prince of Dragonstone if our father had ascended the Iron throne, this should not change anything, we must maintain this.”

In heart was dull pain and in his mind a single word. 

Hypocrite. 

“I agree with Prince Daemon.” Otto Hightower spoke “Viserys would be the natural successor to the throne, Laenor; it would be madness to name a boy of seven name days heir when Viserys is a man of twenty and four, the realm would be best served with him.” Daemon tempered the anger in his chest when Otto spoke.

If Rhaenys could be heir, it that was just possible… then I would support her… but I can’t force that on Laenor…

“Should we call our banners? Assemble our own forces to show we will not be cowered?” one of the lords asked.

“No.” Daemon spoke “We cannot risk bring the realm to war, I believe that Lord Corlys can be reasoned with.” He thought back to his visit to High Tide; the man reeked of ambition but clearly wasn’t stupid or entirely reckless. "A small delegation must head to Driftmark and convince Corlys the error of his ways." 

“I shall go.” Otto said “As the Hand I can represent his Grace in the negotiations.”

Daemon stood up from his seat “I shall go too.” to the shock of those around him "We cannot allow my brother into the hands of the Sea Snake, I shall go in his stead." 

In his mind was one goal; prevent a war, prevent the Dance. His eyes darted between every man in the room and his thoughts of those outside of it.

Viserys, Rhaenys, Otto, Corlys, the Small Council, the Velaryons, Hightowers and Targaryens; everyone, lord or not, wants something, they would all contemplate burning it all down to get their way. 

The only way to prevent the Dance is to stop the divide, unite every major player... make a status-quo which all would seek to preserve. 

But how?

Chapter Text

Otto sat at his solar, inside the tower of the hand, the sun had broken from the dark clouds that had it trapped into within its grasp during that even darker day. His finished breakfast sat on the edge of his desk. It would not long till he and Prince Daemon would have to be escorted to the city’s harbour and make their way to Dragonstone to meet with Lord Corlys at his seat in High Tide.

They had only received a reply from Lord Corlys agreeing to hold negotiations just a few days ago, after over a tense week of waiting and wondering with debates over whether to amass their own forces were held in the small council, each time Daemon argued patience and restraint in the face of calls for action.

Otto tapped his pen against his desk, as he looked at it he wondered about Viserys' younger brother; he did not know what to make of Daemon, from the stories before his accident it was said the Prince was an highly prideful, impetuous but a very ambitious man who wielded Darksister, tamed Caraxes and openly insulted his lady-wife and her house as their own wedding.

That had been known even within the halls of Oldtown and the citadel.

And yet when he arrived at King’s Landing, first to act as an advisor to the King, though in truth it was to Prince Baelon who ruled in his father's stead he had heard nothing but thee opposite; instead of an impetuous prince he heard of one who had spent days buried within books and his own writings, both while he was bed bound and even afterwards. Instead of a prince who was highly prideful he heard of one who lowered himself to the work of even scullery maids and finally, when the two became aquatinted in person, had not seen a Prince who hated his lady-wife but instead one who was not without both his lady-wife or his son by his side whom he had shown nothing but tender affection for.

But as he held his ‘pen’ a contraption that one day found it’s way to King’s Landing and gained rapid popularity among the learned people’s of the city enough that Baelon signed off on replacing quill and pots with them, and when it was made known to them that he had been key to negotiations over who would serve as overlord of the Vale, Otto knew that the talks of ambition may have quite a bit of truth in them.

Ambition comes in many forms…

What did you get out of that exactly? What is what I wonder.

Outside his door he could hear his children running around the halls as the servants and maids attended to them.

No doubt Jana is also there too, trying to get them ready.

He still needed to say goodbye to them before he left. Otto stood up from his seat and walked into the hallway. “Lord Hand.” One of the servants spoke, bowing their head “A carriage to the harbour has been prepared with your belongings.” He said. “Lady Jana and your children await by the entrance."

Otto nodded his head and dismissed him, fixing his coat and his broach that hung on the right side of his chest. He walked down to see his family; at the entrance his wife Jana stood with their four children.

“Lord Husband, we wish you safe travels and success on your journey.” His wife spoke.

“I thank you, Lady-wife.” He placed a chaste kiss on her lips before then looking to his children “Be good, Bryndon, you must take charge while I am gone and look after you brothers and sister.” He told his eldest son.

“I shall father.”

“Myles, Gwanye, I expect to hear that you are taking to your studies.”

“Yes father.” They both told him.

“Alicent, I expect the same from you, be sure to listen to your mother and Septa.”

“Of course, father.”

He place a kiss on each of their heads before he stepped into the carriage with his belongings inside. The journey to the harbour was not a long one but still, Otto found it a tedious journey ; the roads bumpy, likely not changed since the time of Rego Draz.

The harbour of King’s Landing was always a busy place; trade coming in, travellers and merchants docking at port and people from around the Realm or beyond seeking one thing or another. Lively and open.

But today, despite the still large numbers of people around there was a tension in the air and hushed whispered among the people and sailors, many of whom will have likely seen the Velaryon ships patrolling the Gullet and the presence of the royal navy just within the Blackwater bay.

Even the harbour had seen an increase in security; the city guards forces now supplemented with a number of soldiers dressed in the livery of House Targeryen, as if expecting an attack from the sea at any moment.

Guards escorted Otto to a dock closed off by a line of guards who parted ways for him to walk through. There he spotted the Prince, with him his wife and son.

“I shall be back soon.” He heard him say to her “I promise I shall not do anything foolish this time.” Kissing her before taking his son into his arms, patting his back and kissing the crown of his head. “You take care of your mother, little one.” He told the boy, who seemed more interested in the bronze coloured wooden dragon toy in his hands.

“Prince Daemon.” Otto called, approaching him.

Daemon turned his head, still holding Baelor “Lord Hand, I hope your morning was well.” He spoke “Forgive me I was just saying goodbye to my family one last time.”

“Of course, my Prince.” Otto said.

Daemon turned back to his wife, kissing her once more before handing Baelor back to her and embracing them both. “I love you both so much.”

“We know, we love you too.” Rhea said “Get back safely.”

“I shall, I promise.” They shared one last kiss before Daemon joined Otto, walking from the docks and onto the galley, the black sail with the red dragon flapping against the wind. “It seems as though the Gods conspire to keep me away from them.” Daemon said to him as the galley left the dock, waving at them.

“The duties to the realm can place us in places we find undesirable.” Otto said. “How long will it take to reach Driftmark?”

“By dragon back, maybe half a day.” Daemon said “By sail, I’d say maybe a day and a half.”

“It seems we have some time to get well aquatinted.” Otto commented, Daemon smiled before placing his hand on his chest, rubbing into it as he shut his eyes “Are you well, Prince Daemon?”

“I am well.” He replied quickly “After the accident I have been experiencing chest pains but they disappear quickly.” Otto nodded in acknowledgement “But yes, I do think we should become more acquainted with each other, seeing as the fate of the Realm may depend on what we do.”

Otto laughed politely “Indeed, for the Realm’s sake let us hope that Lord Corlys sees sense.” He looked out into the line where the water met the sky. “We now sail into the jaws of the Seahorse.”

“Do seahorses even have jaws?” Daemon asked in a jest.

“I do not think so, but this seahorse definitely has teeth.” That had earnt a chuckle from the Prince, Otto smiled as Daemon patted him on the shoulder.

For the rest of the day the two kept to themselves; Daemon had seemed to lock himself away in his own cabin or wonder the deck doing the odd task with the sailors while Otto issued commands to those aboard and read through his reports.

It was only until dinner did the two sit down and properly converse with each other, a time for Otto to try and get the full measure of Daemon’s character.

The meal was a simple one; a dish of mutton stew with carrots and turnips while the Prince ate a pork pie with leeks and spinach. They dined in Otto’s cabin alone with only the guard standing outside.

“It was rather brave of you to volunteer to speak on your family’s behalf, Prince Daemon.” Otto said.

“I thank you, Lord Hand.”

“Please, Lord Otto or even Otto will be fine.” He said, taking a sip of Arbor gold from his cup.

“In that case then Daemon is also more than acceptable.” He said “I would actually prefer it.”

“You do not like your title?” Otto asked curiously.

“I’ve discovered that people find it difficult to speak to me when referring to my station first.” Daemon said “Removing it seems to put them more at ease, I only use it during more formal occasions.”

“Indeed, I am surprised that his Grace did allow you to go rather than your brother Prince Viserys.” Otto said “Corlys will be like to say it should be Viserys as he is the one who desires to succeed your grandsire.”

“He would.” Daemon agreed, wiping his mouth after eating a piece of pie “But it would be foolish for him to set foot on Driftmark, then Corlys would have both major claimants to the throne in his grasp.” He took a sip from his cup “We could not risk that.”

“Wouldn’t you say allowing yourself into his grasp brings an element of risk too?” Otto asked before taking a spoonful of stew.

“Yes, not to speak ill of my grandsire, I am the only capable dragon rider in our family.” Daemon said “Putting aside my cousin Rhaenys who will be pushing Laenor’s claim.”

“Those supporters of Viserys will be at a great disadvantage if they were to lose you.” Otto pointed out.

“That is true but I like to view this as a gesture of peace, meeting someone halfway.” Daemon stated “The only dragon rider and Prince who is second in line to the throne willing to put himself at the mercy of the house with a rival claimant? I doubt he is reckless or foolish to try and hold me hostage, a very ambition man yes but that seems to be the standard among lords in Westeros.”

“Hmm, quite.”

“And, I may as well be honest, I have met with Corlys before not too long ago.” Daemon admitted.

“Have you?” Otto asked.

“Yes, I was on my way to Dragonstone.” Daemon suddenly became more solemn, his face dropping and the corners of his mouth creasing into a frown “I had stopped at Driftmark at the request of my cousin, I had breakfast with Corlys and his family.” He took a another sip of wine “My cousin's children are delightful, I wished I had seen them before in better times and wish now that the circumstances around seeing them again will be much better.”

“Ah yes, I imagine the last time you saw them was at the funeral of your Aunt Princess Gael.” Otto said, Daemon nodded his head “Did you perhaps get them a gift?”

“Hopefully better, I had promised to tell them a great story when I see them again.” Daemon said, eating another piece of his piece “I’m sure even Corlys will love it, it’s about a seafaring king on his way home.”

“Speaking of Lord Corlys, what else did he say? Did he wish to discuss anything specific?” Otto asked, hoping to get any further details about the man who he himself had not met yet in his short time as hand.

“From what I recall he was, and still is, angered over the passing of Rhaenys by my grandsire.” Daemon said “He was trying to coax me into being an ally for his cause.”

“And what did you tell him?” Otto asked, as he picked up a slice of carrot from his stew.

Will Corlys perhaps be able to convince Daemon of Laenor’s claim?

“I was polite; I told him that should there be a chance to mend the divide between our houses then I would work to ensure both our houses’ interests are met.” Daemon said, cutting into his leeks before eating it.

A vague promise…

“But.” Daemon said “Viserys will take the throne after my grandfather, that shall be my redline.”

“Red line?”

Daemon looked startled for a moment “The one thing I shall not compromise on.” He smiled “It is a saying that I had saw in a book.”

“I have not heard the term but I quite like it.” Otto said, finishing his dinner “That shall be our ‘red line’ in these negotiations.”

It was into the early hours of the next day did they spot the Velaryon fleet; many of the crew and sailors came to the deck and looked upon them in both wonder and fear. Otto’s throat dried quickly at the sight as Daemon looked with open mouth.

As far as they could see, were galleys with the sea green sails of house Velaryon, the silver seahorse becoming clearer the closer they approached. Soon enough they were trapped within a forest of ships and galleys, passing through Otto could make out the crew on nearby ships.

They were watching them as they passed through this vast armada.

“Get to your positions and continuing sailing.” Otto commanded to the captains “They will not attack us, Lord Corlys will have ordered as much.” He made sure speak loudly and firmly enough, was it instil confidence in the crew or to tell those ships nearby them to back off he was not sure.

“Even if I had brought Caraxes… I do not think we would have survived.” Daemon commented in a hushed tone. 

“Even if he has a fleet this large, Corlys and his allies lack the manpower.” Otto reasoned, his own tone a hushed whisper “His primary allies consisted of the North and the Stormlands, large kingdoms but known for their sparse population, they wouldn’t come close to fielding the numbers the Rock and Reach could.”

“So we’re looking at a prolonged stalemate with neither side able to breach the other’s defences?” Daemon observed. “With High Tide placing a blockade around the capital in an attempt place pressure on us?”

“It appears so.” Otto agreed, the observation of such an event leaving him uneasy. “Let us hope that Corlys is just a man of ambition and one who can compromise.” It was only a few more hours until they reached the coast, a smaller fleet of ships blocked their view of Spicetown as they sailed by the coast until they finally reached High Tide.

At another time Otto might have taken the time to properly take in the beauty of the place, as a learned man he enjoyed taking in new experiences and information. Yet hanging over them was the heavy weight of foreboding. The tall walls and tower of High Tide loomed over them as they docked themselves at it’s own harbour and stepped onto the pier.

Greeting them on the pier was large guard of men dressed in the seagreen livery with another man standing ahead of them, dressed in a same colours of seagreen and silver on his doublet, he had the colourings of a Valyrian. “Prince Daemon and Lord Hand.” He called to them, bowing his head as the two walked towards him “I am lord Daemion, have been asked by my brother to greet and escort you to the Hall of High Tide.” He said, his eyes turning from Otto to Daemon “He and Princess Rhaenys await you in the grand hall.”

“You have our thanks, Lord Daemion.” Otto replied. “Lead the way.” The two followed him through the pier and up the stairs leading to the castle. The guards surrounding them on all sides.

Before they stepped through the large wooden doors of High Tide a servant offered them a plate of bread and salt, as another held a tray holding two cups of wine.

Otto took a piece of break, dipping it on salt before consuming and washing it down with wine, Daemon doing the same.

They were marched through the large doors and through the grand hall, stopping only as they reached the wooden throne sitting upon a dais. Lord Corlys sitting upon the seat while Rhaenys stood before them with Laenor and Laena standing just in front of Rhaenys, her hands placed on the shoulder of each of them almost protectively.

A blatant display of force if I’ve ever seen one.

“Thank you brother.” Corlys said, Daemion bowed his head and stood to the side “Lord Hand and Prince Daemon.” He announced, his voice bouncing off the walls as he turned his focus to them “I and my wife Princess Rhaenys welcome you to High Tide.” His tone spoke more of authority than kindness.

Otto noticed Daemon look at the two children, as if to acknowledge them, Otto noticed Rhaenys pull them closer towards her as her cousin as he waved and smiled at them.

Does he seek to undermine the authority of his cousin by loosening the tension?

“We thank you, Lord Corlys.” Otto spoke. “I must say that words to not do justice to High Tide, truly it is a wonder to behold.” He hoped to flatter the Master of Driftmark.

“I thank you for you kind words, Lord Hand.” Corlys spoke, his tone not changing.

He did not rise to the bait…

“Lord Corlys, it is a pleasure to meet you again.” Daemon spoke, he turned his head to his cousin “Princess Rhaenys, you still look as beautiful as ever.” He then looked to the children and smiled “Laena, Laenor, I promised you I would tell you a story next time we meet and I mean to keep that promise.” The two smiled at him.

“We thank you, dear cousin.” Rhaenys spoke. “I only regret that we have reunited under better circumstances.”

“Indeed, it seems as though we now only meet in times of loss or crisis.” Daemon spoke “I hope that the future has happier times ahead.”

“We agree.” Rhaenys spoke.

“We are grateful to have this opportunity to speak to you, it is our desire to come to a resolution to this issue.” Otto said “For the good of the Realm, I hope we can come to an arrangement that best suits the houses Targeryen and Velaryon.”

“That is good, both my wife and I share this desire too.” Corlys said, he turned to Daemon “Prince Daemon, you have my condolences for the loss of your father; he was a good man, it was an honour to have met and worked with him.”

Otto watched Daemon’s face; it looked to be calm as he looked upon the Lord of the Tides, yet as Daemon pressed and rubbed his fingers into his chest he noticed his eye twitch slightly.

He offers his condolences regarding his father after trying to displace Baelon’s son as heir, they did not even turn up to his funeral.

“You have my thanks, Lord Corlys.” Daemon replied “His passing has been difficult for both my and my brother’s families as well as the Realm as a whole.”

“The Realm mourns for him.” Rhaenys spoke “I will not forget the kindness he had shown me as a child and his love of my father.”

“His loss is all of ours.” Otto said. “Forgive me, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, but we had not come to exchange pleasantries, we-”

“Came to resolve the matter of succession.” Corlys finished, interrupting Otto. “Yes, I would say that matter of succession is clear; His Grace, King Jaehaerys, had passed over Aemon’s daughter and only child on account of her sex and chose Prince Baelon instead, while my family were spurred by this, I acknowledge that it is the King’s right.” He stated “However we no longer have such an issue; Princess Rhaenys has a son, a grandson who claims descent from Jaehaerys’s eldest son Prince Aemon, by Andal law he should be heir, I am merely protecting what should be Laenor’s birthright.”

Otto was silent, he knew that arguing on the matter in this position would be futile; Corlys wanted to demonstrate his authority and strength, sitting over them while surrounded by guards.

It is here as this, he is at his strongest.

Through the silence he could hear Daemon’s breathing as the prince rubbed his chest. “I do not believe this is the place to discuss the matter, my Lord.” Daemon spoke “Perhaps we should go to a more private setting?”

Corlys was silent for a moment, he turned to Rhaenys who nodded her head. “I agree, come and attend to me at my solar.” He spoke standing up from the throne. “The rest of you are dismissed for now.” The guards who had surrounded them bowed their heads and quickly dispersed from the hall, with some taking their place the pillars that held the room.

Corlys walked towards Rhaenys and placed a kiss on her lips before kneeling down towards his children, his focus lingering around Laenor, the boy he would try to make a king. His family descended the steps of the dais.

Rhaenys took Daemon in a formal embrace before curtseying before Otto who bowed his own head to the Princess, her children following her example as they followed her out of the hall.

“Follow me.” Corlys said, walking down the steps of the dais, looking first to Otto and then to Daemon “We have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

Daemon let his eyes wonder around the solar; much like everything else in High Tide, and every other castle, holdfast or keep he visited, the one who designed it tried their best to exude power, wealth and authority in their offices.

All politics in Westeros is just a dick measuring contest.

The desk, as identified by Otto, was made of Ironwood imported from the North, the floor and walls were the same kind of white polished stone, a certainly expensive large Myrish rug was placed on the floor with seahorse etched into the patterns and behind the desk where Corlys sat before them was a large glass window showing a view of the causeway which connected them to Driftmark proper, with silver curtains hanging from either side.

The light from the blue sky shun into the solar, white clouds dotted above the vast coastline of the island creating a picturesque image.

A servant poured red wine into sliver goblets and placed them next to both Daemon and Otto as Corlys sipped from his, the servant bowing his head before quickly leaving.

“Do you like the view?” Corlys asked them, his views glancing over to them “I had my solar built facing the west so I could have a view of the sunset and bathe the room in an orange glow, it is truly a wonderous sight.”

That is pretty neat design to be fair.

“After visiting the Eyrie I can see you have taken inspiration from the Arryn’s castle.” Daemon said “A fine choice.”

“Yes, I had been fortunate to see the Eyrie before when I was a younger man, it is a sight to behold.” Corlys said, he turned to Otto “I had also taken inspiration in the great city of Oldtown too, crafting Spicetown to what it is now from when it had grown from naught but a fishing village.”

“I would love to visit someday.” Otto said before taking a sip of his wine. “Let us discuss the issue at hand.” He said, getting to the reason behind their tense visit.

“There is no issue as far as both I and Princess Rhaenys see it.” Corlys said. “Laenor is the heir to the Iron Throne, when his Grace passes then Laenor shall be King.” Daemon was about to open his mouth when Corlys continued speaking “I also understand that, for the sake of stability of the realm, Laenor will take the name of his mother’s House upon his ascension to the throne.”

Wow how gracious of you…

Daemon bit his cheek “Baelon was the King’s heir, his Grace had granted him the title ‘Prince of Dragonstone’ before his passing, it would only be right that the title and heirdom to the throne be passed down to his eldest son, Viserys.” Otto spoke. “Had Prince Baelon not suddenly and tragically died then Viserys would have been his undisputed heir.”

Corlys focused on Otto “And had Prince Aemon not been struck by an arrow in Tarth meant for Lord Cameron then Rhaenys would be his heir and Laenor after her.” He pointed out “We could discuss possibilities all we want but it would not change what is true.”

“Perhaps it is true that in another life Rhaenys would have been Princess of Dragonstone.” Daemon spoke, he hoped to ease Corlys and try to meet him halfway. “But we do not live in such a life, for one reason or another my grandsire chose my father as his next heir, perhaps it was not right, but now there is an expectation by many lords in Westeros that Baelon’s eldest son follow him.”

“I am not blind to the political happenings and thoughts of lords in Westeros, Prince Daemon.” Corlys countered “I acknowledge that many will have seen Viserys as Baelon’s heir but men can have their minds changed.” He took another sip from his cup “Might I also add that not all the lords of Westeros share this view.”

“We are aware that you have supporters within the Seven Kingdoms who share the view that Laenor should be heir.” Otto said “But that is not the view held by the majority of lords; many will see this as a usurpation of the rights to Prince Baelon’s sons.”

“Do not speak to me of usurpation or rights, Lord Hand.” Corlys scoffed “Where was this talk when his Grace passed over his granddaughter when even the Good Queen spoke in favour of her?” he glanced over the two of them “And you speak of Baelon’s sons yet I see only his youngest speaking on his eldest brother’s behalf, should he not be here to argue his rights as heir?”

Daemon shut his eyes for a moment, trying to extinguish the anger that consumed his chest; it seemed the old Daemon had taken the last comment to heart. “My brother has other matters to attend to; I am sure you are aware my grandsire is not in the best health in his old age and with the lord Hand not in the capital, it falls to him to hold court and meetings.”

Looks like it was a good call to not have him go too.

“Viserys has a daughter, yes? The Princess Rhaenyra?” Corlys asked, Daemon narrowed his eyes while the old Daemon burned in inferno by his heart “I understand the significance of both the grandsires of Laenor and Rhaenyra being the King’s two eldest sons, both of whom each had a time as heir, let us unite this claims instead through marriage, she can become Queen and Viserys grandson will one day rule the Seven Kingdoms.”

Daemon felt uncomfortable, it was the same discomfort that plagued him when Gunthor suggested the idea of forcing to marry Arnold to Jeyne.

Laenor and Rhaenyra wouldn’t want to marry each other.

He had known that much from both what he had read; Laenor loved another, Joffrey Lonmouth, and Rhaenyra had an affair with Harwin Strong.

Would they even tolerate Rhaenyra trying to pass off someone else’s children as Laenor if he sat the throne? If there was no Baela or Rhaena to betroth them too?  

Despite what he knew from his own knowledge of what had happened, both he and Daemon seemed to be aligned on the thought.

No… it would be different and maybe worse.

His head started to hurt, he could now barely hear what was being discussed; Otto’s voice was muffled as he spoke to Corlys, what he spoke of Daemon didn’t know. All he could thing of was how at each turn it seemed there would be this crisis of power for the world’s ugliest chair.

Gods, will someone try and put Baelor on that thing?

He rubbed his head and tried to fight back the headache, the voices around him becoming clearer.

“What say you, Prince Daemon?” Corlys spoke, Daemon snapped his head up and looked at him.

“Pardon me, my head started to hurt, strange it is usually my chest.” Daemon excused “Forgive me, I didn’t quite hear what was spoken.

“The Lord Hand was saying that while your position remains that Viserys should be heir, we may form a tentative agreement of betrothing both Laenor and Rhaenyra together.” Corlys explained.

“Mayhaps we should not jump to soon to these kind of agreements yet?” Daemon suggested, almost blurting it out, earning a curious look from both Corlys and Otto; quickly he tried to find a rationale “It would be better to have betrothals as sealing an alliance than the foundation first, it seems like such a big point to make when we still need to explore other terms, yes?”

God please…

 “Perhaps… until the matter of who is the heir is decided then we shall hold back on marriage proposals.” Corlys said, Daemon tried not to breathe out a sigh of relief while noticing Otto clench his jaw, almost visibly frustrated. “We can start off with smaller concessions then?”

“That is more than fine.” Otto said “His Grace, with the backing of the Small council, is willing to reinstate you as Master of Ships once more.”

“That is acceptable.” Corlys said “Of course there will be smaller details we shall need to hammer out but that can be a certainty."

“Very good.” Daemon wrote down the first point on a piece of parchment.

“Anything else?” Otto asked.

“I wish for House Velaryon to have control over the Narrow Sea.” Corlys stated, Daemon sucked in some air through his nose while Otto stared at Corlys.

“Elaborate.”

“I wish to extend Velaryon control not just over Driftmark but it’s surrounding waters too.” Corlys explained “That shall include control over the Narrow Sea.”

“The Narrow sea is not only used by House Velaryon, dozens of houses use it and then there are the free cities and the Triarchy.” Otto pointed out.

“That is the point.” Corlys said “Trade into King’s Landing comes through Driftmark, what I desire is the ability to protect these vital shipping lanes.”

“You can do that as Master of Ships.” Daemon said.

“And when I am gone? Corlys asked “What of future Lords of the Tides who do not hold this position, what can they do if something threatens our existence and the Small council does nothing? I promise you, that my house shall have the best interest of the realm at heart, but I am not foolish enough to believe the realm has the same for us; we must protect what we have.” Corlys then tapped his fingers against his desk “Secondly, Spicetown is to be priority trading city for ships looking to enter into the Blackwater bay.”

Both Daemon and Otto were silent; this would be a massive concession to make and might effectively make the position ‘Master of Ships’ useless if not held by a Velaryon and also try and bolster their existing wealth to a ridiculous degree. To anyone else they would have scoffed at this; clearly the Sealord was trying to take a mile when they offered an inch. But yet…

If he’s willing to ask for something this big… then maybe he can be moved?

“We accept.” Daemon spoke, Otto looked at him and shut his eyes for a brief moment before nodding his head and then taking a gulp of wine from his cup as Daemon wrote down that point. 

“Excellent.” Corlys said, clasping his hands together.

“There are some finer details we would suggest on this.” Otto quickly spoke “Firstly, there must be a hard limit on Velaryon ships and galleys entering the Blackwater bay; I believe no more than fifteen will suffice.”

“I can agree to that.” Corlys said.

“Secondly, if Spicetown is to be treated as one of the major cities of Westeros than taxes on goods and luxuries will increase as trade into the city increases.” Otto said. “We can go over the details but that will be non-negotiable.”

 “I accept.” Corlys said.

For the rest of the day the three of then hashed out the details to these first two points of their agreement. Corlys had been right, the sunset in the west was a wonderous thing, even if the light did get in his eyes. Once that had been done the three decided to call it a night, plans to continue the talks later tomorrow. 

As soon as they stepped out of the office and stepped out of sight of the guards and servants did Otto grab Daemon by the shoulder “My Prince, please forgive me for this, but must I remind you that we meant to be a united force; we cannot risk undermining each other.”

Daemon bit his tongue, once more the dormant Daemon reignited in fury at Otto frustration at him.

“Forgive me, Lord Hand.” Daemon said “It was never my intention undermine you.”

“What was your intention then?”

The same reason I didn’t want to force Jeyne to marry anyone…

“I truly thought it would be best we held off forming any possible marriage proposals, in case it influenced future points.” Otto seemed to accept that answer, or at least hoped he did.

“So be it.” Otto said “Please, Daemon, keep me in your thinking.

I don’t think Daemon would appreciate that.  

Daemon nodded his head and the two went their separate ways; he quickly went to the kitchens, introduced himself and asked to staff for some sliced meats, vegetables, bread, butter and waterskin with a single knife in a basket before quickly heading off. He wanted to take his meal in peace, what better place that by the beach.

Under the watch of some of the guards from a distance Daemon placed his cloak onto the white sands before then taking out his food, making himself a sandwich of ham, tomatoes and lettuce on buttered bread and eating it.

As he looked at the dying sun sink into the western sea his thoughts turned only to two people.

I wish Rhea and Baelor were here…

In his fading memories he could see the family of his first life; him and his sister as children splashing in the freezing water, getting their shorts wet as their mother and father watched them. Yet even now the memory was obscured by the true Daemon’s the sand changing from yellow to the black sand of Dragonstone and his mother and father’s faces shifting to Alyssa and Baelon…

My sister… my sister was there, that is my memory…

He repeated that to himself, an anchor that kept what was left of him still alive.

The sound of footsteps on the sand broke his concentration, he turned to see his cousin Rhaenys walk towards him, dressed in a black and red dress befitting a Targeryen princess.

“Cousin.” She said, standing over him. “Looks like you will get your cloak dirty.”

Daemon smiled “I’ve been through worse.” He said, he moved over making space for her to sit. Rhaenys then took a seat on his cloak, being careful not to crumble her dress. “What brings you here, beside living here of course.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes before setting them on the glimmering light of the sun “Laena and Laenor have been asking about you constantly.” She said “They asked that you tell them a story before they go to bed.”

Daemon chuckled “I would be more than happy to.” He said.

“You truly care for them, Daemon.” Rhaenys said. “What had happened? Before your accident you had hardly acknowledged them and now you dote on them.”

“I changed.” He lied, he did not change and he was not sure Daemon had either. “I learnt that I should treasure my family more, and that includes you and them, I want what’s best for them.”

“Then why do you work against Laenor?” She asked, the authority absent in her voice “Why do you seek to deny him what should be his.”

The smile on Daemon’s face died as frustration bubbled within him, this time it was his own. He turned Rhaenys and that feeling almost immediately died; it was not pride or strength she exuded in this moment it was… vulnerability.

Daemon sighed “He’s only seven.” He spoke “Laenor is just a boy, I’m doing this for him as much as it is Viserys.” Rhaenys kissed her teeth “Rhaenys, did you ever ask Laenor whether or not he wants to be king? What that entails? What that means?”

“He does not need to know just yet-”

“You plan on possibly making him heir and then king in, being generous, at most a few years’ time.” Daemon almost exclaimed “A boy with the world placed on his shoulder with seven kingdoms looking to him, for what? Ambition?”

“You must know how hypocritical you sound.” Rhaenys said “Did you not work to keep Jeyne Arryn, a child of also seven name days, as Lady of the Eyrie and Warden of the East? Yet you hold issue with making Laenor king?”

“Jeyne was already Lady of the Vale, the issue I had was an attempt to usurp her title and replace her with her cousin Arnold whom was also a child.” Daemon argued “Jeyne had lost so much…”

“And so have I.” Rhaenys said, a growl in her voice “She was fortunate in one regard, for she was not passed over of her rights.”

“It does not change the fact that I would not want such a weight placed on Laenor’s shoulder; I had to bind Jeyne to those who wanted to replace her for life, I worry about what fate may have in store for her.” Daemon explained “Viserys, for all his faults, may be the most prepared person to sit the throne the exception of one person.”

“You?” Rhaenys questioned almost in jest.

“You.” Daemon said, letting his answer linger in the air “It should have been you; you should have been the heir and then Queen.” Daemon shook his head as he held his chest, the fire burning inside disagreeing with him. “If there was a way for you to become Queen then I would take it.”

“Even if it meant going against Viserys? Your own brother?” Rhaenys asked.

“My Good-father once told me that one day I would have to pick my duty to others over my duty to those I love.” Daemon said  “Grandfather was wrong to pass over you, you would have made a great queen.” It was hard to tell by he could have sworn he saw tears welling in her eyes.

An idea came into his head, maybe a way to break an impasse to Corlys, yet one that filled him with sadness, yet one that he might have to accept if he wanted peace. 

Forgive me, Rhaenyra.

Forgive me, Rhea

“I thank you, Daemon.” Rhaenys spoke. 

“In another world, maybe it is a better one, your father does not die.” Daemon says “You would be Queen and Laenor after you when he is truly ready…” 

“I am sorry about your father, Daemon.” Rhaenys said “He truly was a good man.” 

“Sometimes I can’t help but feel maybe I could have done something, I know he died of a burst stomach but… maybe?” 

In his heart, he knew it was futile; Baelon dies of a burst appendix… and he was no doctor, he could not find a way.

"It is best not to think as such." Rhaenys advised "It can bring one to madness, I know I did when mine own father died."

"There is so much wrong with the world." Daemon commented, watching the calm waves pull to shore.

“We can still right this wrong.” Rhaenys urged “Laenor becoming heir can set things right.” 

“We can make this right, but that does not mean we have to put a child on the Iron Throne.” Daemon said, darkness began to fall upon them as the light of the moon replaced the sun.

“You speak as if I do not want what is best for him too.” Rhaenys said “As if I am not doing this for his sake too.”

“I know you are.” Daemon replied “But let us be honest cousin, how much of this is personal pride?”

Rhaenys scowled “Tell me cousin, and speak true, if you had the chance to seat Baelor on the Iron Throne, would you forgo the chance?”

Daemon stared into her eyes “Yes-” suddenly the pain in his chest burned tenfold, he clutched his chest and shut his eyes in pain, pushing back the old Daemon into oblivion “Yes! Yes! A thousand times!” he almost shouted out “The lengths some will go to, to use others and their own children to reach power, I cannot subject him to such folly, to be placed within the grasps of lickspittles and curs would be to damn him.”

Rhaenys sighed, standing up and brushing off her dress “The Daemon I knew would have done anything to rise, the accident has changed you in more ways than one.” Rhaenys bowed her head “Laena and Laenor will likely be waiting for you in their room; I shall see you again cousin, may we continue to do what is best for our family.” She spoke before leaving him alone.

Daemon turned back to the ocean, this time it was the moonlight glimmering off the surface of the water. He packed up his items into the basket and then handed them to one of the guards, thanking them, before heading back inside.

Despite being modelled after the Eyrie the place felt warmer, the light from the torches shining a warm orange glow against the white marble. When he arrived at the room of his niece and nephew he found them already in bed a few candles lit on a nightstand that stood between the beds. Daemon looked around; he almost felt envious, the room of his first childhood was far more cramped and he had shared that with his sister too. A mess of toys were piled in the corner and large wardrobes we’re lined against the wall.

“Uncle Daemon!” they exclaimed, jumping out of bed to hug his legs.

“Laena, Laenor.” He said rubbing the top of their heads.

“Are you hear to read us a story?” Laenor asked.

“Of course I am, I promised to tell you an Epic story had I not? And I have come to do so.” He smiled at them. “First you need to get back into bed, your mother will be displeased with me to see you out when you should going to sleep soon.”

Well more anger with me that now…

The two quickly scampered back into their beds as Daemon took a wooden chair and placed it between the two, just behind the nightstand so the light from the candle would illuminate the pages of his journal.

He flicked through the pages “Ah here it is, are we ready.” The two nodded their heads as they covered themselves in their blankets, he smiled looking at them “You shall love this one, I had House Velaryon in mind when writing it.”

“What is it called? What is it called?” Laenor asked repeatedly. 

“Can we hear it, please?” Laena asked, also impatiently.

“So impatient.” He laughed, calming down he placed his finger on the first line and cleared his throat. “Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide…”

Chapter Text

Corlys stares out of his window, the water from the sea had now covered the causeway entirely, as it does from time to time, a benefit of High Tide as he wanted it to be a defendable as possible with it’s sea, a terrain that Corlys was all too familiar with his days as a captain.

And one that he hoped to have dominion over.

The sky was bright light blue, the white sand beaches of Driftmark were a beautiful contrast to the royal blue of the ocean.

The children were likely playing on the beaches of High Tide by now…

He rested his hands upon his lap and breathed in deeply as he thought of Laena and Laenor; everything he was doing was for them, their birthright was that of a Princess and a Prince, one who should have been in line to the Iron Throne. And yet his family had been spurned of this, the second house in the realm humiliated and cast aside by a King who should have known better than that.

How wroth he was with the King and council then; to have done that to Rhaenys, Prince Aemon’s only child, when both she and her mother Jocelyn had lost so much and when Rhaenys was great with child. He was not deaf to the mutters of curs and cox-comb lords who whispered when Laena was born, how Jaehaerys made the right choice, yet those same lickspittles spoke naught a word when his son was born a year later.  

This is my chance, my chance to right that wrong.

To have house Velaryon where it belongs.

To have my blood on the Iron Throne.

He opened his eyes and continued to stare of the window, waiting for both the Prince and Lord-Hand to return to his solar and continue their negotiations; it had been three days since their arrival and while concessions were made here and there, neither side were any closer to agreeing on who should be the heir to the throne. His wife Rhaenys had tried to get the measure of the Prince; a conversation which when his lady-wife had relayed back to him seemed confusing, agreeing that what the King did by passing over Rhaenys was unjust yet also believing that Laenor shouldn’t be heir fearing he will end up a boy king.

And of Otto, the man seemed able and competent enough; well-mannered enough when speaking to Corlys, learned likely from his upbringing in Oldtown, and clever. Yet Corlys could tell that there was a lining of more underneath all that was a desire for more.

I know ambition when I see it.

Corlys knew men who wanted more than what they could reach, he was all too familiar with that feeling, the question was now trying to understand what; He had long ago decided to reach for his dreams and seize more than what the Gods had initially allowed him.

Today, either I succeed or grasp at more than what fate had offered my family.

There was a knock on the door.

That would be them.

“You may enter he called out.” He turned his chair to his desk to face them as both Daemon and Otto walked into his solar, taking the seats they had in each of their meetings. “Hello again, Prince, Lord-Hand.” He greeted them politely yet firmly.

“Lord Corlys.” Otto spoke “I hope your morning was well.”

“Quite, my lord.” Corlys replied “Shall we get straight to it then?”

“Yes, let us.” Daemon said, it was clear to Corlys that the Prince was impatient to leave soon, oh he would dote on Laena and Laenor but his guards watched him sit on the beaches of High Tide and stare into the direction of King’s Landing.

“Much to your disappointment, my good sers, my position has not changed.” Corlys told them “Laenor should be the heir to his Grace Jaehaerys.”

“Neither has ours.” Otto said, Corlys had expected him to say as much “But that does not mean we are not amendable to certain changes.”

“We are willing to meet you halfway, my lord, on various matters.” Daemon added “But to possibly place Laenor, a boy of seven, on the throne would not be a wise decision.”

“You had said as much to my lady-wife Daemon, regencies are nothing the Seven kingdoms are strangers to.” Corlys argued. “As you had negotiated one.”

“Seven kingdoms alone yes.” Otto said “But not Seven Kingdoms united.” He paused to let the words linger “We have seen what happens to the monarchs of the Iron throne when a king is perceived as weak, for the sake of stability we need a king who is ready to lead, Gods be good, the King may live for more years but we can not take that chance.”

“I would not let anything happen to my son or let anyone challenge him.” Corlys spoke, rising his voice.

“That, in itself, is an issue.” Otto argued “They will see that a blatant power grab by yourself; they will see yourself as the power behind the throne with Laenor being only a puppet king, such is the impression of child lords and sovereigns.

Corlys resisted the urge to scowl at them, keeping his calm demeanour as he considered these words.  “If the lords would not have me as my son’s regent then so be it, I would be happy to have the Lord-Hand, my lady-wife or anyone else as his regent.”

“Forgive me for saying this, Lord Corlys.” Daemon spoke this time “But… the ‘meat’ of the issue regarding Laenor’s heirship, is it about his and Laena’s rights or is it a matter of making sure that Aemon and Rhaenys blood sit the Iron throne as Andal law would have dictated?”

Corlys was no fool, he could see that the Prince was trying to asking him ‘Is your goal to have your blood sit the Iron throne?’ without being too direct that it would insult him or outright call him an overly ambitious man.

“What is it that you propose, Prince Daemon?” Corlys asked curiously.

Daemon glanced over to Otto who gave him the slightest of nods “Laena and Laenor are children of Rhaenys and the grandchildren of Aemon, the first heir, perhaps they should inherit the titles of Princess and Prince.”

Corlys raised his eyebrow “That would be without precedent.” He pointed out “Tradition states that those whose father or grandfather are king inherit such titles.”

“And Aemon should have been King if not for that bolt.” Daemon said. “See this as a step in the right direction and righting a wrong done to House Velaryon and my cousin Rhaenys.”

“If you are willing to give my children the honorifics of royalty then am I to assume that you have decided to place Laenor on the throne.” Corlys asked, almost half in jest.

“No.” Otto said simply. “This is simply granting them the titles that should have been bestowed upon them if not for an unfortunate accident.”

“Then it is an empty title.” Corlys pointed out “Why grant them the honours if they are not in line for the throne.”

“They are in line for the throne.” Otto spoke, this time his own voice mirrored the firmness of Corlys “They will not be ahead of Prince Viserys.” Otto breathed in “But in accordance with the precedence set by his Grace of passing over a female Claimant, and by suggestion of Prince Daemon, Laenor can be Viserys heir to the throne until a son is born to him.”

Now this, Corlys was not expecting; he glanced over to Daemon, trying to get any measure of his reaction yet his face was as still as Corlys as he sat looking at the parchment they had been writing their terms on.

He would forsake both his and his own son’s proximity to the throne?

“Of course that does not guarantee that Laenor or Rhaenys' blood sits the throne at some point in future so regarding that a match between Rhaenyra and Laenor can be proposed.” Otto spoke, he glanced over to Daemon nodded his head “Should anything happen to the Prince Viserys before his wife can birth a son, then Laenor shall sit the throne with Rhaenyra as his Queen. But should the Prince be given a son then a daughter between the union of Laenor and Rhaenyra will be matched between the two.”

“So both my wife and I should be content with the possibility of a great grandson?” Corlys asked. “And why not match Laena to this future heir?”

“Timing.” Otto said, again, simply. “Your daughter is already a girl of eight name days, we can not say whether the Princess Aemma Arryn will give Prince Viserys a son either this next or in the next five years, but then Laena will be far too old for the heir and may possible waste the best of her birthing years.”  just from the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw Daemon glower. “It would not be fair on her or a future prince.”

“We can offer you a promise.” Daemon said, his voice confirming the irritation that Corlys thought he saw. “the blood of Aemon will sit the Iron throne either through Laenor or Laena’s line.”

“You have a match proposal for Laena?” Corlys asked.

Daemon shut his eyes, Corlys can see his jaw tense. “We do.” He admitted “My son, Baelor.”

Ah, there it is.

The ambition of a Prince, was this a concession that Otto had made to sweeten the bitter idea of pushing you further down the succession?

“I had not considered matches for my daughter, but tell me more of this?”

“Should no daughter be given to the union of Laenor and Rhaenyra then a daughter of Laena and Baelor will be matched to the future Prince and heir.” Daemon explained “Either way, the blood of ‘Aemon’ will sit the Iron throne one day, that we swear.”

Corlys leaned back into his seat and considered the offer; he had already extracted a lot from them and the promise that both his and Rhaenys blood will certainly find its way to the Iron throne through their children was good, though the idea that it would be a great grandson instead of Laenor or even a grandson was a disappointment.

“These terms are generous.” Corlys said “You have given me much to consider, though this will still be a disappointment.” He could see creases of frustration in Otto’s face and as Daemon pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I am to accept this then I would like to amend a previous term.”

“Forgive me for my tone, my Lord, but what we have allowed is far more generous than anyone would have offered.” Otto spoke “Given the circumstance of these negotiations.”

“The ‘circumstance’ of these negotiations is my son being denied his birthright.” Corlys argued back, this time it was the Sea Snake who spoke than the Lord of Driftmark.

“Please.” Daemon spoke, raising his hand “Name the term, Lord Corlys.”

“Merely a guarantee.” Corlys said “Just one, a boon from the future monarch, that they will support House Velaryon should anything threaten our house.”

“You are already protected by the crow-” 

“There are threats just as serious a armies.” Corlys continued “Economic, political, and matters of alliance that may threaten us, I want a guarantee that, even if just the once, the Iron throne will support House Velaryon when we are threaten.”

Otto sucked in his lip and bit it as Daemon narrowed his eyes.

“So be it.” Otto said. “But know this, it is that and nothing more, and there are some concessions that you will need to make to.”

“So be it.” Corlys repeated.

“You and Princess Rhaenys are to appear at King’s Landing, to his Grace and Prince Viserys and swear that you acknowledge Prince Viserys as the rightful heir to the Iron throne and swear to be leal bannermen to the Prince once he ascends the throne.”

Corlys bit his cheek, he knew he would have to do such a thing if we did concede that Viserys was the heir, but it was clear that Otto wanted to humiliate him in doing so.

“Second, House Velaryon is to pay for the loss of trade this crisis had inflicted upon King’s Landing.” Otto spoke “We shall figure out a proper figure after learning of the damages but it will be costly, that I promise you.”

Corlys clenched his teeth, his house could likely eat the costs without too much issue but it will still be a bitter drink to swallow.

"Thirdly, I understand that Laena desires one day to ride a dragon much like Laenor." Daemon said "We shall not stop her, however she is free to tame a dragon only until she reaches her majority and furthermore, the dragon cannot be Vhagar." 

She will be bitterly disappointed by that. 

”But in addition to this, if House Velaryon are to acquire another dragon then it must surrender something in return.” Otto said. “We demand half the Velaryon fleet to be redistributed among other houses in the realm."

Corlys damn near lost his composure, “Unacceptable, I will not part with half my fleet.” He told them, a simmering inferno in his voice. 

“Then Laena will be denied a dragon.” Daemon said simply “It is not something I enjoy saying, Laena wishes to tame a dragon of her own, but we cannot allow House Velaryon to have a kind of power that would outdo even mine own house, Lord Corlys." 

“I wonder if Laena would look at you the same way if she knew this.” Corlys told him.

Daemon shut his eyes and sighed “Better for her to hate me and be alive than plunge the realm into war.” 

“For house Velaryon to have both the largest fleet, dragons and a claimant is a threat to the realm stability, you must see that.” Otto said “If you wish to have dragons then you must surrender an advantage of your own, but are you prepared to tell Laena that you denied her a dragon in order to keep your ships? Will you tell the Princess Rhaenys such? What will they say?" 

Corlys breathed in deeply, biting the side of his cheek almost hard enough to draw blood. 

"So be it.” Corlys spoke, begrudgingly “I accept." 

"And finally, should some terrible tragedy befall King Viserys, and Laenor ascends the throne, the terms of this deal shall be renegotiated." Otto said. 

"And why is that?" he questioned. 

"You will have gotten what you desired, the power you would wield with both your son on the throne and the liberties taken from this agreement will make house Velaryon far too powerful." Otto explained. 

"You cannot simply have it all, my lord." Daemon spoke this time "It must be one of the other; either House Velaryon becomes the realm's second house, or Laenor becomes King, the lords will not accept both."

Corlys pressed his lips together “These terms are harsh but acceptable, though I will need to speak to my lady-wife first before we can agree on these terms.”

“That is fine, take what time you need to discuss this with Princess Rhaenys.” Otto said “But know that this offer is final, I hope you both make the right choice, Lord Corlys.” Both Otto and Daemon got up from their seats. Daemon then handed him a copy of the terms.

“I shall have a scribe properly write the agreement.” Daemon said. “Be well, Lord Corlys.” Both men walked out of the door. Corlys looked through the terms of their agreement.

To anyone who looks at this, they will have said I have taken far more than what should have been allowed, they will say I have risen far beyond my station.

Other lords will no doubt hate me.

But they have not done what I have done.

Still though even with all the concessions made by both the Lord and the Prince, he could not escape the feeling of disappointment; how he desired for a son of his to sit upon the Iron Throne, must he settle for a descendant he may never even meet?

My Legacy… our legacy will be secure.

With this… no one could challenge that we are the second house to the Realm.

The door to his solar opened again, the guard opening the door allowing his wife, Rhaenys, into the room before shutting the door. She looked at him coolly, she always had a steely beauty to her, she refused to be broken but anything; that was something he loved about her.

“Is it done?” she asked walking towards him, taking the seat of Daemon.

“This is what they have offered.” Corlys said, handing her the terms.

Rhaenys quickly read through the papers, almost impatiently “It seems we have gained a lot and much except one.” she said. 

"In exchange for a lot too." Corlys said "Half my ships given freely to different houses, I would rather drink a barrel of seawater than have done that... yet-"

"It would have meant Laena would never tame a dragon of her own..." Rhaenys' eyes soften as she looked at her husband. "Still... Laenor may never be king." 

“It was always going to be near impossible to place Laenor on the Iron Throne.” Corlys said. “It was a distant chance but we tried to reach it.” Rhaenys continued to read through it. “In the end we landed somewhere close to it.”

“I should be happy in a way.” Rhaenys said “I wanted the respect and honours that Laena and Laenor should have been granted had my father not died that day, maybe he may end up sitting the Iron throne in the end.” Rhaenys placed the parchment on the table. “I wanted so much more, Corlys, I thought this would be our chance… I wanted those lords who disrespected us to eat their words and acknowledge us for who we should have been.”

Corlys smiled at her sadly  “I know… I wanted that too.”

“Still it is more than we could possibly have hoped for, even if Laenor does not end up becoming King, he and his children will be powerful lords within themselves, married to a Princess and Laena will marry into a rich family with Targeryen blood.” Rhaenys said, as if trying to convince herself. “You will agree to these terms?” Corlys nodded his head. “Good, I hope this settles that matter.”

Corlys stood up from his seat and walked towards Rhaenys before holding her in an embrace, kissing the top of her head.

“I will hate having to make a show of loyalty to my cousin Viserys however.” She said, half jest, half not. Corlys laughed as the two swayed back and forth slightly.

Later than night, after Corlys had his own scribes write down copies of the terms and took his meal alone this time, preferring to sit alone and think upon what had been discussed. When he finally left his office he sought out his children; the day was also gone and likely the servants will be getting them ready for bed now. He wished to say goodnight to them.

How I have fought for your future, I only hope that I have done right by you two.

As he approached the room who could hear an excited gasp from one of the children.

“Cyclops!” he heard someone proclaim from inside the children’s playroom, he peered inside to see Daemon standing from his chair as both Laena and Laenor sat down watching him, covered in blankets with their toys nearby “If any man asks how you came by your blindness, say that Odysseus, sacker of cities, Laertes’ son, native of Ithaca, maimed you!”

Laenor cheered at the hero’s proclamation.

“But wait!” Daemon proclaimed “For the Cyclops looked to the heavens and called upon his father, Poseidon, the God of the seas and the Earth-shaker, to curse Odysseus and his men!” both children gasped  “Lord Poseidon, hear me! Let Odysseus never reach his home of Ithaca! And if he destined to return let him arrive late, losing his men and finding great trouble when he returns to his shores!”

“Children.” Corlys called out, catching the attention of Daemon and his children.

“Father!” they both called out.

“It seems you are having fun.” Corlys said with a smile on his face.

“Father, uncle Daemon is reading us the story of Odysseus!” Laena said.

“Best not let your mother hear you haven’t called Daemon by his title.” Corlys said in jest. “What is this story?”

“It is about a king making his way back from war to reach his home.” Daemon explained “He faces monsters, Gods, witches and the elements along the way.”

“Have you perhaps taken inspiration from my travels, Prince Daemon?” Corlys smiled.

Daemon winked “Perhaps.”

“Children, you must ready for bed.” Corlys said to them, the two frowned at him.

“We will continue before you go to sleep.” Daemon assured them, the two got up from their blankets, hugged both of them both running out of the room.

“Cherish Baelor as he is.” Corlys told him “They grow wilder as they learn to walk.” Daemon laughed. “Come, I wish to speak you in private.” He led Daemon to an empty room with an open balcony. The servants moved some chairs onto the balcony and leaving the two cups of wine on a small table.

The sea was calm, the moonlight shimmering on the waves as the silhouettes of birds passed by the grey clouds.

“What did you wish to discuss, Lord Corlys.” Daemon asked.

“When Rhaenys told me that if given the chance you would not put your son onto the Iron throne I had believed you a liar.” Corlys said “For what man would surrender such a chance?” he sipped his wine “And then you tell me that you would allow Laenor to push you back in the line of succession; make the chance of walking those steps even further away.”

“I told her the truth, I would not want Baelor anywhere it.”

“But why?”

Daemon swirled his drink in his cup “That metal chair is just over one hundred years old and has already seen nearly two wars for succession if my great-uncle had not died suddenly and numerous rebellions; I will not have any part of it and I will not have either Baelor or my future children die for a crown, they will be happy in Runestone.”

Just then Daemon grabbed his chest and took in a deep breath.

“Again?” Corlys asked.

Daemon nodded, it had taken him a couple seconds to regain his composure “Pardon me.”

“Then why betroth Baelor to Laena then if you desire no part in it?”

“Because both I and Otto reasoned that if we were to bring your children into the royal family then it may leave us vulnerable to the plots of ambitious lords who would wed their sons to Laena and one day claim the Iron throne through the Princess.” Daemon explained “I do not trust other lords and both Rhea and I are content with Runestone so there would be no threat from us.”

“Does your Lady-wife know of this arrangement?”

Daemon shook his head. “I will tell her what had transpired, she may be cross with me as we both wished to go over matches for our son together but being tied to House Velaryon is nothing to dismiss.” He took a sip “So I guessing you shall be accepting these terms.”

“I shall.”

“Good, let us put this whole matter behind us now.”

“I shall drink to that.” The two knocking their cups together, finishing their drinks before placing it down onto the table “There is one thing I must ask of you, my Prince.”

“It’s just Daemon when we’re alone.” Daemon said.

“Daemon, what drives you exactly?” Corlys asked. “Do not try to deny it, you speak as a humble man and a leal servant to your king, the realm, your wife and family yet I know ambition when I see it, but what possesses you?”

Daemon smiled and clasped his hands together “Peace in our time.”

Chapter Text

His time at High Tide has been… a solemn one. He pondered on his knowledge of the place; on the castle, of the people, of the history, of the life that he had within these walls with Laena and his twin daughters Baela and Rhaena and of what had come to pass of this place he might have called home.

When he walked the halls of High Tide, he wondered if he had chased Baela and Rhaena through those very corridors, if their giggles echoed against the pale white stone. He wondered if he was happy at that time.

He tried to picture faces that he had never seen, of girls he will never know but who he wanted to hold. He wanted to feel sad, he wanted to feel angry, he wanted to feel anything regarding this loss and yet, he still felt the blanket of grief that the passing of his father.

The Gods have taken so much from me now…

Yet it had not all been just a fog of grief, he had felt anger and indignation over his time here; he hated Otto Hightower, the man who wore his learned nature and ‘loyalty’ as a coat to hide his ambition, to rise above his station as a second son and use his office to do so.

He treats this man as a friend…

How can one know so much but act so naïve?

And when the imposter suggested to place Laenor ahead of both him and Baelor in the line of succession to appease Lord Corlys; how much he had wished for control then, how he wished to strangle himself so that he could end the imposter.

Forsaking the birthright of my son? You are craven beyond words!

How Daemon wished the imposter just followed the path he had chosen in that other life; stand tall against the Sea Snake rather than cower before him.

If you had only gone down the path of the Grand Council… We would be second in line, we could have betrothed Baelor to Rhaenyra, convinced Viserys to name him heir!

How the imposter’s decisions infuriated him; still his goal was to undermine Daemon.

Then there was Corlys.

Daemon knew of Corlys’ importance in his other life; the grandfather of his girls and an ally during his years in both political and actual exile. He who had crowned Daemon as King during Daemon’s conquest of the Stepstones and who advocated Daemon’s son inherit the Throne after the death of that Green usurper Aegon II.

He should have felt warmer towards the Sea Snake but seeing him try an usurp the rights of him and Viserys had left a burning dislike for the man, he knew this would happen but to see it? He wondered if in that other life did that Daemon wish he could have met Corlys in the field. 

He has now gotten almost everything he wanted barring his blood on the throne, even that is just later than he’d prefer!

Daemon could feel the anxiety that the imposter felt as he and the lickspittle Hand Otto waited to be called into the grand hall of High Tide. They both expected that Corlys will announce that the three had come to an arrangement and that they will go to King’s Landing to sign what had been called ‘The Tides Treaty’ by Corlys.

Why are you so nervous? You spoke to the man yesterday and he told you in private that he will agree to those terms.

“Daemon.” Otto called to him, it irritated Daemon that the imposter let Otto address him without his title.

It’s Prince Daemon to you, traitor.

“Otto, it shan’t be long now, after this we will be back to our families.” The imposter said, Daemon could feel the fakeness in his smile as he tried to take strength, strength which Daemon refused to give to the imposter after what he had done.

‘Daemon, I need some help here.”

Why should I help you? You who denied my son’s birthright, whatever happens you shall live with the consequences.

A herald came to the door, opening it “Lord Hand, My Prince.” He said, bowing his head “Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys await you.”

“You have my thanks.” Otto spoke, the imposter nodded his head, the herald opened the doors wide and before them was a line of guards dressed in Velaryon colours.

‘Here we go..’

I’d say ‘break a leg,’ as your people say, but I’d prefer you break your neck.

The imposter and Otto walked into the hall, following the line of guards towards the Driftwood throne; Corlys sat on the throne with Rhaenys by his side and Laenor and Laena standing at her side.

Laena…

Another part of the life he will never live, another key to his legacy… another person who he will never love and share their love with their children. His grandson was also meant to sit that throne one day, Baela’s son… one who will never be born.

High Tide had the ghosts of those who did not exist and the blanket of emptiness grew heavier with each reminder

He quickly thought of Baelor.

I will fill the imposter with a need to hold him, more so than he feels now.

“Lord Corlys.” Otto spoke.

“Lord Hand, Prince Daemon.” Corlys spoke, he sat forward “I thank you for your time and for the hard work you have done, after hours of talks and disagreements I am proud to say that we have come to an accord.” There was an applause, one that Daemon knew well.

Such a farse.

“My family and I shall come to King’s Landing, there we will sign the treaty along with the Lord Hand, both Princes Daemon and Viserys and, most importantly, his Grace King Jaehaerys.” He announced “The rift between our families may take time to heal but both houses have taken steps towards reconciliation and for that I am grateful and proud.”

Another round of applause.

“We thank you for these kind words, Lord Corlys.” The imposter spoke “For your hospitality and for your own efforts, I hope that our treaty goes a long way in making sure that whatever enmity between our houses heals and we maintain the friendship that our families have enjoyed since before the conquest.”

Why do you always feel the need to grovel at people’s feet?

“Ravens have been sent to the Great houses, all shall know that the discord has been solved.” Otto spoke “We should head to King’s Landing as soon as possible, show the realm that we are united.”

“Of that we can agree.” Corlys said “Ready the ships, we shall make windfall for King’s Landing and present ourselves to the King and I shall take my place as Master of Ships once more.”

He is making such an effort to not say that Laenor has not been acknowledged as Heir. I almost hope Viserys has a living son so that your dream of having your blood sit the throne grows further away.

After the mummers farce of an announcement, the Sea Snake shared a bottle of Dornish red with both the green snake and the imposter.

“You must forgive me for making those negotiations difficult, sers.” Corlys said. “But I was not prepared to surrender so easily.”

“That was to be expected.” Otto said as he drank from his cup. “I am sure you would not be the last lord hoping to exact concessions from the throne. This is quite good wine.”

Hope you choke on it.

“No doubt the children will be devastated for your absence, Daemon.” Corlys said “It is a shame, I do believe you have yet to finish that story of your to them, the ‘Odyssey’ was it?”  

“You can have the book.” The imposter said, placing his journal on the table and sliding it over to Corlys “I had my scribe make a copy of it at Runestone, I am sure you and others in your house will find it to be a good read.”

For Daemon, the only moments that had been bearable in his time at High Tide was spending time with Laena and Laenor; he was thankful for the imposter’s need to feel the void left by the children of his sister in his own life with Daemon’s own family.  And help fill the void left in Daemon’s own heart.

I wonder… had I done the same for Baela and Rhaena in that life too? Had I cared for them? Read them stories and played with them?

I will never know, I’ll never have the chance.

“How about a toast.” Corlys proposed “I look forward to working with you in future, Otto.” He said looking to that scheming bastard who lifted his own cup. “And you to Daemon, I feel your talents would be wasted on Runestone, I am sure when Viserys becomes king he shall find a place for you on his council.”

The imposter smiled politely, though Daemon could feel his apprehension “Thank you, Corlys.” Daemon knew much about the imposter’s nature by now, his lack of ambition no longer just the only thing that irritated him.

If you don’t want the position than just bloody tell them!

They had left for King’s Landing soon after, the mass fleet of Velaryon ships now sailing away from the gullet and back to the ship harbours and ports of Driftmark. Daemon watched through the imposter’s eyes as he did busy work on the ship with the crew. At his sides he could see the ships escorting them, their own lights on like fireflies in the night.

Through the sweat on his brow Daemon felt the chill in the air, colder than usual.

“You’s feel that?” one of the crew commented. “Sea air feels colder, means winter is upon us now.”

“Winter?” the imposter spoke “How long will that last.”

“Don’t knows, Prince Daemon.” The sailor said, he was a older man dressed in simple rags “Heard from the wisemen in port that this winter may be two years or three, won’t be long till the snow fall I recon’”

‘I don’t have much time to test run terrace farming then.’

Really? That’s what you are concerned about? Your bloody farming method?

Yet the cold wind brought something else in mind for Daemon, a the glimmer of a memory he had not pondered since he had first awoken…

Icy blue eyes in a thick fog of snow and a winter never-ending.

What was that? What did I see back then?

He did not know if the chill he thought was because of the wind or because both he and the imposter had the same thing in mind, once more he tried to peer into those memories but was met by a wall of darkness.

When they had arrived back at King’s Landing, they had almost received a hero’s welcome; smallfolk lined the harbour as their galley docked onto the pier, when they appeared to be seen by the people as the walked down onto the pier a loud cheer thundered out. It was as if they were returning victorious from a war rather than talks of a treaty.

And yet, Daemon could not help but feel some pride in the applause.

They love me.

He lapped up the praise.

“The Prince of Peace!” one shouted.

“Dutiful Prince Daemon!” another cried.

As they approached the guards on the pier he saw one of them smile and bow his head “Thank you, Lord Hand, My Prince.” He whispered to them as he escorted them “The men and I, we did not wish to fight a war against those seahorses ships.”

Bit too craven to be a soldier now.

“It seems that news of our good work has spread to the common folk.” Otto said, a mischievous smile on his face.

Our work? I was the one whose sacrifices made the treaty possible, what did you surrender?

Still Daemon didn’t want that to ruin this moment of him, as the guards escorted him to a carriage, he looked over to the sea, the Velaryon ships making a detour Iron Gate.

Want to get in without anyone seeing you?

When he and Otto arrived at the steps of King’s Landing the warm welcome continued strong; a guard of men greeted them with Viserys at the front with Aemma and Rhaenyra.  

When the imposter stepped out of the carriage did trumpets blow as the proud banners of his house flap in the wind.

This. This is the kind of welcome I should get, the kind of respect I deserve!

For just a moment, the melancholy had lesser and the weight he felt more lighter. The memory of High Tide ached but the pain had been dulled.

“Brother!” Viserys called out to him, arms out wide as he embraced Daemon tightly, he pulled back and looked to Otto and shook his hand. “Lord-Hand, I congratulate you two on a job well done, you have averted a crisis and brought peace to our kingdom.”  

“We live to serve his Grace and the Realm.” Otto said, Daemon thought himself lucky at that imposter was in control for such a moment, for he could not imagine not being able to hold back a scoff.

“Come, let us not retire for the day; Lord Hand, you family await you at the tower.” Viserys said “Your daughter, has been a great help in caring for the king.”

Oh has she now…

“Daemon, your lady wife and son await you in their apartments.” There was a longing there, in his chest. For both of them. One that Daemon tried to untangle, separate the desire to see Baelor from Rhea.

It is Baelor I wish to see… not her…

As Otto departed from them to the tower of the hand, Viserys placed a hand over the imposter’s shoulder as he walked with him. “Daemon, I cannot thank you enough for this.” He said “It is not right, what has been done, pushing yourself and Baelor further down the line of succession to appease that damn Sea Snake, but you did so.”

You’re right, it was not right.

“I wished for peace, if that meant being pushed down in line for a crown I might never wear then so be it.” The imposter spoke, so humble yet no one would know how eager he was to relinquish it.

When they arrived at their apartments, the guards has opened the door; there Rhea stood with a maid holding Baelor, not a second before the two looked upon each other did they run into each other’s arms with longing kiss.

In the past he found these moments to be nauseating, yet as the two held each other he could not help but draw some level of strength from it, some sort of comfort, as Rhea muttered a hundred different words of affection.

When both Daemon and the imposter spotted Baelor in the arms of the maid, the burning feeling to hold him could have reduced King’s Landing to ashes. But Rhea stopped him “Wait.” She said, much to both the imposter surprise and Daemon’s frustration. She looked to the maid who began to set Baelor down to the floor.

His son wobbled as he stood up before taking plodding steps towards his parents. In that moment, Daemon’s heart melted as the weight that crushed him was lifted. He felt elation as the imposter gasped and smiled widely.

When the imposter knelt down with arms outstretched to Baelor, Daemon felt immense pride.

Baelor tripped as he reached the imposter’s hands “My boy, I am so proud.” He said, holding him close. How Daemon had wished he could be the one to doing so.

When his son had been put down to rest did the imposter and Rhea speak with each other, sat by the hearth, sitting on a long chair holding each other.

“Forgive me, Rhea.” The imposter asked. “I know we had promised to arrange Baelor’s match together, I just couldn’t find a way-”

Rhea silences him, pressing her finger to his lips. “It is fine.” She tells him. “You had done what was best for the realm, I would have done the same.” The two hold each other a bit closer “Father will be… disappointed, he had hoped for a match within the Vale to strengthen our hand, but an alliance with House Velaryon will be good for us too.”

“Prince Daemon, Lady Rhea.” A servant had called for them from the doorway, they both looked up “His Grace has asked to see you, he has asked you bring your son too.”

What does he want?

The thought was bitter.

“We shall attend to him immediately.” The imposter said, Rhea huffed, likely at the thought of waking Baelor from his sleep.

They were marched towards the room, guards by their sides with ser Clement at the head. Two more knights guards Jaehaerys door. They bowed their heads, each grabbing the handle of a door and pushed it open. Daemon’s memory of Jaehaerys’ apartments were fuzzy; lavish and colourful thanks to his grandmother with a sweet scent in the air, a place fit for a king.

Yet now the place was dark, the colours faded and the sweet smell of milk of the poppy lingered; the imposter clenched his jaw trying not to gag while Rhea covered Baelor’s mouth and nose.

“The King is through there, My Prince.” The King’s guard guided them to another room.

The imposter nodded his head and turned to Rhea “Wait here, I shall call you in.” Rhea nodded hers, holding Baelor and gently tapping his back.

If the room outside smelt sickly than inside wafted of death and decay, in the centre was a large bed with his grandfather laying at the side, covered in blankets, a small chair sat facing him. The imposter walked towards the chair, sitting down.

Look at you. How the mighty have fallen.

Daemon wanted to feel furious with him; yet all he felt was pity.

“Grandfather.” The imposter spoke softly, Jaehaerys weakly turned his head to face him, opening his eyes before narrowing them, looking straight at him.

“F- father?” he muttered.

The imposter reeled back a bit while Daemon felt a bit offended.

Aenys? he sees me as Aenys?!

“No grandfather, it is I, Daemon.” He said “Your grandson.”

Jaehaerys blinked a few times and opened his mouth “Ah… Daemon, forgive this old man.” He almost whispered. “It seems my eyes nor my mind were not as sharp as before.”

The imposter reached over and took his frail old hand. “That is fine, is all well grandfather?”

Jaehaerys breathed in laboriously “I fear I am not too long for this world, Daemon.”  

“Do not speak like that, grandfather.” The imposter urged him, but they both knew; he would be gone in just two years’ time

“Your father said that too.” Jaehaerys said softly, Daemon could have sworn that he then mouthed the word ‘why?’ “I have much to say to you, Daemon.” He breathed in deeply “I was wrong, I was wrong to mistrust you.” He said, his voice straining “You are truly a man now, a good man, I should have known it was the vigour of youth that- that led you astray… but I know now you put the realm first, you put your family first,  you have sacrificed much and for that I am proud.”

Daemon treaded in the pool of pride the imposter felt, yet in his mind the was one thing he hoped.

He trusts us… perhaps we can get him to grant a egg to Baelor?

He pushed the idea in the imposter’s head, he blinked and swallowed as he pushed the thought down.

You deny my son a chance at the throne… do not deny him this.

“Than- Thank you, grandfather.”

Let him have this at least!

“May I see him, may I see Baelor?” The imposter turned his head to the door and to Rhea and nodded his head. She carried Baelor to the bed.

“Your Grace.” Rhea spoke, bowing her head slightly, she turns her body, showing Baelor to his great grandfather.

Jaehaerys slips his hand from the imposter and tries to reach out to him “Baelor… my boy… forgive me, I wish I could give you more.”

Ask for more! Ask him now!

Daemon then felt the hands of darkness pull him back.

No!

Quickly he relented and ceased his thoughts and urgings.

Craven… you damn craven.

Baelor starts to cry as Rhea taps on his back, trying to soothe him into calmness “Pardons your Grace.” Rhea apologised to him.

Jaehaerys rested his head as his arm fell to his side “It is quite fine, know that I am proud of him.” Jaehaerys breathed “I am… truly sorry, I wish I could give you three more, give him more.”

Daemon wanted to claw at his own face.

“I hope you become great Baelor, a great lord of the Vale.”

He should be more… he should be so much more!

“He will, your Grace, I am sure of it.” Rhea spoke, still trying to soothe him, a maid quickly comes to Rhea aid.

“You have already done so much for us, grandfather.” The imposter spoke.

Daemon wished he could have broke free from his cage, he crashed against it trying to force his own words through his throat to no avail, it was the ‘humble’ words of the imposter on his tongue instead.

Daemon could have fallen to his knees; once more his dreams and ambitions were just in sight, given within his reach and could be take if only he could seize it. If only he could seize it.

As the imposter turned to face his wife, he once more spotted his son as he rested his head on Rhea’s shoulder as a maid stood behind her with a bronze coloured dragon in her hand, Baelor accepted the toy eagerly. 

Jaehaerys chuckled softly before breaking out into a cough “I- I see he has grown fond of my gift to him.” 

“He is enamoured with the gift, your Grace.” Rhea smiled as Baelor calmed down, chewing on its head. 

“Good… good…” Jaehaerys weakly mumbled before closing his eyes. The Imposter stood up, turning to Rhea he placed a kiss on her forehead and looked to Baelor. 

Daemon looked at his son with just a glimmer of hope; he wondered if Rhaenyra would repeat her mistakes, if Corlys and Rhaenys would tolerate it in this life and wondered of a possibility that his blood sits the throne through the union of Baelor and Laena.

Chapter Text

Daemon scratched at the hair on his chin, the autumn chill tickling his face as he watched the farmers he had hired began to take the minor harvests from his experiment terrace farming; it was a small bit of land, about the size of a football pitch or one acre, which Rhea had allotted to him for the project.

The results had pleased him; the talk of winter coming concerned him greatly, he feared that he would have to wait until the end of a possible winter to start and then who knew when that would end. Or what would happen between then.

Yet it seemed the summer had lasted just long enough for his growing team to clear the field and do the necessary work, two years’ worth of work, setbacks, and changes to his plan he finally had his vision realised.

Thank God I have Caraxes, he’s like my own personal crawler crane.

It must have been strange for others to see the legendary creature being used to move large rocks and scrap out lines in the different levels of the mound with the workers; the days of work he had saved just with that.

I wonder if that is how the empire of Valyrian became so powerful? Because they used dragons as tools and not just weapons? Maybe I could recruit giants one day to build dams?

He chuckled inwardly at the thought.

He walked up the set of wooden stairs build into the farm as he observed the work of field hands cutting the wheat, placing them in a large sack before then placing them down a slide to be collected by more hands.

He spotted one of his stewards who helped him manage the project “Robin!” he called out, waving his hand. Robin turned to him and rushed down to meet him.

“My Prince.” He said, bowing his head, a larger ledger in his hands.

“Anything to report?”

Robin opened his book and flickered through some pages “The harvest looks to be going well, the crops we have collected here shows great potential for the idea and we may gain a good sum of money from the harvest collected here.” Daemon resisted the urge to smile at the news, experience of failure itching his mind.

How many projects have I seen blow up in smoke?

“Any setbacks?”

“Some of the lower levels soil is far too wet and muddy, crops could not grow.” Robin said. “Farmers have said that the water from the rain comes from the top and falls to the bottom.” Daemon nodded his head, pressing his finger to his lips. “And we needed more work hands then planned which incurred some additional costs.”

I’ve underestimated the costs.

“You have my thanks. Robin.” Daemon patted him on the back “I’ll need to keep this in mind when we continue this, you are dismissed for now.”

Robin bowed his head “By your leave, my Prince.” Robin quickly walked down the steps.

Daemon turned his head and looked towards Runestone, from there he had a great view of the castle and vice-versa, helpfully from his own solar where he watched them diligently at times. He felt his hands clam up the longer he looked at the castle.

I should head back, check on them

He quickly rushed over to his horse, guarded by Cley, and headed back towards Runestone, at times even racing Cley towards the gates.

When he went through the gates he handed his horse to Mychel before quickly rushing back inside the castle doors. His eyes looked for two people; Rhea and Perra.

Not long ago they received news from the Eyrie of Yorbert’s passing, understandably neither were taking the news well; the last few weeks since then had been a deluge of emotions and tears, all of which Daemon tried to juggle along side his work. 

He spotted Edith in the halls, quickly rushing towards her “Edith!” it use to frighten the poor girl who would nervously bow her head at him, Daemon was glad now that most of the castle servants were comfortable with him.

“Prince Daemon.” She greeted politely.

“Do you know where Lady Perra is?”

“I believe she is still in bed.” Daemon grimaced slightly, must have been days since she left her room, Daemon resisted the urge to get her to come out; she was but a girl of five and ten, mourning her father's loss still. “But I have heard she is taking her meals now from the cooks.”

“That is good, an improvement.” Daemon said. “And my Lady-wife?”

“She is in her solar, I believe she is preparing to take petitions later today.”

“I thank you, Edith.” Daemon nodded his head and smiled before quickly rushing off to Rhea’s office.

Two guards stood by the door, each one standing at attention and greeting him formally. He greeted them wordlessly before opening the door to Rhea’s solar and stepping in. Inside he saw Rhea, her hand holding up her head as she read through a stack of ledgers.

Daemon sighed.

When Daemon awoke this morning he found his bed empty; it had become a recurring pattern now these last few weeks, they were go their own ways in the morning, meeting to spend time to check on Baelor before doing their own work or training. The only time they seemed to have together was at night, even then it felt as though the time spent was more a distraction that being together. Beyond that all she would do was attend to her work. 

She tries to drown herself in work.

Daemon walks towards her and around the desk, Rhea still focused on the ledger. He bends down slightly and hugs her from behind, nestling his head between her shoulder “How much sleep have you gotten?”

Rhea sighed “Enough.” She spoke “I have work to do and people to see.” Daemon let go and the two looked at each other, her eyes were red whether from lack of sleep or weeping he did not know.

“Let me handle the petitions.” He said “You should get more rest.”

Rhea scowled “No, I am the Lady of Runestone, I shall handle it.” Clearly spoken as an order, Daemon placed his hand on hers.

“You’re already doing so much, you made me the castellan; I can handle it.” Daemon offered, placing a kiss on her neck.

Rhea soften at his touch, leaning her head into his. “Very well.” She conceded “I still have a lot of work to do so I cannot rest yet but I shall leave this to you.” Rhea moved from her chair as Daemon still playful held her, twisting around to embrace him properly.

“You shall get some rest.” Daemon told her. “Promise?”

“I promise.” She lifted her head and kissed him gently before pulling out of his arms “Here, these are the parchments about the issues, read them.” She gave him a few rolled parchments “No doubt they will be brought up, I have a meeting with my bannermen I can prepare for then.” Politely shooing him away.

Daemon smiled, pecked her on the cheek and quickly made for the throne room.

Maester Hugo stood on the dais, sat upon a stool next to the bronze throne as Daemon climbed the short steps “Prince Daemon.”

“I shall be taking petitions today, Hugo.” He said “My lady-wife has enough to deal with already.” Hugo nodded. Daemon looked upon the throne. His hand on the arm rest, the metal felt cold against his palm. He felt a reluctance to sit upon it from himself.

And a burning desire to not by his counterpart.

It’s not the seat either of us want…

Daemon took to the throne, sitting on the cushion as he rested his arms at it’s side as Cley stood by his side “Send them in.” he commanded.

I can never get use to this.

One by one, a line of people formed as they came in from the main entrance, each one bowed to him politely and came with their issues and petitions; there was a diversity among them, some minor landed lords who came about a squabble over some river and some village elders who talked about the need for masons or field hands.

Thank the Gods I have Hugo with me, this would be hell.

Then a knight strode in, it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find knights who believed in their own self-importance barge in front. It was the Targeryen colours on his livery that caught their eyes.

“My Prince.” The knight said, kneeling before him “I am a message from King’s Landing.” He took out a rolled up parchment. Daemon signalled the man to step forward, taking the parchment from his hand.

Reading the letter he found the air sucked from his lungs.

Jaehaerys…

He handed the letter to Hugo, who gasped loudly as he read. “Prince Daemon.”

Daemon raised his hand “Cley.” He called to his friend “Take this to my wife.” He said, Hugo passed the letter to him, Cley quickly sprinting to the doorway. Daemon sat silently, his hands held together as he looked to the floor.

“King Jaehaerys is dead.” Hugo announced to those in the hall, there was a choir of gasps and shrieks from the news “Long live King Viserys.” Commotion and chatter echoed around the hall “Please, I fear we must end petitions here-”

 “Wait.” Daemon called out “You have come here, some taking days, we shall finish this.”

“Prince Daemon-”

“I am fine, Hugo.” He placed a farse smile on his face. “Let the next person step forward.” He shut his eyes and tried to focus inwards.

Why do I feel nothing?

Neither anger, nor sadness, pity of glee.

“My Prince, you have my condolences, the realm mourns for your grandsire, a wise king.” A landed knight spoke and the words seemed to blur into the background. They all did and yet he continued until the last person left the hall. Staring blankly out into the path ahead he stood up and walked quietly towards Rhea’s solar again, Hugo by his side.

“Prince Daemon…” Hugo spoke “I-”

“There is nothing to be said.” when they reached the door, the guards bowed their heads, spoke their condolences and opened the door. Rhea gave commands as servants and scribes rushed around the office, carrying scrolls, plans and ledgers. When they all saw Daemon at the door, some had dropped what they were holding to bow before him.

Even Rhea.

“Prince Daemon, we mourn the death of Jaehaerys.” Rhea spoke.

Not you. Please not you.

“Everyone, clear the room, prepare for our journey to King’s Landing.” Daemon ordered. They all quickly rushed out of the room, except Rhea and Hugo, some even leaving what they dropped on the floor. Daemon picked up a scroll.

Maybe drowning yourself in work is the answer…

Rhea wrapped her arms around him “Daemon, are you well?” he nodded his head.

“We have to go back to King’s Landing again.” He laughed bitterly. “Gods help us.” If only to mask a familiar yet different feeling of emptiness sat in his chest.

Perhaps it made sense, he never held any strong feelings for Jaehaerys; his interactions with the king was limited, once standoffish and the other more pitiful and even with Daemon’s memories he was a distant figure… the man in the high chair.

Daemon focused once within himself.

Did you hate him?

The question had earnt him a light sting, as if to scold him to such a foolish question.

 Right, he was still your grandsire.

The journey to King’s Landing was tedious as before; a long journey to Gulltown and then an even longer journey to the capital, praying for weather that did not impede their journey. As news spread of Jaehaerys’ death, Daemon was met with a greater reaction from those around him than when his own father died. From Runestone to various inns, to Gulltown and then by the crew of the large galley.

He did not know if the irritation that this realisation was his own or Daemon.

Of course they mourn the King, they lived under his reign peacefully, not my father’s.

And yet that did not bring either of the two any comfort.

It was fitting in a way that the skies of King’s Landing was dark and grey, as they reached the harbour, passing the Blackwater bay. When they docked on a pier of the Fishmarket, Daemon was reminded of the stillness that reigned during the standoff between the Velaryons and themselves. Only the sound of the work around them and the shriek of Caraxes flying over them

Except rather than tension, sorrow gripped people’s imaginations. As workers took their belongings from the ship he watched as few of them, he could see the red in their eyes and even spotted a woman sat upon a wooden crate, weeping into her hands.

If he had been your grandsire, would you all feel the same way.

A part of him hated himself for thinking in such a way.

Once again he saw the familiar face of Robin standing at the pier to meet him and his family. “Ser Robin.” He said the kingsguard.

“My Prince.” He said “Lady Rhea, Lord Baelor.” Baelor was but a baby just a few months over his first name day, now he stands between the two of them, holding onto his mother’s skirts. “I wish we would meet under better circumstances. The realm mourns for the loss of his Grace.”

“We mourn for my grandsire too.” Daemon said.

“His Grace, King Viserys, awaits you in the Red Keep.” Robin said “The rest of the small council too.” Both Daemon and Rhea looked at each other.

Must be for the funeral preparations.

The three rode the carriage from the harbour towards the Red Keep, again Daemon could spot the stillness, the solemnness and sorrow on the faces of those they passed. Some throwing flowers at their carriage’s path.

As they reached the entrance to the Red keep, a troop of guards met them as before. Yet this time it was not Otto who met them but Corlys. As they stepped out of their carriage, the Sea Snake walked towards them and formally greet them.

“Prince Daemon, Lady Royce” He said, gripping Daemon’s hand firmly, before then politely embracing Rhea with a kiss on the cheek. “And this is little lord Baelor.” He smiled at his son before looking to Daemon once more “You have my condolences, your grandsire was one of the greatest kings Westeros had seen before and after the Conquest.”

“I thank you, Lord Corlys.” Daemon replied.

“Come, his Grace Viserys and the Lord Hand wishes to discuss with you in the chamber of the Small Council, first let our guards escort you to his Grace’s apartments; both your cousins Lady Aemma and my wife Princess Rhaenys awaited with the children.” Daemon nodded his head, placing his hand on the small of Rhea’s as they were escorted through the Red Keep.

When they reached the apartments, he spotted both Rhaenys and Aemma sat upon a long chair by the hearth, while Laena and Laenor played with Rhaenyra.

When was the last time I was here and it was a happy occasion? It was when my father was still alive.

“Prince Daemon.” Aemma spoke, the small group stood up and faced both him and his family as they stepped inside.

“I hope you are well, cousin.” Rhaenys spoke, Daemon walked up to them, politely embracing them both before turning to his nephew and nieces.

“Prince Daemon.” They both said, even Rhaenyra tried to curtsey before him.

Daemon smiled “Children, that is no way to greet your uncle.” He knelt down and opened his arms as the three ran to hug him. “I need you three to look after Baelor for me while I am gone, can I trust you?”

Both Laenor and Laena nodded enthusiastically “Yes un-cle.” Rhaenyra spoke, as they parted Rhea approached and led Baelor to them who hid behind her.

Such a shy one…

It reminded him of his niece when they were younger- No it reminded him of Gael. Not his niece.

She was the shy one… it was her.

He did not know who he was talking about. He placed his hand against his eye; he did not know when but since he had awoken it felt as though his memoires we're being picked clean from someone or something.

“Prince Daemon.” Robin called to him, breaking him from his trance “His Grace awaits.”  

Daemon nodded his head and looked to Rhea “I shall be back soon.” Rhea nodded and placed a quick kiss on his lips before he departed, turning to see Baelor being carried by Laenor onto the fur rug as Rhaenyra showed him some of her toys.

When he reached the small council he saw two more members of the kingsguard at the door, bowing their heads and opening it. Inside he saw Viserys sat at the head of the table with both Otto and Corlys sat at either side of him. As Daemon stepped inside and the doors behind him shut, he bowed his head.

“Your Grace.”

Viserys stood up from his seat and walked towards him, capturing Daemon in a tight embrace “Brother.” He said. “It is good to see you again, how are Rhea and Baelor?”

“They are well, my King.”

“None of that please, we are brothers.” Viserys showed him to his seat next to Corlys as Viserys sat back down. “I knew this day would come, but I had not expected it so soon.”

“Our grandsire was old, we his health was ailing.” Daemon said.

“Indeed, there is a new king and a new dawn.” Corlys said. “What the realm needs is for the House of the Dragon to be united and for a council to govern it.”

Daemon bit his cheek. “What are you proposing?”

“I am forming my own small council, brother.” Viserys said “I wish to offer you a seat on it.”

Daemon clenched his jaw “I fear I will not be a good Master of law, coin or whispers.” He spoke “There are others far better than I.”

“You will be relieved to know we are not offering such a position.” Otto said “I have recommend to his Grace that, with your experiences in the Vale and High Tide, you can handle matters of diplomacy; you would be the first ‘Chief Emissary.’”

Daemon first inclination was to reject it, yet as he opened his mouth, Daemon put a stop to him; catching him off guard and placing a searing pain on him, as if telling him ‘I shall not surrender this!’

I could… I could do a lot; I could recruit craftsmen to my team in Runestone, I could try an improve people’s lives, I could continue to make a difference… I could gather information on maternity practices and save Perra! I could save Aemma! I just need to find someone or think of something!

I can stop the Dance for good…

Yet in his heart, the sight of Rhea and Baelor, of Perra, or his friends at Runestone. The pain that was not caused by Daemon was that of fear, he didn’t want to be without them. And when the word ‘No’ tried to escape his lips, did the pain intensify.

I can maintain my composure and fight him off.

“Please, allow me to speak with my wife first.” Daemon spoke “I currently serve as her castellan.”

“Ser Clement.” Viserys called to kingsguard, the door opened and the knight stood before them. “Escort Lady Royce and my brother to a private room so they may discuss.” The knight bowed his head and walked away, shutting the door “I will need an answer soon, brother.”

Daemon inhaled deeply, a part of him begging that Rhea gives him an excuse to say no. The three almost sat in complete silence waiting for the knight to return when a knock on the door echoed around the room. “Your Grace, Lady Royce.”

“Your Grace.” Rhea spoke, bowing her head. Daemon quickly took off from his chair and towards Rhea, taking her by the hand “Daemon, what has happened?” she whispered to him as the Kingsguard led them away to an empty solar, shutting the door behind them.

“They wish for me to take a seat on the small council.” Daemon said “They wish to make me the first chief emissary to the crown.”

 Rhea placed her hand over her mouth for a moment “And what did you say.”

“Nothing.” He admitted. “I- I want to say no; there is some much that I have yet to achieve at Runestone and… I don’t want to be without you and Baelor or even Perra for too long but I cannot ask you to stay here.” Daemon paused “But…” his chest burned ache, Daemon was placing his hands around his heart. And squeezing. “I feel I can do more; I can help my brother, I can learn more, recruit people from the capital to Runestone and increase our wealth and power.” He took Rhea’s hands “I am torn between these two ideas… I am lost, Rhea. And I need you to guide me.” He rested his head on her “Whatever you say, I shall follow.”

The two basked in the quiet moment “You should accept.” Daemon let out a breath “He is your king, he may be your brother but he is your king and when a King asks he commands.”

"What about yourself, what about Baelor or Perra?" Daemon asked "You had only lost your father so recently-"

"we are not some fawn for you to nurse, we shall be fine." she reassured him. "Perra will be upset no doubt but you shall visit us I hope." 

 "I could not stand being away from home for too long." Daemon smiled sombrely “I was hoping you would ask me to stay at Runestone.” He chuckled “But you’re right and maybe I am needed here too.” Rhea kissed him. “I will be back at Runestone!” he exclaimed “I will ask for at least four months in the year to be at Runestone, if not then I shall deny Viserys and the small council of this; and I cannot let my work there fall to ruin just because I am not there.”

“As you should, I would have told the king no myself if he asked to keep you in the capital at all times.” Rhea smirked.

 "I will need to appoint my own castellan to oversee my project." He wrapped his arms around her “If I knew that getting involved at the Eyrie would lead to this-”

“-You still would have gone.” Rhea spoke. “I think if you knew that someone was at risk, an innocent, you would have involved yourself regardless.” Daemon rested his head on hers, realising that, at times, she knew him better than he knew himself.

Chapter Text

Daemon turns over the parchments in his hand, flicking through each one as he tries to careful read the Triarchy’s terms for reduced tariffs, almost spitting out his drink as he went through each point.

Bloody merchants are greedy as hell.

Both he and Otto began crossing out and rewriting each demand, hoping to find some kind of common ground; yet with each meeting with their representatives, the demands, the costs and nerve of them grew. But the one that Daemon found most hideous was their desire for the Crown to forcibly extradite escaped slaves from their lands back to them.

I had almost wanted to rip up the paper in front of them… Daemon certainly would have cut them down.

As he looked at the paper he felt an intense desire to just rip up the terms and write their own ones, yet he knew well enough they’d get nowhere.

Their lords? Magisters? Whatever they are, they’re just as proud and stubborn as any lord! Is there no one in this planet that isn’t a power hungry dick?

There was a knock on his door “Prince Daemon.” Cley called from the other side, Rhea had asked him to accompany him during his stay in the capital “The Lord-Hand wishes to speak with you.”

“He may enter.” Daemon called back, the door opened and Otto stepped inside, Cley shutting the door behind them.

“Daemon.” Otto said, taking a seat opposite to him. “See you’re still making adjustments to their terms.”

“It’s ridiculous, Otto.” Daemon lamented “several meetings we had with them, and it feels as though we’re no closer to a compromise since the first.”

“We must have faith, Jaehaerys found common ground between these free cities.” Otto said “Even if history says the talks were laborious, I’m sure you are looking forward to this next round of talks.”

“We’ve been locked in talks for six turns of the moon, about as long as it took for my grandsire to find a compromise.” Daemon flipped the papers over “And then there’s Corlys, we mustn’t step on his toes either, else we put the treaty at risk... Gods even he wasn’t this difficult to negotiate with.”

Otto rubbed his face “Truly had I known the headache we set ourselves upon I would have done things differently.” Otto placed his hand on Daemon’s desk, drumming his fingers “May I speak freely, Daemon?”

“You need never ask, Otto.”

“Do you ever wonder if we set up the conditions for a war with that treaty?” Daemon paused for a moment; in his mind he could only see the future he sought to avoid, one of a muddied succession leading to conflict. What he had done may have pushed them away from such a fate yet placed them in darkness.

“I do not know what the future holds.” Daemon spoke “But what I do know is then we had prevented one, and for now that is enough.”

"Mayhaps, if only we could peer into the future." Otto remarked. "But our hope may still work out, Corlys is a man of ambition, our treaty poses him a dilemma; Laenor on the throne or House Velaryon become a great house, finding their peers among the wardens."

"And he cannot have both, quite the dilemma." Daemon added.

“Prince Daemon Lord Otto.” Came a muffled voice from the other side of the door, the door opened, Ser Arryk stood at the entrance, bowing his head to them. “The delegation is in the chamber.”

"Speaking of dilemmas." Otto said. 

“After you, Lord-Hand.” Daemon said, getting up from his seat, the papers in his hand, as they were escorted by the knight to the chamber. By the door stood sets of guards; two guards dressed in the two colours of House Targeryen and four men dressed in the armour and livery of a Myrish family.

The kingsguard bowed their heads before opening the door for them, as they stepped inside they saw the familiar faces of the Triarchy’s delegation.

“Magister Oro.” Otto greeted the Lyseni envoy “Archon Syrio, Master Releqor.” Addressing the Tyroshi and the Myrish lords.

“Lord-Hand, Prince Daemon.” Oro, the head of the delegation greeted them back. The smug look was enough to set Daemon off, he breathed in deeply as he took his seat. “I hope you both are well.”

“We are.” Daemon replied, resting his hands on the table. “Shall we continue where we left off?”

“Indeed.” Syrio spoke “I hope you had time to consider our terms.”

“We have, you will be disappointed to hear we do not accept.” Otto replied, taking out his ledger and opening it.

“Our terms are fair, if you desire a decrease in tariffs then the least you can do is comply to them.” Releqor spoke loudly. “You expect us to lower them without concessions on your end?”

“The Iron throne will not accept even the harbouring of slaves in our ports.” Daemon as calmly as he could “That is non-negotiable.”

 “Furthermore, the Triarchy are asking for the Iron throne to impose further taxes on goods brought in from other republics and Free Cities.” Otto pointed out “We can not abide by that; you would know that to do this would make the Seven Kingdoms dependent on trade from your alliance.”

“A fitting price really, seeing as you claim dominion over the Narrow Sea.” Oro almost taunted them. “How do you think having your ships controlling the seas impact us? Diverting trade from the other cities towards Driftmark?”

Daemon pinched the bridge of his nose, once again Driftmark was becoming an obstacle to his progress.

An obstacle I created.

“The interests of House Velaryon need not be opposite to the interests of the Triarchy.” Otto said “Nor the interests of His Grace; trade is of upmost importance to all of us around this table, for it to be disrupted would put the security of all of us at risk.”

“We have already dealt with the risk to trade by taking over the Stepstones, it was through our swords and the blood of our men that those once pirate infested islands are now civilised.” Syrio said “I should know, Tyrosh had suffered at the hands of pirates since written memory; it seems as though the Iron Throne wishes to reap the benefits our work while having done nothing.”

“Had the Triarchy called for aid then I am confident that many houses would have answered such a call.” Daemon retorted “My grandfather was no stranger to intervening in matters across the Narrow Sea.”

“Ah yes, His Grace Jaehaerys, who brokered a deal between Tyrosh and Pentos, we in Tyrosh are very familiar with that treaty.” Syrio said “Did you ever hear about what happened to the Prince of Pentos when he returned to his lands?” Both Daemon and Otto stayed silent “No? they sacrificed him to their queer Gods, luckily for Archon he was overthrown instead and replaced by my father.”

“Yet the treaty still stands.” Otto commented.

“No one on this table will agree to a treaty that would risk the fall of our reputations, ourselves and our families.” Releqor tapped his finger on the marble table to emphasis his point.

“Even if it would be benefit all parties involved?” Daemon questioned him “You would risk ruin? Peoples’ lives depend on the money from trade and you would put yourselves above that?”

“To  not end up an outcast to the Triarchy? Yes.” The Archon answered “Tell me, how far are you both willing to go to maintain that little agreement you and the ‘Sea Snake’ have? Do you believe he will surrender what you have given him? I believe yourself clever enough to know the answer.”

“We all have internal politics we are juggling.” Oro stated “You must understand that, we can not compromise on the terms we have set here; not when the Iron Throne has much to gain.”

“How about this then, Lord Hand and Prince.” Releqor suggested, taking out a map of the Narrow sea and its various ports and trade routes “The shipping lane between here and here.”  He pointed to a line connecting bloodstone to Driftmark. “And the lanes here and here.” He pointed towards the lanes between Myr and King’s Landing “We want brought under the jurisdiction. 

Daemon clenched his teeth “Those two lanes are vital to the Seven Kingdoms.” He said “And they are used by ships and merchants not just from the Triarchy; Pentoshi, Braavosi and even ships from Volantis and Norvos use those lanes too, we can not give you full control over them.”

“You cannot? Or the Sea Snake?” Syrio questioned.

“This is a reasonable request; if the Triarchy are given control over these shipping lanes then we shall lower the tariffs of ships passing through the Stepstones.” Oro said “That will make up for the loss in revenue we would suffer from such.”

“And make the Iron Throne dependent on trade from your cities.” Otto said “No, we cannot, to do that would upset the other free cities; one of whom shares a boarder with you might I remind you.”

Releqor chuckled “I promise you, Lord-Hand, Pentos will dare not set foot upon my home; they know they would not win a fight between us.”  

“If all you have to say to us is denials of our fair terms then we have nothing more to say for today.” Oro spoke, the three delegates standing up from their seats. “I wish you well, and hope you come to your senses.”

As the delegation left the chamber, Daemon couldn’t help but spot the sly grin on the face of the Lyseni noble as he left the room; knowing full well that he had left Daemon and Otto completely emptied handed once more.

When the doors were shut Daemon grabbed his goblet and tossed it at one of the pillars, the cup bouncing off the stone. “Those fuckers!” he exclaimed “Gods damn those bastards!”

Otto rubbed his face and sighed “It seems that their goal is the create tensions between both the Crown and House Velaryon.” He observed “And they’re using the stipulations regarding Velaryon control over the narrow sea to do so.” Otto closed his ledger book “It seems the only way we can come to an agreement is if we get Lord Corlys to secede on that point.”  

“He will not.” Daemon stated, walking over and picking up the goblet, placing it on the table “The man hates them as much as they him, they both know what it means for the other to have control over the narrow sea and the entrance to it.”

“Lord Corlys will likely be back from the harbour by now after inspecting the royal navy.” Otto stated “His Grace will still be in a meeting with Lord Lyonel, we should discuss this with him first before we tell the King about our current predicament.” Daemon nodded his head. “Before that I believe some reprieve in an order.”

“Quite, I should pay a visit to my good-sister and niece.” Daemon said.

Otto smiled “Do send my love to my daughter if you see her to.”

“Of course.” Daemon smiled back, bowing his head slightly before leaving the chamber.

Daemon found both Aemma and Rhaenyra in the Godswood, sitting under the tree in the shade casted by the bright autumn sun, as his niece was being entertained by Alicent. It warmed his heart to watch such a sight; all he had known was Rhaenyra and Alicent being at each other’s throats as adults, he never would have guessed that the two had a tender relationship prior to that.

I can’t let that change… I can’t let them hate each other…

As he walked up to them, Aemma was the first to spot him. She smiled and waved at him, catching the attention of Rhaenyra and Alicent. Rhaenyra quickly got up from the blanket and ran towards him, hugging his knees “Uncle Daemon.” She exclaimed, Daemon picked her up and kissed her cheek.

“Hello little one.” He smiled. 

"Can you read us more stories?" Rhaenyra asked "Or play with us?" there was an innocent eagerness in her voice. "shall we play join-four? shall we?"

"If I have the time I shall, I promise." he turned to Alicent “Lady Alicent, how are you?” he spoke warmly, even as his chest burned hot from the sight of her. 

Can you not hold a vendetta against a child please?

“I am well, my Prince.” Alicent said, bowing her head.

“Please Alicent, your father is a friend, and yourself as friend of my lovely niece.” Daemon said, Rhaenyra squeezing his neck with her arms “Just Daemon is fine.” Alicent casted a soft smile. Daemon masked the uneasy in his stomach at the thought; if he failed to save Aemma… then the girl before him might be pushed to marry his brother…

He looked to Aemma who watched Daemon with bright eyes and a welcoming expression.

I can’t let you die… I failed Gael, I can’t fail you.

“Good-sister.” Daemon greeted, Aemma stood up and embraced Daemon, Rhaenyra wedged between the two.

“Daemon, it is always a pleasure to see you.” Aemma smiled as she took Rhaenyra from Daemon and placed her down, sitting back down onto the blanket with herself and Alicent.

Daemon had a quick look around; he spotted two kingsguard beside them at the heart tree, Steffon and Erryk, and a third man dressed in padded leather armour over a dark doublet and pants. He looked to be about Daemon’s age.

The man smiled at him, he was handsome looking man, of that there was no doubt, but Daemon felt unnerved by him.

“Ser Criston!” Rhaenyra called to him, waving at him to come forward. 

Criston walked towards her “Princess.” He dipped his head to her, he turned to Daemon “My Prince.”

“Ser Criston.” Daemon wasn’t there for the tourney in Maidenpool, he had only heard from Rhaenyra how he swiftly defeated those in the melee and jousting while Daemon was still in King’s Landing preparing for these negotiations.

It upset Daemon to think this way, Criston seemed like a charming man; yet, even when he had potentially changed the line of succession, he still feared what part Cole had to play.

The Kingmaker…

He felt his chest flare up as he looked at him, Daemon knew who he was too. And hated him.

I should keep an eye on you… maybe keep you under the thumb of someone to stop you being a potential problem, but who?

“I was a shame you missed the tourney, my Prince.” Criston said “It would have been an honour to test myself against your prowess.”

Daemon laughed “After my accident I think the only thing I’ll be riding is my dragon.” Criston laughed politely “The realm never rests, I had more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Indeed.” Criston said “I do not envy you position.”

“I hope you are allowing yourself some rest, cousin.” Aemma chastised him.

“Fear not, dear cousin, I have no intention of working myself to an early grave, my lady-wife would never forgive me.” Daemon jested, Aemma rolled her eyes.

“I just pray you are not too busy to join us for supper later tonight.” Aemma sternly said “Also how is Rhea and Baelor? No doubt Baelor must he excited for a little brother or sister.” 

Rhea… 

When the letter from Runestone had arrived from her he was both overjoyed but completely homesick. It had taken every ounce of willpower and the thought of Rhea berating him to keep him to stay after telling him to stay in her letter. 

I shall be with them all soon… 

“Yes, we are all elated at the news, I hope to celebrate the news when I return in a few months.” Patting Rhaenyra on the head. "I would not dream of missing supper with you, dear cousin.”

“Prince Daemon.” Some called out to him, he turned his head to see a servant stand by the path to Maegor’s keep. Daemon sighed knowingly “The Lord-Hand and Master of Ships ask for your presence.”

Daemon raised his hand “I shall be there soon.” 

Oh I am not looking forward to this…

“I fear I must leave you.” He bowed his head “Your Grace, Princess.” He smiled at Alicent and then nodded to Criston who acknowledged him back before walking towards the servant who lead him through the Red Keep to Corlys office, it’s door guarded by two men in Velaryon colours. Daemon opened the door; inside Otto was seated opposite to Corlys.

God this is just like High Tide.

“Daemon.” Corlys called to him as the guards shut the door.

“Corlys, how goes the inspection?”

“It seems the past Master had been lax in his responsibilities.” Corlys stroked his beard “I saw many a captain unfit for their duties, I will have to start from scratch.”

“The curse of governance.” Otto said “The person before you was always doing it wrong.”

“Indeed.” Corlys leaned forward “What word have you gotten from the Triarchy?”

“They have made an offer.” Otto said “They’re willing to lower the tariffs in exchange they demand control of certain shipping lanes north of the Stepstones.”

Corlys scoffed loudly “They must believe us fools; that would hold the throne hostage to these Free Cities, we cannot accept this, I will not accept this.”

“I understand that this will encroach on your territory.” Daemon said “But if we are to get a deal then we may need to ceded some control; not total control but something.”

Corlys twisted his mouth into his frown “Will you allow slaves and slavers on our shores?” Daemon shook his head “Do you believe Braavos will accept the Throne allowing the slave trade extending closer to their shores from the ocean?” Daemon clenched his jaw.

“If we do not agree on anything, if we do not find a compromise, then the delegates will return with nothing and may end up increases their tariffs.” Otto reminded him “Then our problem and YOUR problem will be magnified by tenfold.”

Corlys looked to clench his own jaw before speaking “I shall not let that happen.”

Daemon narrowed his eyes “What do you mean by that?”

Corlys’ eyes turned to Daemon as the ends of his mouth ticked into a smile “I shall not bend to the Triarchy and I urge that you men should not either.” There was a knock on the door “Ah, It seems my attention is needed elsewhere.” Corlys stood up from his seat “Lord-Hand, My Prince, I have no doubt you will find a solution to our shared problem, I apologise I must leave early but his Grace will no doubt need to be informed of the state of his navy.” Three men shook hands before leaving, Corlys escorted by his Velaryon guards.

When both Daemon and Otto turned the corner “He is planning something, but what?” Daemon whispered.

“I do not know, but whatever it is we have to make sure it does not drag the throne into his scheme.” Otto replied. “I have a meeting with Lord Manderly regarding a similar matter, enjoy the rest of your day, Daemon.”

“As you, Otto.” The two men parting ways.

The thought however kept Daemon interested, curious and fearful; he need to find something regarding what Corlys planned… and he knew exactly who to turn to.

Under the cover of darkness and a hood, he left the Red Keep and descended down into the city of King’s Landing, from the more affluent parts of the city into Flea-Bottom. The smell hung heavier in this part of the city, Daemon tried not to gag as to give himself away as he clutched a short sword to his side.

“Gods, I can barely breathe.” Cley grumbled, dressed similarly to Daemon as the two traversed through the narrow streets. “Bloody hate this city, always stinks of shit.”

“Breathe through your mouth.” Daemon told him.

“Rather my breathe not smell as shit.” The two men chuckled.

As they reached their location, a nicer brothel in this part of the city, Daemon looked to the two guards and the door and handed a silver stag each, allowing both men inside. The outside stunk of manure then inside the aroma of lavender practically choked them, the inside had an overcompensation of opulent curtains, furniture and carpets.

All fakes… 

Daemon approached the matron of the brothel, an elder woman by the name Dalla, as she spotted him the woman smiled “Prince Daemon.” She then looked behind her “And companion.”

“We shan’t be here long, Dalla.” Daemon told her “I need only see Mysaria.” 

“You can ‘see’ her for as long as you please, my Prince.” Daemon handed her two silver stags, She walked forward “Follow me.” They walked through the cramped hallways of the building, muffled moans came from the different rooms as they passed by, until they came upon a door. “Mysaria.” The matron called, knocking on the door.

Mysaria opened the door and leaned forward against the frame, her eyes passing from Daemon to Cley. “My Prince.” she said to Daemon “My knight.” Addressing them in a sultry tone.

“I shall leave you both.” Dalla said as the two men walked into the room as Mysaria closed the door. The inside of the room had a large bed, with purple silk like curtains and a jug of wine with a few cups.

Once the three were alone, Mysaria straighten up and smiled at Daemon “Daemon.” She called to him, embracing him tenderly.

“How are you my friend?” Daemon asked, ignoring the lust and want that Daemon tried to impose on him. Or at least he hoped was not his.

“I am well.” Mysaria replied, pulling back “And you, Cley, are you well.”

“I am well, my lady.” Cley spoke.

“Please Cley, I am no lady.” She laughed pouring them a drink and handing it to them. “So Daemon, what brings you to me once more?”

“I am looking for information.”

“About the Triarchy delegation?” Mysaria took a sip from her cup “I have gotten all I can from them… though I could stand to ‘ask’ from that Tyroshi captain.” Daemon snickered and shook his head “Is that jealousy I see in both of you?”

“We are both happily married men.” Daemon said in a jesting manner, Cley nodded his head.

“I had many a ‘happily married’ man.” Mysaria said "Tell me, does your lady-wife know of these meetings." her eyes glancing between the two men.

Cley shook his head. 

"I tell Rhea everything." Daemon said "I write about each meeting we have."

"Oh what a lucky woman, an honest husband." Mysaria jested before quickly becoming more serious “But I have nothing new to tell.”

“Not about the Triarchy.” Cley said “We want to know if any sailor or visitor has spoke about the Master of Ships.”

Mysaria raised a slender eyebrow “Ah is it, how did you put it? ‘Trouble in Paradise’?”

“Something like that.”

“Mayhaps I have heard something, a word or two by one of the other women.” She said placing her cup down “But I will not surrender it so easily.”

Daemon looked to Cley and nodded his head, Cley reached into his pocket and placed a small vial on the table “Tears of Lys.” He said and placed a small bag. Mysaria took the bag opened it, her fingers brushing against golden dragons. “Would this be enough for your help?”

“More than enough.”

“Good I may need more information in future so I hope this covers future favours.”

Mysaria sat down at the table “Some of the girls have lain with messengers from other lords, some as powerful as Lord Manderly… and some as important as the Baratheons.”

“Messengers?”

“Likely information too… important to be sent by raven.” Mysaria said “Something he cannot risk being sent by raven.”

Daemon bit into the bottom of his lip, as he recalled the houses of which half the Velaryon fleet was granted to. 

Chapter Text

Daemon opened the door, the building was… not as hygienic as he would have preferred or thought was right. The stench from the outside still lingered in the air yet now there was an almost sickeningly sweet aroma as healers and midwives attended their duties.

Daemon covered his nose “Are you sure this is the right place, Mysaria?”

Mysaria glanced over to him and tilted her head “Many a ‘lady’ had come here to have their children, a few of my own ladies have come here to birth their children.” She turned back “Have faith, I know what I am doing.”

Daemon sighed through his nose; ever since Mysaria’s takeover of the brothel she had become a greater ally on top of being a friend, yet his aiding in Dalla’s death still sat in his stomach. Even now after half a year. Quickly he banished the thought, fearing it would consume him, another issue for another time. Instead he replaced it with something else, something dear to him. 

It will only be just some more months and I'll be back in Runestone... just after the new year...

The thought filled him with both longing as he thought of his family; the last time he went, son was had been born; he thanked the Gods that he was able to make it in just in time for his birth. 

Rhaegal... 

He wondered if Baelor dotted on his baby brother as Perra had done to him. He wondered if Baelor woke up every morning asking about him as Rhea had told him in their letters; how it broke his heart to hear that and how he wanted nothing more to drop everything and just fly back to them. 

My family... how I miss them. 

How he wanted to take them with him, yet knew he couldn't. 

Perra wedding will be soon too... Gods so much is happening and I'm- just. not there. 

“Mysaria.” A woman dressed in simple brown clothes with a yellowish apron stained with dried red walked towards them, interrupting his thoughts. There were aging lines along her eyes, strands of white in her black hair, some tiredness on her face. Yet it was hidden by a smile she gave. Mysaria embraced the woman tightly “Dear Cya, how are you?”

“I am well, better actually; your patronage has helped us.” Cya said “I was able to purchase more wines, milk of the poppy and vinegars.” She looked over to Daemon “And who is this?”

“Perhaps it’s best we discuss somewhere privately first.” Mysaria said, Cya quickly led them to an empty hallway. “This Cya, is Prince Daemon Targeryen.” Daemon lowered his hood. Cya’s eyes widen for a moment before she got down on one knee with her head bowed.

“Forgive me, My Prince.” She spoke “I had not known-”

“Please it is quite fine.” Daemon said, offering his hand to Cya and helping her up “Forgive me for bothering you, I had come with a few questions.”

Cya looked at him and then Mysaria “Are you with-”

“Nothing of the sort.” Mysaria replied. “The Prince is my friend, he seeks only aid.”

“You could asks one of your maesters no?”

“Maesters are learned men but prideful too, I desire to learn from others among the people and also on the conditions of those within this city.” Daemon said, taking out his note book and pen. “If you have time I would be honoured if you could show me around and tell me about your establishment.”

For about an hour or so Cya led the two of them around the building; the rooms were cramped with people from the sick, the dying, the ill, the wounded and those who were expecting.

“We usually get people who live along the street of Silk though many around the City come to our help.” Cya explained “Means we’re more cramped than I’d want.”

“And your staff?” Daemon asked.

“Some local healers I taught, some travelling healers who settled in the city, one or two hedge wizards and even a wood witch to help make medicine.” Cya said “Problem is, none of them are fighters and we sometimes get robbed, City guards is also useless. Pardon my Prince.”

The Gold cloaks, that’s right…

His heart began to ache, Daemon not doubt displeased of another achievement robbed from him.

“Most of your coin is from costs of your services or wealthy patronages?”

“Aye, Prince.” Cya turned to face them as they reached a room filled what looked to be a pseudo maternity room. “I’d say that how most of our money is made.”

How much money is spent on lavish items and celebrations when some here are barely scrapping together half-pence to ration medicine?

“I shall speak to the Master of Coin.” Daemon said “I believe it’s high time some of the taxes the crown receives goes supporting establishments like yours.”    

Cya smiled “If you can, I would be greatly indebted to you, My Prince.”

Daemon turned his head the maturity room “It must be daunting for these women… Mine own mother died in childbirth.”

“They say a woman’s battle is the birthing bed.” Cya said “like a battlefield the peasant wearing no amour armed with a spear will likely die before the lord wearing armour on a horse.”

Mysaria looked at Daemon as he glanced at her “I imagine complications during the birthing take many lives too.”

“Aye, an awful thing, we have to cut open the women sometimes to reach in and save the babe… and yet even that may not work.”

Daemon ripped out a page from his notebook; when his sister had been pregnant with his niece and nephew, he attended many check-ups with her and remembered a few things. “I may have an idea.” He said passing the note to Cya who looked at him “Perhaps this may help, I had the blacksmith fashion a pair… we had even tested it on pregnant cattle with success.”

“This may help, my Prince.” She said, looking at the design and drawn demonstration. 

“Excellent, I shall gift you a couple for you and your staff to use.” Daemon said “If you can send a report about it to Mysaria on it, that would please me greatly.” Daemon clasped his hands together “Until then.” He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bag, Cya supressed a gasp looking at the bag of twelve gold dragons “I imagine this will be enough to purchase the building next to yours, yes?”

Daemon scribbled down a few words into his notebook, checking off a few errands off his list as he went to attend the meeting of the small council. He must have attended plenty of these meetings before yet he always felt his nerves flare up.

Like having meeting with the people I worked for in my last life…  

As he stepped into the chamber he spotted both Lords Lyonel Strong , Lyman Beesbury and maester Runciter already at their seats. “My Lords.” Daemon greeted them, dipping his head slightly.

“Prince Daemon.” The three said in imperfectly unison as he sat down.

“Who are we still waiting for?” he said placing his marble ball on the disk in front of him, slightly relieved to have the weighty ball removed from his pocket momentarily.

“The Lords Otto and Corlys will be arriving shortly.” Runciter said “Along with his Grace and the Queen.” Daemon nodded his head.

As if on que, Otto entered the room “My Lords.” He said the two “Prince Daemon and Grand Maester.” He said as took his seat next to Daemon

“How are we all?”

“Well, Lord-Hand.” Lyonel spoke.

“How are you children?” Daemon said “I haven’t gotten a chance to meet them, have they taken to the capital well?”

“They have, my Prince.” Lyonel said “Harwin has eager to test himself against the kingsguard and Larys… he has taken to the library, as for my daughters Bella and Harra, they have sought out exploring what the city has to offer.”

“Very good.” Otto said.  

Corlys walked into the chamber “My lords, Prince Daemon.” He said those attending as he took his seat at the end of the table. There was a tenseness in the air as his eyes looked upon those there.

“Lord Corlys, I hope you are well.” Daemon spoke, hoping to break the tension.

“Very well, my wife and children make way for the capital from High Tide.”

Then both Viserys and Aemma stepped into the chamber, all those attending standing from their seats, the door shutting behind them. “Your Grace.” They all spoke as Viserys took his seat at the end of the table and Aemma opposite to Otto.

Aemma.

Not a day went by this year that Daemon did not hold his breath when he had spoken to her or was privy to a royal announcement. He wanted nothing more than the this year, the year she was meant to die, to by pass.

It had only been Rhaegal birth announced this year… 

He had done everything he could; encouraging them to wait till possible closer to 110 AC, under the guise of ‘aligning dates with Rhaenyra and Laenor’s marriage’ and even getting Otto and Corlys to encourage the same.  

But this year, was the one he wanted to pass. 

Just a few more months… 

“Please be seated.” Viserys told them, the council sat down “Now, onto the first order of business; Otto, can you?”

“Of course, your Grace.” Otto said “Lately talks between ourselves and the Triarchy have been halted for the time being.”

“Their envoy has been stubborn; despite whatever concessions or adjustments we make they still demand more.” Daemon added.

“Demands we should reject.” Corlys spoke “Their greed would hold us hostage to their whims.”

“Moreover there is the legal matter of allowing slaves to be transported from our ports.” Lyonel stated “It would be seen as hypocrisy if the crown allowed the slave trade to done from our ports and towns when both the law and the faith prohibits it.”

“We cannot allow such a thing to happen.” Aemma spoke out this time “It would be a grave injustice.”

“I could not agree more, my Queen.” Daemon smiled at Aemma. “I have made it clear that this is not a concessions we will entertain.”

“Good, good.” Viserys said, listening intently to those around him. “We cannot abide by that and bring the crown into disrepute with the faith or the commons.”

“The matter however stands, if we do not find common ground then the tariffs shall remain and worse, continue to rise.” Lyman said “Merchants may turn their business to other ports or cities, which may lessen the taxes we receive.”

“May I suggest we apply more ‘pressure’ with this matter?” Corlys said, Daemon clenched his jaw “There are many houses along the Narrow Sea who feel the squeeze of this, many who may be willing to exert their own pressure.”

“For now, that will not be needed, Lord Corlys.” Otto said “I am still confident we can find agreement; the Triarchy may have the Stepstones but their merchants are still dependent on selling their wares to us.”

“Indeed, we still have some leverage over them.” Runciter said “Lest we forget that they are surrounded by their competitors.”

“Onto the next order, the Kingsguard and the commandership after the passing of Ser Redwyne.” Viserys said. “I have a mind to name Ser Harrold Westerling as his successor.”

“Ser Westerling would be a good choice, your Grace.” Lyman said “A seasoned and respected knight among his peers.” The others nodded their heads in agreement.

“There is the matter of the empty position.” Viserys said “I believe ser Criston Cole may be a good fit; his prowess and victory in the melee speak to his ability.”

“Our daughter Rhaenyra is also enamoured with him.” Aemma said. “He would make a great member of the Kingsguard.” Either from the pain in his chest or his own discomfort, Daemon’s eye twitched.

“Aye, he is a fine warrior and would make a fine kingsguard.” Lyman said.

“If I may.” Daemon said, raising his hand “While there is no doubt that ser Criston is a good candidate, perhaps we should look elsewhere”

“Why so?” Viserys asked.

“Forgive me, your Grace, my Queen, but perhaps Ser Criston’s relationship with the Princess may impact his responsibilities as a Kingsguard.” Daemon said “As her sworn shield his responsibilities lay with the Princess; should he be given a white cloak it may see him moved away from Rhaenyra.”

Viserys looked be considering that “Perhaps but there is nothing to say he cannot remain her sworn shield even after his appointment.”

“That is true however what if he is needed elsewhere? What if the kingsguard is spread thin during a time of crisis and he can no longer guard the princess?” Daemon suggested.

“Does the Prince have another candidate?” Lyman asked.

Daemon glanced over to Otto “I do, I recommend Myles Hightower; recently knighted, he is a fine fighter from my own experience and would secure favour with House Hightower, would you not agree, Lord-Hand?”

“I concur.” Otto said “No doubt my Handship curries favour with my House, having Myles as a member will secure it’s loyalty for decades.”  

“The appointments should be about securing the best knights to protect his Grace.” Lyonel said,.

“Yes, Lord Lyonel, but there is a the political nature of these appointments.” Daemon replied. “I do not speak of anyone in this room, not all appointments are done purely on merit alone.”

“The Prince has the right of this.” Runciter said “Politics and allegiances did influence matters of appointment to the Kingsguard in the past.”

“He is green in comparison to Ser Criston.” Lyonel said. “A newly knighted boy than a seasoned knight?”

“A man can learn, he will have the best tutors in his fellow brother in arms.” Runciter replied. “He could be moulded into an exceptional knight.”

It broke his heart to see Aemma disappointed, yet in his heart he believed he was doing the right thing… or at least he believed, he did not know if that was how he felt or if it was Daemon.

“Perhaps you are right, and there is nothing to say he cannot be made a member in future.” Viserys said “Otto will you discuss with your son about this? How will he feel?”

“He would view it as an honour, your Grace.” Otto said. “Of that I am sure, he will no doubt seize the chance to serve in the Kingsguard.”

“Ser Criston will be disappointed.” Aemma frowned. “An so will Rhaenyra, she was hoping he would get the appointment.”

“I shall handle that, Ser Criston deserves to hear it from myself.” Daemon said.

“Good, now is there any other matter?” Viserys asked.

“Yes, your Grace, a minor matter.” Daemon opened his notebook “I visited an establishment of healers and midwives in the city; the matron Cya, does fantastic work for the smallfolk. I believe the crown should set aside a portion of its taxes to supporting these establishments.”

“It is usually the faith who provide such services.” Lyman said.

“And yet I saw the smallfolk having to organise their own help.” Daemon retorted “The faith cannot reach everyone it appears.”

“Aye, I have heard from many sailors they use establishments outside the faith.” Corlys added. “No doubt expanding such service would benefit us too; cut costs needed to heal our men, I say we support such an endeavour.” Corlys glanced over to Daemon who looked to him.

Scratch my back… I scratch yours.

“Lord Lyman, can the crown afford it?”

“I would say so.” Lyman said “A poultry sum can be set aside for now.”

“I think this would be a great gesture from the crown.” Aemma spoke “Shows the people the crown cares for them and supports the city, our grandsire would have approved too.”

“We must make it clear that this is a gift from the crown.” Otto said.

“Yes, that settles this meeting today.” Viserys said “All of you are dismissed.” Those around the table left the chamber.

Later that night, both Corlys and Daemon sat in his solar, waiting for their guest to arrive. A jug of Arbor gold and three cups on the desk; both not wanting to bring up the topic that was currently plaguing them and focus on what common ground they shared.

He said “I must say, my Prince, your calling may have been in storytelling; I hear from my children that even my young nephews and nieces have taken to the story of Odysseus, even my brothers quite enjoy the story, my nephew Vaemond says he would like to name his son either Odysseus or Telemachus.” 

“It warms my heart to hear that.” Daemon smiled.

“Laenor always pretends to be the fearless and clever king, Odysseus while Laena plays the part of Athena guiding him home while the other children play the crewmen or other Gods.” Daemon laughed at the thought “Rhaenys however isn’t to enamoured as the others.”

“Is she not?”

“She has read it and believes Odysseus to be a fool.” For some reason, that didn’t surprise Daemon. “Said his troubles were almost purely down to his own foolish decisions, though she does appericate that he stayed loyal to his wife even after twenty years." Daemon nodded along, taking a sip of his drink, not wanting to say anything.

Yeah... I wasn't going to add the other parts to my version, not when I was reading it to Laena and Laenor... 

There was a knock on the door. “My Prince, Lord Corlys.” One of the guards spoke “Ser Criston has arrived.”

“Let him through.” Corlys called, the door opened and Criston entered the solar, bowing his head to them as the guards shut the door behind him.

“My Prince, Master of Ships.” Criston said, greeting them.

“Ser Criston, please have a seat.” Daemon said as he poured him a cup of wine before handing it to Criston as he sat down. “Are you well?”

Criston paused for a moment, something both men were expecting; how could anyone be well when they discover their chance to rise to such a position as the Kingsguard being blocked? “I am well… I thank you for asking.”

“Let us be frank.” Daemon said “You are free to speak as you wish.” Daemon leaned forward, he was trying to mimic someone in his head, the people he use to work for. “I am sure you are aware of the decision made by the small council regarding the appointment for Myles Hightower to the Kingsguard.”

Criston looked to try an resist scowling at the news. Tried. “I have been made aware.”

“How do you feel?”

Criston breathed in deeply before looking at Daemon, he could not hide the disappointment on his face or the bitterness in his eyes. If his sword was not taken from him, Daemon would have believed Criston would have used it on him.

“Why.” He spoke.

“Why?”

“Why?” Criston almost choked out the word in a growl “I mean this as no offence to the Lord-Hand’s son but I am a better fighter than him, I have been a knight for much longer and he was only knighted recently, I… I had the favour of the Princess Rhaenyra, I won the tourney of Maidenpool wearing her favour, it should have been-”

“Yes, you are right.” Daemon stopped him “In almost every way, you are a better candidate for the spot than Myles Hightower, you would have made a brilliant addition to the Kingsguard.”

So good you became the lord commander in just a few short years.

And that’s what makes you dangerous

“Then why was I denied the appointment?” he asked, though it sounded as if he was pleading.

Because it’s better to have you under someone’s thumb where you can’t potentially do any damage to my plans…

“Why? Because of you would have been wasted as a knight of the Kingsguard.” Daemon spoke, Criston sat back in his chair, a perplexed look on his face.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“A glorified sworn shield to the King and why? Because of your prowess as a knight? As a fighter?” Daemon asked him back “Your father was a steward, a damn good one might I add and the fact you were able to pick up your skills so quickly speaks to something else.”

“What exactly?”

Daemon tapped the temple of his head “You have a good head on your shoulders; one that can be refined, one that can be sharpened to serve a higher position, a higher purpose than just standing still in front of a door while the king attends to Gods knows what.”

How quickly the tables had turned; Criston had been the one to press Daemon and now it was he who was on the receiving end of a lecture.

“That is also why Lord Corlys is here.” Daemon, turning to the man sitting next to him.

“I had heard of your exploits prior to the tourney and your conduct as the Princess’ sworn shield.” Corlys said “I believe I can put them to good use, give you something more befitting of your talents.” Corlys leaned forward “I currently looking to fix the royal navy; what I had inherited from my predecessor is laughable compared to what I had left him, I’m looking for trusted men who can learn quickly and one day serve as one of my admirals.” He leaned back “From there, who knows; I am a generous man, I allow those who work hard and prove themselves to rise within the ranks, I may even need your services on my council in High Tide.”

That’s the bait…

Dangling the possibility of having influence to one of the most powerful lords in the Seven Kingdoms.

“Of course, my dear niece would be heart broken to hear that you no longer will serve as her sworn-shield.” Daemon spoke “However, while Corlys serves as the Master of Ships, you can remain in the capital, no doubt she will visit you when she can or demands to.” He said. “And when she is married to Laenor, you can maintain your friendship with her there.”

There was an unease with that last thought; he hoped that Criston will be a wiser man and possibly reject Rhaenyra’s advances in future as he allegedly done in the book than give in as Harwin had.

Harwin is another thing I need to deal with, maybe I can speak to Lyonel about getting the guy married early and take over as lord of Harrenhal, I’ll think of something.

“One of the benefits of this is you won’t need to swear off women.” Corlys laughed. “You would be free to marry or lay with anyone you’d please.”

So long as it isn’t my bloody niece…

At the thought of Harwin another person came to his mind.

And then there’s Larys Strong, hopefully nullifying the factionalism means he won’t start a fire... maybe taking him out would be easier?

He blinked, pushing the idea from his head, a little ashamed at the thought of seeing a child as a threat because of what he could become.

I’ll still need to talk to both Rhaenyra and Laenor when the time comes…

He wanted to rub his head at the thought, it was a headache for the future; so much to do and so much to say.

“So, Ser Criston, what say you?” Corlys asked. “Will you accept.”

Criston was silent as he looked at the two men in front of him.

Please… please just take the deal…

Criston sighed, he looked to the ground before looking back to them.

“I accept your offer.”

Chapter Text

The moonlight striking against the bronze domes of Runestone were nice to look at in their own ways, even Daemon could admit to that, as the castle came into view. The night chill of the mountains seeping through his cloak and clothes.

He never would have believed it but, no matter how much he tried to attribute it to the soul that possessed his body, he missed Runestone.

My sons, it is they who I miss…

His sons, Baelor and Rhaegal, even now the memory of them seemed to push away the images of the children he never had.

Perhaps I should be thankful, that you sought to honour Baela’s and Rhaena’s memory…

As Caraxes near the bridge, they were greeted by the usual group of guards; a small body of three or four men dressed in the livery of House Royce. Each one bowing their heads and giving him the respect he was due. “Prince Daemon.” One of the men greeted him as he climbed off of Caraxes. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”

No, it’s freezing and we’ve been flying for hours.

“Well enough, good ser.” The imposter replied, he turned to Caraxes, patting him on the snout “Caraxes! Jātās! head back to the cave.” The dragon hummed, lifting its head and padding away before flying off, its wings pushing the wind against those there for a moment. The Imposter took the reins of his horse “Come good sers, my lady-wife awaits my arrival.”

Daemon wished he could roll his eyes.

You two always do this… each time you visit…

As Daemon entered the walls of Runestone, he quickly handed his horse to the stable hands and entered into the great hall of the keep, he saw Rhea, sitting on the bronze throne. Dressed in almost the same attire as when the imposter and her had their first dinner together.

She watched him come before her, the two smirking at each other. 

“Prince Daemon, lord-husband.” She said, a sly smile on her face “Welcome home.”

The imposter smiled back, mimicking her “I thank you, Lady-wife.”

“Runestone welcomes you home, my Prince.” She continues “You must forgive me, sadly the hour is late, I have not been able to prepare a feast or celebration for your arrival.”

Really must you play this farce each time?

“You are forgiven, the hour is late, I would much prefer to take my meal with you instead.”

“Very well, husband, attend to me at my apartments.” Rhea walked down the dais and took his hand, standing on her toes as she planted a kiss on his lips “Lets us not waste time.” She said in a half whisper, taking his hand as the two almost rushed out of the hall.

When they were done, Rhea lay herself on top of him, the two taking in their peace as they caught their breath, the imposter stroking her back with his finger while her arms hugged his body; Daemon had long set aside his dislike for these moments, sating his own desire through it, seeing as the imposter would stick to her bed only.

What was it that maester Mellos said? “I do not like the taste of fish, but when fish is served I eat it.”

“Gods, I’ve missed you.” Rhea said.

Truly? I could not tell.” The imposter jested, Rhea slapped his chest playfully “I missed you too. How are the boys?”

“They are well, Baelor tries to teach his brother to walk but he does not realise he is still but a babe.” Rhea laughed “Hopefully Baelor is asleep, if he had seen Caraxes fly by then he will stay up all night to see you.”

Baelor… Rhaegal…

“Perhaps I should check on him.” The imposter suggested.

“You can check in the morning.” Rhea told him, she lifted herself up, kissing him almost possessively as her hands wondered down his body. “Tonight I would have you to myself.” She moved off of him while pulling him forward, urging him to move on top of her, which both the imposter and Daemon were all too happy to do “Show me how much you miss me…” 

Gods, she is insatiable.

When Daemon had awoke from his own slumber he found that the imposter was already getting dressed, tying his hair into that ‘ponytail’ that he seemed to be fond with.

Daemon offered a silent thankful prayer.

Thank the Gods, I had not missed it.

This had also become a part of the imposter’s habit; he would see Baelor, and now both he and Rhaegal, at breakfast surprising them the morning after his return.

A habit that Daemon was quite fond of.

He hid in the room as Rhea stood watch, the two glancing at each other with a smile. Then the door to the apartments opened; Perra came in with Baelor next to her.

Gods… he has grown so much…

Now he could see more of himself in his eldest son, just a little bit more.

And just behind them was a maid, holding his son.

Rhaegal…

If Baelor had more of his mother, than Rhaegal had more of him; his hair was a dull platinum and his eyes a faint violet that it looked almost blue. His hair still had the curls of Rhea and the ears and lips that both she and Perra had but there was no mistaking that he is a son of House Targeryen. 

“Hand him to me.” Rhea asked of the maid

Maryline was her name? the maid? Gods I’m taking in your habits now.

She handed Rhaegal to Rhea who showered him in kisses as Baelor and Perra took their seats.

“Mother.” Baelor spoke “When will father be home?”

So observant, my Baelor…

“Sooner than you think.” The imposter said, stepping out of the door, revealing himself. Baelor jumped out of his chair and ran towards him, hugging his legs. The imposter laughed and picked him up. “My boy, how are you?”

Baelor response was muffled against his neck but neither the imposter or Daemon cared as they held him. “Have you been taking care of your brother?” Baelor hummed and nodded his head. “That’s my boy.” The Imposter placed him down “Get back to your seat, you can tell me everything you got up to while I was away.” He smiled, Baelor quickly scurried back to the table “Perra!” he said to his good-sister.

Daemon could feel the nostalgia in the imposter’s heart; the years truly had flown by, once the girl that was dotted on and whom the imposter allowed himself to be bested in that strange ‘board game.’ Now she was a woman grown, about to be married very soon to Arnold Arryn.

Gods we have gotten old.

“Good-brother Daemon.” Perra smiled as the two shared a quick embrace.

“Everyday you grow more beautiful, Arnold is a rather fortune man indeed.” Perra smiled and the two took their seats and the table to break their fast. “It won’t be long until then, how are you feeling?”

“I am perhaps a bit worried.” Perra admitted. “Lord Arnold has always been kind when we meet but I fear that perhaps he will change once we are married.”

“Fear not, sister.” Rhea spoke “Should Arnold dishonour you in any way you have our support.”

“I am sure one meeting with Caraxes will set him right.” Daemon jested “Or we can have Baelor defend you.” He said to his son, ruffling his hair.

“I thank you, it is more than like just some jitters.” Perra said.

“Yes more than like.” Rhea agreed..

“When do we travel to the Eyrie?” the imposter asked.

“In less than a week’s time” Rhea said.

“Excellent should give me enough time to check on my project and introduce the alchemist I hired to his office and team.

“Alchemist?”

“I had hired him from the alchemist guild in the capital, he was looking to get away from the capital and I was looking for to advise on future projects.” Rhea rolled her eyes yet smirked at him.

You are so obsessed with these strange ideas…

Yet as Daemon witness the success of these strange ideas from the imposter and the respect it had given him among those in court, he held his tongue and observed. Though ready for the moment the imposter will stumble, Daemon was sure to laugh.

A few hours had passed, the imposter went about his other tasks concerning the mountain farming technique he was so enamoured with before waiting outside the castle gate as a lone rider came to the bridge; he was dressed in brown robes, sat upon a donkey carrying his belongings. He was a short and stout man, homely but Daemon knew the imposter needed him for something else.

“Jonos!” The imposter greeted him.

The stout man climbed off his donkey and bowed before him “Prince Daemon, it is an honour to be invited to your home.”

“Please Jonos, this will also be your home while you work for me.” The imposter said, he patted him on the back “Come, let me show you to your new solar.

As the imposter gave Jonos a tour of the castle, he was intrigued by the man’s speciality.

Alchemy, manipulation of materials…

The fool imposter seems to believe he can one day make glass as good as Myr… but he also has other ideas.

All alchemists were experienced in the making of wild fire.

Yet as Daemon pondered this, he knew the reason behind the imposter’s goal.

Once more the blue eyes in the cold winter storm stuck on in his mind, once more he tried to dig back into the memory only to be met with a wall of darkness.

“And this, will be your laboratory.” The  imposter said, the room was once an abandoned armoury that had gone into disrepair when a storm hit some years ago. Then the imposter had the room repaired and converted into a empty space.

I shall give you this… you have a talent for planning.

“Now, there are some rules.” The imposter said “Whatever guests, be it other alchemists, scribes or scholars, will need my approval; I need you as a third party between I and the alchemist guild, I have plans to work closely with them in future.” Jonos nodded his head “Second, I need you to keep an inventory of all supplies and equipment, I will not tolerate a misappropriation of what I provide.”

“Of course.”

“Thirdly, if you are to use wild fire or any kind of dangerous substance, that is to be done outside of the castle walls only.” The imposter stressed this point “A safe location will be provided in future. But until then you shall refrain from such works.”

“Yes, My Prince.”

“If you need anything then you are free to ask for me.” The imposter assured “It would be easier to do so while I am still here, I must confess I fear my lady-wife will be less than accommodating to you.” Jonos nodded his head “Now, I shall be in the Eyrie for a turn of the moon, be sure to have any list formed for my return.”

The journey to the Eyire was far more tedious than Daemon would have liked; the imposter had chosen to travel via wheelhouse than dragon. The small mercy of this decision being the time he spent with his sons, even if it was also with the Royces.

Though he could not come to resent their presence.

Overhead, the shadow of Caraxes loomed over them constantly, no doubt scaring away any opportunistic mountain savages who sought to attack them on their way,

Perra held Rhaegal in her arms, patting his side while Baelor rested his head on Rhea’s lap, both boys asleep while the sisters caught up with what had happened in the capital.

“I think it is a noble idea, Daemon.” Perra said, he had been telling them about the council’s plans to sponsor local services in the city. “No doubt the people of the city will love you for it.”

“They shall love the crown for it.” The imposter said “It was agreed that the sums of money will be called a ‘gift from his grace.’” It irritated Daemon how the imposter would not fight the council on letting him get the recognition he deserved on the matter.

I can only hope that Mysaria and that Cya woman set things right and tell others the idea was mine own.

"Was it an idea of that brothel owner." Rhea said, Daemon could not help but feel almost elated by her voice when speaking of Mysaria, even if it made the Imposter uncomfortable. 

Such a jealous woman...

"I assure you it was mine own; Mysaria, as she has down, merely points me in the right direction." The Imposter explained. "But she is a friend, of that you have nothing to fear, I swear it." The Imposter leaned forward and gently took her hand. 

Rhea could not help but smile "I know." she said “I do find it strange that the council did not appoint that knight, what was his name? Ser Cole? I was sure when he had won the tourney at Maidenpool with the Princess’ favour he would have been destined for the Whitecloaks.”

Daemon wished he could smile; that had been an idea of the imposter he had happily endorsed. How sweet it was the knock that usurping prick down, deny him chance to rise above his station and then place him under the thumb of another lord, even if it was Corlys.

The Kingmaker failing to even reach the Kingsguard, what is it that your people say again, Imposter? “How the mighty have fallen.” He never got the chance to be mighty.

“I am sure that Lord Corlys will make use of his talents.” The imposter said, Daemon could feel him strain to keep a smile off his mouth. “I sure he will find glory closely with him.”

“That seems to be all men think about.” Rhea jested.

“I wouldn’t say so.” The imposter smiled, using the elation the Daemon had made “I like to think about you too.”

For reasons Daemon did not wish to balk at the flirting he imposter did for Rhea, he enjoyed the flustered expression on her face at the remark, it wasn’t something he had not seen before and hadn’t sneered before, now he felt something else. Something he wanted to deny.

There was a strangeness to their arrival to the Eyrie; the first time he arrived he was greeted with the nicety and respect of his arrival with the honour guard to greet them; Daemon had almost half expected to see Yorbert and Jeyne standing to greet them, yet before him was Gunthor and his Arnold.

The young brat has now grown larger. And the old man, even older.

As they left the carriage, guards helping both Rhea and Perra out, the two stepped forward to meet them.

“Dear nieces.” He said greeted the two “Ah, little Baelor and Rhaegal.” His eyes falling upon Daemon’s sons, Baelor rubbing his eyes as he held Rhea hand while Rhaegal squirmed in his swaddle clothes before being taken by a nearby maid to hold. Then did he turn his attention to Daemon “Prince Daemon.”

Daemon was amused by the pettiness.

“Lord-Steward.” The imposter greeted. “Good to see both you and the young lord Arnold are well.”

“Prince Daemon.” Arnold bowed his head, overhead the wings of Caraxes flapped against the wind. “Lady Rhea.” He turned his head to Perra “Lady Perra, you look more beautiful than I last saw you.” He took her hand and kissed it gently.

“Thank you, Lord Arnold.” Perra said politely.

“Come, lets us meet with the Lady Jeyne.” Gunthor said “She had been eager for your arrival.” His eyes falling upon the imposter for just a moment.

If there was one thing that both Daemon and the imposter agreed upon, the Eyrie was cold and almost unwelcoming.

Upon the dais where the throne was upon, Jeyne sat with the new castellan and regent at her side, a Redfort lord whose named escaped Daemon, but… his young daughter stood him.

Ah… so this is Jessamyn Redfort, the one who you worked so hard preserve Jeyne’s future with.

As the imposter smiled upon Jeyne, it became clear to Daemon; as he found his lost niece and nephew in Laenor, Leana and Rhaenyra… he found his sister in Jeyne.

What did that one traitorous Lannister say? “The things I do for love?”

“Prince Daemon, Lady Rhea and Lady Perra.” The Redfort lord spoke, a middling age man with nothing too striking about him. “The Eyrie welcomes you and lords Baelor and Rhaegal.”

“We thank you, Lord Alastor.” The imposter replied.

“Welcome back, Prince Daemon.” Jeyne said, with all the practiced rehearsal of young lady.

“It is good to see you again, Lady Jeyne.” Daemon replied.

“Come, you all must be tried from your travels.” Alastor said “Allow yourselves some rest.”

The imposter placed a kiss on Rhea’s cheek “You go on ahead.” He said to her, before walking to the dais, both Jeyne and Jessamyn approached him “Hello Jeyne.” He smiled at her before turning to Jessamyn “And who might you be?”

Alastor looked to his daughter who bowed politely “I am Jessamyn Redfort, My Prince.”

“Lovely to meet you, lady Jessamyn.” The imposter replied “I assume you have been keeping the good lady Jeyne company?”

Jessamyn nodded “Yes, My Prince.”

“The two have become fast friends.” Alastor said, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

Yes… friends, the kind of friends who fu-

He felt the dark hands tug at him, a warning if he ever knew one.

‘This is neither the time or the place.’

The imposter thought, speaking to Daemon; no doubt the feeling of mockery Daemon had was not too well hidden.

Once again, you are no fun.

“My daughter is very fortunate to have the Lady Jeyne as a close friend.” Alastor said “Lady Jeyne had even been telling her about the stories of this ‘Joan of Arc’ whom she said you had introduced to her, the two have been quite fond of the stories.”

“It warms my heart to know you remembered and are now telling others, my Lady.” The imposter said.

“Come, you should join your lady-wife, no doubt the other lords will be here shortly for the wedding.” Alastor said, the Imposter nodded his head politely as he went to join with Rhea.

That morning, the entire Eyrie seemed to be a buzz of activity as the last remaining guests came in before the arrival of dawn. The imposter wondered around, the cold was still cold yet the feeling of anticipation lingered in the air; the sight of the Great Hall now being transformed into a place to hold the ceremony.

‘Perra… I hope you are happy…’

Daemon didn’t know if the feeling of loss and pride was truly of the imposter making.

Why should I feel the same as you?

Why would I feel the same as you?

Why do I still feel as you do?

Daemon told himself that it was the imposter’s desire to seek out Perra before the ceremony, not his. And yet when the imposter knocked on the door and saw Rhea helping Perra as half a dozen maids worried over her dress.

The memory of Daemon’s own wedding dripped into his mind, what was once a horrid memory for him with only one bright spot… was soon become an interesting memory with one guilt ridden moment.

She’s wearing the same dress as Rhea…

There as an ache in his chest, one that he did not inflict.

No.. that moment, that day… I- I wanted more than what they could have given me.

“Perra.” The imposter spoke, catching the attention of those in the room, the maids bowed their heads and greeted them.

“Husband, I thought you would be with the boys?” Rhea asked.

“Rhaegal is currently being dotted on by Jeyne and Jessmayn, Baelor is playing with other cousins in the yard, they will be fine.” The imposter said, stepping forward “I thought I should come see you… Perra you look-”

“Stunning?” Rhea said in jest, the three of them chuckling to themselves. “For the life of me, Daemon, I cannot find that word in any other book.”

“I can barely remember where I had read it from now.” He laughed before, taking Perra in a gentle embrace, careful not the ruin her dress “How are you feeling?”

“I am… nervous, Daemon.” Perra told him.

 "That happens“ The Imposter told her, trying to reassure her. 

“I wish- I wish that our father was here for this day.” Perra said, he could see the tears welling in her eyes.

Rhea placed a hand on her shoulder “I wish he was here for this too.” Wiping at her eye, the imposter placed a gentle hand on both of them, placing a kiss on their heads.

“Daemon, I know this is sudden but-” Perra stumbled on her words “I had been talking to Rhea, we had thought to have Gunthor walk me to Arnold but… I think I would prefer you to do so.”

Both Daemon and the imposter were shocked, rendered speechless. “I- I couldn’t.” he stammered “It should be someone in your family-”

“You are my family.” Perra smiled at him, a tear running down her cheek, that almost broke the imposter.

‘What about Rhea?’

Though both he and Daemon knew that was not an option in their society. 

This isn’t your world…

The thought was bitter than gloating.

“I… I would be honoured to.” The imposter said, Perra’s smile widen as she threw her arms around his neck, muttering a hundred different words of gratitude to him for it.

Daemon could not help but think of his wedding day…

“To Rhea Royce! To my bronze Bitch!”

He tried to deny it, he tried to close the thought away from his mind and heart but there it stood.

If Arnold said anything like that to Perra… I would kill him.

Chapter Text

It had only been a few months since his return from Runestone and yet Daemon wanted nothing more than to take to Caraxes’ back and fly back home. He longed the company of his craftsmen and workers, longed for the feeling of the cool mountain air, longed for the peace.

Longed to see and encourage Perra, longed for his sons and the joy they gave him.

Longed to be with Rhea… he missed everything about her; her touch, her smile, her laughter and voice, her hair and her eyes.

The feeling in his heart was warm as he though of their memory.

Have you grown soft, Daemon?

He taunted Daemon but that instead earnt him a shock of pain instead, he clutched his chest from the surprise attack, yet unsurprised by the action.

“Are you well, my Prince?” Cley asked, Daemon was thankful he still had him around.

“I am well, just some sudden chest pains.” Daemon assured him.

“Well, lets not get caught with  more while we’re here.” Cley said, looking around, it has not been their first time traversing the streets of King’s Landing to reach Mysaria’s brothel, yet each time Cley was always on edge; constantly on the lookout for cutthroats or pick pocketers.

“We should not be too far anyways.” Daemon said, pointing the way down the road. The two quickly made their way down the street, hoods up and short swords in hand. When the reached the entrance, Daemon dropped his hook slightly to show the guards his face.

The guards nodded their heads and stood to the side as the two entered into the establishment. The inside of the building has changed since Mysaria and taken it over; gone were the more Westerosi elements and fake exotic rugs and curtains, now a more Lyseni touch had replaced it and, much to Daemon approval, the workers were treated better.

Though it still did not sit right with him that he could play a part in someone’s murder.

How could I do something like that?

He tried to convince himself that Dalla was not a good person and that Mysaria would be a better owner and trusted ally… yet still the thought troubled him.

One of the girls recognised them, a summer island woman, Alia, came to them, “Ah Prince and Ser, welcome back.” She said, making sure her tone was quiet enough to not catch anyone’s attention.

“We need to speak to Mysaria”. Daemon said.

Alia pressed her lips together “You may have to wait a while.” She said “She is currently ‘entertaining’ someone in her private quarters.”

Daemon sighed “Ollo.” He muttered, Alia nodded her head. “Fine, what time did he come in?”

“About an hour or so.” She replied “Would you like a drink while you wait? Mayhaps you would like to spend time with someone?” she moved just a little bit closer.

Daemon moved back “We’ll both just take the drinks.”

“What Luckly wives you have.” She laughed before leaving them in the main hall of the building, sitting down on some cushioned chairs.

“Daemon, are you sure we can still trust her.” Cley said in a hushed tone. “I know she gains information from her relationship with the Tyroshi captain but surly this cuts both ways?”

Daemon pondered this; his partnership with Mysaria had helped him, no doubt about it, but Cley had a point, she had gotten close to this Tyroshi lord’s son.

She my friend, of course I trust her.

“I will keep this in mind” he said, trying to ease Cley’s concern.

It must have been another twenty or so minutes when Daemon spotted Ollo; a tall man, possibly the same age as Mysaria or Daemon, he had the bright red hair and moustache associated with those in Essos, dressed in fine clothes.

Both men pulled their hoods down, trying to hide their face as he left. “Wait a moment.” Daemon said. When a couple minutes had passed did they make their move up the stairs. Through the halls and into her personal solar.

Daemon knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Mysaria called out, master room was spacious, with clearly hastily made bed at the side and an oak desk near stain-glass window. The air was thick with lavender incense, among other things. “Daemon, Cley” she said “Always good to see your faces.” She was dressed in a very revealing pink silk gown.

“Should we come back?” Daemon asked, trying to keep his eyes focusing above her neck.

“Please, we are friends and partners, I have revealed more to you than this.” She teased “So what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Information of the Triarchy? Or Corlys?”

“Corlys.”

“Hmm, that’s good.” She remarked “I haven’t been able to get much on the Triarchy’s delegation recently.”

“Pretty boy not speaking during the meetings?” Cley asked.

“We don’t speak, more he grunts and I scream.” She cheekily replied, Daemon coughed on his drink "Has anyone ever said Daemon, you are adorable when flustered?" she smiled. “My other ears in the city have heard of messengers and ravens being sent from manses across the city and my ladies have noticed a few men-at arms from the Reach and the Vale this time.”

“Any houses in particular?”

“Redwyne and Grafton, at least that’s what I’ve gotten so far.”

“Coastal houses, those who have something to lose due to Triarchy tariffs.” Daemon noted.

“Sounds like he’s preparing for war against the Triarchy.” Mysaria said. “But will it be enough to take them down?”

Daemon pondered this; in another life the true Daemon, Corlys and an army of second sons, ambitious men and glory hunters were enough to almost seize the islands but not hold it.

Corlys had a battle eager Daemon and Caraxes to subdue the islands…

He tried not to flinch at the prospect at having to join in a war.

“He may have more allies.” Cley said “His alliance may be stronger than we believe.”

“If the talks fail, then it’s war.” Daemon said, he rubbed his face “And he’ll have the Crown’s blessing.”

 “Why does it matter if it happens?” Cley asked “The Triarchy cannot hope to win against this alliance let alone the throne, the Stepstones will fall in a matter of months.”

Before Daemon could speak, Mysaria spoke “No.” she exclaimed before quickly recomposing herself “I would prefer that we find a more ‘peaceful’ solution to this, one that does not leave thousands of women widows and children orphans.”

Cley looked to have held his tongue “Forgive me, for speaking out of turn.” Mysaria nodded her head,

“A conflict is something we should avoid-” he felt his heart burn again.

Fuck sake, no!

“Avoid a conflict.” He finished, pushing Daemon back. “Mysaria, perhaps we can put some pressure on our guests to agree to a deal, if they knew even a fraction of the threat posed against them.”

“Will that be wise?” Cley asked.

“It is a gamble, but I am willing to bet the Magisters care about their pockets more; war will ruin them than lower tariffs.”

Mysaria touched Daemon’s arm gently “Consider it done, my friend.” She spoke softly. “Ah I almost forgot!” she quickly scrambled towards her desk, pulling out a small stack of papers. “These came from Cya, it concerning your ‘forceps.’”

“Good, what has she said?”

“It’s not perfect, many of her healers are still trying to get use to it, so are still resistant, but she has noticed less deaths from child births.”

Daemon’s heart leapt at the news, he smiled and nodded his head. “Cley, watch the door, we’ll be heading off.” Cley bowed his head and left the room.

“Can’t stay a bit longer?”

“I have a meeting with the Master of Laws and his sons.” Daemon said “Need to make a good impressions if I plan on winning over members for my ideas.”

“Oh like what?”

“Establish a more formal branch of the crown; scribes, scholars, workers and clerks into one big official family.”

Daemon created the Goldcloaks… but I’ll create the proto-type for the Civil service.

He felt a pang of pain in his heart, no doubt Daemon was sore that his own reforms of the Goldcloaks will not come to pass.

“Ambitious.” Mysaria said, a moment of silence passing between then “Thank you for before… for wanting to prevent bloodshed.”

“You love him don’t you?” Mysaria said nothing, except only nodding her head. “I will do what I can.” He assured her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder “But should we fail, be ready to move him away from the Stepstones.”

“He will resent that.” She commented.

“But he will be alive.”  

“Yes, he will.”

Later that day Daemon sat within the apartments of Lord Larys and his family, a table was set out for them with an selection of cakes and small foods with a pot of tea. Daemon sat sipping on his tea as he listened to Lyonel’s daughters discuss about their day.

“Bella had wanted to buy a cat from the market.” Harra said.

“Can I father, please?” Bella pleaded to her father.

“I would prefer you did not.” Lyonel said “If it is a cat you desire I can arrange one to be brought from the Riverlands, I do not trust where those merchants get their animals from.”

“But that will take so long!”

“My word is final, Bella.” He stated, his daughter pouted. “Harwin, do not dare try an get one for her.” He told his son, Harwin was about to speak “I know you, you try to spoil your sisters rotten.”

“As you wish, father.” Harwin said before biting into his cake.

There was a strangeness watching over him; knowing that in another life he was the father of Rhaenyra’s children, Daemon felt a lump in his throat when he thought of their three sons.

They will never be born… and that will be my doing…

It is for the best.

“Do you have any pets, Prince Daemon.” Bella asked.

“I guess Caraxes would be my pet.” Daemon smiled “Baelor is very fond on my dragon and Caraxes of him.”

“It must be amazing, to ride a dragon.” Harwin said.

“Truly one of the greatest pleasures in the world.” Daemon remarked before taking a small piece of buttered bread. “You are now five and ten, almost a man grown.” Daemon didn’t believe that, this was a teenager sitting before him for Gods sake, but to say otherwise would have likely been offensive. “What do you plan on doing once you reach your majority?”

“I would like to be knighted.” Harwin said.

“I might be able to help you, My good-uncle is looking for a squire.” Daemon suggested “Old knight but a fierce man, steadfast and bold; my good-sister’s husband was his squire previously and he is but all accounts a good man.”

At least that is what Perra tells me, anything different and I feed him to Caraxes…

“The Vale is some ways away.” Harwin said, though the look on his face seemed he was considering it.

“He currently serves as Jeyne’s treasurer, might be valuable to gain some experience in governance before you take over Harrenhal.” That comment had been aimed at Lyonel for his consideration.

“I shall think about it.” Harwin said, looking at his father.

“Yes, he shall.” Lyonel added.

“What about you Larys?” Daemon said, turning his attention to the younger brother. He had been silent the entire time, focusing only on his food while, no doubt, listening intently to the conversation.; he was partly the reason Daemon also needed to have this meeting.

Only a child yet…

Larys looked at Daemon, for a moment, it felt as if Larys was sizing him up, this teenager was looking at Daemon like he was a deer spotting a dragon amongst the trees.

“I am currently taking my lessons with the maester, he also helps to treat my feet.” Larys said innocently.

“I heard you like to spend time in the castle library and write, I myself am partial to both.” Daemon said, matching Larys tone “I would be in need of a sharp mind to help me; plenty of papers and writing to do, I could use a hand.”

“I thought you could not take on a squire, is that not why you instead asked Ser Darklyn to take on the squiring Prince Laenor and that scullery maid’s son?” Lyonel asked.

“Of that you are right, Lord Lyonel.” Daemon replied, Agatha had be shocked when he had offered to have her eldest son squire for a member of the Kingsguard, the memory of such always seemed to make him smile “I have no need for a squire but I am in need of a page whom will aid me in my work.”

"And what type of work would that entail?"

"Reading letters, writing letters and documents, learning of matters and offering advice when needed. "Daemon placed his cup down “Gods knows we are in need to skilled people, mayhaps another scholarly mind is what I need.”

Lyonel nodded his head as they looked to Larys, who still sat quietly.

His eyes focused solely on Daemon only, it felt as though his sight was carving a hole from his mind.

He doesn’t know, there’s no way he could.

“I- I am flattered by the offer, My Prince.” Larys said “I will take it into consideration.”

"I thank you, Lord Larys." Daemon said, he felt his anxiety ease greatly. 

“You have my thanks, my Prince.” Larys replied. 

“Such experience will be of great value for you, Larys, my children, please leave us for a moment.” Lyonel commanded “The Prince and I have some business to discuss regarding the small council.” Both of Lyonel’s sons and daughters got up from their seats, bowed their heads and left the room, leaving only Daemon and himself. 

 Lyonel said, though Daemon knew this ‘talk’ would be more a lecture. “Now, onto this proposal of yours.”

“Yes, had you taken the time to read it?”

“I have, I do like the idea, it may help enforcing and implementing the will of the crown far more efficient.” Lyonel said “And I do like the idea of having future workers take tests of competency and train future candidates.” Lyonel took a sip of his tea “There are a few concerns of mine.”

“Speak, I shall answer.”

“Firstly, do you aim to displace maesters with these reforms?”

“Not at all.” Daemon assured him “In fact, I am sure Maester Runciter would appreciate the support  workers of similar skill and knowledge on subjects to draw from; what I would create would only serve to help support the existing structure.”

Not entirely the truth.

He could never create and academy or his own college without threatening the existing authority of the Citadel., he’d be liable to one day sip poison in his cup. Instead if he was to enact social change and empower people, he would use his work from his past life to do so.

Progress will be slow but better than non-existent.

“I see, I can see the merit in that.” Lyonel said “There is also the matter of allowing women to take these positions too?”

Knew I was going to get blowback for this.

“I think we would be foolish to limit ourselves for finding new workers.” Daemon said. “I am confident there are plenty of competent women who could perform these tasks.”

“Mayhaps, but you must see how this would seek to disrupt the balance within our society.” Lyonel argued.

“I do not see why not?” Daemon said “There are plenty of maids and servants who work in this castle who handle matters of administration even if on a small scale and not to mention the ladies and lady-regents who have governed lands and kingdoms, one of whom was my great-grandmother.” Lyonel stayed silent, contemplating Daemon’s word “My friend, I am not proposing we seat a woman on the Iron throne.”

Though I'm not opposed to the idea...

“I understand the argument, but it does not change the fact; this would be a large change in hierarchy of Westeros which may have many a grave consequence.”

I know… that’s why I want to do it.

“Mayhaps but I will not budge of this.” Daemon told him.

“Then you will find little support for it among the small council.” Lyonel told him. “The others will argue against this point to.”

Daemon sighed inside himself “Then I shall have to make my case to them too.”

After his tea with Lyonel, Daemon almost eternally thankful that he got to spend the evening with Aemma and Rhaenyra for a light dinner in her apartments. His mind thoroughly exhausted after dealings of today.

“I believe it is a splendid idea.” Aemma said as she took a bite of her chicken “I have plenty of clever maids and attendants to myself and Rhaenyra, perhaps their talents who be better suited to that you propose, I shall bring it up with Viserys, I am sure the two of us can convince him otherwise.”

Daemon gave her a tired smile “I thank you, cousin.” He said “I wish that Lord Lyonel felt the same way as you do.”

“He himself is a clever man, more than perhaps other will give him credit for given his reputation, but he is still no less a man, and men tend to be stubborn.” She commented “I mean no offence to you, Cousin.”

“I am not offended, I have met plenty of stubborn men.” Daemon said “And only a few stubborn women.”

“I imagine Rhea is among them?”

“Your words not mine.” The two laughed and Rhaenyra watched them, Daemon turned to her “And how was your day, little niece?” he smiled.

“Today I went to the dragon pit with Alicent.” She said eagerly “But she stayed outside because she was scared, but I was brave! Even though I am one and ten and she is one and eight!” she said beaming. “I got to fly around the city with Syrax but not out of it yet.”

“I hope you didn’t tease Alicent about not going into the dragonpit.” Daemon said to her, Rhaenyra shook her head; he smiled at the thought that the two were close in this life. “That is good, have you not taken to flying Syrax to nearby castles?”

“Mother says I am still too young.” Rhaenyra said. “But I am now ten, soon one and ten!”

“You are still too young to take to flying your dragon Syrax so far away.” Aemma told her “When you have reached one and three then I will consider it.” Rhaenyra pouted her face.

Daemon laughed looking at Rhaenyra before his eyes turned to Aemma, a feeling of calm coming over him.

You were already dead in another life… now you get to lecture and dote on your daughter.

“Uncle Daemon, please convince my mother to let me fly Syrax to Dragonstone or Driftmark!” she pleaded to him, Aemma looked at Daemon as if to say ‘Yeah, Daemon, convince me.’

“Listen to you mother, Rhaenyra.” Daemon told her “She only says this because she cares about you.” Daemon knew in his heart that if Baelor had wanted to tame a dragon then he would almost certainly be against it.

Rhaenyra pouted at his answer. 

“You know how mothers are, always fretting over their children.” He said. 

“Oh like you do not fret over Baelor and Rhaegal.” Aemma scoffed as Daemon fought back a cocky grin. “Speaking of your children, how are they and Rhea? How is Perra? I hope married life suits her.”

“They are doing well, I shall be with them soon enough again, my only hope is that I do not miss Rhaegal taking his fist steps as I had with Baelor.” Aemma nodded her head “Rhea has said that my terrace farming is now being used on a larger scale which excites me.”

“I never would have expected farming to be among your interests.” Aemma teased.

“No but had an idea what might strengthen my son when he takes the Bronze throne.” Daemon said.

Aemma started to pick at her food at the mention of that word “You are  lucky, Daemon.” She said “The Gods have blessed you with two sons for your family and I am yet to give Viserys one, an heir to the throne.”

“Never think in such a way, cousin.” Daemon told her “Viserys loves you and we said before that we should wait until a few years before Rhaenyra and Laenor are married to make sure.”

Aemma was still silent, and now Daemon felt uncomfortable. “Rhaenyra, can you step outside please, I must speak with uncle Daemon alone.”

“But mother-”

“No buts, it will only be for a moment.” A maid offered her hand to Rhaenyra who took it and was led away.

“Is something the matter, Aemma?” Daemon said when she was out of earshot.

“I know you asked both I and Viserys to hold off so that the timing could be right but- forgive me, we never meant for it to happen this soon.” She said and Daemon’s heart dropped.

“You’re with child.” He said, she nodded her head. “Who else knows?”

“Myself, Maester Runciter, Viserys and now yourself.” Aemma said “We have not yet announced it to the court for fear that I may lose the child… I have had so many pregnancies where-”

“Nothing will happen, you and the babe will be fine.” Daemon spoke, quickly trying to reassure her “It will be different, I promise.”

It will be different, it has to be different…

The dates are different, the timing is different,..

It must be different…

I cannot fail here…

Chapter Text

“You seem to have a fondness for that story, Larys.” Daemon said, glancing over to him. Larys looked up at him, once more Larys had been focused on the story in his hand.

“It is a rather tragic story, my Prince.” Larys said, sitting by the window as he read a story that Daemon had written. A small stack of notebooks rested upon a shelf near his desk holding the notes and written work the Prince had done in his spare time. While taking some rest from his new duties, he had picked up one of the books to read, the story of Icarus and his father Daedalus; despite the numerous other stories that Prince had on hand, either written from others or himself, he was fascinated by just this story.

“It is a pretty tragic story, though one that contains a warning to its reader.” Daemon said, still reading over the notes and writings that Larys had provided him for their meeting with the Lords Bracken and Blackwood; another dispute between the houses over the rights to a patch of land that was not even one-third the length of a league. A good excuse as any for those families to spill blood and disturb the King’s Peace.

“Hubris is a tragic thing.” Larys said. “One’s need to rise above others can lead them to falling lower than they could have imagined.” He placed the book down on his desk, looking out of the window towards the city.

“To think, if only Icarus had but listened to his father, had not tried to fly higher than needed, had he of not flown so close to the sun, then he would have survived and escaped his prison.”

“I do not see it that way, my Prince.” Larys said “While I do blame Icarus for his fall, I believe the blame for this should be placed upon his father.”

“Interesting, how so?”

“Was it not his acts and works that led them to the employ of the king of Crete? Was it not his service and unquestioning need to please Crete’s Queen that led to the creation of the abomination known as the minotaur?” Larys questioned “And had Daedalus not murdered his own nephew for fear that he might surpass him then he would never have been exiled from Athens in the first place; his hubris made him see threats and in the end it hurt the person he loved most in this world.”

“I had never thought of it that way, Larys.” Daemon said, looking at the ground “You are right, you might even say that Icarus was only taking after his own father.”

“Had his father been a more humble man, had not distrusted his own family, then not only would his legacy have been secure, his son would have been alive.” Larys added “It seems in the end we are no better than the people we look up towards.”

“Well I can only hope that I help in moulding you into a great man, Larys.” Daemon said with a thoughtful smile.

“I have no doubt that you are doing so, my Prince.” Larys replied.

“You can call me ‘Daemon’ Larys, I shall not hold it against you if you do not address me with my title.” Daemon said “In fact I would even encourage it.”

“I thank you, my Prince.” Larys responded “But I fear that should I develop such a habit then one day I will greet you without your title within the presence of mine own father, whom will be wroth to hear such.

“I understand, such is the way of our world.” Daemon said.

“Why are you hesitant with others addressing you with you title, my Prince?” Larys asked.

Daemon was silent for a moment, he chewed his lip “I find that when people address me by my title, it almost separates myself from them, tells them that they should do as I say when what I wish to do is convince them of the course of action than command as such.”

“It is far easier to command someone, is it not?” Larys asked.

“Perhaps, but no one likes to be commanded of a large decision, they must believe they have a stake in it.” Daemon said.

“Sounds very tedious.” Larys said.

“Such is the work of power.” Daemon replied.

“My father simple says that lords should obey their liege lords as is commanded of them.” Larys commented, knowing the bluntness of his father’s thinking.

“Your father is a good man, honest to a fault which I can appreciate.” Daemon said “Though he is a very stubborn man, very traditional.”

“Of that I agree, my Prince.” Larys smiled.  

 “Now, get on an finish your reading, we have to meet with those two riverlords soon enough, Gods knows I am not looking forward to that.” He sigh “Some days I curse my brother for offering me this role.”

“It is likely a futile venture, my Prince.” Larys said “My father had told me that the Blackwoods and Brackens have been feuding with each other since the age of heroes.”

“And how long was that ago?”

“I would say some many centuries ago.” Larys said. “If I recall I believe that both the Queen Visenya had once arranged marriages in order to facilitate good relations between both houses.”

“And yet they still fight, both families may as well be cousins by the blood shared between the two.” Daemon remarked.

“Even family spill each other’s blood from time to time.” Larys replied.

Daemon sighed “If you learn one thing from me Larys it should be this; some things, be it money, power, crowns or glory, that can stir a man to hate another for Gods know how long, may simple not be worth it.”

That is easy for a Prince to say.

Larys quickly flicked through the pages of his book before going back to the piece of parchment he had been writing on; all concerning the dispute between the Blackwoods and Brackens over the changes to the river than had once served as the boundary between their lands near the Mill.

Daemon began to clean up his solar space; clearing the desk and stacking his books and parchments onto the shelves. It had once perplexed Larys as to why the Prince never asked for the servants to perform such a task, though the Prince would always being up his excuses

‘Oh I am sure the servants have much better things to do.’ Or ‘A man must learn to clean up after himself, else he becomes lazy.’

But in truth, Larys suspected that the Prince did not like the idea of others perhaps looking through his notes and writings without permission.

“Do you require assistance, my Prince?” Larys asked, almost placing the book down.

“That will not be necessary, Larys.” The Prince smiled as he finished placing some items back into the draws before taking a pot of pens and placing them on the desk.

Larys caught sight of another small stack of parchment wrapped in strings which Daemon was going to carry with him, it was but for a moment however Larys had seen the Houses Redwyne, Manderly and Celtigar written on it.

“My Prince.” Larys called to Daemon as he stood from his chair, Larys taking his walking stick and leaning his weight against it “I could not help but notice the other stack of parchment you are taking with you.”

Daemon raised his eyebrow “You have a keen eye, Larys.” He said “This is for another meeting I am going to attend to later on.” He said “Nothing to be too concerned about really.”

Larys watched as Daemon quickly shoved the parchments into a leather binder, Daemon grips on it now more guarded than before Larys had mentioned it.

Larys was perhaps glad that the lords Blackwood and Bracken had arrived at different times; had they shown up at the same time then no doubt there would have been a quarrel of over who would enter first, such was the tension between the two lords now as they sat opposite of the Prince at his desk.

“My lords, I am confident that we can come to some agreement over this patch of land.” Daemon said.

“That land had been a part of my family for near many generations.” Lord Humphrey Bracken said “The change of the river does mean that the Blackwoods can suddenly lay claim to it.”

“Was it not agreed that the boundaries of our lands was to be marked by stones and the river?” Lord Edmyn Blackwood questioned “That land is on our side of the river, therefore it belongs to my house.”

Larys sat quietly at his own desk watching, he glanced over to the map of the land; how it changed over time, the waters of the Red fork cutting through the land, shrinking one’s land while also expanding the other side.

“And this land is valuable to farming I presume?” Daemon asked, his eyes darting between the two of them; both he and Larys knew the answer, the land was mainly mud. It may yet become a patch of fertile land to grow crops or graze cattle on, but for now it was but mud.

No, for these two houses it was a matter of pride; the Tully could not find an agreement between the two and now they have taken it to the Small council.

“The land is valuable, my Prince.” Lord Humphrey said “The farmers whom live near the river use to graze their cattle on its grass, no the Lord Blackwoods’ cattle grow fat from mine smallfolk’s work.”

“I see.” Daemon said.

“Preposterous, and need I remind this cur that there had been many an instance of how herders wandering from Bracken villages wandered into the lands of the Raventree?” Lord Edmyn spoke.

“Have you no shame in speaking of such lies?” Lord Humphrey spat.

The lord Blackwood looked ready to stand from his chair, the look of fury on his face a near burning inferno. “My lords, can we place aside these childish manners and speak as men.”

“I am merely keeping to the agreement that both of ours houses had made, the river marks the boundary of our lands.” Edmyn said.

Larys flicked through the pages of his notes; no doubt through out the ages had this argument occurred before, a Bracken may have very well used the same argument as lord Blackwood when it was advantageous.

Daemon rubbed his chin “The land is mainly mud for now but I imagine that it will be soon become part of the fertile land, yes?”

“Yes, my Prince.” Lord Humphrey jumped to the answer, eager to prove his point.

“Larys, how much in tax did the lord Blackwood collect from those lands in this quarter?” Daemon asked, not turning his head to him as he kept his eyes on the two river lords in front of him.

Larys quickly flicked through the pages “Lord Blackwood had collected some one hundred and twenty silver stags from taxes, my Prince.” He answered quickly.

“Would you agree with that assessment, Lord Blackwood?” Daemon asked.

“Yes, my Prince.” He replied, guarded in his tone.

“The land is valuable then, and if this was soil that had once belonged to House Bracken then it would, I suppose, still belong to them.” Daemon said, Larys could spot the ever so slight ticks of Lord Bracken’s lips, concealing his smile. While on the other side, Lord Blackwood tried to conceal his anger, his lips pressed tightly against each other. “Yet, if I were to make a judgement and say that the land on the other side of the Red Fork now belonged to House Bracken despite being on lands of Raventree, then I would be inviting a hundred other disputes from across the Seven Kingdoms who would seek to claim more land for their houses in spite of settled agreements.”

Lord Blackwood did not hide his glee as Lord Bracken had.

“Tell me, and speak true, lord Bracken.” Daemon asked “Should I say that the land would belong to your house and Lord Blackwood decides to send his levies to occupy the land, would you respond in kind?”

“It would not be my first course of action, my Prince.” Lord Bracken said.

“He speaks untrue.” Lord Blackwood remarked.

“Mind your tongue!”

“My Lords, settle yourselves.” Daemon told them. “But I would have to agree with Lord Blackwood, given the history between your houses, I would not find it surprising if I were to receive word of clashes between yourselves over the matter, maintaining the King’s peace is my priority.” Daemon turned to Larys who then handed him a parchment of paper, one that he had written for the meeting to be signed. “In my hands is an arrangement that should settle this matter; firstly the land will belong to House Blackwood as the old agreement had stated, the river shall remain the boundary between your houses.” Lord Blackwood puffed out his chest while Lord Bracken’s jaw tensed. “However, I shall not let House Bracken leave here emptied handed, the land may in time become valuable which is why I have assigned that a portion of the tax collect from the surrounding lands be allocated to House Bracken, some forty silver stags from it’s income would suffice, yes?”

For the next hour or so, the two haggled with the Prince on the amount that would be allocated, in the end an agreement was finally reached and both men left the Prince’s solar, the experiencing looking to be thoroughly exhausting for the Prince who slummed into his chair and let out a loud sigh.

“Agh, kill me now.” He jested.

“There is still the meeting with the Small council to attend to, my Prince.” Larys reminded him, Daemon groaned loudly.

“What if I just say I have succumb to illness, Larys?” he asked “Maybe we can avoid the meeting and instead go to a tavern in the street of silk, I shall pay for the drinks.”

Larys smiled “As nice as that sounds, my Prince, I think it best you attend the meeting.”

“Oh you are right.” Daemon said, he reached over to one of the draws in his desk and pulled out another stack of parchment.

The Prince has a love for writing.

“Let us go over some points for my ‘little project’” he said in half jest, tapping on the stack, he picked up the parchments and moved over to Larys’ desk, not wanting him to move to Daemon’s desk; the Prince had always been very considerate to him. A kind of kindness that he would have be given to by his brother Harwin.

How it irked him.

“I thank you, my Prince.” Larys said as Daemon took his seat opposite to him.

“Have a look at some of these proposals.” He asked, handing him some of the parchments; Larys quickly read through them, flicking his fingers through each one. Many of the proposals had peaked his interest, far reaching and bold.

“An end to the fighting pits and a mandatory age for those soliciting and working at brothels?” Larys asked “Including additional funds towards orphanages and apprenticeships, and that is just everything involving children.”

“Seeing a girl not even as old as Rhaenyra on the streets of Silk, it is enough to feel ill.” Daemon said. “I also had plans for expanding certain services and establishments that the smallfolk.”

“This is also including your proposed creation of the ‘civil service’ that you hope the council will approve of.” Larys said. “You must know that they will not approve this, my Prince.”

“I am aware of this, many of those proposals I would hope to see made law one day, I accept they must be the sacrificial lambs for the creation of the civil service.” Daemon said “In it’s entirety, that includes allowing both men and women to serve in it’s positions, however others in the council are resistant to this.”

“Including my own father?” Larys asked, and Daemon said nothing. “The proposal surrounding your position is also interesting; all correspondence between lords, from letters to writings in meetings, should be available to the king and members of the council freely.”

That had interested Larys the most.

“I think my seat may have the capability of becoming one of the most powerful in the seven kingdoms; connections to lords and magisters, if anyone wishes to challenge a king then having my seat would give them the power to do so.” Daemon said. “Also doesn’t hurt to be open and honest with the council of my dealings.”

“You have created a prison for yourself.” Larys said. “You would keep no secrets within your seat in the council, maybe leave yourself vulnerable to others?”

Daemon was quiet for a moment before speaking “It is only a prison if you have something to hide and I am an open book, well most of the time at least.” Daemon began to scribble down more words on the parchment “And it is my belief the others in the council should follow,  honest governance is the best kind.”

Larys resisted the urge to look onto the stack of parchments, hidden in the leather bind that held the names of certain houses. “Forgive me but I would believe that such sentiment would either be naïve or dishonest in itself.” The Prince did not respond, only laughed. 

And I know which one you fall under.

Once the meeting was done, The Prince had thanked Larys for his time before departing for the small council meeting. Leaving Larys to go and see his family see off his eldest brother before he left for the Vale.

At the docks of King’s Landing, Larys watched as his father delivered his parting words to Harwin, a firm hand placed on his shoulder, behind him both his sisters, Bella and Harra, watched next to him with tearful eyes. The waters were calm and the skies clear, the wind blew against the sails of the galley with his family’s banner upon it.

“You shall make your House and myself proud.” His father told Harwin. “Follow Lord Gunthor commands and be sure to pay Lady Jeyne the respect that she is warranted as Warden of the East.”

“Yes, father.” He replied, before being pulled into a tight embrace. Their father pulled back and patted him onto the shoulder. Harwin turned to their sisters, hugging each one tightly.

“You shall behave while I am away.” Harwin told them. Both of them tearful agreed to as he placed a kiss on their foreheads.

Then he turned to Larys, the two looking at each other for a moment before Harwin brought him into an embrace, almost knocking Larys off balance. He tried to steady himself and grit his teeth. Even though he knew his brother meant well. He still hated it.

Harwin pulled back “I shall miss you, brother.” Larys could see the tears in his eyes, Larys felt strange that he could not feel the same way as him. Yet Larys patted him on the shoulder.

“Be strong for us, brother.” Larys told him “You are mightiest among us.” Harwin laughed was genuine yet sad. “I shall miss you too, brother.” Harwin embraced him one last time before he walked towards the galley, climbing the steps and onto the deck. His sisters waving him goodbye as the ship began to sail away into the Blackwater Bay.

“This is a good opportunity for him.” His father said “Hopefully he shall form a bond with the Lord Arnold and by all accounts House Royce has become a growing power in the Vale, he shall bring out House’s reach further.”

As Larys watched his brother’s galley sail away, he could not help but wonder of the Prince’s hand in matters; his bonds with those on the small council, his dealings with the Hand and Master of Ships, how he favoured Myles Hightower over Criston Cole.

And now there was Larys’ family; taking himself as a page and almost informal advisor, arranging a tutoring for his brother in the Eyrie, the seat of power in the East… was this all just to allow women into the Prince’s grand idea of a organisation of scribes, stewards, clerks and administrators?

No.

In Larys mind, in his very heart, and every part of his being he knew that there was something far greater at play. Of which he did not know of.

But one that The Prince Daemon did. 

Chapter Text

“Aemma!” Viserys proclaimed, raising his cup to a filled hall of his lords and bannermen, they had come from all corners of the realm for this moment “To the Queen!” the celebration of his wife pregnancy, the celebration of what he is confident will be his son, his heir. His Baelon.

“To the Queen!” they all shouted back, sitting at the tables set before them in the large hall, he, Aemma and Rhaenyra were positioned at the head of the hall, upon an elevated dais.

“Come, my lords, let us feast and be merry!” Viserys ordered with a smile on his face, a cheer went up in the room as the attendants began to enjoy themselves in the food and revelry. Viserys placed his hand on Aemma’s thigh before moving to place it on her swollen stomach tenderly,  looking at her with eyes beaming with pride. “My wife.” He said.

Aemma smiled “Lord-Husband.”

“It has finally happened, our Baelon will be born, a little brother for our Rhaenyra!” he said, looking over to their daughter who was sat eating her food. “Are you not excited, Rhaenyra?”

“Father, what if it is a girl?” Rhaenyra asked.

Viserys laughed “It will be a boy, I am confident.” He replied “And we’ll name him after your grandfather, you remember him do you?” Rhaenyra nodded her head. Viserys heart was quickly filled with want.

How I wish you were here to see this…

“If it is a girl, can we name her Visenya?” Rhaenyra asked.

Viserys smiled “If it is a girl then, I was thinking perhaps Helaena?.” He said looking turning to Aemma who smiled softly back at him.

“I was thinking maybe Alyssa.” She said and Viserys wanted nothing more than to take her in her arms tightly.

“Yes, that would be a splendid name.” he whispered loudly to her.

“Your Grace.” Came a voice in front of them, they all turned their head to see Daemon with his family, Rhea and their sons who had travelled from Runestone for the feast.

“Ah Daemon! Rhea!” Viserys proclaimed, standing from his seat, walking around the table and quickly embracing the two. “Rhea, good-sister, it is joyous to see you well.” He then looked down to their children “Little Baelor, how you have grown.”

“Your Grace.” Baelor said, bowing his head, at eight name days Viserys could see a young Daemon in his face beneath his Royce features.

“And little Rhaegal.” He turned to look at the small boy hiding behind his mother’s skirts. “A shy one he is.” Viserys smiled. “You two will soon have another cousin to play with, are you excited?”

“Yes, your Grace.” Baelor jumped to the answer.

“Good lad.” Viserys laughed, reaching down and ruffling his hair.

“Your Grace.” Came another voice, they looked to see Rhaenys walking towards them with Laena and Laenor beside her.

“Cousin!” Viserys said “Prince Laenor, Princess Laena.” He said to them.

“Your Grace.” Her children bowed to him.

“Congratulations, cousin.” Rhaenys said, a hand placed on both her children’s shoulder.

“It will not be long till we celebrate the union of our houses.” Viserys said, looking to Laenor who smiled sheepishly at him. “Laena, you look as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

“Baelor will be a lucky man.” He said, Laena looked towards the boy standing next to Daemon.

“When he comes of age.” Daemon quickly spoke, a hand placed on his son’s shoulder. “That is still some years away.” Viserys had known of his brother’s new ‘redline’ of his children marrying until at least two years past their majority; it disappointed him that Daemon would ruin his chance to his blood on the throne over something so insignificant as two years. 

Daemon has many a queer idea as of late.

“Of course, brother.” Viserys said, patting him on the back, he looked to Rhaenys “Where is your husband?”

“My Lord-Husband has some business with some of the lords in attendance.” Rhaenys, Viserys noticed her eyes shift to Daemon as his to her.

Hm, strange.

“Prince Laenor, how has squiring for Daemon?” Viserys asked, sensing the tensions and wishing to rid it.

“Well, your Grace.” Laenor said “I have learnt much from uncle- Prince Daemon.” Laenor caught himself. “Ser Darklyn has taught me much, he makes sure to involve both I and Malcolm in anything he does when he can.”

“The two make me proud.” Daemon said “I could not have asked for better squires.” Daemon said.

“Where is this Malcolm?” Viserys said, looking around the room, though in truth he did not know the appearance of this young man.

“He using this time to see his mother and younger brothers.” Daemon said.

“I hope that scullery maid’s son doesn’t give you too much trouble.” Viserys said to both Laenor and Daemon, it still perplexed him that Daemon had recommended one of the maid’s son as a Kingguard's other squire.

“He is not- trouble, your Grace.” Laenor spoke quickly, leaping to his defence “I consider Malcolm a close friend of mine.” Viserys noticed Rhaenys face twitched at the statement despite her calm demeanour.

 Aemma walked towards them, her hand helped by one of her serving ladies with Rhaenyra alongside her. “Aemma!” Viserys said, quickly taking her hand “You should be seated.”

“Please Viserys, I am with child not some pretty doll from Yi-Ti.” Aemma remarked, placing a kiss on his cheek “Princess Rhaenys, Cousin.” She said. “It is good to see and the Prince and Princess.” Smiling at both Laena and Laenor.

“Your Grace.” They greeted her. “Congratulations.”

“I thank you.” Aemma said, placing a hand on her swollen stomach.

“Your Grace, my Queen.” Corlys walked towards them from behind Rhaenys and their children, slipping between her and Laenor as he placed a kiss on her head and an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Congratulations, we are praying for the safe coming of a new Prince.”

“We thank you, Lord Corlys.” Viserys said, looking to both him and his cousin.

I wonder, does it disappoint you that your son will soon no longer be heir? Even when it is guaranteed your blood sits the throne.

 “I apologise for my late appearance, there were matters I needed to discuss with Lord Redwyne regarding the royal navy.” Corlys explained.

“You need not apologise, my Lord.” Viserys assured “I know matters of state can be consuming.”

“We still have that meeting with the Triarchy to grapple with soon enough.” Daemon commented, his eyes looked to the side “Speaking of matters of state, the Lord-Hand and his son and daughter are approaching.” They all turned to see Otto, his son Bryndon and daughter Alicent.

“Your Grace.” He said, his son and daughter bowing their heads.

“Otto.” Viserys smiled “I hope you are enjoying the feast.”

“We are, your Grace.” Alicent said, she looked to Aemma “Congratulations, I pray for the safe coming of the new Prince.”

“Lady Alicent, you grow more beautiful by the day.” Viserys said “It surprises me that you are not yet betrothed let alone married!”

Alicent blushed at the remark “My wife and I have received ravens for her hand by many lords, we are considering matches but they shall be good ones.”

“I am sure many of those lords are in attendance here, come! Dance! And perhaps say to your children that you had spoken to their father this night.”

“I shall, you Grace.” Alicent bowed her head.

“It is good that you are all here for this moment, I would say the realm has never been stronger than since the time of our grandsire.” Viserys told them proudly.

“Quite, barring the issue of the Triarchy, the realm has never been stronger.” Otto agreed.

“What will the scholars write out me, I wonder.” Viserys jested. “I doubt I will earn a name such as your ‘Sea Snake’” he said to Corlys who smiled at him before taking a sip of his drink.

“They may call you ‘Great’ your Grace.” Corlys said, his tone suggesting more of a jest than sincerity, though Viserys did not mind the jest.

“I would hope so!” he replied, earning a laugh.

“An era of peace may likely be your reign, perhaps… ‘The Peaceful?’”

Viserys nodded to the name “Would that make Aemma the Peace Queen?” he said, placing his arm around her.

Viserys ‘The Peaceful’ Yes I quite like that…

It had been a few weeks since the feast, and already Viserys was wishing he could back to those simpler times; he had always wished to head back to the moments when being King meant he could host tourneys in the yard and feasts in his halls.

Now he had to get into the mud of governance; speaking to belligerent merchants who wished to make his life difficult all for trade and money.

As he walked towards the Small council chambers, his brother and Lord-Hand to his side as Otto explained to them had already been discussed and what had been rejected by both his and delegates’ sides, he longed for the comfort of his wife and daughter.

Daemon flicked through his large book of notes.

Gods where did you ever get this hunger to write, Daemon.

He still remembered the brash and confident boy that his brother once was prior to his accident, sometimes he wondered how things would have been had he remained as such. 

“The rest of the Small Council should be in the chamber already.” Otto told him “I had instructed them to help ‘ease’ the delegates to your arrival.”

“Good, I thank you, Lord Otto.” Viserys replied.

“I can only hope Corlys hasn’t started a fight with them over the trading routes.” Daemon commented “Last thing we need is a stand-off once more.”

Outside of the chamber, two kingsguard stood guard, one of them being Otto’s son and the more senior and seasoned Erryk Cargyll, his twin standing behind Viserys and his group.

“Your Grace.” Myles said, bowing his head “The rest of the Small Council awaits you inside with the delegates.

“Thank you, Ser Myles.” Viserys thanked the young man. The two guards opening the door to the chamber. As always those already in the room stood up from their seats at his arrival.

One side sat his councillors and on the other side, the Triarchy delegation.

It is always strange to see their colourful hair…

“Your Grace.” The Magister Oro greeted him “It is a pleasure to have your company in these discussions.”

“I thank you, Magister.” Viserys said as he took his seat at the centre his side “I hope we can come to a resolution today, one that both sides can find amicable.”

“Indeed, nothing would please us more.” The Archon Syrio spoke, Viserys noticed his eyes drift down the table, towards Corlys.

“Please be seated.” Viserys said, everyone taking their seats as the door the chamber was shut. “As I understand it in exchange for lowering of tariffs through the Stepstones what you desire is control over the shipping lanes north in the Narrow Sea.”

“That is right, your Grace.” Magister Oro replied.

“My friends, the Crown values the efforts of the Triarchy in securing the islands from the pirates, many a sailor and merchant will no doubt prefer them under your stewardship than those lawless bands of pirates.” Viserys said, trying to get on their good side “You must understand, we can not allow the Triarchy to have control over those shipping lanes.”

“That is regrettable.” The Tyroshi lord, Syrio, spoke this time. “We had hoped to come to an agreement.”

“We still can.” Daemon spoke “You must understand, we can not leave ourselves hostage to any outside nation; you would not leave ourselves at our mercy.”

“There were many times in the nations of the Triarchy history where we were left at the mercy of others.” The Myrish lord, Releqor said “I recall many times where we sought aid from the nations of Westeros only to be met with silence.”

“Those were before, this is now.” Otto replied. “We acknowledge the importance and the power of the Triarchy, but we can not allow this.”

“If you did then you would not treat us with such contempt, mind me saying that your Grace.” Oro said. “We have come with various options and alternatives but each one has been spurned.”

“One of which was the Crown allowing you to practice slavery on our shores.” Viserys said. “Need I remind you all that both the Seven and the Old Gods of the North abhor the practice.”

“Coin knows no religion.” Releqor commented.

“Putting that aside, we have not heard of any compromise solutions from the Crown.” Syrio said. “You ask for lower tariffs but ask that no other costs be incurred while we patrol the waters and clean them of pirates.”

“Many a sailor and merchants are said to prefer the pirates to the Triarchy’s hold.” Corlys said, Viserys grimaced; he knew about the animosity between the Sea Snake and the Triarchy.

“Hold, Lord Corlys.” Viserys spoke quickly “Lord Lyman, please.”

“We do have a compromise.” Lyman said “While we can not allow your total control over the shipping from Pentos to north of the Narrow Sea, the crown is more than willing to share the burden of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea’s defence.” He turned his head to Corlys who stayed silent “The royal fleet can plan joint works with the Triarchy.”

This is a good compromise, they care about their money, we will be saving them the trouble.

“Do you believe us to be fools?” the Archon said “Do you believe that we would allow foreign ships around the shores of our domain? Allow HIS ships near the islands?” he said looking at Corlys, who continued to listen. “Would you allow Tyroshi or Lyseni soldiers on your shores? No? Then why would you believe we would accept the Crown’s ships near our ports.”

“Perhaps we could subsidise the costs that the Triarchy carries in the islands defence?” Viserys suggested.

“The money you would pay us would still not cover or make it worth our time than what we gain now.” Syrio replied.

“Perhaps you should speak plainly.” Corlys spoke “What you wish is control; the Iron throne, the lords, merchants and smallfolk all buy and trade from the Triarchy, it makes you wealthy and you desire not to surrender that.”

 “Do you not feel the same way? Sea Snake?” Oro asked, almost mockingly.  “No, we shall not allow the Crown’s ships by our shores, we can protect what we had gained without your aid.”

Viserys gritted his teeth.

Grandfather, what would you do?

“The Crown’s stubbornness on this issue hampers the talks.” Releqor said “If you refuse to compromise on this issue then perhaps we should raise the tariffs.” 

“Insolents bastards!” Corlys exclaimed, standing from his seat.

“This is uncalled for.” Daemon spoke this time “You know full well why we cannot acquiesce to your demands; we have tried to find a way around this, to meet you all halfway, but this is beyond ridiculous!”

“What is ridiculous is the throne’s demands.” Oro said, he looked at Viserys “You may claim dominion over the Seven Kingdoms through Dragons but Essos has been free of the dragons for many generations.” The delegates got up from the table “We have spent years here, no longer, it is clear that an agreement cannot be reached, I wish you the best, Your Grace.”

Viserys could only watch, trying to hold back his rage and frustration with the delegation.

“Wait!” Daemon exclaimed “If you walk out of that door then you may as well risk a conflict!”

“We know. We are aware.” Syrio said. “We thank you for the warning, Prince Daemon.” Viserys saw Daemon almost step back in shock. As the delegation left the small council chamber, leaving them alone.

“Bastards.” Otto said. “Greedy bastards.”

“Damn it all.” Viserys said, pressing his fingers against his head, the crown feeling heavy upon his brow. “All of you are dismissed, we shall discuss the repercussions of this at a later time.” Viserys looked at his brother, he wanted to comfort him; distraught writ deep within his face as he left the room with the others.

All except Corlys.

“You are dismissed, Lord Corlys.” Viserys said.

“Forgive me, your Grace.” He said “But I do perhaps have an alternative this issue we face.”

“One that you could not bring up moments ago?”

“I am confident they will not have liked it.” Corlys said “No one in the chamber at least.”

Viserys scratched his chin “Go on.”

“What if I told you we could take the Stepstones from the Triarchy.”

Viserys scoffed “War is what you suggest? The Crown take up arms.”

“Not the Crown.” Corlys said “Just an alliance of houses, all of which have a vested interest in kicking those greedy leeches out of the Stepstones.”

Viserys stayed silent contemplating “And what would you require? Money, soldiers or more?”

“Only what was promised in the treaty, the support of the crown.”

Grandfather… what would you say?

“We shall discuss this more after the birth of my son.” Viserys said, he did not know how Jaehaerys would have handled this; mayhaps an idea shall come to him upon the birth of his child. At least that was what he hoped. 

“Your Grace.” Corlys bowed his head.

The weeks had gone by; many a word, plans and idea brought up regarding the Triarchy, governance and such discussed. When the day he had been waiting for came, the day he prayed for. The midwives and Maester Runciter had rushed his Aemma into her bedroom, closing the door behind them.

Viserys sat in his solar as he waited for the news of the birth; even through his confidence, he still felt the nerves and fear that seeped into his mind and body.

I should see Rhaenyra.

He got up from his desk and left his solar, Ser Westerling trailing his path as he walked from his home. He had made his way to the gardens when he spotted Rhaenyra with her cousins, Alicent and Daemon, sitting under the shade of the Godswood. He looked to be telling the young ones with Laena, Laenor and Alicent sitting around holding them.

“Your Grace!” Laenor spotted him, the others stood up and bowed before him.

“Please, do not stop on my account.” He smiled at them. “I see you still taken with story telling brother.”

“Well I hear I am quite the story teller.” He said looking to the others who watched him. “I was just telling them about the story of Troy; the story before the Odyssey, which is Laena and Laenor’s favourite story.”

“I would love to read it once I have the time.” Viserys said “Mayhaps to little Baelon when he arrives.”

“How is her Grace?” Alicent asked, Rhaenyra sat in her lap, crafting a crown from flowers.

“I do not know yet, last I heard she is still in her labours but with Maester Runciter and Daemon’s new creation, I know she is in great hands.”

“That is good to hear, we are all praying for her.” Laena said.

“Thank you, my dear.” Viserys smiled softly.

“Your Grace!” a servant called to him, catching his attention “The Grand Maester has called for you.”

This is it.

Viserys quickly rushed into through the Red Keep, his Kingsguard behind him as he reached until he reached the door to her apartments. Myles Hightower guarding the door who greeted him.

“Your Grace, the Queen-”

The Door open “Your Grace.” Runciter spoke.

“Maester, my wife… my son, are they?”

The Maester swallowed slightly before stepping outside “The birth was… difficult for the Queen; the nursemaids are trying their best to stop the bleeding but we fear it mayhaps have been too much for her.”

Viserys heart sank through the floor and into hell, his body slackening at the news “Is she-”

“The Queen is still alive.”

“And my son?”

“The Queen had given birth to a daughter.” He told Viserys “Thanks to the forceps we need not consider the worse option but… I fear she is now too weak.”

A weak mummer escaped Viserys’ lips “My- my daughter” the words sounded strange to his ears “Is she well?”

“The nursemaids care for her, she is well.” Runciter told him “She sleeps in a cradle by her mother.”

“I must see- I must she them.” Runciter moved out of the way as Viserys quickly ran into the room. The room smelled sickly sweet, trying to mask the scent of death.

When he saw his Aemma on the bed, lying still looking at a cradle beside her. Viserys timidly walked towards them; first looking at his daughter fast asleep. He had longed for a son and yet his heart melted at the sight of her.

Little Alyssa…

“Viserys…” He could hear weak her breathing was, he turned to her.

By the Gods… 

The sheets that covered her were almost soaked in blood and she was deathly pale, every breath looked to be laboured. He quickly took a seat next to her and held her hand.

“Our daughter…” she murmured “Viserys I- forgive me I could not-”

“Rest now, Aemma.” Viserys told her “All is well, she is well.”

“I am so tired, Viserys…”

Viserys gentle caressed her cheek “You have done well, my love.” He smiled at her, fighting back the tears in his eyes and pain in his heart.

Aemma smiled weakly back at him before shutting her eyes. Viserys opened his mouth, his voice sounding distant and timid.

“Aemma?”

Chapter Text

“We thank the mother for giving life to Aemma as she had given life to her children.” The septon spoke, he circled around the funeral pyre with book and scented lantern in hand. Corlys’ eyes drifted around the large round hall of the dragonpit; packed to the brim with guests with himself, his family and the rest of the royal family and his fellow councillors at the front.

The King is standing with his eldest daughter next to him and his newest daughter in his arms. The three saying their final goodbyes. Next to him he saw his wife Rhaenys standing tall and holding his hand, a face like stone as their own children wiped tears from their eyes.

His time reinstated as Master of Ships allowed them a kinship with their family here, one that left an ache in their hearts.

Yet he could tell from the way she squeezed his hand she was drawing strength from him at this moment.

Always so brave, my Rhaenys…

News of Aemma’s pregnancy had come Corlys was pleased, perhaps it was sooner than he and the council wanted but the pieces were falling in place; he had accepted long ago that Laenor would likely never ascend the throne, his son looked relieved when the announcement was made, he had come to appreciate the privileges that were made to him.

And planned accordingly. 

He had planned for the future of his House, their rise and indefinite hold the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones. 

To rise to the likes of House Lannister, Baratheon, Stark and Arryn; Great Houses, governing over a region with their own bannermen.

He had made his plans on these assumptions, plotted along those lines that were set. 

It was not supposed to be like this…

Perhaps his and Rhaenys goal, the dream of their son on the throne might be in reach and yet victory had never looked so tainted, so undesirable… so unforgiving.

The Realm is grieves, the crown is weak after failing to find an accord with the Triarchy preparing for war, no doubt seeing our weakness and strife; this would be a testing time to be King.

And with Laenor reaching his majority soon, it will be a few years till he is crowned… the lords will test him, he is young and inexperienced.

The words of the septon seemed to be a distant call, as he tried to chart the course for his house’s future, one that would see his hope of cementing their power for all time.

I cannot have both the Treaty and my son as King… I cannot place a crown upon his head and expect my House to remain the Second for all of time. 

He turned to look at the small council, all focused on the pyre, all except Daemon whose head was held in his hands, facing the floor, Rhea placing a hand over his back.

He has taken her death as hard as both Viserys and Rhaenyra.

After her death the Prince seemed to have locked himself in his solar or apartments, only rarely leaving to see his family or the King and his daughters.

A shared grief. 

He then looked to Otto, who sat with his family, only daughter seated closet to Corlys’ family, he glanced to Alicent, before back to Otto.

“Dracarys.” The Princess was feeble, commanding her dragon to light the pyre, it would have been enough to shatter the hearts of many, he saw as Alicent tearfully watched her friend hug the king for comfort.

Perhaps there is another way.

To get what I need… I need but two voices on my side.

After the funeral, his family had retired to their apartments, awaiting their call to join the feast celebrating the life of the late Queen.

It was not so long ago we were celebrating the coming birth of her child.

He sat in his solar, looking over the letters he received from the other houses that have agreed to join him when he took arms against the Triarchy; in his hand a message from House Greyjoy, one house he didn’t expect to gain their support but was all to happy to have, spoke that they were ready to strike.

So easy to lure in with promises of raiding with impunity.

He looked at a small drawn map of the Stepstones, Dorne and Tyrosh. He traced his finger against Dorne.

If they join the Triarchy then Ironborn raids on their lands will divert Dornish troops from the fight, but that is only if they join-

There was a knock on the door.

“What is it?”

“It is us, father.” Laena called from the other side.

Corlys quickly placed his letters and map into a draw in his desk “Enter.” Both Laena and Laenor entered his solar, bowing the heads “Come my children, take a seat.” He said to them, pointing to the chairs opposite him. “What is it you wish to speak with me?”

They both glanced at each other first before Laenor spoke “Father… will I have to be king?” his voice was uncertain, nervous.

As I feared, he is not ready.

“Maybe, that is unless the King does not remarry and sire an heir of his own blood, but the King is still hale and young enough.” Corlys said “It is likely he will remarry in time.” That had seemed to reassure him. “Do you fear becoming the king?”

Laenor said nothing.

“Unless the King explicitly says he will not take another wife, which would be unwise of him, you will ‘sadly’ not ascend the Iron throne.”

“I understand.” Laenor replied, though Corlys could see the tension lifted from him.

“And you Laena, what do you wish to say?” he turned to his daughter.

“Must I marry Baelor?” Laena asked, unlike Laenor, there was a steel in her voice, a frustration. Something that reminded him of their mother. “I shall not marry a child.”

“You will not wed with him for a long while.” Corlys said, this was a sore point between himself and Daemon; two years separating between them and an agreement.

“He will still be just a boy.” Laena said “I will be seven years older; a woman of twenty and three wed to a boy of six and ten.”

“Do you believe you will be the first to marry someone far younger than themselves?” Corlys replied with authority. “Your mother was six and ten when I had taken her to wife, should I have set her aside? Tell her she is but a child? Are you a child, Laena?” She stayed quiet, electing only to scowl at him “Laenor, leave, I shall have further discussions with your sister.”

Laenor looked at her, nodding his head before standing up, bowing and leaving his solar.

“This is unfair; you betroth me to a child and you even stop me from taming a dragon, from taming Vhagar!” Laena raged.

“And both of those shall stand, they are what hold the treaty together.”

“That is all you care for!” Laena shot at him “Do you even care about us?”

“Do you believe I do this entirely for myself?” Corlys questioned “I do this for our family, for our house and for the good of you and Laenor; believe me when I tell you there are worse betrothals to be made for daughters in the Seven Kingdoms than heir to a House rapidly growing in wealth and power, and one whose father you have grown up to know; consider yourself among the lucky, Laena.”

Laena got up from her seat, marched towards the door and left his solar, slamming the door behind her. Corlys pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Gods give me strength… This will not be the last headache I have of today.

He got up from his seat and left his family in their shared apartments as he sought out the Hand.

The Tower of the Hand was no the most brilliant thing to look upon in the Red Keep, but Corlys knew of its power and it’s importance, looking upon the tower he could not help but feel envious.

In a different life… I would have served as her Hand… or as Laenor’s…

Yet he remained focus. He marched towards the entrance of the Tower, two men dressed in the livery of House Hightower greeted him with bowing heads.

“Lord Corlys, we welcome you.”

“I thank you, I seek an  audience with the Lord-Hand.” He told them “If he is not already preoccupied of course.” One of the men looked at the other who quickly went into the tower, naught but a few minutes later did the arrived again.

With Otto’s wife, the Lady Jana Tyrell.

“Lord Corlys, what a pleasant surprise.” Jana welcomed him. “We welcome you to the Tower of the Hand.”

“I thank you, Lady Jana.”

“Please, let me escort you to my husband’s solar.” Corlys nodded and made his way inside the Tower, if the outside of the building was plain than the inside had certainly made up for it.

Hightower colours of green and white decorated the walls, their banners hung proudly in the Small Hall with symbols of the Seven pointed star and ornaments of the Reach.

They have made themselves comfortable here indeed.

“The decorations speak to great taste, my Lady.”

“I am happy you have noticed, my Lord.” Jana said “I had helped decorate the tower myself.” As they climbed the stairs they stopped at the door guarded by two more men. “My husband awaits you.” Jana said “I do not wish to rush you, Lord Corlys but we may be called to attend his Grace in the Throne room soon enough.”

“I am aware, my Lady.”

“I shall have the servants bring you and my husband some refreshments, we have Arbor gold imported from the Reach.” She said, she turned her head to the side and a servant quickly rushed down the steps.

“You are most kind, Lady Jana.”

Jana bowed her head as she left him but the door, the guards bowed their heads before opening the door.

The inside the room was illuminated by the light coming from the windows as a dark wooden desk sat in the centre upon a Myrish rug, shelves of books and cupboards lined the walls along with a portrait of Otto’s family and banner of both Hightower and Targeryen.

“Lord Corlys.” Otto said “What a pleasant surprise.” The door behind him shut. “Please have a seat.” Corlys sat down. “To what do I own the pleasure?” A servant quickly entered the solar, a silver tray in hand, placing down goblets on the desk before pouring the wine into the cups. “You may leave, leave the wine here too.”

“My Lord-Hand.” The servant said, bowing their head and quickly leaving the room, the door closing behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

Corlys took the cup “There are certain matters which I wished to discuss with you in private.” He said “Matters regarding the realm’s current situation.”

“Such as?”

Corlys took a sip of the wine before placing it on the desk “Before her Grace had passed away, the King and I had discussed about taking the Stepstones from the Triarchy after the failed negotiations.” He could see Otto’s face tighten “I need not tell you how important trade is to my House… but I am confident you are ‘aware’ of my plans by now.”

Otto was silent for a moment before speaking “You have an alliance of Houses all ready to strike at the Stepstones.” Corlys nodded “His Grace had informed me after the meeting… and Prince Daemon had discovered that earlier.”

“And thanks to Daemon, the Triarchy had discovered that fact too, far sooner than I hoped.”

“What would you have us do?” Otto asked “What would you have the Crown do in such a time as this? If you are asking us to go to war after the death of the Queen you are mistaken.”

“I do not expect the Throne to go to war for me, my Lord.” Corlys said “I am not in need of men or resources; what I need is support, diplomatic support and ‘persuasive moves’ of a kind.”

“And what kind is that?”

“The kind that would keep Dorne from interfering in a war that would see the Crown’s power grow.”

“Your power more specifically.” Otto corrected him “You need not play coy, Lord Corlys, I respect you far too much to not be bluntly honest.”

“Regardless, I need the Crown’s involvement, if only in that matter alone.” Corlys said “Dorne will not sit idle, they will see this as a threat and should the Triarchy demand it, they too will join the war; the whole affair will spiral into a large conflict.” Corlys took another sip as Otto did too “And we wouldn’t want that.”

“Even if we could, the King is already disposed with the death of the Queen.”

“His Grace is, but not the Lord Hand or his Small Council.” Corlys said “Both of whom can persuade him on this course of action, one which we can handle the matters to while he grieves for the Queen and cares for his daughters.”

“Many will see this as scheming.”

“And they are right.”

“Hmph…Respectfully, Lord Corlys, why should I aid you in this endeavour?”

Corlys felt himself smiled “The King has suffered a great loss with her Grace, Queen Aemma, even more he has no male heir to the throne of his own blood.” Corlys swirled the wine in his cup “But what we change that?” Otto raised his eyebrow “You have an unwed daughter, the fair lady Alicent.”

Corlys could hear the hitch in Otto’s throat “You would propose wedding Alicent to the King?.”

“I would ‘support’ wedding Alicent to his Grace after an appropriate period of mourning.” Corlys said. “A young lady from fertile stock who has lived in the capital her the majority of her life? And from a noble House such as the Hightowers? Perhaps the perfect match.”  

Corlys watched the man carefully, how easy it was to wrap his hands around Otto's imagination. 

"If the King does not remarry then your son Laenor would stand to inherit the Iron Throne, are you saying you would pass on the opportunity for such?" Otto asked, clearly trying to get the measure of Corlys. 

"For Laenor to ascend to the throne would be a magnificent achievement for myself and my House." Corlys said simply "But after his time, what becomes of House Velaryon? we may continue to be the second most powerful House in the realm... or we may fall into obscurity, with that moment being the peak of our powers." Corlys took a sip from his drink "Much like you and the Prince, I am a man who desire to have as much say in matters as possible, especially when it impacts my House; I built my House's power, I shall cement it." 

Among the lords of my House I am an exception. The power we have will not die with me. 

“Perhaps I could support your endevour.” Otto smiled “There is another thing I would like to add; should your campaign be successful you will be needing lords to govern those islands, may I suggest my sons Bryden and Gwanye, to serve as vassals to the future lord Paramount of the Narrow Sea.”

There’s the ambition… and the greed.

Corlys could not help but almost admire it.

“If I am to have Hightower vassals, I will need Hightower aid.” Corlys said. “Will that be possible?”

“Oh yes.” Otto said “More than so.”

“Then we have a deal.” Corlys said, raising his cup. Otto knocked his cup towards his gently as the two took a sip.

And then there was one…

Boyed but his victory with Otto, Corlys entered into back into the Red Keep proper; there he sought out the Prince.

This may be the most difficult.

He approached the door to the Prince’s apartments, two guards dressed in Royce livery guarded the door. Polite enough to bow their heads yet, he would be a fool not to notice the tension in the air.

“I wish to speak to the Prince.” Corlys said “Before his Grace calls us to the Throne room.”

It seemed Rhea had noticed him through the door, stepping out to face him, her hands behind her back. “Lord Corlys.” She spoke, with all the authority of a sea captain whom had sailed many times.

“Lady Royce.” He spoke back “I’ve come to speak to the Prince.”

“My husband grieves for his good-sister, his cousin.” Rhea said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Mayhaps another time.”

“It is important-”

“Oh I am sure it is.” Rhea interjected. “Our families have lost a loved one, spend time with your family, my lord.”

As if a prayer from the Gods was answered, Daemon stepped out of the door behind her. As Corlys looked into him he could see the dark circles around his eyes and his platinum hair fraying at the seams, here was a man who had not slept in days.

“Rhea.” He said softly as she turned to him, placing a hand on his cheek “I shall be fine, watch over the boys.”

“You need to sleep.”

“And I will, let me attend to this first.” She pulled him into a kiss and embrace before letting him go, whispering something in his ear, and entering back into their apartments. “Let us speak in the Godswood, Lord Corlys.”

In the garden, barring the attendance of Myles Hightower whom Corlys recommended to guard them, the two found their solitude as they walked along the rose lined path.

“Her Grace was an amazing woman.” Corlys said “Kind, graceful, intelligent and beautiful; everything you would want in a Queen.” He looked at Daemon, no longer the confident Prince who sought to build bridges and speak of big ideas… now before him was a shell.

“What is it you wish to speak about?” Daemon said.

“My Prince?”

“Do not play me for a fool, Corlys.” Daemon spoke “You did not wish to speak about Aemma, you wished for something else.”

“And what do I wish for?”

“You wish for war.” Daemon said. “And you need my support.”

“His Grace is understandably grieving the loss of the Queen.” Corlys said “As you are, the realm grieves but it’s problems do not sleep, it does not wait until we are ready; we must act.”

“Is that all you can think about?” Daemon hissed “More power? More wealth? My cousin is dead! Her children left without a mother, my brother without his wife… it all my-” he stopped himself.

Why does he blame himself?

Corlys wondered for a second if Aemma was more than just a good-sister to him but dismissed the idea; his own spies would report his secret meetings with the mistress, who acted as Daemon’s spy master, were with another companion, the same went with Aemma, he was always around someone else. 

“The world continues to move, Daemon.” Corlys replied “Do not think that my family does not suffer her loss; Rhaenys may act strong but she grieves for her as do Laena and Laenor.” They stared at each other for a moment “Take it from a sailor, a storm waits for no man.”

“Still, I cannot support this, there may still be another chance to-”

Corlys placed his hand on Daemon shoulder and looked him in the eye “It was a bold move, trying to force the Triarchy’s hand by warning them I would go to war.” He told him. “But a foolish one; now they are aware, they will try to fortify themselves, our task. My task. Has now grown more challenging.”

Daemon shrugged off Corlys’ hand “Even so, the Small council will not support this, Otto-”

“Agrees.” Corlys interrupted him “He supports this and has pledged to communicate with his brother, Lord Hobert, to gain the support of Oldtown.” Daemon stepped back, mouth agape.

“How-” he clenched his jaw, his face hardening “You didn’t-”

“Otto asked for much.” Corlys said “I am only happy to aid him and his family.”

“Happy to feed his ambition if he helps to feed yours.” Daemon growled, he placed his hand over his heart, Corlys could see the pain torturing him. “Now at a time like this, you would do such a thing!”

“And I am happy to help you and House Royce.” Corlys said “If you to pledge your support and aid me in taking the Stepstones; let it never be said that House Velaryon does not aid its allies.”

Daemon glared at him as one hand held his chest. And the other gripped the handle of Darksister.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Corlys turned to Myles who placed his hand on his own blade, watching the two.

“I should-”

“Do what?” Corlys challenged him “Kill me? strike me down? Cut off my head? Save your empty threats, my Prince.” Corlys placed his hands behind his back, not reaching for his weapon “If I were you I would list my demands, for House Royce and yourself; I know about your reforms, how you struggled to garner support among the council, perhaps the three of us can work together.”

“And if I refuse?”

Corlys darkened “Then I am sure the King will find it interesting just how the Triarchy came to know about these plans, there are many who would no doubt support the death of a spy.” This time, the Prince looked horrified.

“How did you-”

“Mysaria was it? A Lyseni dancer turned brothel owner who happens to be ‘well acquainted’ with the son of a Tyroshi lord” Corlys smiled at him “Did you really believe you are the only one with spies in this city?” Corlys said, the smile quickly fading “I must say though, you seem to be quite happy to dirty your hands to advance your own plans.”

Daemon looked to the ground, and Corlys knew he was ashamed.

He knew he was right.

“Leave her be.” Daemon conceded “She acted only on my commands.”

“Many act on their lords or masters commands.”

“She is a friend, not my servant.”

“All the more reason many would gladly see her and her mistresses dead.” Corlys told him “But if you join me, we can use that instead to aid in the fight, bring victory to us; it wouldn’t matter if the Triarchy built high walls to keep us out when we know everything about them.”

Daemon moved away from his, walking a few steps and facing the Heart tree.

“Damn you, Corlys.”

“If you need time to spend with your lady-wife to properly discuss how this could benefit your family’s House then you can.” Corlys invited “We can continue this after the feast.”

“What is it that you want?” Daemon asked “For House Royce’s support? For it’s soldiers, it’s ships?”

“If you could then all the better.” Corlys said “But that is not what I need, I have enough of both, what I need is you; I believe both yourself and the Princess Rhaenys have a part to play.”

“Myself?”

“Your Dragon.”

Chapter Text

All he wanted to do was sleep, he could feel the bags under his eyes grow heavier with each passing second but yet every time he tried to rest, sleep alluded him. Each time he closed his eyes he could see her. He could see Aemma lying in that bed; Rhaenyra at her side, holding her hand watching as the life was slowly drained from her in those passing days before her death.

He could still see her eyes upon him, looking at him, she had looked so weak and tired, so frail and broken but yet…

A smile, even then she always had a smile on her face.

Aemma had thanked him for helping to save the life of her daughter. The maesters and maid-nurses told him about it; how the birth was difficult for her, the struggle to remove the babe and the possibility of having to perform their version of a C-section had it not been for the forceps.

“Thank you, cousin… you saved her life.”

But I wanted to save you.

I wanted to save you… so badly.

For days he rummaged through his notes,  chaos reigned over his office with the mess of papers and books that littered his desk and floor; he tried to find something he overlooked, some kind of answer yet now the answer that alluded him was one he could not bare to face.

She was too weak to have children from the beginning, how could I not see it? Multiple miscarriages and stillbirths, Rhaenyra was a miracle child; she couldn’t have children!

I should have just told Viserys to let Laenor be his heir, I should have told him to make Rhaenyra be his heir, I should have done anything else but let her get pregnant again.

No slumped into the couch, he wished he could have something to make him forget, whatever pain Daemon could inflict on him was nothing compared the pain he felt now, he almost wished Daemon would torture him if only to feel relief from anguish.

It had all been too much to handle. And yet he had to handle even more.

After the feast and into the night, when his sons had been put to bed, he sat by the fire and stared into the flame.

Rhea sat with him, placing her hand on his as she looked at him, her face an image of concern “Why do you torture yourself?” she asked, rubbing his hand gently with her thumb.

“Because I could have done more.” He confessed.

“You have already done enough, Maester Runciter believes that and even Aemma did.” Rhea told him “It was because of you Alyssa lives, please remember that; do not fail to see the good you have done, Daemon.”

It’s just not enough…

In his mind he saw them; Gael, Balon and now Aemma, the three he had let down, whose fate he could not or failed miserably to change. Standing behind them was another, a shadow of a person but one he knew, a close friend. 

I can’t… I can’t let that happen to you.

“Rhea… my talks with Corlys…” he said, his voice was croaky “He plans on going to war with the Triarchy, he has asked for my support in both the council and in joining him.”

Rhea held her breathe and gripped his hand “Tell me you denied him.”

Daemon shut his eyes “I can’t.” even he could hear the defeat in his tone, the bitter taste of resignation on his lips.

“Yes you can.” Rhea urged him, frustration ripe in her voice “You are a Prince, the brother to the King, you are not powerless-”

“I can’t!” he exclaimed, he instantly regretted raising his voice “He knows about Mysaria, he knows she’s acted as my spy, he knows I used her to try an pressure the Triarchy by telling them about the threat of war…”

“He blackmails you… you fear he may expose you?”

Daemon shook his head “No, he knows better than to do that… He threatens her life, the life of her friends and the life of others to if I do not comply, I can’t let her die.”

Rhea was silent for a moment “You cannot let her die? Even if it means risking your own life… just to protect her.”

“Yes.” Daemon admitted “She is my friend, I cannot let her be threaten, I can’t let her die. Not if I can do something.”

Rhea took in a deep breath and pulled away slightly “Do you love her?”

Daemon gripped her hand tightly and looked at her “Never doubt that you are the only woman I love, the only one I have lain with and the only person I want to be with.” He told her “There is no one else but you; neither distance nor death will ever change that. Please believe me.”

Rhea looked to have tears welling in her eyes, she rested her head on his shoulder and held him close “I do.”

Daemon breathed out a long sigh “I have sought after peace, yet I still find my hands bloody.” He said “I can’t have hers on my hands, I can’t bare it any longer.” Daemon shut his eyes and dug deep, feeding off of the determination that Daemon gave “I shall join with Corlys and head to the Stepstones.” He told her “He wants my dragon… then he shall have me.”

Rhea looked up at him, a look of resolve in her eyes that must have matched the Daemon in his heart “Then I shall go to.”

“No… you-”

“I am the Lady of Runestone, you are my consort.” Rhea told him “I shall go where I please, and where it pleases me is by your side.”

“Our sons… Runestone…”

Rhea shut her eyes and took in a deep breath “They will be safe here, with the uncle and cousins.” She said “And Perra and Arnold can care for Runestone while we are away, no doubt my uncle will appreciate his former squire learning about governing from the seat of our family.”

In his mind, the shadow that stood with the three changed, it changed to match with her.

I can’t lose you… I could not bare it…

“What if something happens-”

“Nothing will happen to us.” Rhea told him “When all is said and done, we shall all be together.”

Daemon wanted to weep yet as he looked upon her face he could only smile “Corlys had said to speak to you about a possible list of concessions we could make from them in exchange for Runestone’s support.”

Rhea smiled back “Well, my husband, I have every intention of bleeding that damn Sea Snake dry.”

When he had told Mysaria the news the apologises and tears that long night had only drained Daemon even more, yet when all was said and done, Mysaria quickly picked herself up and told Daemon to bring Cley to a small building wedged between others on the streets of Silk, near her establishment. Without telling them why and only asking them to dress in their finest clothes.

As both men watched from the back of the dimly lit room, the mistresses of Mysaria sitting near the front along with the trusted men and friends of the Tyroshi lord’s son as they watched by her and Ollo Zokan, standing in front of an alter filled with candles dripping onto a white cloth as a priest dressed in religious garbs neither were familiar with, emblazon on it was the image of a naked woman dancing.

The air in the small room was hot and choking with the scent of lavender, Daemon tugged on his hood, concerned that anyone in the room would recognise him, there was an irony to him being dressed in his nice doublet and pants yet hidden in a full cloak.

“Gods why would they do that?” Cley whispered, a wince in his voice as they watched Mysaria make a small cut on Ollo’s bottom lip with a small sharpen piece of obsidian, placing his thumb on the cut and placing a red dot on his forehead.

Mysaria was dressed in a dress of rich blue, flowing from his body with ceremonial clothing and headwear upon her.

“Valyrian custom, had been adopted by those in the Free Cities is seems.” Daemon explained as Ollo did the same to her.

“I thank the Gods I was born a Westerosi, I would rather place a cloak than my own blood.” Cley said “I mean no offence to Valyrian customs, Daemon.”

Daemon grinned “Worry not, right now I had thankful Aegon had adopted the Seven.” That comment had earned him a bolt of pain from Daemon, no doubt taking offence to that.  “Could be worse, looks like they aren’t going to cut the palms of their hands and join them.”

“Gods be good.” Cley muttered in disbelief.

Daemon stifled a chuckle.

“What are they saying?” Cley whispered into Daemon’s ear, the priest seem to speak in some form of Valyrian, yet it was slightly off.

Daemon tried to listen careful, picking out certain words spoken. “He’s asked them to exchange vows.”

At least I think that’s right? Gods this is like that time I was speaking to that Valeman merchant from the deep mountains.

Mysaria was speaking, in the tongue of broken Valyrian and yet he could not help but feel warm inside, he was happy for her. He placed his hand on his chest.

Are you happy for her too?

A feeling of vindication flooded him, confirming the answer.

And here I thought you would be jealous.

That had earnt him a small sting in his chest from the true Daemon which only elicited some laughter from himself.

“What’s so funny?” Cley asked “Was it something she said?”

Daemon nodded his head “She was talking about their ‘first’ meeting.” He lied, Cley raised his eyebrows, smiled and shook his head.

Mysaria raised a cup from the alter and drank from it, before handing it to Zollo who spoke his own words to her, in Tyroshi, neither Daemon nor Cley understanding his words to her. He took the cup and drank from it before placing it on the table.

The priest said his final words.

“They are now bound in blood.” Daemon muttered to Cley, reciting the words “May these binds hold them till the end.”

As the priest finished did Mysaria place his hands on Ollo’s cheeks and pull him in to a kiss, the small group in front of them cheering and applauding them, both Daemon and Cley stood back clapping as they watched the two stand together, raising their clasped hands up for all to see.

The mistresses of Mysaria rushed to her, giggling and laughing as they all shared hugs and kisses with her as the men who accompanied Ollo patted him on the back.

“I wonder of the Collio Zokan thinks of all this?” Cley muttered.

“Zokan is a minor Tyroshi house.” Daemon told him “Collio is only here in these negotiations because of his personal service and standing with the Magister.”

“So having his son as our leak will be useless in the campaign?” Cley murmured.

“Any bit of information is good information.” Daemon commented, almost chastising Cley.

“Of course, my Prince.” Cley said, his eyes focused on Mysaria as she walked towards them. “The newlywed bride comes our way.”

Daemon turned and smiled at her as she opened her arms to them both, embracing them each as both men gentle patted her on the back.

“Thank you both for coming.” She said.

“You asked us to come, why would we not?” Daemon said.

“I congratulate you, lady Mysaria.” Cley said.

“Always so formal, so polite, Cley.” Mysaria said, taking his hand. “Will you not speak to me as your friend?”

“You are my friend.” Cley said, Mysaria smiles at him.

“We are happy for you, and for your new husband.” Daemon said, his eyes wandering to him as his companions still cheered him.

“I thank you, Daemon.” Mysaria said “For everything, it was with your aid that I have my life now, I owe you much and more.”

Daemon was silent for a moment, he looked to the floor, a wave of shame and grief washed over him. “I am sorry, Mysaria… I wished I could have done more-”

“Do not be sorry.” Mysaria said “We all did what we could, it was the fault of the magisters whose pride have blinded them to resolution.”

“What will you do?” Cley asked.

“I will try and move him away from the Stepstones, no doubt his father will have him based near the ports of Tyrosh for the war until it’s end; he shall resent not being a part of the fighting but it will be for the best.”

“The sooner this war will end, the easier it will be for all of us.” Daemon said.

“I know what must be done, what we must do.” Mysaria said “Let the magisters of the Triarchy face their punishment and humiliation or… let Corlys fall upon his sword, so long as the people we love survive, then that will be enough.”

Daemon nodded weakly, though his hearted burned against the idea of defeat.

What shall happen if we are defeated?

“Be safe, please do this for me.” Mysaria asked of Daemon and Cley “I hope the next time we all meet will be in better times then this.”

“That is my hope too.” Daemon said.

“When will you both leave?”

“On the morrow, we shall head back to Runestone to make our preparations.” Daemon said, he swallowed slightly at the next thought “Then we head for the Stepstones.”

“Stay alive, that is all I ask from both of you, you all have people waiting for you.” Mysaria repeated, placing a hand on each of their faces “I shall pray to whatever God will hear me for Ollo and yourselves return to me.”

“I fear we will need that and far more.” Cley said.

Daemon had tried to savour the peace that he had on that night and for the nights that followed, from his and Rhea journey to Runestone, another morning of tears as they left their sons on the care of his brother.

Since then it had been nothing but endless preparations; stacks of parchment, hours of meetings and every day more and more men would come to Runestone as a ever growing camp of men, resources and horses were being gathered before them forming a small village of tents and banners.

Daemon chaffed in armour, once more looking at himself in the mirror; it was a simple black breastplate with the deep crimson of the dragon on it, black gauntlets and grey chainmail underneath covering a simple brown shirt with the golden hilt of Darksister at his side.

He looked at himself, adjusting the armour.

The armour that you wore when you were granted Darksister was nothing like this…

He thought back to that memory of the young Daemon, dressed in a full plate of black armour with sharp edges from the shoulder guards and gauntlets, scales on the armour matching his dragon with neat and trimmed patterns. He glanced to his desk, his helmet sitting there.

Even my helmet lacks your flare.

He picked it up helmet; a simple black steel helmet with no pattern or marking.

“Perhaps some wings will be a nice addition?” Daemon mumbled, a spark of annoyance and affirmation pricked inside him, as if to tell him ‘Of course.’ “Hmph.” His own apprehension soon clashes with it. “I’m going to need your help… This cannot be our end.” He looked back to the mirror “I… we need to get back to them, she needs to get back to them-” his words seemed to fail him, as he looked into his own eyes, hoping he was talking to someone else. “You understand, right?”

He felt a nudge in his chest as the strength that was not his own fuelled him, powered him. Made him grow stronger. He looked down at his hand, seeing his fist clenched.

Something not by his control.

What? how-

There was a knock on the door, catching his attention, he quickly flexed his fingers. “Enter.”

The door opened, a soldier dressed in the Royce livery greeted him “My Prince.” He said “Your presence is needed in Lady Royce’s solar.”

Daemon nodded his head “I shall attend at once.” The soldier bowed as he escorted him to Rhea’s solar.

The guards bowed their heads as he approached, greeting him and opening the door. Inside the solar a small crowd of men surrounded the table as Rhea stood at her side of the table. They all turned their heads to him.

“Prince Daemon.” Lord Tollett had spoke “You honour with your presence.”

“My Prince.” Lord Coldwater said, bowing his head.

The other captains and landed knights bowed at his presence, something which he had grown accustomed to even if the feeling of wrongness never truly disappeared.

“Lord-Husband.” Rhea said, looking at him with a serious expression; something which she had perfected to an art during meeting with her bannermen.

“Lady-wife.” He said, a slight smile appearing on his lips, he watched as the corners of her mouth ticked up, almost breaking her. “It is good to see you here.”

“I am grateful to be part of your council.” Daemon said “Please continue as you were, do not stop on my behalf.”  

“With most of our strength now gathered at Runestone, we should prepare on our possible moves.” Rhea said, looking at the large map of the islands, she pointed to northern islands. “The islands Sunstone, Bloodstone, Dark Den and the Skulls will no doubt be the most fortified.” She said. “And before we can attack those there is the Triarchy’s navy.”

“We can leave that to the combined might of the Velaryons, Baratheons, Manderlys and Redwynes who are harboured at Driftmark.” Lord Coldwater “There is also the ships from the Hightowers and Greyjoys who will attack from the south, I have no doubt they will smash them and control the seas surrounding the islands quickly.”

“With the help of the Prince and Princess Dragons, short work will be done of them.” A captain commented.

“That is unless the Triarchy seek to strike first.” Rhea said, she placed a wooden ship from the Stepstones to Storm’s End “If I was in command I would seek to knock out a powerful ally quickly, attacking the ports and harbours here to delay the introduction of Lord Boremund’s levies to the war.”

“What say you, Prince Daemon?” Lord Tollet asked, the others turned to him.

Even now, they wish to test her, look for leadership that isn’t… her.

He glanced at Rhea who too looked to him.

Fuck politics.

“My lady-wife is incredible at foreseeing an opponents moves.” Daemon said “Trust me, I have suffered many a defeat at her hands, if she says the Triarchy may target Lord Boremund’s ports then we send a raven and tell him to be wary.”  He looked to her, nodding his head ever so slightly to her.

This time, the smile on her face was not so hidden.

“At once, my Prince.” Maester Hugo said, reaching out a piece of parchment as he began to write down a draft of their message.

“Bloodstone will be the most fortified island.” Rhea said, placing a wooden soldier on the island “From what information our spies could gather the Prince-Admiral, Craghas Drahar, will try to hold this island personally.”

“The Island the Sea Snake have tasked us with taking” one of the captains said.

Truly such a petty way of getting back at me, Corlys.

“Good, we should take the island as well as his head when we attack.” Lord Shett suggested.

“I would wager that is what the ‘Crabfeeder’ will desire.” Lord Tollet said “Launching an attack on the beach will put us at a terrible disadvantage.”

“And there’s the tunnels within the island, even if we control the beach.” Lord Coldwater said. “It may take an age for us to fully control the island, a long and bloody campaign.”

“Indeed, and in that time the Triarchy will no doubt try to launch a counterattack.” Rhea said.

Daemon took in a deep yet silent breath.

We must prepare for every possible circumstance; I shall speak with Jonos, perhaps we may need the use of wildfire.

The scene of a sea of green flames played out in his mind, Daemon hoped he could avoid such a possibility.

The lives that will be lost, their blood will be on my hands too. People will die because of me.

The thought was enough to make him sick, he locked his legs trying prevent them from shaking while he calmed his heart.

He shut his eyes as he reached out to Daemon.

We must win.

He fed off the determination that took root in his body, he felt his hand grip the pommel of Darksister tightly; thankful that the true-self had responded to the call. An echo whispering into his mind.

I must win.

Chapter Text

Logistics, logistics, logistics.

Daemon watched from an empty bedroom as the mass array of ships were anchored just off the coast off Storm’s End, the wind was silent and the seas were calm. From a distance he can see the bright colours of their sails, a rainbow of colours glittering the sea.

 If he had not seen the burning ships, the wreckage on the shores and the floating bodies, all of which were either recovered or left to the sea, then he would not have believed that a massive naval battle had occurred just leagues away from there.

And the Triarchy had paid dearly for it, Shipbreaker’s Bay broke the arm of the Triarchy. But it was the dragon that

Rhea… bloody hell it’s like she can see into the future, knows an opponents moves maybe before they do.

He wanted to smile when he thought of her, instead he was gripped with fear and anxiety.

“The Triarchy will become more defensive, they will keep to the islands after this.” He remembered Rhea telling the lords after the battle “We must prepare for a longer campaign than we expected.”

That had soured the mood… But she never was afraid of speaking her mind, even when she knew herself to be right.

She spotted a Red dragon flying above the armada, the distance roar carried upon the clouds as they swooped down and then upwards.

He leaned up against the windowsill, taking in a deep breathe, trying to take in the calm. There was a knock on the door. “Enter.” He called out, a servant entered the room.

“My Prince.” The servant said “Lord Boremund has requested your presence in his solar.”

“I shall be there at once.” Daemon said, the servant bowed his head and led the way.

Storm’s End was unlike the other castles Daemon had seen throughout his time; just away from the edge of cliff, tall walls and the colossal tower at the centre of it all which stood against wind and sea, it was formidable and foreboding, the castle reminded him of Runestone; it was a fortress, one meant to tell others about their strength than glamour and looked as though, Daemon assumed, must have been near impossible to besiege.

Who was close to taking it? Mace Tyrell? Only because he stayed there instead of fighting on the Trident, really messed up Rhaegar.

He felt a bout of annoyance pulse onto his tongue, it seemed his other-self hated having to think of the events that led to his House being deposed from the Throne.

Two guards, both dressed in Baratheon livery stood by the door, bowing their heads before one of them opened the door for him. In front of Daemon was Boremund sat behind his desk, looking out of an open window. This solar at least looked less extravagant than the others he had been in; a hearth, a library of books and smaller banners decorated the room, but it was not without it’s trophies. Daemon eyes met those of a few dead elk, wolves, lions and bears heads mounted upon the wall with swords and axes, even helmets. All from different cultures and kingdoms.

Usually people want to show off power and wealth, something that screams “Look at me, I’m so rich and powerful!” what does this say? “Mess with me and I will fuck you up?”

Daemon held his hands behind his back, holding them tightly.

Message received.

Boremund was a man now aged with a full head of grey hair and a thick grey beard, a few black strains of hair what was left of his Baratheon heritage. Yet he was still a rather large man; it seemed age had not made him anymore frail, behind him next to the window was a portrait of his mother and father.

Daemon looked upon the man, he wondered how much of Rogar he was seeing in him and how much of Alyssa Velaryon was in his face.

“Prince Daemon!” he said, his voice boisterous “Come sit down, let us speak dear cousin.”

Cousin? I guess everyone is related to each other medieval times.

“My lord, I thank you for your hospitality.” Daemon said.

“Think nothing of it.” Boremund waved his hand “It is an honour to have your within my walls.” He looked over to the door “Guard!” the door opened, the guard at the entrance  “Have a serving girl get us some drinks!” the guard bowed his head and closed the door. “I’m sure you must be disappointed, Prince Daemon, having missed out on the battle near my shores.”

“It was unfortunate that I and Caraxes could not be there.” Daemon said, in truth he was mightily relieved not to be, even if he knew it was inevitable he did not want to fight, to bring death directly to someone. To kill someone.

Why am I still hesitant on this? I helped Mysaria kill Dalla; just so she can rise, just so I can have a foothold and an ear in the city…

He felt a pain in his chest, Daemon resisted the urge to press his hand against his chest to ease it; Daemon wanted nothing more than to be in the thick of it, in the battle upon his dragon leading the charge.

Instead he was here, heading the preparations for the supply networks that would lead to Storm’ End, keeping the men of this alliance fed and armed as they invaded the Stepstones.

“Mine own sons were rather disappointed that the bastards didn’t land their ships on the shore for our men to meet them on the field.” Boremund said “Would have been a battle for the ages, driving these Essosi fools from our land.” The servant girl entered the solar, placing down two cups and pouring in red wine into them. “Seems like my cousin had gotten the glory in the end, her and that dragon must have send a forth of their ships into the sea before the Sea Snake sunk the rest.”

“Must have been a sight to see regardless.” Daemon said, taking a sip of his drink.

“Must wound your pride really, she will likely see more fighting and take more glory than you.” Boremund said.

Is he really trying to get under my skin?

“As will Rhea, but I am more worried than anything else.” Daemon said “Still I serve the best way I can; my talents find me organising a vital part of the campaign.”

“Yes, the supply lines.” Boremund pulled out a map covering the Stormlands, the Crownlands and the Narrow sea. “Wish to use my ports and harbours.”

“A logistical hub.” Daemon said.

“A log-is-ical what?” Boremund tried to repeat.

“Pardon me, been reading quite a few foreign books on military strategy.” He lied.

“You don’t learn about war from a book, you learn on the battlefield.” Daemon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Either way, men need to be fed and then replaced when they either die or are wounded in battle.” Daemon said, he placed his finger on Storm’s End. “Storm’s End is connected to the King’s road, we can send supplies in from the capital to here.” He said “I’ve had the men build temporary storages near your keep, make sure to have them guarded and the stocks accounted for by your stewards; to win we need a constant supply of larder, fodder and stuffs which means ships back and forth from captured islands.”

“That can be arranged, I can place my youngest son in charge of this.” Boremund said. “Not eager to have our armies live off the land? I imagine they will be sick of crabs by nightfall on those islands.”

“It is neither wise nor fair on the smallfolk for armies to be living off the land they march on.” Daemon said “If we need more grain than we purchase it, we shall take nothing from our people.”

“My smallfolk will be greatly relieved of that.”

“I’ve already hired a number of workers and farmers to care for the cattle that will be transported.” Daemon told him “Tell your son,  to make sure that all those handling the food have done so with clean fingers.” Boremund raised his eyebrow “Swords are not the biggest killer in war, it’s disease and I’ll be damned if we lose this war because of tainted meat or dirty drinking water. When I arrive at the Stepstones I will be passing on this message to the other lords and captains.”

“They will no doubt be puzzled by this.”

“They can think and feel as they like, but when their men are shitting their guts out and mine aren’t then they will see the wisdom in it.” Daemon said “Everyone will keep themselves clean when they’re not working, resting or fighting.”

“So be it, was there anything else?”

“I’ll have a number of these supply dumps along the King’s road, in the event that Storm’s End is unable to-”

“Do you believe that my castle, Storm’s End, will fall?” Boremund questioned, clearly vexed by the assumption.

“Merely a possibility I am planning for, if something were to happen that I do not want the war effort to suddenly stall.” Daemon replied “It certainly helps to have plans.”

“You seem to have a lots of those.”

“More than you can imagine.” Daemon teased “I have plans within plans.”

Daemon cursed himself. He had hoped that by the time the armada had left he would still be at Storm’s End fixing the supply chain, entering when the main thrust of the campaign had ended. He wanted to delay the inevitable. Instead Viserys and the council had other plans, word had reached Storm’s End that both Otto Hightower and Lyman Beesbury would be travelling down to take command of the organising.

He gripped the handles of his saddle tightly, he hadn’t felt this kind of fear and anxiety since he had first tried to confront Caraxes. Now he had to use him. And he did not know whether or not he could do it.

Below him was just a part of the alliance’s ships but yet it was still intimidating to look at, as he swooped down, the colours of Hightower flashed before him.

Otto’s sons, they’re down there…

Worry gripped his heart, men whom he had seen grow up before him, the sons of his friend, were down there, leading the vanguard for the assault.

It’s up to me to help them… I must burn those on the beach. Allow them an easier landing.

I have to kill.

He shut his eyes, tried to focus on his breathing and steel himself for the moment. And then he tried to lie to himself.

I won’t be the one killing them… it will be Caraxes, I will only speak the words.

Is it better to be an accomplice to killing than those carrying it out?

I can’t do this.

If I don’t do this then they will die, Brynden and Gwayne will die.

Otto, Jana, Alicent, Myles… I can’t send those two back in a casket.

The ships were now growing closer to the shore, on the beaches he could see the men of the Triarchy begin to form up their ranks, ready to meet their enemy. The island was mainly flatlands than others. Not too many cliffs or mountains.

All out in the open. Thousands and thousands of men, ready for battle. No doubt all of them watching him.

He felt a clawing need to strike, a frustration, an anger. A desire for battle. A calling for adrenaline. And an offering of bravery. The last of which Daemon happy to now gorge himself on in that moment, taking more and more. He felt the fear in his heart lessen and the burdens on his mind suddenly fade away.

He felt stronger. And found himself and Caraxes now swooping down to meet the enemy in their formations. He could see the lines of archers at the back readying their arrows. He should have flown back up, should have fallen back. If he didn’t act now then a shower of arrows will rain down on him. One would certainly hit him and that will be the end.

It was as if all the noise around him was suddenly on for but a moment. Except for one thing. In the back of his mind he heard one thing. His own voice urging him to act. He felt his mouth open.

Do it.

“DRACARYS!” Caraxes roared and opened his mouth, before a torrent of fire poured from his mouth, bathing all those in it’s way in fire. Everything the fire touches was met with a chorus of screams, the heat from the flames touching his skin.

The arrows came but Daemon pulled up, the arrows striking only Caraxes’ scales. Now the ships had reached to show, the first line of the Triarchy’s army began to advance towards them.

Daemon swooped back down, like a spear thrown to the ground, he and Caraxes cut through the air before swooping back up, the force of their trajectory pushing men to the ground as Caraxes loomed over them, arching it’s long neck as more torrent of fire spew from it’s mouth, covering their enemies in a blanket of fire.

The battle was now in full swing as the levies of the alliance and the Triarchy clashes blades, axes and shields against each other’s ranks. Yet it was clear who would break first as Caraxes set blaze to the rear ranks of their army.

The archers had been all but decimated. Many of them quickly running away from the battlefield. Daemon watched as the scattered remnants of their army fled for their lives. News of this reaching the men in the thick of battle.

They cannot escape.

He honestly blinked back some shock at the thought, wondering if that could truly be something he had thought of. Cutting off their escape? Trapping them? That was cruel.

‘It’s is necessary.’

“DRACARYS!” He commanded, Caraxes’ fire carved out a long line as he flew just a few dozen meters away from the ground, a wall of fire separating the flatlands from the Triarchy’s levies. So they broke. What was left of their enemy soon fled, the desperate jumping through the wall of fire as others were placed at the mercy of the Alliance.

The battle felt as though it lasted mere minutes until they had taken control of the shoreline. Victory was theirs and there could be no disputing that.

When the celebration broke out did Caraxes land onto the ground. As soon as Daemon hit the ground did he rush over to the side, vomiting out his breakfast onto the ground. The smell of burnt meat lingered in the air as a line of charred bodies lay still and smoking.

He wiped his mouth, his hands on his knees as he tried to compose himself.

Bryndon… Gwayne, I need to check if they are alive.  

He quickly stood up and jogged towards the others; men threw their helmets into the air, lifted each other from the ground, singing and cheering. As he passed by them he was patted on the back, arm and shoulder by the men around him; gone was the nicety and decorum, these men were alive and victorious.

“Bryndon! Gwayne!” he called out, looking around frantically around. He then felt a hand grab his shoulder, he turned to see Bryndon, dirt caking his face, with a smile with his brother behind him. Daemon laughed out in relief as he first embraced Bryndon and then Gwayne “Boys! Thank the Gods you are well.” He told them.

“It was thanks to you, Prince Daemon.” Bryndon said “Think we would have had a nastier battle had it not been for Caraxes.”

“I shall praise Caraxes for his efforts later, for now I am glad you both have survived.” Daemon laughed “Your mother and father would have killed me if anything had happened to you.” the two laughed as the others around them continued to celebrate their first victory.

Yet at the back of his mind, something plagued him. A thought.

Was that… me?

That thought had occupied Daemon’s mind constantly now, as their control over the island became complete and more and more men and ships were moved to the island; days became weeks and soon into months, and yet it did not escape his mind, not even when-

“My Prince.” Criston called to him, Daemon looked up from the ground, awoken from his thought. Around him were other lords and captains, Rhea and Gunthor and his sons among them. “Is everything well? You had your eyes shut for an age.”

“Forgive me, Admiral.” Daemon said “Please continue on, I was listening.”

Criston nodded “As I was saying, it seems that Bloodstone, Dark Den and the Skulls are the most fortified of the islands.” He said “From what our scouts and spies have gathered, we have reason to believe that the Prince-Admiral, one Craghas Drahar, is on Bloodstone commanding his men from there.”

“Battle are going on each island as we speak.” Rhea said “Lord Vaemond is assault the Grey Gallows from what the ravens have said and that is not to speak of the different houses’ assaults on the others.”

“Is this raid necessary?” Daemon asked.

“Lord Corlys has decided that our enemy having such a stronghold in the Stepstones lengthens the war, softening their defences and possibly creating a foothold on the island is a priority.” Criston said.

He grows impatient.

Those damn caves…

Each time Daemon had flown by the island he couldn’t see anything, and anyone he did see quickly vanished into the mountains and cliffs. Yet each force that landed could not stay, for they were quickly set upon by the enemy who came out of the very walls.

“The men of Runestone will succeed.” Rhea said, dressed in her bronze armour, Lamination by her side.

Cley… I should be there with him. No. Stick to the plan.

“I should be ready.” Daemon said “Our little diversion will be useless if I am not seen flying around with the Velaryon fleet.”

“I shall see you off, lord-husband.” Rhea said, the two walking out of the tent together and towards the coastline where Caraxes made his temporary home. “I believe Corlys seeks to punish us.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Bloodstone is the largest and central island north, it would be the most defended. Meaning we must be the ones to rooted our enemy out.” Rhea said. “A bloody endeavour against a foe too familiar with these lands.” Caraxes lay sleeping, the morning sun bathing him an orange glow.  “Fly safely, Daemon.” Rhea kissed him.

“I shall.” He said, climbing Caraxes’ back “Vēzot! , Caraxes!” he commanded, the dragon flying upwards into the sky as Rhea watched him.

The plan was simple; a considerable number of ships would slowly make their way around the coast, forcing the Triarchy to follow them. And then away from a force of five hundred men who would land on what should be an unprotected beach, establish a beachhead on which they can flood in more men and take the island.

The day seemed almost serene, Daemon flew his dragon calmly as he followed the ships along the coast, close enough to be seen but not close enough to be hit by a projectile. Alone now, Daemon thought back to that battle, how he feed himself on the courage and bravery of Daemon.

Yet it was as if… he was not the one in control.

He shut his eyes and placed his hand on his heart, trying to block out the noise around him and focus inwards. There was something, a sound. It was calling to him. It was-

‘Imposter…’ it said ‘IMPOSTER!’

Daemon opened his eyes and pulled back “GAH!” He exclaimed, there is was plain to hear; his own voice was calling to him. “What the hell was that?!”

When the afternoon came, Caraxes returned back to Sunstone, tired from the hours of riding, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Yet him own mind was racing still. Wondering what had up there.

There was a rush of noise in the camp, people running around; soldiers, camp followers and others all rushing around, chatter amongst them with a few even crying.

Something is wrong…

He rushed over to the command tent, all the lords and captains had been assembled around the tables, some dressed in armour and others dress in their comfortable tunics and pants. “What has happened.”

Rhea looked to him, he could tell her jaw was clenched as he fists clamped up.

“It was the raid, Prince Daemon.” Criston said.

“What of it?” Daemon asked, the claws of dread began to take hold “What happened.”

“A man was sent back on a boat, a Royce spearman, his hands and feet were tied… the boat was covered in crabs.” Criston said, Daemon swallowed. “It was a failure… the man said they were set upon as soon as they landed, many died and many still captured.”

“No…” Daemon muttered, his thoughts turned to one man.

Cley.

Chapter Text

Even from up in the sky, Daemon could smell the smoke; the smell of burning wood and ash invading his nostrils, offending his senses. Yet still he pushed on, grabbing hold of the handle on his mount as Caraxes descended into the battlefield.

Even in the cover of darkness, even under the night sky, the muddy beach of Bloodstones was illuminated by the fires of wrecked ships and  boats from the alliance and the Triarchy.

“Aderī!, Caraxes!” Daemon commanded “Lower! Go lower!” as the dragon swooped towards the ground, he could spot them. His breath was now stuck in his throat and fear gripped his being.

The men of Runestone and Velaryon were strew on the battlefield, tied and nailed to posts along the beach among the wreckage, left to be fodder and feed to the crabs. “Gods…”

He pushed down his guilt, his apprehension, his own fear as he gorged himself the determination, the fury and fire that burned in his chest.

Cley…

He turned his head towards the water, in the darkness he could make the outline of small boats approaching the beach, the shadow of galleys just off further away from the coast.

“Lower!” he commanded, the dragon descended further down, this time he could hear the burning fires and now the screams and cries of the survivors, some begging him to stop and save them.

Hold on, help is here!

In the shadow of the flames he could spot other men watching him, he could see the gleam of their blades against the light. “Dracarys!” he commanded, Caraxes opened his mouth; a torrent of flames poured from his mouth and set fire to the ground, scaring off the Triarchy’s men for but a moment as they began to retreat inland.

We need only a moment.

He turned his head back to the beach, the men from the boats now rushing onto the shores and towards those poor souls tied or nailed to debris, some now being carried back to the boats.

Hurry! Hurry!

His eyes watched the ground as the men continued to gather the survivors, he turned back inlands; droves of Triarchy men were beginning to lock into formation, catching on their the plan. A man on horseback watched from the back.

Even as a mere shadow, Daemon knew who he was.

Craghas…

Quickly the urge to drive Caraxes forward and set fire to him and his men gripped his heart and mind, the command just on his tongue; he could quickly fly there, swoop down and reduce him to ash.

He’s right there… he’s

Yet the fear of playing into his hands and the fear that his friend may not have long kept him away.

NO! Stick to the plan, we here to rescue our men, rescue Cley!

He turned his head away, he left a sharp pain strike his chest, he knew Daemon hated him for his hesitation and now tried to straggle him for it.

I can’t…

“Ninkiot!, Caraxes!” He commanded “Land!” The dragon clawed into the soft muddy sand, the chains along its body rattling as it turned its neck to face the full formed ranks of the Triarchy. “Keep them back! Protect me!” he commanded, as he unchained himself from the saddle and fell to the ground, his boots hitting the mud.

Caraxes blew out another burst of fire from his mouth, forcing the Triarchy back.

“Cley!” Daemon shouted “Cley!”

“My Prince!” someone called out to him, Daemon turned to see a man in Velaryon colours nearby, lying on the ground with crabs swarming his body “My Prince, save me!”

Daemon ran to him, it was a young man, with dull blond hair and lilac eyes. He pulled Darksister from his scarab and struck the post the man had been tied to. “Can you walk?” he asked as he cut the man’s binds

“Yes, my Prince.”

Good, there’s boats on the beach, look for survivors and bring them there!” He command. The soldier nodded his head but picking up a sword from the ground and rushing off. “Cley!” Daemon called out, straining his voice “Cley-” the distance echo of bows loosing caught his attention; a swarm of arrows like deadly lotus showered onto the battlefield. Caraxes quickly covered Daemon with his wing as it fell upon him.

Then a horn was sounded, deep and dreadful.

Daemon feel to the ground, on his knees as the arrows struck the ground, adrenaline now coursing through him as he got to his feet, as he shook the feeling of being so close to death off.

A loud and vicious cry of men inland called out as they charged towards the men at the beach.

“Caraxes! Protect them!” he commanded, the dragon hesitated for a moment “Go! Angōs! Protect the others, I will be near!” The dragon flapped its wings as it took flight, Daemon could not watch as Caraxes flew away, keeping low Caraxes set fire to the ranks of Triarchy men who attacked the rescue parties as Daemon quickly made his way back.

He rushed back to the beach, cutting the binds of any man he could find, ordering them to fall back and anyone else, more often he found corpses of men wearing Runestone livery. He prayed he had not known them.

Yet it was the men whom he could not save that broke his heart; those whose own cries were weak as the crabs ate into their bodies.

“Cley!” he shouted, his throat now ached, sweat now dripped down his face as he frantically searched for him, now those survivors and the rescue parties were fighting the Triarchy on the beach as Caraxes help to keep them away, noise was a chorus of cries, screams and the clash of metal.

“Daemon!” a familiar voice called to him in the madness, Daemon snapped his head to it’s direction and ran “Daemon!” the voice cried out.

“Cley!” Daemon could see him now, crabs had covered his body as they picked at his leg, his hands nailed to the post. Daemon knelt down “By the Gods!” he brushed the crabs off of him before standing up and he hacking away at the post and slamming his pommel at the end of the nail, forcing it out. Cley cried out in pain as Daemon removed it from his hands. “Can you walk?” Cley shook his head, Daemon looked down at Cley’s bloody leg.

“Hold on, I-” then a nearby cry caught their attention, a man dressed in a sandy leathers with a foreign livery charged at him, sword raised in his hand.

Daemon lifted Darksister and parred the attack before gripping the handle with both hands and facing the man down as he went in again, swinging his sword which Daemon countered and leaving himself open. He swung again and left himself open. And again.

He could feel the temptation, the demanding, the furious ache and pain in his chest that urged him to kill the man, plunge Darksister into his stomach.

“AARRGH!” the man cried as he raised his sword above his head, Daemon sliced off his hand before he could strike, the man fell to the ground, clutching his stump in pain.

Daemon caught his breath, the smoke almost choking his lungs, he turned back to Cley and ran to him.

“Arrows!” Cley cried out, as another shower of arrows fell upon him, a stray hitting his forearm.

Daemon cried out, dropping Darksister onto the ground as he fell into the mud. All around the sound began to merge into a dull ringing. Daemon wobbled as he stood, he grabbed the arrow stuck in his arm; through gritted teeth and burning pain he snapped the arrow while looking around for his sword.

Then another wave of Triarchy men charged for the attack, sounded by the same blast of that horn. Without thinking Daemon rushed to him

“The sword…” Cley said as Daemon picked him up.

“We have to go!” Daemon called out, in the distance he could see the boats now making their way out to sea.

A band of men was getting closer to them, behind them Caraxes flying by; waiting on him. He knew if he didn’t do it, then this would be both of their deaths. His heart ached with pain and fury enveloped his being.

‘DO IT!’ His voice called to him, commanding him to act.

“Dracarys!” he commanded, Caraxes circled around, opened his jaws and bathed their attackers in fire as the others fled. Caraxes landed to the ground, Daemon quickly mounted his dragon and pulled Cley into the saddle, chaining him to it as they quickly flew away.

When the morning came, in the command tent on Sunstone, the first of the islands to fall, Daemon sat as a healer tended to his wounds as Rhaenys stared at him, fist clenched pressed onto the table, she was dressed in black plated armour with the symbol of dragon and seahorse emblazon on it.

“Darksister.” She growled. “You. Lost. Darksister.” The other lords and captains stood around the table either looking at the map or the ground, trying not to face the fury of the Princess.

Daemon sighed, when the adrenaline faded then exhaustion hit him; all he wanted to do was sleep yet he needed to know the results of plan from the captains. “Lord Gunthor, how many men did we bring back?” he asked, trying to ignore the death glare Rhaenys was giving him.

Gunthor glanced at Rhaenys and then him, the man still didn’t quite like him and yet in his eyes, Daemon could see pity “Ninety six men.” He told them, Daemon nodded his head as the healer finished wrapping the bandages.

“It was worth it then.”

“Everyone, clear the tent.” Rhaenys commanded, her eyes looking at each man, every lord and captain left the tent, including the healer who bowed his head and left last.

“Worth it?” Rhaenys questioned once they were alone “You lost one of our ancestral swords, that had been in our family since before the Doom, the sword of Queen Visenya, our grandfather granted you that sword!” she shouted, pointing her finger at him. “All for less than one-fifth of the men that landed on the beach!”

“And I’d do it again if I could!” Daemon yelled back, standing up from his seat. “Those men were only on that beach because I commanded it, I had to rescue them when it failed.”

“It’s their job to follow orders!”

“And it’s mine to protect them!”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she questioned “You have handed our enemies a massive boon, do you not thing they will parade the sword for all to see? A victory against our alliance and House Targeryen, what do you think will happen when word reaches Viserys? The Triarchy have won a great political victory; they can spin whatever tale they decide because they have Darksister to prove it.” Rhaenys moved around the table, closer to him. “What happens when it reaches the other lords and the council? Will they say this whole endeavour has been a waste of lives and treasure? Pressure to acquiesce to the Triarchy demands will grow.”

“We have almost every damn island barring three.” Daemon argued. “The ones remaining are the largest one and two which are a stone’s throw away from fucking Tyrosh.”

“The northern islands, most guarded and fortified only because you allowed slip information of Corlys’ attack.” Rhaenys told him.

“If you wish to condemn me, cousin, then stick to one thing at a time.” Daemon said, Rhaenys shook her head dismissively “The only reason that raid occurred was because of pressure placed by your husband to take the island when Rhea and I repeatedly told him to do so would be certain death.”

“And it’s failure is now his fault?”

“Only when those around him kept telling him the immense challenge of such a task.” Daemon said “Now we have both lost four hundred men, perhaps be thankful it was not five hundred.”

“We wage a war against time, Daemon, as well as the Triarchy.” Rhaenys told him “Our enemies are preparing a counterattack and the other houses grow weary if this war will drag on further.” Daemon sighed, it had been a long six months since the first battle off Storm’s End, he allowed himself a gleamier of happiness, remembering Rhea’s prediction to be true. “My Lord-husband does what he can to hold this alliance together; should they start to question it then the lives of those four hundred men will have been for naught.”

Triarchy don’t need to win outright, they just need to make fighting them more costly than the tariffs.

He thought back to that moment he dropped Darksister when the arrow struck him. His heart burned at the memory, he clutched at his chest.

I don’t need you on my case too.

“Forgive me.” Daemon said “I know the importance of that sword, I had wielded the damn thing for years, but I had to take the risk and save my men; for me, one sword is worth the life of one man, let alone near a hundred.”

Rhaenys sighed “Sometimes Daemon, I wonder if you had died that day the brick fell on your head.” Daemon glared at her.

“The Daemon you knew before was a young man; arrogant, impulsive and ruthless.” Daemon said, he his heart he could feel the hand of Daemon squeeze at him, he winced through the pain trying to stand tall against his cousin.

Yet the pain and tiredness began to much, he slumped back into his chair, grabbing his chest.

“Perhaps that is what is needed now.” Rhaenys let her answer linger in the air as the silence took hold. She said nothing more before leaving the tent.

Daemon shut his eyes and rubbed his face, the feeling of conviction and self-righteous fury filling his every fibre. He tried to push back the feeling and yet even he found himself too weak and tired to fight. He stood up from his seat, placing a coat around himself and left the tent.

Outside was a city of tents rested on a cliff, the banners of the alliance fluttered against the high winds with the backdrop of the ocean behind it.

Soldiers and camp followers bowed their heads at him, as did the lords and captains before quickly moving back into the tent.

“Prince Daemon.” Called a voice, Daemon turned his head.

“Ser Criston.” He replied, taking his hand. “I see you are well.”

“Quite.” Criston said “Shall we walk?” Daemon politely pointed his hand as the two made their way along the camp and towards the cliffs edge, admiring the view.

“I take it you could hear the Princess and I’s discussion.”

“I think the whole camp could hear her.” Criston said, Daemon laughed, how he needed that laugh. “The Sea snake’s wife is perhaps as scary as the Sea snake himself.”

Daemon didn’t know why; it might have been doubt that he needed assuaged or a moment of vulnerability which he may have needed Rhea for, yet as he looked over to the ocean and the small fleet of ships he needed to know. “Criston… what do you make of this?”

“My Prince?”

“Would you have tried to save those men?” Daemon asked “Even if it cost you something great?”

“Darksister?” Criston said “I know it is the great Valyrian steel sword and yet…” he paused and looked at those around him “If given a choice between a sword and the lives of those under my command, I would find it the latter a better choice.”

In his chest he could feel the anger and disgust from the other Daemon; that he would need validation from someone he loathed.

But it was what he needed, not him. “I thank you, Ser Criston.”

“The Princess may not appreciate it and neither do the other lords.” Criston said “But the men and women in the camp all talk about you, the speak highly; many of the women grieve for their husbands and sons, you have saved some of them from such.” Daemon nodded his head, Criston looked at him “Perhaps, the Prince needs some rest?”

Daemon touched his face and noticed a lone tear running down his face “Forgive me, I-”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Criston said, turning to the sea “When I was a green boy in lord Dondarrion’s army, fighting off an incursion from Dorne into the Stormlands… I saw many lads cry or vomit before and after the battle, and far more lying dead.”

“What did you do?”

“I cleaned my sword and drank some wine, and by morning I was ready to face them again.”

Because you were made for it…

I’m not…

Daemon rested in both he and Rhea’s tent, trying to alleviate himself of his exhaustion. “Daemon…” he felt a hand upon his shoulder shake him, he looked up to see Rhea, dressed in her bronze and leather armour with Lamination by her side. “Get dressed, the lords are readying themselves for a  meeting in the command tent.”

Great…

Quickly he got dressed into his own leathers and armour, as he finished strapping on his gauntlets did Rhea had him a new sword. A steel blade with a bronze hilt and runic words inscribed upon it, with leather straps around it’s pommel.

“Thank you, Rhea.” He said taking it.

“I want you to know, I could not have asked to marry a better man than you.” Rhea said, she cupped his face and kissed him gentle “Thank you for saving them.” She whispered.

“How is Cley?” Daemon muttered “Is he well?”

Rhea nodded his head “He is in an out of sleep, most of the men are, by the healers have done what they can.”

“Have they washed their hands?” in a serious tone.

Rhea smiled softly “Yes, I made sure of it.” She pulled him in and rested his head against hers, Daemon could see her expression change to something more solemn. “There is talk an attack on Bloodstone, possibly in a few days’ time.”

“It would be too soon.”

“The other houses demand it, they believe if Bloodstone falls then so will the others.” Rhea said, she pulled away and sat on the bed, bringing Daemon next to her. “The other houses have won victories; Hightowers and Manderlys have taken Sunstone and the lower Isle, Redwyne and Greyjoy have seized Last refuge and the White cliffs, even Corlys’ nephew Vaemond has won a victory taking Grey Gallows.”

Daemon swallowed slightly “Our house needs a win.”

Rhea nodded her head “If we fail then many will blame our house for the campaign’s failures, the other reasons be damned.” She shut her eyes and breathed in deeply “I shall lead the attack.”

In a second it was as if his whole world came crashing down are him “Rhea-”

“I will not hear any objection.” She told him “Runestone needs to be seen taking Bloodstone, I need to be down there.”

“Rhea, please I-”

“You may be needed somewhere else, Lord Corlys has seen a message saying the Triarchy may be sending ships and men to the island, we cannot let them pass.” Rhea told him, yet it did nothing to ease his now all-consuming worry. “Do you not trust me?”

“Don’t say that.” Daemon said “I trust you with my life.”

“Then trust me with mine own.” Rhea cupped his face again and kissed him, Daemon returned it desperately, wanting not to let go before she pulled back. “If you need a moment, take one, I shall be waiting in the tent.” She got up from the bed and walked towards the tent, glancing back at him before leaving.

Daemon breathing became staggered and his hands began to shake; the images of men tied or nailed to posts on the beach as crabs feed upon them alive flashed through his mind.

I can’t let her die, I can’t let her die.

He searched inside himself once more for the true Daemon, hoping and wanting nothing more than to drink in the comfort of his bravery, his determination… his power.

I can’t let her die; I need your strength.

“Perhaps that is what is needed now”

“I cleaned my sword and drank some wine, and by morning I was ready to face them again”

He took more and more, the fire in his heart burning hotter and stronger till it felt as if his chest was going to burst, it was like that moment in the dragon pit all those years ago, this time he did not fight back.

I’m not a soldier or a warrior, I’m just a scribe, no not a scribe, a civil servant? I'm just…  I'm not-

‘Me.’

He shut his eyes for a moment, and within that instant he felt a calmness take hold over his being, he felt his lungs release a long held breath from his mouth. He felt his eyes open and look around the tent. His gaze set upon his hand as he flexed it into a fist and open again.

None of it by his control.

Against the walls of a prison he could not see, he hammer against to no avail. 

“By the Gods…” he heard himself say, his voice quivering just a bit before he could feel his lips form a wide grin, he stood up from his bed, an elated laugh escaping his mouth “I’ve returned.” 

Chapter Text

Rhea moved the pieces are the map; three ships carrying her soldiers with three from the Velaryons and one from Celtigar. House Royce and her Bannermen would form the vanguard to face the ‘Crabfeeder’ and his men on Bloodstone with the intent to at least put a foothold on the island.

Let us slay the Myrish bastard in battle and be done with it.

A nice thought though she knew better; even if they win the Triarchy’s men will run back into the caves of the monstrous mountain than lay at the heart of the island. She dread the thought of having to spend longer on this Gods forsaken island just clearing up the remnants left behind.

One problem at a time.

“If both Runestone and Velaryons men land here then we can tie up Craghas’ men.” Cole spoke, moving the wooden soldier towards their men “This would give Celtigar and his men to cut off any route for escape.”

“A good plan, however the ridges and rocks allow their archers to rain arrows down on upon us, they will spot Celtigar from a league away and warn the others.” Lord Coldwater said.

“If we could use one of the dragons then we would gain the advantage quickly.” Lord Celtigar said “With one of Princess Rhaenys or Prince Daemon’s dragons victory will be assured.”

“I would not be so sure.” Rhea said “At the sight of a Dragon, the Crabfeeder will simply retreat into the caves as before and then there is the coming Triarchy ships.” She picked up some ships and moved them towards the coast. “If more Triarchy ships and levies then our attack will be threatened.”

But then that may be what they want, the fleet might be a-

“Then perhaps we seek another way.” A voice proclaimed from the tent entrance, they all turned to see Daemon stroll into the tent as he made his way to the table next to Rhea; as her eyes caught his, her breath had caught in her throat.

That look…

The smile on his face as the two's eyes met each other, it had brought her back to that day when she was young; it was the same one he had when they were married... when he called her-

She felt herself rest her hand on the pommel of Lamentation as her body tensed up.

What am I doing?!

She quickly snapped out of her trance; moving her had quickly away from Lamination and focusing herself back at the table, allowing herself to breathe for a moment.

“Cousin, you are late.” Rhaenys chastised. 

“I arrive when I am needed, just ask my lady-wife.” He commented, pulling Rhea close as he placed a hand on her hip, gripping it tightly.

Why is he acting as such?

“Prince Daemon, what do you propose?” Cole said.

“Well Ser Crispin- sorry Criston.” Daemon said, that ‘smile’ never fading, Criston looked perplexed for a moment “I say we use this to our advantage.” He leaned over and picked up the wooden dragon “Our enemies believe that both the Princess and I will attack the Triarchy fleet to prevent them form reinforcing the island.”

“That would be a trap.” Rhea said “They want you to attack them.”

“My lady-wife is a rather intelligent woman.” Daemon said, feeling his hand grip her below the hip while the other the other moved the pieces. “Aren’t I lucky to have a lady-wife so wise?” he said to those attending with a tone that lacked sincerity. “Sadly our enemies are not dullards, they will expect us and likely armed with a few harpoons, but what if we defeat their fleet quickly?”

“You speak as if it is so simple.” Rhaenys said. “Do you have a plan?”

“Mayhaps I do, one I thought of on the way here.” He grinned “But I would need discuss it with my cousin, seeing as we are the only dragon riders and I ‘ve sent a few ravens to my contacts in Runestone and King’s Landing, but rest assured; you need not worry about the Triarchy fleet, they are as good dead.”

“Why keep it a secret, my Prince?” Criston asked. “We are all allies here.”

“Until we aren’t” Daemon replied “Better to be cautious.”

“So be it.” Criston said, moved their pieces closer to shore “Should the Prince’s ‘plan’ be fruitful, then the use of two dragons into the battle will catch our enemy off guard, it would be better if our enemy has been drawn out of their caves first before the dragons are introduced.”

Rhaenys places the dragons on the map.

“Our enemies will then be surrounded.” Lord Coldwater said “Dragons to the north, Celtigar to the east with Velaryon and Runestone to the south and west.”

“I shall lead the vanguard for House Velaryon.” Criston said.

Rhea moved away from Daemon’s arm, freeing herself as she leaned forward “Runestone shall be under my command.” She told them.

“Dear niece, perhaps it would be better for either myself or Lord Tollet to lead the Vanguard?” Gunthor said. “The battlefield is not a place for a lady.”

“I concur.” Lord Coldwater said “It is best if you leave this to us.”

Rhaenys scoffed “Would you remove me from the battlefield too, my lords?”

“Forgive me, Princess.” Gunthor said, Rhea looked to Daemon and noticed an almost obvious joy to watching her uncle squirm speaking to Rhaenys “But you are a dragon rider, much like the great queens Visenya and your namesake, you are needed.”

“This is not for debate.” Rhea spoke “I am the lady of Runestone, these are my soldiers and they shall follow me.”

Her uncle opened her mouth to speak “The Lady Royce as spoken, good-uncle.” Daemon said “Best not anger the head of your family. Or the Princess for that matter.” Rhea could feel the simmering rage on her uncle’s face.

She felt his hand fall back at her side, once more pulling her close, clearly trying to antagonise him.

“Are we not perhaps misjudging the scale of the challenge before us?” Lord Coldwater spoke “Craghas Draghas has been holding our strength back for months, even when we lay siege to the island; how can we be so confident such a plan with work? Perhaps we should exercise some cau-”

“Time for caution is over, now is time for action.” Daemon declared. “By the end of this, we’ll nail every Essosi bastard on this island to a post and feed them to the fucking crabs.” Daemon slams his fist onto the table “These bastards spat on our good graces, now believing they could spit on our faces too, let us give back this insult…. With Fire and Blood.”

At the end of the meeting, Daemon had been the first to leave; so quickly he had rushed out of the tent that Rhea had to jog to follow him, disappearing into the camp. When she had found him he was some yards away from everyone, seeing only his dragon as it rested near a river flowing downstream.

She didn’t know why but yet she felt as though she was intruding on them; Daemon tenderly caressing Caraxes as he looked up into the night sky. Rhea continued to quietly move towards them.

“I know you’re there.” He called out, turning towards her “Do you long for my company already, lady-wife?”

“You had left so soon, Daemon.”

“Greeting me without use of my title? How you have changed.” He smirked.

Rhea bit her cheek, her fist clenched as she strode towards him and Caraxes “I greet you as you had preferred, for a decade now.”

He smiled “Gods has it been that long?” he commented “We have gotten old.”

“Indeed.” Rhea said, standing next to him, Caraxes sleeping soundly. “Daemon, is all well?”

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, coyly “Of course.”

“Yet you act as-”

“Myself?”

“The act as your old self... The whom I hated, the one who-” Daemon took in a breath and grabbed his chest, looking to be fighting back another sudden pain in his chest, until it was gone.

“Ah that is a sharp pain… it should be gone for a while.” he mumbled, almost laughing. “It still bothers you, to this day?”

“Of course it does.” Rhea told him “You knew that.”

“I do know that.”

“Then why act as this now?”

“Because it’s the only way to win.” Daemon told her “The man who you fell in love with is too weak to do what would allow us to win, I needed to become who I was, who I am, if we are to win.” He placed took his hand off of Caraxes and stood almost looming over her “My cousin was right, I am what is needed.”

Rhea was perplexed; her husband was speaking in riddles, as if talking about himself as two different people. She would have be concerned he had gone mad if the feeling of betrayal did not strangle  her.

Was your love just a farce then? The family we have a farce to you?

“I thought you were a changed man.” Rhea turned him to face her, his face was more serious now. “Was that a lie? Have you played me for a fool for all those years?” her tone was harsh, masking the lump in her throat and ache in her chest.

Please let me be mistaken…

Daemon grabbed her by the back of her neck as he pressed his thumb into her cheek as he pulled her closer to him, it was almost forceful, scary in kind but strangely what she needed. To be close to him, to feel wanted by him.  

“Do not doubt that I have changed, Rhea.” Daemon told her “Do you believe I would be this close to you if I found you disgusting?” he moved his face just a bit closer to hers as he stroked her cheek “The mother of my sons… they should be princes in their own right, I should beg for your forgiveness at ruining their chance for the throne.”  

Rhea’s eyes widen “What are you saying-”

 “What am I?” he interrupted her.

“Daemon Targaryen” She said, he felt his breath on her skin.

“What am I to you?” he asked, simply.

“My consort.” Daemon squeezed her closer, taking the air from her lungs, as if punishing her for the answer “My lord-husband.”

“What else?” he whispered, getting even closer, their lips almost touching, just almost grazing each other “What am I?”

“My Prince.” With those words he pressed his lips against hers, taking her in so closely; as if he had been starving for her touch, it was almost suffocating. She couldn’t help but lean into it.

For the past week, preparations were made for the coming assault; levies, ships and fodder from other islands moved to Sunstone, plans made and weapons sharpened. Each day Rhea would see Daemon and the Princess Rhaenys flying above the coastline, she noticed a pattern in their flying; one would fly above the ocean, their dragon carrying a large rock in their claws before dropping it, then the other would set the rock on fire, their practices going on each day.

And each night her husband, her ‘prince’ as he was now fond of her calling him, would come to her as he had done before, yet there was a new hunger to him; as a starving man to a feast or water to a man dying of thirst.

On the dawn of the attack, Rhea steeled herself; dressed in her bronze armour and carrying her family’s sword at her hip. She found herself alone in her tent, Daemon seemed to take to each day earlier than previously, the air was cold, the sun had yet to peak over the ocean.

Everywhere she could see the levies of different houses ready themselves, carrying their banners as they made their way to shore and the ships. The shadow of the dragon flew over her, landing just on the steep to the beach.

Rhea marched over to it, finding her husband sat upon a rock as Caraxes rested beside him, his hand on his chest. “Lord-husband.” She called out to him.

“Lady-wife, did you sleep well?” Daemon grinned, lowering his hand. "I hope I had not disturbed you waking up earlier." 

“Well enough.” She said, sitting next to him, placing her hand next to him. "And you hadn't." Daemon places his hand on hers.

 “Rhea… know that I am sorry.” He said solemnly “For what I had done to you when we were younger.”

“You have been forgiven a long time ago.” She told them. 

“Perhaps, but I want you to know.” He said “Even if again..."

Rhea kissed him softly “Return to me, and all is forgiven.”

“I shall.”

As Rhea boarded her galley, she watched as Daemon and the Princess flew away into the distance to battle the Triarchy’s navy as the alliance own made way for Bloodstone. Rhea shut her eyes, holding a seven-pointed star in her hand and prayed; she prayed to the seven that she might be victorious, that they all return home.

Please… let me see my children again, let me return home to them.

As they approached the beach she could see the wreckage left on it, like a blight upon a face. The banners of her house and her men left rotting on the sand and mud. She placed a tight grip on Lamentation.

She turned to the men on the galley, looking too upon the scene “Remember this, men!” she told them “Remember what they have done to them! Remember our brothers! Remember this feeling!” she slammed her fist against her breast plate. “We Remember!”

A loud cry followed afterwards, swords lifted into the air.

As their galleys drew closer, did the lines of the enemy now come to view; packed formations, ready to face them. And in front, one man on a horse watched with his hand raised.

“Shield!” Rhea commanded, raising her own above her head, naught but a few seconds later did a volley of airs rain down upon them, striking their shields or the bodies of those unlucky enough, a arrow glancing off hers.

A contested landing, we have planned for this.

The Triarchy’s men moved forward as her galleys reached the shallow water, her infantry jumping from into the shallow water as they formed ranks under the rain of arrows from the enemy.

“Spears front, shield wall!” Rhea commanded, her orders echoed down the line “Advance!”  she watched from the front of her ship, a wide view of the battlefield as her men marched closer to the shore; this was her element, her field.

A horn was sounded, breaching the air and noise as a loud cry rang afterwards; with their weapons waving into the sky the first line of the Triarchy charged at their men before they could fully reach the shore.

The lines of men clashed against each other; steel upon steel and body upon body as the clang of metal and cries now sounded across the beach.

Rhea watched the Crabfeeder who signalled the next line of men into the battle, aiming to push her soldiers back into the sea; their charge was frenzied, vicious but ultimately disorganised against her spearmen shield wall which held strong.

“Bring the reserves in!” Rhea commanded “Reinforce where the line is weak!” row boats carrying more men sailed towards the beach as their levies pushed forward. She watched the arrows from the cliffs edges focus on their men only now. “Archers! focus on the cliffs!” their volley of arrows now returning the favour, forcing the enemies’ archers back into their caves.

Craghas pulled the reins of his horse back, Rhea could tell his frustration in losing the strategic battle. More of the alliance’s men stormed the beach, Velaryon levies, led by Ser Criston, now entering the fray, charging forward. They now had the momentum.

Craghas raised his sword into the air, calling out a war cry that Rhea could only assume was Myrish in language before raising it forward, he and his last line now charging into the battle.

A desperate move to regain control.  

The move had galvanised his men, retaking ground as they pushed the alliance’s men back, Rhea waited; her eyes drifting to the east. Now Celtigar ships were coming further down the beach, their forces disembarking as they moved to trap in the Crabfeeder and his men.  

Their trap almost complete.

The Crabfeeder had now dedicated his entire force to the battle on this muddy stretch of land. Rhea gripped the handle of Lamentation tightly as her eyes watched the sky, she could see him on his horse, watching the encirclement happen.

Headstrong are you?

The Crabfeeder had not noticed their arrival just yet, Rhea knew time was running out.

He will attempt to withdraw into the caves.

She awaited the dragons arrival; they needed to block cut off the escape route for the enemy, he watched the Crabfeeder on horseback look frantically around. She knew he was considering the withdraw, now noticing Celtigar’s men.

We cannot lose this chance

Rhea placed on her helmet “Bring my galley to shore!” she commanded “Sound the horn!” a loud horn blared into the air, signalling her men’s arrival to the battle. She took out Lamentation from her side, raising it in the sky as the galley hit the shore. Catching the Crabfeeder’s attention.

Rhea stepped onto the sea and blood soaked sands, bodies littered with men both his and hers, her personal guard now moving into the battlefield, her coat of arms raised high above the battlefield.

A corsair charged at her, Rhea parried the attack and slashed the man in the chest. His leather armour posed no challenge to Lamentation. Her personal guard formed around her as the Triarchy men took notice of her banner. He blood was pumping, her heart racing and eyes frantic as she drew closer to where the fighting was thick.

She plunged her sword through the chest of another corsair, kicking him to the ground, before she caught sight of the Crabfeeder on horseback, shoving a long spear through the neck of a man dressed in Royce livery.

His armour was dark and heavy, the colours on it belonged to a family Rhea had no knowledge. He looked to be a man of middling age with dark blond hair and pronounced facial features. For just a moment, he reminded her of her uncle.

“Crabfeeder!” she called out. A nearby spear man launches their spear into his horse’s neck. The animal collapses to the ground, Craghas moving quickly, ensuring he was not crushed underneath it. He took out his sword from his side and Rhea swung first, sword clashing sword. Craghas parried the attack and then slammed himself against Rhea’s shield, pushing her back.

Rhea almost collapsed into the mud, but dug her heels in, standing her ground. He taunted her in Myrish once more, pointing his sword at her. Rhea raised her shield, resting Lamentation on top, accepting the challenge. Crabfeeder lunged at her, Rhea blocked the attack with her shield with a slash to him but he swivels to the side, just escaping it.

Had I been wielding a heavier sword… he would have gotten the better of me.

Rhea strikes again, the Crabfeeder parries the attack, her arm pushed to the side as he raises his sword up and swings it down for her neck. Rhea lifts her shield, the strike echoing through the steel and her body. She tried to stab him in the stomach but misses as he moves back. Grabbing a spear from the ground he points it at her, plunging it forward as she moves to the side. The tip of the spear just striking her shoulder guard.

Rhea tried to control her breathing, keeping calm as she stood back up.

Her sword was light, allowing her to move fast yet the Crabfeeder moved faster. Craghas tossed the spear at her, Rhea lifts her shield to block the attack, as the spear struck the steel so did Craghas barging into her, forcing Rhea onto the mud.

“Ugh!” she exclaimed, falling into the mud, the seawater seeping into the gaps in her armour. Craghas stood over her, again speaking in Myrish with a tone of disgust in his voice as he raised his sword. Rhea gripped Lamentation in her hand, ready to defend herself.

The sound of a dragon’s roar echoed across the field, all as one, everyone looked to the sky for but the briefest of moments as Caraxes descended upon them. Except Rhea.

Rhea plunged Lamentation through Craghas’s stomach, the man’s breath escaping his lungs and he hunched forward, shock in his pale eyes. “Arargh!” Rhea cried as she drew the sword from his stomach and swung it at his neck, separating his head from the body.

She didn’t know if it was the death of their commander, the coming of Caraxes or the sudden realisation that they were being encircled, but Triarchy’s men collapsed, a torrent of men running from the field with their morale broken.

Rhea watched as their alliances’ men cut down those enemy survivors that allowed their comrades to retreat as Daemon burnt away any existing formations that tried to hold strong. Her breathing still quick and her heart pounding, she looked to the floor and grabbed the mud soaked head of the Crabfeeder.

She placed the head upon the top of a spear and lifted it into the sky. “Bloodstone is ours!” she declared to a loud chorus of cheers from the men around her. “The island is ours!”

Chapter Text

This feels good.

He could feel the heat from Caraxes flames as the dragon set alight the Corsair and Triarchy men, he watched from above as their enemy was routed, falling back into their caves while the others were put to the sword. The banners of Corlys’ alliance fluttering against sea winds, with Royce at the charge.

A feeling of envy and pride stirred within him; envy that the Targeryen banner was not among them, and pride that it was his sons’ house that led the charge.

He rubbed Caraxes’ scales “Parmot! Caraxes!” he commanded “Land!” the dragon responded with a deep hum “Oh I have missed this too, Caraxes!” he laughed as the dragon descended upon the shoreline. As he grew nearer he could hear the cheers from those below. They were chanting his name, they were calling for him.

“Prince Daemon!” he could hear “Prince Daemon! Long live Prince Daemon!” More chanted as his dragon flew above them. 

As Caraxes landed onto the ground and he dismounted he was met by a crowd of adulation and praise; many bowed their heads in his presence while others tapped his back and shoulders. As he drew closer to the battlefield he could see upon a mound the banner of Royce with a severed head next to it.

“Crabfeeder.” He muttered, grinning ear to ear. Beneath the banner was Rhea, dirt marked her face and armour, sat by the banner, cleaning Lamination. “Lady-wife!”

Rhea quickly stood up and placed the sword back into the scarab “My Prin- oooff!”

He quickly grabbed her, pulling her close as he kissed her greedily to loud cheers “Had I not told you I would return?” He whispered.

“A little sooner would have been better.” She whispered back with a brash grin.

Daemon turned to the crowd of men, his arm at Rhea’s hip, the lords and captains standing front and centre “Good men of Runestone, of Driftmark and Claw Isle!” he declared “I bring great news to add to this victory here; The Princess Rhaenys and I have destroyed the Triarchy’s fleet! As I speak, the Velaryon navy and the Princess are sweeping away all who remain! The islands of Dark Den and the Skulls shall fall to us soon! The Stepstones are ours!” A loud cheer rang around the battlefield

This feels good!

He felt an ache in his chest, familiar and sudden.

Oh no, you stay put.

He quickly forced it back down, placing his hand on his chest, throwing the imposter into the oblivion he knew all too well.

This… this is my body, and my moment.

“Are you well, Daemon?” Rhea asked.

“Oh yes, Rhea, I am very well.” Daemon replied.

Later that night, as more and more galleys and ships harboured onto Bloodstone, the lords and captains huddled into a large tent as they took stock of their situation. Daemon stood front and centre as he looked upon a map of the large island; ships and men surrounding the outside as a small group of soldiers sat in the centre.

“While we full control over the beaches and some ways inland, there are still the caves; groups of corsairs were able to flee the battle and take refuge inside.” Criston said. “Forgive me, my Prince and Lady Rhea, but perhaps it was too soon to declare victory.” Daemon frowned.

Even now, you wish to undermine me, Ser Crispin.

“Forgive us, admiral.” Rhea said “We had been caught in the moment.”

“A message had arrived from Dark den ” Lord Coldwater said “Princess Rhaenys had taken the island with her husband’s fleet; it seems the Magisters had staked their existing navies on the islands for this attack.”

“A poor showing from the Triarchy, to launch a relief enough for the island and in the end lose two.” Lord Tollet commented.

“I must ask, my Prince, how did you and Rhaenys destroy their fleet so quickly?” one of the captains asked. “How were you and the Princess able to destroy their fleet?”

Daemon tapped his nose “That is a secret between only I and the Princess, and perhaps one only for House Targeryen.”

In the many years he had been forced to lay dormant, Daemon had taken to searching through the memories of the imposter more thoroughly; though most of it he had found particularly dull from the imposter’s work as a scribe and simple personal life of friends and family. He was able to pick out bits of interesting information.

An old memory of the imposter, one during the time he was receiving his maester or ‘uni-ver-city’ education; he saw images and moving paintings on the strange metal parchment, a people speaking of ‘aerial bombardment’ during an old war in his life, somewhere called ‘Veet-it-nam.’ To the imposter, the memory held some sadness. But for Daemon, he was all too curious.

People fly on giant metal dragons and drop metal barrels which set ablaze everything it hits?!

When he had taken control of his body, besides having his fill of what he had missed, he eagerly told Rhaenys about his idea, who too was intrigued by it; the two alternating roles and practicing dropping boulders on targets.

The Triarchy had been prepared with harpoons and nets… what they did not expect was setting their centre set alight and Caraxes dropping wildfire barrels on their heads. Two barrels, that’s all it took to send them into disarray.

“Whatever it was, I hope you and the Princess can perform the same action again.” Criston said. “Still there is the matter of the Crabfeeder’s levies still in the caves.”

“We can send men in, clear the caves.” A captain suggested.

“That would be what they want, for us to fight in spaces they are familiar with.” Another said.

“We can lay siege to them.” Rhea suggested “Though the issue is how much food and water they have in those caves, a large enough stockpile could see us fighting here for over a year.”

“Perhaps I can make a suggestion.” Daemon said “We could force them out of the caves, into the open and kill them.”

“If only there was a way, my Prince.” Lord Coldwater said “But it would take us months to create the engines needed to push water into the caves a force them out.”

“There is another way.” Daemon said “Wildfire, made by the alchemists.” He traced his finger on the mountain outlines “The caverns must be connected, so we take some barrels, stab a hole through it and roll it into the caves, setting alight the trail it leaves from the entrance.”

“You seem very familiar with it’s properties.” Criston commented.

“I have a curious mind.” Daemon remarked, in truth he remembered it’s properties from the readings of his House’s future; their attempts to compensate for the lost of dragons, one fool descendant who drank it believing it would turn him into a dragon, another desperate king who almost killed off his house attempting to use it to bring back the dragons at Summerhall… and another king, beyond mad, who used it against his own bannermen which led to their family being dethroned and exiled.

There was the Blackfyres too, Gods my own grandson was a fool… If there’s one thing I am thankful for is that some of my fool descendants, whom almost ruined our house, will never be born.

“Even if they are not burned by the intense flames, the smoke will force them out.”

“I do not suppose you have a stockpile available?”

Daemon smiled “I am one step ahead, I need only  send one message to Sunstone for my contacts.”

It had not taken long for the barrels of wildfire to be transported from Sunstone to Bloodstone, yet it had irritated Daemon that they had to wait out the night before enacting his plan. Yet when the morning had come, Daemon was like a giddy child.

There was one thing on his mind; Darksister, he hoped that they had taken it back into the caves, some trophy for a witless corsair not knowing it be returned back into the hands of it’s rightful owner.

Just less than a league away from the rocky mountains he sat on horseback with the other lords as groups of men tepidly approached the cave entrances; few men entering into the mouths of the cave with blades drawn and crossbows ready while archers aimed their arrows at the cliffs edge, waiting for a corsair to peek his head as some of men scales the cliff, reaching the edge before guarding the entrance.

Above them, Caraxes circled around them, his shadow casted against them as he keep a watchful eye on them. Ready to set fire any foe that dared to attack the men who scaled the cliff. The dragon had been scorching the cliffs, forcing the enemy back down where they needed them.

In the distance they saw a soldier wave a dark piece of cloth, signalling that the way was clear. Daemon raised his hand and stretched it forward, men carrying sealed crates pulled by horses approached the entrances as groups of four escorted it.

There was a tense silence in the air, some of the lords beside him holding their breath as the men unsealed the crates, carrying the barrels slowly and carefully.

“I’d wager they are waiting in the caves.” Gunthor said “Far too craven to meet us in the field again.”

“Good, this will only make our task simple.” Daemon said, the men at the cliff pulled up the barrels, bringing onto the edge before rolling it to the entrance as those below did the same.

He could see the men swing their arm as they stabbed a hole in the barrels, playing it on its side as for a moment before rolling it inside the cave, a group of soldiers following the barrel as they hoped to push it in as far as possible before running into their enemies.

Just a minute later, the men who entered the tunnels quickly ran out; those who had scaled the cliffs quickly climbed down the cliff face and onto the ground as those already on the ground sprinted towards the formed ranks.

“Caraxes!” Daemon called out “Dracarys!” the dragon roared back, the piercing sound striking against the wind as he descended down onto the mountain, pouring fire upon the trail of wildfire left by the barrels, they could see the brilliant green flames racing into the cave many mouths.

Then came the explosion, all could not see it but even within the caverns of the mountains they could hear the roar of fire, it was like a chain; boom, after boom, after boom. Then when the explosions seceded came the smoke, pouring from the mouths of the cave like a river of dark grey flowing upwards into the sky.

Not a few minutes later, did they hear people. Cries and screams, shouts and orders in a foreign language, as the shadow of corsairs came into view before their bodies left the smoke that flowed from the cave. First a few, then more and more. All of them covered in soot and some of them covered in dust and ashes as they gasped for air.

“Archers!” Criston called, raising his hand “Loose!” without plea or mercy, arrows rained down on the survivors, cutting them down before they knew what was happening.

As more men escaped the flames and smoke, dozens fleeing and gasping for air, Daemon flicked his hand. “Cut them down.” The first line of men charged forward, weapons drawn, butchering those corsairs. Daemon watched, a part of him at fulfilling perhaps one of his greatest achievements from his other life, and yet he couldn’t help but feel… empathy for them. One the tip of his tongue was the words ‘Halt, take them prisoner’ yet he held back. He placed his hand on his chest, focusing inwards once more.

Have you come back already, Imposter?

And yet he wasn’t there, Daemon bit his cheek as he watched a corsair’s plead for mercy in his foreign tongue, before a Royce man stabbed his chest with his sword, trying to fight down the feeling of discomfort watching this unfold.

Gods… what have you done to me?

When the last man had fallen did Daemon ride his horse towards the ground of scattered corpses; a pile of axes, swords, spears and other weapons grew larger as the men looted the bodies. “No sign of Darksister?” he asked on of the captains.

“No, sorry my Prince.” He said.

“So be it.” He said, before clearing his voice “To the man who can find Darksister in these caves will be knighted by myself, rewarded a generous sum of gold and a track of land.” Some of the more foolish among them quickly darted into the cave, before quickly leaving again as the others frantically searched the bodies with some looking over the pile of swords.

Rhea rode up to him, eyes narrowed as she stared at him “Pray tell, where will this sum of gold and land come from?” she asked in pointedly.

A roguish grin formed on his face, he pinched Rhea’s cheek “You are pretty when you’re furious.” He jested. Rhea pulled back “Come now, dear.” He said “How much gold have I made for our House from my farming technique? I am sure a few gold dragons and a league or two of land will not go amiss.” He spotted Criston and quickly rode up to him “As I said, Bloodstone is ours.”

“Forgive me for doubting you, my Prince.” Criston said, bowing his head.

“Oh you wouldn’t be the first ser, perhaps when my brother arranges another tourney in our campaign’s honour we can test each other’s skill.” Daemon suggested. “It had been a shame I could not see you at Maidenpool or on the battlefield.”

“I would quite enjoy that.” Criston replied, Daemon nodded his head; for just a moment he forget about the hate he harboured for the man who stood against him in another life.

The following day had been quiet, a lull after the storm, he had taken to riding Caraxes more often than not, looking to make up for lost time with his dragon. Before having to get to the tedious business of war; the fodder, the men and ships, ‘how much of this?’ and ‘how much of that?’ Each day the corsairs grew some balls and launched raids only to hide into the caves.

Daemon sat on a rock on the beach, looking over the horizon as the sunlight shimmered on the waters surface; he thought of his sons, how often he contemplated just flying back to them so that he could hold them in his arms as himself.

A feeling of want crept in him, empowering that desire.

Imposter? Back so soon?

He placed his hand on his chest and focused inward, quickly pulling him back into the void and restless slumber.

You were a fool giving me that chance, why would I ever give back control to you?

Yet Daemon couldn’t help but feel some sympathy; he knew what hell it was to be sent into the restless pit. He did not wish it upon his worst enemy, yet he knew he had to do it; weakness had cost the imposter of control, mercy now would rob Daemon of everything.

 “In another life, I was exiled, made an outcast by my brother and the court, locked out of power by that cunt hand and the Greens, ruling over these lumps of rocks and still wedded to that bronz-.” He stopped, catching himself, he stomped on the ground with his foot and shook his head, as if chastising himself for almost saying it “Look at what you have done to me.” He chuckled “Still…Otto sings my praises, the lords respect me, the commons worship me, those in court speak highly of me and Viserys? I do not think I have ever been closer to his ear before. And my sons, they will make me proud, I just know it.”

Mayhaps I can petition Viserys to make them princes, Rhaegal can be granted a strip of land and take my name when he comes of age.

“You have my thanks, imposter; you may have given me everything I needed to rise.” He whispered “I wonder, in that life they called me ‘The Rouge Prince’ what will they call me now?”

“My Prince.” Came a distant call. Daemon stood up and turned his head to see a man dressed in Royce livery approach him, bowing his head “It is Ser Cley, he asks that you attend him." 

Ah… your friend.

A bout of irritation itched within him as he remembered the imposter sacrificing Darksister to save those captured men on the beach.

"I shall come at once." Daemon said. 

The man led Daemon back to camp, those the maze of tents until they reached a large one; almost every bit of space was filled with beds with the wounded resting upon them.

Inside the room smelled of death; rots, shit and something else lingered in the air, it would have been enough to make a lesser man vomit their breakfast out. But Daemon was no lesser man.

 As Daemon walked down the line of beds, many of the men reached out to him with tears in their eyes and a look of reverence.

“My Prince…” one muttered, a young lad missing his hand “I thank you…”

“May the Gods grant what you desire…” said another.

They look to me like a prophet, like a am their saviour, though perhaps I am.

One man had wept when his outstretched hand had brushed against Daemon’s hand as he walked by.

As he continued to walk it was the same, some tears and some cheers for their Prince whom saved their lives. What irritation Daemon had felt was quickly displaced by pride from the adulation; before his eyes he could see a legend growing, those men telling his tale.

Did people ever revere me in such a way as in my other life?

When he found Cley’s bed, Daemon clenched his fist and held his breath, Cley lay on a mattress of straw and blood with his wounds bandaged. And his leg missing. “D- Daemon…?” he muttered as he turned to face him, still in a weaken state, raising his hand to him.

Daemon didn’t know why, the man before him was a friend of the imposter, not him. Yet he could not control himself, he rushed to Cley’s side and took the man’s hand in his, crouching down to his level. “Rest Cley, I am here.” He told him. “All is well.” His grip was firm.

“Gods it has been a while” Cley choked. “What has happened?”

“Much has happened my friend.” He told him “We have taken Bloodstone, Crabfeeder is dead, our lady Rhea had that honour.” He finished with a smile.

Cley laughed haughtily for but a second before coughing up a storm. Daemon quickly pressing a cup of water to his lips. “I wish- I wish I could have seen that, time passes so slowly here, all I do is sleep, eat and shit.”

“At least you’re use to the smell.” Daemon said. "Worse that King's Landing." 

"Ha! Thank the Gods I am use to it then." 

Daemon looked down at Cley’s leg, gripping his hand tighter. “Cley… do you-”

“I know… I know… the wound was infected, the healer had to take it off, its why they gave me so much milk of the poppy, why I slept for days at a time.”

“Cley, forgive me, I wish there was something I could-”

“Daemon… my Prince… my friend, you have done more than I could have asked - Without you… I would be dead, my wife left without her husband and my daughter without a father, I have you to thank.” He tried to move but pain kept him in place “it seems I can no longer guard you, I am of no use.”

“Never say such a thing.” Daemon told him sternly.

“Forgive me, Daemon… Darksister, had I not failed then you would not have risked your life and lost the sword.”

“It’s just a sword.” Daemon said, the words were bitter and strange in his mouth; never would or should he have uttered those words, he was the proud wielder of that blade. And yet as he looked at the man, he could not help but feel such a way.

The sword is lost in two generations, what difference does it make to lose it now?

He tried to convince himself, pushing back the real reason for. He hated himself, but wondered whether it was for thinking such a thing or for how he felt in this moment.

Cley confessed “If- if you see fit to punish me for this, if Rhaenys or his Grace do… I shall-”

“Punish you? My friend I shall award you for your service, you have been at my side for near ten years.” Daemon told him “Royces may remember but Targaryens reward loyalty.”

“You gonna grant me a dragon egg?” Cley jested. “You know I fear for heights.”

“I had told you one day you would ride a dragon, had I not?” Daemon jested back, remember that promise from the imposter all those years ago, the two laughing loudly.

“You know the men have a name for you?” Cley said “It’s been going around the camp before you saved them, now everyone calls you by it; even the camp followers have taken to calling you it.”

“Oh and what is it?”

Cley sat up, groaning slightly from the pain, as he placed himself against the headboard of his bed. "Men of the Vale!" he called out to the others in the tent "What do we call our Prince?" 

“Daemon ‘The Good!'” they called out, as one, chanted his name, Daemon let go of Cley's hand as he turned to face the others around him, looking up to him. With all the strength they could muster they called out to him again, declaring his name. 

"Daemon The Good!" 

"Daemon The Good!" 

"Daemon The Good!" 

Chapter Text

Otto leaned back in his chair, flapping the light book in his direction as he tried to create some kind of breeze, anything to deal with the heat that had trapped itself within his room.

“By the Gods, it is far too hot.” He muttered, looking out of the window of his room he could see the sands of the beach before it slipped into the blue waves of the ocean. The view, he had to concede, was a nice one, a small mercy of the Martells who had received him.

Even dressed in lighter clothes, he still felt the heat; the hottest summers in Oldtown would be difficult, yet this felt unbearable.

He looked down at the stack of parchment that was on his desk, he had just finished writing up the ‘concerns’ of the Dornish with Corlys’ war for the Stepstones; the Iron throne now controlling territory east of the as well as holding a boarder to their north. He could understand their concern, they were effectively surrounded; the Iron Throne had two areas they could stage another attempted conquest of their kingdom.

Only a fool would be fine with their dominion being surrounded by a hostile nation.

It is my task to ‘alleviate’ these concerns…

Not an easy task.

Otto wiped his fingers against his forehead, feeling beads of sweat dripping from the top.

For Gods’ sake, I had just taken a bath!

He stood up and walked towards the balcony, hoping to feel the some kind of sea breeze. Yet he was only greeted by the blazing sun above. He took the time to admire the view for a moment before he retreated back inside.

If that Dornish bastard makes me wait any longer…

There was a knock on the door.

Thank the Mother!

“Lord-Hand.” It was Ser Erryk, dressed in a more lighter version of the Kingsguard armour at his door. “Prince Qoren Martell has requested your audience once more.” Otto nodded his head and walked towards the door, two servants waited for him, bowing their head.

Two guards dressed in Hightower livery stood by, standing tall yet Otto could tell the heat had gotten it’s toll on them too. “You two, take shifts guarding my room.” The two men bowed their heads before engaging in a heated discussion, no doubt deciding who goes first, as he and Erryk followed the servants through the castle.

The layout of Sunspear was a sight to behold in it’s own way; the design was not like anything that Otto had laid eyes upon, compared to the grey of Westerosi castles, the Dornish had used the orange sandstone, instead of more rigid designs and decorations, the Dornish had sought for more brighter and curved design. Even the armour and livery that they wore was different to what could be found in Westeros, to Otto it looked more Essos in it’s design.

Ser Erryk seemed to be on edge, with each guard armed with a spear they passed by, their eyes following them as they walked pass. That was until they reached the open space of the courtyard at the centre of Sunspear.

There Otto spotted him; Qoren Martell, the Prince of Dorne, standing under the shade of a large fan carried by a servant as he held a cup in his hand. Like almost every Dornish man with ancestry from the Rhoyne, his skin was a tanned colour with dark hair that curled to his shoulders and a thick beard upon his face. He was dressed lavishly in a golden orange rob, regal in it’s own way, with a thin golden crown resting upon his brow.

He watched Otto as he and Erryk walked into the scorching sun.

“Your Grace.” Otto greeted him, bowing before the Prince.

“Lord-Hand, let me get you a some refreshment for you and your companion.” He said, lifting his hands and clapping them twice. A servant rushed from the side, hidden behind large shrubbery, carrying a silver grey with two drinks.

“You have our thanks, your Grace.” Otto took the drink from the tray, the servant then facing Erryk who raised his hand, rejecting the offer of refreshment. Otto took a sip, the drink was tasted of lemon and, Gods be praised, was cool. Though there was a hint of spice in it’s flavouring.

“Drink, Ser Erryk, I shall not have you collapsing on guard.” He told the Kingsguard.

“Yes, Lord-Hand.” Erryk, took the drink and quickly consumed it, placing it back on the tray and wiping his mouth.

“I see you needed that, good ser.” Qoren smiled “The weather can be… difficult for those unaccustomed to Dorne, I am sure you north of Dorne are familiar of such.”

It was obvious what the Prince was trying to do to them; placing them out in the sun and verbally poking at them. Otto smiled back “I have had many a hot summer in Oldtown, your Grace.” He told him “The heat is familiar.”

“Very good, come let us talk.” The Prince walked, the shade following him as both Otto and Erryk walked under the burning sun through the garden. “I am sure you have heard the news.”

“Yes I am aware.” Otto told him “Bloodstone has been captured by the Sea Snake and his allies, the Prince Daemon now works to secure the island while the rest of the alliance takes the remaining islands.”

“Hmph, indeed.” He replied, his hands behind his back “I am sure you’re aware I have received many a missive from the Triarchy, each one asking that I join them in their war, that I spill Dornish blood on those rocks to keep the dragons away from my shores.”

“An understandable concern.” Otto granted him.

“I am glad you see it that way.” His eyes glanced to him “You are familiar with the history of my House and the Targaryens; we have waged four wars, devastating wars for my people.”

The last one was because your family tried to invade Westeros.

“War can take much from us.” Otto agreed with him.

“If I was to join the Triarchy in its war against the Sea Snake, then that might be the fifth war Dorne has contended with the might of the Iron Throne, even if it is just a score of its houses.”

“If I may speak, it would be in Dorne’s best interest to avoid being dragged in a conflict of the Triarchy’s own making.”

“Of that I agree, but it still does not change that the reach of the Iron Throne, so close to Dorne.” Qoren said, the smile that was on his face just moments ago disappearing.

“As a representative of the Iron Throne and King’s Hand, you have my solemn guarantee that the Iron Throne has no machinations or designs to invade your Kingdom.” He told him.

“You may say that now, and mayhaps it is true.” Qoren said “But what is to stop the next Hand from whispering in the ear of another king, one that may have such designs to conquer Dorne; everyone wishes to be remembered, no doubt a Targeryen monarch will have ideas of unifying the continent, such as Aegon had dreamed of.”

“I can not speak to the future, but I can assure you that such a monarch will not appear for mayhaps generations from now.” Otto stated “His Grace, Viserys, has taken to ideas of peace within his realm, ideas which will be passed down to his son and heir when one is given to him.” Otto could not help but smile; he had tasked Alicent with becoming more familiar with the King while he was away, talking to him and attending to him, Rhaenyra and Alyssa when needed. Integrating herself into their family.

“I would require more than just promises, Lord-Hand.” He told Otto “If Oldtown had been warring with the Florents and Tarlys, would it accept mere promises that they will not attack in future?”

“What would alleviate your fears, your Grace?” Otto asked.   

“Firstly, I desire a guarantee from his Grace Viserys that he or his kin should not invade Dorne.” The Prince stated.

“That can be done, no doubt Viserys and his immediate successors will see the wisdom in peaceful cooperation with the crown of Dorne.”

“Secondly, I wish to have soldiers stationed on Sunstone, the closest island to my shores, along with outposts and access for my navy to dock at its ports, I would like to protect our shipping lanes too.” Qoren demanded “Thirdly, I ask for tolls on good and ships coming to and from Dorne to be lifted; the Sea Snake grow his wealth reaping the tolls take he so hated his ships to pay but I shall not suffer the same fate that he sought to resist.”

Otto clenched his teeth, the demands were almost completely unreasonable. “I am amenable to some of those demands.” He told him “Though I fear I must disappoint you, your Grace , some of the other demands must be abandoned.”

“As expected.” Qoren said “Speak, Lord-Hand.”

“Dorne cannot have its soldiers stationed on the island, Westerosi lords might see it a grave insult to have houses that boarder them have soldiers step foot on their lands, to have foreign ones in the realm, to possibly wage war against the crown, will be a drink far too bitter for the King and council to swallow.” Otto advised.

“I can understand, lord-hand.” Qoren replied “But you must understand, the protection of Dorne is my duty, how can I be sure that the crown will not place soldiers just leagues from my shore?”

“You misunderstand me, we cannot allow your soldiers to be stationed on Sunstone.” Otto said “But your ships mayhaps can be allowed to dock on it’s harbour.”

“If that is the case, then I ask for our ships and galleys to patrol the waters of the Stepstones.” The Prince suggested. “From Sunstone.”

Otto mulled over it “That may be acceptable.” He said “Lord Corlys will no doubt have concerns over Dornish ships patrolling the Stepstones waters, but if the price is peace between us then he may accept.”

“I can only hope he sees to the wisdom of it.” The Prince commented. “But word is the Sea Snake is a proud and stubborn man.”

“Proud he is, but he is not without reason or sense.” an idea sprang in Otto’s mind “Perhaps it would alleviate your fears if House Hightower were to control Sunstone.” He suggested “The Sea Snake had promised to make my sons landed-lords of one of the islands, you can consider it a ‘personal’ guarantee from House Hightower that we will not forgo any agreement.” A sly move; Sunstone had been a prize for many houses in the alliance, including House Hightower; this he hoped, would nudge Corlys to his favour. 

“That… would be a good idea.” The Prince said “The personal guarantee of a House such as Hightower would be a boon, no doubt for both our houses and I had heard that it was your sons who had led Hightower levies to capture the island, you must be proud.”

“More than you could imagine; despite what calm demeanour he could show, when he had received news of his Bryden and Gwayne leading the Hightower levies onto the island he had feared for his sons. He wanted his sons to gain their own glory and yet… he feared for them, as he had done when they were still children. Otto smiled; should his sons be granted Sunstone then it would be rewarding them for their efforts,  give them access to trade in and from Sunspear to provide them with immense wealth and provide a valuable port for House Hightower, one that would be close to Oldtown.

“Regarding the tolls, we cannot not lift the tolls for ships passing these waters completely for Dorne.” Otto said “To do so would spark anger among the lords who would wish to see tolls for their ships lessened after the war.”

“Very disappointing.” The Prince said, pressing his lips together “I was hoping that Dorne would not ‘suffer’ from the tolls of the Sea Snake as we had done under the Triarchy and Craghas, while the

“You misunderstand me again, your Grace, perhaps we can agree on a certain amount.” Otto said “The Sea Snake plans to form a ‘standard’ toll for all Westerosi ships and it’s good, one significantly lower than for foreign ships; mayhaps he can be persuaded to allow Dornish ships to be the exception.” The two continued to walk down a stone pond, frogs hopping into the cool water “I imagine many other merchants will seek to ‘honour’ your House in return for flying Dornish colours.”

The Prince smiled, Otto knew he had him.

“A generous proposal, Lord-Hand.” He said. “One that I must consider… but I am sure my family and advisors will be amendable to such.”

For the rest of the day and then into the night, the two had hatched together the terms of an agreement. When the morning had come, the Prince had signed his name upon the parchment which carried the terms, alongside Otto’s name. The only ones needed were Lord Corlys and King Viserys.

Otto had no doubt that Ser Erryk and his men would be glad to leave Dorne and its scorching sun, the sea wind had been a pleasant reprieve from such, as they set off for sail from the harbour.

From the rails of the deck, the air entering his throat and lungs was cool. It tasted of salt but for Otto, the air was never as sweet before.

Corlys grows closer to victory, he will get his wish; to control those barren rocks and act as the warden to sea and salt, two of my sons will grow rich from the trade that shall flow from Dorne and Oldtown, one of them will continue their honoured place in the Kingsguard and one day mayhaps become it’s commander, my daughter shall be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms… and my grandson will sit the Iron Throne.

The air flowed through his mouth and into his lungs again.

My house is secure, my family is secure and so shall be my legacy.

The sight of the dark rocks, the pebble shores and the crescent sun was over the mountains was a sight of salvation. A makeshift harbour had been created; some basic planks and rocks moved around to allow galleys to be held without damaging them.

From the wooden planks, Otto stepped onto the pebble beach, a large crowd of men flying the green banner of Hightower had greeted him in neat ranks. His sons sat upon their steads, proudly in front; Bryndon and Gwayne dressed in their plated steel armour, the livery of their house displayed upon their chest, standing on guard.

“Men of Oldtown!” Bryndon commanded “Greet the Lord-Hand.” The ranks of soldiers stomped their feet and stood straight, stiff and focused. Displaying full well the discipline and might of their House.

Was it any wonder that Sunstone was the first to fall when Oldtown had landed it’s forces here?

Otto approached his sons bowed their heads, he had only wished that Myles was here with them, the moment would have been more perfect.

“Lord-Hand.” Gwayne said, bowing his head. “I hope your travels from Dorne were well.”

“My sons, it fills me with pride to see you.” Otto told them “I am told of your great victories on this island.” A squire handed him the reins of a horse, one which he climbed upon.

“Indeed, my Lord.” Bryndon said. “Men of Oldtown, you are dismissed!” the men stomped their feet again before marching off, returning to their duties.

“I must meet with Lord Corlys, I have much to inform him of my time at Sunspear.” He told his sons, the three of them walking along the beach.

“Lord Corlys is in his private tent, he has just arrived back from Bloodstone.” Bryndon said “The Prince Daemon had urged Lord Corlys to make a stop for the island to celebrate the Triarchy’s complete defeat.”

“The Triarchy are not yet defeated.” Otto said “The Prince may have spoken to soon.” Which Otto had found strange; Daemon had never been someone who show off his victories or declare victory unless absolutely certain. “So long as they have money they will have ships and men, I would wager that they will be amassing a new fleet in one of their cities as we speak.”

“Did Prince Qoren tell you of such?” Gwayne asked.

“He need not tell me, he only said that he continues to receive missives from the magisters to join the war, even after their defeat on Bloodstone and on sea.” Otto explained. “Always be aware of what a person does not mention, than what they say.” He tapped the side of his side, emphasising his point.

The three rode their horses towards the mass of tents that had formed upon an elevated plot of land; the banners of the alliance fluttered in the winds, though absent from it was the banners of House Royce. At the centre of the field of tents, standing like a giant among men, was a large giant tent, sea green and white strips decorating the outside.

Made yourself comfortable, Corlys?

The three rode towards the tent, stopping at it’s entrance as a small team of guards manned the entrance, they bowed before them.

“My lord-Hand.” The more senior man greeted him.

“I wish to speak to Lord Corlys, I have returned from Dorne with good news.” He told the guard. The man nodded his head as another man knocked on the door, alerting the Sea Snake.

“You may enter, my Lord.” Otto nodded his head, turned to his sons for a moment before heading inside; lavish decorations and treasures were laid out inside the tent, including a polished floor of wood. A large bed sat just off the centre with fine silks and linen. A dark wooden desk and chairs sat opposite the bed, cupboard and wardrobes sat on the edges of the tent. And the banner of the Seahorse was displayed everywhere.

Even now, you do not pass up the opportunity to flaunt your wealth to others.

He found the Sea Snake sat upon the desk, eating his meal, a hearty meal of meat, vegetables and potatoes, servants near him. He looks up from his food “Ah, Otto!” he calls out “Back from Dorne, come sit, let us get straight to it, tell me everything.” Otto takes his seat opposite to him. “Would you like something to eat? The cooks have done a splendid job.”

“A nice stew would be wonderful.” Otto had said.

“Would rabbit stew be good?” Corlys asked.

Otto nodded his head, a servant bowed his head before quickly leaving the tent “So tell me, Otto, how goes the talks with the Prince?”

“The talks have concluded, I have reached an agreement with the Prince, one that I believe the king and small council will find agreeable.” Quickly a tray of food was laid before him; a bowl of rabbit stew and a cup of wine, Otto raised the cup to his lips, tasting the Arbor gold, a welcome change from the Dornish vintage.

“Joyous news.” Corlys said, wiping his mouth with a napkin “Though I imagine there will be some concessions made to the Prince.”

“Prince Qoren demands that the king and his successors will not wage war on Dorne.” Otto said, Corlys barked out laugh.

“He wouldn’t have needed to promise as such, I doubt Viserys has the stomach to wage such a war, especially one where Aegon the Conqueror had failed.” Corlys cut into some leeks and cabbage “What were the other terms?”

“The Prince asks that we allow Dornish ships to harbour at Sunstone and patrol the waters between the Stepstones.” Corlys held a calm face as he listened “He had originally asked for soldiers and outposts but relented on such matters.”

“No doubt the other lords will grumble over this, but more ships to guard these waters will not go amiss.” Corlys said “Though we will have to keep an eye on this sly bastards, Dornishmen can hardly be trusted.”

"I recommend that my sons be granted lordship of Sunstone, they shall host these Dornish Galleys when the time comes." Otto said.

"It would be a great responsibility." Corlys watched him, Otto was sure that he had caught onto his machinations. "Many of the Lords had their eye on that island, though if Dornish sailors and ships are to share the ports then its desirability lessens." 

"Then House Hightower shall shoulder this burden." Otto said. 

"How very charitable." Corlys smiled "I shall 'consider' this." Otto smiled, he knew there was nothing to consider. "There is more to this, yes?" 

“Indeed, they had also asked that they be exempt from tolls for their ships passing through the Stepstones.” Otto said, sipping his soup, Corlys scoffed loudly “We instead agreed that they would have to pay Westerosi tolls instead.”

“That would encourage foreign ships to take up Dornish colours to escape heavier tolls.” Corlys observed as Otto ate into some meat in his stew.

“Have to sweeten the drink somehow.” Otto shrugged his shoulders as he drank his wine.

“Perhaps, it may even worsen relations between Dorne and the Triarchy if the Martells are seen to be benefiting from their losses in Westerosi markets.”

“The Magisters have played a dangerous game.” Otto commented, Corlys snickered. “And they have lost.”

“Their loss, is our gain.” Corlys said, he took out a pen, taking the parchment from Otto and signing it along with the others.

Otto smiled “Quite.” Taking the parchment back from Corlys.

“May our new founded partnership continue to bear fruit.” Corlys raised his cup, Otto doing the same as the two clinked the cups together.

“Long may it continue.”

Chapter Text

Daemon gripped the railing of the ship tightly, tapping his foot impatiently, the coast of a small island just within sight against the backdrop of a vast dark blue against a light blue sky, Caraxes swirled around the ship, venturing out towards the island before quickly falling back. Around him was the clatter of items, footsteps and chatter of the crew.

Gods this is dull.

He turned around and walked towards the captains’ quarters, the large galley, the Sea Snake as it was called, had been at the head of a blockade against a small Tyroshi island, some many hundreds of leagues away from Tyrosh proper; but still the closet island to them. And the staging point for his next great victory against the Triarchy.

“My Prince.” A voice called to him, a man dressed in the livery of House Targeryen bowed his head before handing him a piece of parchment. “A message for you, my Prince.”

Daemon smiled “You have my thanks, ser.” The messenger bowed his head once more.

Mysaria had, once more, aided him when he needed it.

Empowered he sought out Corlys, hoping to sway him of this plan to sit and wait.

How he desired nothing more than for he and Rhaenys to lead a force to claim the small island and it’s city, to use his new strategy once more on a larger target. As he reaches the door of Corlys’ office, the guards bowed their heads. “I must speak with Lord Corlys.” He told the guards.

“Let him through.” Came a call from on the other side, the guard opened the door for Daemon, who quickly stepped through. Corlys stood by his desk, a goblet in hand as he looked at a map of their current positions.

To the side of the desk was a small map of the narrow sea, the Velaryon flag planted firmly within the image of the Stepstones, signifying the Sea Snake’s hold over it, but at the centre lay a map of the Triarchy’s three nations, with wooden ships and soldiers all placed around where they last saw them.

Around the small island known as ‘Little Tyrosh’ was a circle of ships, their blockade around it, but near the coasts of Myr and Tyrosh was groups of their own ships. A reformed navy ready to strike.

“Daemon.” He called to him “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Daemon resisted the urge to scowl at him; oh he knew damn well why he was here, it had been the same argument for the past four months now.

“This has gone on long enough, Corlys.” Daemon said, taking a seat at the table “We have been at sea for damn near an age and those bastards are still nowhere near surrendering.” His eyes drifted to the sight of ships on the coast of Tyrosh “As we wait the Triarchy gather their strength, they hire more sellswords, corsairs and levies and build more galleys, they may strike soon enough; they will not give up this war just yet.”

“Let them try, I am sure that yourself and Rhaenys will set fire to those ships whom feel brave enough.” Corlys replied, an obvious red meat to sate Daemon’s impatience. “Let them bleed themselves against my Stepstones, I am sure the crabs will thank us for it.”

“I would rather we strike now.” Daemon urged him.

“Eager to return to your lady-wife in King’s Landing?” Corlys asked teasingly. “Do you long for her company so soon?”

Daemon clenched his jaw; it had been a few months since Rhea had to leave the battlefield and stay with their sons in the capital, a massive disappointment for herself; yet when they had discovered she was with child once more… Rhea knew she could not stay, instead she was taken on the first galley back to the capital… and had left the Royce levies now under Daemon’s command. “What of it? You had brought my cousin Rhaenys along with you, I am sure you long to see Laena and Laenor” Daemon said. “While I will not deny that is on my mind, I would rather we use what we have than sit and wait for the Triarchy to strike when we had worked to secure those rocks.”

“Hmph, both you and Rhaenys are impatient, had I not assigned her to patrolling the waters around us for a possibly relief effort I imagine she would have taken action already.” Corlys said as he sat down “I had hoped you would return to being more patient, more understanding, but it seems war has changed you.”

“I had not changed.” Daemon commented, a bitter taste lingered in his mouth from the words, even if he wasn’t the imposter, locked away in darkness, he knew that was a lie.

Corlys scoffed “Of course, and I ride the mighty dragon Cannibal.” He jested “Please, a few years ago you would have seen the merit of my strategy, seven hells maybe even a couple months ago.”

“It is MY strategy.” Daemon argued. “I am the one who devised the plan.”

“And this is MY fleet.” Corlys barked back “If we were to enact your plans as is then we risk provoking the Triarchy’s fleet into action, sacrifice more ships and men and then lose what ships we need in the harbour for this plan of yours to work, so long as the Triarchy believe that ‘Little Tyrosh’ shall not fall, they will hold off.” He glanced towards the map “An immediate attack would be a political challenge to them, one they would have to respond to… and If one ship escapes the encirclement and informs them of your new tactic then they will adapt.”

Daemon pressed his lips together.  “The lords may grow tired of waiting, no?”

“Tire as they might, we hold firm.” Corlys stated “The islands are ours and our victory is all but assured, I will not have impatience ruin it.” He smirked “How queer that the loudest advocate for peace now calls for violent action.”

“How strange that the man who is so brazen and unafraid to take what he desires, now to hesitant to act.” That had poked at Corlys, Daemon smiled in victory. “Perhaps we can meet in the middle?”

“How so?”

“A diversion.” Daemon said “A couple galleys sail to the harbour, just outside of archers distances, drawing their attention away from the coasts and allow them to let their guard down in just some of their fortifications.”

“Where you hope to attack where they are weakest?”

“Not attack. Sneak in.”

“Sneak? Into a heavily guarded city? And do what exactly?”

“Capture the master in the city and then force him to open the gates and lower his defences.” He said simply.

Corlys stared at Daemon for a few seconds “Have you lost your damn mind?”

“I can assure you, Corlys, I am quite fine.” Daemon grinned, he raised the parchment in his hand, his mind drifted to a memory of the imposter; his mother quoting to him a phrase in some strange language “Remember this, ‘knowledge is power’ and I have become mighty.”

When the night arrived, darkness shrouded his and his men’s approach. Aboard a small row boat on the other side of the island they slowly drifted their way to the coast. The beacons of light illuminating the walls of a small, hastily built, wooden barrier. In the distance he could hear an explosion followed by a deep roar.

Rhaenys…

No doubt his cousin was causing a much panic and noise as she and the raiding party could on the other side of the island, along with Caraxes; creating the illusion of a two rider assault . As they reached the soft sands, Daemon and his men quickly hopped off their boats and carried them to shore. More boats came ashore, carrying more men who quickly spread out. A hooded man walked towards Daemon, lowering it.

“Ser Crispin.” Daemon smiled.

“Why do you call me that?” Cole asked, Daemon snickers, winking at the perplexed knight “Looks as though most of the men are ashore.”

“Perfect, let us proceed.” Daemon said, he ushered over some of the men towards him “Do you have it?” one of the men, reached into their cloak to reveal a water satchel. A toxic smell linger around it. “Careful with that, remember the plan?” they nodded their head, the men quickly departed gather more as they quietly made their way up towards the wall and then past it.

“Gods this will be awful.” Criston said, handing Daemon a long rag, a lavender scent hung heavy from it, before wrapping his own around his face.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Daemon jested as he placed his own over his face, the other men, small group, did the same. Daemon took out a piece of parchment from his cloak, showing those around him; a map of a cavern system leading to the master’s manse. “Quickly now, follow me.” Less than a quarter of the way was a cave, the water from the sea washing in and out, a small wooden board, likely used by servants and guards, greeted them. Daemon quietly dropped onto the platform, taking his sword from his side as he entered the cave “Remember. Left, right and straight ahead.” The rest of the men take out their weapons, Criston repeats Daemon’s orders back to the others.

Their footsteps were quiet and cautious, their breathing almost silent yet the tension was palpable. Suddenly Daemon spots a torch walking on the planks on the opposite side. He kneels down, the others behind him did the same. Sitting silently with all eyes on the man with the torch. Daemon glances behind him, raising his hand and signalling the others. Criston whispers to the man behind him. One of the men aim a crossbow at the man, the gently fiddling of the trigger may as well been a hammer and anvil.

Then came a distant explosion, the walls of the cavern shaking slightly.

“Huh!” the man said, looking around, the man loudly exclaims something in Tyroshi, he quickly rushes away, towards the sound, the flicker of light vanishing into the distant caverns.

The air escaping Daemon’s lungs was replicated by those behind him “That must be the others, let us move quickly.” Quickly they stood up and rushed away. The smell in the caverns grows more rancid as they approached the city.

“Gods, these tunnels stink…” one of the men comment.

“They shovel their shit and piss down here.” Daemon said. “Quickly now, unless you wish to take in the stench.” The team quickly moved until they reached turn, light illuminating a door. And two guards. Daemon peered over the corner spotting them. He turned to Criston mouthing ‘two’ to him, Criston nodded his head.

Daemon stomped onto the board, the thud echoing against the cavern walls. The guards spoke to each other in their foreign language.

 Daemon places his sword on the wall and steps out in sight, singing loudly in High Valyrian as he acted as a drunkard. Daemon stumbled around, pretending to almost fall off the edge before walking towards them.

The tension from the guards quickly dissipated, replaced instead with annoyance of a drunk finding himself in the caverns, no doubt a common sight. The man yells at Daemon in Tyroshi, before placing his sword back into his belt. Daemon stumbles into the man who grabs Daemon who laughs, still putting on the act.

Fool.

Daemon quickly pulls out a dagger from his belt and stabs the guard in the throat before pushing him into the shit river. The second guard pulls out his sword again, ready to strike Daemon. Daemon quickly places his back against the wall, as of the men fires a bolt from his crossbow at the guard, striking them in the chest.

Daemon quickly kneels down over the man and cuts his throat, rummaging through the guard’s pockets and finding a key before then pushing him too into the river. Criston hands Daemon his sword. “A brilliant act, my Prince.” He compliments.

“I have had practice.” Daemon said, placing the key in the lock and opening the door. Slowly opening the door as he and the others shuffled into the staircase. They wait, Daemon pressing his ear against the door.

Then came another explosion in the distance, gasps and cries nearby were heard as others ran around. “Now.” He whispers to the others. Using the chaos of the attack, he and his men slip into the manse, the door leading into the scullery hall in the manse. “Up.” He said, the men now begin to rush, through the hallways towards the stairs. “Highest one!” he told them.

It seems the servants may have rushed into their quarters.

A guard at the top of the stairs spotted them, yelling a command at them in his language before a crossbow bolt struck him in the neck. Daemon and his men stepped over his body, two of his men rush forward ahead of him. Charging into the guards near a door, quickly trying to slay them, tackling them to the floor.

“Spread out!” he commanded “Two men head to the rookery, make sure not a single raven flies off.” Two of the men broke away “Cole, with me!” Daemon then kicks in a door, almost knocking it off it’s hinges. In front of them was a portly man dressed in fine silks, with greying brown hair.

The man stood up from his chair, shouting at them in Tyroshi.

“Master Qarro.” Daemon announced “My apologises for barging in.” Cole places the tip of his blade at the man’s neck. “Do you happen to speak Valyrian?” he asked in his family’s tongue.

The man scowled for moment “Yes.”

“Brilliant, we shall make this simple, I am Prince Daemon Targeryen.” Daemon said “Surrender now and we can make this painless.”

“Surrender? To you?” he spat. “Never.”

Daemon chuckles, turning to Cole “He refuses.” He walks up to him, the master tenses his body. As Daemon walks past him and towards the balcony. Grabbing a nearby table and slamming it against the pearl painted wooden railings, opening a large gap.

One of Daemon’s men rushes to the balcony, taking out a small banner and waving it in the wind, signalling to the others on the ground to approach. Hooded figures emerged from the shadows of the town below towards the manse, killing the unsuspecting guards before entering inside.

“You believe you can threaten me?” the master spoke, still in Valyrian.

“No.” Daemon said, he grabs the master by the collar and drags him to the balcony, pushing him to the side “I have someone else in mind.” suddenly the sounds of a struggle caught their attention, a young lad was carried in by two more of his men as he tried to free himself.

The man called out in Tyroshi to the lad, moving towards him before Cole pressed his sword into his neck. Daemon grabs the boy by his collar, towering over him, he easily moves the boy towards the gap in the railing, leaning him just over the edge. Daemon planted his feet into the ground firmly, not wanting to slip himself.

He could feel the boy grip desperately at Daemon’s wrist and hand as his feet try to balance himself on the edge, all while both he and the master cried out at each other. “Surrender, or I drop the boy over the edge.” The man reached out desperately, pleading to Daemon in his native tongue. Below them, Tyroshi soldiers began to gather and watch. “Tell them to lay down their arms and surrender.” He shook the boy, letting him lose his footing for a moment and placing the fear in both of them.

He felt his chest ache, a menacing pain as a disgusted fury took hold in his heart.

Fucking imposter! Why have you chosen now!

Daemon shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, this was not the time for the other to try and punish him for his actions.

Hurt me and I may end up unintentionally dropping the boy! Is that what you wish, Imposter?!

That seemed to have halted his onslaught, Daemon took in a deep breath “What shall it be?”

Be quiet and watch, I intend to make write a story for my legend.

“Surrender! I surrender!” the master exclaimed, he looked over the balcony “Lay down your weapons, we surrender!” he commanded to the men below “Lay down you weapons.” The men below looked to their master and hesitantly lowered the swords to the ground, the message passed quickly among the other defenders.

“Light the Beacon, ‘Little Tyrosh’ has fallen.” He told one of his men, he bowed before quickly rushing out of the room. “If you don’t mind I think I’ll keep him like this for now, until our fleet as docked into the harbour.” The master nodded his head.

Quickly a large fire was lit over a tower, two dragons quickly fly over the manse as the Velaryon fleet soon converged onto the island. Caraxes, into the roof of the manse, it’s long neck stretching out towards the balcony, his shadow falling over them.

Relaxed, Daemon began to pull the boy back from the edge.

Until a loose arrow flew just passed his face, cutting into his ear, it’s feather brushing against his cheek. In a panic Daemon moves to the side as he raises his hand towards his bleeding ear. Letting go of the boy.

The boy stumbles back over the edge, falling off the balcony and onto the ground below, his shrill cries was sharp and piercing before it was met by a deep thud. Silencing him.

“AAAARRGGH!” The master cries out, he turns to Daemon, looking at him through gritted teeth and crying eyes, before he reaches for a dagger in his pocket and tried to charge at him. Before Cole separates his body from his head with a single slash.

Caraxes roars out as the Tyroshi guards who had once surrendered to them quickly try to scramble for their weapons only to be bathed by a river of fire from the dragon above. Now the fleet and it’s men had docked onto the shore and began charging through the streets. A distance war cry growing louder by the second.

There was a ringing in Daemon’s ear, he looks at his hand to see it dripping in blood.

“My Prince.” Cole called to him, he turned to the others “Get a healer, quickly!” one of the men sprinted out of the room. Cole removes his mask and hands it to Daemon “Keep this on your ear, my Prince.”

Daemon did not utter a word, instead held the cloth to his ear as he watched the scene unfold before him; the men of the alliance rampaging through the streets, setting fire to houses and buildings as Rhaenys flew over them with Meleys, setting alight those who continued to put up further resistance to them.

Daemon peered over the edge of the balcony. The sight that greeted him filled him with disgust; yet he could not discern whether that was for the fate of the boy… or if that was the imposter for him.

Daemon filled his lungs deeply with air. “Ser Cole, get the men to raise the banners of house Targeryen over the manse, let others know of the victory we have won here today, and tell those below to clean up the mess.”

“Of course, my Prince.” Cole said, swiftly marching away from him as a few others followed the admiral.

I’ve dropped a boy over the railing to his death.

Daemon held the piece of cloth to his ear still, he made his way through the manse and down the stairs; his men had now taken over, rounding up the servants and guests into the main hall as outside the armies of House Velaryon continued their assault on the city.

They may stop calling me ‘The Good..'

He could feel the doubt and uncertainty creep into his mind, wondering if others would still view him the same way after this moment. 

As he reached the bottom of the stairs he found the amassed at the entrance of the manse, Criston and the others waiting for him. 

"All of our men are accounted for, my Prince." Criston said "As it stands, we have taken the manse and not lost a single man." The men came around him, tapping him on the shoulder, a gesture of their solidarity and commitment to him, all while they thanked him. 

No… they do not see it that way. 

I have taken an enemy stronghold, an island no less, and not lost a single man, they shall all go back to the wives and children. Their mothers and fathers. My guile saved their lives, they shall tell of my deeds.

They shall still call me ‘The Good’ for it, I am sure of it, I will make them sure of it.

What’s one person, one child's, life worth to the lives of so many more?

Chapter Text

Daemon glided his finger, dipping into the small gap that not healed into his ear, an unsightly thing which he hoped would not ruin his looks.

Still, many respect a good war scar…

He waited by the docks of the newly captured harbour; an honour guard waiting to greet Corlys’ arrival to the island after the raid from three days ago, all that had been left since the island was to burn away those he sought to resist them.

The air was warm, perhaps it was because they were close to Dorne or maybe the sun seemed to burn brighter and warmer the further south you go. It did not bother Daemon, he had faced more intense heat from his dragon, to him it was child’s play. Though the sweat on the brow of some of the men suggested that others were not.”

The Sea Snake, the large galley pulled onto the dock, a long line of men dressed in sea-green with the silver seahorse stood stiff carrying spears and banners as a plank was placed from the galley onto the dock. Corlys had all the air of a conqueror; hands behind his back and head held high, dressed in his gleaming armour.

He walks like Aegon the conqueror, yet it was MY plan that won us this victory.

And it will be MY plan that wins us this war.

Daemon could feel his anger bubbling in the surface, he held it back, close to his heart.

No matter… I hold the goodwill of many, my men and those in court, with this I can demand more from him. So much more…

“Prince Daemon.” Corlys said, a thin smile on his lips “I must congratulate you on this victory, I have underestimated you; when they call you ‘the Good’ they must include your abilities and your nature.”

“Your words are far too kind, my Lord.” Daemon spoke. “I am only thankful that all the men under my command are still alive.”

“This is a victory for the ages, they will sing of it long after we are gone.”

“Mayhaps but I have another victory that will hopefully eclipse even this.” Daemon said.

“Ah yes, we have much to discuss, the attack that will be the dagger into the hearts of the Triarchy.” Corlys smiled “Lead me to the manse, we have much to discuss.”  

The Master's manse had undergone some changes since the attack; the once luxurious home of the city’s master had now been made into where they would organise the magisters’ downfall. The windows had been boarded up, the furniture was taken, either for use or as the personal treasures of those fortunate to arrive first.

Now it was filled with creates, barrels, weapons and larder for their armies, a rush of men and servants rushing in and out of the manse, all under the command of Criston Cole. Though Daemon at least thankful they kept the former Master’s solar intact for their use. As they arrived to the solar, Criston had occupied himself with managing the new garrison.

“Prince Daemon, Lord Corlys.” He said, bowing his head, an array of parchment, maps and books on the desk.

“Admiral, it is goof to see you are well.” Corlys said, extending his hand to the knight who took it. “You and the Prince had won a great victory.”

Daemon could not help careful watch Criston face when he received praise from Corlys; the smile Criston presented had the air of a mummer’s act.

That night plays on him.

“You are far too kind, my Lord, I live to serve.” Criston said. “Please allow me to explain you on our current situation, if I may, my Prince.” He said, eyes glancing over to Daemon who nodded his head. “Thanks to our victory we were able to capture a number of galleys from the enemy for our use, it has also been made known to myself that the Princess Rhaenys was able to capture a few more ships from the Triarchy’s attempts to break the blockade; we have what we need to craft a tale to those enemy forces in Tyrosh.”

“Perfect.”

Daemon gathered a few wooden ships on the map “Once we send off those messages that a brave number of galleys and ships was able to momentarily break free from the blockade, they will no doubt welcome the brave fleet with open arms.” Daemon spoke “The Triarchy will be desperate for a victory against us, to show to all that they can overcome the dragons, not knowing that they have welcomed the instrument of their own demise.”

Criston nodded his head “We fill the galleys will barrels of wildfire, making sure the ships land in as many docks in the main harbour of the city.” Pointing at the ships. “This is where they are gather most of their ships, once the men aboard light the barrels on fire then our attack commences and sack the city.”

Daemon smiled, he had taken the idea for this from the book the Imposter had given to Laenor and Laena from their visit all those years ago.

A wooden horse into the city becomes a few ships into the harbour.

“The enemy fleet currently docked, that is the one they plan t use to launch their counterattack?” Corlys asked.

“That is what we predict.”

“Destroying their new fleet and the harbour would be like breaking their arms.” Corlys took away the ships “With Dorne no longer entertaining ideas of an alliance with them, this will be the last vestiges of their strength.”

"A fine feat of work by the Hand." Criston said. 

"All for a price." Corlys replied. 

Daemon fought back the urge to roll his eyes, the news had not surprised him, it was typical of that greedy green bastard; using his station to enrich himself, forcing the lords in a corner to hand an island to his sons, and one so conveniently near to both Oldtown, Sunspear, the Narrow sea and the Three Cities.

“I propose we let slip a message that we plan to assault that harbour.” Daemon suggested “We ‘tell’ them how we plan on using everything available resource we have in an effort to capture the city and force them to surrender, and make it sound as though we are desperate for a final victory.”

 “Our enemies will seek to draw in more ships from Myr and Lys.” Criston observed “Leaving their other capitals potentially more vulnerable, I propose that Myr be the other target.” He placed ships on their side on both capitals “We could launch further attacks, at the same time, Myr is nearest capital.”

“An ambitious target.” Daemon commented “It would also sow confusion within their ranks; whatever ships they have already sailed will be torn between coming to the aid of either in this case.”

Corlys smiled “Such a thing would humiliate them; two capitals of the Triarchy attacked, one of them rendered asunder under fire? They would no longer dare to stand against us, it would be a total victory.”

“And a devastating defeat for them.” Criston said “I would predict that the Triarchy would collapse in a matter of years, the infighting among their nobles in their councils is bad enough.”

“Excellent, the Iron throne will have complete control over the Narrow sea.”

You mean yourself, Sea Snake?

“I would be happy to lead the attack on Tyrosh, seeing as the assault on the city will be my plan.” Daemon said “I am also happy to lend the strength of Runestone to an assault on Myr if needed and perhaps I could gain further secrets for our attack.” Mentioning the service of Mysaria without uttering her name.

“Excellent.”

“Though I will require a favour to ask in such a case.” He smiled and Corlys shook his head but grinned back, Daemon knew that despite his bravado, Corlys was dependent on his dragon rider allies in this war to bring him a swift victory.

“Name it.” Willing to accommodate him

“I hear that Myr is capable of producing glass, well renown for it’s quality.” Daemon said “I imagine that after this conflict they will be ‘hesitant’ to the Seven Kingdoms, so I propose that the men of Runestone launch an assault on Myr and capture what secrets they can.”

“You would desire Runestone have the ability to create glass, my Prince? Your house would be an extremely wealthy one.” Criston observed.

Daemon chuckled, no doubt having control over glass would secure his sons’ power and wealth, his family would be without rival, without other envious houses trying to steal their ideas.

Not even the damned Tyrells could mimic that…

Yet Daemon knew of the other reason, even if he tried to ignore it, to push it back into the pit with the imposter. Yet he could not escape it; that vision he saw, the blue eyes in the snow storms and a chill that never ceased. If he hoped to change such a future, he would need the North, that meant something to bargain with those northerners with.

“Indeed, we would.” Daemon agreed “Though I am not greedy as the magisters, I would cut deals with our allies, I would not bleed houses dry for their desire to build glass houses for winter crops.”

If you could see this imposter, I am sure you would thank me for this.

“So long as my House can purchase glass at a rate cheaper than others I will be more than happy to aid you in your endeavour.” Corlys said. “I shall bring this up with Otto the next time the three of us meet, you shall have my backing on the matter.”

Otto…

 Daemon did not know how he would act when he would finally have the chance to meet him in person once more. Oh he remembered it all; the memories of his other life, how the man had turned to undermine his each step and leach power from them when he could, a parasite that hung from them. Yet here and now, this could not reconcile with the memories of this life; the Lord-Hand that supported his work, supported him, the Otto whom even joined with Daemon to keep the very man who stood in front of him in check while they worked in the council.

Perhaps I may have to swallow mine out contempt for you... or not. 

Daemon felt his chest ache, his face tensed in an attempt to mask the pain that tried to reveal itself on his face.

Silence, I shall not be allies with that cunt, let alone friends with him; he may yet gain what he desires but I shall become an instrument to his machinations.

“Forgive me, my Prince, Lord Corlys, but I do believe we are getting carried away with what may become rather than what we currently face.” Criston said “While we do have the plans, what we lack is the information to mount such attacks; we have some knowledge of Tyrosh, yet not of Myr.”

“Worry not, admiral.” Daemon assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, placing weight upon it. “That you can leave to myself, I have already asked one of the men to send a raven back to the capital the night of this island’s capture.”

“You very own mistress of whispers.” Corlys commented. “One that is in bed with the enemy.”

“The very one that provided myself with the map layout and directions to the Master’s office to launch our surprise attack.” Daemon pointed out, “And the enemy in question is one being constantly moved around the Narrow sea, away from the battlefield.”

We might as well make use of the spy you had threaten, Corlys.

“When can we expect her arrival?” Corlys asked.

“It may be some time before she arrives from King’s Landing, I would hope possibly less than a month travel and that does not include her having to contact her own informants.” Daemon said “Yet I have asked she prepare information regarding the defences around the three capitals of the Triarchy, we shall have our answers soon enough.”

It had been a further month, Daemon had taken to patrolling the waters around the sea, burning or hunting the few galleys that dared tried to reach them, trying to feel as though he was still making a difference in this war, that he was bringing it closer to an end.

Caraxes had landed onto the coastline, taking his rest as Daemon took in the view from of the calm. Images of Baelor and Rhaegal played on his mind.

Everyday I had to watch you grow up behind a wall of glass… soon I shall hold you both in my arms…

He thought of Rhea and their new child…

Likely she’ll be showing by now, Gods you must be bored senseless…

I shall keep your promise to my grandmother, Imposter… should it be a girl then she will be named Gael…

“My Prince.” A voice called to him, he turned to see a man dressed in Royce colours greet him. “The Lady Mysaria has arrived.”

“Good, it is time we finally met again.” He spoke, the man bowed his head and escorted him to the manse.

A guard stood by the door leading into the guest room, two ladies dressed in fine dresses left, bowing their heads at him. As he entered the room he found Mysaria sat upon a small chair, a table next to her with a cup and plate of sweetmeats near her. She was dressed in a fine blue silk dress that hugged her body. And pregnant stomach.

She turned her head “Daemon…” she beamed by his sight.

Daemon smiled back at her, the memory of the life he could have had flashed in his mind; in another life she was the one whom carried his child. The child that was lost to them due to his brother.

“Mysaria…” he walked towards her, there was a thought at the back of his mind to kiss her, a pain surfaced in his chest at the thought, one that he once more banished inwards. Yet he knew better than to act on it.

She loves that Tyroshi lord… and I-

He shut his eyes and lowered himself to embrace her, wrapping his arms around her. Wondering about the times that may had been this close in another life.

“It is good to see you again, dear friend.” She said, the smile on her lips faded “I had heard about Cley… the Gods can be so cruel.”

“He should be home now, in Runestone.” Daemon assured her “I will ensure he and his family are taken care of.” Mysaria nodded her head, sucking on her lips as tears welled in her eyes.

“Gods, forgive me for crying.” She said, wiping away the tears from her eyes “I had hoped to see you both.”

“He would have loved to see you too.”

“I had heard he was the one to call you ‘The Good.’” She giggled, Daemon laughed and nodded his head.

“How is Ollo?” he asked.

“He is well, at least I hope so…” Mysaria said “Gods I was terrified when the Velaryons had seized the Gallows, I had thought he and his men died before I received word of their escape to Tyrosh.”

“Is that where he is?”

Mysaria nodded “I am planning on forging some papers ordering him and his men to head to the mainland before your attack on the capital.” She frowned “No doubt it will hurt him to know he was not there for the battle but…” she looked to him, in her eyes was caution. And fear. “You are not planning a battle. You plan for an ambush, a slaughter.”  

Daemon nodded his head “We plan to end this war with one last blow, to do that… I will break them against me, I will shatter their pride.”

“War has made you harsher, Daemon.” She looked away, taking her cup and drinking it. “I can only hope my husband returns to be as he left me.”

A thought crossed Daemon’s mind, one that he did not want to consider. But one he needed to know.

“Hopefully this will be the last time he will be moved.” Daemon said, a farce of a smile decorating his lips “It is dull traveling at sea, I don’t know how Corlys can do it, this will be the third? Fourth time now?”

“The fourth time.” She replied, the Mysaria of his other life would have picked up on the question. Yet here, now, she trusted him completely.

“It will make for dull stories to tell your children, how their father fought one battle and sailed the Stepstones and sea avoiding the war.” He laughed, Mysaria glared at him for the jest in her husband’s expense “But he will be alive, that is all that matters.”

“Glory and stories be damned, Daemon.” She declared “I wish only for those I care about to survive this war.”

He nodded his head, his face the image of calm. “And we shall.” He leaned forward “But for us to end this war, for Ollo to return to you sooner and for myself to return to Rhea and my sons sooner… we need to defeat the Magisters.”

Mysaria shut her eyes, reaching to her side and pulling out a roll of parchment “This is what my spies in Tyrosh and Myr were able to gather.” She handed him the parchment, Daemon took it from her hand “There is open talk about launching a great fleet to retake the Stepstones, yet in secret the captains talk of a need to protect the city from an attack.” She looked back at him “They expect you to strike; they have placed defences in the harbour, should you or the Princess Rhaenys fly your dragon then it may mean you death.”

Daemon grinned reach from ear to ear “It is as I had thought, but we are ready for that.” He placed the parchment close to his chest “Rest assured I shall not die on those shores, I will have victory.”

Mysaria laughed silently and shook her head “I do not think someone known as ‘The Good’ she be so glad to go to battle, a change from the man who worked so hard with myself for peace.”

“I have saved my men from death, led them to a victory which they all share and will now end this war, that is without mentioned the many achievements before.” He laughed.

“Daemon ‘The Proud’ you have become.” Mysaria laughed.

“Oh I am still a humble man in service to my king, the realm, my family and lady wife.”

“And which one takes precedence?”

“Truly must I say, I am… a Leal servant.” He jested, Mysaria laughed heartily.

The two spend the rest of the evening talking, reminiscing over their time in the capital and about the progress of the establishment of healers in the city.

“The people know you are the one who urged for more money to the healers guild.” She said, taking a sip of tea “They love you for it, many sing your praises… some of my ladies have taken to naming their sons after you.”

Daemon laughed “Perhaps I may run into one of these many Daemons.” His eyes wondered to her stomach. “Have you thought of names?”

“Oh Gods, I had thought of them long ago.” She said “Tyanna for a girl, after Ollo’s mother.”

“And if it is a boy?”

She smiled at him “It had taken him some convincing but… I would name him ‘Daemon.’ Daemon smiles and yet his heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

You will not forgive me…

He feels a burning sensation in his chest, one he tries to push down… yet one that persists and persists stubbornly, never relenting. He leans forward in his chair. Mysaria almost rushes to his side when he raises his hand to her “No… I am fine.” He beats back the rage, the guilt, the anger and sorrow from the imposter; he could feel him clawing his way back.

No.

The dark hands that gripped the can only hold him back this time. Like a drowning man clinging to jagged rocks for dear life against the storm. He composes himself when he feels the imposter no longer fighting back, yet still the sorrow prickled in his chest, working its way to his lips “I… I am- I would be honoured.” He spoke, his voice breaking slightly.

He felt his resolve waiver… how desperately he wanted to keep her secrets, to turn a blind eye to what she had said. To the knowledge that kept the one she loved safe.

And yet.

If I was able to learn of this, then who is to say that a captain or master could not? Who is to say that a quartermaster looking over ship movements learn of this?

In his mind, the scene played of the son his niece had in another life, Jacaerys and his dragon Vermax slain by nets and arrows and left to the sea, a victory for the Triarchy against their family.

I shall not suffer such a fate… I shall not die, I shall not suffer defeat… those under my command will survive.

“One day… you may have to pick your duty to others over your duty to those you love.”

Oh how right you were, Good-father…

Chapter Text

”This is a great victory!” Aggo proclaimed, a Lyseni captain, a vassal of his father who joined their fleet from Lys to Tyrosh, in the late hours of the night; his father had gathered his captains and admirals regarding the news brought to them. “The men of Little Tyrosh and what remained of the relief effort had fought their way through the Sea Snake’s blockade and the dragons back to our shores, they live to fight another day!”

“And yet, it all but confirms the loss of the island to the enemy.” His father, Gyleno Rogare said, a man as wise as his years, but not yet as great as his father, Oro Rogare. “It seems the greedy hand of the Sea Snake and the Iron throne grows wider each day.”

“I would wager that the Sea Snake and his allies have reached far too wide.” Pyg spoke, another captain, fresh from the capital. “How much and how many did they lose to take such a small island? I wager it would not be worth the blood and treasure.”

“And the news they bring with them, defeating those damned seahorses and dragons.” Lysandro said.

“We can beat them!” Drazenko declared to the meeting of Lyseni captains “We will retake the Island and the Stepstones!”

His father raised his hand “From what they had said, what remained of the fleet was only able to escape after breaking a weak point in their blockade, many other men did not make it.” He urged caution “We can not lose sight of what is true; our enemy still outmatches us in the field and on sea.

“You worry yourself, master.” Another captain said “We will be ready to face them, the harpoons and nets will bring down the dragons.”

“Indeed, we need only get one clean strike at them and send them into the sea.” Another declared, echoing the sentiment of hope among them.

“And how many men will die before we are lucky?!” Gyleno raised his voice, frustrating dripping in his voice, silencing those around him. “All of you are dismissed, we shall resume discussion tomorrow.” The captains around them bowed their heads “Except you two.” He said looking to their sons. “Both of you, stay.”

Drazenko shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, his older brother placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Have we upset you, father?” his brother asked.

“Those damned captains are too green.” He said “They know nothing of war, most have only seen skirmishes from the Velaryons and their allies, all they’ve heard are of large defeats… so they cling to any sign of good news.” He picked up his silver goblet and drank from it. “Damn that bitch and her dragon… most of our experienced captains died on the way to Bloodstone.”

Drazenko remembered that day, word had reached them of the aftermath; the survivors from Bloodstone said that the fleet to relieve them never arrived and instead they found only the wreckage of a large fleet in the waters. Not a soul returned.

“Some days I curse my father for not wanting to make peace with the Crown on this, now we may face defeat. Or worse.” Drazenko grimaced at the tone of which his father spoke of his grandfather.

“Grandfather was right, the Sea Snake is a dangerous man, he could not have been allowed to grow stronger.” Lysandro argued “He had to be challenged.”

“And look at how much we have paid for such a decision.” Their father retorted “Believing that he and the others could create a divide between the throne and the Velaryons, believing that he could have those damned Targaryens break them when they’re practically tied to them.”

“You speak as if we cannot win.” Drazenko said “Can we win?”

His father was silent, looking in his cup before looking at them “I do not know.” He confessed “I doubt the Alliance will launch an attack against the capitals, especially with the high halls of Tyrosh, the war has been long and costly for themselves too, but without the Dornish help we have no other allies or fresh forces to help us reclaim the islands.” His eyes glanced at his two sons “What would you say is our best hope? How would you win this war?”

Drazenko thought hard about his father’s question, almost straining himself for an answer “We cannot win in another great victory.” His brother spoke “So long as they have their dragons, we will be at disadvantage.” He paused for a moment “The best option is to hold out, raid their islands, maybe reclaim the smaller ones.”

“Go on.”

“Make holding the Stepstones costly, long enough that trying to hold them is deemed not worthy it by his allies, forcing him to a settlement.”

“Very good.” Their father smiled, clearly impressed

“But… that is not victory.” Drazenko muttered, wanting to have something to say.

“You are right, Drazenko.” His father said “It is not victory, but it is the closest we can get to denying the Sea snake of one.” He placed his cup down and leaned against the table “I fear that is all we can do for now. Deny them their victory.” He watched his sons for a moment “Both of you should get some rest now, I want you back in full dress on the morrow to inspect these new ships.”

They both bowed their heads “Yes, father.” They said in unison, before leaving the hall.

They made their way through the manse, built for their family in the city, and back into their own rooms. Before Drazenko could leave, his brother took his shoulder once more and gripped it “Do not feel discouraged, father… grows tired by the defeats, but we can win this war.”

“Yes, we can.” Drazenko replied, placing his hand on Lysandro’s.

“Now, get some rest.” He smiled, tapping the back of his head. Drazenko, irritated, slapped his hand away causing his brother to giggle. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He said, entering his room, it was not as big or grand as his room back home in Lys nor was his bed as comfortable but the view from his window was a splendour; he could see the Bleeding tower by the mouth of the harbour, the lights of temples and the houses dotted light stars on the ground and the high walls of the city against the dark blue back of the sea and sky.

He opened his window, letting in the cool air, changing into his sleeping garments before getting into bed as he drifted off into sleep.

How long he slept for he did not know, but what awoke him was the smell of… burning violating his senses, then came the distant sounds of shouting, yelling… crying.

He opened his eyes to thin layer of smoke enter his room from the window. As he took in a deep breath he choked on the ash. Scrambling from his bed he looked to the city.

It was burning.

The mouth of the harbour, where the ships had waited, where their fleet awaited, was now set alight in a horrific sight of brilliant green inferno consuming everything it could reach. The small dots of light in the houses and temples on the ground were burning in the grasps of orange and yellow.

And passed all the smoke he could see the outline of ships in the ocean, a vast armada firing balls of fire upon the city. The walls of the city were set a blaze, dots of fire spotted.

Then in the sky, the dark wings and body of something he could only describe as monstrous, something evil. He gripped the edge of the window as he watched the dragon fly above them.

Strike it! Strike the dragon!

He thought of the harpoons that would strike the dragon, bring it down to the ground and render it dead. He held his breath. A trick of the eye he watched something quickly approach the wall, it was small.

Had the rider fallen?

Then came the explosion, struck. Emerald in its colour and bright in its flames but dark in its intent. The outer walls of the city that kept it guarded had crumbled before him, the sound of its destruction reaching his ears from there. He watched as the dragon flew down and back to the fleet in the distance.

Breathless he could only watch in horror at the scene before him.

His door slammed opened, he quickly turned to see his brother, already dressed in his leathers with his sword at his side. “Drazenko!” he exclaimed “Get your shoes on!” Drazenko reached for his clothes “No time for that!” in his hand was another set of leather armour. Drazenko quickly placed on his shoes before his brother handed him the leather, it was training armour “It was all I could get.” He admitted “We must meet with father.” He nodded his head.

The two quickly rushed through the manse, servants and guards rushed past them, frantic and scared. Cries and commands echoed around the halls as a few guards followed them, escorting them to the main entrance.

His father was surrounded by a large cohort of men dressed in full armour, giving out commands. He turned his head to them “Lysandro, Drazenko!” he exclaimed.

“Father, what has happened?”

“The enemy is attack the city, the damned ships that had come were a trap set by them, I know not what those ships contained by our fleet is…” Gyleno clenched his teeth “Damn it all, we must mount a defence of the city, the Tyrosh shall not fall to those Westerosi bastard!” he turned to his men “For Lys, men! Let us show those bastards what happens when they face us!” a chorus of cheers rang on in the halls.

Belief, hope and bravery looming over them.

Then the ground beneath them shook.

“Hold fast!” Their father commanded “Today, our names will be etched in history, heroes of the Three Daughters!” the cheers from the men resumed, both Drazenko and Lysandro joined in the cheer, the men quickly left to form into the street. Gyleno quickly turned to his sons “You will not join me.”

“But father-”

 “Lysandro, take your brother and head to the inner city walls, the fires shouldn’t be able to reach there, you both shall be there.”

“No, we want to follow you-”

“You will follow my commands!” he ordered them, a servant rushed to him, kneeling and bowing their head as they handed him their family’s sword.

The Valyrian Steel sword, Truth. It’s golden hilt and sapphire embedded into the pommel.

Gyleno took the sword and turned to Lysandro “Take this.” He handed the sword to him “If I shall fall… then the future of our house shall fall to you.” He placed his hand on his brother shoulder and Drazenko’s “My boys, you must survive this night.”

“We shall, father.” Lysandro told him, he pulled them both in for a tight embrace, kissing the tops of their heads.

“Go now.” He told them, placing on his helmet as he joined with the other men, moving through the formed ranks as they marched off into the inferno in front of them.

Lysandro tugged at his brother’s arm “We must go.” He told him, two guards by them as they rushed through the streets. Everywhere was flooded by the mass of people who tried to reach the high walls of the inner city for sanctuary. All around the smoke seemed to grow heavier and heavier, never ending and never relenting.

The guards who escorted them tried to push through the crowds, desperately trying to form a path for them as other soldiers around them tried in vain to keep them calm, guiding them towards the inner walls.

Drazenko gripped his brother’s hand tightly, even this far into the city, flames had sprouted out like golden weeds.

Was someone setting fire to the houses? Why?

Then came a roar, distant yet all to clear. All around them people began to look up to the sky, the outline of dark wings decorated a cloudless night sky. Then came another roar.

It was getting closer.

Panic gripped the hearts of those around them, the panic turned into a mob, and the mob a stampede of people who pushed and shoved each other to escape as the shadow the dragon grew larger and larger.

“Back!” one of the guards ordered, pulling out their swords, yet the sight of a blade was nothing compared to the coming dragon. Lysandro grabbed onto his brother, holding him tight. The guard struck a man, killing him only for another man to strike at the guard in his way, pushing him to the floor as the human flood trampled over him.

Then the burning house just a street behind them exploded onto a furnace of emerald flames, the force of the explosion forcing those at a distant to fall to the ground. And turning those near it to ash.

“We must go!” Lysandro exclaimed, still holding onto him he pushed through the mass of people, Drazenko’s grip never weakening as they made their way into a narrow alleyway away from the crowds of people. Just before another explosion sounded around them.

The roar of the dragon and flames giving way to the cries of people, hundreds and hundreds of them.

“Father…” he wanted to run back to him, if the dragon was setting fire this deep into the city then what hope did their father have?

“We must not!” Lysandro exclaimed “We must escape to the inner walls. He grabbed his hand once more and rushed down the narrow streets, navigating the maze trying to head to the dark walls of their haven.

Yet the closer they approached, the heavier the smoke, the darker the air and thicker the ash.

Another explosion of emerald fire. Then another.

Everywhere they went, fire followed them, the dragon brining only blood and fire followed them, it’s breath setting ablaze the buildings and temples around him.

The street they traversed became unbearable, the smoke choking and blinding them.

Drazenko tried to see through the thick dark smoke and ash, his eyes falling upon a tall temple of Tyros, untouched by the flames. “There brother!” he called “We can take shelter there!”  His brother led them to it, everywhere people who stumble, coughing violently or weeping as they tried in vain to save their loved ones trapped in burning or crumbled buildings.

When they reached the temple, they discovered it to be abandoned, the seats of the cushions thrown around and items left behind. Yet the smoke from the outside was still thick “We must head up!” Lysandro said to him. They searched through the building, coming upon a staircase heading up, quickly they ran up those steps. The air began to grow clearer and clearer as they reached the top.

Lysandro barged through a door leading to the roof of the temple.

Before them was a scene that began to etch itself into the memory of Drazenko; it looked as though the whole city was engulfed in a ocean of green and yellow flames. The walls of Tyrosh was now all but completely destroyed as the mass armada of ships from the sea began to make their way to the shore.

“No… no…” Drazenko muttered as he walked to the edge of the roof, locked in a trance as he watched what was before him, his feet almost at the edge.

“Brother!” Lysandro grabbed his shoulder, keeping him from falling. Yet even he was stuck looking at what was before them.

Destruction.

Devastation.

Defeat.

Then the ground beneath them rumbled, causing them to fall to their knees, as if something large landed near them. Landed behind them. They both turned to see.

Dragon.

Standing just where they were. It’s wings blocking out the image of the high walls of the inner city and its long spindly neck stretching out into the heavens before looking down at them.

Death.

Lysandro pulled out Truth from his scarab and pointed it towards the Dragon, taking a stance. Ready to fight. Yet all Drazenko could do was watch helplessly, his limbs stiff as he looked towards the red scaled monster before them.

“Halt, Caraxes!” a man called out in perfect Valyrian. The dragon relented, moving back slightly. Lowering it’s body as a man dressed in armour as dark as obsidian climbed from it’s back. He approached them, removing his helmet, allowing his long white hair to fall unto his shoulder. A confident grin only someone who rode a dragon could have. “I had thought to allow my dragon some rest, who are you two?” 

“Back.” Lysandro ordered, pointing his sword at the rider, the dragon growled, Lysandro pointed the blade back at the dragon. 

“Calm Caraxes.” The rider ordered, not taking his eyes off them “You are a brave one.”

“I shall fell you, here and now!” Lysandro declared, “You monster, I shall avenge those killed today!”

The rider took out his sword “Hold fast, Caraxes.”

Lysandro charged at him, swinging Truth true and bravely. The rider parried the strike, pushing Lysandro to the side with his free hand.

Lysandro stumbled but never faltered, turned to the rider once more, swinging his sword again and again at him, trying to find a weak point. Yet all the rider did was block and parry his attacks. Toying with him.

“Argh!” Lysandro struck the rider’s sword with everything he had, pushing it away, before raising it above his head to cut him down. As he brought the sword down, the rider grabbed his hand.

Before plunging his sword into Lysandro’s stomach.

Drazenko felt the air leave his lungs, as he saw the blade stick out from his brother’s back, before then crying out in pain at the sight. The rider pulling his sword from his stomach before kicking him towards Drazenko, his brother stumbling back, the sword in his hand was held loosely.

Falling from his hand and landing before Drazenko.

Lysandro stumbled, fighting to stay up, he looked back at him for a moment and turned back. He pulled out a dagger from his side charging back at the rider.

Who slashed at his neck, grabbing him and tossing him off the roof and into the burning street below them.

The rider turned to him now.

What fear, what anguish, what pain that had resided in him at that moment morphed into an inconsolable rage. His teeth clenched so tightly it could clatter and fingers pressed so tightly into a fist his nails who draw blood from his skin.

He picked up Truth and took up a stance.

Tears running down his face as he breathed heavily.

Surprise. Pity. That was how the rider saw him. He shook his head at him. “Don’t.” Drazenko did not care. He charged at the rider, ready to strike, to end the bastard’s life and avenge his brother.

Yet instead of victory, instead of vengeance. He felt the cold blade of the rider’s sword cut through his hand.

Truth and his hand thrown into the air before landing onto the ground.

Drazenko fell to the ground, clutching is bleeding wound as he cried out watching the blood pour from his wound. He looked back to the rider he walked towards him. Picking up Truth from the ground.

“Valyrian steel.” He spoke “How fortuitous, I had lost a Valyrian steel sword of my own.” He loomed over him now, the Rogare family sword in hand as the other was placed back at his side. “Take comfort in your bravery, boy.” He raised the sword over him.

Drazenko could only watched as he waited his death.

“NOOOOO!” the rider cried out, grabbing his chest and almost kneeling before Drazenko in what looked to be immense pain. His eyes shut as he breathed in rapidly. He looked back to Drazenko, the confidence that once graced his face now replaced with something else.

Concern. Fear. Guilt.

He stood up and turned to the burning, watching it breathlessly “What have you done…?” he muttered, he looked horrified at the sight before him.

Drazenko tried to move, catching the rider’s attention once more. He froze under his gaze. The two looking at each other wordlessly. The rider watched him with his mouth agape. Before kneeling down to him, the rider reach over to his side and pulled out a piece of cloth. Taking the hand he cut off he wrapped his wound in the thick cloth “Press down, stop the bleeding.” He told Drazenko, he did as the rider said. The rider stood up and pointed to the door “Go.” He said “Run, leave now!” he told him “The Velaryon soldiers will reach this place soon.” It must have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn the rider was crying, a tear running down his cheek.

Drazenko stood up tepidly, the two’s eyes never leaving each other. He looked to the door, just near the dragon who watched him. He cautiously walked pass the dragon as it’s eyes followed him. As he reached the door, he quickly sprinted through it.

Chapter Text

A haze, every time he tried to look back at during the months he was no longer in control of his body, it was all just a constant stream of hazy images, just out of focus, followed only by periods of darkness and slumber why he could not begin to imagine what had happened. And yet, some things were clear; moments that he could not forget and the feelings behind each one.

He sat in his cabin Corlys had given him on the Sea Snake, since the burning of Tyrosh, he had not left that cabin. Spending almost every hour trying to make sense of what had happened and terrified he would one day lose control again.

He wanted nothing more than to be alone… then he heard his own voice inside his head. 

‘You cannot stay here forever…’ Daemon told him. 

Can you be quiet…

His other-self’s voice quickly disappeared from his mind, yet the presence of him still remained. 

He was not sure how he was able to overpower Daemon in the end and bring him back to whatever hell he had once occupied but as he looked upon his hands, clenching them into a fist, taking in the air into his lungs. He was thankful to whatever Gods out there had given him that chance.

The image of that young teenager, that child, bleeding on the ground with tears in their eyes waiting for the killing blow… and when he thought of that child falling from the balcony… of Mysaria…

Of the burning city.

The bile in his stomach began to rise, he quickly placed his hand over his mouth, forcing it back down, trying to breath calmly and regain his composure.

There was a knock on the door.

“Enter.” He called out, the door opened, a guard dressed in Velaryon livery stepped forward.

“They are here, my Prince.” He told him.

Daemon nodded his head, the guard bowed and escorted him up towards the deck.

Even after over two week, the smell of burning had not left the air, lingering unwantedly. Yet it could not compare to the sight.

Large wall at the front of the city had been almost destroyed, the harbour was not yet cleared of the burnt and broken ships caught in the attack. So damaged was the harbour that Corlys had to keep his fleet anchored in the water.

The fire lasted for days, it seemed as if there would be no end…

On the deck stood a familiar figure. “Otto.” Daemon called out weakly.

He turned to him “Daemon, I see that you are well, thank the Gods.” He said, offering his hand, Daemon took it and tried to firmly hold it. “I had heard from Corlys and the others that you had taken to illness after the battle.”

“I… I am well now, I thank you for your concern.”

Otto nodded his head before turning back to the city “My father had taken me here once, when I was but a child, a visit to speak to some merchant who owned a manse here… beautiful city. Now look at it.” A toxic mix of shame and anger stirred within Daemon, he wanted desperately to look away. “Had the Magisters only agreed our terms this would not have happened.” Laying the blame at the Triarchy’s door. “It matters not now, they have come to surrender.”

“Where is Corlys?”

“He is at the harbour.” Otto told him “Perhaps it was pride or to send a message but he had the Magisters come to the back of the island and through the areas of the city that were destroyed… there is no fury quite as a man with a point to make.”

He felt the galley moved, rows and rows of oars pulling it forward towards the solitary spot on the harbour that had been cleared out. The Velaryon sail that was once covered in ash and soot after the battle was replaced with a clear one with vibrant colours.

If ever there was a clearer message.

As the galley approached the harbour, the smell grew worse and sight more horrid; the streets were charred in ash, burnt houses and rubble. The Hull of a ship had crashed into a nearby house, an entire street was reduced to nothing but blacken wood and bricks. And the Bleeding tower had collapsed to the ground, crushing Gods know how many people.

When his feet touched the ground, from the galley, his footsteps were met with a crunch. In the distance he could see a mass of people, dressed in either armour or fine clothes on either side of a solitary table.

On one side he could see Corlys standing with his back to the ocean, the ranks of his men at his side and the numerous lords who joined him standing together. An air of confidence about them.

On the other, were the faces of the dejected, defeated and devastated. Some of the men had ashes covering their faces, no doubt quickly pulled from their work searching through the carnage to perform guard duties. In front of them were the Masters and Magisters, many of whom Daemon recognised.

The Archon Syrio, whose city that Daemon had burnt down, even he could not hide his disgust and anger at them. Neither could the Magister of Myr, Releqor. Rhaenys had the mission of attack his city, after he had moved all his ships to Tyrosh.

And then there was the Magister Oro, the one who led the delegation. There no anger or fear on his face. It was just blank, expressionless. As if someone had hollowed in out.

“Prince Daemon, Lord Hand.” Corlys said. “Now that we are all here, I believe we have all the signatories for this treaty.” Even under his calm and formal manner, Daemon knew Corlys must have felt elated to have the Magisters rendered so weak before him. “I shall go first.” He took the pen on the table and quickly wrote his signature. Passing the pen to Otto who signed it, handing it to Daemon.

He stared at the Magisters, none of them daring to look at him. All the guilt he felt, the shame, the pain, all of it was no focused on them.

If you had not been so arrogant. If all of you had just worked with us… None of this would have happened!

He scribbled his name down on the parchment. Before handing it to Oro.

 The old man looked at him and then the pen, slowly taking it from Daemon’s hand. Then writing it at the bottom. He handed the pen to the others, one at a time, they signed their name.

A scribe quickly took the parchment and rolled it, tying a red ribbon around it.

“From here and in perpetuity, the Stepstones are now the domain of House Velaryon and in extension the Crown.” Otto declared “Let all good men in attendance know this.”

“I wish you good fortune, perhaps one day we will meet under better circumstance.” Corlys said “Hopefully when Tyrosh is restored to it’s former glory.”

“You fucking-!” Syrio reached from his sword, all the men around them reacted. Yet is was Daemon who was faster. As if wielding Darksister once more, he effortlessly pulled the blade and pointed it at the Magister’s neck.

“That’s enough.” Daemon told him “The war is over.”

Syrio sneered at him, before allowing his hands to drop at his side.

“That- that sword….” Oro spoke “That is my family’s sword… my son, my grandson… they had that sword… Return at it once!” he sounded more as desperation than a command, the memory of that night came rushing back to Daemon.

Immediately he thought of giving it back to him, yet a familiar ache spread within him, gripping his heart, he focused inwards listening.

‘No.’ He heard his own voice command. Daemon commanded. ‘If you wished to keep it then you-’

“-never should have instigated this war, if you had only accepted our terms then your son and grandson would still be alive.” He finished, the words were Daemon yet he was the one to speak them. Willingly. “You reap what you sow.” Placing the sword back in it’s scarab.

It must have been the greatest relief of Daemon’s life when he finally was able to lay eyes on King’s Landing once more. On the back of Caraxes he had flown ahead of the fleet heading back home. The galleys just off sight from him. As he approached the city he could see crowds gathering on the harbour and docks, the faint cheers from the masses as they saw him fly by.

He paid no mind to them. Instead rushing towards dragon pit, he hand not even said hello the keepers when he requested a horse before rushing over to the Red Keep before his escort could follow him. When he reached the gates of the Red Keep a rushed welcoming group greeted him. He greeted them quickly, before asking where his family would be. He rushed through the courtyard and into the Keep.

“Daemon!” a voice called out to him, before he could reach the flight of stairs to his family’s apartments. Viserys walked towards him, flanked by members of the Kingsguard, a smile that took up most of his cheeks decorating his face. “By the Gods!” he tightly embraced him “You have returned to us, returned a hero no less!” he exclaimed.

“You are too kind, brother.” He said.

“Did you think you could run through the Red Keep without your brother, your king, not knowing?” Viserys asked playfully. 

“Forgive me, your Grace, but I- I wished to see my family.”

Viserys nodded his head “Of course, come let me escort you.” The two walked up the stairs and into Maegor’s holdfast, Viserys had Daemon regale him with stories of his battles and victories. All of which Daemon was not apart of. He had to dig into the memories of the other. “There will be a grand feast to celebrate this victory, it is not everyday the Crown goes larger.” He laughs. When they came upon the Royce guards, he felt his breath snapped from his lungs. The guards bowed their heads at them “I shall leave you to it.” he patted him on the back “See you tonight.”

The guards opened the door, Daemon stepped inside. Immediately seeing his sons playing on the floor with their toys. “Boys…” he spoke. They turned to him. And ran towards him. He almost fell backwards they jumped at him. Yet he caught and held them tightly. The three of them weeping together, reunited at last.

He took the boys, hold their hand as he walked towards the bedroom, a maid opening the door for them. Rhea sat upright on her bed, a book in her hand and covers over her. Daemon spotted the bump underneath the blankets. “Rhea…” he mumbled. Daemon knelt down “I will be with you in a moment.” He told his sons, kissing their heads as they ran back to the hall again, the maid shutting the door behind them.

“My Prince.” She said, Daemon shut his eyes, how wanted so badly to toss Daemon back into the void. Yet held back. Walk to her, he took a chair, placed it at her side and sat down, taking her hand in his.

“I think- we can go back to just ‘Daemon’ now.” He said, the two stared at each other in silence before breaking out into a awkward chuckle, Daemon gripped her hand tighter “Forgive me, for what I had done to you those past months… I had-”

“Stop.” She told him “You must stop asking for forgiveness.” Rhea gripped his hand “I shall not lie, I was- unhappy when you suddenly acted as you had when we had first wedded. Maybe I should have hated you for it. But- I learnt I love you far too much now to care. So long as you do right by our children and myself, I will never change how I feel.”

Daemon could have kissed her there, he felt the urge to do so rising within him, in that moment he was not sure if it was entirely of his own desire.

“I am the most fortunate man in Westeros to be married to you.” He said.

“Yes, you are.” She laughed.

Daemon rose from his seat and leaned towards her, pressing her lips to his before resting his head on hers “I promise… I shall always do right by you.”

“I know you shall.” She said, kissing him once more.

Daemon wished he could have stayed longer with them, he wished he could just shut the world out and be only with them. Yet there was one place he needed to be. One person he needed to see. He walked through the silk street he now knew too well. All around him, people drank and celebrated; soldiers and sailors from the war partook in the drinking and drinking, with groups going into other establishments.

He walked towards the familiar brothel, anticipation in his gut and fear in his heart, he searched inside him for the bravery to go inside.

‘It would be smarter if we just never showed our faces again…’

Shut up. I do not want hear from you.

All he uncovered was his own fury, once more tempted to throw Daemon in the pit, yet resisted the urge.

‘Do you think yourself the ‘Bigger man’ but not banishing me?’

Daemon did not reply to his other-self. Instead walking into the brothel, his hood hiding his face as he spotted Alia, the two spotting each other. A look of trepidation on her face as she approached him.

“You shouldn’t be here.” She told him. “She will not speak to you.”

“She is like to kill you the second you step through her door.”

“Perhaps I deserve it.”

“Why… my Prince?” Alia asked him, judgement in her eyes. “How could you?”

‘I wanted to win.’

“I don’t know.” He replied weakly, “But I must speak with her.”

Alia was silent, turning her head to the staircase “She is in her room, she has not left in weeks.” She took a few steps back “I would find a reason first before seeing her, Daemon.” She said before leaving him.

Daemon steeled himself, walking up the stairs, he walked pass the many rooms before reaching hers. He knocked on the door, receiving no reply. He turned the doorknob, the door unlocked and stepped inside. He found Mysaria sat upon a chair, looking out of her window. Bottles and goblets cluttered her desks and draws.

She turned her eyes to him, Daemon froze on the spot and wished he was anywhere else but here.

“Shut the door.” She commanded. Daemon did as she said. “Sit down.” He sat down in an empty chair, still some distance away from her “I should kill you, I should take a dagger and cut your throat.” Daemon said nothing, instead his eyes looked to the ground, feeling as though he was a child being scolded.

“I-”

“Don’t.” she pointed a finger at him, her platinum hair was fraying at the seams, her clothes were tattered and eyes red. “I swear to every God in existence, if you ask for forgiveness, I shall send you back to your fucking mother and father.”

Daemon flinched at the remark.

‘Do not speak of them.’

Daemon did not speak, instead continuing to listen.

Tears now ran down her cheek, her lips quivered and hand shook “How- how could you, Daemon?”

Daemon wanted nothing more than to run to Mysaria and embrace her, whisper a hundred different apologises to her and promise that he’ll do everything to make up for it.

I wasn’t the one who did it…

I would never betray you…

‘You would have gotten us killed then.’

SHUT UP.

“I…” what could he say? What could he say to make this better. “I-”

“You were my friend, Daemon.” She told him, venom and grief oozing from her voice “I trusted you. And you betrayed me.”

“Mysaria, if there is anything I can do make things right-”

“You. Betray. Me.” She told him. “You have betrayed me! Left me a widow and now my child without a father! Why? Did you fear I would tell on your plans? Did you trust me so little? I was a fool to place my trust in you.” She stood up from the chair, stumbling slightly. Daemon wanted to reach out and grab her “I curse you, Daemon; curse the day I met you and curse myself for believing you to be a friend of mine!”

She stood over him “Forgive me, My-” Mysaria lunged at him, Daemon quickly stood up and took her hands, holding her back as she struggled to attack him.

“Argh!” she exclaimed, collapsing to the floor, holding her stomach, wincing from an immense pain.

Daemon knelt down beside her, panic gripping him, “Help!” he called out “HELP!”

She lost the child.

Daemon sat completely stiff, the food on his plate almost untouched as the other lords and ladies around him chatted, sang and revelled in song and celebration. Jesters and singers played in the centre of the tables, completely oblivious to what was going through his head.

I thought Cya could help her… I thought…

His eyes turned to Rhea, sat relaxed in her chair, her pregnant stomach stretching her dress.

She lost her husband and her child…

“Daemon.” Rhea placed her hand on his lap, a look of concern on her face “Are you well?”

No, I’m not.

“I’m feeling a bit ill, but I should be well.” Daemon tells her, putting on a false smile. “I am not feeling so hungry at the moment.”

Rhea could see through him “What happened?” she asked, she knew he had gone to see Mysaria, but he never had the chance to tell her. Only rushing back to the Red Keep, hoping to not draw attention to Mysaria.

Daemon blinked “We shall speak later on, I promise.” He said to her. Rhea nodded her head and went back to her meal. Looked to his other side to see Baelor and Rhaegal eating their meal, Laena and Laenor next to them as he and Jon chatted away.

He wondered if anyone would notice if he went away, he needed to get away. To be somewhere quiet, somewhere to gather his thoughts, somewhere-

A clinging of glass got the attention of those in the hall. Viserys had stood up from his seat, Otto seated next to him with Alicent next to him. Corlys on the other side with Rhaenys. “If I could have your attention.” His brother called out “I thank you all for your attendance, today we celebrate the return of those brave houses who have cleared the Stepstones and claimed them as dominion of the throne!” a rousing round of cheers echoed around the room. “And it is my pleasure to announce this; from here till the end of time, House Velaryons will be granted the title as Warden of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones placed under their stewardship!” another round of applause from those around the tables, Viserys looked towards Corlys “My Lord Corlys, I know that you shall serve faithfully and that House Velaryon will serve my House dutifully as they have done since the Doom.”

“You honour me, your Grace.” Corlys smiled.

“I would also like to offer thanks to my Lord-hand.” Viserys declared “It was through his diplomacy and wit that we have created a peace with the Dornish, I am sure one day the dream of Aegon the conqueror will be complete.”

A more graceful and calm round of applause followed.

Viserys then turned to Daemon, it felt as if the air had been snatched from his lungs as all eyes fell upon him “And finally, we should give thanks to my brother.” Viserys smiled “It was through his plans, his wit, his bravery and his strength that more of then men who had gone to war was able to come back to their families! If anyone had told me that a man had went back to save his men, destroyed a enemy fleet, seized an island without losing a single man and defeated the enemy fleet in one night, I would have called him a liar. But coming from my brother… I know it to be true” he looked around the hall as other nodded their heads “My brother is a hero, a Targeryen who will be written in the history book and in songs!”  

Daemon wanted to shrink into his seat. Yet he could feel deep down the widen pool of pride growing deeper as it wanted for more.

“Please, my lords and ladies, raise your cups for my brother.” Viserys declared “For Prince Daemon, for Daemon ’The Good!”

Those in the hall began to cheer out the name, the name of which his memory had told him was given to by the men who he saved. Yet here they were cheering him on, declaring him as such because of the victories ‘he’ won on the battlefield. 

Not for the good he did for others. But for what he achieved for their gain instead. 

In that moment, the pool of pride in his chest soured into jealousy, yet he did not know if it was Daemon’s or his; yet both agreed. They wish they could have switched places for just those moments.

“Daemon ‘The Good’”

“Daemon ‘The Good’”

“DAEMON ‘THE GOOD’”

Chapter Text

If I could go my entire life without seeing another map of those fucking islands then I will die a happy man.

Daemon sighed lightly as he watched Corlys stand over a large map of the Stepstones; his brother had kept himself occupied with Otto in handling some matters regarding about the realm of which Daemon didn’t know and wasn’t interested finding out about until needed, such was his exhaustion. He focused inside himself.

‘More than like, he is worming the idea of marrying Alicent to him…’ The voice was bitter in it’s thought, not completely unexpected.

And he will have our blessing if he does so.

That was met with a burning pain in his chest, though surprising not as painful as he had expected.

I see you have accepted it.

‘I am not foolish enough to stand against the combined power of Corlys and that Leech, whatever dream I had died a long time ago.’

So be it.

He focuses back at the scene in front of him, the thoughts of Daemon now growing distant.

“As agreed upon with the Lord-Hand and for the service of lords Bryden and Gwayne during the campaign, they shall be rewarded governance over the island of Sunstone.” Corlys announced to the room of lords, each one having participated in the conflict with him. “Of course this comes with the responsibility of having to keep an eye on those Dornish snakes when they enter our domain.”

“We shall perform our duties diligently, my Lord.” Bryden spoke, standing in his father stead.

“I know you shall.” Corlys looked around “The next shall go to my near nephew, Vaemond.” All eyes falling on the man, he was of middling age. “For his efforts in securing the island know as the Grey Gallows, he shall be granted it’s stewardship.”

“I thank you, my lord uncle.” Vaemond said with a bow.

“And I hear you have already thought of a new name for the island.” Corlys smiled “Ithaca was it?” Daemon resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

These guys really love that story…

“At the request of Lord Redwyne, his brother Lord Aladore and his sons, shall inherit ‘The Skulls’ now to be name ‘The Wyne rock.” Corlys said “Lord Grafton’s cousin, Lord Lucos, shall take ‘Old shores’ south of Sunstone.” He looked over to the other lords, the more powerful ones who were becoming more impatient. “Lords Baratheon’s brother, Lord Davos, shall be granted Wreckstone, the centre most island and the title of ‘Watcher of the Heart.’”

‘A clever idea, a bulwark to watch Dornish ships…’

Daemon could not help but agree; when word returned of the agreement Otto had negotiated with the Dornish, many did not appreciate the idea of Dornish ships being able to patrol near their own shores, especially the Baratheons, granting them Wreckstone and the new title seemed like a good way to appease them and ease the other lords that a House that had every reason to hate the Dornish would keep a close on them.

“To the South, the Lord’s Manderly’s second son, Lord Watt, shall be granted Last Refuge.” Corlys said “North of that, Lord Bartimos Celtigar’s second son, Lord Arthor, shall be granted the island of ‘Torturer's Deep’ though it shall henceforth be known as ‘The White Cliffs.’” Daemon’s eyes shifted to another in the crowd, two people whom he had interest in. “And Dark Den shall be granted to the son of Lord Gunthor Royce, Guncer Royce.”

You owe me, Gunthor…

Gunthor glanced over to Daemon, a slight nod in his direction before looking back to Corlys.

“My new lords, step forward.” Corlys commanded. The lords of whom Corlys had called out the names of and ‘officially’ granted the titles too stepped forward among the crowd of people, forming a straight line. “By accepting this from now till the end of time, you and those from our line after you shall serve faithfully House Velaryon as it’s bannermen, do you accept?”

A rhetorical question, this had all been agreed upon for weeks now, a mere formality.

But among the grouping of new lords was a prominent and known absence. 

No Ironborn…

The raid of Myr had been a success; the city was lightly defended and with Rhaenys supporting the attackers they pushed deep into the city, allowing Royce and Velaryon men to raid the Glass guild as Corlys promised. Yet the Lord Paramount for the Islands fell in battle…

Now the islands are in disarray, squabbling over a successor… 

‘It will give those pirates something to do than raid.’

Daemon thought of a name, another character and major player in the Dance will never be born…

Dalton…

The newly made lords knelt before Corlys with their heads bowed “We accept, Lord Corlys.” They said in imperfect unison.

“Rise my lords.” Corlys commanded “You have my leave to go to your new fiefs and build your keeps, what tolls you need collect from the ships can be used for this for the period of a ten year period.” A light applause occurred.

A display of generosity, he knows he will never pay another copper in tolls, it matters not to him for now, once it is over he will only grow his wealth more and more, he can afford to wait.

‘For now, solidifying his hold over the islands is of upmost importance… something I had failed to do.’

It that humility?

‘It is something I had to learn, something I had to reckon with… isolation and knowledge can make a person go mad… or enlighten someone.’

Isn’t that the truth…

Daemon bit the side of his cheek, folding his arms as he watched the lords walk towards Corlys and take their individual oaths to him.

I’m sorry…

‘For what? Retaking my body?’

For all the times I had thrown you into that void… it was cruel of me…

‘I had do the same to you.’

I know, and it was awful; to be thrown into darkness not knowing when you will wake up… you already felt so powerless, and I only tortured you further… all while asking you to give me strength.

‘When you say it as that, you sound like a monster.’ Daemon taunted him, a solemn feeling washed over him Forgive me for doing the same…

You don’t need to ask for my forgiveness… I only wish that YOU could ask for forgiveness from that child you had used!

‘It was not my fault, an arrow-’

And I wish that YOU could have apologised to Mysaria for what you had done… 

If almost felt like a relief to finally voice this and know that Daemon was listening to him this time, to actually have this conversation, even if the idea of being able to talk to him didn’t make him question his own sanity.

Daemon stayed silent, Daemon tried to focus inside himself further only to be met with further quiet. He pulled back and focus backed onto the ceremony before him.

“In defence of the realm’s new territory I shall being gifting all of you a portion of galleys from my navy.” Corlys announced “I am confident that the Triarchy will pose no threat to us in the immediate future, further more I am confident that our hold over the Narrow Sea shall outlast that greedy merchant nation.” Daemon could see Corlys puff our his chest, ever so brazen in his ambition. “This, my new bannermen, is a new era!”

This… is uncharted territory.

Daemon paced back and forth in the hall of his family’s apartments, his hands behind his back. His footsteps must have worn out the carpet yet he did not care. In the background, behind their bedroom door he could hear Rhea cries muffled only by the door between them.

I should be in there with her.

‘She would only demand you leave.’ Bring back the memory of Baelor’s birth, how he went into the room during it only to be berated by Rhea in between further and curses.

He thought of his sons; likely Laenor and Laena were keeping them occupied with Rhaenyra somewhere in the Red Keep, away from this. He had been a nervous wreck during the birth of both Baelor and Rhaegal, this one was no different.

Each time the thought of Rhea dying had circled in his mind; even if she would avoid the ‘hunting accident’ he was not sure if she might die here and now.

Another sharp cry from the other side of the door only punctuated his thoughts.

Gods what have I done, I should have advised her to take moon-tea regularly, we already have two children.

‘Hold fast, Imposter.’ Daemon told him. He could now feel the strength flowing in him, he wanted to reach out and grab it, to indulge in it as he had before. Yet he held back.

No, I can’t… a terrifying thought entered his mind, one he had theorised while in isolation during those months when Daemon was in control.

Suddenly the sharp cries from Rhea were replaced by a new one, a shrill cry. From a baby.

Daemon felt his legs buckle and almost fell to his knees, gripping the chair next to him to stand. The door opened, Maester Runciter left the room “My Prince.” Daemon sprinted towards the door to meet him.

“My wife, is she-”

“The Lady Rhea has finished her labours, the nurse-maids are now cleaning your daughter and wife." 

“My…” before he could even react to the news, he felt his body be filled with a tidal wave of pride, sweeping him off his feet and away, all of which given by his other-self.

Gael…

‘MY daughter.’

Daemon wanted nothing more than to banish him in that moment, trying to lay claim to her before he had even held her. “Take me to her.” He asked Runciter, the Maester moved out of the way and pointed towards the bed, the maid-nurses now handing an exhausted Rhea a baby wrapped in a bundle of fine cloth, the smell of lavender hung in the air. 

“I shall alert his grace and your family.” Maester Runciter said, before leaving the room.

He tepidly walked forward, Rhea only glanced at him for a moment smiling before looking back their daughter.

‘MY daughter.’  

Once more he shook away the thought, pulling Daemon back, a rough reminder without breaking his promise to him.

“Daemon…” she whispered, her voice hoarse, he could see the sweat on her face and the tears in her eyes. “A girl…”

“Our little Gael.” He replied. Kneeling beside her, whiskers of platinum hair spilled out of the cloth wrapped around her head and her skin was almost as pales as Daemon and her eyes were a deep lilac. “A proper Targeryen Princess this one is.” Daemon said through a laugh stifled by his own choking tears.

“She had my nose.” Rhea said, the two laughed as Daemon placed his head upon hers. “She’s perfect…”

“I know…”

“We should savour this moment, no doubt his Grace and everyone else will want to hold and dote over her when they arrive.” Rhea said.

Daemon traced his finger lightly on her nose.

‘You will do right by her, imposter… so help me, I-’

Never doubt I would not do anything for my children.

The patter of running feet caught their attention as both Baelor and Rhaegal ran into the room “My lords, do not run!” one of the maids yelled to them. Daemon chuckled as they quickly stopped beside him, trying to glimpse their new siblings.

Baelor tried to pick up Rhaegal up for him to see, Daemon stood up and picked Rhaegal up “Boys, meet you sister, Gael.” He told them “We named her after my aunt.” He felt his heart break, finally fulfilling a promise to Alysanne.

“She has my hair.” Rhaegal said softly, pointing at his sister.

“Yes she does.” Daemon smiled.

“But she has eyes like mine!” Baelor proclaimed proudly.

“It matters not, she is a Royce just like both of you.” Rhea said.

The family had but a couple moments for themselves before more footsteps entered the room, Viserys and Rhaenyra both entered the room with a maid behind them carrying Alyssa in her arms, Kingsguard standing by the door. Baelor bowed his head, Daemon set down Rhaegal on the ground who did the same thing.

“Your Grace.” Daemon said.

“Please, none of that, Daemon.” He said, waving away the honorific as he embraced his brother before then placing a hand on his nephews’ shoulders. “Congratulations boys.”

“We thank you, your Grace.” They both said.

“Now, the little one.” Viserys said looking at Gael. Rhea handed the baby to Daemon who carefully placed it in Viserys arms “Ah, what a precious little one you are, all the makings of a Targeryen Princess this one.” He jested, he looked to Rhaenyra standing near him “Come Rhaenyra, hold your cousin.”

Rhaenyra looked to him and held out her arms, taking Gael into her arms and holding her close to her chest “She is beautiful, Lady Royce, Prince Daemon.” In a formal tone.

“One day soon you will hold a child of your own in your arms.” Viserys said, placing a hand on her shoulder, Daemon the smile on her face lessen.

“I imagine that will not be for a while.” Daemon quickly interjected “Let the Princess enjoy her youth before she is married, still so much to do and learn.”

“Ah of course.” Viserys said, “Ah, Alyssa come and see Gael.” The maid brought the young toddler to see her new cousin. Daemon watched the little girl reach out to his daughter, curious about her. Daemon swallowed, his throat feeling dry, now. He could see Aemma in both of her girls.

He felt his heart breaking are the edges as he desperately tried to hold it together, remembering what he had promised her.

I’ll look out for them, I promise I shall.

He his eyes fell back on Rhaenyra, he thought back to the first time he saw her; she was naught but the same age as Alyssa now. He remembered the feeling of want that Daemon had tried to reach through. How he hated him for that.

I feel nothing… You feel nothing now.

‘My dreams had died the day you changed the succession, the day Baelor was born.. and if you’re little ‘idea’ works, then there is no hope in either I nor my blood sitting that throne… even if I take back my body… even if my Aegon or Viserys are born to her.’

Was that all Rhaenyra was to you? Not you niece? Your family? Just the instrument to power?

‘My Queen and I her Consort. The mother to my sons!’

Only because she was the heir, you wanted what she could give you, because she would follow you. Unlike Rhea.

‘Rhaenyra needed me, to defeat our enemies.’

Being there for someone does mean using them for your own gain.

‘No in your eyes it only means grovelling beneath their feet, doesn’t it, imposter?’

Daemon bent down slightly and picked up Gael into his arms again, before placing her back with Rhea who held Gael close to her chest.

Even now, you still don’t get it.

Daemon stayed silent, from the irritation flickering in heart, no doubt not wanting to continue their conversation. He sat on the bed next to Rhea, placing Baelor upon the edge of the bed and Rhaegal on his knee.

“Uncle Daemon, will you be leaving soon?” Rhaenyra asked, the question catching both Daemon and Rhea off guard.

“Will we be leaving soon?” Baelor asked. “Can we stay a bit longer?”

“Can we? Can we?” Rhaegal repeated excitedly.

“Did you like staying with your cousins?” Daemon asked teasingly, though both nodded their heads enthusiastically.

“It would be a pleasure for you all to stay in the capital a bit longer.” Viserys said.

Daemon looked at Rhea, she looked back at him, the two contemplating it. “We haven’t yet given it some thought, and we may need to return to Runestone.”

“I am sure a few more months will not go amiss, mayhaps even a year!.” Viserys said “I am sure Lord Arnold can take care of Runestone with Lady Perra in your absence, he will need it if he is to inherit the Vale.”

“We shall think on it, for now we can stay if only until I recover.” Rhea said.

“Excellent!” Viserys proclaimed, clapping his hands together. “The house of the Dragon must remain united, I am sure even Laenor and Laena will be pleased by this.”

Daemon smiled, once more trying to bask in the moment with his family as they doted over their new addition. And yet in his mind, an intrusive thought entered his mind. One he did not know was his own or his other-self as he lied up certain dates in his head.

Here, cradled in cloth…is your key to the North…

Daemon played with his hands, he didn’t know why but he could feel his nerve and he wasn’t sure why; he had known Alicent for over ten years now and yet this felt so strange, clicking at the joints between his fingers, the clicking distracting his mind for just brief seconds.

‘Didn’t your mother tell you doing that would give you- art- art-right-‘

Arthritis, and keep her memory out of your mouth. 

Daemon clenched his fist, he still could not get use to it, now hearing his voice in his head. 

‘As you had treated my memories with such reverence and respect?’ Daemon rolled his eyes and placed his hands on his lap.

The door to his apartment opened, a maid opening the door for Alicent who tepidly walked towards him before coming to a halt “My Prince.” She said, bowing her head to him, she was dressed in a lovely woven dress of black and red threads.

‘Of course that damned lickspittle would have asked her to dress as such.’ Daemon spat harshly, clearly harbouring the animosity that he would have had in another life. 'He truly can not help himself.'

A clear move, telling those around court that she will be… Viserys wife….

Daemon stood up from his seat “Lady Alicent, please sit down.” he said pointing politely to the seat opposite to him, a table of finely polished wood separating them. Alicent sat down, a trio of serving girls followed as they placed down cups and a tray of foods before pouring a red wine into their cups. Daemon took the cup and sipped it. “Arbor gold, a fine vintage." 

“My father had it imported from the Reach recently.” Alicent spoke, taking her cup gently “He had said you would enjoy it.”

‘Even now he wishes to curry favour, even though you are allies.’ Daemon remarked ‘Never a man to leave anything to chance.’

“Well, when you see him, give him my thanks for this.” Daemon replied, smiling as he placed the cup down. “It is good to be home again, well my old home.”

“We thank the Gods that you and the others were able to return to us, my Prince.” Alicent said “I know that my family and I are mightily relieved for the return of my brothers.”

Daemon nodded his head “Yes, Bryden and Gwanye were truly important to our war effort.” He said, his mind went back to the battle of Sunstone, how relieved he had felt to see them in the aftermath. “They had led the Hightower men with bravery, guile and honour and brought honour and glory to your House and father." 

Alicent smiled “I am pleased to hear as such.” She said “I shall miss them when they move to their new seats in the Stepstones.”

“It shall not be for some time, it will take years for them to raise keeps on the islands.” Daemon said “Though for now, they shall reap the profits of the Stepstones.”

“Lord Corlys is a generous man.” Alicent said.

Daemon immediately scoffed at that.

“Quite.” Daemon took a slice of apple from the tray, biting on it. “It will not be long before the announcement.” He said.

“Yes… my father has said that his Grace will announce the betrothal before the end of the week to the rest of the court.” Alicent said “Though whispers are already heard among many here.”

‘No doubt spread by Otto, making the announcement just a mere formality…’ Daemon remarked ‘Trying to show off his strength in court beforehand, he fears no competition.’

Daemon tried to ignore the commentary made by his other-self. “Yes I have heard.” He said “That will make us family soon.” He placed his hands on his lap “Forgive me for this intrusion, Lady Alicent, but how is your relationship with my niece?”

Alicent took in a deep breath “The Princess Rhaenyra and I, we remain fast friends; the loss of her mother is still very painful for her…”

“Yes, her Grace Aemma’s passing was… it hurt us all.” Daemon said “I thank you for being at Rhaenyra’s side during those difficult times, for being her friend.” He smiled warmly “How have my sons been acting in my absence? All those around them say they have behaved well but I shall have an opinion that isn’t influenced by those weak to their puppy eyes.”

Alicent giggle at the jest “Honest, my Prince, your sons have been well behaved and dutiful to their family in you and Lady Rhea’s absence, a testament to their upbringing.”

Daemon smirked “Good, that pleases me.” Daemon leaned forward and offered out his hand.

‘Gods, must we do this?’

Quiet.

Alicent, hesitantly reached out her hand and placed it into his “Alicent… I know that, this is… well I am sure many would dream to become Queen but I can only imagine the thought to be quite overwhelming and daunting.”

Alicent was silent for a moment “It is… quite the change, my Prince.” She replied. “I had- I had known Aemma for almost my entire life, I do not wish to feel as though I am trying to replace her in Rhaenyra’s heart or anyone else’s.”

“You are not, Aemma will always be dear to us, all of us.” Daemon said softly “No one shall hold dislike or judgement in your heart, and if they do then they shall have to speak to me.” He jested, lightening the mood once more. “I had meant it when I said you are family, though you have always been a part of our lives for longer.” Daemon squeezed her hand “I promise you, I shall always be on your side, I shall always seek to aid you when you desire… and when the day comes, I shall support you and your children for as long as the Gods can allow me.”

He could see tears welling up in her eyes as she squeezed his hand back, desperate to keep them from falling, failing as one rolled down her cheek. 

Daemon stood up from his seat and walked around the table, opening up his arms; wanting nothing more than the comfort the little girl he had known for many years. 

Alicent stood and embraced him, Daemon felt his chest burn with irritation for a moment before flickering away as he patted her on the back gently. “Thank you, my Prince.” 

"I promise to you, everything shall be well." 

Chapter Text

A gust of wind swept brushed against his face, there was familiarity to it all; the last time he travelled through the Blackwater bay had been a mix of either good or bad, mainly bad. Daemon leaned against the railing of the galley, a gift from Corlys which he nicknamed ‘Hermes.’ He wanted to roll his eyes when Corlys told him. Though he could see Rhaenys had done it for him.

“I swear cousin, I will take residence in King’s Landing till death if I must hear about that damned story of yours in High Tide's walls.”

Just ahead of him, he could hear his sons running around on the deck, chasing each other with wooden swords; Baelor was entertaining his brother and Alyssa. Rhaegal chased Baelor around with their cousin following just behind them, plodding along just a couple steps behind him as Baelor ran circles around them. What game they were playing he did not know, all that mattered was that they were content.

A shadow was cast over them, the wings of Seasmoke blocking the sun for but the briefest of moments as Laenor and his dragon flew, swinging to the side, just in line with the side as Seasmoke glided in the air.

Show off.

“There goes my brother again.” He heard a voice say, he turned to see Laena behind him. She was now a young woman; strikingly beautiful, tall figure with her long hair coiled down to her waist. He could see why Daemon had wanted her… yet all he could see was the little girl who was excited for him to read stories to Laenor and her. “You think he is showing off?”

“Oh absolutely.” Daemon jested as he watched Seasmoke swirling around in the air “Displaying his skill before you tame your own dragon.” He looked back at Laena who watched her brother. A feeling of loss and want just seeping into his heart.

‘Baela… Rhaena… forgive me.’

Daemon clenched his teeth.

He heard some feet scamper up to them, Baelor tried in vain to stand tall as he presented himself to them. “Princess Laena.” He said, with all the authority a child of ten and one name days could muster, his brother Rhaegal and Alyssa behind him.

We have our Baela and Rhaena, they live through them.

“Lord Baelor.” Laena smiled at him, Daemon felt a little relieved that the two had struck a nice friendship. Laena was not too pleased being betrothed to someone so young as Baelor, and Baelor to her; a number of times he had to reassure both that it will not be some time till their marriage and only when Baelor reached ten and eight. 

“You- look beautiful, Pri-ncess, Princess.” Baelor said, trying his best to act older than he was, and attempting to speak to her using Valyrian; he had taken an interest in the language, his tongue was rough but attitude diligent and determined. 

“You are too kind, my lord.” Laena giggled, finding the compliment cute. "You are getter better." she told him in Valyrian. 

Daemon leaned down slightly, placing a hand on Baelor’s shoulder; he hated seeing his son try to act older than he was.

‘He will be a man soon.’

He is a child, let him be a child.

‘What difference does it make if he is ten and six or ten and eight?’

It makes every difference, were you the same person you were when you were sixteen and then eighteen?

‘I will never know.’

That struck Daemon in the gut, his other-self has not needed to left a finger to hurt him and yet, he felt nothing but guilt coursing through him.

It’s eighteen and no sooner, Corlys owes me that much in this agreement.

“Baelor, why not take the others to the kitchen, I am sure they would like to try the lemon cakes the cooks have prepared.” He suggested, both Rhaegal and Alyssa tugged on his clothes eagerly at the sound of it. Baelor took their hands and led them away, glancing back at him and Laena before he went inside.

“He is growing into a fine man, uncle.” Laena said.

“He is still a child, Laena.” Daemon said “I know you haven’t been to pleased with this match but… I thank you for being his friend.”

“I was his friend the moment he could walk.”

“That is true, it does not feeling that long ago it was you and Laenor were the ones he and Rhaenyra were following around.” Daemon reminded her “I want you to know that I am sorry, that you could not be allowed to tame Vhagar.”

“You need not apologise, uncle; there was a time when I was disappointed in that, but I understand.” She said “Three dragon riders, one of them the mighty Vhagar, in the hands of a family whose own heir is still in line to inherit the crown… many of the lords would be paranoid to say the least.” She leaned against the railing “I do hope that Alicent’s child is a boy, if only for my brother to no longer will the pressure of the crown.”

“Some men would die to be the heir to the throne.”

“Laenor may die because he is heir, he hates the pressure placed upon him by mother and father because of it.” Laena remarked.

“Would you have wanted it?” he asked curiously.

“I would not dare think so highly of myself, but I believe I would have made a good Queen.” She smiled.

Daemon laughed “So which dragon do you have your eyes on?”

“Since I could not have the legendary Vhagar, I turned my attention to another mighty mount ridden by a Good Queen.” Laena said “Silverwing.”

It was only a few hours later did they finally reach Dragonstone, escorted to the castle gates they found Rhaenys standing upon it’s steps with Laenor beside her, a teasing grin on his face.

“Dear mother.” Laena said, greeting her with a polite embrace

“My daughter.” Rhaenys said, pulling away, turning her attention to Daemon as Laena took her place beside her “Dear cousin, and sweet nephews and niece.” She looked down to see them. “I hope your travels were pleasant.”

“Pleasant enough, good cousin.” Daemon said. “Perhaps we should take leave for the day and-”

“If I may, I would like to take to finding Silverwing now.” Laena said.

“Daughter, you have only just gotten to the island.” Rhaenys said.

“I came to Dragonstone to tame a dragon, mother.” Laena said “And that is what I shall do.”

“Hm, very well, Silverwing rests in the dragonpit with the others.” Rhaenys turned to the servants behind her “Bring her the riding leathers.”

It was not a moment later that the small group were now being led into the dragon cave built into the dragon mount. Rhaegal and Alyssa stayed behind, under the care of the castle servants. Daemon looked down, Baelor by his side.

“If you do not wish to come with us, that is fine.” Daemon assured him.

“No, I will go with you, grandfather once punched the great Balerion on the nose when he was a babe.” Baelor proclaimed “I can go down to see the dragons.”

‘He is a true Targeryen.” He heard Daemon say, pride swelling in his chest ‘Do not try to deny him his birthright, imposter.’

Shut up.

“Stay close to me.” Daemon told him as they tailed the group led by Laena and Rhaenys, dragonkeepers at their side. The caverns of Dragonstone looked more like large caves than the halls which held the dragons. Jagged dark rocks lined with deep scratch marks or the scars of flames with the heavy footprints of dragons either new or gone marking the path ahead.

“Silverwing should be through here, my lady.” A dragonkeeper said, carrying a torch in one hand. Daemon rested one hand on the handle of his sword, another placed protectively on Baelor’s shoulder. “Here.” The dragonkeeper stepped to the side, pointing politely to the dragon’s own cave.

Sleeping was a large dragon, it’s silver scales almost glinted as the light from the torch illuminated the cave. Daemon watched, scared and nervous, as Laena stepped forward. He wanted to jump forward and tell her not to.

How can Rhaenys watch her do this?

‘Do not doubt her, imposter.’

For a moment, Daemon stepped forward, letting go of Baelor as the urge to grab Laena and pull her back overtook him. Only to be overruled by Daemon.

‘Watch.’

Daemon did not know if he was speaking to him directly or…

The dragon’s eyes opened, a glint of sky blue in them as it raised it’s head to face Laena. Pass Daemon own concern he saw Laena fearlessly reach out to the dragon, placing a hand on it’s snout. The dragon hummed to her touch, leaning into her hand.

“Stand your ground.” Rhaenys told her. “You are it’s master.”

“Rub underneath it’s chin, dragon‘s tend to like that.” Laenor suggested in jest, earning a light slap on the arm by his mother.

“Dohaerātās, Silverwing.” Laena commanded, her voice oozing authority in the face of mystical death. “Dohaerātās, Silverwing.” She repeated “You shall obey me, follow my commands.” The dragon hummed once more, opening it’s mouth, it’s jagged teeth was like a thousand different long daggers all placed into a neat row. “I am the great-granddaughter of Queen Alysanne.” The dragon perked up slightly at the mention of it’s former master “Rȳbās, Silverwing.” She said “Obey me, as you had obeyed her.”

The dragon raised it’s body and head, standing my as much as it could do in this closed environment. The dragon looked down at all of them, but most of all at Laena who stood still and confident. Silverwing lowered it’s neck towards Laena as it accepted more affection of Laena, succumbing to it’s new master.

Daemon could only watch in amazement this.

Was it like this with you?

‘Not entirely, Caraxes was more resistant to me.’ Daemon searched his memories to verify such a claim ‘Truly you doubt me?’

Laena’s hand glided across Silverwing’s scales, Rhaenys behind her, no doubt immensely proud of her daughter taming such a legendary dragon.

“Perhaps we should take to the air, sister?” Laenor asked teasingly.

“I would enjoy defeating you and Seasmoke in a race.” Laena said, she turned to Daemon who smiled at her. The smile on her face dropping “Where is Baelor?”

Daemon looked to his side. His heart sinking through the ground

“Baelor?” he said, he frantically turned his head around “Baelor!” before anyone could utter a word he ran. Daemon ran down the halls of the cavern yelling his name “Baelor! Baelor! Where are you?!” Fear oozed from his voice and coursed through his veins.

In a cave filled with dragons, he had lost his son.

In the echoes of the cave he could hear Rhaenys commanding the dragonkeepers as Laenor and Laena also called out to him.

Daemon ran into a large vault, runic words written in High Valyrian decorated the walls and pillars seen only a dim torch light. There in the centre lay a monumentally large creature, light glinting from its bronze scales.

With Baelor placing his hand upon it’s chin as it looked at him with a deep hum from it’s throat.

‘Vermithor.’ There was a unrepentant glee in Daemon’s voice.

“Baelor!” Daemon ran up to them, scooping his son off the ground and away from the dragon, rushing back towards the caverns. Vermithor roared, the chains that held him rattling violently as it raised it’s head to the ceiling and spat out a torrent of flames against the ceiling.

“Do you have ANY idea how much danger you had put yourself into?!” Daemon questioned, Baelor sat in tears on a chair in the private office of their apartments. “Any at all? By the Gods Baelor, what would have happened if I had not shown up sooner? What would have happened if Vermithor was not docile? Gods forbid the worse had happened to you?”

“I- I just-” Baelor muttered, weeping ”I only wanted- I wanted to tame a dragon like Laena- like you.”

‘And he should.’

“I had told you before, you cannot.” Daemon said, he felt a pang of guilt in his heart looking at his son, quickly followed by a sudden grip of pain.

‘It is HIS right!’

Silence you!

“It is not fair.” Baelor said “Am I not your son? Am I not a Targeryen? I too should ride a dragon!”

“You are my son.” Daemon told him. “But you are a Royce, the heir to Runestone.” Daemon sighed “Do you know why you cannot have a dragon?” Baelor did not answer him, only looking at Daemon silently, pouting. “If too many houses get dragons then who is to say that fighting will not happen?”

“I am not a traitor!” Baelor yelled.

“I’m not saying you are!” Daemon shot back “What if decades from now another Royce lord decides they wants the Eyrie? Or the Throne? And they have dragons? What will happen? War. That is what will happen; thousands would be dying, towns and villages destroyed and people suffering because we allowed that to happen.”

“They let Laena have a dragon, the Velaryons have dragons” he mumbled harshly.

“And it almost led to war.” Daemon said “Do you know why Laenor and Rhaenyra are to marry? Why you and Laena are to? It was to keep them in check. So that House Velaryon would not wage war against us, or stop anyone with ideas of such.” Daemon shut his eyes. “I should have told you this sooner… I shouldn’t have let you in the dragonpit with us.”

‘You CRAVEN… you seek to hold him back as you had done me.’ Daemon spat ‘You should be proud of him!’

“Can you just shut up?” he said out loud, only catching himself too late, he looked at Baelor who looked at him confused. “Pardon me for that, I had not wish to aim that at you, head to your quarters; you shall remain there for the rest of this visit.”

“Father-”

“I will not hear otherwise, now go, be thankful I do not tell your mother of this, her wroth would be far greater than mine” He commanded, Baelor scowled at him before leaving his solar.

Daemon slumped into his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘How is it that my son has more courage than you, Imposter?’

He is NOT your son! I raised him!

‘Only because you had stolen that chance from me!’

He never would have been born if you had your way from the beginning! You believe you can claim what was done by MY choices, what was done by ME, when you were nothing at this point! You said it yourself, you were nothing and it was your own doing!

Daemon felt a sharp strike of pain hit his chest, forcing him to lurch forward before Daemon went silent.

Even after all these years, all you know, you still act like a child-

Daemon clenched his fist and shut his eyes, a realisation dawning on him.

“Fuck…”

The Grand Hall was packed to the brim, those who were in court or in the capital who were of note was asked to attend the occasion. Daemon were stood at the front, so close to the Iron throne with the other members of the Small council and their families, others waiting behind them.

“How long will he keep us waiting?” Rhea said, holding Gael close to her chest, rocking her ever so gently. News of Alicent’s labours had reached the ears of the Small council first, yet rumours quickly spread across the castle, no doubt from the maids, nurse-maids and attendants from Runciter. All was there, except from Viserys and his family. And Otto.

Daemon turned to look at Corlys, his hands was placed over the shoulders of Laenor and Laena firmly with Rhaenys beside them, the family dressed richly befitting their House… Or as Corlys would have liked to show up. There was a smile on his face; he had the look of a man who was seeing his long plans slowly coming to fruition.

“Make way for the Hand!” a crier declared, the attendants cut a path at the centre of the Hall, guards forming a clear path to the throne, as Otto made his way from the entrance and towards the Throne. Daemon looked at him, the two glancing at each other’s eyes. A smile much like Corlys’ graced his face.

‘Everything he wanted… given to him so freely…’

Otto stood just before the steps of the Throne “My lords, Ladies and attendants!” he declared “I thank you all for your attendance for this grand occasion!” He said, looking around the room “Today, within the year one hundred and one after the Conquest, we welcome the birth of a new member of the Royal family, of a Prince who shares the Conqueor's name!” there was a loud burst of cheers and applause at the news before they were silenced “It is with the greatest of honour that I may present to you all, His Grace King Viserys Targeryen and Queen Alicent Hightower, along with Princesses Rhaenyra and Alyssa. And finally our new Prince, the new Prince of Dragonstone, and heir to the Throne, Prince Aegon Targeryen!”

Viserys entered the hall, Alicent next to him as she held their son, Rhaenyra and Alyssa behind them, holding each other’s hand. The guards lifted their blades up into the air, crossing the blades by their tips as Viserys and his family walked towards the throne. His eyes watched Viserys’ wide and Alicent’s polite smile, yet they quickly fell upon Rhaenyra; her head held up high as she walked with her sister closely.

Forgive me, Rhaenyra…

Members of the small council congratulated Viserys and Alicent politely, yet none more so happily than Corlys. Viserys turned to Daemon, approaching him and taking him into a deep embrace. “Congratulations, brother, my Queen.” He said to Alicent.

“Many thanks to you, my Prince.” Alicent said, she walked to her father who took Aegon into his arms, no doubt a proud grandfather among other things. Viserys waved at those attending as the guards left the hall.

“I thank you all for your attendance.” He told those in the room. “We are blessed to live within a this period of time when we are receiving more and more good news, the Gods have been good, after the many hardships we have all faced.” Viserys offered his hand  to Rhaenyra who held it, Alyssa toddling to Viserys’ legs, holding it. “We welcome yet another member to our growing family; it is with great honour that I present my son and heir, Prince Aegon!”

Otto handed him Aegon, Viserys taking the baby into her arms as those in the hall cheered loudly for a moment before Alicent took him from him.

“I would like to honour House Velaryon.” He said looking to them “A show of support for Prince Laenor, who had done his duty to the realm as Heir faithfully for near a decade, I do not doubt that he would have made a great king if given the chance.” Those in the room clapped politely as Corlys patted his son on the shoulder. “And let me use this opportunity to reiterate the Crown’s support to the Treaty, the realm is strong when the great Valyrian houses of Targeryen and Velaryon are united, when the blood of the Targeryen is united; with the birth of my son I swear that a daughter from the line of my dear cousin Princess, from the line of my dear uncle Prince Aemon, will wed my son.” he declared. “We will have peace in our realm for many a generation!”

Once more the crowd of people broke out in rapturous applause, just in the distance, as if a mere echo, Daemon could hear the bells toll in the city to mark his nephew’s birth.

In his mind the images of war, of bloodshed, slaughter and death began to fade away; he was so close now to achieving his goal, so close to making sure the Dance would not happen, to protecting his family and those he cared about.

Only one more thing remained, one piece of the puzzle.

He looked at Laenor who applauded politely before his eyes moved back to Rhaenyra who stood by the throne, her hands in front of her.

It has to be yours… both of yours, you deserve that much. After everything I had done to you both, after what I am going to put you through. All for the sake of peace. Of a plan I had made.

Behind his guilt was something else though, a thought that was calculating, that he did not want to hear but was voiced to him regardless.

‘Both of them could be dangerous players in the game.’ Daemon said, it was akin to a whisper in his ear ‘Having their daughter wed Aegon… removes their threat and gives them stake in this treaty.’ It felt as if a hand was gripping his heart ‘Have I ever said you are good at planning, Imposter?’

I think once before.

‘You keep surprising me, now all that is left is how to stop my dear niece from having bastard children, I will not hope your ‘idea’ succeeds.’

You want a daughter of Baelor to wed Aegon.

‘Of course.’ Daemon said ‘What does it matter to you, in the end, you win.’

No, I haven’t won just yet.

Chapter Text

“Naejot!, Seasmoke!” Laenor commanded, striking the dragon with his whip, from up at the sky it looked as though King’s Landing was naught more but thousands of tiny dollhouses and castles all pushed together into a city. Laenor whipped Seasmoke again, urging the dragon to move faster, soaring through the clouds as water patted against his face.

His eyes drifted towards the Red Keep, Laenor gripped the handles of his saddle just a little more tighter.

In another life… this would have been my city. I would have been King.

If not for the air, the thought had been him shudder; ever since that day when he was a boy, when both he and Laena were made Prince and Princess, he learnt quickly what was expected of him. No longer was he the heir to Driftmark and High Tide, he was the heir to the throne. His lessons became harder, his training more intense and the expectations of his father and mother even more so.

Ever since he could remember he prayed to the Gods that his uncle Viserys would have a son, it was a relief when that day finally came. Yet still there remained one more task he had to reckon with, one more expectation of him.

They will be making the last preparations for tomorrow.

Every minute he got closer and closer towards the day that he dreaded, the one that was out of his control, that was decided for him and had to be fulfilled. As were the wishes of an agreement made when he was naught but a child, the wishes of the King, the wishes of the Realm. And the wishes of his mother and father.

All their wishes except his. Or Rhaenyra.

No doubt she hates this too.

He turned away, shutting his eyes, savouring the cool morning air that flowed into his nose and against his skin. He wished only he could stay in this moment a bit longer. He sighed “Tegot, Seasmoke!” he commanded “It is time we return.”

When Seasmoke landed upon the ground with a loud thud, a score of dragonkeepers rushed to him, tending to his dragon as he dismounted from his back.

“My Prince.” A dragonkeeper greeted him, bowing his head. “We shall take care of your dragon from here.” A group of them leading Seasmoke into the large entrance of the Dragonpit.

“You have my thanks.” He told the man, the dragonkeeper bowed his head and quickly aided the others, his eyes fell upon a carriage waiting from him. A familiar face standing guard, dressed in Velaryon livery with his hand resting upon the hand of his sword. Laenor smiled widely “Ser Malcolm!” he called out.

Malcolm smiled at Laenor “Prince Laenor, good to see you are well.” Offering his hand.

Laenor took his hand, squeezing it. “Of course, Ser.” He winked “Come, we mustn’t keep them waiting.” Laenor climbed into the carriage, Malcolm behind him, closing the door. And then the curtains. Laenor tapped his fist against the window of the carriage “Ready!” he called out. The wheels of the carriage moved as the horses plodded forward.

Malcolm gently held Laenor’s face and kissed him, Laenor placing his hand on his lap, caressing it. “I am glad you’re back.”

“You worry about me too much.” Laenor jested.

“I am your sworn sword, it is my duty to guard you.” Malcolm retorted in jest “And can a man not worry about the person he loves?”

Laenor huffed and looked to the floor, taking Malcolm’s hand, before peering through the curtain; outside the roads were busier than usual with merchants and peasants selling their wares or moving boxes as the city guards made their presence known.

“It will be a weeks’ worth of feasts and tourneys.” Malcolm said “I have plans to enter into the joust myself, I would do well to represent you as your champion in these tournaments.”

Laenor snickered “You are already wearing my favour, you are my sworn shield.” Looking down to the Velaryon colours on his leather jerkin “I could think of no greater knight to stand on my behalf.” He said finishing it with a kiss.  He looked behind him at the Dragonpit growing more distance by the second. “I will be back there soon enough…” muttering.

Malcolm squeezed his hand “You should have seen it, must have been an army of servants and dragonkeepers all pouring in an out of the pit with chairs and tables, some were not brave enough to enter until you had finished.” Laenor pouted “It shall be fine.”

He looked at Malcolm’s eyes, so full of hope. It had felt so misplaced.

“I am exhausted.” Laenor admitted; it had been days of preparations and small feasts to greet the visitors, hardly a moment to himself. Or with Malcolm.

“It will be over soon.” Malcolm reassured him. “You need only get through this wedding.”

“Then what?” Laenor asked “Gods I am to be trapped in this loveless marriage and force to bed to my cousin Rhaenyra, even she is not eager for this.” He rubbed his cheek “Some days I curse my damned father, damned Otto and my damned uncle for arranging this marriage.” He looked to Malcolm “Maybe we should just run off, head back to the Dragonpit, climb upon Seasmoke and head for the Free Cities?”

Malcolm chuckled “I think my mother will be mightily upset with me.”

“I doubt my parents would be thrilled either.” Laenor laughed. “I couldn’t ask you to leave your mother and brothers.” Laenor gripped his hand tighter “Which reminds me, you haven’t yet chosen your new House yet.”

“I would rather have your one.” Malcolm jested, a sad look taking over his gaze.

“I wish that could be too.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep, a line of guards dressed in Targeryen colours greeted them, Malcolm stepping out of the carriage first, standing behind Laenor as he stepped down himself. “Welcome back, Prince Laenor.” One of the guards greeted him “I hope you found your excursion with your dragon enjoyable.”

“Much so.” Laenor stood tall. “I imagine my father will wish to see my before I get ready for the wedding.” It was the only reason he could think of as for the gaggle of guards to greet him.

“Pardon me, my Prince, but the Prince Daemon Targeryen has requested your presence in his solar for a moment.

Uncle? What would he need of me at this time? Perhaps he wishes to reminisce with me?