270 AC
Daemon Pov
It had been a year since I became Barry's squire. Each day began at the crack of dawn, with Barry setting me on a grueling routine. I'd run around the courtyard until my legs felt like lead, then spend hours relentlessly hacking away at a training dummy. Initially, the prospect of mastering the sword thrilled me, but now it had become monotonous—a repetitive cycle with little variation.
After enduring Barry's rigorous training, it was Tywin's turn to put me through the wringer. He'd taken it upon himself to educate me about the intricacies of the kingdoms, a responsibility that Grandmaester Pycelle seemed to have delegated to him entirely. Save for the occasional small council meetings, I hardly ever saw Pycelle. By the time Tywin was done with me, I had little energy left for anything else.
In the beginning, it was a struggle, but I persevered. Now, it had become routine—a relentless grind that I endured day after day.
But amidst all this, my father, the King, seemed to be the one truly enjoying life. The man was occupied with his debauchery, indulging in liaisons with my mother's ladies-in-waiting in the maze he owned in the city. Mother lamented that he was busy turning her attendants into whores. I rarely caught sight of him, but whenever we did cross paths, he appeared pleased with my progress.
Then there was Rhaegar. Without the weight of the prophecy of the Prince that was Promised, he lacked motivation to wield a sword. However, after Father's scathing remarks, he sobered up quickly. Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, put him through rigorous training. Unlike me, who balanced martial lessons with Barry and intellectual pursuits with Tywin, Rhaegar's days were filled solely with practice, practice, and more practice. He seldom had the luxury of retreating to the library, and his resentment towards me grew, eclipsing even his animosity towards Father.
Rhaegar never cared for crowds, but as he begrudgingly attended courtyard training sessions, he unwittingly drew the attention of the sons of various lords. He seemed increasingly vexed by their presence. The disdainful glances they cast my way paled in comparison to the glare of the Griffin himself. I could swear that Jon Connington was giving me the equivalent of a stink eye, a silent challenge lurking behind his gaze.
Currently, I found myself seated in the small council chamber, the session unfolding with the conspicuous absence of Aerys.
"Steffon has sent his son to foster in the Vale, and Rickard Stark has done the same with his second son," the Grand Maester reported.
The damned STAB alliance would undoubtedly prove troublesome, but this time, I resolved to ensure that Rhaegar didn't fuck around.
"The Tyrells will be arriving in the city soon, along with the new Lord of Highgarden to swear his oaths to the king. I expect the city to be in order," Tywin asserted.
Two moons prior, a raven had arrived from Highgarden, bearing news of the demise of Luthor Tyrell, Mace's father.
The man met his end while hawking, riding off a cliff. Father nearly choked on his drink, unable to contain his laughter at the absurdity of his death. The other small council members remained silent, knowing well the volatile nature of Aerys.
I had already begun sending ravens to Robert and Stannis, fostering a sense of camaraderie amongst us, hoping to quell any seeds of rebellion that might sprout in the future.
And with Mace Tyrell soon to grace the capital alongside his formidable mother, the Queen of Thorns, and his sisters, I saw an opportunity to forge a bond with him as well.
"After the Tyrells depart, the king has expressed his desire to journey to Dorne with the royal family," Tywin announced. "He intends to discuss with the Princess of Dorne the construction of an underwater canal to bring life to the deserts of Dorne."
I couldn't help but feel the urge to bash my head against a rock.
Say what you will about Aerys, but one thing was undeniable: the man was a dreamer. He harbored grand visions, especially his last scheme to construct a war fleet to 'bring the Titan to its knees'.
It was solely thanks to Tywin's astute vigilance that a faceless man hadn't snuck in to surprise Aerys.
After the departure of the Tyrells, my attention could shift to the Martells. My strategy to prevent the complete downfall of House Targaryen hinged on forging alliances with all the great houses.
The Seven have mercy, why couldn't I have been blessed with a dragon? With a flying nuke at my command, the majority of our problems would have vanished into thin air.
Alas, all I could do was grind away and hope for the best.
The knights of House Tyrell strode through the imposing gates of the Red Keep, their banners fluttering in the breeze, followed by a wheelbarrow.
As they approached, only Mother, Tywin, and I were there to greet them.
"Where is the King?" Mother's voice was barely a whisper, a hint of concern in her tone.
"The King is currently occupied in his manse," Tywin replied with his usual stoicism, though I could sense Mother's displeasure at the news.
"And where is the Crown Prince?" Tywin turned his gaze to her, expecting an answer.
"I do not know," Mother admitted softly, her frustration evident.
Rhaegar was proving to be more of a challenge than anticipated, his obliviousness to his future role as king a source of exasperation for all of us.
It's a damned miracle that the Targaryens still hold the throne of Westeros, especially with such lackluster rulers at the helm.
As the wheelbarrow came to a stop, the anticipation in the air was palpable. The doors creaked open, revealing Mace Tyrell emerging first, flanked by his two sisters and finally, their formidable mother, the Queen of Thorns herself.
Mace appeared visibly nervous. His curly brown hair framed his face, his brown eyes darting around anxiously. He was a bit chubby, typical of a ten-year-old, especially one facing such a momentous occasion.
My gaze then shifted to his elder sister, Mina Tyrell, betrothed to Paxter Redwyne, and his younger sister, Janna Tyrell, who stood at my age.
But it was the matriarch, Olenna Tyrell, whose gaze pierced through me , seemingly peering into my very soul.
When our eyes met, a small smile tugged at her lips, sending a shiver down my spine.
Ascending the steps, Tywin extended a formal welcome to the Tyrells, exchanging pleasantries.
Mother took charge, gracefully guiding them towards Maegor's Holdfast, their designated residence for the duration of their stay. As I accompanied her, I couldn't shake the feeling of Olenna's piercing gaze fixated on me, a silent acknowledgment of the intricate dance of power and politics that awaited us all.
I then took my leave, setting off in search of my brother.
First, I checked the library, hoping to find him engrossed in some ancient tome, but he was nowhere to be found amidst the rows of books. With a sigh, I headed to the godswood, the tranquil atmosphere there often serving as a retreat for Rhaegar.
Sure enough, I spotted him seated under the canopy of the heart tree, absorbed in a book, with Jon Connington by his side.
As I approached, Jon's amiable smile faltered at the sight of me, while Rhaegar merely spared me a fleeting glance before returning to his reading.
"Why were you not present when the Tyrells arrived?" I demanded, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
Rhaegar remained silent, his attention fixed on the text before him.
"I asked you a question, Rhaegar," I pressed, the edge creeping into my voice.
"Do not disturb the prince," Jon interjected, rising to his feet, his tone defensive.
"When two dragons converse, the griffin has no right to interject," I retorted sharply, watching as Jon flushed with anger.
"I will join them for supper," Rhaegar finally spoke, his voice quiet yet decisive, before he departed alongside a disgruntled Jon.
"Damn you, brother," I muttered under my breath, vexed by his indifference and the tension it seemed to sow between us.
An eerie silence hung over the supper table, everyone engrossed in their meals. The Tyrells had joined us, accompanied by Tywin, while Mother, Rhaegar, and I represented the royal family. It seemed Father was still preoccupied with his duties.
"It appears the king is quite occupied," Olenna remarked, her expression tinged with dissatisfaction, mirroring my mother's downcast demeanor.
Rhaegar, lost in his own thoughts, sulked, paying little attention as Mace Tyrell attempted to engage him in conversation.
I found myself seated next to Janna Tyrell, who would sneak glances at me before hastily looking away.
Sensing the somber mood, I decided to take the initiative.
"Lord Mace, I've heard many fascinating tales about the Reach. Would you share one with us?" I inquired, prompting the young lord's eyes to light up with enthusiasm.
"Yes, Prince Daemon," he replied eagerly, but before he could continue, I interjected.
"Just call me Daemon. After all, there's no need for titles among friends," I suggested with a warm smile. Mace's face lit up with delight at the suggestion, and he eagerly launched into tales of the Reach's rich history and legendary figures.
As the conversation flowed, Mother also engaged Olenna in discussion, and I noticed a spark of interest in the Queen of Thorns' eyes. Even Tywin, ever observant, nodded in approval at my diplomatic efforts, a silent acknowledgment of my growing acumen in courtly matters.
The next day, I found myself walking alongside Mace, who appeared visibly anxious about swearing his oath of fealty to my father.
"Mace, don't worry. Everything will go smoothly," I reassured him, hoping to calm his frayed nerves.
"But what if I mess up, Daemon?" Mace fretted, his brow furrowed with worry and sweat beading on his forehead.
"Mace, it will be fine. Your father is watching over you, and I'm certain he'd be proud of you," I encouraged, my words seemingly bringing a mix of emotions to the surface as a tear escaped Mace's eye.
Clearly overwhelmed, Mace, like anyone who loses a parent, was struggling with the weight of his emotions. Moved by his vulnerability, I offered a comforting embrace, surprised by the gesture but reciprocating with a reassuring pat on the back.
"You're right, Daemon. Father will always be by my side," Mace affirmed, his voice filled with determination as he wiped away his tears.
As I bid him farewell and made my way towards the throne room, I noticed Olenna emerging from the corridor, her sharp gaze seeming to acknowledge the bond formed between Mace and me.
Entering the packed courtroom, I watched as my father sat upon the Iron Throne, radiating authority. Taking my place beside the throne, I waited as Mace entered with his family, the weight of his responsibilities evident in his demeanor.
Approaching the Iron Throne, Mace knelt and swore his oaths of fealty Father accepted his pledge and as Mace rose, a bright smile graced his face as he looked at me, and I couldn't help but return the gesture, offering him a thumbs up in acknowledgment of his successful oath.
I made my way to the quarters with Ser Barristan, where the Tyrells were staying, as Olenna had graciously invited me for tea. Mother was also invited, but she was unfortunately unable to attend due to a slight fever.
Entering the room, I found Olenna seated near the balcony, with only Mace for company. Her eyes brightened at my arrival, and I greeted them both before taking a seat. Servants promptly arrived with tea and lemon cakes, which Mace eagerly indulged in, much to his mother's chagrin.
"Mace, do you know where your sisters are?" Olenna inquired, and Mace shook his head, his mouth still full.
"Could you go and find them, please?" she pressed, and Mace, under his mother's stern gaze, quickly complied.
"Ser Barristan, would you be so kind as to accompany my son in his search for my daughters?" she requested, employing a tactic that was not lost on me.
"Ser Barristan, it would certainly make Mace's task much easier if you were to assist him," I added, addressing him by his full name. Barristan nodded in acknowledgment and followed Mace out of the room, leaving Olenna and me alone.
As soon as the doors closed, Olenna instructed the servants to leave, creating an atmosphere of privacy.
"It seems we can finally speak freely, Prince Daemon," Olenna remarked.
"I must admit, Lady Olenna, I am feeling a bit nervous," I confessed.
"And why would you be nervous of me, my prince?" she inquired sweetly, her demeanor attempting to disarm me.
"Because you are a rose, my lady, and a rose has thorns," I replied.
At my words, a smile graced her lips. "It seems the rumors about your intellect are not as exaggerated as I thought," she remarked, her tone betraying a hint of admiration.
"It is quite the praise coming from the queen of thorns herself", I said with a smirk.
"Did you know that I was once betrothed to a Targaryen prince", she said.
"Let me guess the marriage did not take place", I said sarcastically.
"You have quite the tongue," she said.
"Yes you are correct we did not marry because I found certain queer notions of House Targaryen and the last thing I wanted was for my children to be afflicted with the same, she said as I sipped my tea
"But alas my son was born an oaf", she said and I spat out my drink hearing her, gods was she scathing.
"You believe the taint is present in each Targaryen", I said.
"I do not believe it rather I know for a fact it does", she said.
"Do you know Lady Olenna I read the Journals of my grandfather the late King Jaehaerys second of his name", I said.
"In the journal, he wrote something which touched me deeply", I said.
"He said that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land", I said, and hearing me she raised an eyebrow.
"So where did your coin land prince daemon", she asked with curiosity in her eyes.
"Well is that not the reason why you called me here for tea my lady", I said.
"To answer your question my lady my coin never landed as it is still up in the air and only time will tell", I said with a smirk.
"Only if my son was half as capable as you", she said with a sigh.