Chapter 50 - Chapter 48 - Worth

280 ACDaeron PovThe dull thud of my wooden sword striking the training dummy echoed through the courtyard, the rhythm erratic as I threw myself into the exercise. Sweat dripped down my brow, stinging my eyes, but I didn't stop. Faster. Swifter. Harder. Each strike carried the weight of my frustration, my determination, and the burning desire that had kept me awake countless nights.Behind me, the steady, measured voice of Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard guided me. "Mind your posture, my prince. Don't overextend your strikes. Control is as vital as strength."His words fell upon my ears, but they barely registered. My world was narrowed down to the wooden training sword in my hands and the dummy before me. The sound of splintering wood rang out as I landed another blow."That is enough for today, my prince," Ser Barristan said. His tone was calm, but it carried the authority of a man who had seen more battles than I could fathom. I slowed my assault, the weight of the sword suddenly feeling like a boulder in my trembling hands.Dropping the sword, I collapsed onto the nearby bench, gasping for breath. I looked up at Ser Barristan, the legendary knight whose feats I had admired since I was old enough to grasp the stories."You have improved remarkably, my prince," he said, his lips curving into a rare smile.A flicker of pride warmed my chest, but it vanished as quickly as it had come. Improvement was not enough. Not for me. Not for what I wanted to achieve.I clenched my fists, staring at the dirt-streaked ground. My elder brother, Daemon, was everything I aspired to be. He was strong, fearless, a natural leader who commanded respect with every step he took. To stand shoulder to shoulder with him, to be his equal, seemed an impossible dream. Yet, it was one I refused to give up on."I have to work harder," I whispered under my breath, barely audible even to myself. "I must become stronger."I picked up the training sword again, its weight biting into my aching palms. Ser Barristan raised a brow, clearly about to protest, but I spoke before he could."My brother is far ahead of me, Ser Barristan," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "And though I may have seen only nine namedays, I do not wish to be left behind. I refuse to be a burden on his shoulders. I want to help shoulder that burden."The knight's expression softened, his lips parting as if to reply, but I turned away, focusing on the dummy once more."I will not betray him like Rhaegar did," I thought bitterly, the memory of whispered courtly tales about the Prince of Dragonstone igniting a fresh wave of determination within me. My strikes against the dummy grew fiercer, each one fueled by an unspoken vow. The corridor leading to the private quarters was dimly lit, shadows flickering against the walls as the torches swayed in the faint draft. The twin knights of the Kingsguard, Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Jonothor Darry, stood like marble statues outside the doors, their white cloaks pristine and their gazes fixed ahead. They didn't so much as glance my way as I entered, though I felt the weight of their silent judgment.Inside, the air was thick with the aromas of roasted meat, spiced wine, and the faint tang of sweat from my earlier training. Father sat at the head of the table, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders, though his once-regal visage was marred by the glass of wine clutched lazily in his hand. Mother sat to his right, her face a portrait of serene beauty but for the faint tension in her eyes. Beside her was Viserys, my younger brother, his round cheeks flushed with excitement as he swung his feet beneath the table."Father, Mother," I said curtly, offering a slight bow before taking my seat. My voice was deliberately even, masking the swirl of emotions roiling within me.The servants entered, placing platters of food before us: roasted capon, bowls of creamy leek soup, and crusty loaves of bread. My stomach growled, but the hunger I felt was drowned by the simmering resentment I carried, an emotion I had grown all too familiar with."Daeron, let us play after supper!" Viserys chirped, his voice high and childlike, brimming with innocent joy."No," I replied coldly, not even looking at him.I heard him sniffle, his small voice trembling as he muttered, "Why not?"Before I could respond, Mother intervened, her tone gentle but firm. "Daeron, do not be harsh with your brother. He is but a babe."A sharp laugh cut through the air, startling us all. Father leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a sneer. "A babe, you say?" he slurred, his words thick with the weight of wine."Viserys, your brother Daemon was more competent than you'll ever be at your age," he said, the mockery dripping from his tongue.I glanced at Viserys, who was staring down at his lap, his small hands clutching the edge of the table. His lips quivered, but he didn't cry—not yet."Only if the rest of my sons were half as capable as Daemon," Father continued, swirling his cup before downing its contents in one long gulp. "Then how great our house would be."My hands clenched beneath the table, my fingernails digging into my palms. The words burned like dragonfire in my chest, their sting all too familiar. Daemon, always Daemon. No matter what I did, I would always be measured against him—and found wanting."Aerys," Mother said, her voice sharp with reproach, though I could see the fear in her eyes."What, woman?" Father snapped, slamming his empty cup onto the table. "Our eldest is a fucking traitor, and you expect me to fawn over these boys as if they can make up for it?"The room fell into a tense silence, the servants shrinking back against the walls as Father's voice reverberated through the chamber."Daeron," he said suddenly, his sharp gaze fixing on me. "Look at me."I hesitated, then lifted my eyes to meet his."I hear you've been training hard in the yard," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.A flicker of pride warmed me, but it was extinguished as quickly as it came."But remember this," he continued, leaning forward. "You can never surpass your brother. Never."The smell of wine was heavy on his breath, making me want to recoil, but I held his gaze. My chest felt tight, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a stone.I wanted to scream, to shout that he was wrong, but deep down, I feared he wasn't. Compared to Daemon, I was nothing. A failure. Yet, I couldn't give up. I wouldn't.The table fell silent as the courses were served. The sound of clinking cutlery and quiet chewing filled the void, but my thoughts were louder than ever.Daemon had always been the golden child, the perfect son who could do no wrong in Father's eyes. He was a warrior, a leader, a man destined for greatness. And I? I was the third son, forever chasing a shadow I could never hope to catch.But it wasn't just jealousy that gnawed at me. It was the fear of being useless, of being a burden to my family, to my brother. Daemon bore so much on his shoulders already—the expectations of our house, the weight of our father's wrath—and I couldn't bear the thought of adding to that burden.Mother's voice broke the uneasy quiet. "Aerys, I received a raven from Dragonstone."Father's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening as he set down his knife. "And?""Rhaegar was asking when we would visit him and Visenya. It has been three moons since her birth," she said carefully, her tone measured as though treading on thin ice.Father's face twisted in anger. "That boy thinks he can command the king," he spat, rising from his seat so abruptly that his chair toppled over."He thinks he can tell me when I may leave the capital? Am I his servant?" he roared, hurling his cup to the floor. The wine splattered across the stone, dark and ominous like blood.Mother flinched, shrinking back in her chair, while Viserys clung to her arm, his small body trembling. The Kingsguard burst into the room, their hands on the hilts of their swords, but they stopped short, realizing there was no threat but the king himself.Before anyone could speak, the new Grand Maester entered. Luwin, they called him. A man of sharp intellect and calm demeanor, though even he seemed uneasy in Father's presence."My king," Luwin said, bowing low. "A raven has arrived from the Hand of the King—Prince Daemon."At the mention of Daemon, Father's anger seemed to subside, replaced by a grin that made my stomach churn. "Good, good," he said, snatching the letter from Luwin's hands.As he read, the grin widened. "Woman, it seems we are leaving for Dragonstone. Daemon will arrive there, and we can see Rhaegar's whelp as well."Mother's face softened into a tentative smile, relief evident in her eyes.But I couldn't share her sentiment. The journey to Dragonstone would only remind me of how far I had to go, how small I was compared to the men around me.That night, as I lay in bed, the events of the evening replayed in my mind. Father's words, Mother's helplessness, Viserys' tears—it all felt like a weight pressing down on my chest.I clenched my fists, staring at the ceiling. I would not let this define me. I would prove Father wrong. I would become someone Daemon could rely on, not someone he had to protect.No matter how much it hurt, no matter how long it took, I would keep pushing forward. For my brother. For my house. For myself.And one day, when I stood shoulder to shoulder with Daemon, Father would have no choice but to acknowledge me. --------------The ship rocked gently as it neared the black stone harbor of Dragonstone. The air carried the sharp tang of salt, mingled with the faint sulfuric scent of the island's volcanic heart. I stood at the prow, gripping the rail tightly, my violet eyes fixed on the figures waiting on the pier.At the forefront stood my eldest brother, Rhaegar Targaryen. His silver hair shone like polished moonlight in the dim sun. Clad in regal black and red, he radiated the quiet dignity that had always marked him as a leader. Behind him stood a line of knights, their armor polished to a gleaming mirror finish, each bearing the sigil of House Targaryen on their breastplates.As the ship docked, the crew lowered the gangplank, and we began to disembark. Father stepped off first, his commanding presence forcing the knights to drop to one knee in unison. Their voices echoed in a solemn greeting."Your Grace," they intoned.Father barely acknowledged them, lifting his hand in a perfunctory gesture. "Rise," he commanded, his voice cold and imperious.I followed behind Mother and Viserys, my younger brother, as they descended. My boots touched the volcanic stone of Dragonstone, and I felt a strange weight settle over me. This place, this ancient seat of House Targaryen, was steeped in history. Its air seemed heavy with the ghosts of our forebears, the echoes of dragons long gone.My gaze flicked to the knights behind Rhaegar. Among them was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Even in his simple armor, without Dawn at his side, his presence was formidable. I couldn't help but admire him—the greatest swordsman in Westeros, whose prowess was whispered of even in the halls of the Red Keep.Ser Barristan Selmy, another legend of the Kingsguard, stood nearby. Father often spoke of Ser Barristan as a paragon of knightly virtue, but Daemon, my older brother, had once told me that Ser Arthur would best Ser Barristan in a duel—Dawn, the ancestral greatsword of House Dayne, tipped the scales.Rhaegar stepped forward, his expression softening as he greeted us. "Father, Mother," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I am happy that you've come to Dragonstone, along with my brothers."Father snorted derisively. "Shut up, boy," he snapped. "I didn't come for you. I came to meet your brother, who will be arriving in a few days."Rhaegar's face fell slightly, but he quickly masked his disappointment. His composure was admirable, but I saw through it. Even now, he couldn't escape the weight of Father's scorn.I glanced at the knights behind him again and noticed something strange. Their armor bore the sigil of a golden dragon—a subtle, silent declaration of loyalty to Daemon. Though Rhaegar commanded them now, their allegiance ultimately lay elsewhere.Father's sharp voice cut through the air. "Where is your wife?" he demanded, his gaze narrowing as it fixed on Rhaegar.Rhaegar hesitated. "Father, Cersei has been bedridden since the birth of our daughter. The maester has ordered her to rest, as her health is fragile.""Does she think I am unworthy of a proper welcome?" Father snarled, his tone dripping with disdain.Rhaegar's lips tightened, but he remained calm. "She meant no insult, Father. She simply cannot rise without great difficulty."Father waved a hand dismissively. "Enough of your excuses. Let us see the child, then."Rhaegar inclined his head, clearly relieved to move on. As we began walking toward the castle, I quickened my pace, stepping closer to Ser Arthur Dayne.​"Ser Arthur," I said, my voice steady despite my racing heart.The Dornish knight turned, his expression calm but curious. "Yes, my prince?""I wish to spar with you," I said, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess myself.His brows lifted slightly, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "And why do you wish that, my prince?""Because I want to be the best," I said, lifting my chin. "And you are the greatest swordsman in Westeros."His gaze softened, as though he recognized the fire behind my words. "A bold claim," he said, though his tone was kind. "And one that comes with great responsibility. Do you understand what it means to walk that path?""Yes," I replied firmly. "I must work harder than anyone else. I must prove myself."Ser Arthur studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, my prince. I will spar with you."Relief and excitement surged through me. This was a step closer to my goal—a step closer to catching up to Daemon.We entered the dimly lit household quarters of Dragonstone, where the sharp scent of salt lingered even indoors. The chamber, with its high vaulted ceilings and carved dragon motifs, bore the weight of generations. At its center, Cersei Lannister, my eldest brother's wife, sat with her mother, Joanna Lannister.Cersei's golden hair, once her crowning glory, looked dull, and her once-vibrant emerald eyes seemed tired. Her frail frame spoke of a difficult recovery, and she leaned heavily on her mother for support as they rose to greet us.I couldn't help but feel a rush of anger as my gaze shifted to Rhaegar and then back to her. Cersei, the woman who had once been betrothed to our brother Daemon, had abandoned her vows and fled to marry Rhaegar instead. It was a betrayal that had stained our family's honor, and every time I saw her, I was reminded of it.I clenched my fists, the urge to speak out almost overwhelming, but I held my tongue. Father had already made his displeasure clear in the past, and there was no need for me to stir the embers of that fire. Yet the bitterness lingered, sharp and unyielding. I would never betray my brothers in such a way."Joanna," Father said, his tone softening in a way I rarely heard. "You look as beautiful as ever."Joanna Lannister, poised and elegant despite her age, curtsied deeply. "Your Grace," she replied with a gracious smile. Her calm demeanor seemed to soothe some of Father's usual harshness.I glanced at Mother, who stood beside him, her face unreadable. She always maintained her composure in moments like these, though I wondered what thoughts brewed beneath the surface.I paid little heed to their conversation. My mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the training yard and the promise of sparring with Ser Arthur Dayne. My blood burned with anticipation. While my family exchanged pleasantries, I shifted on my feet, barely restraining the urge to leave.A soft cry broke the tension, drawing all eyes to the cradle near the far side of the room. Rhaegar stepped forward, his expression softening as he approached the source of the sound. With careful hands, he lifted a tiny bundle wrapped in fine crimson cloth embroidered with black dragons."Father," Rhaegar said, turning to us with a rare smile. "I would like to present to you my firstborn daughter, Visenya."The room fell silent as Father stepped closer, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. Rhaegar gently shifted the bundle to give him a better view of the infant.Visenya was small and round, her chubby cheeks flushed with the warmth of life. She had the unmistakable features of our bloodline—silver-blonde hair that shimmered even in the dim light and large, curious violet eyes that seemed to take in the world around her.Father studied her for a moment, his face inscrutable. Finally, he nodded, a faint look of approval crossing his stern features."At least she looks like a Targaryen," he said bluntly. "Not like the golden whores of Casterly Rock."The words hung heavy in the air. Joanna winced, though she kept her composure. Cersei, however, flinched visibly, her pale hands gripping the armrest of her chair. Her lips tightened, but she said nothing, swallowing whatever retort may have risen to her tongue.Mother stepped forward, her expression softening as she reached for the child. Rhaegar passed Visenya to her with a quiet smile."She is beautiful, Rhaegar," Mother said warmly, cradling the infant in her arms. Her voice carried a tenderness that I rarely heard, and for a moment, the room seemed lighter.Beside her, Viserys edged closer, his small hands clutching at Mother's skirts as he peered up at the baby. "She's so tiny," he whispered, his violet eyes wide with wonder."Daeron," Rhaegar said, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "Come and see your niece.""I've already seen her, brother," I said curtly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the training yard."Rhaegar's expression faltered for a moment before he nodded. "Very well," he said quietly, his disappointment barely concealed.Without waiting for a response, I turned and left the chamber. The weight of their eyes followed me as I strode down the corridors of Dragonstone, the sound of my boots echoing against the stone walls.The training yard was empty, save for one figure. Ser Arthur Dayne stood at the center, his imposing form silhouetted against the dark sky. Dawn, his legendary greatsword, rested lightly against his shoulder, its pale blade seeming to glow with an inner light."Are you ready, my prince?" he asked, his voice calm and steady.I gripped the practice sword tightly, my palms damp with sweat. "I am," I said, my voice firmer than I felt.Ser Arthur's lips quirked in a faint smile. "Good. Show me your resolve."I stepped forward, my heart pounding in my chest as I raised the blade. Every movement, every strike, was a test—not just of skill, but of will. Ser Arthur was a patient instructor, his corrections firm but never harsh."You're too eager," he said as I lunged, effortlessly sidestepping my attack. "Control your movements. A sword is an extension of your will, not a tool to flail about with."I nodded, adjusting my stance and trying again. Every moment in the yard was a step closer to my goal—a step closer to proving myself.As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Dragonstone in shades of orange and red, I paused to catch my breath. Ser Arthur regarded me with a thoughtful expression, his pale eyes unreadable."You have potential, my prince," he said at last. "But potential alone is not enough. Remember that greatness is forged through perseverance and discipline.""I understand," I said, my voice steady. "I'll keep training."He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good. You remind me of your brother Daemon in some ways. The same fire burns within you. But do not let it consume you."The mention of Daemon stirred something within me—a mixture of pride and determination. I would catch up to him, no matter how long it took.As I left the yard, the cool evening air washing over me, I felt a sense of clarity. My path was my own, and I would walk it with unwavering resolve. While the rest of my family dealt with their own struggles, I would forge my destiny through steel and sweat.For now, that was enough.---------It had been seven days since we arrived at Dragonstone. Seven days of relentless training under the watchful eye of Ser Arthur Dayne. My body bore the marks of those sessions—aching muscles, bruises that painted my skin in hues of purple and blue, and a weariness that settled deep in my bones.That night, as I lay in bed staring at the vaulted ceiling of my chamber, the events of the past days played over in my mind. The clanging of swords, Ser Arthur's sharp instructions, and my own determination swirled together in a haze of exhaustion and pride.A sudden knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts."Who is it?" I called, my voice hoarse with fatigue.The heavy door creaked open, and a knight clad in gleaming golden armor stepped into the doorway. The moonlight from the narrow window caught on his polished breastplate, making it shimmer."You have been summoned to the Great Hall, my prince," he said, his voice steady but laced with urgency.I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, every movement a reminder of my sore muscles. My mind raced with questions as I followed the knight through the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone. Who had summoned me at this hour, and why?The Great Hall of Dragonstone was an imposing sight, even in the dim glow of moonlight streaming through its high, narrow windows. Shadows danced along the walls, highlighting the intricate carvings of dragons that seemed to writhe and coil in the flickering light of the torches.As I entered, my eyes were immediately drawn to the figure seated on the throne. Even before he spoke, I recognized him."Daeron, my brother," the voice rang out, warm and familiar."Daemon," I breathed, warmth flooding my chest as I stepped closer.Daemon rose from the throne, and as he moved, I noticed something in his arms. My steps faltered as I recognized the small, swaddled form of Visenya, her silver hair glinting faintly in the light. She cooed softly, her tiny hands reaching up as if trying to grasp the air.But it wasn't just the sight of my brother or my infant niece that stopped me in my tracks.A low, rumbling roar filled the hall, reverberating through the stone walls and shaking the very ground beneath my feet.I turned, my breath catching in my throat as I saw them—dragons.Three dragons.The largest of them was a magnificent golden beast, its scales shimmering like molten metal. It perched on Daemon's shoulder with an air of regal authority, its piercing eyes surveying the room as if it owned it. Beside him, a blood-red dragon prowled, its sharp gaze fixed on Visenya. She giggled, reaching out toward the creature without a trace of fear."How?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.Before Daemon could answer, a shadow passed overhead. I looked up just in time to see the third dragon descending from the rafters, its leathery wings outstretched.This one was smaller than the others, its dark grey scales blending into the dim light of the hall. Its landing was silent, almost graceful, and it fixed its piercing yellow eyes on me.The dragon approached, each step deliberate, its gaze never wavering. My breath hitched as it came to a halt in front of me, its head tilting slightly as if studying me.I felt a rush of warmth radiating from the creature, an almost tangible connection that I couldn't explain. Tentatively, I extended a hand, my fingers trembling as they met the smooth, cool surface of its scales.The dragon closed its eyes, leaning into my touch with a low, rumbling purr."You seem to have bonded, brother," Daemon said, his voice filled with quiet pride as he approached.I looked up at him, still overwhelmed by the moment. "What...what does this mean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.Daemon smiled, his expression softening. "It means he has chosen you."Daemon reached out, resting a hand on my shoulder. "I am proud of you, Daeron," he said, his voice steady and sincere.Those words struck a chord deep within me. Pride. It was something I had always sought from my family, especially from Daemon, who seemed larger than life. I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I quickly looked away, ashamed of my emotion."I train every day," I said, my voice trembling. "I push myself to the brink because I want to be like you. I want to be strong, fearless, worthy of our name. But…" I hesitated, my throat tightening. "What if I'm not? What if I can never live up to the expectations placed on me?"Daemon's expression softened, and he crouched slightly to meet my gaze. "Daeron," he said gently, "you don't have to be like me. You are not in my shadow, and you never have been."I stared at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity, but there was none."In time," he continued, "you will become your own man—a man who will be the pillar of strength our house needs. But even if you falter, even if you feel unworthy, you will still be the one thing I have always wanted you to be.""What's that?" I asked, my voice barely audible."My brother," he said simply.The weight of his words hit me like a wave, and I felt tears streaming down my face. I didn't try to hide them this time. Instead, I stepped forward and embraced him, clutching him tightly as if he might disappear.Daemon returned the hug, his arms strong and reassuring. For the first time in a long while, I felt the burden of my fears and doubts begin to lift.