276 AC
Daemon Pov
I straightened my posture as Barristan secured the last straps of my armor. His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I could see the concern etched in his eyes.
"Do you believe I'm a monster, Barristan?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, the weight of self-doubt creeping in.
Barristan's eyes widened with surprise at my question. "Prince Daemon, why would you ever think that?" he replied, genuine worry lacing his words.
"Just answer honestly, Barristan," I insisted softly, the vulnerability of my question hanging in the air.
"No, Daemon, never," he responded firmly, stepping closer to me and placing his hands on the back of my neck, his eyes locking with mine.
"I've known you since you were but a babe, and I can assure you, you possess one of the kindest hearts and most charming spirits," he reassured me. "Sure, there are moments where your temper flares, but that's part of growing up, and it is especially common for someone your age"
A wry smile tugged at my lips as I absorbed his words. "Thank you, Barristan," I murmured, pulling him into an embrace. Despite his initial awkwardness, he leaned into the hug, his arms enveloping me protectively.
"I'll always be there for you, Daemon," he said, his words carrying a fatherly reassurance that warmed my heart.
As he pulled away, Barristan's demeanor shifted, his focus returning to the task at hand.
"Now, I need you to concentrate during the squires' melee," he instructed, his tone firm yet caring. "It's crucial that you don't underestimate it."
"You're one of the strongest squires in the seven kingdoms" he continued, his voice carrying a note of pride. "But even the best can falter in the chaos of combat."
His words were a stark reminder of the realities of battle. "I won't be by your side to shield you," he cautioned, his expression serious.
Leaving the tent, I strode purposefully toward the grounds where the squire melee would soon commence.
My armor gleamed conspicuously amongst the other squires', crafted from castle steel and coated in a striking golden hue. Opting for a mace and shield combination for the melee, I carried myself with confidence, though the weight of expectation hung heavy upon me.
Envy flickered in the gazes of my peers as they took notice of my resplendent armor, and whispers rippled through the crowd as they recognized who I was.
My mother had expressed discontent when I first announced my intention to participate, while my father, intrigued by the prospect, awaited eagerly to witness my performance.
"Murderer," the haunting voice of Maggy echoed in my mind, a reminder of the unsettling prophecy that lingered like a shadow over my thoughts.
"Rivers of blood will flow," her chilling whispers persisted, sending a shiver down my spine.
Gripping my mace tightly, I tried to dispel the unnerving thoughts. "I just want to unleash some fury," I muttered, the simmering anger in my chest threatening to boil over.
In the distance, I spotted Richard Lonmouth accompanied by his knight, my own brother, Rhaegar. It was clear that Rhaegar was imparting some instructions to him, his demeanor stern as he gripped his sword tightly.
As Richard's gaze fell upon me, I could see the venom in his eyes, his hands instinctively tightening around his weapon.
Then, Rhaegar turned his attention towards me, closing the distance between us with measured steps.
"You look quite imposing, Daemon," he remarked in a neutral tone.
"Thank you, brother," I replied, surprising him with the cordiality of my response.
His expression shifted, clearly taken aback by my uncharacteristic politeness. "Be safe out there," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder before turning away.
"Rhaegar," I called after him, ignoring the echoes of Maggy's warning.
"The beast will turn on the dragons," she whispered, but I pushed her voice aside, focusing on my apology instead.
"I apologize for my recent behaviour," I confessed, noting the surprise in Rhaegar's eyes before he offered a small smile.
"We will talk later, brother," he said, and I nodded, understanding the need for our conversation to wait.
The noise of the crowd swelled as anticipation filled the air, signalling the imminent start of the melee.
"Daemon," Richard's squire's voice interrupted.
"Richard," I acknowledged.
"No one will be able to save you in the melee," he sneered.
His words stoked the flames of my anger. "I don't need saving," I retorted sharply.
"And the next time you address me without the title 'Prince,' I'll be sure to inform my father the King of your insolence," I threatened, my voice laced with venom.
Richard recoiled, taken aback by my boldness. "Just because my brother is your knight doesn't grant you the privilege to speak disrespectfully in front of royalty," I spat, my disdain evident.
"You are not worthy of calling Prince Rhaegar your brother," he spat back, his anger palpable.
"Mind your tongue, Richard, or I'll see to it that you meet the same fate as your ancestor Joffery Lonmouth," I warned, my fury mounting.
"You are selfish and vain, destined to follow in the footsteps of the Blackfyres," he taunted.
"Watch your words, Richard," I growled, the sting of his insults fueling my rage.
"Why should I spare the feelings of a bastard like you?" he shot back, the pounding of my heart drowning out all reason.
"I'll make you regret those words," I vowed.
The herald's voice boomed across the field, announcing the commencement of the melee. With a sense of purpose, I secured my helm upon my head, the weight of the metal serving as a physical reminder of the impending chaos. Surveying the expanse before me, I braced myself for the mayhem that was about to unfold, my eyes searching for my brother's squire amidst the throng of combatants. Hatred simmered within me, driving me with an unrelenting desire to confront him, to make him pay for his insolence.
As the melee erupted around me, I found myself facing opponents on all sides. Their weapons gleamed menacingly in the sunlight, poised to strike at any moment. With a steady grip on my shield and mace, I moved with calculated precision, utilizing both power and skill to fend off incoming attacks while delivering crushing blows of my own.
Each clash of metal against metal sent vibrations coursing through my arms, but I welcomed the sensation, channeling it into my strikes. Adrenaline surged through my veins, heightening my senses as I engaged in the brutal dance of combat. The shouts and grunts of my adversaries blended into a cacophony of noise, but amidst the chaos, I remained focused, my attention fixed on my ultimate goal: to seek out and confront my brother's squire.
As I maneuvered through the melee, I caught glimpses of familiar faces, each representing a potential threat or ally. Some fought with wild abandon, their movements fueled by primal instinct, while others employed more strategic tactics, biding their time before launching calculated offensives.
Despite the chaos unfolding around me, I remained steadfast, my resolve unyielding as I pressed forward. The weight of my armor served as a constant reminder of the responsibility I bore as a prince, a burden I carried with both pride and determination.
Amidst the clash of weapons and the roar of the crowd, I finally caught sight of my brother's squire. His eyes met mine, a defiant glint flashing within them as he raised his weapon, ready to engage me in battle. Hatred burned within me, fueling my desire for vengeance as I charged toward him with a primal roar.
Our weapons clashed with a resounding clang, each blow reverberating through the air as we fought fiercely. His skill was evident, his movements calculated and precise, but I refused to relent. With every strike of my mace and every block of my shield, I pushed forward with unwavering determination, intent on vanquishing my foe.
The melee raged on around us, but in that moment, there was only him and me, locked in a battle of wills. With each passing moment, the intensity of our confrontation grew, the air crackling with tension as we traded blow after blow.
Despite his best efforts, my adversary began to falter, his movements slowing as fatigue set in. Sensing an opportunity, I pressed my advantage, redoubling my efforts with renewed vigor. With a final, decisive blow, I knocked him to the ground, victory coursing through me as I stood triumphant.
As the dust settled and the echoes of battle faded, I surveyed the field around me, the remnants of the melee scattered like fallen warriors. In the distance, I caught sight of my brother, his expression unreadable as he watched from afar.
It seemed as though I was the lone figure left standing amidst the chaos, the only one fit to continue the fight. But the battle was far from over.
I approached the fool, his helm concealing his face, and with a swift motion, I removed it, revealing his face. Without hesitation, I delivered a powerful punch straight to his jaw.
"Call me that name again, you motherfucker, I dare you," I growled, my fists raining down upon him mercilessly, each blow fueled by a burning rage.
"You will feel my wrath," I seethed, my assault relentless as I battered his face into a bloody mess.
Finally, I stood over him, victorious but not satisfied. "With this hand, you held me back all those months ago ," I declared, gripping the mace tightly before bringing it down upon his outstretched palm, shattering it with a sickening crunch as he screamed out in agony.
Removing my helm, I laughed at the sight before me, the taste of victory sweet upon my lips. But it wasn't enough. I wanted him to suffer.
Another punch landed on his already battered face, eliciting more blood and more pain. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his features now a grotesque mask of crimson.
Raising my arms, bloodied and triumphant, I surveyed the stunned silence of the crowd, relishing in their shock.
"Are you not entertained?" I bellowed, my voice echoing through the arena before the spectators erupted into a cacophony of wild cheers and applause, their approval washing over me like a tidal wave of vindication.
"The winner of the squires' melee is Prince Daemon," the herald announced, and though the nobles clapped, a sense of fear lingered in their eyes.
"Yes, let this serve as a lesson to those who dare insult me," I thought to myself, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
"Daemon, my son," Father's voice boomed, a smile gracing his face. "You have displayed remarkable prowess in the melee."
"Ask of me anything you desire, my son," he offered, his eyes gleaming with pride.
I knelt before him.
"Father, my king, I exist solely to serve you," I proclaimed the roar of the crowd echoing in my ears.
Father's expression was one of pure joy as he descended from the royal stand to stand before me.
"For your unwavering loyalty and martial prowess, I shall bestow uponyou're your knighthood," he declared, his words filling me with elation.
Turning to Ser Gerold Hightower, the lord commander, Father requested a sword, and as it was handed to him, he spoke the sacred vows.
"I declare you, Prince Daemon, a knight in service to the crown. Rise, Ser Daemon the Golden," Father pronounced, and a radiant smile spread across my face.
With the thunderous applause of the crowd as my backdrop, I rose, newly anointed as Ser Daemon the Golden.
"Father I wish to speak with you later", I said and Father nodded his head.
As I made my way out of the melee grounds, I couldn't help but notice the battered figure of Richard Lonmouth being carried out on a stretcher, a grin involuntarily tugging at my lips.
Upon reaching my tent, I found Oberyn and Stannis awaiting me.
"You were absolutely incredible out there," Oberyn exclaimed, pulling me into a tight embrace.
"Well, what else would you expect?" I quipped, earning a chuckle from Oberyn.
"Congratulations, Prince Daemon," Stannis said with his usual stoicism.
"Come on, Stannis, enough with the formalities. You know I prefer just Daemon," I reminded him, though he seemed conflicted.
"I'll see you later at the feast," he said before departing.
"What's gotten into him?" I asked Oberyn, puzzled by Stannis's demeanor.
"Lord Steffon isn't pleased with how you handled Richard Lonmouth, especially considering his Stormlander heritage," Oberyn explained.
"He should be grateful I didn't finish the bastard off after what he said to me," I growled, the memory of our altercation still fresh in my mind.
"Well, to hell with them all, Daemon. Tonight, we celebrate the newly knighted prince," Oberyn declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes that mirrored my own.
-----------------------
After luxuriating in a bath and grooming myself meticulously, I adorned myself in fresh attire before heading to my mother's quarters.
As I entered the room, I found Barristan engaged in conversation with my mother, his usually stoic expression tinged with severity, while Mother wore a somber look.
"Daemon!" Daeron's cheerful voice rang out as he darted towards me, enveloping me in a tight hug.
"You were incredible, Daemon," he exclaimed, brimming with excitement. "Especially the way you handled that last knight! It was astonishing!"
His admiration was palpable, his eyes sparkling with awe.
Before I could respond, Mother intervened.
"Janna, please take Daeron outside," she instructed, her tone firm yet tinged with a hint of concern. As Janna approached to escort Daeron away, I caught a glimpse of apprehension in her hazel brown eyes.
"Mother, is everything alright?" I inquired as she rose from her seat, her demeanor noticeably distant.
"I thought you would be overjoyed to see me earn my knighthood," I remarked with a playful grin.
"You nearly beat that boy to death," she retorted, her tone icy.
Her cold response caught me off guard. "Come now, Mother, you're not upset with me over that, are you?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
"Barristan, what's with the solemn expression?" I questioned, turning to my loyal knight.
"I was expecting you to be the first person to come and greet me," I continued, a hint of disappointment creeping into my voice.
However, Barristan remained silent, his usual stalwart demeanor masking any emotions he might be harbouring.
"Daemon, answer me at once," Mother demanded, her tone sharp and commanding. But before I could utter a word, the doors to her room burst open, and Rhaegar stormed in with a furious expression etched upon his face.
It was the first time I had ever seen him so enraged.
"Daemon!" he roared, his anger palpable as he moved to strike me. Yet, Barristan's timely intervention prevented his blow, as he swiftly stepped between us, pulling Rhaegar away.
"What in the seven hells is wrong with you?" Rhaegar thundered, his fury unrelenting, and I was taken aback by the intensity of his rage.
"Rhaegar, calm down," Mother's voice interjected, attempting to defuse the tension.
"Calm down?" Rhaegar retorted defiantly. "Daemon nearly killed my squire, and you expect me to calm down?"
"Jon was right about you, Daemon," he added with biting scorn.
His words stoked the flames of my own anger. "The way you crushed Richard's hand, the maester says he may never hold a sword again with his right hand. You crushed his fingers," Rhaegar accused, his voice heavy with accusation. "His head has swollen considerably, and he's lost most of his teeth."
"Why did you beat him up like that, Daemon?" Rhaegar demanded, his tone a mix of disbelief and anger.
"Are you finished, Rhaegar?" I replied with a smirk, my own defiance bubbling to the surface.
Hearing my response, Rhaegar fell silent, his anger momentarily subdued.
"You should be grateful that he's still breathing," I retorted, watching as both Mother and Rhaegar's expressions shifted.
"Daemon!" they both roared in unison.
"Enough!" I thundered back.
"That damn squire of yours dared to call me a bastard," I seethed, noticing the color drain from Mother's and Rhaegar's faces. Barristan's expression turned crimson with anger hearing what Lonmouth had called me.
"If I were to tell Father about his insolence, that squire of yours would be well and truly fucked," I threatened.
I saw Mother place a hand over her mouth, her eyes welling with tears.
"He questioned our mother's honor," I continued, my voice heavy with emotion as I witnessed a few tears trickle down Mother's face.
"That's why I beat him within an inch of his life—to ensure he never dares to question our mother's honor again," I explained vehemently.
"He even had the audacity to claim I was the second coming of Daemon Blackfyre," I added, my anger still simmering beneath the surface.
"And the beast will turn on the dragons themselves," Maggy's haunting voice echoed in my mind.
"Wait, what...?" I thought, the realization hitting me like a bolt of lightning.
Suddenly, uncontrollable laughter bubbled up inside me as I grasped the truth.
"The Targaryen's aren't the only dragons left," I realized with growing excitement. "The Blackfyre's still remain."
A grin spread across my face. "I'm not destined to end the Targaryens," I thought gleefully. "I'm destined to end the last two Blackfyres remaining in all of Planetos."
"Varys and Sera," I thought, their names rolling off my tongue like a well sharpened blade. "The eunuch and the whore—the last of the false dragons."
"The beast will kill the dragoness," Maggy's voice reverberated in my head. And as I glanced at Mother, I understood—I would not be the one to end her life. Instead, she would live out her days in peace.
I would ensure it.
For I would herald the golden age of House Targaryen. I would be the instrument of destiny, for I am The Golden Prince.