277 AC
Daemon Pov
I stirred from the bed, my body throbbing with every movement. Beside me, the brunette stirred, groaning softly at the disturbance. Gingerly, I rose from the tangled sheets, the fabric clinging to my skin. My muscles protested the exertion as I reached for a pair of trousers, sliding them on with care.
As I shuffled toward the mirror, each step a reminder of the previous night's endeavors, I couldn't help but steal a glance at the figure staring back at me. Golden silver strands cascaded over my shoulders, framing a face marked by mismatched eyes, each struggling against the intrusion of daylight.
Bruises adorned my skin like badges of honor, souvenirs from the rigorous sparring session against three seasoned opponents that I used to do daily.
It was a testament to my determination, the toll of training in a world where biology defied convention. At just thirteen namedays, I towered nearly six feet tall—an anomaly, but one I had come to embrace.
Surveying my reflection, I marveled at the youthful vigor that still danced across my features. Despite the bruises and the aching muscles, there was a resilience that belied my tender age. Perhaps it was a gift, this prolonged adolescence, offering glimpses of maturity without the weight of years.
I made my way to the table, situated in the solar that doubled as my bedroom. With a pitcher of water in hand, I poured myself a drink, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat.
My gaze shifted to the map sprawled across the table's surface. It depicted the city of Duskendale, its landmarks etched in intricate detail.
Running my fingers over the parchment, I traced the outline of the fortified Dun fort. The strategic placement of defenses hinted at the city's military significance—a fact not lost on me.
A soft shuffle drew my attention as the brunette rose from the bed, her naked form a tantalizing sight as she moved with a grace that bespoke her profession.
Being the owner of all the brothels in the city certainly had its perks.
She approached me, her hips swaying seductively with each step. Her beauty was undeniable, her curves accentuated by the soft glow of the room, her fingers tracing the lines of the map with a delicate touch.
"Why do you keep this map here?" she inquired, her voice a whisper that stirred the air with an intoxicating allure.
I turned to face her, my eyes lingering on her enticing form, the soft curves of her body bathed in the warm light of the room.
"Before Chataya graced me with your presence in my bed," I confessed, my voice husky with desire. With a playful glint in my eye, I reached out to her, my hand finding its way to the curve of her backside.
As my fingers squeezed gently, I felt her body respond, a gasp escaping her lips as she pressed closer to me, her skin flushed with anticipation.
"Before you became the center of my attention, my lady," I murmured, my breath mingling with hers in the charged atmosphere of the room, "I was captivated by the map of Duskendale."
My gaze lingered on her as she moved to stand before me. Slowly, she bent down, her movements deliberate as she leaned closer to the map, her backside brushing against my growing arousal, the fabric of my trousers the only barrier between us.
"The crown prince must have reached there already," she observed, her voice a soft murmur that sent a shiver down my spine.
"My brother shouldn't have taken more than a day or two," I replied, frustration tingeing my words.
"But the fool must have stopped by a few villages just to show off," I continued, my tone laced with irritation, but she paid no heed to my rant.
Instead, she remained focused on the map, her attention captured by the intricacies of the terrain. Her proximity, coupled with the tantalizing friction between us, sent a surge of desire coursing through my veins, igniting a primal hunger that begged to be sated.
"What are these pieces?" she inquired, her fingers delicately lifting small wooden boats and figures shaped like men from the map.
"That's the count of ships and men under House Darklyn's banner," I explained, my voice carrying a note of authority.
"And what about those?" she pressed, indicating the ships painted blue on the map.
"Those belong to the Royal Navy and House Velaryon," I replied, my gaze lingering on her as she batted her eyelashes, her demeanor betraying a hint of innocence that I found both alluring and frustrating.
"Why are they here?" she asked, her curiosity evident as she glanced up at me through thick lashes.
She was playing dumb, but beneath that facade, I sensed a sharp intellect—a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. It only fueled my desire to show her just how smart I could be.
"This is my contingency plan in case something untoward happens to my brother," I confessed, my voice low and filled with a mixture of determination and longing.
"What do you mean?" she pressed, her finger brushing against her rosy lips in a gesture that sent a surge of desire coursing through me. Despite the tempting distraction, I fought to maintain control, resisting the urge to succumb to the magnetic pull between us.
"In case Rhaegar gets captured", I said as her eyes widened at the implications of my words.
"Duskendale is a port town, so with the Velaryon and Royal Navy ships stationed, it'll be near impossible for House Darklyn's fleet to slip away," I explained, my voice tinged with confidence.
"What about those wooden soldiers outside Duskendale?" she inquired, her gaze fixed on me with a mixture of intrigue and desire.
"Those are Crownlands men, ready to besiege Duskendale and block any attempt at escape by land," I elaborated, my eyes locked with hers as I outlined the strategy.
"And the golden figure?" she asked, lifting the figurine delicately.
"That's meant to represent me," I replied, a hint of amusement in my voice.
Her laughter rang through the room, a melodic sound that stirred something primal within me.
"You find it amusing?" I murmured, pulling her closer until our lips were tantalizingly close.
"What will you do?" she whispered, her breath warm against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
Without hesitation, I seized her, turning her back and pressing her against me. With one hand on her breast and the other placing the figure inside Duskendale on the map, I outlined my plan.
"We will siege Duskendale until every man defending those walls meets their end," I declared, a glint of determination in my eyes. "Simultaneously, I'll order the Royal Navy to attack the port. A two-pronged assault that will crush the Darklyns' forces."
"House Darklyn will be truly doomed," I asserted, feeling her movements becoming more frantic against me.
Despite the ache in my muscles, I paid it no mind, consumed by the desire that pulsed between us.
"Show me how you will fuck the Darklyns, my prince," she purred, her voice thick with desire. With a swift motion, I pushed her onto the table, my trousers falling to the floor as I prepared to indulge in the pleasures that awaited us.
But just as our desires reached their peak, the doors to my chamber swung open, shattering the moment of intimacy.
"What the fuck," I muttered under my breath, my heart racing as I caught sight of Oberyn standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
Quickly, I pulled my trousers up, attempting to compose myself as I faced him.
"What the hell are you doing, Oberyn?" I demanded, my tone sharp with annoyance, though beneath the surface, I couldn't shake the feeling of embarrassment at being caught in such a compromising position.
And then, to my surprise, Barristan appeared beside him, his expression grave and serious.
"Barry," I greeted him, my voice tinged with concern.
"My prince, your father, the king, requires your presence immediately," he announced, his words carrying a weight that sent a chill down my spine.
Hearing Barristan's somber tone, I knew that something serious had occurred.
"It seems duty calls, my lady," I said, turning to the brunette still lying on the table, her legs parted in invitation. With a regretful sigh, I pressed a kiss to her lips before hastily donning my clothes, preparing to face whatever news awaited me.
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The Red Keep hummed with an air of tension, every corner filled with knights and servants moving about with a sense of wariness etched onto their faces.
As the doors to the grand hall swung open, I stepped inside to find the entire court assembled. My gaze swept over the sea of faces, lingering on my father seated upon the Iron Throne. For a fleeting moment, I caught a hint of a smile on his lips, quickly extinguished by the gravity of the situation at hand.
The murmurs among the knights and nobles ceased as they laid eyes upon me, their expressions turning somber. Tywin stood beside the throne, a pillar of authority, his demeanor even more severe than usual. The rest of the Small Council flanked him, their presence a testament to the seriousness of the moment.
I scanned the room, searching for my mother among the gathered crowd, but she was nowhere to be found, her absence adding to the sense of unease that hung in the air.
I neared the steps to the throne, the weight of the moment heavy upon my shoulders. Kneeling before my father, I awaited his command.
"You summoned me, Father," I spoke, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.
"Your brother has been taken captive by the traitor and is held hostage in Duskendale," he declared, his anger palpable in the air.
I clenched my fists, the news not coming as a surprise. Deep down, I had known that Rhaegar's foolishness would lead him into danger.
"His companions have all perished, save for Ser Arthur, who sent word from Stokeworth, revealing the treachery," Father continued, his tone laced with contempt.
"The traitor Darklyn demands my presence in Duskendale, unarmed, under threat of Rhaegar's life," he spat the words, and when he mentioned Rhaegar, it was with a sense of profound disappointment.
Still, I remained kneeling, one knee planted firmly on the ground, awaiting the opportune moment to rise.
"I sent a boy to do a man's job," Father's words dripped with mockery, his disdain for Rhaegar evident.
But I could not remain silent. "Father!" My voice reverberated through the hall, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Send me to Duskendale," I implored, my words resonating with a chilling determination. "Let me end this defiance. I will rescue my brother from the clutches of this madman. And once he is safe, I will unleash fire and blood upon Duskendale. I will ensure that the blood of the Darklyns stains the very ground upon which they stand. Their progeny shall never see the light of day again. Send your loyal servant, my king, to demonstrate what happens to those who incur the dragon's wrath."
The hall fell into a hushed silence, every eye fixed upon me.
As I lifted my gaze, I caught a glimpse of madness in Father's eyes, a twisted smile creeping across his lips as if he could no longer contain his delight.
"Rise, my son," he commanded, and rise I did, a sense of dark purpose surging through me.
"By my authority, you have the right to do as you wish in Duskendale," Father declared, his words sending a chill down my spine.
It was all I had ever wanted. To unleash the fury of the dragon upon those who dared to defy us and make a fucking perfect example of those who defy the Tragaryens a warning to the entirety of Westeros of what happens when you wake the dragon. And now, I would have my chance.
I found myself back in my solar, surrounded by the officers of the city watch. Each one of them held a position of authority, having risen to their ranks following the tumultuous events of the Purge, dubbed by the common folk as "The golden feast".
"As you are likely aware by now, my brother has been taken hostage by House Darklyn, and the king has tasked me with resolving this matter," I announced, my voice firm and resolute.
"During my absence, Stannis Baratheon will assume the role of acting commander of the city watch," I declared, observing the reactions closely, especially that of Stannis.
There was a noticeable widening of eyes among the gathered officers, but none dared to voice any objection, save for Stannis, who seemed to harbor a determined resolve.
"Is there an issue?" I inquired, my tone cutting through the silence like a knife.
"No, my prince," they all replied in unison, though Stannis's gaze held a hint of ambition, a desire to prove himself in my eyes.
His loyalty would undoubtedly prove invaluable, particularly in the event of any unfortunate developments regarding Lord Steffon Baratheon, and the potential ascension of Robert to the lordship of the Stormlands.
Despite maintaining a tenuous connection with my second cousin, I couldn't help but wonder about the influence of that scheming falcon upon him. Yet, I pushed aside such thoughts, focusing solely on the task at hand.
"For the task entrusted to me, I'll be departing with the Golden Guard," I declared with a casual air, though my words carried the weight of authority.
The Golden Guard, my personal retinue of fifty men, were not famed for their sheer strength, but for their unwavering loyalty. They were bound to me by a debt that transcended mere duty; they would willingly lay down their lives at my command.
"During my absence, I expect nothing less than absolute order in the city," I continued, my tone brooking no argument. "Any rise in crime or corruption among the Goldcloaks will be dealt with swiftly and decisively."
The officers nodded in understanding, well-aware of the consequences of failing to uphold the peace.
"We'll stick to our usual methods: public punishment for criminals, followed by a swift transfer to the Night's Watch," I stated firmly, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes as one of the officers smirked in agreement.
"As a parting gesture, consider Chataya's brothel free for you lot tonight," I declared, eliciting cheers from the men. Their enthusiasm was palpable as they eagerly departed, chanting my name in appreciation.
Stannis remained behind, his expression a mixture of determination and respect. As the others filed out, I turned to him, a smirk playing on my lips.
"Looks like you've got your work cut out for you, Stannis," I remarked, a glint of amusement in my voice. "Keep the peace while I'm away, won't you?"
"Daemon, I should accompany you to Duskendale," Stannis interjected, his tone determined.
"Are you not pleased with your recent promotion, Stannis?" I countered, meeting his gaze with a knowing look.
"It's not about that. I just feel..." Stannis began, but I cut him off before he could finish.
"The reason I appointed you to your post, Stannis, is because I trust you implicitly. You're one of the most capable individuals I know," I affirmed, my voice leaving no room for doubt.
For a brief moment, Stannis fell silent, contemplating my words. "I'll allow the men to take their leave and visit the brothels tonight. But this won't become a habit," he declared, a hint of sternness in his voice.
"That's the Stannis I know," I chuckled, recognizing his unwavering sense of duty and general prudishness, even in matters as trivial as this.
"So, are you excited about your father and mother returning?" I inquired, leaning back in my chair.
"I am. It's been quite some time since I last saw them," Stannis replied, a hint of wistfulness in his tone.
"It seems I'll become an older brother as well," he added, a flicker of anticipation crossing his features.
"Holy shit, that's amazing, Stannis!" I exclaimed, giving his back an encouraging pat.
"How does Robert feel about that?" I asked, curious about his brother's reaction.
"Both of us were shocked when Father's letter reached us," he admitted. "Robert is in Storm's End waiting for them," he continued, a sense of pride evident in his voice.
"Well, once I clean up the mess in Duskendale, the both of us can go and visit the Stormlands," I suggested, already looking forward to exploring more of Westeros, including Storm's End, a place I had yet to see.
Just then, Oberyn entered the room, breaking the conversation.
"He's here," he announced, and I nodded in acknowledgment.
"Stannis, it seems I have some work to attend to," I said, motioning for him to carry on without me. Stannis nodded understandingly and left the room
Then, Oberyn entered alongside the man who, in the otl, would be my father's closest advisor: Grand Maester Rossart of the Alchemists' Guild.
"Sit," I commanded, and the man complied, his fear evident in his eyes, no doubt influenced by the reputation I had cultivated.
"How are things progressing in the Alchemists' Guild with regards to the 'substance'?" I inquired, my voice carrying a dangerous edge.
Upon hearing the question, Rossart's demeanor shifted, brightening with enthusiasm. "Thanks to your support, my prince, we have been able to increase production of the 'substance' and conduct research on methods for its safe transportation," he replied eagerly.
Rossart was akin to a mad scientist, consumed by his research, while I served as his enabler, providing the necessary funds for his endeavors. However, my funds was not without cost, for ultimately, the resources of the Alchemists' Guild were all now at my disposal.
"I am departing for Duskendale, Rossart, and I require the 'substance'," I stated bluntly, watching as his eyes widened in alarm.
"Your wish is our command," he hurriedly assured me, speaking on behalf of the entire guild.
"Excellent," I remarked, my tone chillingly calm. "We depart at first light tomorrow. Make the necessary preparations."
"I will, my prince," he responded with a bow of his head.
"And Rossart, if the 'substance' fails and harms me or my men, guess whose arse my sword will go into?" I said with a menacing grin.
Upon hearing my words, Rossart visibly paled, his fear palpable.
"But if it succeeds, then be ready to conduct as much research as you wish," I continued, my tone low and dangerous.
In an instant, the fear of death dissipated from Rossart's countenance, replaced by the allure of scientific advancement. The thought of conducting extensive research filled his mind, driving out any lingering apprehension.
"Now leave," I commanded, watching as the middle-aged man hastily exited the solar.
"You are playing a dangerous game, Daemon," Oberyn remarked, taking a seat opposite me.
"The 'substance' may literally blow up in your face," he warned, his voice edged with concern.
"You are not wrong, my friend," I conceded, a smirk playing at the corners of my lips. "But let's not forget, I am a Targaryen."
"After all, only spilling blood without the fiery spectacle of burning people alive would rather be useless," I remarked with a smirk. "Anyone can spill blood, but turning them to a crisp is a specialty of my house."
I leaned forward, locking eyes with Oberyn, my gaze ablaze with conviction. "And since the dragons are long dead, I am the producer and owner of the next best thing there is," I declared with a flourish, my voice dripping with the allure of power and danger.
"Wildfire."
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Seated in the godswood of the Red Keep, I gazed upon the blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree, their eerie beauty casting a solemn atmosphere around me.
"How much blood will I have to spill in Duskendale?" I mused aloud, the weight of my impending actions pressing heavily upon me.
"Huh, what about that," I said suddenly, noticing that my hand was not trembling as it once had at the thought of violence and bloodshed.
I remembered vividly the day of the Golden Feast, how my hand had trembled uncontrollably, and how I had been plagued by continuous bouts of sickness, with Oberyn at my side, laughing at my discomfort.
But now, as I contemplated the violence to come, I found myself strangely calm, detached from the horrors of the world around me. It was as if a part of me, the part that once valued the sanctity of life, had withered and died.
As I sat in the godswood, surrounded by the silent watch of the ancient trees, I couldn't help but wonder what price my soul would pay for the path I had chosen.
I heard footsteps approaching, and I saw Cersei making her way toward me, with Barristan trailing behind her.
She was adorned in a red dress, though it seemed somewhat subdued compared to her usual extravagant attire. Whether it was truly different or not I couldn't say. After all, I hadn't been around much.
"Barry, you may leave," I dismissed Barristan with a nod, and the knight obeyed, leaving us alone.
"Why did you call me Prince Daemon?" Cersei said, her tone laced with slight irritation.
"Well, should I not greet and meet my dear betrothed?" I retorted mockingly as I approached her.
I reached out to play with a strand of her hair, but she slapped my hand away. Her eyes were red, and it was clear she had been crying.
"God damn it, Rhaegar, it's all your fault," I thought to myself, suppressing a sigh.
"Do not touch me," she hissed, her defiance evident.
Seeing her reaction, I couldn't help but feel more amused than angry. After all, she was my little sister, even if she didn't know it. I simply ruffled her hair, and she looked taken aback.
"I will stop only if you stop crying over my stupid brother," I teased, smirking.
"Do not call Rhaegar that," she snapped defiantly.
"Oh, it seems you call him Rhaegar instead of Prince Rhaegar," I observed, noticing her sudden silence.
"Is it love, I sense?" I continued, enjoying her discomfort as she tried to school her features.
"I guess you are not loyal to your own betrothed," I added, feigning mock sadness.
"You are one to talk, with your whoring and drinking. The last thing I want is to marry a monster like you," she spat out.
I immediately grabbed her throat.
"If I am a monster, as you say, then perhaps I should just kill you right here," I threatened, watching as fear flashed in her eyes.
I released her and she fell to the ground, clutching her throat. "I am sorry for that, Cersei," I said softly, reaching out to comfort her.
"Look at me," I urged, and when her emerald-green eyes met mine, I spoke with sincerity. "I will never hurt you. Even though you may think I am lying, I am not. I will always protect you," I promised, bringing my forehead close to hers.
Her eyes betrayed a mix of shock and disbelief.
"I know you do not wish to marry me, and honestly, the feeling is mutual," I admitted. "The last thing I wish to do is settle down," I confessed.
"The main reason being the whores from Sunspear to the Wall will go crying in the streets," I joked, earning a glare from her.
"I will bring my brother back, you can be sure of that," I reassured her.
"And the next time we meet, at least embroider a dragon for me too," I said, planting a kiss on her cheek, leaving her stunned.
"Until next time, little lioness," I said as I turned to leave, noticing Cersei staring at me, her cheeks flushed a tomato red.
"Someone might mistake her for a Tully with her mouth wide open", I chuckled to myself as I departed.
I entered the Tower of the Hand and found Jaime Lannister standing beside his father, Tywin, who sat gazing out the window.
"We will have to be quick about this, Lord Tywin. Father does not like to wait," I stated, mindful of the summons for supper and the impending departure on the morrow. It was to be my last chance to see family for quite some time.
Tywin motioned towards a chair, and I took a seat as he began to speak. I couldn't help but notice the diminishing resemblance between Jaime and Cersei, as Jaime seemed to be developing quite the physique. However, his scowl deepened upon seeing me.
"What is your plan for Duskendale?" Tywin inquired, cutting straight to the matter at hand.
"Well, it's quite simple. I arrive there, cut Denys Darklyn's throat, and if time permits, I save Rhaegar," I replied with a smirk, intending it as a jest.
However, Tywin did not appreciate my humor.
"Stop acting like a fool," Jaime interjected, slamming his fists onto the table, his voice filled with frustration.
My gaze narrowed at the insult. "Call me a fool again, boy," I growled, my tone warning of consequences.
"Jaime, apologize to the prince," Tywin commanded, his expression leaving no room for argument.
Jaime's reluctance was evident, but the look in Tywin's eyes compelled compliance. "I apologize, Prince Daemon," he muttered through gritted teeth, his apology lacking sincerity.
"Jaime is distressed over what happened to your brother," Tywin explained, attempting to defuse the tension.
"I understand, Lord Tywin," I replied, relaxing back into my chair. "I apologize for the jest as well. I thought a bit of levity might ease the atmosphere."
"As for my plans, all I can say is to wait and watch," I added with a smirk, rising from my seat to depart.
"Lord Tywin, all I can say is that the actions I take in Duskendale will make your actions in Castamere seem like child's play," I remarked with a smirk, meeting his gaze challengingly.
"Prince Daemon, I wish to accompany you," Jaime interjected earnestly.
"No," I replied firmly. "You are just a boy," I stated, before taking my leave.
The last thing I wanted was my younger brother puke his guts out in duskendale.
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"The King and the Queen are waiting for you in the Queen's Ballroom, Prince Daemon," Ser Oswell Whent, a knight of the Kingsguard, announced, his helm adorned with the distinctive emblem of House Whent, a black bat with its wings spread.
"Is there a reason why we're having supper there? That place is quite spacious," I mused aloud as we made our way towards the ballroom.
"Will anyone else be joining us, Ser?" I inquired, scanning our surroundings.
"No, my prince," he replied curtly.
Entering the Queen's Ballroom, I couldn't help but notice the beaten silver mirrors on every wall sconce, reflecting the flickering torchlight. The ballroom was adorned with long trestle tables and a dais where my parents sat, accompanied only by the Kingsguard.
Approaching them, I sensed an eerie atmosphere lingering in the air. Mother rose from her seat as she saw me, wearing a somber black dress with no jewelry. Her red eyes and downcast face betrayed her recent tears.
"Oh, Daemon," she murmured as she embraced me tightly, seeking solace in my arms.
"Mother," I responded, holding her close as her grip tightened.
"Stop smothering him. He is not a boy," Father's cold voice cut through the moment.
Mother released her hold on me, returning to her seat at the table. I glanced at Father and realized he was already deep in his cups.
Seating myself, I awaited the arrival of the food. "Where the hell is the food?" Father bellowed drunkenly as the servants began bringing in course after course.
The lighting in the room wasn't as dim as the somber atmosphere present. Silence filled the air as dishes were served, and I noticed Mother barely touched her food as Father continued to drink.
"Eat something, woman," he commanded with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Our son has been captured, and all you can think of is to drink," Mother retorted venomously.
I tensed, feeling the tension between them escalating. Suddenly, Father hurled his goblet at Mother, narrowly missing her.
Rage surged through me, threatening to consume my control. If that goblet had struck her... I didn't know if I could restrain myself from violence.
But I held back. "Ser Oswell, take the Queen to her chambers. She needs some rest," I commanded, my voice steely.
For a moment, Ser Oswell seemed frozen in shock at the scene unfolding before him.
"Ser Oswell!" I called out sharply, jolting him into action. He guided Mother away from the ballroom, her tears flowing freely as she departed.
"Father, calm down," I interjected, sensing his rising anger.
"That woman, what does she think of herself?" he spat out, his frustration evident.
"She's just upset, Father. You know how women are, with their weak hearts," I replied, attempting to diffuse the tension by appealing to his sexist views. It seemed to work, as a faint smile crept onto his lips.
"All they're good for is satisfying our pleasure and birthing whelps," he sneered, reinforcing his narrow-minded beliefs.
"Well said, Father," I conceded through gritted teeth, my fists clenched beneath the table.
"Here, have some more," I offered, placing another goblet of wine in front of him. He took a sip, and a look of contentment washed over his face.
"You're a good son, Daemon," he slurred, his words slurred by alcohol. "Much better than your useless brother who got captured," he continued, a sneer forming on his lips. I glanced at the Kingsguard, their expressions betraying concern.
"Once you come back with that fool, I'll make you the crown prince," he laughed, his words tinged with madness.
The realization dawned on everyone in the room: the man was not in his right mind.
"Father, it seems you should rest as well. Running the kingdom is a very difficult task," I suggested, rising from my seat to offer support.
He got up unsteadily, and I stood beside him, steadying him as best I could.
"My son," he said with a smile, gripping my shoulder. "I love you. Remember that," he added before attempting to leave, a Kingsguard moving forward to assist him.
I proceeded towards the Queen's bedchamber, feeling a heavy weariness settle upon me. As I entered, I saw Mother seated on her bed, her face streaked with tears. She rushed towards me, her cries echoing in the chamber.
"Do not cry, Mother. I will bring Rhaegar back," I said, my voice tired from the day's events. "I could not even fuck in peace," I thought to myself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
"Rhaegar... they must be torturing him in Duskendale," she sobbed, her words filled with anguish.
"He's the crown prince, Mother. They will not harm him," I reassured her, though the words felt hollow even to me. I knew all too well what happened to Aerys when he was captured in Duskendale and he was the king as well.
"I know, but I'm still so scared," she confessed, her eyes searching mine for comfort.
"You have to be strong for Daeron and Viserys," I urged, attempting to inject some semblance of courage into her fragile state.
"How do you think Daeron would feel if he saw you like this?" I questioned gently, watching as she wiped away her tears.
"I will be strong for him, Daemon," she promised, her resolve faltering but present.
"I know you will, Mother," I said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"But promise me, Daemon," she implored, her voice trembling with fear. "Promise me that you will be safe out there," she pleaded, her vulnerability piercing through my apathy.
"I promise, Mother," I replied automatically, though the notion of anything endangering me seemed remote in my mind.
"You should rest, Mother," I suggested, kissing her once more. "I want to see you smiling tomorrow when I depart from the city," I added, hoping to lift the heavy weight from her shoulders.
"I will, my son," she whispered, giving me a weak smile.
"Look at how much you've grown," she remarked, her hand caressing my cheek. "My pillar of strength," she added, and despite myself, I couldn't help but smile at her words.
After that, I strode towards the Great Hall, its vastness swallowing my steps as I entered. The skulls of dragons, remnants of a bygone era, adorned the hall, casting eerie shadows upon the twisted throne of a thousand swords, the Iron Throne itself.
As I approached, I couldn't help but scoff at the sight before me.
"A drunk fool of a king, a weak queen, an idiotic crown prince, two children barely out of their swaddling clothes, and an old man clinging to his honor at the Wall," I muttered, the bitterness evident in my tone. "Members of House Targaryen, what a damn mockery," I spat.
"Why was I not born during the time when House Targaryen had dragons?" I lamented, my voice filled with frustration. "Surrounded by fools who call themselves the royal family," I scoffed to myself.
"But it matters not," I declared, ascending the steps of the Iron Throne, each one a testament to power and authority.
"As long as I am here, the House of the Dragon will endure," I proclaimed, my voice resonating through the hall.
"For I will bring fire and blood to my enemies," I vowed, the words dripping with determination.
"Whether they be wolves, stags, falcons, trouts, or krakens, whether they dare challenge us across the narrow sea," I declared, my gaze sweeping the room with a fierce intensity.
"I will burn anyone who dares rise against the House of the Dragon, for I am Daemon Targaryen, the Golden Prince," I proclaimed, a smirk curling upon my lips as I settled upon the Iron Throne.
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The Red Viper
During my lifetime, I journeyed across the vast expanse of this world, from the shores of Westeros to the sultry allure of the Summer Isles, and through the bustling streets of the Free Cities of Essos. Amidst the myriad dangers encountered and the numerous lovers embraced, there was but one man who ignited within me a flame of love and fear, burning fiercely in the depths of my being.
Though I knew that my affection for him far surpassed what he felt in return, it mattered not. For he was my sun, my guiding light amidst the shadows of this tumultuous existence. In his presence, I found solace, a respite from the chaos that often consumed my soul.
His essence, his very being, was a beacon of warmth that enveloped me, drawing me closer with each passing moment. And though our relationship may have been unbalanced, with my feelings far outweighing his, and knowing the fact that he would not love me the way I wanted to be loved by him, I cherished every stolen glance, every word exchanged between us.
And so, despite the complexities of our bond, I treasured every fleeting moment spent in his company, for he was my sun, my love, my Golden Prince.
- An excerpt from "The Red Viper" a book written by Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell.