Chapter Text
Being on dragonback was awesome! The world spread out far beneath me as father's dragon rose higher into the air, leaving Maidenpool far behind. Up and up we went, until trees were nothing more than small specs, and the Kingsroad was but a small brown line. Once we'd reached our height, father had Caraxes do various things, like long dives and spins, eliciting happy and excited laughter from me.
Ever since he'd brought me back to King's Landing, I'd been struck by the differences that my father showed around me. At all times when it was just us, he was always doing his best to make me smile and laugh. Yet, with others, he was just as cruel as he'd been described in the series. At the tourney, he'd thought I didn't notice as he'd slit a man's throat for cheating at dice, and ordered his friends to throw the body into the bay.
"Something troubling you, Lucerys? You've been staring at Caraxes' neck for some time now. I know he's a beauty, but you can't appreciate true beauty until you look away for a moment," he said. I blinked and started looking at something else, trying to think about what to say back to him.
"It's Rhae's new sworn shield. I don't like him," I said. "He- he-" I tried to find the words but I just couldn't. I heard a deep sigh behind me.
"I saw how you looked at him when his helmet came off. Your face paled and your smile wavered. You were nervous when you saw him, but you've never seen him before. Unless… you have," he mused. He leaned forward so I could see him directly. "Where have you seen him before, Lucerys?" At hearing my name, it instilled a sense of calm in me.
"I… a dream, father," I said. It wasn't entirely false, I'd had a nightmare of witnessing the Dance happening in front of me all over again not a week past, with only minor variations. "Ser Criston… he betrayed Uncle Viserys, and killed my baby sister before she could ever draw breath!" I said, forcing the tears to come, but it turns out I didn't really need to force them, I had always had great pity towards Rhaenyra for losing her daughter; in my last life I'd been devastated to learn twin cousins I'd been so excited for had been stillborn, after all, and I couldn't bear seeing anyone go through that, ever again. I heard Daemon take deep breath inward as his eyes observed me, but my face remained resolute. After a moment, he nodded. When he spoke again, it was in High Valyrian.
"Has Runciter yet told you of Daenys the Dreamer in your histories?" he asked. I shook my head, not seeing where he was going with that. "Daenys was the daughter of Lord Freeholder Aenar Targaryen. In her dreams, she dreamt of a great eruption wiping out Valyria. Aenar believed her, selling all of his property in Valyria and calling in every favor he had to be named Archon of Dragonstone for fifteen years. Twelve years after his flight, the Doom wiped out our homeland, and before the end of his official term as Archon, the other three families of Dragonriders that had survived alongside us had perished, either killed by the mobs of Lys and Tyrosh, or marched off to Valyria and died." He looked straight back at me.
"Dreams of the future once saved our family. It wouldn't do to not believe you." He looked back ahead of us, the green rushing past us. I looked down. Was it one of the prophetic dreams of this world? I was from two lineages that could give that power, so I supposed it could be, but I really hoped it wasn't. Prophecy tended to bite you in the ass. "How long into the future was it, do you believe?" I laughed, despite myself, answering back in High Valyrian.
"A long time, not sure how long, but Uncle Viserys looked really old," I replied. He chuckled and ruffled my hair.
"Worry not about that up-jumped steward from the Stormlands. I will ensure our House's safety," he said. I nodded, closing my eyes tight. I knew it was wrong, Ser Criston had been loyal to Rhaenyra for many years, after all, and hadn't committed any crime. But there was nothing else I could do. No prayer I could offer up for forgiveness. Cersei was right, I mused, you win, or you die. "My brother is stubborn, however. I'll not leave you alone with him, this a vow, until the day he is dealt with." I nodded again. I knew father couldn't just kill Ser Criston; he was technically highborn, and a member of the Royal Court, besides. This was long before my father had made his connections in Pentos or gone off on his very violent drunken bender of a midlife crisis in the Stepstones. Or, I suppose for father it was a drunken bender, and for Corlys it was a midlife crisis.
"Will Ser Otto be okay with that?" I asked, continuing in High Valyrian as best I could. I saw his face scowl at the mention of Otto Hightower, but I had to do this part. "Uncle Viserys would take this to him, what would he say? Something about a bad dream, I think," I said. Father placed a land on my shoulder reassuringly.
"If my brother refuses to act, I will do what I must. Our family will not be harmed," he said. Much of the rest of our trip was in silence. We had left at mid-morning, and I finally saw the sunlight reflecting off of the Red Keep as the sun was setting. Swiftly, Caraxes circled the Dragonpit as the Dragon Keepers rushed out. Once Caraxes was on the ground, father and I dismounted, the keepers taking his harness and saddle off, and chaining him. Father made a small snap of his whip in the air, and Caraxes walked into the pit. The dragon had spent many years here, it knew what had to happen.
Father procured a horse for us right after, riding through the streets of King's Landing. It was fairly active, but the smallfolk cleared the way quick enough. I was surprised that no one had said anything, but father wasn't exactly well known on the streets yet. We eventually arrived in the courtyard and dismounted, before a servant ran out to meet us.
"Your Grace, the Lord Hand has summoned a meeting of the Small Council, and requires your presence," he said, with a deep bow. Father rolled his eyes and gave a groan of annoyance.
"Very well, tell Ser Otto I'll be along shortly," he said, clenching two fists. As soon as the servant was out of earshot, he switched to High Valyrian.
"How dare he summon me like some common servant! Him, who is but the brother to the Lord of Oldtown! If his daughter wasn't such a good fu-" he suddenly seemed to remember I was there and stopped. I rolled my eyes at that, but didn't betray any emotions. "Come along then, Lucerys," he said, switching back to the Common Tongue, "I still don't have a damned cupbearer, so you'll have to suffice." I nodded and followed behind him, making sure to order a servant to bring some wine and a goblet to the Small Council chamber.
I followed my father into the chamber as the servant quickly passed me the flagon and goblet. I could barely hold the flagon, but I at least managed to pour a goblet without spilling too much of it. The servants quickly cleaned up the spill behind me as I handed the goblet to my father. He took a deep drink as he entered and sat calmly at his seat, handing the goblet back to me as he threw his feet up on the table, clearly not caring about etiquette in the slightest. Stay classy, dad. I thought as the other members of the Small Council filed in. Father finished his drink and handed the goblet back to me as I backed up to a side table where I could refill the wine as he needed.
The first to arrive was Lord Lyman Beesbury. He'd been a member of the Small Council for nearly two decades during my great-grandfather's reign, but had finally been allowed to retire when Uncle Viserys had ascended the throne… only for Father to grow bored with the job and Uncle sending a raven for the man to return, which he had done after naming his son as Acting Lord… who might as well be the Lord, the man never left King's Landing anymore. In another time, Lord Lyman had been the only member of the Small Council to remain loyal to Rhaenyra, and had his throat opened by Criston Cole for that loyalty. I gave him a nod.
"Lord Lyman!" I called to him, "Congrats on becoming a grandfather again!" The man smiled and gave me a polite bow with his head.
"Thank you, Prince Lucerys. It is much appreciated. I will soon be returning to Honeyholt to meet little Alan, but there is much that must be done before then," he replied. Soon after, Grand Maester Runciter hobbled in, sitting in his seat. So, that's the Master of Laws, Master of Coin, and Grand Maester, I thought. So, just the Hand and the Master of Whispers left. Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne was still with Uncle Viserys in the Riverlands, and the Master of Ships position was semi-officially vacant. Uncle Viserys told anyone who asked that it belonged to Corlys Velaryon and it would be waiting for him when he came to claim it… not like that was ever going to happen. I remembered from canon that Viserys had eventually given up on Corlys and appointed Ser Tyland Lannister to the position, but that wouldn't be for a number of years yet.
Eventually, the old Lord Jon Rosby, Master of Whispers, managed to limp through the door, leaning on his cane, before sitting down in his seat. I knew the man was going to die soon, but he seemed insistent on doing his duty until his heart gave out. Last through the door was Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King himself. He gave both me and my father a glare, before finally taking his place at the head of the table.
"Prince Daemon," Otto began, "I've told you and His Grace before, do not think the Small Council Chambers are the proper place for a child." Father scoffed as he held out his hand, and I handed him his refilled wine cup, that he immediately began to drink from.
"Please, Ser Otto, it is hard to find trusted cupbearers in these times, and there are few better than your own blood for such a role. Lucerys may be young, but he performs these duties well. He'll make a fine squire when he is a bit older," he said. Only my father could think of a way to make knighthood seem like an insult, I thought. My father was fond of reminding Otto that he was no Lord, only the younger brother of the Lord of Oldtown, and thus always reliant on someone else's courtesy, with nothing to call his own.
I knew it was not his power that had brought him here, but his mind. My great-grandfather had brought him here to counter Corlys Velaryon, and he'd become the proto-Tywin Lannister in the meantime, effectively ruling the realm while the Kings he served did little or nothing. Meanwhile, my father was fucking his daughter, and Otto hated him, and by extension me, for that. Meanwhile, Otto grit his teeth so hard I thought he was Stannis Baratheon for a second, before remembering that The Mannis was so much more awesome than this Tywin-wannabe.
"Fine," the Hand spat out, "but he is not to speak, only serve you wine." So the Small Council meeting went on around me, as I listened carefully to the different affairs of the realm they spoke of, while doing nothing but holding a wine cup. I did, however, perk up when they began speaking of King's Landing.
"The City Watch is suffering significant issues; corruption is rampant, and the Commander has been caught openly taking bribes by my agents," Lord Rosby said. "He must be replaced imminently, and someone proper put into place, Your Grace." Father finished his sip of wine and handed the goblet back to me.
"Lord Rosby, I missed the part where this was my problem," he said. Otto turned and glared at him once again.
"Prince Daemon, you are the Master of Laws. The Goldcloaks are under your purview," he growled out. Father simply shrugged and reclaimed the wine cup from me. As he did so, I leaned down to whisper to him.
"Mayhaps you could do something about the City Watch?" I asked. Father scoffed at me.
"And what exactly could I do? Anyone who could reliably replace the current Commander is just as corrupt as him, if not more," he whispered back. Before I could reply, Otto began to speak again, and I groaned as the two began arguing until Otto adjourned the Small Council for the day.
I was relieved when it finally ended. First Small Council meeting I attended since getting back ended in fighting. I was certain that was a bad sign.