The Chamber of the Red Keep glowed under the warm light of countless candles and fragrant incense.
Seven-pointed stars hung from the corners, swaying gently as silent prayers for the King’s recovery drifted through the air like smoke.
Servants moved with practiced efficiency, guards standing watch, maids refilling goblets, and pages clearing empty platters.
The Grand Feast of the royal family was underway.
King Viserys had already given his speech.
It was a beautiful, fragile thing: laced with regret for past mistakes, worry for the future, and a father’s desperate hope that all his family could gather once more beneath the same roof in peace.
He was wrong about one thing, one prince was still missing but neither the King nor most of the family seemed to dwell on it.
He spoke of the bitter rivalries that had divided his sons and grandsons since boyhood.
Now that they were men, he wished for them to stand together, to protect one another against the rising tensions surrounding the crown.
His assessment was not wrong.
Many in the realm saw the King’s failing health and the discord at court as weakness, a wound that could fester.
What they failed to understand was that the rot had already spread.
Its thorny branches had wrapped themselves around the hearts of the young men of House Targaryen, a painful reminder of old grievances that refused to die.
A heavy silence followed the King’s words.
Then Princess Rhaenyra rose, lifting her chalice.
She gave a toast in honor of the Queen, speaking warmly of their shared childhood, the trials of motherhood, and Alicent’s unwavering devotion to the King.
She praised how the Queen had stood beside Viserys in his most difficult hours, helping to steady both the royal court and the realm.
When she finished, her lord husband, Prince Daemon, stood next.
With a chalice of deep red wine in hand, he offered a toast to Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King.
He spoke of Otto’s many years of loyal service to his brother and to the realm.
Lord Otto reciprocated with a toast to Prince Daemon, calling him a courageous knight and a brave one for his battles in the Stepstones.
The toasts were many, they were polite and layered with things unsaid.
Until finally, young Prince Lucerys’ stomach gave a loud, unmistakable rumble.
The King let out a weary chuckle followed by a long cough.
“Perhaps… it is time we stopped… admiring the food,” he said, “and… started eating it.”
The family nodded along, sharing a few soft chuckles at the King’s gentle jest.
Prince Lucerys, however, turned bright red and stared fixedly down at his plate, clearly mortified.
The feast carried on peacefully for a few minutes, the clink of goblets, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter.
Then Prince Jacaerys abruptly pushed back his chair and stood, slamming his hands on the table hard enough to rattle the dishes.
At the same moment, Prince Aegon stepped away from Jacaerys’s betrothed, Princess Baela, wearing a smug little smirk.
Jacaerys looked around the long table, drew in a deep breath, and raised his cup.
For a moment it seemed he was about to speak, but his brow suddenly furrowed.
A guard had burst into the feast hall, moving with clear urgency.
Lord Otto’s sharp voice cut through the room.
“What is the matter that requires you to disturb this feast?”
The guard halted before the high table, breathing heavily, and offered a quick bow.
“It is Prince Daeron, Lord Hand,” he said.
Alicent rose to her feet at once, one hand pressed against her chest as she held her breath.
“What has happened to Daeron?”
A ripple of unease spread through the family.
Whispers broke out between Lucerys and Jacaerys as they leaned toward each other, murmuring anxiously about whether something terrible had befallen their uncle, only to be shushed by their Lady Mother.
“Has Lord Ormund sent a letter?” Otto asked at the same time, his tone clipped in urgency.
The guard shook his head.
“He is here, Lord Hand.”
Lord Otto blinked, brows rising in confusion.
“Lord Ormund?”
“The Prince, my lord.” The guard gestured toward the grand doors.
“Prince Daeron is here.”
The feast had taken on an almost deliberate symmetry of color.
Princess Rhaenyra wore the green and grey of Queen Alicent’s house, while the Queen herself had chosen black and red in a show of favor toward the Princess.
Their children had followed suit.
Then Prince Daeron entered.
He wore a deep shade of blue and gold, it was simple, almost understated for such a grand occasion.
His pale Valyrian hair had been cut short, reminiscent of how Prince Daemon had worn his upon returning from the Stepstones.
A golden chain hung around his neck, bearing the sigil of a dragon coiled around a seven-pointed star.
Few in the hall truly remembered him.
He had been little more than an infant when he left King’s Landing.
Now he stood before them as a stranger who somehow belonged.
The boy had grown.
He was taller than Prince Jacaerys, who had been born the same year, yet still shorter than his brother Aemond.
His shoulders had broadened, and there was a quiet strength in his frame that spoke of time spent training rather than idling at court.
Daeron climbed the steps to the high table and stopped before them all.
Slowly, he removed his black gloves, his gaze sweeping across his family with the wide-eyed wonder of a boy seeing a merman for the first time.
‘A stranger in my own home.’ I thought, fighting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of the moment.
“Daeron?” Alicent’s voice was barely above a whisper.
She stared at me with a storm of emotions in her eyes, doubt, shame, and a fragile kind of hope, like she was afraid to believe I was really her son standing before them.
The family looked slightly different from how I remembered them from the show, except for Aemond and Rhaenyra.
“My Queen,” I said, offering her a small, respectful bow.
“It has been some time.”
“We received no word of your departure from Oldtown, my prince,”
But it was Otto who truly recognized me first.
He looked just as surprised as everyone else, clearly having no idea why I was suddenly here.
“It was by my request that Lord Ormund did not send word ahead,” I answered smoothly, though, if I’m being honest, dramatic effect played a part too.
“I wished to surprise you all.”
“Well…” King Viserys spoke between labored breaths, offering a weak but genuine smile.
“Consider me surprised, son. Your mother and I… have greatly missed you.”
“I’m sure you did, my king,” I replied, my tone a touch sharper than I intended.
My gaze shifted to the brown-haired boy standing with a chalice in hand.
“How rude of me,” I continued.
“Have I interrupted your toast, Prince…” I glanced at the younger brown-haired boy further down the table and made an educated guess.
“Jacaerys?”
Jace blinked out of his stupor, glancing quickly at Rhaenyra beside the King before answering.
“No, not at all, Prince Daeron. I was merely-”
“Oh, please, don’t stop on my account.” I moved past the heavy stares, Aemond’s intense one-eyed gaze and Aegon’s weird one and slid into the empty seat between Jace and Aegon.
“The toast should be spoken while the thought is fresh. We can discuss the trivial matter of my arrival after the feast, isn’t that right, Grandsire?”
Otto looked completely out of his depth for once and simply nodded.
“Your toast then, Prince Jace.” I gave his shoulder a light tap as I slumped back into the chair.
Jace hesitated, looking around uncertainly, but a nod from Daemon encouraged him to continue.
He raised his cup once more.
“To Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon,” he began, then looked at me with a careful smile.
“And Daeron. It has been years since we last saw each other, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. As men, I hope we may yet be friends… and allies.” He glanced toward Baela behind him.
“To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”
“Hear, hear!” I said cheerfully, snatching Aegon’s cup since none had been set for me yet and taking a long drink.
“It was mine!” Aegon protested.
Grown-ass married man by the way.
“I’m sure the Red Keep has plenty of wine and cups for all of us, dear brother,” I replied, clapping him on the shoulder and gesturing for a servant to bring another.
“You glow like a cat.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the soft, distant voice.
Turning, I found my sister Helaena watching me with those wide, dreamy eyes of hers, that faraway look that always made it impossible to tell whether she was lost in one of her visions or simply… being Helaena.
Crazy dreamy state or just autistic?
Honestly, I can’t tell the difference.
“Aren’t you tired from your travels?” she asked gently.
I smiled, genuinely touched.
At least one person seemed to care.
“I am, dear sister. Which is why I shall return to my chambers once the feast is dealt with.”
The feast carried on.
Jace turned out to be surprisingly good company, curious, well-spoken, and clearly trying to figure me out.
Aegon, on the other hand, was busy drowning himself in wine, and I saw no reason to stop him.
Jace kept asking about my sudden arrival.
I brushed it off with vague smiles and half-answers, enjoying keeping the mystery alive.
In the corner of my eye, I noticed Aemond watching me intently every time I spoke with Jace.
Daemon observed me with open curiosity too.
Even Alicent kept glancing my way while she made polite conversation with Rhaenyra, like she had no idea how to approach her own son.
After a while, I saw Viserys beginning to slump in his chair, holding his head in obvious pain.
Might as well do something legendary while I still can.
I stood up abruptly.
The small talk around the table died instantly as all eyes turned to me.
“I wish to sing a song,” I announced, raising my cup, “in honor of my sister, Princess Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight.”
Rhaenyra blinked, looking thoroughly confused.
Most of the table wore similar expressions.
I took a sip, then stepped back and gestured to one of the musicians in the corner.
“Lend me your lute for a moment, friend.”
“I thank you for the honor, dear brother,” Rhaenyra said carefully, still unsure what to make of me.
“What are you, a lady of the court or a performer in a play?” Aegon laughed loudly.
Only Daemon smirked along with him, no one else seemed to find it funny.
“I am a man of many talents, brother,” I replied with a grin, tuning the lute until it felt right.
“Have any of you heard him sing before?” Otto asked, looking around the table.
Alicent and the others shook their heads.
Viserys was too busy clutching his head to respond.
“The first time he sang,” Otto said proudly, “he was sitting atop the Lord’s solar in the Hightower. It moved Lady Samantha to tears. Lord Ormund even commissioned a tapestry of the moment.”
My grandsire really is the ultimate hype man.
“Is he good?” Alicent asked quietly.
“He is the best I have ever heard,” Otto answered without hesitation.
The first notes rang out across the hall.
The room fell silent as my fingers moved across the strings.
“Soldier, Poet, King” – The Oh Hellos
*There will come a soldier…*
I began to move, circling the table with light steps.
*Who carries a mighty sword…*
My eyes found Daemon and Aemond.
*He will tear your city down… oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord…*
Helaena started clapping along.
Soon Lucerys and Rhaena joined in.
*Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh Lord…*
*He will tear your city down… oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord…*
I looked at Jace next.
*There will come a poet…*
*Whose weapon is His word…*
*He will slay you with His tongue… oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord…*
Jace laughed and stood walking over Aegon and pulling Helaena into a dance.
She went gladly.
I locked eyes with Rhaenyra.
*There will come a ruler…*
*Whose brow is laid in thorn…*
*Smeared with oil like Daemon’s boy… oh lei, oh lai, oh Lord…*
Daemon’s brows furrowed at the mention of his name, but Rhaenyra seemed to catch the meaning.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “He’s singing about the Conqueror.”
The chorus swelled.
Jace, Helaena, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena all joined in.
Even Rhaenyra began clapping along to the rhythm.
~He will tear your city down, oh lei oh lai…
oh~
~Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh
Oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh lei, oh lai, oh~
I finished with a flourish, set the lute aside, and gave the room a deep, theatrical bow.