New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤 ✦ From a distance, Aelor finally saw the dragonrider clearly.
Silver-gold hair in the Targaryen fashion.
Eyes like violet stone.
His features were cold, his nose high-bridged, his expression proud and unruly.
He looked very much like the dragon beneath him.
Aelor had already heard the whispers in the crowd.
He knew who it was.
His uncle.
Daemon Targaryen.
The Rogue Prince, who had dared ride across the continent on dragonback as a young man and lead followers against bandits and enemies.
His exploits were said to be widely known.
Some people had even written stories about him.
“Look.
A dragon.
A living dragon.
It is huge.” The child in Aelor did not care, in that moment, who his uncle was.
His eyes were full of the terrifying beast with scarlet scales.
He tugged at Erryk’s hand, unable to contain his excitement.
“I will ride a dragon that mighty one day.” Then he corrected himself at once.
“No.
Mightier.
Stronger.
This one is too thin.” The confession was pure and unguarded.
Erryk had no attention to spare for admiring dragons.
His hand stayed tight on his sword hilt as he watched the surroundings, afraid someone might bump the prince in the panic.
Inside the field, the Dornishman had been driven into a corner by Caraxes.
He pressed himself against the wall, drenched in sweat.
Fear of dragons filled him.
Just as his composure was about to break entirely, a steady voice came from above.
“Caraxes.
Be still.” “Hss-gah!” Caraxes hissed as if answering his rider.
Then he slowly lifted his head, no longer caring about the Dornishman trapped before him, and lowered himself obediently to the ground.
The danger vanished.
Degar’s legs gave out.
He dropped to his knees, sweat streaming down his face.
Daemon swung down from the dragon’s back and strode toward the viewing platform, ignoring the man in the corner as if he did not exist.
No one dared block his way.
Step by step, Daemon came before Viserys’s seat.
“Stop.
No one approaches the king unbidden.” Ser Harrold Westerling drew his sword and set the point against Daemon’s chest.
Daemon glanced at him once and ignored him, his face cold.
Viserys did not move.
His eyes were deep as the sea as he studied the brother he had once known.
Daemon looked back at him.
Neither man spoke.
For a time, the air tightened around them.
The nearby lords and ministers watched nervously, unsure how these brothers would meet.
After a long silence, Daemon stepped back of his own accord, allowing Harrold to lower his blade.
Then he took a double-bladed axe from his belt and threw it at Viserys’s feet.
Holding his head high, he said, “Add it to the Iron Throne.” Viserys did not react.
He looked instead at Daemon’s head.
“You wear a crown,” he said in a low voice.
“Do you style yourself a king?” “When the Triarchy was broken, men called me King of the Narrow Sea.” Daemon spoke of his victory, then paused.
“But I know this, Your Grace.
In all the world, there is only one king.” He dropped to one knee, removed the driftwood crown from his head, and bowed that proud head.
“My crown and the Stepstones are yours.” No one present had expected it.
Who could have imagined proud Prince Daemon would yield first and grant his elder brother such dignity before the realm?
Looking down at a younger brother who seemed to have learned sense, Viserys did not rush.
“Where is Lord Corlys?” “He has sailed home to Driftmark.” Daemon answered honestly.
“And who holds the Stepstones now?” “The tides, the crabs, and two thousand dead Triarchy pirates nailed to the beaches as a warning.” Daemon’s voice was low as he answered his brother.
He knew that answer mattered.
It was not ideal.
Viserys considered it for a moment, then seemed to let it go.
He stepped forward and accepted the driftwood crown from Daemon.
After a careless glance at it, he handed it to the Lord Commander.
It was clear that he thought very little of this crown that symbolized the King of the Narrow Sea.
Noticing the looks on the faces of the lords around him, Viserys’s eyes flickered.
“Rise.” Daemon looked up, hopeful.
Recognizing the gesture of reconciliation, he slowly stood tall.
The ice in Viserys’s expression melted into a smile.
“Welcome home, brother.” Without hesitation, Daemon and Viserys embraced.
Before countless eyes, the sons of Baelon the Brave were reconciled once more.
Those with sharper minds understood.
The king was issuing a warning.
He welcomed Daemon’s return, but that did not mean anyone could use Daemon to make trouble.
Daemon understood as well.
That was why, from beginning to end, his manner had remained respectful, without his old contempt for ceremony.
Rhaenyra stood near the front of the crowd and watched the political theater unfold at close range.
Joy she could not hide shone in her eyes.
Those clear violet eyes were still too honest to separate truth from theater.
She was simply happy that her uncle had come home.
“Sister.” Aelor had somehow pushed through the crowd and reached Rhaenyra’s side.
He took her hand.
At his call, Rhaenyra finally noticed him.
“Uncle Daemon is back,” she said with a small smile.
“He was always very good to me when I was young.” “Yes.
He looks very handsome.” Facing his sister’s happiness, Aelor forced out a smile and praised Daemon’s looks because he did not know what other virtue to name.
Although he rarely heard outside news, he knew the title one-day heir had come from this uncle’s mouth.
Daemon had hoped Aelor would die young so that he might become Viserys’s heir once more.
How could Aelor like him?
With Daemon arriving on dragonback and the brothers reconciled, the day’s tourney ended hastily.
The nobles were moved to the feast grounds, where Daemon’s return would be celebrated.
As for a certain Dornish youth with soaked breeches, Lyonel Strong gently invited him to lodge in one of the better inns in the city.
The Hand not only paid for the room, but sent men to keep watch, lest the guest feel neglected.
The arrangement was impressive enough that curious people began asking questions.
The answer was the same wherever it was given.
The king admired this brave warrior who had traveled so far from Dorne.
Today, he would first receive his victorious brother, Prince Daemon.
The tourney would resume tomorrow, and the Dornishman was invited to continue dueling.
Refusal was not permitted.
The feast stood ready.
Viserys and Daemon walked side by side, followed by ministers, nobles, and invited lords.
Alicent, it had to be said, was a considerate queen.
The moment she heard Daemon had returned, she ordered the servants to remove the food already eaten and replace it with dishes the kitchens had prepared in reserve.
By the time Viserys brought everyone to the feast grounds, all had been arranged neatly.
Nothing about it felt improvised.
Viserys was moved.
Before the gathered lords, he praised Alicent as a good wife and steadfast partner who always shared his burdens.
Alicent accepted the praise without losing composure.
She took his arm and said gently, “You spend every day burdened by affairs of state.
You should not have to trouble yourself over trifles.” Holding the queen’s pale, slender hand, Viserys looked deeply grateful.
“Thanks to you, my life is not so lonely.” “Enough.
If we carry on like this, the councilors will laugh at us.
Lead everyone to the feast.” Alicent’s cheeks flushed, and her shy smile was lovely.
The Stepstones were not merely rocks in the sea.
They were a troubled place, and the struggle for power around them had only just begun.
✦ ✦ ✦ Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.