DAEMON
120 AC
The Rogue Prince was never an appraiser of silent places.
He always thought that they were too uninteresting for him.
He is a man of action, and silence is purely the lack of action, after all.
Yet, he has one exception to accepting being in this kind of place.
Only one.
Funerals.
The norms of Westeros basically obligated him to care about that.
He has to at least pretend that he cares.
Especially when the funeral is for the second wife of his brother.
When the information arrived to him, Daemon was surprised at first.
He did not expect that his brother would be that unfortunate.
His brother isolated himself in his bedroom and refused to talk with anyone but Otto through the door.
The King wanted to deal with the funeral as soon as possible.
He wanted to try to move on as fast as possible.
At least try to.
And then, the next day, here they are, walking their way to the Dragonpit as a sign of respect to the deceased queen as her coffin is carried by servants.
A white coffin of marble with a seahorse carved at the top.
Made by dozens of artisans overnight.
Alicent is by his side, looking always to the front, keeping a serious expression to hide her sadness.
Her red dress this time is the darkest one she has.
She did not have a black dress at hand, and there was no time to demand one to be made.
Daeron, their youngest child, walks holding her hand, looking up often as he restrains himself a bit because of the guards surrounding them and keeping the smallfolk away from them.
Due to the lack of time, the vast majority of lords did not come for the funeral.
Most of the crows certainly did not even arrive at their destinations yet.
Only a few neighboring lords appeared.
His brother was leading the noble section of walking people.
Daemon was sure that he never saw Viserys in such a terrible state.
The king was walking slowly, with a permanent sad expression on his face.
Holding each of his hands were his two young daughters.
Baela was in silence, but Rhaena was still shedding tears from time to time.
The two girls were the only reason that Viserys could even open a false smile.
The Velaryons were the very first to be notified about Laena’s death.
Yet, they did not arrive.
The Rogue Prince could only presume that they wanted to do a more…
dramatic entrance.
Daemon snorts, remembering the entrance that Rhaenys made on her own wedding with the Sea Snake.
Riding melees above the event.
Of course, his second was not normal as well, so he can’t really judge her.
“Laena did not deserve such a horrible destiny.
Viserys even less.
He already passed through it once.
They deserved more than what they got.” Alicent whispers towards him, although it looks more like she is talking to herself.
Daemon grunts a bit.
“My brother’s bad luck is unrivaled, I am afraid.
Not everyone is as lucky as me to get four living children and still have a living wife.
At least Laena managed to give him the twins.
She let her mark on this world, like Aemma.
It would be much worse if she did not.” The Rogue Prince points out in a half-arrogant manner.
Alicent frowns at his lack of delicacy, but she looks to agree with what he said.
Close to them, Aegon looks curious as he hears the conversation.
“Uncle Viserys had another wife before Laena?” The eldest son of Daemon asks, making a realization.
The Rogue Prince frowns on the question.
“How did you not know that before, boy?
Where did you think that Rhaenyra came from?” Daemon asks, irritated.
Aegon coils a bit and looks away before saying something.
“I never stopped to think about it.
She was always the older daughter of Uncle Viserys for me.
I have never even listened to her mother’s name.
“What is it again, Emma?” the prince asks, looking at the more friendly face of his mother.
Alicent sighs.
“Aemma.
Aemma Arryn.
She was half Targaryen as well.
Cousin of your father and the king.
She met the same fate as Laena.
She was a great woman.” The consort princess explains with a soft and sad tone.
Aegon nods before looking away once again.
Daemon sighs and shakes his head a bit.
Sometimes, his eldest son baffles him with how isolated from this world he is.
He is at least satisfied that he managed to get decent growth with his skills with a sword.
Not the best, but at least not a shame.
As such, not good for a son of Daemon Targaryen.
His appearance doesn’t help much either.
His long silver-golden hair is let free and careless, just like his dark clothes that are often dirty in some parts or crumpled.
Aegon doesn’t have any interest in keeping a better image.
He only cares about the pleasures of life, even at the young age of three-and-ten.
Daemon can relate to his interests, but there is one fundamental thing that his older son lacks.
Ambition.
He lacks the will.
The hunger of a dragon.
Aegon would certainly not risk his own life.
Not for power.
Not for glory.
For anything at all.
A shame.
But there is the other side of the coin.
Day by day, it looks more and more clear that the lack of ambition that Aegon shows is compensated by his second son.
Aemond keeps his hair similar to Aegon, although he at least takes some care of it, tying it often during training, to not get in his way.
His posture and manners in general are much better.
And, of course, he is much more ambitious than his older brother.
He displayed interest in battles from a very young age and developed his skills much quicker than Aegon.
In the future, when their difference in age becomes less of a factor, Aemond will certainly get the permanent upper hand over his brother.
Looking at the development of Aemond was an interesting experience for the Rogue Prince.
He can see a lot of himself in the boy, but not everything.
And sadly, nothing that is truly useful.
Aemond was never interested in people.
He always wanted to do things rather than observe, he lacked patience to deal with others, and he was very…
pragmatic.
He was also not interested in any kind of humor.
Daemon was a bit satisfied to see parts of him in his son, but he can’t deny that he can see some of Otto Hightower in him as well.
Remembering that he and the Hand of the King share descendants makes the Rogue Prince almost sick.
And, of course, while thinking about his sons, he can’t forget the little one.
Daeron is an interesting case.
The boy was very prone to smiles and laughs, always full of energy, and very curious about everything imaginable.
That often irritates Daemon when the boy keeps making question after question, not letting the commander in peace for even hours.
But what really catches the interest of Daemon is, similarly to Aemond, the interest that the boys have for battles.
The eyes of the boy would almost glow at the vision of armor, swords, or basically any kind of weapon.
He was more than happy when his father gave him his first wooden sword, to Alicent’s displeasure.
Yet, the boy was different from Daemon in his approaches when it comes to fighting.
The boy likes more the idealistic, gallant style of knight.
Not necessarily the most skilled or fierce, but a shining knight in armor full of virtues from stories that Alicent would read to him at night before he falls asleep.
Daemon can only hope that his son doesn’t turn out to be a kind fool that would prefer to die with “honor” instead of winning a battle through some dirty tactic.
Daeron is still heavily affected by his mother, who is with him most of the time.
It shows how the boy’s clothes are always clean and in place and his golden-silver hair is short and well brushed.
Again, Daemon can only hope that Daeron grows to leave the skirt of his mother.
No one in this world has any respect for a man that is still dependent on the figure of his mother in any shape or form.
And then, there was a final child.
One that he is not nearly as close to as he is to his three sons.
Helaena.
His only daughter.
The girl is strange, to say the least.
She often gets amused by random things that cross her path.
Observing in silence, but not like Aemond.
After all, she has a kind spirit instead of a stern one, a desirable quality in a woman, Daemon supposes.
Yet, he can’t deny that he is kind of disappointed that, of all things that could be her main interests, one of them had to be insects.
Such creatures are not fit to be around a princess of House Targaryen.
His daughter, above all.
And a minor aspect that bothers Daemon is that Helaena is not particularly beautiful.
She is certainly not ugly, of course.
The valyrian traits could turn even the most horrendous of hags into a fair woman.
Helaena keeps her golden-silver hair free and long, almost always a bit of a mess, even if she often adjusts it with a small brush that her mother forces her to keep in a hidden pocket in her dress all the time.
Her dress is a mix of mostly red with some black in it.
Helaena is pretty, but she is not Alicent.
And certainly not Rhaenyra.
He frowns when the image of his niece comes to his mind.
The Rogue Prince more than once looked around to see any sign of the arrival of the princess, but there was nothing yet.
No sign of dragons in the sky and no sound of horns announcing the arrival of someone.
Just the tedious slow walk of the people in King’s Landing, muttering in almost silence as they try to show respect towards the sad King.
Daemon sighs.
An hour passes.
The torture seems to be coming to an end as they finally arrive at the open terrain in front of the entrance to the Dragonpit.
The crowd is guided to move away from the center, making an extensive line for the nobles to pass through.
Viserys sits on an improvised chair, struggling for some air as a servant offers him a cloth that the king quickly uses to remove the sweat from his red face.
Normally, Daemon would smirk at the scene of his fat brother almost passing out due to a long walk at a slow pace, but this is not a day for this type of thing, sadly.
As the king recovers, the members of the Kingsguard carrying the marble coffin of the queen slowly lay it down in front of the king, in the middle of the whole place.
Daemon can now see the full details.
He can see the carved three-headed dragon and seahorse covering the whole coffin like snakes, both in the same greenish-blue color present in the sigil of House Velaryon.
His brother slowly gets up from his chair, walking towards the coffin with hesitation and an expression of pure desolation that almost makes Daemon turn his eyes away.
That is not a vision that pleases him.
The inferior lip of the king trembles as he falls to his knees in front of the coffin, laying his forehead against it as he closes his eyes, holding his tears.
The crowd observes the sadness of their king in silence while both Baela and Rhaena are held by maids and blocked by guards.
Daemon feels a quick hit on his arm.
He looks at Alicent, who just called his attention with her elbow, with a bit of irritation.
She looks back at him with a serious expression.
“You should say something to him.
You are his brother.
His only brother.
He needs you.” The princess whispers with a tone of pity while looking at the state of the king.
Daemon frowns and snorts.
“You don’t know how suffering works for men, Alicent.” He proclaims with a serious tone.
Alicent frowns, looking a bit offended with that.
But, before any words could leave her open mouth, they heard something.
Everyone did.
The roar of a dragon…
no…
more than one.
Daemon quickly looks up, as everyone did, and the vision makes the Rogue Prince snort.
As he thought.
Six dragons fly around in the sky, all with different sides.
A big red one, a yellow and a grey one of smaller size, and three very young dragons.
The brownish-green one is just a bit bigger than the white one, but both are considerably bigger than the purple one following them.
They arrived.
With his sharpened vision, Daemon could see that not a single one of the dragons is mounted by a rider.
He then moves his vision towards the horizon.
From the top of the Hill of Rhaenys, Daemon can easily see the sea of Blackwater Bay.
And so, he can easily see the Velaryon fleet approaching.
“So, they finally arrived.
Better late than never, I suppose.” Alicent says with a frown of irritation.
Daemon snorts once again, not interested in the grudge that his wife has against his niece at the moment.
Daemon feels his clothes being slightly pushed.
He looks down to see the small figure of an excited Daeron.
“Kepa, can we let the other dragons fly too?” The boy says, pointing at the dragons in the sky.
Daemon sighs but opens a short smirk to his son.
“Maybe.
You will have to ask the king, but you can’t do that now.” The Rogue Prince says, making the boy look disappointed but still nod in acceptance.
Half an hour passes before the small Velaryon army arrives with the Sea Snake and his family at the front.
Before anything else could happen, his cousin, Rhaenys, runs towards the coffin and falls to her knees with her arms around it, crying louder than Viserys.
Corlys Velaryon, with a sad expression behind his stern face, walks towards his wife to be by her side.
He then gently lays a hand in the coffin, closing his eyes as he whispers a prayer.
Walking after the old couple, there was the newer one.
Laenor was trying his best to hold his tears and keep his posture.
Rhaenyra has a serious expression on her face, but her sadness and worries can be seen as well.
She has one arm around her husband’s arm, slightly comforting him.
With the other hand, she gently strokes the hair of her youngest son, who is embracing her leg, Joffrey.
Even the name of the child is not Valyrian, Daemon thought.
Probably both.
Standing by her side were both of her older sons.
Jacaerys had a frown, bothered by the whole situation.
His younger brother, Lucerys, stands behind him like a shadow, almost trying to hide from the eyes of the people.
Rhaenyra moves her young son from her leg as she quickly walks towards her father, who gets up as he sees her.
The two embrace and lay their heads on the shoulders of each other.
Daemon can still hear the crying of his brother.
And can also see some tears rolling from the eyes of Rhaenyra as well.
Father and daughter separate, and Viserys holds her face in his hands, whispering something that can’t be heard.
But it makes Rhaenyra open a sad smile.
The king fixes his posture and removes the tears from his face using his hands before saying something to a guard that leaves.
Viserys then looks at his commission with a position of authority.
“Your highness.” The king calls with a short reverence of respect.
A man in a black cloak takes it a step further.
The crown of crystals at the top of his head gives away his identity.
The High Septon.
The leader of the faith walks towards the coffin and lays a hand at its top as Rhaenys gets up, holds her tears, and is comforted by her husband with a hand on her back.
The High Septon takes a deep breath before looking around at everyone present.
“Today, both nobles and commoners reunite, not to cry or to lament, but to celebrate the life and achievements of Queen Laena of House Velaryon, a woman of will and passion, daughter, wife, and mother.
Sadly, her time came too early, but we need to remember the past dearly instead of keeping thinking about what could or should have happened.
Now, I ask all of you for a minute of silent prayer as a sign of respect for the death of Queen Laena,” the High Septon says in a melancholic tone before bowing his head to do a prayer, as does almost everyone in sight.
Daemon was never a man of religion, but he bows his head to play along.
It would not hurt, after all.
On the opposite side of his views on the faith, there is Alicent.
He can see with the corner of his eye that she is praying and moving her lips as she does so.
One hand is holding Daeron, who looks a bit lost, and the other is holding the seven-pointed star in her necklace.
Daemon resists his desire to sigh.
He uses that minute that seems to never end to look at the newcomers.
Corlys is in silence, with closed eyes, and stern.
Rhaenys looks still disheartened.
Laenor is a mix of both.
How funny.
Once again, his eyes are moved to Rhaenyra, who is either praying with her mouth shut or just pretending.
She gained some weight after her first pregnancies, but she seems to have recovered her slim and more attractive figure.
Her teats look quite bigger when compared to how they were before the first little bastard came out of her.
Ah, the three boys.
If there is some god of fate out there, he either hates Rhaenyra or takes a good laugh at her.
Three times.
Three children with no Valyrian features.
And his brother plays the fool to protect his dear daughter.
Lovely.
Perhaps he should be just as bothered as Alicent is with this situation, but he can’t care about it anymore.
His brother wants Rhaenyra on the throne after him?
Fine.
He will just leave if things get unsustainable.
Maybe sack Tyrosh, take the city, and become a Lord Paramount there or a king in his own right.
Maybe start a conquest of his own.
He almost smirks at the thought.
As if.
He just hopes that he is not alive anymore to swear fealty to a bastard.
And then, the long minute finally ends as the High Septon licks his lips before speaking, raising his hands.
“May the father receive his daughter with open arms.
May the mother embrace her son with all the care that such an innocent soul deserves.
May the crone illuminate her family through these daring times.
May the maiden give protection to her two daughters.
May the smith let good things emerge with her passing.
May the warrior give strength to her family.
May the stranger guide her soul to a good place.” The High Septon proclaims and the crowd repeats.
Phrase by phrase.
The old man let his hands go down.
“Now, your grace, King Viserys, shall be given his own chance to speak if he wants to.” The High Septon proclaims, and the King nods as the leader of the faith steps back and he steps further.
The King takes a deep breath to speak, fixing his posture at the same time.
“Queen Laena was born a member of House Velaryon, but she married into House Targaryen.
And as a Targaryen queen, her funeral shall follow the old Targaryen way.
The way of Old Valyria.” The king proclaims, provoking confusion in some people on the ground.
And then, a loud sound of heavy doors moving emerges.
Mighty roars come from the Dragonpit, shaking the ground, making most people hold their ears and also withdraw in surprise and fear.
Daemon smirks.
From the exits of the Dragonpit, the dragons that were caged in take to the skies.
The first dragon to emerge is very small.
The size of a common dog.
Her pale green scales are almost shiny in the sun, and she moves graciously through the sky at high speed for her size.
Princess Baela, who was always too stern during the whole event, smiles when she sees her dragon, Moondancer.
Right behind her there is a small blue dragon that is not much bigger than a large dog.
Daeron laughs with happiness as he sees his own dragon flying around in circles and screeching.
Tessarion is a majestic dragon that is growing quite fast.
Daemon is satisfied that Daeron gave a proper valyrian name to the beast and that Tessarion got to be slightly bigger than Vermax, even if a bit younger.
The next one roars as his golden scales shine in the sun.
Sunfyre causes the amusement of the crowd to see such beauty from such a fearful creature.
The dragon of his first son is fierce and hard to manage for anyone that is not Aegon himself.
Of all dragons, Sunfyre is the one that grew the fastest.
He is getting closer and closer to the size of Syrax and Seasmoke as the years pass by, even if the gap is still big.
The forth dragon comes out with a hissing roar that is very familiar to Daemon.
A song to his ear that also makes him open a smile upon hearing it.
Caraxes emerges to the sky and opens his wings wide as he moves around like a serpent, and his red scales shine in the sun.
As a dragon experienced in battle, Caraxes grows more and more with each year, even if he is still considerably smaller when compared to the dragons of the Conciliator and his sisters.
And talking about them…
The fifth dragon has a way deeper roar, even if it is a shorter one.
A roar from a much older dragon.
The very large dragon of light blue scales and minor pink parts that is Dreamfyre emerges from the Dragonpit and takes higher flight with powerful shakes of her wings.
One of the oldest and biggest dragons alive.
Even if it were not a warrior dragon, Daemon was very proud of Helaena after he took her to the Dragonpit and she ended up claiming Dreamfyre.
But that also sealed her fate.
She will have to marry a dragonrider, one way or another.
He will never allow a third house to get their hands on the most powerful weapons in the world.
The sixth and final one could not be any other dragon but the most impressive of all.
With the ground shaking with her roar, Vhagar, a dragon that fought in Aegon’s Conquest, takes flight.
Her massive body projects an enormous shadow in the crowd as she slowly moves her wings to destabilize her in the air as she moves around.
“She is very huge…” Aemond points out, entranced with the old dragon.
Daemon smirks, looking away.
“She certainly is, boy…” The Rogue Prince says, bringing back memories.
He still remembers like yesterday when he claimed Caraxes and his father, the Spring Prince, followed him in the air with Vhagar.
And then, like a massive union, the dragons move to land at the top of various higher parts of the Dragonpit, from where they observe what is happening between the humans gathered around the coffin.
Aegon whistles.
“I did not know that dragons could be that much…
organized,” the prince points out, impressed.
Daemon snorts.
“Never underestimate the intelligence of a dragon.
They are much smarter than you can imagine.” The Rogue Prince proclaims.
Aegon frowns and nods, still a bit confused.
Of course, with the rise of even more dragons, the commoners in the crowd started to get nervous and worried, threatened by the presents of the mighty beasts.
His brother makes a sign and a servant blows a horn.
As the sound echoes, the crowd manages to get more silent in the next seconds.
The king takes a deep breath before he continues with his speech.
“As I said, Queen Laena was born a Velaryon, but she died a Targaryen.
From blood, from legacy, and from marriage.
The blood of the dragon burned in her veins.
That is undeniable…” Viserys says, stopping to take a hold of his emotions.
Rhaenyra lays a hand on his shoulder and smiles at him, encouraging her father.
The King fixes his posture once more, his expression getting sadder than before.
“I not only lost my dear wife, but I also lost a child.
Once again I lost a son that I never got to see alive.
A son that I never got to name.
A son that I never got to hear crying or smiling.
A son that Laena gave her life for.” The king proclaims with a sad tone of voice, sniffing.
Rhaenyra moves her hand through his back as Baela and Rhaena embrace his legs.
The king briefly smiles with that, and then he looks up once again.
Now, I’m looking at the clear blue sky.
“When I was young, I would hear several times from all kinds of people that my parents, Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, were very unfortunate.
All the accounts in books about their deaths always used the same phrase…
it was never meant to be.
My mother was strong of body and spirit…
but it was never meant to be.
My father was the heir of the Iron Throne, a wise man and a fierce warrior.
A perfect prospect for a king…
but it was never meant to be.
And now, the story repeats once more.
My dear Laena was a woman of health, will, and desires with a brilliant future ahead…
but it was never meant to be.” The king says, letting his tears flow at the end, a hand of his moving to his face to remove the tears as the crowd observes with compassion.
Daemon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm down his trembling hand.
It has been nine-and-ten years.
It is over.
When he opens his eyes, he can see that Viserys is finally getting control over himself.
Alicent looks at him with a short smile as she moves her head closer to his.
“It is good to see that Daemon Targaryen is not an emotionless stone.
I would say that it is adorable.” The princess says with a small smirk.
Daemon groans in displeasure, to her delight.
Viserys finally recovers after cleaning his eyes.
“The two of them were Targaryens, down to their essence.
And the words of House Targaryen are simple but have a deeper meaning behind them.
Fire and Blood.
Please, guards…
open the coffin.” The king demands, struggling to keep his voice tone high at the end.
The guards were quick on their duty, removing the top half of the marble coffin and putting it on the ground.
Laena’s body was embraced by a very expensive fabric, covering it completely.
And, above her body, was the small body of a babe.
A poor boy in the same situation as his mother.
Viserys holds his emotions once more upon seeing the two covered bodies, and then, he gets closer.
“My dear Laena, my dear son, the lives of many will be darker without you two here, but mine will never be the same again.
May the gods let you two rest in peace.
I love you.” The king says, leaning down and kissing Laena’s head before walking back, sniffing once again.
“By the Targaryen tradition, their bodies will be cremated.
What came from fire will return to it, and their ashes shall join our ancestors…” the king proclaims.
Servants came and laid a lot of straw around the coffin as preparation.
Suddenly, Rhaenys takes a step further, surprising some on the ground.
“Cousin.” The wife of the sea snake says with a troubled tone of voice.
“I am sorry for the interruption, but I have a wish.
As Laena’s mother, I want to be the one to conclude this.
Like our grandfather did to both of our fathers.” Rhaenys asks with a high tone of voice.
The two of them look eye to eye.
Purple to purple.
King to the Queen Who Never Was.
And then, Viserys nods, saying nothing else.
Rhaenys sighs in relief, and then she looks to the peak where Meleys is.
The dragon groans and opens her wings, going back to the air.
The guards guide the crowd to make more space, moving everyone even farther from the coffin.
With a loud sound caused by her weight, the Red Queen lands by the side of her dragonrider, barely managing to fit inside the space without hitting someone with her tail.
The crowd observes the scarlet dragon with equal parts of fear and amusement.
After a few seconds of silence, Rhaenys closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.
“Dracarys.”
Meleys groans and moves her neck back before letting out a roar along with a torrent of red flames that lit the funeral pyre in an instant.
And the deed was done.
As the pyre behaves as a big campfire, the two bodies are slowly consumed.
A minute of silence can be heard once again, letting only the sound of the scarlet flames echo through the place.
Of all people, the silence is broken by Meleys taking flight once again, returning to her previous position.
Before everything could go out of hand, Viserys takes the word once more.
“Now, the guards shall guide all of you back.
It is a moment of contemplation for me and for my family.
Thank you.” The king proclaims with honesty.
A lot of the commoners in the crowd offer a bow of reverence to the king before they start leaving.
And, after not much time, only guards and the royal family are around the funeral pyre.
The dragons are already scattering around, one by one.
The silence is reigning with an iron fist.
Daemon feels Daeron pulling his pants once again.
He looks at the smiling boy.
“Kepa! This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Can we fly now?” The boy asks, making a pout.
Daemon grunts.
“It is not a moment for that, boy.
Maybe tomorrow,” the Rogue Prince proclaims directly.
Daeron turns sad, and Alicent strokes his hair to comfort him.
She smiles at their son before looking at Daemon.
“I will take them to see the dragons.
You should talk to Viserys.
He needs you.
More than ever.” The princess whispers to him.
Daemon frowns, snorting.
“I will talk to him.” The Rogue Prince says with a slightly annoyed voice.
Alicent smiles.
“Good.
I will be back soon.” She says, gently moving a hand down in one of his arms before leading her kids in one direction.
Daemon grunts and then walks toward Viserys, who is now alone.
All three of his daughters are talking with the Velaryons, leaving the King staring at the red flames, barely blinking.
The Rogue Prince stops by the side of his brother, looking at the fire as well.
“It is always tough to be in this situation, brother,” Daemon says.
Viserys nods, sighing.
“Starting difficult conversations is never something you are good at.
Usually, you just evade them, trying to create the impression that they don’t bother you.” The king says with a tired tone of voice.
Daemon smirks, but his smile quickly fades away.
“Laena was a great woman, Viserys.
Just like Aemma was.
But you are the King of the Seven Kingdoms before anything else.
A weak King can only bring chaos to his kingdom, just like our great-grandfather.” The Rogue Prince points out, still looking at the flames.
Viserys sighs, slowly stroking his eyes.
“Daemon, I just want one day.
One day to mourn.
One day to clear my mind.
I have reigned for seven-and-ten years by now.
Almost two decades of ups and downs.
It is easy to talk about being strong when you are not wearing a crown.” The king says with a tired tone.
Daemon frowns, feeling a sour taste in his mouth after hearing his words.
“I was unfortunate to be born the second son, I guess.
You certainly would be happier without it, right?” The Rogue Prince jokes with a smirk.
Viserys laughs briefly.
“I think so.
But, if you were in my place, we would be at war every single year.
I know you, Daemon.
You have a hunger for glory that I never really understood.
Why can’t you just enjoy what you already have right there?” The King says, pointing at the distance.
Daemon looks up, and his expression gets softer.
He can see his children embracing and stroking the scales of their dragons, laughing while the creatures observe them with different reactions.
The curiosity of Dreamfyre, the impatience of Sunfyre, and the excitement of Tessarion.
The only one that is not happy here is Aemond, who is clearly bothered by the situation.
The only thing he can do is stay close to Caraxes with his mother by his side.
The Blood Wyrm observes the boy sometimes but mostly ignores him as long as Aemond doesn’t try to touch him too much.
Alicent observes their children with a smile, but never lets her hold in Aemond slip, worried about how the boy could make the Blood Wyrm angry.
Daemon takes a deep breath.
“I am not a family man like you, Viserys.
I am a warrior.
I live for battle.” The Rogue Prince says with a dry tone of voice.
Viserys snorts.
“You should open your eyes, Daemon.
These children are a part of you as well.
If you can’t pass your legacy to them, your battles are worthless.
The words of our House are Fire and Blood.
You are missing the true value of blood.” The king says with a serious tone.
Daemon frowns, reflecting on it.
And then, the conversation between the two brothers is cut short when Baela and Rhaena come running to their father.
“Kepa!
Come see Moondancer with us!
Please!” Baela demands with her childish voice, pulling one of her father’s arms while Rhaena does the same to the other.
Viserys laughs.
“Of course!
Maybe she can show me more of her delightful flights!” The king proclaims with a happy tone.
The twin sisters celebrate with some claps as they drag their father to where the Velaryons and Moondancer are.
Daemon observes his family once again before looking back at the fire, too immersed in thoughts, questioning his priorities.
“Having children changes your perspectives in life; I learned that after getting my own children.” He hears a sweet voice close to him.
One that he is very used to hearing.
Except that this voice that was once innocent and childish is now mature and almost seductive.
Daemon frowns and looks at his side to face the smiling face of his niece.
Her flawless skin, beautiful eyes, well-maintained hair, and astonishing figure combined with a bright smile were able to make even the most chaste of men hesitate.
But, knowing her nature, Daemon is more concerned about her intentions than anything.
“What do you mean, my dear niece?” The Rogue Prince asks, playing along.
Her smile gets thinner, but the expression never changes.
She looks at the fire as well.
“Before I had Jace, I just wanted to live life to the fullest.
I wanted to be happy over everything else.
And then, when I got to hold my first son in my arms, I no longer had such ambitions.
I discovered that my affection towards him was bigger than anything else.
I want what is best for my children now, and for that, I need to make concessions that I would never make otherwise.” The Princess of Dragonstone says with an honest tone of voice.
Daemon takes a deep breath, looking up, observing the smoke from the fire fade away in the sky.
He smirks but says nothing.
The two of them observe the flames for a minute before Daemon breaks the silence.
“Your dear guard, Ser Harwin Strong, died with his father, the Master of Laws, in a burn inside Harrenhal.
That certainly took a toll on you, right?” The Rogue Prince asks with a neutral tone.
Rhaenyra frowns, bothered with the memory.
“Certainly.
Ser Harwin was very important to me.
A guard and an excellent company.
He will be missed.
But his death, as well as Laena’s, serves as one more change of course to me.
I can’t be as reckless as I was in the past.
Life is short and I can’t keep making mistakes.
I need to do what has to be done.
Whatever it takes,” the Princess of Dragonstone says with confidence.
Daemon frowns.
“So, you are saying to me that you don’t want to do things with your personal interest in mind anymore?” The Rogue Prince asks, looking at his niece.
Rhaenyra snorts, still looking at the fire.
“I am saying that I am being more careful with what I do and more attentive to what is happening around me.
But I am still a woman with principles.
I don’t forget things that are important to me.
Never.” The heir to the Iron Throne points out, looking back at Daemon.
The fire reflects on her eyes, giving a chaotic look to them and emphasizing her emotions.
In her eyes, Daemon can see sadness, motivation, and…
longing.
Rhaenyra takes two steps further, almost touching him as she looks up.
“Kesan dōrī nārhēdegon hen skoros jaelan.
Kesan dōrī nārhēdegon shkul nyke ēdrurys.
Kesan dōrī nārhēdegon aōha dōna udra.
Kesan dōrī nārhēdegon ñuha ēlī jorrāelagon.
Konir sagon se qrimbrōzagon ao geptot isse nyke.
(I will never forget what I want.
I will never forget what I dreamed.
I will never forget your sweet words.
I will never forget my first love.
That is the curse you left in me.)” Rhaenyra whispers with a distant tone of voice.
Her purple eyes shine with unreleased tears and the reflection of the flames.
Daemon can’t move a muscle.
He feels trapped by himself.
Fooled by his own failed plans.
He takes a short breath and then looks eye to eye to Rhaenyra.
Her gaze is a combination of hope, desire, and sadness that makes Daemon struggle to find words for a second.
“Īles dōrī nūmāzma’t naejot sagon, ñuha jorrāelagon.
Issa toilets.
(It was never meant to be, my dear.
It is over.) “The Rogue Prince whispers with a serious tone.
Rhaenyra looks disheartened, but not surprised.
“Ao va moriot ivestretan nyke bona iā zaldrīzes ȳdra daor rȳbagon naejot ōtor.
Kesan sagon dāria mēre tubis, yn nyke jorrāelagon ao ondoso ñuha paktot.
Sir, see mirre.
(You always said to me that a dragon doesn’t listen to sheep.
I will be Queen one day, but I need you by my side.
Now and forever.)” The princess says with a broken tone of voice.
Daemon feels like something is stuck in his throat, but he manages to get an answer.
“Ao ivestragī iā ōtor gūrogon iā dīnagon hen iā zaldrīzes ondoso iderennon.
Ao teptan sikagon naejot ōtor.
Hāre jēdi.
(You let a sheep take the place of a dragon by choice.
You gave birth to sheep.
Three times,” the Rogue Prince points out with a frown.
Rhaenyra looks surprised now but keeps her previous posture.
“Harwin iksin iā sȳz vala.
Iā sȳz vīlībāzmio.
Yn ziry could dōrī gūrogon aōha dīnagon.
Nyke.
Sepār jeldan ñuha jehikagrī azantys.
Se jorrāelagon hen ñuha ābrar.
Īles dōrī nūmāzma’t naejot sagon mirtys yn ao, ñuha jorrāelagon.
(Harwin was a good man.
A good warrior.
But he could never take your place.
I…
just wanted my bright knight.
The love of my life.
It was never meant to be anyone but you, my love.” The Princess of Dragonstone proclaims with a voice that fades more and more as she talks, a pair of tears escaping her eyes.
Daemon takes a deep breath…
and then looks at her with a serious expression.
“Ao ūndan jorrāelagon skoriot ziry dōrī iksin.
Kostā emagon se jorrāelagon hen aōha riñar, yn ao dōrī ēdas se jorrāelagon ao pendagon ēdā.
(You saw love where it never was.
You can have the love of your children, but you never had the love you think you had.
” The Rogue Prince proclaims with a dry tone.
Rhaenyra’s eyes get wide in shock, and she moves a hand to her mouth.
“It can’t…
it can’t be…
you…” The princess says, breaking into her speech of High Valyrian.
Her shock and sadness turn into a sad frown as she wipes her tears and looks at Daemon, proud.
“Nyke kostagon daor pāsagon isse ao.
Tolvie, udir sko māzigon hen aōha relgos kostion sagon iā pirtir.
Nyke hope iksā biare lēda skoros ao gōntan, ñuha jorrāelagon.
(I can’t believe in you.
Every word that comes from your mouth might be a lie.
I hope you are happy with what you did, my dear.) ” The Princess of Dragonstone proclaims with a bitter tone before walking away, covering her obvious broken heart.
Daemon sighs and looks back at the fire, wishing that the flames would consume him as well.
The Rogue Prince gets back to reality when he feels an arm around his shoulder.
He looks back to see his brother, who has a smile at the corner of his mouth.
A fake one, but still a smile.
“We will get back to the Red Keep soon.
I think I know what we need.
A night of alcohol with our fellow men: you, me, the Sea Snake, Laenor, and any other interested noble.
No women allowed.
What about that?” The king offers with a joyful tone.
Daemon smirks back at him.
“I am not a fool to let that slide, Viserys,” the Rogue Prince proclaims, proud.
Viserys laughs and then frowns.
“Just observe your son.
I don’t want Aegon to drink as much as he did last time.
The boy threw up half of his weight.” The King jokes with a smirk.
Daemon snorts.
“I will try, but the boy is sly.” The Rogue Prince proclaims with a smirk as well.
Viserys laughs loudly, and the two walk away together.
Both brothers are trying to deal with their problems in the only way they know: false laughter and getting drunk.
And as all of them leave, the funeral pyre continues to burn.
The smoke rises to the sky, like it is carrying the spirits of Laena and her son.