Chapter 44: Chapter 42 - A Crown Of Paranoia
279 AC
Oberyn Pov
The Seven Kingdoms were in turmoil. The Crown Prince had been imprisoned, and the King—paranoid and fearful—had become a recluse, barely seen outside the shadowed halls of Maegor's Holdfast. The once-legendary Kingsguard were now little more than jailers making sure that the crown prince would not escape, with all but one sworn sword guarding the King day and night. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had also been thrown into the dungeons. And Tywin Lannister, once the Hand of the King, had been dismissed.
I took a slow sip of Dornish red, savoring the rich, spicy flavor that bloomed on my tongue. As I pondered the mess the realm had fallen into, the doors to my chambers swung open, and I saw Elia walk in, her steps soft and measured. Beside her was Ashara Dayne, her lady-in-waiting and friend, her presence as graceful and quiet as ever although her face had fallen due to the fact that her brother was arrested
"So, what did the maester say, sister?" I asked, rising to greet her with a kiss on her forehead.
Elia's dark eyes met mine, and I could see the weight of her news reflected there. "Oberyn," she said softly, her voice trembling with a mixture of joy and fear. "I am with child."
For a moment, I felt my heart swell with unrestrained happiness, my usually guarded nature breaking under the news. "That's wonderful!" I exclaimed, lifting her off her feet as she laughed softly, her joy mixing with mine. But even as we celebrated, the larger concerns of the realm began to creep back into our minds, casting shadows over our joy.
"Daemon will reach the capital any day now, alongside the Tyrells," I said, my tone growing more serious. Yet, the thought of seeing Daemon again quickened my pulse. His mismatched eyes, that ever-present smug grin, and the warmth of his embrace when he hugged me—just the memory of it stirred something deep within me.
Elia frowned, her smile fading. "Jaime is worried," she said softly, her voice laced with concern. "He fears what Daemon will do to his former betrothed… and to the brother who ran away with her, despite them being kin."
Daemon had always liked the Lannister girl well enough, but I knew he didn't love her—not the way he loved me. It was different, almost like the love I shared with Elia, more familial than passionate. But still, the thought of Cersei dishonoring my Daemon made my blood boil. The audacity of that woman!
"How dare she reject him?" I seethed inwardly, my palms clenching into fists. "Who does she think she is?"
And then there was the Crown Prince—Rhaegar. Just thinking about him made my skin prickle with anger. That simpering, jealous fool, always envious of Daemon's achievements, always playing the delicate prince while my Daemon—my golden prince—won battle after battle, admired and feared by all. And yet, it was Rhaegar who sullied Daemon's name, Rhaegar who ruined his reputation. Who did he think he was? A wimp, that's what he was. A coward dressed in princely finery.
"I'm truly devastated by what happened to Daemon," I said, though the words dripped with sarcasm. In truth, I didn't feel a shred of sympathy for Rhaegar's mess.
Elia arched an eyebrow, seeing right through me as always. "Oh, please, Oberyn. We all know how pleased you are that the betrothal between your 'golden prince' and Cersei Lannister has fallen apart."
I chuckled, unable to help myself. My gaze drifted toward Ashara, who sat opposite me and Elia. At the mention of Daemon, a faint blush crept up her cheeks, and she gave a small, embarrassed smile.
Of course she had feelings for Daemon. How could she not? He was perfection personified—stronger than most knights, sharper than many maesters, and as ruthless as the sea itself. There wasn't a soul alive who could stand beside Daemon and not feel overshadowed. I knew Ashara admired him, and why wouldn't she? Every time I thought of him, my heart raced. That smile, those mismatched eyes that held the fire of a hundred battles… and the way he touched me when he embraced me—it was intoxicating.
Daemon was everything I could ever want, everything anyone could want. He was perfect, down to the very last bit. And yet, daemon's own brother and betrothed dared to scorn him, to betray him.
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the Dornish red in my cup, my expression growing contemplative. "Do you think the King will take the girl's head?" I asked casually, referring to Cersei Lannister, her name like poison on my tongue.
"Oberyn!" Elia scolded, her voice sharp, instantly pulling me from my dark thoughts. "She is my husband's sister. We are family now. Don't speak of her like that."
I waved off her rebuke, unbothered. Family—what did it even mean in the court of King's Landing? Treachery, manipulation, and power plays; that's what defined family in this gods-forsaken place. "The King doesn't seem to care much for family," I said with a smirk. "He imprisoned his own son, after all, out of fear of being usurped."
Elia sighed, running a hand through her dark curls, her frustration evident. "The less said about Arthur and Rhaegar, the better. This entire mess is because of them." Her voice was thick with exhaustion. I knew she adored Rhaegar, but even she couldn't deny the chaos he'd brought upon the realm.
I grinned, relishing the chance to speak ill of him. "Rhaegar the Reckless," I said, almost laughing. "The smallfolk have taken to calling him that, you know. Ever since he disappeared with Cersei, abandoning his duties and his crown. I, for one, find it quite fitting. A prince who forgets his crown for a pretty face? The realm deserves better."
Elia gave me a disapproving look, but I knew she couldn't fully disagree. The realm had suffered greatly from Rhaegar's impulsive decisions, and the nobles were whispering in the shadows about his inadequacy. The fucker had proven, time and time again, that he wasn't worthy of the throne. No, it should be Daemon. Daemon, not Rhaegar, deserved to be the heir.
"Daemon should be the King's heir, not the spare," I mused, my voice softening as I let the thought linger. I could picture it so clearly. Daemon, my golden prince, seated on the Iron Throne, ruling as a just and fierce king. "He would rule well," I continued, my gaze distant as I imagined a future where Daemon had the power he deserved. "And I would be there to guide him, to stand by his side as his most trusted confidant." The golden king, they would call him. I smiled to myself at the thought, a mixture of pride and longing swelling in my chest.
Ashara, who had been quietly listening until now, spoke up, her voice soft but carrying weight. "With the way things are, I wouldn't be surprised if the King disinherits Rhaegar and makes Daemon the heir."
The words hung in the air for a moment, as if even speaking them aloud made them more real. Ashara quickly stopped herself, as if realizing the gravity of her own statement. But I knew she was right. The realm was teetering on the edge of collapse, and the King's paranoia was pushing him further into madness. Daemon was the only one who could restore order, and more importantly, he was the only one I trusted to lead.
I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like—what could be. If Daemon wore the crown instead of Rhaegar the Reckless, would the realm be saved from this madness? Would the chaos subside, or would it all burn in the fire of ambition? The Iron Throne had a way of corrupting even the best of men, but Daemon… no, Daemon was different. He was everything a king should be. Strong, wise, and willing to do what needed to be done.
"My goodfather will not allow that," Elia said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was firm, and I couldn't help but agree, as much as I hated to admit it.
Tywin Lannister, the old lion of the Rock, always got what he wanted. His daughter had married the Crown Prince, and now she carried his heir—the heir to the Iron Throne. The child in Cersei's belly could very well be the future King of Westeros, a union of Lannister gold and Targaryen blood. Tywin would never allow Daemon to supplant Rhaegar, not when his daughter's future and his family's legacy were at stake. The man was ruthless, and the lengths he would go to in order to secure his house's place atop the realm were endless.
"Daemon will have to be careful in how he approaches this," Elia said, her voice tinged with worry. She knew, as I did, that any misstep could spell doom, not just for Daemon but for all of us.
I smirked, the image of Daemon once again filling my mind. "Knowing him, he must already have a thousand and one plans by now," I said confidently. Daemon was not one to be outmaneuvered, and I had no doubt that he was already thinking several steps ahead, plotting his next move. He was a master of strategy, as sharp in the court as he was on the battlefield.
And then there was the matter of us—the bond we shared, deeper than blood, fiercer than any fleeting love. Daemon trusted me, relied on me in ways no one else could. Together, we would make the realm bend to our will. The future could be ours, and I would be there, always by his side.
As I sat there, lost in my thoughts, I felt a quiet determination settle over me. No matter what obstacles lay ahead, I knew one thing for certain—Daemon deserved to be King. And I would see to it that he sat on the Iron Throne, no matter the cost.
The fire of ambition was already burning, and I had no intention of letting it be snuffed out.
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Daemon Pov
The city of King's Landing sprawled before me, a grimy maze of twisted streets and clustered hovels, yet even through the stench of rot and sewage, something had changed. The air wasn't quite as foul as it once was. Progress, perhaps. Or maybe I'd just grown accustomed to the reek. Either way, it was still the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, and today, it would bear witness to my return.
I rode through the outskirts on a white stallion, my armor gleaming in the morning sun, each polished plate catching the light and reflecting it like molten gold. Darksister was sheathed at my side, her weight familiar, reassuring. Behind me, my loyal men followed, their armor shining like the scales of a dragon, a fearsome array of steel and discipline. The Tyrell contingent, resplendent in green and gold, brought up the rear, though Mace Tyrell had chosen the comfort of his wheeled carriage, riding beside his mother, the indomitable Olenna. Typical.
As we approached the King's Gate, I took in the sight of the city with a calculating eye. This would not be a mere entry. This was a show of strength, a demonstration that I, Daemon Targaryen, the Prince of Duskendale, the Golden Prince, had returned. The people would remember this day. And so would the court.
Standing atop the gate, I saw the gold cloaks of the City Watch, their golden armor gleaming in the sunlight like the scales of a dragon. At their head was Stannis Baratheon, Lord Commander of the City Watch, his blue eyes hard as steel. He met my gaze with a curt nod, one I returned in kind.
As I passed through the gate and into the city proper, I saw the smallfolk gathered along the streets, their faces a mixture of awe and anticipation. They threw flowers at the hooves of my horse, a shower of petals that turned the cobbled road into a path of red, yellow, and purple. The number of gold cloaks lining the streets increased as we rode deeper into the city, a silent, armored army forming behind me.
An army of gold, one might say. The people had come to witness their golden prince, and I would not disappoint them.
The Red Keep loomed ahead, its red stone walls towering over the city like a great, slumbering beast. As I drew closer, the cheers of the crowd grew louder, their voices blending into a deafening roar. When I finally reached the gates of the keep, I dismounted, handing the reins of my horse to a stableboy. I took a moment to look at the crowd gathered before me, thousands of faces turned toward me in expectation. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, excitement, and the faint hint of fear.
"All hail the Hand of the King!" Stannis' voice rang out, booming like a war horn, his Baratheon blood lending him a commanding tone. "The Prince of Duskendale, the Golden Prince himself, Prince Daemon Targaryen!"
The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices blending into one, chanting my name. "Golden Prince! Prince of Duskendale!" Their cries filled the air, reverberating off the walls of the Red Keep. I stood tall, basking in the sound of their adoration.
With a slow, deliberate motion, I unsheathed Darksister. The crowd fell silent as the Valyrian steel blade caught the light, gleaming as if forged from the very fire of the dragons. I raised the sword high above my head, its dark edge a stark contrast against the bright sky.
"I stand before you, the blood of the dragon!" I roared, my voice carrying over the crowd, the very stones of the city seeming to tremble in response. "The maesters say the last dragon died over a century and a half ago. They say the fire of House Targaryen has been snuffed out, reduced to embers and ash."
I swung Darksister downward, pointing it toward the Dragonpit, its crumbled dome still visible in the distance. "They were wrong. I am the dragon. As long as I live and breathe, no one will ever question the rule of House Targaryen."
The crowd murmured in response, their eyes wide, their breaths held in anticipation of my next words. I could feel their energy, their awe, their fear. It was intoxicating.
"I am the Prince of Duskendale," I continued, my voice rising, "the man who crushed the Darklyns, the warrior who slaughtered those who would defy our House. I am the son of the dragon, the Golden Prince, and I carry with me the fire of Old Valyria."
The people were hanging on every word now, their eyes locked on me, their cheers forgotten as they waited for more. I could feel their hearts racing, their admiration growing. They wanted to believe in something greater, something stronger. And I would give them that.
"I am fire and blood!" I shouted, thrusting Darksister toward the sky. The crowd erupted once more, their cheers shaking the very ground beneath me.
I held up my hand, and the crowd instantly quieted. "Let the word spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms," I declared, my voice cold, commanding. "The line of House Targaryen is not broken. We are not weak. We are not defeated. We are the rulers of this land, the blood of the dragon flows through our veins, and no one—no one—will stand against us."
The crowd roared in agreement, their voices rising like a wave. I could see the awe in their eyes, the belief. They saw me not just as a man, but as a dragon reborn. I had them now. They would follow me, believe in me, and fear me.
I let my gaze sweep over the crowd, my eyes falling on the highborn watching from the balconies of the Red Keep. Their faces were a mixture of fear and intrigue. They knew what I was capable of. They knew what I had done. And now, they would see what I would become.
As I sheathed Darksister, the crowd began to chant once more, louder this time, more fervent. "Daemon! Daemon! Daemon!"
I turned and began to ascend the steps of the Red Keep, the crowd still chanting my name, their voices echoing off the walls. My men followed behind me, their boots thudding against the stone in unison. This was the beginning of something great, something that would change the course of history.
As I reached the top of the steps, I looked back one last time at the crowd below. They were still watching me, still chanting, their eyes filled with hope, with fear, with admiration. I raised my hand one last time, and the crowd roared in response, their voices deafening.
I turned and entered the Red Keep, the heavy doors closing behind me with a resounding thud. The halls were cool and dark, a stark contrast to the bright, chaotic streets outside. I could feel the weight of the castle pressing down on me, the history, the power. This was the seat of kings, the place where dynasties rose and fell. And soon, it would be mine.
I strode through the halls with purpose, my men following in silence. The court awaited me, the lords and ladies, the schemers and plotters. They thought they knew what to expect. They thought they could control me, manipulate me like some pawn in their game.
They were wrong.
I was no pawn. I was a dragon. And I would burn them all if they dared to defy me.
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The oppressive air of Maegor's Holdfast seemed even heavier today as I strode through its familiar halls. The usual buzzing of courtiers was absent, replaced only by the silence of steel. I took note of the increased number of knights stationed at every corner, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. My lips curled slightly, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. My father's paranoia had reached new heights, it seemed. Not that it surprised me, but it certainly amused me. Was he truly so terrified of the Lion?
The clink of my armor echoed through the quiet halls as I made my way toward the King's bedchamber, where my father, Aerys I, surely awaited me. My father, the King—though the title barely seemed fitting anymore, as he cowered in his chambers, surrounded by sycophants and White Cloaks.
As I walked, I caught sight of my mother standing in the distance, the ever-dutiful Queen Rhaella. She was flanked by her ladies-in-waiting, their silks rustling as they murmured quietly amongst themselves. I saw Janna Tyrell and young Lysa Tully glance in my direction, their eyes widening as they took in my presence. The Tyrell girl had always been an eager one, while Lysa looked as though she'd rather shrink into the shadows than be noticed.
But my gaze did not linger on them for long. No, it was my mother who held my attention. The sight of her stopped me in my tracks.
Her face had fallen, her once-proud features now etched with exhaustion. Her eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were red and puffy, as if she'd been crying for days. She looked older than she had any right to, burdened by the endless grief that seemed to cling to her like a second skin.
"Daemon," she whispered as she approached me, her voice soft and strained. She embraced me, her arms wrapping around me in a gesture that should have been comforting, but it only deepened the ache in my chest.
"You have to forgive your brother, Daemon," she said, her voice trembling.
Her words made me freeze, the breath catching in my throat. Forgive Rhaegar?
I pulled back from her embrace, my body stiffening as her plea echoed in my mind. Of course, she would defend him. Of course, even after all that had happened, she would take his side.
The words that came next were laced with bitterness, my hurt and anger bubbling to the surface. "You haven't seen me in moons, Mother," I said, my voice edged with the pain I was no longer able to hide. "And the first thing you say to me is to forgive Rhaegar?"
Her eyes filled with guilt, but still, she stood her ground. "Daemon, he is your brother. Family—"
"Family?" I cut her off, my voice rising in fury. "He took my betrothed, Mother. He bedded her, married her, and now she's pregnant with his child. My brother! He made a mockery of me, a fool in front of the entire realm!"
My fists clenched at my sides, my nails biting into my palms as I fought to control the fire roaring inside me. "And the first thing you say is not to ask how I am, how I've suffered, but to tell me to forgive him?!" I scoffed, the sound harsh and bitter. "What a mother you are."
The words escaped me before I could stop them, and I saw the pain they caused her, the way her face crumbled. But I didn't care. I couldn't care, not right now.
"I have to take my leave, my queen," I said coldly, spitting the title as though it were poison on my tongue. I turned on my heel, not bothering to look back as I continued toward the King's quarters.
Behind me, I heard my mother break down in sobs, her handmaidens rushing to her side to comfort her. But I didn't stop. I couldn't. Not after what she had said.
The halls seemed to close in around me, each step heavier than the last as I approached the doors to my father's chambers. Two-score knights stood at attention, their armor gleaming in the dim light of the corridor. They wore the colors of House Targaryen—black and red—but their eyes held none of the warmth or loyalty one might expect. They were simply there, their loyalty not to me, but to the crown that weighed so heavily on my father's head.
Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stood by the door. The White Bull, they called him, a man of unyielding duty and honor. He greeted me with a nod, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Prince Daemon," he said, his voice a deep rumble.
"How is he?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Ser Gerold's eyes flickered with something—pity, perhaps—before he shook his head. "The King... he is unwell, my prince."
Unwell. That was one way to put it.
I made to step past him, but Ser Gerold raised a hand, stopping me in my tracks. "The King does not wish for anyone to carry a sword in his presence," he said, his tone firm.
I gritted my teeth, my temper flaring once more. Weak. My father had become weak and scared.
"Good," I muttered under my breath, though I knew Ser Gerold had heard me. His brows rose slightly, but he said nothing.
"I am his son," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "I will not leave Darksister behind." My hand rested on the hilt of the Valyrian steel blade, the cold metal a reminder of my power, my heritage. I was a Targaryen, a dragon.
Ser Gerold regarded me for a long moment, his face impassive. The White Bull was not a man easily swayed, but he was also a man of logic. After a tense silence, he finally nodded, stepping aside to allow me entry.
The doors creaked open, revealing the dimly lit bedchamber beyond. I stepped inside, my heart pounding in my chest as I took in the sight of my father.
King Aerys II Targaryen, the man who was supposed to be the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, lay in his bed, his once-vibrant silver hair now dull and matted, his skin pale and gaunt. His eyes—once sharp and full of fire—were clouded with paranoia, darting around the room as though he expected an assassin to spring from the shadows at any moment.
"Father," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I approached the bed.
His eyes snapped to mine, narrowing in suspicion. "Daemon," he croaked, his voice hoarse and brittle. "Why do you carry a sword in my presence?"
"I am your son," I replied, my voice steady but laden with conviction. "I carry Darksister because it is my right."
King Aerys's fevered eyes darted to mine, clouded with suspicion but flickering with desperation. "Yes, yes," he muttered, his voice trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. "You will not betray me, right, Daemon?" He reached for my hand, his bony fingers cold and clammy.
I held his hand firmly, sensing the frailty of the man who once ruled with fire and fear. "Never, Father," I said, the words calm and unwavering. "I am your son, and I would never betray you."
Aerys nodded, though his gaze shifted nervously toward the shadows in the corners of the room, as if enemies lurked within the darkness. His paranoia had consumed him entirely. "Rhaegar wants to kill me," he whispered, his voice growing sharp. "And so does Tywin Lannister. They all plot against me, Daemon. They want my throne!"
He spat the name "Lannister" with such venom that it almost made me smile. The thought of Tywin's golden mane tangled in my father's feverish nightmares amused me. But now, with Aerys so unhinged, I realized that this was the perfect opportunity to guide him, to mold his fractured mind to my will.
Aerys Targaryen was weak, a dragon in name only, a man who had let sycophants and flatterers erode his mind. And now, as he sat in this shadowed chamber, convinced that everyone was conspiring against him, I could sense how alone he felt. Everyone else had abandoned him, left him to drown in his madness. But not me. No, I was here to help him, to guide him.
I leaned closer, my voice soft but steady. "Father, a dragon alone in the world is a cruel thing. But you are not alone. I will never leave your side."
Aerys's gaze flickered with a trace of hope, and for a brief moment, he seemed to calm. "Yes, yes, Daemon. You are right." His grip on my hand tightened. "You will protect me."
"I will, Father," I said, my voice soothing, as if I were speaking to a frightened child. "That is why you made me Hand of the King, isn't it? To protect you from your enemies."
Aerys nodded again, more fervently this time. "Yes, that's why I made you Hand." He reached for the pin of office lying beside his bed, his trembling fingers closing around the cold metal. He pressed it into my hand with a sense of urgency, his fevered eyes locking onto mine. "You will make them pay for their treachery. All of them."
As I took the pin, I felt the heat radiating from his body. He had a fever. His skin was clammy and pale, his eyes dull. He was wasting away, slowly but surely. Poisoned, no doubt. And there was only one man in the Red Keep skilled enough, treacherous enough, to carry out such a plot.
"Pycelle," I thought to myself. The Grand Maester had long been in Tywin Lannister's pocket. A puppet, nothing more. And Tywin, that old lion, was playing a clever game. Using Pycelle to slowly poison the king, to weaken him day by day, so that when the time came, Tywin could strike with precision and seize control of the realm. It was a cunning plan, one worthy of a man like Tywin Lannister.
But Pycelle's days were numbered. I would see to that.
"Rest easy, Father," I said, still holding Aerys's frail hand. "I will make them all bow before us."
Aerys's eyes flared briefly, the fire of his madness rekindled at the mention of revenge. "Tywin Lannister," he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "He boasts of his whore of a daughter, the one who married Rhaegar. The one who broke your betrothal!"
"I will make him pay for his arrogance," I promised, my voice low but seething with controlled rage. "Mark my words, Father. Tywin Lannister will regret the day he ever crossed House Targaryen."
Aerys's eyes gleamed with feverish delight. "Yes, yes! Make him suffer, Daemon! Make the lions bleed!"
But then his expression darkened again, his paranoia returning like a wave crashing over him. "But what of Rhaegar?" he muttered, his voice quivering. "My son... my elder son. He is a fool, but he defied me. He married that whore, Daemon. He defied my will!"
"Rhaegar is nothing more than a puppet in this, Father," I said, my tone measured. "But he, too, must answer for his actions. He openly challenged your authority. Such treason cannot go unpunished."
Aerys's hands shook, and his eyes darted around the room again, as if searching for unseen enemies. "The child," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "The child she carries... it will be the death of me. A boy, a Lannister boy. Tywin will kill me once the child is born. I know it!"
I stepped closer, lowering my voice so that only Aerys could hear. "Do not worry, Father. This will not come to pass. I will not allow it."
Aerys's eyes flickered with confusion and fear. "How... how can you stop it?"
I smiled, the expression cold and calculating. "I will pull the very claws out of the old lion, Father. I will show him—and the entire realm—that it is the dragons who rule the Seven Kingdoms, not the lions."
Every word I spoke seemed to fuel Aerys's madness, feeding his paranoia and his desire for vengeance. I could see the twisted satisfaction in his eyes as he imagined the downfall of his enemies, and I knew then that I had him firmly in my grasp. His mind, fragile and broken as it was, was mine to shape. And shape it I would.
"Yes," Aerys muttered, his voice trembling with excitement. "Yes, Daemon. Do it. Show them all the might of the dragons. Make them fear us again!"
I nodded, my expression one of calm determination. "I will, Father. You can trust me."
Aerys's hand trembled in mine, but I could see that he believed me. He was too far gone, too consumed by his madness to see the truth of my manipulation. And that was precisely what I needed.
"I trust you, my son," he whispered, his voice filled with a twisted kind of pride. "Go... go and show the realm a true dragon's might."
I bowed my head, the mask of filial devotion firmly in place. "I will, Father."
As I turned to leave the room, a cold smile crept across my face. Aerys was mine now, a puppet of my own making, and through him, I would reshape the future of the realm.
With Darksister at my side and the Hand's pin gleaming on my chest, I left the King's chambers, the smile still lingering on my lips.
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