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Cersei:
It was an ugly little thing. Cersei Lannister thought, looking down at it in the crib.
She was alone in its chambers. She had no difficulty dismissing the maids, who had the misfortune of taking care of this creature. She understood how to apply the threat of her family's name or her father to get what she wanted.
And right now it was to be alone and undisturbed with this thing.
After all, she was a lioness of the Rock, and she wouldn't allow the words no to be told to her.
It was in a lion's nature to rule not submit.
Less than two weeks had passed since this monster saw the light of day. News had already spread of its deformities and hideousness throughout the Westerlands. While some claimed it had already reached the capital and the king's ear. She had overheard some of the gossip from the guards and servants who had come from Lannisport and how the small folk had already dubbed this thing, Tywin's Bane, The Doom of Lannister.
How dare they, Cersei had quietly seethed upon hearing this. She had made sure to note which ones had said what and where they had heard it, so that those who would utter such disrespect towards her family would be properly punished.
"You will not be my father's bane."
The thing burbled, looking up at her with mismatched eyes of green and black.
She wanted to shudder at the hideousness of it, but she didn't. She wouldn't allow this thing to affect her.
"You're no Lannister," she told the small ugly thing that resembled an infant. "You don't deserve the name Lannister, but monster."
And it was a monster, she took in its ugly appearance. It was a dwarf, its head larger than its small, weak body, a jutting forehead, mismatched eyes, stubby legs, and coarse hair of black and blond.
"You can't be my brother," she said, after inspecting its features. She already had a brother, a twin, Jaime, her mirror image, with golden blond hair, and emerald green eyes. He was worthy of being her brother, a Lannister, not this thing. Cersei didn't want to be compared to this dwarf. She didn't want to be seen with it. She would be laughed at, ridiculed by everyone.
"It isn't fair!" She hissed down at the oblivious dwarf. "If the gods are just you'll die soon enough."
"Cersei Lannister!"
She recoiled, spinning away from the crib and towards the entrance of the chambers.
Standing in the doorway was her mother, Joanna Lannister, garbed in crimson and gold, resonating strength and looking regal even after only giving birth less than two weeks ago. She stood tall and proud, like a true Lady of the Rock.
"Mother," she was quick to greet her, silently wondering how much her mother had heard.
If her mother had heard anything she wasn't quick to comment on it. "Why aren't you with your brother and our guests?" She swept into the room, her crimson and gold robes flowing behind her.
"I don't like them." Cersei knew better then to lie to her mother. She always seemed to know when she did.
"That's your father talking," A touch of amusement seeped into her tone.
Cersei perked up at that, pleased at the comparison to her father.
"Prince Oberyn could someday be your husband."
Never! Cersei wanted to scream. Father, promised me Prince Rhaegar . Remembering her private conversations with him. There father had told her of his plan. It was their little secret, he even favored her a small, but proud smile afterwards. Cersei was determined not to fail him.
She let out a tut of disappointment at Cersei's silence. "You bring no honor to our house sulking in the shadows." She made her way to the crib where the creature was residing.
"I'm not sulking," Cersei argued, taking offense at the notion that she had dishonored her house. She would never do that, surely mother knew that. "I just don't like the Prince or Princess."
Joanna Lannister didn't reply to her instead she tended to that dwarf. Fussing over him as if he was actually her son, and not some monster, some mistake that never should've seen the light of day.
This thing has shamed House Lannister not me, Cersei thought bitterly.
"Your brother has gotten along rather well with them," Her mother observed, "I've seen him spar with Prince Oberyn and walk with Princess Elia along the beach."
Nice try, mother . Cersei wouldn't go after the bait. Mother wanted some sort of reaction from her, to scowl, or shout, or curse or complain, but Cersei wouldn't do any of that. Jaime, her brother was no longer what she cherished most.
Mother had started her down that realization. When she had caught Cersei and Jaime being together, she had stopped them at once, keeping an eye on both of them, and putting as much distance as she could between their living quarters.
At first, Cersei had been upset with mother for doing this. Knowing her mother couldn't understand because she wasn't a twin. She didn't realize how close it made her and Jaime. How they were two halves of one whole. How they entered the world together. They were meant to be together.
That anger towards her mother was soon turned towards Jaime in the following weeks when she and Jaime suddenly found themselves going down different paths. They use to be inseparable, attending lessons with their maester, playing on the beach, traveling to Lannisport, but that all changed.
Jaime had different lessons now. He was being taught how to rule and fight which Cersei wasn't allowed to do. Instead, she was taught sewing, and singing, and to play the harp.
It wasn't fair. She hated the roles they were given. She was given a needle and expected to be happy when she wanted a sword.
Whatever intimate feelings she had for Jaime dissipated in that time, until it was nothing more than a memory, a silly, embarrassing one that she called a mistake and tried to bury.
"I hope the Princess makes him happy."
Mother turned to her, a golden eyebrow raised in silent appraisal to see if Cersei was being truthful or trying to hide something. After a few seconds, she seemed appeased, "A union between the Westerlands and Dorne would only strengthen our House."
"If that's the case then I wouldn't be needed to marry Prince Oberyn."
Joanna chuckled, "If your brother married Princess Elia, then no you would not."
Cersei was pleased with that admission. She was going to marry a prince, but it wouldn't be a Dornish one. No, she was going to marry the Crown Prince, the handsome and gallant Rhaegar, and she would one day be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. That's what father had promised her.
"Regardless, if he is to be your intended or not, as a Lannister you are expected to serve as an exceptional host when we have esteemed guests visiting us at the Rock," Her mother's green eyes turned to her.
"I understand, mother," Cersei ducked her head, realizing the ramifications her absence could have on her family. She was determined not to be the one who dishonored the Lannister name. "I'll make you and father proud."
"You already do, darling," she ran her hand through Cersei's hair, who smiled at her mother's touch. "What do you think of your baby brother, Tyrion?"
Cersei's smile curdled at the mention of that thing. Why did mother have to ruin their moment by dragging that creature into their conversation?
Something that didn't go unnoticed by her mother. "He's your brother, Cersei."
"He's a monster," she spat back, "And he almost killed you!" She felt tears in her eyes and was quick to scrub at them. Her father told her that lions don't cry. That they're not suppose to be sad. Never sad, if they're upset then it should be turned into something productive, never to wallow in it.
"Oh, darling," She felt her mother's hands cup her cheeks, raising her chin and having her meet her mother's green eyes. "I'm here," she soothed, "I'm alright, you can't blame your brother for that."
Yes, I can, she wanted to say, but she stopped herself. "How can you defend him?"
"He's my son."
Cersei was stunned by her mother's sharp tone, looking up at her to see a fierce lioness with eyes that blazed a challenging hue as if waiting and ready for any further insult or attack on her child. It wasn't a side of her mother she had seen.
She felt a sliver of apprehension in her tummy especially upon understanding at the moment, that anger was directed at her. She was the one who was trying to come between a mother and her child. Cersei was the one trying to separate them, and seeing what it stirred in her mother, a ferocity that couldn't be rivaled, it made her reconsider what she should or shouldn't say. Cersei didn't want to be the target of her mother's ire.
"He needs us, Cersei." She took Cersei's hand in hers and led her to the crib.
She stayed silent, watching as her mother affectionately tousle its hair, soothing it with a soft hum, before smiling where it then cooed back at her. Cersei felt something in her chest shift when she watched the interactions between them.
"We're lions, Cersei," her mother reminder her. "We're a pride."
"A pride?" Cersei remembered her parents telling her and Jaime a similar story several times. But it was simpler then, it had been just her parents and Jaime, now it was to include this thing.
"Yes," she affirmed, "You're a lioness and it's your responsibility to defend your brothers, Jaime and Tyrion." Her finger was gently scratching at the baby's tummy, much to the delight of the infant. "Otherwise what sort of sister are you to let someone hurt our family?"
"The Lannisters, our family remains strong because we are united." Her mother continued, "Tyrion is my son, your brother," a smile playing at her lips. "Our little cub, he'll need you Cersei."
"Need me?"
"Yes," Her mother sighed, "The world is cruel to those that are different. Already word has spread of his birth," She sounded sad, "Gossiping and wanting to gawk at him as if he was a means to entertain him." She shook her head, "Not my son, and never a Lannister."
Cersei knew mother was right. Having already heard of what was being said about him, reflecting on the cruel things they said, brought an unexpected burning feeling to her tummy.
It was anger. But this time it wasn't directed at him, but them…
Reflecting on this new sensation, she looked down once more at the crib to see he was smiling at her. His small hands reaching up at her, his different colored eyes didn't look ugly then. How could they when he looked so happy? So oblivious to what the world outside of this room would think of him. What they would say to him. How they would try to hurt him.
The thought of that brought that simmering anger to grow. He didn't deserve that, she realized in that moment. No one should dare mock the Lannister family or name.
She'd protect him from their cruelty. She'd make them pay if they thought to insult him. The Lannister name was beyond reproach.
Cersei reached out to grab one of his small hands with her finger, he seemed delighted at the touch, and when his face lit up, she didn't recoil in disgust, instead she smiled.
"Hello, Tyrion," she said softly in greeting, "I'm Cersei, your big sister." She carefully applied a small bit of pressure on his hand with her finger for an affectionate hold, "And you're a mighty Lannister of the Rock."
He gurgled in response.
Cersei giggled, "That was a fearsome roar." She rubbed his cheek with her free hand, "You're going to grow up with a brother and sister who'll love you because you're one us. And no one messes with a lion's pride."
Daeron:
"Have you heard the news out of the Westerlands?"
"Tywin's new son?" Daeron asked.
"Yes," Ser Gwayne Gaunt answered, a man with a wisp of hair upon his head, all of it dark, with kind brown eyes, and a bushy mustache that hung over his small mouth which smiled often. In spite of his family's name, he was tall and thick, dressed in the white armor of the Kingsguard, with his greatsword strapped to his back, the hilt of which was poking out over his shoulder.
He was often the guard assigned to Daeron. Not that he minded, the prince enjoyed the knight. Ser Gwayne liked to laugh, and wasn't as glum or as indifferent as some of his fellow knights.
"You should be Ser Gwayne the Gossip," Daeron joked.
Gwayne chuckled at that. "I can't help it, my prince. I enjoy a good story." His mustache twitched. "And there's quite the story coming out of the Rock. They're calling it a monster."
Sadly, Daeron had already heard these stories . Remembering how thrilled his father had been when word had reached his ear of the deformity of Tywin's newborn son. Aerys had been quick to call it a just serving by the gods to punish his Hand for his arrogance .
He didn't think it wise or appropriate of his father to be so public in his remarks towards Lord Tywin, seeing as the man was one of the richest and most powerful in the Seven Kingdoms, as the Lord of Casterly Rock who also served as his Father's Hand.
Reservations aside, Daeron was quietly relieved that this new story out of the Westerlands had distracted his father's wrath and anger away from his mother, Queen Rhaella. Who was recovering from another stillborn, an incident that had made father curse and shout his frustrations at his wife and queen, and openly wondering if she was being unfaithful to him.
It had taken all Daeron's discipline not to speak out when his father voiced this out loud in the great hall during session. Instead, he took the insult of his mother silently, inwardly stewing at the disrespect he continued to hurl at her.
That was where he was headed now. Mother was recovering from the trying ordeal, and Daeron didn't want to leave her alone.
"An Oldtown sailor heard from a merchant at Lannisport who's cousin is a servant at the Rock who said it has a tail!" Ser Gwayne's gossiping brought Daeron out of his thoughts.
"How does that sound reliable?" Daeron asked the knight.
He frowned at the question. "What do you mean, my prince?" He scratched his chin. "It sounds awfully legitimate to me."
They rounded a corner where they were greeted by a pair of soldiers dressed in black armor, the Targaryen emblem emblazoned on their chest. They bowed at Daeron's presence as he passed, he nodded towards them in recognition as he was taught to do before they continued on their way to his mother's chambers.
"Have you seen my brother around?"
"Last I heard he was in the library, my prince."
"Do you know if he's seen the Queen at all?"
"Not to my knowledge, none of the men guarding him have reported going to her chambers."
Daeron pushed away some of his silver hair that had fallen over his face. While trying not to show frustration at his older brother's seemingly indifference to their mother's health. Wasn't he worried? Did he even care for her well-being?
No, he was too busy reading his dusty tomes in the library, he thought bitterly. My brother cares more about what he finds on faded ink in old pages then he does the flesh and blood of the people who surround him.
Rounding the last corner to reach his mother's chambers to see Grand Maester Pycelle exiting them while Ser Harlan Grandison of the kingsguard had the duty of standing outside the Queen's room. Both men were quick to bow at Daeron's approach.
"My Prince," Harlan greeted him, his voice low and deep, he stood short, only about half a head taller than Daeron who had yet to reach his eleventh name day, but he was stocky and intimidating despite the white hair nestled atop his head, and the beginning wrinkles that crept along his face couldn't hide the warrior that still remained.
"Ser Harlan," Daeron returned the greeting with a smile. "It does my heart glad to know that my mother has you as her protector this hour."
"You honor me, prince."
Daeron nodded before turning to Grand Maester Pycelle, who had served as Grand Maester for more than twenty years, the hair on his head was receding, the hair that remained was snow white. His beard was the same color falling just above his broad stomach, his eyes were droopy looking like he had just woken from a nap, dressed in the robes of his order with more than two dozen chains that he had forged during his time in Oldtown which were stretched from neck to breast.
"Did you need me for something, my prince?"
"No," he declined politely, "How is my mother?"
"The Queen is recovering," Pycelle proclaimed.
"I want to see her."
"She is ill, my prince."
Daeron Targaryen frowned. "She needs me."
"She needs rest," Pycelle countered, stroking his beard. "It isn't wise for young princes to argue with those whose knowledge they don't have."
He felt a flicker of annoyance in his gut at the Grand Maester's scolding. "She is my mother," He insisted, "Now, step aside so that I may pass." He took a step towards him and as predicted so did Ser Gwayne and Ser Harlan turned to the Grand Maester as well.
Pycelle buckled in an instant, realizing he was outnumbered with no allies. He bowed his head, shuffling to the side to allow him access to the Queen's chambers.
"Thank you," Daeron didn't even glance over at the man. "Can you make sure we are not interrupted?"
"Of course, my prince," It was Ser Gwayne Gaunt who replied, taking to stand on the opposite side of his counterpart, Ser Harlan, who opened the door for Daeron so that he may enter.
The chambers of his mother, the Queen, were posh and ornate, red and black dominated the room while carved stone dragons watched his movement with unflinching eyes and menacing silent snarls.
He was quick to note his mother wasn't alone, spotting two of her handmaids attending to her by her bed, which was draped in black and red curtains.
"Mother," his voice hitched in his throat when he spotted her. She looked pale, her indigo eyes, were staring blankly up at the canopy of her bed, dark rings surfaced beneath her eyes, her platinum blond hair was tangled and dirty. Daeron didn't like seeing her like this, she looked so weak and helpless. This wasn't his mother, the loving, kind woman who he went to when father scared him or Rhaegar ignored him.
"I lost it."
"I know," he grabbed her hand, frowning at how frail it felt in his grip. "How are you?"
"Your father is angry," she ignored his question. Her lips quivered. "Another one of my failures." She croaked, "that's what he calls them." Tears swam in her eyes. "He believes me cursed by the gods."
"No, mother, that isn't true," he was quick to assure her, feeling an ache in his chest upon hearing his mother list all the cruel things, his father was saying about her. "You've done your duty," he tried to say. "You've given him two sons," he rubbed the back of her hand, "An heir, and a spare," he chuckled.
The names of her sons seemed to shake her from her reverie, blinking unshed tears, she turned her indigo eyes to him, "Daeron," recognition caused her eyes to shimmer, "My son."
He smiled, "I'm here, mother." He looked over to see one of the handmaidens had come over with a bowl filled with water while holding a dry cloth. "I can do that," he insisted, thinking it only right he attend to his mother, "Set it down, please."
The handmaiden hesitated, torn between her loyalty and her duty, looking uncertain if Daeron should perform it whether because of his age or of the task seemingly being beneath a prince. In the end, she acquiesced, putting the bowl down on his mother's nightstand before curtseying.
"Where is Rhaegar?"
"He'll be here soon, mother," he didn't like to lie, but he didn't want to hurt her. "He's practicing his harp. He's going to play you something."
It won't be a lie, he thought, I'll make sure Rhaegar comes to see her.
"My sons," She smiled, "Take such care of me."
He dipped the cloth into the water. "We'll try not to spoil you."
Rhaella Targaryen laughed at that, a fragile sound, "The gods have blessed me."
"They've blessed us too," he told her, "You're the Mother herself," he declared, "kind and nurturing," he carefully brushed away some of the beads of sweat that had formed, but Daeron was sure some were tears that were shed for the child that had been lost.
The sigh that left her lips was of contentment. "How go your lessons?"
"Ser Willem Darry says I'm improving every day with the sword." He couldn't hide the pride that filled his tone. "And Ser Barristan promised to start sparring with me soon!"
"Oh?" amusement bubbled her question, "Is that wise for Ser Barristan the Bold to fight, my prince?"
Daeron laughed, "He promised to go easy on me, mother."
"I'm glad."
"I want to be his squire," Daeron said suddenly, "Do you think father would allow it?"
"I could think of no finer mentor."
He was determined to get better with sword and lance. He wanted to do something better than his brother.
Daeron thought it could be fighting since he spent all his time in the yard training while Rhaegar preferred books and parchment to swords and shields, but that all changed when Rhaegar suddenly took an interest and had decided he needed to learn to fight.
He remembered the day all too well. The day Rhaegar showed up during one of Daeron's lessons with Ser Willem. He looked so out of place, earning a few stares and even a couple guffaws as Rhaegar wasn't even dressed in armor or padding, but that didn't deter him from walking right over to Ser Willem, interrupting Daeron's lesson, and declaring, I must learn to fight.
Much to Daeron's annoyance, his brother took to fighting like fish to water, excelling in his lessons with Ser William. His brother fought well, better than Daeron. His age and maturity easily trumped Daeron's raw talent, giving Rhaegar an advantage in their sparring. Besting Daeron with ease whether it be with swords or with lances.
Daeron hated it. His brother was good at everything he did, the perfect prince. That was what they called him at court. And now he had taken what Daeron had always wanted to do, but in the end, it didn't matter because Daeron still found himself in his brother's shadow, the crown prince.
My day will come, he thought, unable to deny the feeling of satisfaction he felt that came with the image. It was why Daeron was so excited to learn and squire under Ser Barristan. There was no finer swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms then Ser Barristan the Bold, and Daeron would have every opportunity to learn from him, pick up on his skills, and hone his craft, hoping that when he was finished, he could beat his brother once and for all.
"Daeron?"
"Yes, mother?" he blinked back to the present, looking to see she was looking at him closely.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said too quickly to sound convincing.
"Have you and Rhaegar been fighting?"
We'd have to talk to fight. "No."
Thankfully, that placated her, "Good, you two mean the world to me," she closed her eyes. "But now it's time for you to go on to your lessons."
"I can stay."
"Your lessons," she repeated sternly, but there was a softness in her reminder.
"Very well," he let out a dramatic groan and was pleased at the smile that it had gotten from his mother. He stood from his seat. "I'll try to visit again soon." He bent over and kissed her forehead.
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
"Was there a tournament when I was born?"
Daeron was too excited to pack. Lord Tywin Lannister had sent an invitation to his family for a tournament he was throwing in honor of the birth of Daeron's new baby brother, Prince Viserys. So instead of packing, he found himself in the chambers of said baby brother.
His mother, Queen Rhaella was there, tending to the infant in his cradle while Kingsguard knights, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gwayne Gaunt stood on opposite sides of the entrance chambers doors.
Father wasn't taking any chances in trying to protect his newborn son. He had tasked Lord Commander Hightower with putting at least one knight of the Kingsguard in Viserys' chambers at all times. No one was allowed to be alone with his new baby brother, not even mother, who was attended by a handful of servants, handmaidens, and the wet nurse.
"There was no need, my prince," Ser Oswell Whent replied, "What were we celebrating?"
"Oswell," Rhaella scolded the Kingsguard knight.
Daeron grinned at the playful ribbing from Ser Whent. He enjoyed the knight's sense of humor, and was pleased that Oswell didn't treat him like a pampered prince and had no difficulty in teasing him.
"Mayhaps, I should fight you to regain my honor?" Daeron challenged.
Ser Oswell regarded him, "Let's not add injury to insult, my prince."
"I'm getting better!" Daeron insisted. He had been working diligently in the training yard every day.
"Of course, you are," Ser Oswell agreed, "Once a man reaches the bottom the only place to go is up."
"I think you've insulted my son, your prince enough for one afternoon," Rhaella Targaryen, Queen of Westeros turned away from the crib and her newborn towards them. A playful smile on her lips, she walked and carried herself well even after giving birth so recently. She raised a platinum eyebrow towards Ser Oswell.
He took the playful scolding with a small smile. Ser Oswell then inclined his head. "Of course, your grace."
She nodded towards him before turning to Daeron, who couldn't help but smile at his mother. "Are you excited about the tournament?"
"Yes, mother," he answered quickly, but his smile dipped, "but why can't you and Viserys come?"
The smile she wore slid from her face. "It is your father's concern that keeps me and your brother here." Her dark purple eyes turned back to Viserys, "It's his way of keeping us safe and making sure your baby brother is healthy and that I recover."
"I guess," Daeron found himself saying, unable to find any fault in that logic, but he was still disappointed.
"Come, my son," She called him over.
Daeron obeyed. Approaching the crib, before looking down to see his newborn baby brother who was squirming on top of his blankets, sucking one of his balled fists. He had a few wisps of silvery hair that crowned his head, his eyes were lilac, and he was pale skinned.
"Hello, Viserys," Daeron knew his brother couldn't understand him, but when their eyes met, he couldn't help but smile down at his younger brother. "I'm your brother, Daeron," he introduced himself.
I'll be the older brother, Rhaegar never was to me, he kept those thoughts to himself, not wanting to upset mother.
"The gods have blessed me with three strong sons."
Daeron puffed his chest out slightly at the tone his mother used to describe him.
"And I know that this prince," she poked Daeron's nose, causing himt to laugh. "Will be on his best behavior while he attends this tournament," she turned her eyes to him, "You represent our family. You are a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Daeron. You will act like one."
"I will, mother," the last thing he'd want to do is disappoint her.
"I know you will, darling," she ran her hand through his hair, tousling it as she went. "Are you excited to see your brother enter the lists?"
"Yes, mother," Daeron gave the answer she wanted to hear.
Rhaegar had been recently knighted and father had given his blessing to let him partake in the tournament that was being held in honor of their younger brother. Daeron was too young to take part, and had to resign himself to sitting in the stands and watching.
Before she could reply, baby Viserys made his feelings known, letting out a gurgling cry.
Daeron quickly put his fingers to his ears to try to muffle the wailing cries. "He's so loud!"
"He's hungry," Rhaella didn't flinch.
"I'll get the wet nurse," one of the servants volunteered loudly, so that she could speak over the noise.
"The food tester too," Ser Oswell Whent spoke up. "The king's orders."
Rhaella didn't protest, turning to two of the servants. "Go, now," she encouraged, they curtseyed before quickly leaving the room.
Viserys was still crying.
"Shh, darling," she bent over carefully picking up her newborn son. "I know you're hungry. You'll eat soon," she ran her fingers down his back.
Unaware and unable to understand what was being said to him, the baby still cried, but mother had softened them with her gentle touch and words. She smiled in response. "That's a good child."
"Was I so loud when I cried?"
"Louder," Rhaella favored him a smile, her indigo eyes held a teasing glint to them.
"Your Grace?"
Queen and Prince turned in the direction of the new arrival. It was Ser Barristan, he bowed his head, when their eyes met.
"Ser Barristan," she greeted him kindly, "Always a pleasure to see you."
"The Queen honors me," Barristan turned his attention to Daeron. "The King has asked me to escort the Prince to his chambers to make sure he is packed and ready to go by sunrise tomorrow."
"I understand," Rhaella turned to Daeron, "Go with Ser Barristan," she leaned over and kissed his head while Viserys squirmed in her arms. "And be ready to leave like your father requested."
"I will," he assured her. "And I'll make sure to say goodbye before I go."
"You better."
Daeron smiled at that before following Ser Barristan out into the corridor. They then began the short walk to his chambers.
"Will you be entering the lists, Ser Barristan?"
"I plan on it," he answered, "It's always wise to hone your talents when given the opportunity. Like swords, skills can rust if not continually used."
"I'll remember that."
"As you should," the Kingsguard knight gently reminded him, "Especially if you are to remain as my squire."
"I won't disappoint you, Ser," Daeron told him.
Ser Barristan appraised him for a second before nodding, "Then make sure our horses are prepped and ready to go tomorrow before we depart."
His first reaction was to groan at not just the work he had to do, but the hour in which he had to do it. If they were to leave near sunrise, then that meant Daeron would have to wake up much earlier to tend to his and Ser Barristan's horses. However, he made sure to not let those thoughts slip past, instead he nodded at his orders. "Then it will be done."
"Good lad," Barristan smiled at him. "You'll make a good knight someday."
Someday, Daeron was tired of that word. He was told it so often, he hated it.
Apparently, his reaction didn't go unnoticed, "The impatience of youth." Barristan responded ruefully.
"I just wish it was over," Daeron confessed.
"You shouldn't," Barristan told him, "Savor it, because far too quickly youth melts away and time makes us all old men."
"I don't want to be that old."
Barristan laughed. "I don't think you'll have a say in the matter, my prince."
"I just want to be old enough to enter the lists."
"There will be other tournaments."
It wasn't the answer, he wanted to hear, but Daeron would not show Ser Barristan any measure of disrespect taking the Kingsguard knight's words with a nod. "You're right, ser, it's just a challenge to wait."
"Aye," Barristan agreed with a kind smile. "I recall my own youth and insistence in fighting in a tournament that was being held in the Stormlands."
"That was when there were only six Kingdoms of Westeros, right, Ser Barristan?" Daeron asked innocently, but was unable to contain his grin.
"Cheeky, prince," Barristan scolded with a laugh.
"That's where you got the moniker the Bold?" Daeron knew the story well. It was legendary, how a ten-year-old Barristan had donned patchwork armor and tried to joust, but no one save for Prince Duncan would meet the boy's challenge. It was the Prince who declared him, Barristan the Bold.
"Aye," Barristan answered, eyes hued with memories of the past. "How time can slip before you."
If only I could fight in this tournament, Daeron thought. What he wouldn't give to ride against his brother and to finally beat him, to step out of his brother's shadow in front of the lords, knights, and commoners alike. The image that conjured in his mind's eye was enough for Daeron to smile, relishing that feeling of triumph at finally being able to be better at his brother at something.
"Brother."
Daeron blinked back to the present to see said brother, the crown prince, standing before him. He had to look up to meet his brother's eyes as Rhaegar was a few inches taller than him, his silvery hair fell above his shoulders, purple eyes were on Daeron, but he was certain they were focused on something else. Melancholy clung to Rhaegar like a cloak, who carried himself with quiet dignity.
"Rhaegar."
Daeron was thankful to see that his brother wasn't being followed by his gaggle of squires, and other friends. Daeron was sick of seeing them all fawning over their perfect prince. The only person with his brother was, Ser Arthur Dayne, the youngest knight in the Kingsguard and his brother's closest confidant.
"Ser Arthur," Daeron greeted the Sword of the Morning, seeing the famous sword, Dawn' s hilt poking up over the knight's shoulder.
"Prince," the knight greeted cordially.
"Have you gone to see mother and Viserys, yet?"
"No," Rhaegar answered, "I've been engrossed by some tomes in the library," his voice was soft and detached, "I'm on my way to send a letter to our Great Uncle Aemon," he held the piece of parchment loosely in his hand.
Only his brother would find the company of dead men more captivating then his own blood, but Daeron was use to his older brother's aloofness. "What's in the letter?" He found himself curious to what would prompt his brother to send a letter to their Great Uncle, who served as a maester for the Night's Watch at Castle Black.
"It is not of your concern, brother," Rhaegar dismissed his question in a gentle, but distant tone. "I shall see you on the road, tomorrow." He didn't wait for a response, Rhaegar walked past them with Ser Arthur walking with him, the crown prince's pale shadow.
Daeron glared at his brother's back until it was blocked from view. They were only separated by four years, but it might as well have been forty, he thought.
Rhaegar had never been interested in being a brother, Daeron could think of only a few times growing up in the Red Keep that he and Rhaegar played or laughed together. No, being a brother didn't hold Rhaegar's interest, Daeron had learned that at a young age.
It was old books in the library, his harp, and now his sword and lance, that's what captured Rhaegar's attention.
And there didn't seem to be room for Daeron.
Cersei:
"Wow!"
Tyrion gasped at the large and tall wooden stands that were being placed beneath the walls of Lannisport. "Look at the colors!" He pointed a stubby finger to the dozens of sigils that were erected to signal the lords and knights who had already arrived for the lavish tournament.
Brother and sister stood together on one of the many balconies of Casterly Rock, Tyrion using a far-eye to see how the preparations were being handled and constructed for the upcoming tournament. Even without it, Cersei could see quite a bit as Lannisport only rested less than a mile from Casterly Rock. She often liked to take in the city from one of the taller balconies in Casterly Rock, preferring to see the city at dusk when it was cast in the reddish sun. It made for a brilliant sight, basking in its glow as the sapphire waters of the Sunset Sea gleamed in the sunlight.
"It's quite something," Cersei was holding his hand. "And you're going to be able to see it all."
Tyrion's head snapped towards her. His mismatched eyes shimmering in disbelief. "Really?"
She smiled, ruffling some of his coarse hair, "Yes, in the best seats at the tournament."
His eyes widened and his smile grew as he tried to imagine the spectacle that was to begin in a few days. His enthusiasm was tempered when a pair of passing guards gawked at him from their post.
"Chin up, Tyrion," She softly chided him, "A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep." She then mustered her best intimidating stare and directed it at the two disrespectful guards, who had the decency to look away, and try to pretend they hadn't been staring at her brother.
I'll want their names. She watched them scuttle off like the insects they were. A swell of satisfaction rose in her chest at being the reason why they retreated. Those men won't be the first she's reported to her parents for reprimand, and they won't be the last.
She treasured the power to have them punished for hurting her brother. Just as a lioness savored the hunt before she made the kill. They were prey, and she was the predator.
Cersei turned away when they were out of sight and back towards her brother to see he had taken her words to heart, raising his head, and not looking affected by how those fools had acted. Good, pleased at how he responded to her words.
"Father will let me attend?" Tyrion's voice sounded so small and frail.
"Yes," Cersei squeezed his hand. "Mother's already talked to him."
"I can't wait!" He looked through the far-eye once more. "Do we need to go in?"
"We can in a few minutes," she knew that was the right answer by the smile she received from him.
"Will we be near the king?"
"Yes," Cersei looked down to see her brother had ducked his head. "Tyrion, remember we're lions," she told him. "This is our home. We can't be afraid here."
"I won't be," He vowed, after a few seconds of silently mulling her words.
It wasn't fair, even so young, her brother sadly understood when people were staring at him or he was the target of their whispering. A cruel reality that no lion should have to endure. These rabble have no right to criticize a lion!
Cowards, anger churning in her gut at their show of disrespect. She'd get them all if she could, silencing every last one of them to make sure they couldn't utter such insults about her brother ever again.
"Mother and I will be with you."
If she had her way she would've been sitting next to her prince, Rhaegar, but he wasn't going to be a spectator for this tournament. No, he had been recently knighted and according to father would be entering the lists.
His first tournament and I'll be here to cheer him on! She couldn't contain her giddiness, it was going to be perfect.
"Dreaming about your prince?"
Cersei snapped out of her thoughts to see her twin brother, Jaime ambling towards them, wearing that smug grin of his that she loathed. She sent him an annoyed look in hopes of wiping it from his face, but it had no effect, which only infuriated her further.
"Jaime!" Tyrion cheered in delight, letting go of Cersei's hand and running over to his brother as fast as his stunted legs could take him. He stumbled in his waddling and for half a heartbeat, Cersei feared that Tyrion was going to fall, but quick as a cat, Jaime was there to scoop him up with a laugh while Tyrion giggled when Jaime spun him around.
"Father wants you back for supper," Jaime informed them, still holding onto Tyrion, who seemed disappointed that he wasn't being spun anymore.
"We shouldn't keep father waiting."
"No, we shouldn't," Jaime was playfully jostling Tyrion in his arms, "And what've you been up to?"
"Reading," Tyrion babbled happily, "And then Cersei got me out of my lessons early so that I could see all this!" He waved his tiny arm out at the tournament grounds that were being constructed in the distance.
"Out early?" Jaime raised an eyebrow at her. "Father won't be pleased."
Cersei detected a mocking tone in her brother's voice, but chose to ignore it, turning her attention to Tyrion. "It was only for one lesson," she pinched her baby brother's cheek. "Besides, the maester says Tyrion excels in his lessons far better than any child he's taught."
Tyrion raised his head up at the praise. "I like to read."
"If only Jaime liked it as much as you," Cersei teased, earning a giggle from her younger brother.
Jaime frowned at her, but seeing how Tyrion took the joke, his frown turned into a smile and then a chuckle. "I suppose that's true."
"Don't worry, Jaime," Tyrion patted his brother's head like one would an obedient dog. "I'll help you."
Curious to see what Daeron does next? You can get a head start on Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons by checking out the early chapters on my Website at https://dravenshadefall-shop.fourthwall.com
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