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20.45% Daeron the Defiant: A Second Dance of Dragons (Complete) / Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Duel

Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Duel

Cersei:

"You know this is a fight not a feast," Jaime observed through his typical smile in lieu of a greeting.

Cersei ignored her brother's jape. Taking her seat, across from him and was careful to not ruffle her beautiful dress. She had spent much of the night before and this very morning fretting over what dress to wear for the duel today. After numerous changes and choices, she finally settled for the one she was currently wearing.

A red backless dress which was sleeveless. It had black laces sewn through it to offset the red, subtle hinting of the Targaryen's colors and the future she'd soon have wearing them. With a plunging neckline, while her lion-head gold collar dangled between her bosom.

How could Rhaegar resist me now? She had thought exultingly when she studied herself in the mirror in this dress. She knew the style was more the Reach than either the Westerlands or the Crownlands, and something she typically did not wear. If she had to wear more dresses styled in this way to win her prince's affection then she'd do it without hesitation.

Why should I hinder myself by conforming to one style?

"Morning to you too," Jaime replied to himself, undeterred by her silence.

"Morning," she decided it was better to respond to him then continue to hear him prattling on in self amusement. Despite her brother's earnestness at helping her with Rhaegar, he still hadn't stopped being his typical self in her presence. That meant japes, stupid smiles, and other annoyances that she had to persevere through in order to get his help.

He raised his glass in her direction before taking a sip, and then went back to his meal.

Cersei looked down at the spread of food, choosing carefully as to not wanting to get any spills or crumbs on her dress. She settled with some toast and bacon, with some eggs, washing it down with iced milk.

"You look lovely, sister."

"Thank you, brother," she replied in kind, looking up to see the sincerity in his expression. There was no lust or stirring beneath those green eyes like she had seen and use to long for when they were younger. He's been blinded by his princess.

"How is your betrothed?" she asked knowing how he'd adored talking about his future wife. She cared little about her future good sister, but it was easier to ply him out of more useful information when he was happy and distracted which he always when his betrothed was brought up.

Jaime was eating his porridge, prompting him to look up at her question. His spoon in his mouth, a look of surprised covered his face, but that went away swiftly when his thoughts settled towards the princess, a glazed hue in his eyes followed. He put down his spoon, to show a wistful smile. "She is well," he answered, "I've held back on writing to her until after the duel," looking and sounding put out by this supposed sacrifice on his part. "She and Oberyn are very interested on who will win."

They probably long for the spare to win, Cersei knew how close the Dornish Prince and Princess had been with him during their time in Casterly Rock. She kept that disapproval from showing in her expression, instead returning her brother's smile with one of understanding. "I'm sure she's waiting eagerly for it."

"Yes, she is," he nodded, "She will probably write a congratulatory letter to the victor," he revealed proudly.

Cersei perked up at that. Not liking the idea of this princess writing to her Rhaegar and offering some form of deceived sincerity of congratulations when he predictably triumphs over his younger brother.

She can't worm her way between me and Rhaegar, Cersei crumpled the piece of toast she had in her hand, turning it into crumbs that rained own her plate. Looking down at her hands and the ruined mess of her toast.

"Jealous?" Jaime correctly guessed her mood.

"No," she wanted to snap, wiping her hands with a napkin.

"Good," Jaime didn't sound fooled, "I mean it's not like Elia's letter is going to Rhaegar."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cersei demanded, annoyed at her brother's smug tone.

"I thought it was pretty simple," he rolled his eyes. "It means she's going to be writing to Daeron not Rhaegar," he said slowly as if she was some lackwit.

Cersei wasn't sure what frustrated her more-her brother's antics or what he was implying. She settled for the latter, responding with a derisive laugh, "You think he can beat the crown prince?" She shook her head, disappointed in her brother. It seemed his friendship with the spare had diluted his senses.

Jaime frowned, "You think too little of Prince Daeron." Beneath his green eyes she could see he was insulted by her jab at his friend. "Daeron has squired for Ser Barristan for years," He began, "He trains and works hard every day," he listed, "There is no better swordsman I've fought that doesn't wear the cloak of the kingsguard." The beginning traces of a sneer forming on his face, "It's you who are mistaken, sister. Prince Daeron will beat Rhaegar. I have no doubt about that." He finished with a look that resembled a parent correcting their child.

Cersei scowled, stewing in anger at her brother's chiding of her. At how he spoke to her like some foolish little girl. She refused to acknowledge his points.

He's jealous, she reasoned, firmly grabbing onto the idea, his jealousy blinds him against the Crown Prince. Feeling her anger cooling as she saw through Jaime's flaws. He's friends with the wrong prince, she continued, That stupid loyalty causes him to go against Rhaegar e ven when he knows who's the better fighter.

"I'm sorry, Cersei," Jaime's apology broke through her thoughts. "I know how much you," he paused as if to find the right word, " Care for Prince Rhaegar," he finished, sounding contrite. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"All is forgiven, brother," she smiled, waving off his apology. How could she be angry with him? She saw through his attempts at trying to protect his friend, the spare prince. It was pity she felt towards her brother not annoyance.

He looked surprised whether it was her smile or her reaction to his apology, she wasn't sure, but he looked relieved that she wasn't mad with him. "Good," he smiled, "Besides if he does lose," he said delicately, "At least he'll have you to comfort him."

They arrived to a packed Great Hall. The room was buzzing as all of Court looked to be in attendance to witness this anticipated duel between the two princes. The cavernous hall almost felt cramped as she and her brother made their way through the throne room.

Remembering her mother's lessons, Cersei held her head high, chin lifted, her steps measured and dignified as she walked beside her brother. Feeling the eyes fall and linger on her as they cut through the rabble of the lower nobleman and towards where the dueling ring had been set up. Stands had been built and brought in forming a large circle and below that was a smaller circle, roped off where the fight would take place. The stands' two openings were on either side, one side the entrance for the nobles to gather and find their seats, the opposing side as to give the Iron Throne and the King who sat upon it a view of the duel.

To those who didn't have the luxury of being gifted seats, not wanting to fear missing such an event, so they settled on milling about in the shadows of the stands. Listening to the sounds and reactions of the spectators, while silently hoping to catch a glimpse of it as well as wanting to stay to shower praise on the victor or consolations to the loser.

Looking down on the proceedings were the skulls of the Targaryen dragons with the largest and most fearsome hanging closest to the Iron Throne. Now the empty eyes of these once proud and magnificent beasts watched their masters in silence.

"There you two are!" A booming voice greeted them.

Cersei looked away from the imposing dragon skulls to see the tall and muscular Robert Baratheon waving a large sized hand towards them as noblemen and women shrunk back as to avoid the towering stormlander who paid their annoyance and frosty glares no heed.

"Robert," Jaime led her over towards the Heir to Storm's End.

"Bout bloody time," he grumbled. He clapped Jaime on the back in greeting, a clap so forceful, Jaime's legs buckled.

Jaime recovered, still smiling, "I was blessed enough to have to wait and escort my sister," he gestured to her.

Robert turned to her for the first time. Standing straight, his large arms bulging, he bowed stiffly, more out of a lack of proper decorum then any sign of disrespect. His black hair, thick and messy, falling loosely over his temple. A bit of red seeped into his cheeks, making his handsome face look a bit flushed, and having heard stories about him through her brother, she knew wine was the cause of it.

"So this is Jaime's famed sister," he was grinning, his blue eyes shimmering. He elbowed Jaime. "You're a beauty, my lady."

Cersei rewarded his charm with a small smile, not missing how his eyes roamed over her partially exposed chest. She resisted the urge to shudder or to raise a hand to cover herself . If I have to endure a few lustful and lingering glances in this dress in order to win my prince's attention, then I do it gladly.

She held out her hand, knowing etiquette was to be observed, despite her initial thoughts on the man. Handsome he may be, she felt little in her chest at his sight, another pale imitation to try to rival her Rhaegar.

He took her hand in his much larger one and placed a surprisingly gentle kiss upon her knuckles. His eyes not leaving hers during the act.

"Enough, Robert," Jaime snorted, "My sister is clever enough to see through your charms, " Jaime stressed the last word.

Robert barked out a laugh, holding up his hands, "My apologies," he joked, "Wouldn't want to offend your father," he winked at her before turning back to Jaime. "We got you seats." He put his hand on Jaime's back, "best seats around." He boasted.

Cersei was left to trail behind them, as Robert had turned his attention and infectious charm towards her brother, the two conversing and laughing as they went. She glanced around for any sight of her beloved prince and disappointment deflated her heart when she could not spot the silver haired Rhaegar.

"Here we are," Robert's voice dragged her attention away from the dueling circle to see their empty seats. Though made of wood, the seats were cushioned on both the bottom and the back. She was pleased at that, not wanting to feel stiff and uncomfortable while watching her prince triumph.

"Told ya, I'd find them, Ned," Robert greeted the two who were sitting next to the empty seats.

It was then that Cersei spotted the man who could only be Eddard Stark. The northerner dressed in dull greys and browns, he was shorter then Robert by more than a head. His long face and grey eyes set him apart from his handsome friend, but in the wrong ways, she thought. He seems more fitting as a mouse than a wolf, she wryly observed at the quiet, unassuming second son.

"Lady Cersei," he stepped forward when his eyes met hers, "It is an honor to meet you." He bowed his head, his form more practiced and refined then Robert's.

"You as well," she smiled towards him, "Jaime speaks highly of you." She added, knowing how men liked to be complimented, and was proven right by the sheepish look he gave in response.

Men can be so simple.

"As well he should," a female voice more than happily agreed.

Cersei should've noticed her first, but had been distracted by the Northman's drabby appearance. She didn't need an introduction to know of the woman who was standing beside Eddard. The name came to her at once-Ashara Dayne.

Much to Cersei's disappointment the rumors of her beauty were not unfounded. Begrudgingly seeing it with her tall and slender form, her long curly black hair, but her most striking feature were her violent eyes. An envious trait that was found mostly of those with valyrian blood and one that Cersei couldn't deny its beauty, having been enthralled by her beloved Rhaegar's eyes for so long.

The Dornish beauty was dressed in a violet, sleeveless dress, with a more conservative cut. Silver thread skillfully woven into the fabric to make the style look simple, but on Ashara it accentuated her beauty rather well, Cersei noted to her chagrin. Spotting a white sword crossing a fallen star silver pin that was placed upon the collar of her dress.

"Lady Ashara, I presume?" Cersei was all smiles to the woman who she thought was to be her biggest rival, only to learn that her eyes were set on a second son instead of the crown prince. Her poor judgment is my victory.

"You presume correctly." Her Dornish accent lilting her words in an effortless way that made her tone sultrier.

"Well met," Cersei greeted, seeing how Ashara's praise had turned Eddard's cheeks flushed. "I love your pin," she complimented.

Ashara smiled, one of her long fingers gently brushing up against the falling star part. "Thank you," she responded, "A gift from my brother, Arthur, from when I arrived here." She sounded happy when discussing her famous brother, "He wanted me to not forget where we come from."

They moved to sit down then. Cersei sitting down beside her brother, who sat on Robert's left while Eddard sat to Robert's right with Ashara taking the seat beside him.

"Sound advice," Eddard put in. The color having returned to his cheeks.

Ashara rewarded his response with a dazzling smile, before brushing her hands against one of his. "Indeed it is," aware of the affect her touch was having on him, "Though that doesn't mean I haven't eyed a different sigil for a new pin," she emphasized her meaning by tapping the grey sprinting direwolf that was sewn upon Eddard's tunic.

Robert laughed, a thunderous noise that drew the attention of several onlookers. "I'm not sure what will make him faint first, my lady," he joked, "This heat or you."

Ned sent his friend an annoyed look at the teasing, but Ashara put a hand on his arm, "Don't be angry, Ned," She comforted him, "Robert's simply jealous since the best look he's gotten while he's been here was from the roasted boar we supped on last night."

Cersei couldn't contain the laugh that slipped from her lips at that. Ned and Jaime's laughter joined hers and even Robert didn't seem bothered by it. His laughter easily drowning theirs out before shaking his head and wagging his finger at Lady Ashara.

"I'm bout to be a few dragons richer," Robert bragged, once their laughter subsided.

"You've been placing bets on the duel," Eddard observed in dismay, before a resigned look settled over his plain features as if he shouldn't have been.

"Of course," Robert happily declared, "Just supporting my friend," he defended, ignoring Eddard rolling his eyes or Jaime shaking his head, "Largest one came from Lonmouth."

"Rhaegar's squire?" Jaime guessed.

"Aye," Robert answered, "He seemed confident that the Crown Prince would win," he snorted, conveying his opinion on the matter.

Cersei ignored Robert's lack of respect towards the Crown Prince. She knew in current company they called the second son a friend. Like Jaime, they were all tied to loyalty not sense and would be proven the ere of that when her Rhaegar bested his younger brother in front of them.

After that, Cersei paid little attention to their conversation. Robert and his personality dominating it, but he was quick to be quiet when any of the other three spoke up. Cersei let them have their trivial talks as she looked around the stands, spotting familiar and unfamiliar faces having gathered, including the seats across from theirs on the other side of the dueling circle.

It was the Tyrell party. Dressed in green and gold, she recognized the heir of Highgarden in Mace Tyrell. A handsome enough man with curly brown hair, and a well-trimmed beard, the golden rose brooch upon his green doublet. He sat beside his silver haired wife, Lady Alerie formerly of House Hightower, who looked pretty and poised in her dress. Beside her, Cersei guessed to be Mace's sisters, Janna and Mina, both of which were presumed suitors for Rhaegar.

Janna dressed in a sleeveless green gown with gold trimming that would catch eyes before leading their attention downards towards her plunging neckline with gold bordering, showing off her ample breast and buxom form. Her dark hair pinned up to show her small neck, the pins in her hair were embedded with gold and emeralds.

Beside her sat the youngest Tyrell, Mina. Her dress much more conservative in cut and did little to accentuate her petite form. Her hair was done in a similar style as her sister but without the ornate pins and jewels. She looked bored at the events around her, and also a bit annoyed, and Cersei spotted the reason.

On the other side of Mina Tyrell, sat her mother, Lady Olenna Tyrell. Cersei had learned and heard much about the woman dubbed the Queen of Thorns. She hardly looks intimidating, Cersei thought, studying the old woman across from her who seemed to be whispering into Mina's ear, advice that her youngest didn't seem keen on hearing. She was short with greying hair, garbed in the green of House Tyrell, long sleeved and layered dress, a golden rose pin was nestled at her collar. Her eyes didn't rest, even as she talked to her daughter they moved about the hall, soon landing on Cersei.

Cersei's first instinct was to look away, as if embarrassed at being caught, but she ignored that notion. She met the inquisitive stare of the Tyrell matriarch. A lioness doesn't cower to a rose, she reminded herself, hoping to convey her confidence and power in her look. That's right, this is the face of your future Queen.

Her stare got her nothing other than an amused smile that slowly spread on Olenna's face. Murmuring from the crowd broke out drawing both their attention away and towards the dueling ring where a herald had emerged.

It was time to begin, her heart was racing.

Barely hearing what the herald was saying, bits of it that stuck told her that he was going over the rules of the duel. When he finished he then announced the Small Council, each lord earning a different volume of applause. When her father was announced as Hand, Cersei was proud to observe he earned the loudest ovation. Regardless, Tywin Lannister ignored the noise and took his seat at the Small Council table positioned beneath the Iron Throne.

Next the herald announced the king, Aerys the Second, who looked ghoulish. His white hair a tangled, matted mess that had grown long and untamed, falling over his eyes like a silvery curtain. His nails were yellow and long. She had heard rumors that the king forbade any of his servants to clip them since Duskendale. Even in his haggard appearance, he stood before the Iron Throne, soaking in the applause that was directed towards him, the loudest coming from Mace Tyrell and the members of the Reach.

It seemed lost on him that their reaction was out of fear not love. When it ended, he smiled, showing yellow teeth through a crusty silver beard before he made his ascent up the steps of the Iron Throne.

A baffling sight, she thought, at seeing such a man sitting on the imposing Iron Throne. He looked more fitting on the streets of the city then sitting on the most impressive seat in all of Westeros. An observation, she made quietly and dared not share even to her brother beside her. Aware of the wroth it could bring if it was brought to his ears. He was still their king.

When he was settled upon his throne, he waved for the herald to continued, who did so but not before bowing low in his direction. "I present to you, the challenger, Prince Daeron Targaryen." The herald's announcement brought with it a smattering of applause. The loudest coming from where she sat, as she ducked her heard in embarrassment at the raucous cheers that Robert bellowed down in show of support for his friend.

Entering the dueling circle, Daeron Targaryen, was dressed in gold and black plate armor. The three headed dragon etched on his breastplate, a shimmering golden silhouette.

"Those are the Young Dragon's colors," Jaime informed her, sounding proud at the selection his friend had made.

Cersei didn't find it in her to care who or why he chose said colors. She was more pleased that she'd be able to tell the difference between the spare and her prince when the fighting started.

Walking beside Daeron was Ser Gwayne Gaunt of the kingsguard, dressed in the pale enameled armor of his brotherhood. The knight carried Daeron's sword and helmet. The latter was carved to resemble a dragon's head, with the flap opening to signify the dragon's maw when roaring or billowing flames. Done in black, except for the dragon's eyes, where two golden pieces had been placed into the helm.

The Herald acknowledged the prince's presence with a bow, sharing a few whispered words which the prince took with a nod before stepping away. The Herald then cleared his throat, "The Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaegar Targaryen."

Cersei had jumped to her seat to applaud. The stands broke into a fury of noise and cheers with others coming to their feet to welcome him. Her heart was pounding into her chest while her eyes raked in the handsome crown prince who stepped into view. He was dressed in midnight black plate armor. His chest plate wrought with rubies that formed the three headed dragon of House Targaryen.

His beauty was beyond compare, she drank in the appearance of the man she would one day call husband. She ignored the looks of her brother and friends while she continued in her applause. However, she remained mindful to remain poised in her support, knowing she had her reputation and that of her family's to maintain.

Accompanying the crown prince was his friend and confidant, Ser Arthur Dayne, The Sword in the morning, his famous sword, Dawn sheathed and holstered on the knight's back. The Kingsguard knight carried the prince's sword and helmet, the latter being black with a three headed dragon crowned at the top.

The herald greeted the Crown prince just like with Daeron before, with a bow and a whispered exchange. When it broke, Rhaegar walked away and towards Ser Arthur who presented his prince with his sword and helmet. He took them graciously, before turning to face his brother who had been flicking his sword back and forth, practicing.

He seemed to sense his brother's stare since he stopped, and looked to meet Rhaegar's eyes. The two exchanged nothing. No words or gesture was made between them, they simply stared at the other in silence.

"My sons," Aerys announced.

The King's greeting was unplanned since the herald had looked ready to announce the beginning of the duel, but instead he stepped aside to defer to the king.

Daeron broke eye contact first, turning to face his father, where he was quick to fall to one knee. Rhaegar followed his brother's movement, kneeling from his side.

Aerys who stood above them, looked pleased upon seeing his two sons kneeling before him. "You fight for the honor to wield Dark Sister," he began, "May this bout of skill decide who is worthy to carry our family heirloom." He raised one of his hands, showing scabs and scars from where the Throne had pricked him. "Let this be a show of my affection towards my blood at such a gift." He finished in his ramblings, sitting down, where he was quick to fidget from the Iron Throne's embrace.

The Herald waited a few seconds of silence to make sure the king was done before signaling to Ser Barristan Selmy who stood just outside of the dueling circle and who would act as judge. While his brethren, Ser Jonothor Darry and the Lord Commander, Gerold Hightower stood at the base of the Iron Throne. Only two of the fabled knights were missing from the Great Hall, Ser Oswell Whent and the newest member of their brotherhood, Ser Alliser Thorne.

Cersei suspected they had drawn the unenviable task at protecting the Queen and the youngest prince, Viserys. They were both absent from the Great Hall. But Before she could wonder about their absence, the herald announced the duel would begin, and the queen and prince were abandoned as Cersei's eyes fell on Rhaegar, her heart and mind focused solely on him.

Daeron:

"Begin!" The herald announced before scurrying out of the ring.

Daeron remained where he stood, looking to see his brother before him. His sword in hand, but his footing betrayed his intentions, he looked prepared to defend not attack.

"You stand before destiny, little brother," Rhaegar's voice was muffled by the helm, but it couldn't stifle his brother's melancholic tone. "I've seen the future and you are but a bump along my path to fulfill my destiny in saving the Seven Kingdoms."

Daeron ignored his brother's words. He didn't care about his talk of prophecies, he moved forward, sword raised, but his movement remained methodical. Daeron didn't rush himself or charge forward. He moved in slowly, a wary predator. His brother was taller and had the greater reach, so Daeron was careful with his steps. He initiated the duel when he was in range with a simple sword thrust which Rhaegar deflected. The clash of swords, brought a roar of approval from the crowd.

Undeterred, he continued, thrust and poking, looking for weaknesses in his brother's stance while watching his form. Rhaegar skillfully blocked each one, and acted inclined to stay on the defense, not looking or trying to offer any form of counter attack.

"Be thankful that this burden hasn't fallen on you," Rhaegar's tone held a touch of sadness to it, harrowingly echoing out from his helm.

Daeron wondered for just a second if the crowd could hear the exchange between brothers, before deciding they probably could not judging by the noise emanating from the stands.

"Am I suppose to forgive you?" He had no disposition to do so. His sword going low in a jab that Rhaegar deftly swatted aside.

"No," his brother answered, "Nor do I ask you to understand." That was when he changed his technique, relying on his reach, Rhaegar moved his sword in a swift cutting arc which brought a loud reaction from the audience-their support clear and deafening.

He ignored the noise, focusing on his brother's blade while chiding himself for letting him be lulled into Rhaegar's conversation. He met Rhaegar's blade, absorbing the strength from the blow. A discomforting strum went up his arm. Daeron then sidestepped to try to free their locked blades.

A move Rhaegar predicted since his sword came rushing to meet him, slicing downwards and Daeron dodged the blade the best he could. Hearing the air ripple from the blade which missed him by mere inches, earning gasps and groans from the audience.

Daeron recovered, watching Rhaegar coming back towards him, unleashing a series of cuts and thrusts that Daeron dodged and deflected. Each one his brother's blade, crept closer and closer towards him. He bit back a huff when the last one nearly scraped his armor, but then Rhaegar changed his position, stepping to his side and throwing up his elbow which connected to the side of Daeron's head.

Pain exploded from the spot, wincing and cursing. His head rattled beneath his helm. He stumbled, but kept his sword up, swinging it back and forth to wade off another attack from his brother while Daeron tried to regain his balance. His vision blurred. He tasted blood in his mouth.

"Prince?" Ser Barristan's voice could barely be heard over the excitement of the crowd, who chanted and cheered for their crown prince. "Do you yield?"

Daeron couldn't pinpoint Barristan's voice or where the knight was standing to the circle. "No," he lifted up his helm's visor, spitting out blood much to the delight of the crowd. "I can continue." He was thankful that this wasn't a fight to first blood.

His eyes on Rhaegar whose helm remained on, poised for another attack. He was also closer to Daeron then he realized, for as soon as he said, he'd fight, Rhaegar moved to cut the distance. Relying on his reach to keep Daeron off balance, so that he exploit Daeron's defenses, while being far enough back so as Daeron couldn't threaten him.

Daeron kept visor up, allowing him unobstructed view of his brother and his style. You've been learning from your friend, he realized, seeing techniques his brother was using that Daeron had watched Ser Arthur perform flawlessly in the training yard. Thankfully, he wasn't fighting the Sword in the Morning, but his brother.

Undeterred, by this setback, Daeron settled in his defensive stance. Deflecting and rarely absorbing his brother's hits, instead sending them to the left and right of him, avoiding taking any of the impact fully. He didn't want to overexert himself on the defense with Rhaegar trying to sap his energy with each flurry of attacks.

It was in blocking Rhaegar's latest effort that Daeron had decided he had given enough ground. Instead of deflecting this one, he planted his feet and embraced the attack full force. He ignored the discomfort that climbed up his arms, focused on their blades which were locked together. Until Daeron pushed Rhaegar's aside, and with a flick of his wrist, brought his sword towards Rhaegar's suddenly exposed front. He thrust forward, the blade slashing Rhaegar's chest plate.

The crowd voiced their displeasure at the turn of events in the form of shouts and curses. All of which were directed towards Daeron.

The crown prince stumbled backwards, sword flailing in his hand, but Daeron avoided the careless strikes. He moved his sword downwards in a brutal cut which hit Rhaegar's shoulder. The impact of sword against armor let out a loud thud and he could hear his brother's groan. Rhaegar's free arm sagged. He raised his sword towards Daeron to try to fend him off, as he backed away, his back going up against the ropes of the dueling ring.

"Rhaegar?" Barristan's voice rang above the restless noise of the crowd, "Do you yield?"

He answered with a mute shake of his head, and that was all Daeron needed to move forward. He swatted Rhaegar's sword away, his brother's strength was wilting. When their swords met, he changed the angle of his blade, grabbing the bare steel by his armored gloves and flipping it in one fluid motion where he then directed a thunderous pommel strike to the front of Rhaegar's helmet.

Rhaegar nearly fell over the roped rings from the strength behind the blow.

The crowd's buzzing grew louder like a swarm of angry insects as they watched their beloved prince getting bludgeoned by Daeron.

He didn't mind, he enjoyed it, savoring the sound of their discomfort and frustration as he went about showing their damaged perfect prince. He rushed towards Rhaegar ready to end this duel, but his brother regained his footing, and threw up his sword to deflect his charged strike. Daeron's sword bounced off Rhaegar's defense, and he took a step back, not wanting to be careless this close to victory.

I will not have this triumph taken from me, taking a breath, sword poised. His heart thundered against his ribs, a war drum beneath his chest plate.

Rhaegar seized the brief respite to remove his helmet to the gasps of his adorning subjects to reveal his face was a bloody mess. His nose was broken with blood pouring out from the wound.

Daeron smirked.

"MY prince?" Barristan sounded dismayed at seeing the heir in such a state, "Do you yield?"

Rhaegar answered by tossing his helmet aside. His face marred in anger, blood smeared across his mouth and chin. His indifference crumbling beneath a snarl that would've made the dragon skulls above them proud, he lashed out with his sword.

Daeron met his brother's rage. Their blades clashed, their faces inches apart. His breathing was labored, and he could hear Rhaegar's heavy breaths as well as the wheezing coming from his broken nose.

While Rhaegar had unleashed his rage, Daeron kept his contained,. Feeding it slowly, the anger stirred in his chest like a hungry chained beast. Funneling through his body, relieving his tired muscles, subsiding the discomfort and pain that had been seeping through.

His strength buoyed as the battle song coursed through his blood. Daeron's rage, his fire was stoked and carefully preserved, controlled so that he could use it.

Draw on it, but never drown in it.

This was the Blood of the Dragon. The rage of their ancestors that brought them glory and triumphs as they conquered Westeros. A fury that swept across the kingdoms only sated by Fire and Blood. Their opponents fell one by one to the wrath of the dragon.

This was the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, the Young Dragon, Aemon Dragonknight, some of the greatest warriors Westeros had ever seen.

This is my blood too.

Rhaegar had let his rage consume him, a costly folly, that Daeron would exploit.

Their attacks brought them within inches from each other, only steel separating the fighting dragons. "You thought destiny was a shield, brother," Daeron growled, low and menacing. The dragon stirred within him, chained, but angry. "It's nothing more than a blindfold!"

He loosened his posture, his sword dropping as the shift in stance and lack of resistance led Rhaegar to stumble forward. His sword flailing like a damaged wing, but Daeron deftly avoided it. Bringing his pommel up and delivering a brutal strike on the back of his brother's head to the disappointment of the crowd, save for a loud cheer which he knew came from his cousin.

The blow sent Rhaegar reeling, falling to the ground face first in an armored heap, body sprawled out, sword out of reach.

Daeron stalked him, wary of any sign of deception, feeding off the rage that burned within. When he was close, he kicked aside Rhaegar's sword. He then stepped on Rhaegar's arm, pinning it the ground, and pressed his sword to the back of Rhaegar's exposed neck.

Barristan rushed over to their side of the dueling ring, "Rhaegar?" His voice wrought with worry. "Do you yield?"

Daeron pressed his blunted blade harder onto the neck of his brother. Applying more and more force in hopes of making sure Rhaegar didn't have any foolish notion to continue this fight.

"I yield." He conceded, face in the ground.

The crowd let out a collective gasp, groans followed.

Daeron removed his sword from his brother's neck, and stepped away from the bleeding and injured Rhaegar. Pycelle had hobbled down from the Small Council table to check on the Crown Prince. He was quickly assisted by some of his acolytes. They brought bandages to try to sop up the blood as the Grand Maester assured him he could fix the injury.

Relishing the rush of victory, Daeron removed his helm, welcoming the air that greeted him with such a sweet caress.

"My prince."

He turned to see his sworn shield, Ser Gaunt standing before him. His face impassive, but he handed Daeron a towel which he took gratefully. He used it to wipe away the layer of sweat that had coated his face.

"You fought well, my prince."

"Thank you, Ser Gwayne," His heartbeat was beginning to settle as the dragon calmed in its lair. Its strength weaning while the soreness and exhaustion began to creep back into his bones and muscles.

"What a fight!" Robert made his way down from the stands, cutting a path through the audience which remained in a state of dismay upon viewing their perfect prince get bested.

The thought of their disappointment made his victory all the sweeter, Daeron smiled. "Cousin," he greeted his friend, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You won me good coin!" Robert bragged.

"I'm glad my good fortune turned into your good fortune," Daeron joked.

"Well fought!" Jaime was next to offer his congratulations, "I noticed that counter you used against him," he was smiling. "You can thank me for teaching you that."

Daeron laughed, shaking his head.

"Congratulations, my prince," Eddard's was more tempered then Robert and Jaime's, but just as sincere.

"Thank you," Daeron smiled, knowing the action revealed blood stained teeth.

His friends' conversation was cut off as clapping echoed across the Great Hall. A single smattering of sound that brought everyone's attention to the Iron Throne where his father was sitting.

"My son, you have earned your victory."

Daeron stepped forward, noticing his brother was still being treated by Maester Pycelle. A cloth applied to his broken nose while Pycelle was applying a salve to the area around the wound. A gaggle of his friends and squires hovered nervously around their crown prince. He saw the glare that Jon Connington sent his way, and Daeron responded with his red smile.

When he was at the edge of the dueling circle, he knelt, lowering his head. "Thank you, my king."

"Well?" Aerys stood from his seat, eyes roaming the stands of nobility. "What do you have to say for my son's victory? Your prince?" His prodding brought with it a hesitant reaction from the crowd as they clapped halfheartedly with their congratulations.

"You showed the might of the dragon today, my son!" Aerys sounded giddy. He carefully climbed down the steps. "Come forward, child," he beckoned him closer when he reached the dais of his throne.

Daeron stood from his kneeling position, climbing out of the ring and up the steps to where his father was waiting for him, and beside him there was a servant holding onto a red velvet cushion where Dark Sister rested.

"The sword of Aemon the Dragonknight has found a worthy heir."

"You honor me, Your Grace," Daeron ducked his head to his father while shooting a glance to the famous family sword that he had just earned.

"Yes, I do," Aerys agreed happily, "I am a good king!" He proclaimed, His eyes darting around the room, his mouth pursed in a suspicious frown, as if expecting dissidents to speak up and challenge his claim. "So witness my generosity," he raised his arms to draw attention from the crowd. "Take it, my son."

Daeron reached for the sheathed valyrian longsword, his fingers carefully wrapping around the pommel before he lifted it from the pillow.

"Your winner!" Aerys the Second declared, putting his hand on Daeron's shoulder where they were met with applause from a frazzled audience.

Daeron stood awkwardly not wanting the attention of these strangers. It was the sword he had valued not the adoration of the fickle court. Regardless, he knew what was expected him, and stood quietly beside his father, looking down towards everyone who stood below them. His friends' were the loudest and sincerest in their support.

"Remember this, my son," His father's soft voice brushed against his ear, "My gift to you, Dark Sister."

"Use it to protect your king against his enemies," His father tightened his grip on Daeron's shoulder. "From both outside our family." His father's attention flickered towards the injured Rhaegar, "And from within."


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
DravenShadefall DravenShadefall

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

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Duality

Daeron:

The Godswood was quiet when Daeron stepped out into it, dim torches lined the various pathways that cut through the wood. He closed his eyes, appreciating the gentle tussle of the wind against his face. The cold brisk air was a welcome change to the stuffy and smoky ambiance of the celebrating he had excused himself from. He and his friends drinking to his victory over Rhaegar.

His fingers brushing against the sheathed sword that he had won in his duel hours ago. The famous sword of his ancestors, Dark Sister. He had admired the valyrian blade countless times since he had claimed it, showing it to his friends and new supporters of his that have sprung up since his victory.

His mouth twisted at those vermin. Their attempts at worming into his good graces were not lost on him. As if he'd forgotten their behavior in the past, and was foolish enough in thinking they wouldn't turn on him the second it was convenient for them. The Court could hang as far as Daeron was concerned.

"Oh."

Daeron looked ahead of the path he was walking to see a young woman was approaching him.

"My Prince," she recovered, curtseying.

He recognized her to be Mina Tyrell, Mace Tyrell's youngest sister. "My lady," he greeted, "I apologize for startling you."

"It's quite alright," she waved off his apology. "I took the risk by venturing into this wood at night," she explained. "I should've prepared myself in the chance I came face to face with a dragon."

Daeron found himself smiling at the young woman in front of him. "You are brave," he complimented. His eyes taking in her slender form, her green dress done in a conservative cut, she had big blue eyes, honey brown hair that had been done in a braid, but strands of it had slipped through, framing her lovely face. "And beautiful," he found himself adding.

She smiled, "I'm sure you tell that to all the women you meet in the moonlight."

He had difficulty looking away from her eyes, sapphire pools that in the moment shimmered with a mischievous glint. "I didn't mean to interrupt your stroll," he took a step to the side, allowing her to pass, while secretly hoping that this conversation wouldn't come to a sudden end.

"I'll admit I came out here to escape my mother," she confessed, "but I wouldn't protest your company."

Silently pleased, he offered her his arm, "Allow me," her small hands were tucked against him. They then set out on their leisurely pace through the Godswood. "Your mother is a very formidable woman." Daeron knew the stories of the Queen of Thorns. He had rarely found himself in her company, but had heard the lash of her tongue, and the barb in her words.

"So am I," she squeezed his arm, before letting out a laugh which sounded like music to his ears.

He chuckled, "I'll remember that."

"Allow me to offer my congratulations on you victory," she spoke up, after they had walked a few steps in silence. "I cannot say what I enjoyed more, your thrashing of the Crown Prince or the looks of my brother and sister once you were finished," she giggled. "I thought my sister was going to faint."

Daeron didn't reply right away. His mind dwelling on her reveal of wanting him to beat his brother.

Unaware of his internal debate, she continued in her story, "My brother swallowed his tongue in that defeat. The first silence I've ever experienced in his company. So you have my thanks."

He found it difficult to keep from smiling at her alluring charm. However, the distraction of his thoughts was enough to keep his mood somber despite the infectious mirthfulness coming from her tone and expression.

"That is surprising news," He picked his words carefully, "Since I thought it was only in my small circle of friends that would be the ones happy with the outcome of my victory." He watched her carefully, when he added, "However, in the hours that followed, I've found quite a new group of friends emerging from the woodwork."

Mina snorted, catching him off-guard, "And you suspect I'm one of them?" She sounded more amused then insulted.

"The thought crossed my mind."

"I'll be honest with you, my prince," she said candidly. "My family have had their eyes set on Rhaegar for years," her eyes darkening, "They chase a dragon, a way to put a Tyrell as close as they can to the Iron Throne."

"You're proving my point."

"Am I?" she challenged, "They want Rhaegar, not you." She said bluntly, a softness touched her face at the admission, she squeezed his arm. "They will not even consider you until Rhaegar is married with a wife who's already given him a handful of sons." Her voice betraying her thoughts on her family's scheming, "A man I'm not deemed worthy of," she let out a bitter laugh, "No not as a second daughter, no Targaryen Princes for me. I'll be given to a bannermen to strengthen our family's alliances," her admission, brought an eerie resignation to her tone. An acceptance to her fate.

"A role I'll play for my family, but that's for the future," she slipped her hands from his arm, and moved to take his hands in hers. "This night, this moment," she looked into his eyes, "that's mine."

His eyes flickered between her enthralling blue eyes and her lips which he yearned to kiss. He found his mouth dry, a slight haziness in his mind that he knew was from the celebratory wine. He wanted to believe her. Her tone was so sincere. Her words capturted a sentiment he understood only too well, but still he hesitated on the precipice.

Daeron knew how this game was played. How his family was viewed. His hesitation kept his heart from plummeting while praying his wariness was misplaced, because in that moment all he wanted to do was to feel her lips on his.

"And this?" He raised her small and delicate hands.

The corner of her lips curved, which only seemed to enhance her beauty. "Let my brother and mother fret over the Crown Prince," her azure eyes were warm and inviting. "Let them throw my sister at his feet, if it means I can have you all to myself."

Daeron felt something stir within. Relief welled in his heart like a mountain spring.

"My Prince?" A voice called out in the darkness, puncturing the moment between them.

A look of disappointment flashed across Mina's face, but her smile returned, smooth and confident as she leaned on her tiptoes. "What if I were to come to your chambers tonight?" Her lips brushing against his cheek, "Would you find me a welcoming sight?

"I would," his voice sounded strange to his ears, like a low rumble.

She shivered at the sound, red crept into her suddenly flushed cheeks. "Until tonight, my prince," she ducked her head, smirking as she did. That glint lingering beneath her eyes that Daeron found beguiling, like a lit beacon to weary sailors.

He watched her slip into the darkness of the night, standing alone his thoughts and feelings lingering on the youngest Tyrell.

"My prince," Ser Gaunt emerged from the shadows, out of breath, but that didn't stop him from giving Daeron an irritated look.

"Ser Gwayne, my apologies." Daeron had promised the knight to not wander off and in return he'd allow Daeron some privacy. "I got distracted," he admitted, looking over his shoulder to where Lady Mina had slipped away, only moments ago, her scent lingered in the air- an enticing floral scent.

"Evidently," the knight replied dryly. He looked him over, a suspicious look in his eyes, but he voiced none of it out loud. "Allow me to escort you back, My Prince."

"Very well," Daeron acquiesced.

"Your cousin, Lord Robert has quite the voice and a talent at remembering bawdy songs."

They started back towards the Keep.

Daeron resisted the urge to look backwards not wanting to confirm any of the knight's suspicions. So instead he looked forward to tonight, remembering the words spoken to him, and of the promises to come.

It was nearly an hour later before Daeron found himself walking alone towards his chambers. His encounter with Mina had left him distracted. He hadn't been able to focus with his friends, barely listening or paying mind to what it was they were saying. Thankfully, they seemed oblivious to it, and when he excused himself, citing weariness after his fight. They were understanding, bidding him a good night, and a final congratulations on his triumph before he left them.

Here he walked after having beaten his brother, claimed Dark Sister, but it was Lady Mina Tyrell that had rooted herself at the center of his consciousness. Her beauty and her charm, her boldness and her bluntness forming an unexpected distraction. The fight felt like a distant memory to him, now that his thoughts and desires were focused entirely on the young Tyrell maiden.

Upon reaching his doors, he wondered how to discreetly let the guards know to expect Mina, as well as insuring that her visit went unreported. Pushing the doors opened, his thoughts on alerting his guards were forgotten when he spotted the very guest he was expecting having already made herself comfortable within his chambers. Lounging on the couch by his fireplace, the orange glow of the burning embers casting her form in an enchanting light.

A form he couldn't help but admire.

She stirred upon hearing him enter, raising her head. She had removed her pins and braids, allowing her honey brown hair to fall in loose lazy curls past her shoulders. Her lips were the first to react to his sight, forming a smirk that was confident and inviting. "My Prince," she inclined her head in his direction, "I've been expecting you." She gracefully sat up.

"I wasn't expecting this," he gestured to her presence upon his couch, "But one that I'm very grateful at seeing."

"You're smoother with your sword, my prince," she teased. "I invited myself in," she shrugged, elegant in the movement as it drew his attention to the silk nightshift she was wearing. A thin, transparent fabric that hid nothing from his hungry gaze.

"No easy feat," She noticed his eyes on her, sitting up straighter to allow him a better view of her pale breasts.

"You're full of surprises, my lady."

"You have no idea, my prince," she replied impishly, emphasizing his title in a tone that sent a shiver of pleasure strumming through him. She suddenly stood, but remained graceful in her movement, turning her back to him. She walked over towards the table, a seductive sway in her steps. "I brought you some Arbor Gold."

"You are too kind," He moved over towards her, watching as she poured the golden liquid into two glasses. He nodded his thanks at the offered glass. He felt his doubt bubbling up, so he quickly drank the wine. Wanting to douse his misgivings before they could distract him further. He finished the delicious wine in three sips.

"Allow me," he offered, when he noticed her glass was empty. He poured them their second glass in silence.

"Do you find me homely, my prince?"

Daeron coughed up some of his Arbor Gold at her unexpected question, "My lady?" His face burned in embarrassment at his gaffe. He quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "I-I do not." He assured her. He hesitated to look in her direction, but after warring silently with indecision and nerves, he looked towards her. He found himself emboldened by her beauty, and no doubt, the wine, when he clarified.

"I find you stunning, my lady."

"So stunning that you must keep your distance," the challenge in her tone was clear, but softened by the look in her eyes. She looked so fragile, vulnerable.

"I am cautious," he decided she deserved honesty after all she had told him earlier about her family and her future.

"I see," a touch of pain in her voice. She took a long sip from her glass. "I assure you, my prince, I come here to you out of desire of nothing more than the feeling of two lovers embracing," she put down her now empty glass. "Marrying you would please my family," she admitted, "But fucking you would please me." Her eyes luminous in the candlelight, lust shimmering beneath the sapphire pools.

Satisfied with her answer, Daeron moved towards her. He was tired of the doubting. He let his concern be numbed by wine and lust. Letting his desire drown his caution, because here and now, he wanted this, he wanted her.

"Very well," he smiled, "I'll indulge you."

It was her stirring that pulled him out of his slumber. Haziness greeted him, he blinked it away only to see darkness surround him. He reached out his hand, his fingertips finding the soft, warm skin of Mina's body beside his. "What time is it?" He yawned.

"The hour is late," she answered, "However, morning is still far enough away that the skies remain dark, and the castle asleep."

His eyes were adjusting to the dim light to see her lying beside him. Her blanket abandoned, he drank in the sight of her breasts, the steady rise and fall of her chest. He reacted to her beauty.

Since their bodies were still partly intertwined, it allowed her to feel his appreciation . She smiled, "You'd draw your sword on an innocent maiden?" Her impish tone only solidifying his growing lust.

"You're hardly an innocent maiden," Their night of passion confirmed his suspicion that she was no blushing virgin.

She laughed, "I cannot deny that," she didn't sound ashamed at the admission. "You were not my first," her fingers went through his hair, "But you were my first prince."

He met her lips with his, savoring the soft sweetness of them. The moan that escaped her mouth, only fueled his desire, but she pulled away after a few heartbeats of passion.

"Hmm," she purred, smiling as she did, her eyes lingering on his lips. A look of conflict flickering across her face, shadowing her beauty before a look of disappointment settled, a resigned sigh followed. "I must leave," she slipped out of bed before he had a chance to try to stop her.

"I have an explanation in place," She padded across the floor, "But I shouldn't risk it," She picked up her discarded shift from where Daeron had peeled it out of her.

The memories of their passion coming back to him. He smiled upon reflecting of their time together. It had been a very good night.

"Despite the temptations to stay," She sent him a playful look over her shoulder, slipping into her shift. "I can come again if you like?" The offer hung in the air between them. Her tone was casual, but there was a flickering hue of hope beneath her cobalt eyes.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it," Daeron joked, earning him a glare, but he saw the relief flicker across her face no matter how brief. He pushed the blankets off of him, and got up to meet her. "I'd be a poor host if I let you leave without so much as a goodbye," He leaned down, capturing her lips in a brief, but tantalizing kiss. "Until our next meeting," He was pleased at the dazed look in her eyes. "I pray that it isn't too much of a wait."

Her glazed look slipped away at his last words. Her confidence returning in her familiar smirk. "I'm not the Maiden, herself," she teased, "But I'll see what I can do about your prayer."

Daeron smiled, resisting the urge to kiss her once more. He stayed that desire instead having to settle for watching her put on her rough spun cloak and hood, disguising her into looking like one of the many servants within the Red Keep.

An ingenious disguise, he thought, impressed with her planning. Since even if she was noticed, they'd think he was sleeping with a maid. A notion that wouldn't have anyone batting an eye.

She looked back at him, before she slipped away out of sight.

He stayed there, standing and staring at the closed door wearing nothing but a dazed smile.

Cersei:

He needs me.

She hadn't been able to sleep.

How could she rest while her prince was in pain?

To make matters worse she had to endure the celebrations of her brother and his friends as they gloated over the spare prince's victory over the Crown Prince. Had they no wits? They insulted the heir to the Iron throne with their jubilee.

She lay awake all night fretting over her Rhaegar. Unable to push away the horrible memories of watching him get bested by that brute of a brother. Who in his jealous rage had marred Rhaegar's face with a savage blow.

He couldn't take his brother's crown so he settled for taking his beauty, she thought bitterly, and his sword.

She wouldn't forget the blood that gushed from the break, or the odd angle Rhaegar's nose was in. It made her stomach clench, but she ignored that discomfort, knowing she couldn't let it affect her feelings for her prince.

So here she was an hour or so past dawn, making her way through the Red Keep. Determined to see Rhaegar, to comfort him, to nurse him, whatever she could do to help her prince, she'd do. Her heart fluttered at her willingness and her imagination, conjuring images of a grateful Rhaegar showing his appreciation for her.

Cersei felt the heat creep in her cheeks, her pulse quickening, and her lips parted to let out a pleasurable sigh, but the dream soon ebbed away, from the sound of approaching footfalls and voices. Putting aside distractions and temptations, Cersei continued on her way to the royal apartments, where her prince was waiting for her.

I can make him better, Cersei had looked over herself more than a handful of times before she had set out. Confidence brimming in her heart, knowing he'd finally see her, the woman she could be for him. His friend, his ally, his wife, the last words pulling her lips into a smile.

His Queen, she continued, his staunchest supporter.

All she needed was the courage to seize this moment. A lion didn't hide and wait for its prey to come to them. They hunted, they sought what they wanted and they took it.

I am no different, she felt the tingling of anticipation beneath her skin. The flutter of her heart like a bird in a cage, as she neared with each step. The first lion to subdue a dragon, she thought proudly, and a lioness no less.

A little more patience my love, she prayed for her prince, I will be with you shortly.

She was so close, her legs were beginning to tremble in anticipation, her hands fidgeting at her sides. She steadied her steps, and put her hands together. Cersei knew her family was counting on her. Thinking of how pleased her father would be within a few hours when she told him that she had snared Rhaegar with her beauty and her charm.

"My lady?" The voice of the Targaryen guards brought her out of her reverie.

She recovered smoothly with a smile she perfected in her years at the Rock on servants and guards alike who asked her too many questions. To her satisfaction, it worked on the two in front of her just as easily .

Men, she chided, predictable and pathetic.

"Oh yes?" She blinked at them, fluttering her eyelashes, and pouting her lips. "Oh please forgive me," she put a hand to her chest. "You startled me," she let out a giggle that made her want to cringe, but the role was needed if she was going to succeed.

"That wasn't our intention," the guard on the right quickly said, "Our apologies, my lady," he bowed his head. The other guard quickly followed and chorused his sentiments.

"The King has such stalwart men protecting him," she praised, smiling sweetly at them, "I have an invitation to give," She added, "From my father," knowing the weight those two words carried not just in this city, but throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The guards reacted accordingly, "Go through, my lady," standing aside to let her pass.

"Thank you, kind sers," She walked passed them without another look, ignoring their replies as it no longer mattered to her to hear what it was they were saying.

He waits for me, she felt as if she was gliding across the floor when the prince's room came into view. A kingsguard knight was standing outside of it, he blinked owlishly at her, "My lady?"

It took her a second to put a name to this dark haired, dark eyed knight, Ser Alliser Thorne. The newest sworn brother and the one Aerys picked not her father. "Morning, Ser Alliser," She greeted, smiling before slipping into a perfect curtsey. "I have a message for the Crown Prince."

Ser Alliser's face was stone as his dark eyes took her in without reaction. His lips finally moved, forming a frown, "The Prince asked not to be disturbed."

Cersei refused to show her anger to this lowly knight who was promoted above his station. I will not let you stand between me and my destiny. She wanted to roar back at him, but she didn't, knowing her tools were of a different kind than a man's. So instead she smiled back at him, not allowing him to see his words had an effect on her.

"Mayhaps, you should tell him about this visitor," she suggested sweetly. She was no servant or lowly member of Court, but the daughter of the Hand to the King, a Lannister of Casterly Rock, and the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

He looked ready to argue, but sense seemed to finally come to him, he sighed. "Very well," sounding annoyed, he showed her his back as his armored knuckles rapped across the wood of the door. He then opened it, and disappeared from view.

Just behind those doors, he waits for me. She was giddy, self consciously she ran a hand through her hair to make sure she stilled looked her very best. She glanced at her dress, noticing no stains or wrinkles as well checking her neckline where it cut low so that Rhaegar would be able to see her beauty for himself.

One look at me, will stir the dragon, she thought confidently.

"He will see you," the knight's sharp voice pierced her thoughts.

She blinked, "Thank you," she walked past him and into the prince's chambers.

Ones that I'll become quite familiar with, she thought wickedly.

Then her eyes found him. He was standing at his table, where numerous tomes and parchments were spread out. Her heart quivered at the tall, silver haired prince before her. With his indigo eyes, and despite the bandage that was over his nose, this was a face sculpted to display perfect beauty.

"Lady Cersei," Rhaegar's melodic voice was entrancing.

"My Prince," She replied breathlessly, curtseying after her greeting. "I pray I'm not interrupting something."

"You are considerate," he replied, his soothing voice was hypnotic to her ears, "but it can wait."

For me? She nearly slipped out, but restrained herself. "Is it anything I can help with?" She asked hopefully.

A frown settled on his lips, but even it couldn't shadow his handsomeness, "No, you cannot," he said tightly.

"Forgive me," she replied hastily, fearing she had let her curiosity ruin her. Before she could further her apology, he held up his hand to silence her.

"Ser Alliser said you had a message or me?" He asked, a touch of irritation smattered his tone. "Is it from your father?"

It's now or never, she realized, plucking up her courage, she went in for the kill. "It's me," she declared.

"Pardon?" He blinked.

"I'm the message," She explained, "I-I needed a way to speak to you and get past your guards," her words were fumbling together as she found herself pinned by his gaze. "I came here for you," She revealed, "To help you, to comfort you," she listed, "To do anything I can for you." She offered, finishing her rushed spiel with her best smile while also trying to emphasize herself to get her meaning across.

"I see," His voice was chilly.

"You're not upset with me are you?"

He ignored her. "Ser Alliser?"

"My Prince?" She felt her heart plummet at the stony silence her words fell into.

"Yes, my prince?" Ser Alliser was inside the room.

"Kindly escort Lady Cersei out of my chambers," he instructed, "As well as out of these apartments." He moved to sit back down, "See to it this time I am not interrupted again."

"Yes, my prince," Ser Alliser bowed his head to Rhaegar, but the Crown Prince had already dismissed them, his eyes going over one of his tomes.

The Kingsguard knight scowled at her before addressing her, "Come with me, my lady."

Cersei stood there, mouth agape, blinking, trying to understand what had happened. Let this be a dream, no a nightmare, she prayed. It wasn't to be like this, she didn't understand.

"My Lady," Alliser's grip on her arm was tight, but it didn't hurt.

"My Prince," she ignored the knight, "My Prince, my prince," she pleaded, feeling the knight pulling her away from. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she felt tears blur her vision as she waved her arms frantically trying to stop the knight from removing her from Rhaegar's chambers.

Cersei called and she cried, but Rhaegar didn't stir from his seat.

"My prince, please," Tears ran down her cheeks, feeling her dreams beginning to crumble all around her, "I can help you!"

He did nothing.

Too soon, she was out the door, an annoyed Ser Alliser closing it behind her. Cersei's last glimpse of her prince, was of his nose in a book. He had never looked up.

"Go along, girl," Alliser's sharp voice cracked like a whip.

She flinched at the harsh sound of it. Snapping out of her daze, she lightly put a finger against her cheek, brushing a tear in the stroke. Looking down at it in dismay, she could hear the angry voice of her father, berating her, for her tears, for her failure, for disappointing him.

So she ran.

What have I done?

Fear and shame seemed to be taking turns at gnawing on her insides, while she wandered cluelessly within the castle.

Reflecting on the fool she had made of herself and in front of him, her prince, the man who was to be her husband .

I ruined everything! She had failed, she had promised her father that she would see this through, and within a week of her arrival at court, she all but sunk her chances at being Rhaegar's wife.

No, no, she pushed it way, not wanting the realization to stick.

A setback, the voice assured her. It was the soothing voice of her mother that put aside her doubts and fears. You are my daughter, a lioness of the Rock. You will go out with a roar not a whimper.

I need her now, she thought glumly. She'd know what to do. Mother always had a way of making her feel better.

Then it came to her-a letter. Cersei could write him a letter.

Apologizing profusely for my behavior, she perked at the idea. I'll tell him the truth, adding, it was due to being so distraught over his loss, with my inability to sleep over my concern for him . The more she thought about it, the clearer the letter formed in her mind. Knowing this was her chance, she gathered herself, assessed her bearings before she picked the direction she thought would lead her quickly back to the Tower of the Hand.

Cersei could feel the slow trickle of hope pouring into her broken heart, fixing it as it went.

I will show him my strength, rebuilding her confidence as she moved. Prove to him that a lioness will not cower to a dragon. She was determined to see this through. One bad encounter cannot ruin our future, she wouldn't accept that possibility. She caught her prince at a bad time. Her letter would find him in a better mood, and when it did, she knew he'd respond, he'd see her strength, and he'd seek her out.

Yes, the last lingering traces of sadness melting away like morning dew beneath the sun. She walked with purpose, with pride. She had run like a wounded animal then, but now she moved like the determined predator that she really was.

The sound of footsteps caused her to look up just in time to see King Aerys, and two of his knights trailing behind him. He looked sickly. His silvery hair was stringy and hung limply in dirty knots. His beard was a dirty and disheveled mess. But the worst thing was his nails, they had grown long and yellow. The sight of them made her want to turn away in disgust, but she couldn't. The King carried a pungent scent that didn't help soothe the revulsion she felt bubbling in her stomach.

"Your Grace," she curtseyed. Slipping on a smile, mask in place to looked pleased at his sudden appearance. To hide the worry that crept on her, having been warned by her father and brother of the king's impetuous behavior.

He blinked at her, his eyes hooded in suspicion, a scowl settled over his face. He looked ready to chide her, but then his expression changed instantly. His lips curved into a smile, eyes glittering in delight as they looked her over, "Joanna?" His voice was frail and distant, "Is that you?"

"No, your grace," She answered swiftly, startled at the mistake.

The answer wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Don't lie to me," he snapped harshly, mouth twisting in rage, "I'm not mad!" He growled, before his face softened, "Forgive me, Joanna," he pleaded, and without warning, he took one of her hands in his, placing a clumsy kiss onto her knuckles.

Cersei looked towards the guards to help her, but they stood silently. "My King," She deftly slipped her hand out of his greedy ones. "I must be going," she felt the trickle of panic beginning to seep into her heart.

"So soon?" He sounded disappointed, "Please, stay," he begged, "Don't go running back to Tywin so quickly," His face hardened at the mention of her father.

"I must," Cersei turned to go, but stopped when she felt his grip on her shoulder. His nails dug into her flesh causing her to wince in pain.

"Let go of me," her heart was pounding in her chest. The more she moved, the deeper his nails dug in. Crimson droplets were exposed from the cuts, dribbling down her pale skin. "Please, you're hurting me," She felt tears swelling in her eyes.

"Do something!" she half cried, half demanded of the guards. They did nothing, watching her beneath their helms. Unmoved by her pleas or their king's madness.

"Come back with me, Joanna," the king encouraged. "Rhaella doesn't control me." He smiled, "I'll be good to you."

His voice was beginning to get drowned out, by the sound of her heartbeat, which seemed to thunder in her ears. Her vision was blurred from tears. She wanted to crawl deep within herself to hide, to protect herself from whatever it was the king had in mind for her.

Then a voice broke through. It pulled her out of her self-induced abyss, snapping her back in the presence.

"Father."

Cersei blinked back tears, a rush of relief filled her chest at this unannounced savior. There approaching them was Daeron Targaryen and behind him was the kingsguard knight, Ser Oswell Whent.

Aerys turned his attention towards his son. "Go away," he demanded, "We're busy!" He put his other hand on Cersei's shoulder, gently as if they were friends.

"Father, they're looking for you," Daeron coaxed him. "Your Small Council members," he added, talking to the king like one would a child to get him to do something. "They need you."

"They do?" Aerys' eyes grew hazy before he nodded, "Yes, they do," he removed his hands from her shoulders. "These Kingdoms would be lost without me," he continued talking to himself, "Come, come, I have kingdoms to run," he barked at the guards, walking past them without second thought or look.

It wasn't until he turned the corridor and was out of sight did Cersei allow herself to breathe once more. She sagged in relief, leaning against the stone corridor, her breaths haggard and greedy as she tried to rein in her frantic heartbeat. Her fingers going to the cuts that were curtesy of the king. She wiped away the blood, leaving red streaks across her skin.

"Lady Cersei," Daeron's voice was hesitant, "My apologies," he said, "Did he hurt you?"

Anger and fear churned in her stomach to form a volatile mix. "It'll take more than a few scratches to hurt me," she snarled. She wouldn't look weak or scared in front of him.

"Of course, my lady."

It was the softness of his tone that brought her to look at him. Sympathy lay beneath his pale purple eyes, and when she met his gaze, it was enough to snuff the anger in her gut and for her to feel a bit of shame at how she had unfairly lashed out at him.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her hand going to her head, feeling suddenly dizzy from the entire ordeal.

"You have no need to apologize, Lady Cersei," He assured her, "Come, I will escort you back to the Tower."

She wanted to refuse. After all, this was still the man who had defeated Rhaegar. He had bested her prince. He was the reason why Rhaegar had received her in a poor mood. Had Rhaegar won, he would've been pleased and inviting towards her, but this spare prince took that away from her.

However, she knew she could not. Those were not the duties of a lady, even in anger or discomfort, one must always be gracious and accommodating. They weren't fair expectations, but when was anything fair when it came to the roles women had to play?

"I would be grateful, Prince Daeron," She lied, throwing in a thankful smile when she finished, praying for their time together to be brief and quiet.

They walked at first in an awkward silence. The Prince seemed undecided on whether or not to address his father's behavior. Not that she minded, she preferred the silence especially if it included not dwelling what happened to her.

To stop herself from reflecting on it, she glanced over towards him to see he was dressed for the training yard. To practice with the sword he stole from his brother, she thought sourly. Cersei spotted the sword, sheathed, tied to his belt, the golden hilt, and pommel carved to resemble dragon flame, poking out.

"It's a remarkable sword."

She looked up to see he had caught her staring. His eyes were beautifullilac pools, but she silenced those treasonous thoughts before they could go any further. This was the man who stole his brother's sword. A jealous brute who could only use violence, who possessed none of Rhaegar's finer qualities.

"It is," Cersei agreed, one you're not worthy of, but she hid her true sentiments behind a polite veneer . If he thinks I'm going to congratulate him on winning then he is sorely mistaken.

He returned her smile, easily duped by it. "The sword of my ancestors," his fingers resting on the hilt. "You can almost feel the power of it, the rich history this blade has seen." His eyes looked lost in thought.

"It's a sword, my prince," Ser Oswell cut in dryly. "You use it to poke the other person full of holes."

Daeron laughed, "Hide your awe and envy behind your japes all you wish," he replied, "but you cannot fool me."

"My prince," the knight deferred, ducking his head, but his smile could be seen.

"Care to hold it, Lady Cersei?"

Cersei was stunned by the sudden question. Long had she watched in sullen silence her brother get to fight, get to train with swords while she was given needles and told to be happy. She had never wanted to stitch. She wanted to fight. The control, the power that came with it. To have it in her hands and no one else's. She was denied that and was suppose to be thankful for having such power taken away from her.

"Prince Daeron," She wondered if he lost his wits when his brother had hit him during their bout. "I am a lady." She wanted the sword, she couldn't deny that, but she couldn't look eager. She had to observe decorum. Another dance, she was forced to play. Another farce expected of her.

"I noticed," he grinned, "The dress gives it away."

She felt her lips twitch at that infectious smile, but she snuffed it out, cursing the man's charm as she did. She found her annoyance for him wane at the temptation he put to her.

Refusing to let him see his words have an effect on her, she replied to his jest like she would one of Jaime's, with a glare.

However, he did what Jaime never did. He bowed his head, "My apologies, if I offended, my lady," he offered, sounding contrite.

"You did not." She replied quickly. Like he had the power to do such a thing. As if she would care what he said or thought of her. The idea so ludicrous she had to stop herself from laughing.

"Some of the finest warriors in my family were women," Daeron observed thoughtfully, "Seems foolish of us to forget them, or worse ignore them." He pulled the sheathed sword out from his belt, "Queen Visenya used this sword herself to help her husband conquer the Seven Kingdoms," He looked at the sword with reverence, "As did her sister, Rhaenys and there have been countless others throughout my family. Women who fought and died for our cause," his eyes moved from the sword and onto her. "So I ask again, my lady, would you care to hold it?"

She could've fallen into his eyes in that moment, but she pulled her attention away to avoid temptation. Rhaegar awaits me, she chided herself. "I would," she found herself saying, unable to resist the pull she felt at holding a weapon.

He smiled, looking pleased at her decision, moving the sword so she could take it from the scabbard. "It awaits your touch," he encouraged.

Slowly, Cersei moved her hand towards it, when her fingers touched the hilt, she felt what only she could describe as a jolt go through her. Power, she realized, her fingers carefully wrapping around the hilt, wanting to savor the movement, the feel of it within her grip. Ever so slowly, she withdrew it from its leather scabbard, not wanting to appear clumsy or to accidentally damage it.

It slid effortlessly from its cover, it was lighter then she thought. She didn't take her eyes off the blade, studying its fine details, the ruby wrought on the cross guard that felt to be winking at her. It is the very eye of the blade, she thought, as if every wielder of the sword could view her through it in an instant.

"What do you think?" Daeron was still smiling, his eyes going between her and the blade.

"Magnificent," she breathed, unable to take her eyes off of it.

"Try it out," he encouraged, "A few swings," he added gently at her confused look.

She nodded vigorously, unable to contain her excitement, feeling it go from her heart to her fingertips. Cersei took a step back, careful of her surroundings, as she tried to remember how Jaime would use it during one of his lessons, she'd spy on when she'd quit her needlework. Cersei performed it from memory, a cut downwards, but in doing so, her feet nearly tripped over each other in the step. Frantically, in a half heartbeat she feared she was going to trip and fall, but Daeron's hand found her shoulder and stopped her. When she regained her balance, his hand dropped.

"A good first effort," he praised.

"No, it was not," Her cheeks were hot. She knew she was bad. She didn't need him to lie to her about it, to try to make her feel good that she was terrible.

"You are too hard on yourself, my lady," he replied quietly, "With practice you could be the next Queen Visenya."

She snorted at the suggestion unable to hide her derision at his foolishness. "Practice?" She scoffed, "You think my father would allow that?" She sneered, "You think my future husband would want a warrior as a wife?"

He frowned, taken aback by her caustic tone. "I pity the man who'd try to deny you, my lady."

"Here," She mumbled, images of the Crown Prince flickering before her. "It belongs to you." She offered him back his sword.

He took it with a nod, sheathing it before returning the scabbard back to his belt.

She couldn't deny the disappointment that filled her at having the sword out of her grip. The power she felt rushing through her when Dark Sister was in her hand was undeniable. It was addicting.

In her mind's eye, she could see herself wielding it, cutting down men who'd oppose her, weaken her, try to stop her. Each of them falling by the wayside to her blade. The thrill was exulting, coursing through her blood, tantalizing her beneath her skin as the triumphs were conjured before her.

To know she'd never experience that sensation again bothered her. Not wanting to dwell on what she was denied, she looked ahead to see they had reached the Tower of the Hand. "Thank you, Prince Daeron, for the escort," Her tone was polite, but dismissive. She ended it with a curtsey.

"Lady Cersei," he bowed his head. "It was a pleasure," he smiled, gesturing to his knight for them to retreat, but he hadn't taken more than few steps before he stopped and turned back to face her, "You have a fire, my lady. It'd be a shame to see it extinguished." And with those parting words he left.


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
DravenShadefall DravenShadefall

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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