Cersei:
"You came at a bad time."
That's an understatement, brother.
Cersei kept her annoyance to herself, not wanting to argue in front of Tyrion, who was currently sitting on her lap. She wouldn't forget how happy he looked when he saw her for the first time upon her arrival. It made her heart swell at seeing his reaction and how he ran to greet her. She had been quick to pick him up and she hadn't let go of him since.
The three Lannisters were in the chambers Cersei had been given by Prince Doran. They were adequate, she thought, not as lavish or as ornate as the ones that Casterly Rock had for esteemed guests. Jaime's betrothed was currently with her brothers. She was grateful for her absence. The last thing she needed was watching her brother act a fool for his princess. However, even gone she still had a way of making her presence felt since Jaime seemed more concerned about Elia's predicament then he did for Cersei's.
Didn't Father tell him how important this was? She wondered, Didn't Mother explain his role to him? Cersei hated to admit it because it felt like a weakness, but she needed Jaime to help her with Prince Daeron.
"So it's true," Cersei finally spoke, realizing her brother was waiting for her. She shouldn't have been surprised, Jaime always needed guidance. If only Father could see me now, she thought, I can lead too.
Jaime looked to Tyrion, their oblivious little brother, before he answered. "It is."
Way to be inconspicuous, brother, She wanted to roll her eyes. But she didn't have the time to dwell on Jaime's shortcomings, she had to focus on the matter at hand. That meant the gossip she had been hearing since arriving first to Sunspear and then to the Water Gardens had been true. Lord Yronwood had challenged Prince Oberyn to a duel. It was to be to first cut, but now the Dornish lord was dead, and the Prince was now known as the Red Viper.
Do the Dornish do anything but cause trouble? She thought at the headache they presented to them. "Where is the Prince?" She hoped she didn't have to clarify for Jaime. Cersei thought it was better to speak with some vagueness with Tyrion being present. Despite his age, he was astute and observant.
A look flickered across her brother's face that she couldn't quite decipher. "He's kept mostly to his chambers the last few days."
"Because of the duel?" Cersei knew the Prince was friends with Oberyn.
"Not exactly."
Cersei growled in annoyance at that infuriating and uninsightful answer.
Tyrion mimicked her, swatting his hand as he did, as if pretending to be a lion. It was enough to quell some of the anger she felt rising within at her brother's incompetence. She kissed Tyrion on the top of his head. He responded with a happy squeal which felt warmer to her then the Dornish sun ever could.
Jaime smiled down at the two. "He does stroll the Water Gardens in the early evening before taking supper."
Cersei perked up. Finally, something useful from him. She showed him her appreciation with a smile, he responded to it with nothing but a nod. I remembered when my smile meant the world to him, Bitterness laced her wistfulness, Now all he cares for is his Princess.
"Thank you, Jaime," She meant it, despite her current annoyance directed at him, he was still part of their Pride. Mother always said they had to look out for another.
"I'll let you know if he decides to spar again," Jaime took her gratitude with another helpful answer. "It may be another opportune time to visit without unwanted attention."
"That would be appreciated," Surprised by her brother's insight. This was the Jaime she'd need if she were to be successful in getting that betrothal. A brother that was focused first and foremost on helping his family, on helping her.
Something in Jaime's answer caught her interest. "He hasn't been sparring?" She didn't know the Targaryen Prince well but she remembered how dedicated he was to his training with the sword.
"No, he hasn't."
"Is that not strange?"
"It is." A strange look passed over his face as he watched her.
She tried not to be rankled by the clear insult that Jaime showed her. Do you think so low of me, brother?
"So what has changed?"
Jaime looked away, uncomfortable with either the question or the answer he'd have to give to sate her curiosity. It became clear she'd get no response to her question.
Wonderful, she thought dryly, realizing she wouldn't be getting anything more helpful out of him. Frustrated, she turned to Tyrion, who had been watching his siblings talk. There was undisguised fascination in his mismatched eyes, but when she caught his attention, his face split into a wide smile.
If only Tyrion could help me, she thought, He wouldn't keep secrets from me. He'd do anything to help me get my Targaryen prince.
What a wasteland, She couldn't help but notice as she waited for the Prince to make his expected appearance in the Water Gardens.
Why the Targaryens want such a region was beyond her. In her travels she saw little of note, the only constant in this area seemed to be the heat and the sand. What a dreadful place to live, she observed, and the Dornish are proud of it. The more she had seen the more she thought the Targaryens should've just let the Dornish keep their caves and deserts; let them live in sand and squalor.
She stood on the edge of one of the fountains, glancing down upon her reflection. She had chosen a low cut dress of red silk and gold trimmings. It had been selected by her mother to be worn for Cersei's first impression with the Prince.
The sight of you in this, her mother had said as she inspected the dress back in Cersei's chambers. And he's yours, she had added a smirk and a raised eyebrow to emphasize her point.
She was right, Cersei felt the eyes of many passing men linger upon her. None of them were brave enough to maintain their gaze when her eyes found theirs. Sheep, she thought, frightened to be caught in the sight of a predator.
I may be trying to seduce a dragon. Her fingers touching the golden lion head medallion that hung from her neck, but I will not hide what I am-a Lioness.
Her golden curls shone in the sun, not a single strand was out of place. Her emerald eyes stared back at her, mirroring the confident gaze she wore. Satisfied at her appearance in the reflection, she turned away and looked once more around the Water Gardens for Prince Daeron.
I am a hunter, She walked by a group of children, laughing and splashing in the waters. This dragon is my prey.
She fought the urge to frown when he didn't come into view. Cersei couldn't risk it marring her face in a first impression if he happened to spot her before she saw him. Let him see my beauty, she challenged, so that he can be blinded to the steel lurking beneath.
Then she spotted him. He was a ways away from her, his kingsguard knight behind him. She went to a nearby alcove so that he could not see her, but she could see him. I must study him before I am to ensnare him.
Prince Daeron is handsome, Mother's words playing in her head as she watched him. In seeing him outside his brother's shadow, she saw him in a new light. He was a man whose prowess with a sword helped to carve a hard, rugged physique that made her own eyes linger especially on his arms and chest.
She felt the heat rush to her face admiring the sight before her. Then he turned suddenly, she darted back, heartbeat drumming against her ribs. She dispelled a breath, hoping and praying she hadn't been so foolish as to have been caught. She stayed against the wall, eyes closed, breath in her throat and waited to see if he had seen her or not.
After what felt like an eternity, but couldn't have been more than a few minutes did she find her courage and peak to see. She dispelled the breath she had been holding when he wasn't looking her way. He didn't see me, relief filled her at that.
I'm not some ditsy maiden, she chided herself at being distracted, I am a Lioness.
If my family saw me in such state. She dreaded some of their reactions: Father would scold, Jaime would snicker, she put them aside, since it was Mother who she would turn to. Mother would smile and encourage her.
With that comfort, she stepped out of the shade and into the light. She walked towards the oblivious prince. Cersei felt the thrill of the hunt, humming beneath her skin. Her heart fluttered within her chest. This is my battle, she needed to steady herself, and I must make it a victory.
"Oh, my prince," She feigned surprise upon seeing him. Cersei followed her ruse with a swift curtsey. She was aware of with how her dress was cut that it would give the Prince a plentiful view of her ample chest.
"My lady," He replied politely. His look didn't betray if he had glanced upon her or not at the angle she hoped he had. "Your brother told me of your arrival to Dorne. How do you like it?"
"It is hot," she admitted with a light laugh, "I'm afraid I'm not use to such heat," she admitted, "I fear I may faint."
He frowned. "Shall I escort you back to your chambers?"
Cersei restrained from smirking. Men are too predictable, reveling in her triumph. "I would not want to impose." She demurred.
"Shall I insist?"
She smiled, "I couldn't oppose a Prince's order could I?"
He eyed her. His face masking his thoughts. He allowed the silence linger between them.
Cersei tried to keep her smile, but she felt it waning in the face of his stoicism.
Before her panicking thoughts could smother her, a small smile appeared on his face. "That would be unwise, my lady." He then offered her his arm which she took. Her fingers could feel the hard muscles beneath his shirt. She had the urge to tighten her hold on him just to better feel them, but she resisted.
She looked up to see his lilac eyes were on her. They're as mesmerizing as I remember. Being at the center of them and being so close brought an unexpected shiver of delight to go through her.
"I heard you took my brother's wedding hard."
The Prince's blunt words hit her like a bucket of ice water. "P-pardon," she spluttered, her composure cracking.
He saw her struggle, and seemed to take pity on her, holding up his other hand to stop her from speaking. "You were not the only maiden disappointed in my brother's wedding." He said the words lightly, but frost lingered in their wake.
Cersei felt her tongue unexpectedly numb, and her throat tight as she tried to recover. She could sense his judgment, and did not need to see his disapproval to sense it lurking beneath his polite veneer.
"You are right." She finally pushed out. I will not balk at a challenge, she rallied, "To marry your brother would've been a chance to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," She looked off into the distance. "What girl doesn't dream of that?" She asked, "What father doesn't instill that in his daughters?"
His eyes were staring at nothing in particular in front of them. Making her figure that he was measuring her response. When his attention returned to her, his mask remained.
I will break that mask, she vowed. "What do you think of Dorne, my prince?"
"It is a harsh place, my lady." He was honest in his opinion. "I also cannot help but dwell on those who came before me, my namesakes and their history with the land."
"Who do you see yourself as, my prince?" She knew enough history to know the kings he referred to. "The Young Dragon or Daeron the Good?"
"Neither, my lady," There was a curious lilt in his voice. "Those men were kings. I am and forever will be a Prince."
His expression thoughtful and more polite than the stony looks she had been getting since their encounter began. It was his eyes that made her duck her head. She was enamored with his eyes, lilac pools that she feared she could fall into.
It wasn't until they were out of the sun and walking under the shade of the corridor that would lead them back to her chambers, did she look at him and speak again. "What of your brother?"
Curiosity? Frustration? Pettiness due to his behavior, she couldn't say what prompted her to ask such a question. Cersei knew the difficulties between the two oldest princes. She had witnessed their duel first hand and heard of Jaime's observations over the years about their icy relationship.
He nearly stopped at that. "My brother,"
"Yes," she ignored the reaction it got out of him. She wouldn't cower to him, prince or not. His feelings for his brother were his problem, not hers. "Some say he will be the next Jaehaerys," she heard the quiet snort come from him at that, but she pressed on, "Others say Daeron the Good," she added, "But they do not know the Crown Prince like you do," She felt his arm tense beneath her grip, "So I was curious at how you'd see his future reign."
"Were you," his tone thick with sarcasm.
"I was," Undeterred by his response.
Prince Daeron didn't answer and as her room drew closer, she believed he wasn't going to. In a heartbeat, his demeanor had shifted, his lilac eyes glinted in the torchlight, and his body had instinctively stiffened and it was all due to the mention of his brother.
"This is my chambers," She announced, finding herself disappointed that it was over and that she didn't get an answer. However, Regardless of her feelings, she knew what was expected of her. So she smiled up at him, "I thank you for the escort."
He looked down at her, but his expression did not thaw. "You are welcome, my lady."
Cersei curtseyed before turning her back to him so that she could get inside her chambers. She felt his presence remain but ignored him. Her door was halfway open before he spoke.
"Aerys the First."
When she turned to face him, he was already walking away. Leaving her to ponder his choice.
"You told her." Just when she thought she knew the depths of her brother's foolishness, he'd surprise her by showing her that it went lower.
"I did." He was unblinking to her anger.
"Father told you this was for our family to deal with," she hissed.
"Elia is family."
Cersei wanted to slap him for that answer. Her hand twitched, but before she could act on her rightful rage, the door opened to show Princess Elia walking in, smiling at them, Tyrion holding her hand.
The Dornish Princess initiated their embrace. Cersei wanted to squeeze her with all her might. Let her struggle, she thought viciously, let her feel my strength, my wrath.
Elia turned next to greet her brother with a kiss that made Cersei clench her fists at her side. Her anger softened when she felt a small hand on one of her closed fists. Cersei looked down to see Tyrion's eyes looking at her with unbridled adoration, "Cersei!"
She forgot all about her anger when she picked Tyrion up. She then began kissing his tummy, he giggled and squirmed, until he was breathless. Cersei carried him to the table where their supper had been laid out by the servants. She placed her youngest brother to her left when she sat down.
"Auntie Elia," Tyrion called her, "Sit next to me." He pointed to the empty spot on the other side of him.
Auntie, Cersei wanted to scowl. She isn't your aunt, she wanted to correct him. She'll be our sister, but those words tasted just as bitter to her tongue, so she kept quiet.
Elia smiled at him, and he basked in it. "Then where should your brother sit?"
Tyrion already had an answer to that. He pointed directly across from him. "There!"
"What do you say, Jaime?" Elia sounded amused.
Jaime grinned, "I know better than to argue with him." He tussled Tyrion's hair, and kissed Elia's cheek before moving to take his seat.
"Its only because you smell," Tyrion said with the innocence that only a child had.
They all reacted differently to that unexpected remark. Elia giggled. Cersei felt her lips twitch. Jaime barked out a laugh, looking more amused then insulted.
"So you'd rather sit next to two beautiful maidens than your smelly brother?"
Tyrion bobbed his head up and down.
"I'm happy we're all able to be here together and eat," Elia decided to change the topic away from her smelly betrothed.
"It is wonderful for us to here," Jaime replied to the Princess, smiling towards her.
"Like a family," Tyrion said happily.
"Exactly," Jaime agreed, reaching across the table towards their youngest brother to tussle his hair.
"We will be sisters," Elia looked over Tyrion to Cersei, "I've always wanted a sister."
Cersei wanted to roll her eyes. She knew she couldn't, so instead she returned the princess' smile with one of her own. "Me as well, Princess." After that, she turned her attention to her supper. She didn't speak much allowing Jaime and Elia to carry the conversation with Tyrion, who wanted to prove that he could join in without any problems.
The food was spicy and hot, and with each bite, she could feel her stomach protesting. The taste burned her mouth and throat, and her eyes watered. Resulting in her eating very little, and settling for the wine.
She glanced to her side to see Elia was helping Tyrion cut up some of his food. Cersei watched the princess very carefully. Ready to pounce at any off handed comment or unkind look she might give to her youngest brother. In watching her, Cersei saw her give him only smiles and encouraging words and in the exchange she could see how much Tyrion reacted to them. He loved it. There was nothing but adoration in his looks towards her, as he continued to call her Auntie Elia.
Cersei was glad that the princess was treating her brother well. However, she couldn't deny a bit of hurt twist in her stomach at seeing her brother look at Elia in the same way he would look at her. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother, Elia."
"He is leaving in the morning." There was a tremor in her voice. "He'll be heading to Oldtown to study at the Citadel for awhile."
"Such a pity," Cersei shook her head, aware of the glare her brother was giving her.
"Yes, it is," Elia nodded, "Oberyn is fortunate to have a brother like Doran to help him." She then turned to Jaime, who's glare slipped away as fast as snow in the Dornish sun. "Oberyn will still come to our wedding, but then he'll be exiled for a time."
Exile from Dorne, Cersei thought it a better reward than having to live in Dorne. "My sympathies, princess, since family must be of the utmost importance." Giving a pointed look to her brother when she finished.
"I agree," Elia replied politely, "And soon we will be family."
"I'll drink to that," Jaime raised his glass, "To family," smirking at Cersei when Elia was distracted with helping Tyrion raise his cup, who wanted to join them.
Obligated, Cersei raised her glass, "To family," she chorused back, before their cups came together. Tyrion was a bit too enthusiastic about it and spilled some of his drink over himself and the table.
"I'll handle this," Elia had begun sopping it up on the table. "There's no need to bother the servants."
Jaime moved around the table to retrieve his brother, who was now sticky and stained. "And I'll handle him." Holding Tyrion at a distance as to not ruin his own tunic. Tyrion, however thought it a game and was trying desperately to grab at his older brother. Jaime was too amused to correct him. "I'll be back."
"Do not worry, we'll not be gossiping about you," Elia teased.
Jaime nodded, before giving Cersei a pointed look when Elia's back was turned.
Cersei smiled and waved him away which only seemed to further sour his mood, but then he was out the door.
"I want you to know Jaime told me about your family's plan."
"Did he now?" Cersei kept her tone measured. Her brother had already informed her of it, but was curious with what the Princess would say.
"He did, and he feels guilty about it," Elia defended her betrothed, "But I think he made the right decision," she looked up to meet Cersei's gaze, "Afterall, we'll be family soon."
"Yes, we will," Cersei's smile was tight, and she hid it within a heartbeat of revealing it with her wine glass. "Sisters."
"Sisters," Elia repeated in a warmer tone than Cersei's. "I can help you with the Prince."
Cersei was surprised by her confidence.
"I consider him a friend, which is more than you can say."
Cersei frowned, perceiving it an insult at her expense.
"He's no fool. He knows you wanted Rhaegar and not him," She went on. "Did you really think he'd forget that?" She asked incredulously.
She stayed quiet because she knew princess was right. Cersei was aware that she'd have to overcome her past follies to insure her family got their betrothal with the Targaryens. She buried her pride and annoyance, knowing what she had to do to succeed:
"What do you have in mind?"
Lysa:
Catelyn, Catelyn, Catelyn!
Lysa sobbed into her pillow.
It wasn't fair, she clutched her pillow. He was suppose to have loved her!
He was to be hers. Another sobbed wracked her body. He had picked her.
Lysa Tully had run to her chambers after the humiliating and heartbreaking ordeal and hadn't left since. She wasn't sure how long she'd been in there. She raised her eyes from her pillow to see the sun was setting. A reddish glow splashed across the darkening sky.
I had wanted to make him feel better. She felt fresh tears pooling in her eyes.
He had been upset about the talks swirling of her sister's betrothal to the heir of Winterfell, Brandon Stark. The announcement was not new, but the gossip of it was renewed when a new message from Brandon Stark came to Catelyn. Her sister had been delighted. Petyr had been enraged.
He hid it well, but Lysa could see it. It had taken all of her discipline not to move from her seat to comfort him. It wasn't until later was she able to finally see him. To finally free him of the pain and burden that no one else could see, but her. He welcomed me with sweet kisses.
She sighed, feeling heat pool in her tummy at the sensation of their tongues dancing together. Catelyn had only given him pecks and dances, but Lysa, she would've given Petyr whatever he asked for. His hands were gentle on her, and she thrilled at his touch, his eagerness, he wanted her. She could feel it in her bones. His passion for her burned in her blood.
He had moaned. It was her lips that elicited his desires. In between their kissing and touching, was when he betrayed her. It was when he showed her his true desires.
Catelyn, he had murmured, Cat, he had said it again, but lower.
Lysa had pulled away as if slapped. What?
His eyes glassy from lust. In his gaze she saw the truth. He wasn't' looking at her. He was looking at Catelyn. That was who he spun in his mind, that was who his heart coveted. It had never been her. It was always about Catelyn.
She felt her tummy tighten as it dawned on her. Lysa had rushed out of his chambers at that, crying, but he didn't go after her. Petyr never tried to comfort her. He never came to her to tell her it was a mistake, a slip of the tongue. He never attempted to soothe her like he use to.
His absence was all the more telling.
"Lysa?" A knock followed the muffled voice.
She spun around to her door, surprised at the unexpected visitor. "Uncle Brynden?"
"Yes, child," He paused, "May I come in?"
"One moment," Lysa felt the panic in her chest. Looking at her reflection to see her face was red and puffy from crying. She scrubbed away the tears that lingered on her cheeks. She then tried to smooth out the wrinkles of her dress. "Come in, Uncle."
"Lysa," His eyes took in her appearance, "What happened to you, child?" There was an edge to his voice that was sharper then the steel he carried.
"Nothing, uncle," she lied quickly, turning away when his scrutiny seemed to much. She heard his footfalls across the floor, metal boots clanging against stone and carpet. Then she felt the bed shift, and she looked to see he had taken a seat at the edge of her bed.
Even when sitting, her uncle was a tall man. He was dressed in his ringmail, his Tully colored cloak attached by a clasp of an obsidian pin in the shape of a trout-the Blackfish. His auburn hair was thick and curly, with just little bits of grey beginning to show. His eyes were deep blue and kind, looking at her with undisguised worry. He raised one of his bushy eyebrows in question at her lie.
"Lysa, you missed your sessions with both your septa and the maester."
"I'm sick." It wasn't a lie. She was sick. It was just a different ache then the ones she was use to. It was brought on by Petyr, and she wasn't sure if there was a cure for it.
"Ah," His eyes didn't give away whether he believed her or not. "Your Father left to sort out another squabble between the Brackens and Blackwoods."
In knowing her father was gone, Lysa realized that the duties of Riverrun had fallen on her uncle since Edmure was too young to take on the responsibilities.
"It's Petyr."
Her uncle's voice shook her from her thoughts to see he was watching her closely. The denial was in her throat but seeing his eyes pinning her, she knew it was futile. She ducked her head, and felt fresh tears ready to spill at the reminder of Petyr's treatment of her.
Brynden's hand was calloused but gentle on her cheek when he raised her head so that she could look at him. "What did he do?"
The shame and pain rushed back to her. Her lip trembled, she looked into her Uncle's dark blue eyes even now they remained friendly towards her. "H-he r-rejected m-me."
Uncle Brynden made a noise in the back of his throat. Frowning as he spoke, "I knew you three are close, Lysa. I saw your childish games in the godswood, and the glances and chaste kisses," he revealed when Lysa blinked owlishly at him, "But those are the games and feelings of a child." He observed kindly, "You are a Tully and a woman flowered."
The reminder of her first flowering made her tummy clench. It had been months ago, but she couldn't forget how afraid she was when she woke up to the blood. She had felt sick for days afterwards, despite the Septa's words and advice, Lysa suffered.
He needed me, she realized slowly, b-but I-I d-don't need P-Petyr. "I know, Uncle," her voice sounded more like a hiccup.
"Petyr may be your father's ward, and your friend but he is not a worthy suitor for you," Her uncle never shied away from being blunt. He wrapped her in a one arm embrace that made Lysa cling to him, grateful for his support. "You are a beautiful young woman, and your father has no end of suitors for your hand."
"Really?" She looked up to see her uncle looked a bit uncomfortable at the topic.
That discomfort left his expression when his eyes met hers. "Yes." He confirmed, kissing the top of her head. "One of them is in this very castle."
Lysa perked at that secret. "Truly?"
He rewarded her surprise with another smile, "Would I lie to you?" He feigned hurt.
Lysa giggled, "Never, Uncle." This time she hugged him, feeling renewed at his kind words and helpful advice.
"Good," He looked pleased that her mood was shifting, "Do not forget who you are, Lysa. Draw strength from that, and know you are not alone. It is family to who the Tullys turn to."
"Family, Duty, Honor," she suddenly recited.
"That's my girl."
"Ser Brynden?" A new voice entered their conversation.
Lysa looked to see her uncle's newly arrived squire standing in the doorway, Denys Arryn.
He was tall, with curly sandy blonde hair, and eyes as bright as the morning blue sky. He walked with grace, but she saw the hard muscles beneath his clothing. When he smiled at her, she blushed and looked away. Was he the suitor? Lysa reacted with giddiness. He's so handsome.
She suddenly felt self conscious of her appearance, knowing she probably looked terrible. Here she was with a messy dress, tangled hair, red face. A part of her wanted to hide behind her uncle until he left.
Her Uncle didn't miss the way she looked at his squire. "Denys, one of the duties of a knight is to safeguard the innocent," he told him, "That includes young, pretty maidens like my niece," he winked at her, "She wants to go to the Castle Sept to pray. You will escort her, and then find me in the armory."
"Of course, Ser Brynden," Denys took the instructions without complaint.
"Remember, my words, Lysa," Uncle Brynden told her with a mirthful twinkle in his deep blue eyes.
"I will."
Denys stepped forward when her uncle had left the room. He smiled at her. "My Lady, I would be honored."
Lysa felt her heart flutter at that smile, "The honor is mine."
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
Barristan:
"Did my father say why he wanted to see me?"
"He did not, my prince."
Prince Daeron tried to hide his discomfort at that truth, but the worry remained beneath his eyes.
Barristan did not know what to say, so they walked in silence. All he knew was that a messenger had come to the training yard where the Prince and his friends had been sparring. He wouldn't forget the silence that fell over the friends who just minutes ago were loud and laughing. Their joy snuffed out in an instant. Robert and Jaime had suggested they could attend as well, but the messenger repeated the king's words: Prince Daeron was to come at once and alone.
What does it say about a father that his son walks to him with trepidation? He frowned at those insidious thoughts.
Targaryen guards stood at the door to the Great Hall. They bowed at their approach with one opening the doors for them.
The prince nodded and walked in.
"He's to come alone," the guard insisted when Barristan moved to follow Prince Daeron.
"Prince Daeron is my responsibility," Barristan reminded him, leveling a glare in the guard's direction.
He wilted, bowing his head, and did nothing when Barristan followed the prince into the Great Hall.
The cavernous hall was empty. Their footfalls echoing as they moved. The braziers were lit casting the dragon skulls above them in flickering sights of awe and horror. There standing at the foot of the throne were Sers Alliser Thorne and Jonothor Darry. They did not move or react to their encroaching presence.
"My son comes at last," Aerys Targaryen the second of his name sat atop the Iron Throne. Disheveled and frightening, he looked down at them beneath unkempt hair and suspicious eyes.
"Your Grace," Daeron went to a knee, bowing his head. "Forgive me if I kept you waiting."
Barristan stopped a few paces behind Prince Daeron. It was difficult for him to take his eyes off the king. He looked worse now than at Duskendale where he had freed him from a half year of captivity.
"Rise, my son."
Daeron obeyed, but stayed quiet. He seemed wise enough to know to let his father speak first.
"Do you take me for a fool?" His voice cracked like a whip.
"I take you for a king, Your Grace," Daeron kept his head down.
"Do you know its treason to plot against your king," Aerys' voice was sharper than any one of the swords upon the Iron Throne.
"F-father?" the Prince faltered.
"King," Aerys corrected harshly, looking down at him with contempt.
"King," Daeron repeated, "I serve the Crown and House Targaryen."
Aerys laughed. A wheezing, cruel sound, spittle could be seen dangling from his chin. "Did you hear that, Lord Varys?"
The Eunuch appeared as if conjured out of thin air by the side of the Iron Throne. "I did, Your Grace," His voice softer than the silks he wore. His bald head gleamed in the torchlight. His hands kept beneath the folds of his brightly colored robes. "My birds say differently, my prince."
"Lies!"
Barristan could only see the back of the prince's head, but he was certain the young man was glaring at the Master of Whisperers.
"My birds sing all sorts of seditious things," Varys tittered. "They sing of lions and stags, and wolves trying to take down a dragon."
"Lies!" Daeron snapped again. "I should cut you down where you stand, Varys." He spat out the eunuch's name.
"Lord Varys is a servant to the crown," Aerys clicked his tongue. "While your loyalties are not so certain."
"They are to you, Father."
The spittle remained on the king's chin, dripping down. "We shall let him prove himself," he decided, "You'd follow my orders?"
"Yes."
"So if I asked you to die in the name of your king, you'd follow them?"
Barristan flinched. He looked to see Ser Alliser frown, shifting in his stance, but not Jonothor. He remained still and stoic, as if he was carved from marble.
"I-I," Daeron stammered, uncertain what to say at such a ridiculous order.
"Silence," Aerys waved a hand, "I would not like to be lied to." He squirmed on the Throne careful to keep his arms from resting on the blades. "I could kill you where you stand. Do you understand that, boy?" As if to prove his point, "Ser Jonothor?"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Bind my son," Aerys ordered. "He is a threat to your king."
Jonothor moved forward with only slight hesitation.
Barristan found himself mirroring the knight's movement.
"Stand down, Barristan," Aerys saw him. "You are a sworn member of the Kingsguard not the Princesguard."
Barristan obeyed. His hand clenched into a fist at his side. His legs felt bolted to the ground, weighed down by his vows. All he could do was watch helplessly as Ser Jonothor reach Prince Daeron, who offered no resistance. He seemed more frightened and surprised as if unable to truly comprehend what was happening to him. The knight bound Daeron with no protest.
Aerys looked down, smiling in satisfaction.
Barristan looked around for anyone. Surely this could not be happening. Where was Lord Tywin? Where was the Queen? Where was Lord Commander Hightower? Surely one of them would stop this madness. Wherever he looked, all he saw was shadows or darkness. It was him. There was only him.
"Your Grace," A part of Varys' face remained in the shadows. "He is a traitor. He is too dangerous to be kept a prisoner."
Barristan's heart stilled at the underlying meaning to the Eunuch's words.
"Ser Jonothor," Aerys called down to the knight.
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"Kill him," The King of the Seven Kingdoms ordered.
Ser Jonothor did not move at first as if trying to understand the orders he'd been given.
Barristan felt hope in his chest. He was relieved that his brother-in-arms saw this for what it was-madness. Then Jonothor drew the dagger from its sheath before he could move or shout, the knight plunged the blade into Daeron's chest.
The Prince gasped, crying out. Jonothor released his hold on him. Daeron collapsed to the ground with a thud and to the sound of his father's laughter.
Barristan rushed forward. "What have you done?" He didn't spare Jonothor a look as he knelt beside Prince Daeron, "My Prince?" He picked him up. The wound was red and ugly, blood seeping on to the prince's black tunic.
Daeron's eyes were unfocused, a sheen beneath his lilac gaze. He opened his mouth, blood gurgled out but no sound.
"My Prince!" Barristan was unsure what to do, "Get a Maester!" He shouted, looking to see Jonothor remained where he stood, over them. He watched helplessly the last flicker of light behind the prince's eyes before his chest stilled.
The prince and his squire died in Barristan's arms.
He felt arms pulling at him, but Barristan resisted, fighting them as he kept his grip on his dead prince. "No, release me!" He shouted, "Release me!"
"Ser Barristan."
Barristan woke to a start. A tight grip wrapped around his arm, but he tried to break free.
"Barristan!"
"What?" He shook his head, weariness clung to his mind. "What happened?"
Ser Gwayne Gaunt was holding Barristan's arm which brandished the knife that Barristan kept concealed in his bed. "You were asleep." He didn't loosen his grip on his arm. "I came to wake you. Your shift is to start soon."
"A dream?" Barristan muttered. It couldn't have been. It was too real. I was there. I watched him die. "And the Prince?"
"Prince Rhaegar is on Dragonstone." Gwayne was openly frowning. "Prince Viserys is in his chambers."
Barristan felt his heart plummet at that. It was as he feared. Dream or not, the truth remained, Prince Daeron was dead. He did nothing to stop it. It was in this self-inflicting haze that he barely heard what Ser Gwayne said next.
"And I just left my post outside Prince Daeron's chambers."
He blinked. "Prince Daeron?" He sat up, "Is alive?"
"Of course," Gwayne's mustache twitched, "Do you suspect something will befall him?"
He was so delirious with joy that it took him a few seconds before realizing that he had accidentally implied that the Prince's life was in danger. "No, Ser Gwayne, Prince Daeron is fine." He assured him, relief coloring his tone, he sagged back into his bed. "It was a dream." He said more to himself then to his fellow kingsguard, "Nay, a nightmare."
Gwayne studied him in silence for a few heartbeats before nodding. "You are expected shortly." He looked pointedly at the dagger that Barristan was still holding before the knight left his chambers.
It wasn't real, he sheathed his dagger. It wasn't real, he repeated, trying to calm the nerves that gnawed at him. As he got himself ready for his post, he couldn't help but think, dream or not , it felt real.
The dream would slip away in time, but not the cold truth gleaming from it.
It was Aerys' growing unpredictability, coldness, paranoia.
And that frightened him more than the nightmare itself.
The laughter of the Prince and his friends was a welcomed reprieve for the weary Ser Barristan. He stood from his spot in the Small Hall in the Tower of the Hand. Prince Daeron was at a table with Lords Robert Baratheon and Jaime Lannister. The three friends were breaking their fast together.
He deserves this, Barristan thought with a smile. He could still remember a time when Daeron was younger. The boy was shy and lonely. He would only be seen with whatever guards or knights were tasked with watching him.
His father who had once been overjoyed at having a second son and spare to the Crown Prince Rhaegar began to grow resentful of him. He would openly ponder to court why he was given a son when he needed a daughter, a sister and a wife for Rhaegar. While the rest of court was relieved at the prince's birth. They feared had he been born a girl, that their chance at pushing their sisters and daughters for a possible betrothal with the Crown Prince would be thwarted. When that did not happen, and he was born a boy and the spare. They largely ignored him while the court moved to jostle themselves to win the king's fickle favor.
Now look at him, he was watching him with his friends. He's turning into a good man, and a formidable warrior. Barristan felt a sense of pride at the young prince, who was also his squire.
The wound was red and ugly. Blood seeping on to the prince's black tunic. Barristan pushed that harrowing image away as quickly as it had come. No, It was not real, he told himself. He stepped forward as if wanting to put it behind him. When he moved a bit closer it allowed him to better hear their conversation.
"You're in good spirits," Robert Baratheon's voice easily carried throughout the hall.
If I had not taken my vows, he'd be my lord. Barristan thought wryly, reflecting on the life he could have had as the Lord of Harvest Hall. I left behind my home and a betrothal for this, he reflected without regret.
Aerys flickered in front of him, disheveled, and sneering, but Barristan refused to let it linger. He took a calming breath and the King was gone. I will not forget my oaths because of a bad dream.
Jaime Lannister was grinning from where he sat across from the Lord of Storm's End. "I am getting married in a few weeks."
A fine swordsman, Barristan had watched the Heir to Casterly Rock spar with Prince Daeron more times than he could count. Those two were practically brothers. He believed it was the young lion who helped turn the Prince into the man he was becoming. Before the Prince was shy and quiet. He had kept mostly to himself and only lingered in a few places throughout the Red Keep, mostly his quarters and the training yard.
It was painful to see a young boy so despondent. Barristan had always tried to help the prince when he could, which included making him his squire. He had wanted Rhaegar's attention and affection, Barristan noted, like any younger brother who looks up to the elder, but the Crown Prince gave him little.
The prince preferred books to brothers, he frowned at the cold, blunt truth of the matter. He will still be a good and wise king. Barristan was certain of the greatness that awaited Rhaegar when he would ascend to the Iron Throne. That is who I will someday serve, and gladly.
"Still?" Prince Daeron's words brought Barristan's attention back the playful banter amidst the friends. "I would've thought the princess would've come to her senses."
Robert guffawed into his tankard.
"Very amusing," Jaime remarked wryly, poking at his eggs, "With friends like you two who needs enemies?"
The prince smiled. He was holding his glass in one hand. "It appears I do not need a sword to wound my friend's pride, Cousin."
"To wound me, you'd have to be able to touch me," Jaime rubbed his chin, feigning to be in deep thought, "And if I recall from our last bout, you did not," He grinned when he added, "I also did it without a special valyrian sword."
Daeron took his friend's words with a chuckle. "That is because Princess Elia gave me specific instructions to not scar you before the wedding." He leaned forward, "She did not want her beloved-bruised or cut." He shrugged, "Your betrothed is not a lady to anger so I heeded her warning," He took a sip, "or should I say, her threat."
Robert took a bite out of a piece of bacon, not waiting until he was done chewing to speak. "A good bruise would have showed her you can fight and survive."
"Like how you're showing me what you're eating?" Jaime was brushing away the specks of food and crumbs that Robert left in his wake.
The Lord of Storm's End laughed, shaking his half piece of bacon at Jaime. "I wasn't aware lions had such sensitive stomachs."
"Indeed," Jaime remarked dryly, turning his attention away from Robert and onto Prince Daeron "Do you think Ned reached Winterfell?"
Barristan was there when the Prince and his friends saw off Eddard Stark at the docks in King's Landing. It had been more than a fortnight passed when he set off by ship to return to his family's ancestral seat at Winterfell. The second son of Lord Stark had been tasked to escort some of his family to the wedding between Houses Martell and Lannister at Casterly Rock.
The Prince thought it over before he nodded, "Aye, he should be there." He then took a sip from his glass, "I considered joining him."
"I was not aware you were invited." Jaime observed.
Daeron smiled at that, "One of the privileges of being a Prince. I am a welcome sight wherever I travel." He leaned back into his seat. "They fall over themselves for my family. And it is my humble duty as their prince to accept their warm hospitality."
"You have my sympathies for such a struggle, my prince ."
Barristan could only shake his head while the Prince and his friends laughed with one another. He looked out at the young men sitting before him who were sharing mirth and fellowship. Thank the Seven the Prince found them. He is a better man because of it.
"Why would you want to go north?" Jaime asked once the laughter subsided. "It's all cold and frozen and," he waved his hand, "nothing."
"You're not the least bit curious about the Wall?"
"I've seen walls before," Jaime did not look impressed. "And why is a frozen one more impressive than one made of stone?" He shrugged. "You know besides protecting us from the grumpkins and snarks."
"I'm not sure they are since I'm sensing some snark at this table," Daeron smirked.
Jaime chuckled, "You have me there."
"And what stone walls do you know that are seven hundred feet tall?" The Prince raised his eyebrows at the impressiveness of the structure. "Besides, Winterfell is said to be a great castle to behold."
"It is," Robert rejoined the conversation. "A good land and a good people, if you ask me." He sounded wistful in his recollections from his visit there.
"Good people?" Jaime shared a look with Prince Daeron. "Do not tell me you fathered another bastard when you were visiting, Robert."
"No," Robert actually sounded flustered, "I did not." He crossed his thick arms over his chest, upset at the accusation.
"How is your girl?" Daeron seemed to sense his friend's souring mood and decided to move on.
It worked in an instant. Robert's eyes flashed with pride with a growing smile. "Mya is growing," he laughed. "She's willful and loud."
Barristan could detect the sincerity in the Lord of Storm's End voice and expression when referring to his young bastard daughter. He looked to be a proud father, bastard or trueborn it did not seem to matter to the young Stormlord.
"Will she stay in the Vale?"
At the question, Robert's smile only grew. There was a gleam in his blue eyes. "Our time in Dorne inspired me," he revealed. "I've written to Prince Doran and when the time is right, she and her mother will travel to Dorne where they will be the Prince's guests and reside at the Water Gardens."
"Truly?" Jaime could not hide his surprise at the choice.
Robert took satisfaction at his friend's reaction. "Are you surprised that your future good brother did not tell you or that I can come up with something sensible."
Jaime took the good natured jape with a smile. "Clearly the latter, my friend."
Robert laughed. "Your honesty is as refreshing as ever, Lannister."
"Well done, Robert," Daeron praised him. "She could have a good life in Dorne."
Barristan understood their shock as well as their happiness with their friends' decision. It was a surprising move by the stormlord. A show of maturity and wisdom that he seemed to hide behind bawdy japes and drinking songs.
Robert looked pleased, "Thank you, Cousin." He bowed his head, "You were right to challenge me." For a flickering heartbeat he looked like a scolded child. "I am not certain she will stay in Dorne all of her life despite the Prince's assurances she and her mother were more then welcome to stay." Robert hesitated, "But I hope it to be a good life for her while she's there."
"She will be thankful," the Prince assured him. "And that will be because of you, Cousin."
"Thank you," He looked touched at the Prince's thoughtful words.
"The Prince is right, Robert," Jaime echoed the agreement. He then raised his glass, "To Mya."
Daeron looked approvingly of the gesture. He raised his glass and the friends chorused it before clanging their glasses against one another and drinking to the health and happiness of Robert's young daughter.
Arthur:
When he had been told by the Maester that he had received a raven. Arthur was not certain who it was from. His sister who use to be a constant writing companion had drifted a part these past few months. Her messages to him now were terse and brief, with an inky veneer of politeness.
It hurt to receive them, to know that his sister's bitterness still lingered.
I am a knight, not a lord, Ashara.
He had written to her when the rumors began to swirl between a betrothal between herself and Prince Daeron.
I've done nothing, said nothing.
He wanted her to understand that this was not his doing.
Arthur would not forget how she had responded to him.
That is right, brother. You did nothing.
The disappointment and sadness in her letter had cut Arthur deeper than any sword.
The Sword of the Morning, and I'm disarmed by my sister's quill.
A year had passed and there was still no arranged match between his sister and Prince Daeron, but the divide remained between the siblings.
He sighed.
Dragonstone's grim and dreary design did nothing to chase away Arthur's dark thoughts.
The island fortress had received some cosmetic changes from the Princess. Her friends and family had taken up rooms and posts within the castle. They turned it into a buzzing hub of activity, that more resembled a bee's hive.
More ships than ever visited the island from all over. Arthur suspected it was more than just cargo that was bought and traded, but information. Rhaegar was relying on the influence of his good family to bring and spread what they heard across the Narrow Sea from the Free Cities and to the other parts of Essos.
Arthur has spent years living and visiting this island and had never seen it so active and crowded. The Princess entertained guests from all over Westeros and Essos. Now, that she was pregnant, she was seen more often, not shying away but instead parading the growing swell of her belly. She wanted all to see that she and the Crown Prince's marriage was fruitful. She glowed. She was a fine jewel that dazzled and awed all who came to see and speak with her.
The real reward to life at court on Dragonstone would be when the Crown Prince would make an appearance. When he did, he would have his harp and would play to the adulation of the court. He captivated them with his talent, and converted them to his cause, with little more than a look and a song.
This truly was the Prince's court.
He was impressed at how Princess Laela handled the attention and the gossiping. She was the Crown Prince's wife, but she was from Volantis. Despite having the Valyrian blood, she and her family were often seen or sneered as outsiders. It had been one of Arthur's primary concerns when his friend and wife took up at Dragonstone. He wondered and suspected that not all would be pleased or welcome a foreign princess to their shores. Arthur had made the appropriate observations and preparations in rooting out those who could possibly mean to harm the Princess and her family.
"Ser Arthur."
He looked up to see one of the Maester's acolytes hail him. "Twas a raven arrived from the capital, Ser." The acolyte was young and pake marked. His eyes were unable to hide their awe when they spotted the sheathed Dawn .
"Thank you," Arthur took the message, recognizing the kingsguard seal. This had come from Lord Commander Hightower. He opened it with his thumb and read its contents, and then reread them to make sure he hadn't misread any of it.
"Shall I send a reply?"
"Not yet," Arthur closed the letter. "I shall need some time."
The acolyte bowed his head, "Of course, Ser."
Arthur thanked him and left, reflecting on the orders from Lord Commander Hightower. He knew before he could send any message that Rhaegar must be informed.
He found his friend and Crown Prince at the Chamber of the Painted Table. The round room at the top of the massive Stone Drum Tower.
Prince Rhaegar was dressed in black silk with dashes and sashes of red here and there. A Targaryen brooch pinned to his chest. His silvery hair fell past his shoulders. He leaned on the famous table commissioned by his ancestor and the first Targaryen King to rule Westeros, Aegon the Conqueror.
Arthur quietly approached as he heard his prince speaking to the assembled men.
"There are those lords who we can be depended on, if they are called on," He looked down at the massively carved table that depicted Westeros. He was sitting at the raised seat that was positioned near Dragonstone allowing him to view the entirety of the table and the room itself.
"Lords Derry and Whent in the Riverlands are considered friends to our cause. While the Freys can be bought." He pointed to each of their castles on the table when the families were said. "Elbert Arryn has told me that many houses in the Vale will support us." That was when he looked up to see Arthur. He tilted his head in acknowledgement, but continued to speak.
"I am reasonable," He told them. "I will try to entice Lord Hoster with a new match," He turned his attention to where Jon Connington was sitting. "You will make a good offer to the Tullys for his youngest daughter."
Jon Connington gave a tight nod, "Of course, my prince."
Satisfied, Rhaegar turned away, unable to see how much Lord Connington hoped that betrothal would fail.
The Crown Prince stood from his seat. "It is vision. That is what separates my family from all the others." He looked out at them, "It was the vision of Daenys the Dreamer that spared my family the same cruel fate that took down the greatest empire the world has ever seen." He put his hand forward, gesturing to where Dragonstone was on the map. "It was the vision of Aegon the Conqueror that unified the warring kingdoms under the banner of the Three Headed Dragon. That vision brought Westeros peace and prosperity it had never seen when they were separate and squabbling."
"It was the vision of The Conciliator, King Jaehaerys the First that would solidify my family's rule and place on the Iron Throne to help us govern Westeros for the centuries that would follow." He held up a finger. "That is what I'm asking all of you and our allies to trust. That vision, my vision."
Arthur watched from the corner seeing how his friend's words had a way of enthralling those he came into contact with. He could see it in their expressions. In their eyes as they followed the Crown Prince's word and movements. All of them ensnared by his charisma and confidence, devout to his cause, believers to his vision.
"We are with you, my prince," Lord Connington was the first to stand and speak about loyalty. "I know many in the Stormlands who are loyal to the right dragon regardless of the stag's preference."
"You are a good friend, Jon," Rhaegar thanked him.
The Lord of Griffin's Roost looked pleased, dipping his head.
"That will be all," The Crown Prince dismissed them as he moved to retake his seat.
Arthur watched them leave, and waited for the doors to close before he approached his friend.
"And dragons."
That got his friend to look up. "Pardon?"
"You said it was visions that separated your family from the rest, but you forgot the dragons."
"Yes, dragons too," Rhaegar agreed.
Arthur was pleased at the small smile his jape received. Knowing how difficult it was to elicit such a response from his friend who was prone to melancholy.
"I've received a raven from Lord Commander Hightower."
The Crown Prince did not look surprised at the news. "Hightower's Raven but my father's words."
Orders, Arthur wanted to correct his friend, but he did not. I serve the king. He clenched his right hand, The man before me will be king, my friend, he repeated the words he told himself whenever his gut wavered. I've already made my choice: Rhaegar will be king, and that is who I serve.
"I imagine so," Arthur made sure to convey none the inner struggle no matter how brief it had been. "I've been summoned back to the capital by your father." The King .
"I am certain the Spider has been whispering in his ear," Rhaegar looked unbothered. "He will send another knight of the Kingsguard to Dragonstone." He met Arthur's eyes. "I suspect that my father is changing the rotation of his knights to uproot all loyalty save for those due to him."
He is not wrong to be suspicious, Arthur stamped down those words as soon as they sprouted.
"He will likely take Ser Barristan and Ser Gwayne away from my brother."
"Your brother still serves as Barristan's squire."
"My brother will have little time for his duties in the coming weeks."
The wedding, Arthur understood, Many who came to the island spoke of the pending wedding between Jaime Lannister and Princess Elia Martell. The union of two great houses, hosted by the wealthiest family in the Seven Kingdoms. The gossiping of how lavish and splendid it was going to be was the talk from the docks all the way to the keep itself.
"I believe Ser Gwayne will be coming to Dragonstone," Rhaegar's soft spoken voice did not betray his thoughts on the matter or manner of the knight. "And you will be assigned to either my father or my brother. If I am correct, then I ask for your help, my friend."
Arthur felt something inside him twitch, "My help?"
"Yes," Rhaegar answered. "I need you to keep me informed on what it is my father or brother are doing while you are away with them."
"You'd have me spy?" Arthur's mouth instinctively twisted. How can I act like something I am not? To deal in shadows and secrets? I am a soldier, not a spy. Give me a sword and I will give you my service, but a scroll? He did not know how to do that.
"I-I," He tried to form the words to reject his friend's offer. To tell him it was folly or that it should not be done, but when he met the Prince's eyes, he could not. He bowed his head, "I will try."
"Thank you," Rhaegar turned away from him, and out of his his seat, "My ancestor died at this table," his fingers skimming the veneered surface of it. "The passing of Aegon the Conqueror eventually forged a bloody conflict that nearly brought down the Targaryen reign before it could be solidified. Maegor fought against his own nephew, the rightful heir to the throne. He took the crown for himself, blood betrayed blood," He said softly.
"Our family's greatest threat, Arthur, has always been ourselves." His eyes shone by the light of the brazier, "Only a dragon can topple a dragon."
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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