Kapitel 11: Chapter 11: Targaryen Standoff
Dragonstone - Beyond the Gateway…
Having learned of this latest act of unpredictable behavior from Prince Daemon, Ser Otto assembled a small force of twenty household guards, accompanied by several Kingsguard, to liberate the island fortress from the Rogue Prince and his private army of City Watch loyalists. Alwyn and the other household staff on Dragonstone were bound and practically held hostage by Daemon and his followers.
Waves crashed against the shores. Although the island bore no abundance of gold or jewelry - only bearing vast hordes of dragonglass - and not on the sheer scale of other great castles such as Storm's End or the Red Keep, Dragonstone is still regarded as one of the strongest castles in all the Seven Kingdoms, due to its advanced Valyrian architectural design and its location greatly enhancing its already formidable defensive prowess: a vast fleet of ships would be required simply to transport troops and large siege weapons to its location, and even then they would be forced to make a risky amphibious landing while under fire from the castle's catapults. When Aegon the Conqueror united six of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros under his rule, Dragonstone became the seat of the crown prince.
"Steady yourselves, men," Ser Harrold advised.
Descending the steps to meet his adversaries, with a dragon egg he stole in one arm, Daemon and Mysaria - accompanied by a detachment of gold cloaks - moved to intercept his rivals on the bridge leading to the castle. "Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto," Daemon maintained a high smugness.
"Your occupation of this island is at an end." Otto relayed the message. "You're to relinquish the dragon's egg, disband your army, banish your whοre," he said referring to Mysaria, "and leave Dragonstone by order of His Grace, King Viserys-"
"Where is the king? I don't see him."
"His Grace would never lower himself to entertain such a mummer's farce. And you know it."
Daemon, still smug, counted the number of knights and Dragonkeeper acolytes before him. Even with your meager forces, Otto, I still have you entirely outclassed. He noticed Ser Harrold Westerling among them, but he turned to recognize a new face among the Kingsguard - Ser Criston Cole, from the tourney six months ago who not only unseated him during the joust but defeated him in the melee as well. Daemon had heard that Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne had passed away and Harrold took his place, which meant that 'someone' had appointed Criston to fill in the vacancy. "Ser Crispin, wasn't it?" he mocked.
"Ser Criston Cole, my prince," Criston corrected. Six months later, you still have not changed. The princess, it seems, was right about you.
"Ah yes, apologies. I couldn't recall."
"Perhaps my prince recalls when I knocked him off his horse."
Alwyn could hear the men behind Otto laughing and see Daemon getting increasingly irritable. Yet the Rogue Prince could not help but form a grin. Oh, you are a funny little man, aren't you? "Very good," he chuckled.
"This is truly a pathetic show, Daemon," Otto scoffed. "Are you so desperate for the king's attention that you've resorted to skulking about like a common cutpurse?"
"I'm simply keeping with the traditions of my house, the same as my brother did for his heir," Daemon challenged.
"Those traditions are for the trueborn children of royalty, not for bastards fathered on a common whore."
"Lady Mysaria is to be my wife."
"This is an abomination. With every breath, you soil your name, your house, and your brother's reign."
"Our love does not know titles and traditions."
"And what of you, men of the City Watch?" Otto turned to the gold cloaks. "Aiding the Prince in his treason?"
"The king made me their commander. They are loyal to me," Daemon reminded him. "I'm sure loyalty is a concept you are very unfamiliar with, Otto." When the Hand of the King did not respond, Daemon playfully tossed the dragon egg back and forth in his hands and then held it out. "Have you come for the egg? Well, here it is. Come, and take it."
The dragon egg, once picked for the cradle of the late infant Prince Baelon, was large with tiny black scales shimmering like polished metal in the sunlight. Dragon eggs come in a variety of different yet rich colors, are roughly the size of a human child's head, and are as heavy as stone so they need to be carried with two hands. But for Daemon? He only had to use only one hand.
Otto stared at the egg. It was worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock, and Daemon acted as if it was a novelty. The Hand of the King focused his attention on his rival. "Are you mad?" he demanded. "You'd never survive this."
"Well, happily, neither would you," Daemon withdrew his outstretched hand back to his side, keeping the egg safe against him.
"To choose violence, here, is to declare war against your king."
Daemon eyes glittered at the mention of war, a field in which he was an expert. "Wonderful," he said nonchalantly.
You cannot be serious. Ser Criston readied himself for a fight; as a soldier, he was trained in the art of combat and had participated in multiple skirmishes against incursions from Dorne. He was gripping onto the sheath, ready to act if necessary - senses on high alert.
"Even if it ends in the death of your unborn child and its mother?" Otto prodded.
At that instant, Daemon's face darkened, and in an instant draws Dark Sister and points it at Otto, prompting both sides to draw their weapons. Alwyn felt his heart quicken as both sides prepared to spill blood. And here, on this narrow stairway, they might all certainly die. But then there was a pause, for suddenly they could hear the beating of wings and a faint high-pitched shriek.
"*Reeeeeeeee!*"
Caraxes crawled forward to reveal himself at the top of a cliff ready to defend his master.
By the Gods… Criston stared at the Blood Wyrm in awe and fear as Caraxes continued his menacing approach. He had never seen a dragon before, but he, like all youths, heard of the legendary prowess of the Targaryen dragons that unified the independent kingdoms into a single realm and forged the Iron Throne itself. Although Caraxes was no Balerion, Vhagar, or Meraxes, it was still large enough to incinerate everyone present.
Harrold, on the other hand, while cautious remained level-headed.
"*RAAAAAAAAA!*" Caraxes roared loudly.
Otto, knowing that a dragon's presence can turn the tide of a fight in favor of its rider, calculated that he and his forces were completely outmatched against Daemon. "All of you," he begrudgingly turned behind him, "sheathe the fucking steel."
One by one, the men-at-arms sheathed their swords and stood down. But Daemon, meanwhile, still maintained a threatening composure. Before the tension can spill into open conflict, they suddenly heard the beating of wings. Caraxes sniffed the air and looked up at the sky, thick with early morning cloud cover, and hissed. Daemon's ears perked at the faint distinctive sound and redirected his gaze towards the west. Otto, Harrold, and Criston turned in the same direction as the draconic vocalization grew increasingly louder.
Flying overhead was Syrax carrying Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Having defied her father, she took matters into her own hands to settle the dispute herself. Caraxes and Syrax both screeched at one another before the young she-dragon landed behind Otto and his men unannounced.
Well, well. This is quite a surprise. Daemon stared at his niece.
Rhaenyra dismounted and marched toward her uncle. "Bisa iksis olvie gō hen ao, kepus. (This is quite unbecoming of you, uncle.)" she called out in High Valyrian.
"What are you doing here, princess?" Otto demanded.
"Preventing bloodshed."
"Ser Criston, please escort Princess Rhaenyra to safety."
"Disregard that if you know what's good for you," Rhaenyra warned, reverting to the Common Tongue. "Take care not to startle Syrax, my lords. She's rather protective of me." She pushed past them and approached Daemon. "Ñuha lēkia iksis se Dārilaros hen Zaldrīzesdōron. Bisa iksis zȳhon sombāzmion, kepus, daor aōhon issa. (My brother's the Prince of Dragonstone. This is his castle, uncle, not yours.)"
"Sȳrī, Aeōnar daor kesīr sir iksis, ziry daor? (Well, Aeonar is not here now, is he?)" Daemon replied. "Ēza daor issare ūndegīon isse ezīma iā jēdarī (Well, he hasn't been seen in six months.)"
"Yn emā vēdros aōha dārys. Ao ánghowa ñuha uēpkta lēkia lēda aōha gaomoti. (Yet you have angered your king. You insulted my older brother with your actions.)"
"Indirarion urnion daor. (I don't see why.)" Daemon dismissed. "Tubī manaeri. Nyke dīnilaks. (This is a day of celebration. I am to be wed.)"
"Ābrazȳri sīr emā. (You already have a wife.)" Rhaenyra countered.
"Derēptan lī, daor. (Not one of my choosing.)"
"Se sīr kejo syt ñuho valonqro drōmon laodigon aō bēviltas? Baelo drōmon? (And so you thought it was okay to steal my brother's egg? Baelon's egg?)"
"Bībot zaldrīzome mazumbillo vulē. (You shared your cradle with a dragon when you were born.)" Daemon approached. "Hae gōntan aōha lēkia gō ao. Jaelan keskydoso syt ñuha riña. (As your brother did before you. I want the same for my child.)"
Rhaenyra knew Daemon was lying and continued challenging him. Both continued speaking to each other in High Valyrian, so neither the guards nor Alwyn knew what they were saying. But all the talk soon ended when they heard a distant dragon rumbling - which steadily grew louder. Both Caraxes and Syrax perked their heads up, hearing the call.
Then…
"*RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!*"
A large dragon swiftly flew past them dangerously close - the breeze nearly toppled over some of the men that nearly sent them over the bridge itself. Black scales with red membrane on its wings… it was Vaelor, Prince Aeonar's dragon, the fastest in the realm! But the difference in six months was that he has grown much, much bigger! Vaelor had grown to measure 174 feet long with an almost 224-foot wingspan.
Daemon glanced up at the soaring dragon before he heard an audible hit near his foot. He quickly looked down to see an arrow narrowly missed hitting him - but he theorized it was merely a warning shot, not an intent to kill… at least not yet. And if this was Vaelor, then its rider must have grown to become an incredible marksman. Landing directly in the center, Vaelor roared.
"*RAAAAAAAAAAAAA!*"
"*REEEEE!*" Caraxes screeched back.
Jumping off its back, landed a cloaked figure. Pulling the hood back to reveal himself, the young man's once shoulder-length silver hair had been cropped short and had grown a five o'clock shadow on his face, beneath his leather tunic was a shirt of black scales, there was a silver choker around his neck with big square-cut rubies and a crimson cloak wrapped around his shoulders. But his purple eyes had a dangerous look on them. Most of Dragonstone's personnel recognized who he was.
"Prince Aeonar Targaryen!" gasped one of the servants.
Rhaenyra stood astonished. For six months, no one at court knew where Aeonar had gone. He just simply disappeared without a trace… only Rhaenyra had the faintest idea where Aeonar might have gone to Braavos? Pentos? Or any of the Free Cities not hostile to the realm. Maybe he even lied to keep everyone off his trail unless he wanted to be found. But now he was here, standing before them - returned to reclaim what was rightfully his. She noticed that strapped to his back was a quiver containing many arrows and a specialized recurved bow not normally crafted in Westeros. No, this had to originate from elsewhere.
Alwyn let out a deep sigh of relief at the sight of the prince. He knew that once word had reached Aeonar's ears that Daemon had illegally occupied Dragonstone, he would eventually come back to reclaim his castle. Though no one looked more surprised than Otto himself - his face looked so stricken one would have thought that he swallowed a lemon.
Rhaenyra smiled at her elder brother and looked ready to hug him, "Aeonar," she said but she refrained as her sibling approached their uncle.
"Uncle," Aeonar said with silent firmness.
"Iksā jurnegēre sȳrī. (You're looking well.)" Daemon observed his nephew. "Pōntāla ziksoso hembīnna jurnegon harrenkys va ao issa. (Self-imposed exile looks to have suited you.)"
"Se iksā glaesagon isse toli jorrāelan sombāzmion. Iā sombāzmion bona iksin dōrī aōhon naejot rhaenagon lēda. (And yet you are trespassing in someone else's castle. A castle that was never yours, to begin with.)" Aeonar was clearly in no mood for games. "Iksan se dārilaros hen Zaldrīzesdōron, daor ao. ( I am the Prince of Dragonstone, not you.)" He stood face-to-face with Daemon. "Sir, lo ao se aōha vali jaelagon naejot gaomagon aōha bartos, kesā jiōragon hen ñuha tegun rȳ istin. (Now, unless you and your men wish to keep your heads, you will get off my land at once.)" he warned.
Vaelor turned his head back to Daemon, Mysaria, the gold cloaks, and Caraxes before bellowing out a loud, mighty roar - as if threatening those who dare defy his rider.
"*RAAAAAAAAAAAAA!*"
Caraxes hissed and screeched. Vaelor growled and hissed in retaliation as if daring the Blood Wyrm to make a move. Within moments, Caraxes moved in close to try to snap his jaws, but Vaelor remained faster and more maneuverable - easily encircling Caraxes and biting down on the Blood Wyrm's snout.
"*REEEEEEEEE!*"
Caraxes screeched and tried to pull themselves free, but Vaelor's jaws tightened and flung Caraxes to the side of the hill. The Blood Wyrm was still alive but dazed and slightly disoriented from the sheer force of the throw.
"I'm not the same boy you once knew, uncle," Aeonar said. Do it. Do it now. "I'm right here. The source of your ire. The reason why you were disinherited in the first place." His eyes remained locked on Daemon. The nerves in the back of his head kept tugging and pulling, but unlike before he showed no signs of discomfort. Kill him. Kill him, kill him, kill him. "Now… last warning, uncle: Get. Out." Go on, uncle. Try it. Give me a reason to cut your throat or feed you to Vaelor. Go on. Do it. I dare you.
Vaelor turned again towards Daemon. The gold cloaks found themselves trembling as the dragon stood on its hind legs, rearing itself upright and stretching its wings out wide. It was an intimidation display… almost predatory as if viewing these smaller creatures before him as potential prey. Even Syrax, Rhaenyra's dragon, softly growled and lowered her head before taking two steps backward - it was demonstrating a submissive stance to her brood.
Daemon stared coolly at his nephew, his mind running through various scenarios, but the look in his eyes showed that none of them ended in his favor. Silently, he turned around and started to walk away, the gold cloaks parting to allow their commander to pass.
"Kepus. (Uncle.)" Rhaenyra called after Daemon, who immediately tossed the dragon egg over his shoulder without even pausing or looking back. She took a step forward to make sure she caught it and held it in her arms as if it was a newborn child.
Mysaria and the gold cloaks followed Daemon, though Alwyn remained where he was. A look of relief and contentment on his face.
Caraxes gave a menacing hiss to Vaelor and Syrax before it took to the air and flew off, away from its two adversaries.
Grand Maester Mellos, followed by two Dragonkeeper acolytes immediately rushed forward, carrying a brazier for Rhaenyra to place the egg in to keep it warm.
Otto, recovering from his shock at the sudden arrival of Aeonar, walked forward and gave a curt but respectful bow. "Prince Aeonar," he said formally. "Your royal father shall be overjoyed and would no doubt wish you to return with us." His words were all courtly, but inside he felt humiliated that Aeonar and his sister had in mere seconds stopped a potential battle and sent the Rogue Prince scurrying off.
"If my father wishes to send for me, I'll be waiting for him… here. At Dragonstone," Aeonar turned to face Otto, Rhaenyra, and the loyalist guards. "Now the rest of you, go home."
Just when things seemed to settle, Vaelor now turned around to face THEM! The dragon bared his teeth with a hiss, warning these smaller things to leave before his rider permits him to eat them. Syrax, sensing the aggression from its kin, responded in kind with a growl. The two dragons stared at each other for a moment, adjusting their stances. As smart and powerful as dragons were, they were still animals and prone to the same instincts as wolves and lions.
Rhaenyra called to her dragon, speaking words to calm the she-dragon. The princess then nodded to Aeonar. "Brother," she said with a half curtesy before turning and descending the narrow stairway. She was followed by the Kingsguard and Mellos. Only Otto and his household knights lingered for a moment, the Hand of the King stared at the prince silently before he too turned and left.
Two hours after the royal party had departed, Daemon and his paramour, atop Caraxes circled Dragonstone three times before finally leaving. The gold cloaks, with disappointed and angry looks on their faces, boarded barges bound for King's Landing to resume their posts within the City Watch.
Dragonstone - Chamber of the Painted Table…
Once more the castle and volcanic island belonged to Aeonar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne. Though he did not seem interested in the throngs of smallfolk or servants who cheered for him, instead secluded himself in the Chamber of the Painted Table. The table itself was carved from a block of wood and painted in the form of a detailed map of as it was at the start of Aegon's Conquest engraved with the major cities, castles, and landmarks in the entire continent which was lit by candles underneath the Painted Table itself.
The Painted Table is more than fifty feet long: roughly twenty-five feet wide at its widest point and four feet at its thinnest. Positioned near Dragonstone's spot on the map is a raised seat that allows the occupant to view the entire table. It is covered by over three hundred years of varnish. Near the table is an iron brazier, and the chamber contains a hearth.
It was not until near the afternoon when the sun had reached its highest point that Alwyn dared to enter the chamber and intrude on the prince's brooding. He found the prince, staring at the flames in the hearth, which itself shaped like the mouth of a dragon. Alwyn approached, the links of his maester's chain clinking slightly as he walked. "The Dragonkeepers here confirmed that all the eggs in the hatchery are accounted for. Daemon did not abscond with any before his departure. Vaelor has taken a cave on the southern side of the volcano as his lair and several large sheep have been sent up to him," he reported.
"That will only sustain Vaelor for a while. A dragon his size will need to hunt again soon. It is how he will keep growing and stay healthy," Aeonar replied. He placed a parchment on the Painted Table. "My contacts in Braavos and Pentos have all reported the same thing. The Triarchy is on the move near Bloodstone, but my agents will remain. With luck, the information I provide will reach Driftmark's ears first."
One of his spies entered and they spoke in languages Alwyn was not aware of. A mixture of High and Low Valyrian of different dialects, but also Ghiscari.
"I have eyes and ears everywhere. Ser Otto has miscalculated how effective I can be, as did my father and uncle."
"One always misjudges a spymaster, my Prince. For they must be sly, capable of becoming transparent and opaque when necessary. Skills that you have mastered." Alwyn commented, this voice become one of counsel. "However, when the cat is away, the rats play. Your departure gave your adversaries and rivals a chance to crawl out from the woodwork. Prince Daemon was brazen enough to try and claim your castle, no doubt a similar attempt is being made to take your seat on the King's council. Is it wise to leave your father and sister alone among those vipers?"
"On the contrary, it's all going according to plan," Aeonar dismissed. "I expect many will try, but in the end, they'll fail miserably. In time, the king will seek me out. And when he does, his offer of concessions will only serve to strengthen House Targaryen whether he knows it or not." He rose from his seat. "The way I see it, those with talent are the ones who move history in the proper direction." Aeonar turned to Alywn. "In the meantime, fetch my quill and paper. It's time we set my plans in motion." Whether father likes it or not.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein