Capítulo 29: Chapter 29: Destiny
Daeron:
The Great Hall was deserted.
Only a few of the braziers had been lit. The flames appeared here and there as if blooming out of the blackness. The orange glows flickered like tongues of light.
Daeron walked forward. He was alone.
Dae, Viserys was pleading, eyes wet with tears, I-I don't want to go. Come with us.
Our cousins are there, He had gently pried his brother off of his leg, You will have fun.
My boy, His mother had a fresh bruise along her neck. She was holding his hands, begging. Please, do not do this. P-Please-
He had steeled himself for this. She did not know it all, and he could not say all that he wished he could so he said only what he could: In time, Mother, you will understand. He had kissed her forehead and then watched them leave through the gates of the Red Keep towards the Stormlands, towards safety.
Daeron could feel the empty eyes staring down at him. The skulls loomed along his path. He looked towards his right to see the skull of Arrax watching him intently with an eyeless gaze. It had fallen during the first Dance. As did the Prince who rode it, Lucerys.
The first Dance, that's what he had just called it instead of just Dance. If there's a First then there must be a Second…
It was in front of him. It was waiting for him. He was not even halfway to it, but even from here it was clear to see. The seat of kings, the authority of his ancestors, forged by the Conqueror from the weapons of all those who knelt to the three headed dragon, both the humbled and the willing, The Iron Throne.
It was a hideous seat, a crude construct of dragonflame. It was tall, but bent, it stood there like some wounded steel beast.
There was nothing between them.
You stand before destiny, little brother, Rhaegar's voice whispered inside him. I've seen the future and you are but a bump along my path.
He felt the hot lash in his belly. I hate you. His fingers curled against his palms. I hate you. It was his prayer. I hate you.
There will be no reconciliation. There will be no regrets.
His fingers traced the flames etched in Dark Sister's pommel. He saw Rhaegar before him, bloodied and beaten. The silence of the crowd when he ripped their hopes out of their hearts for their beloved prince. The smear of red on his brother's face flickering in front of him. That look in his eyes.
Daeron smiled. That was a good day.
He kept walking.
The dragon skulls hovered overhead. The stares of ghosts followed his steps.
I did not want this, Mother. He wanted to tell her in the courtyard. Her lips had been trembling, her eyes pleading. It was almost enough to smother it, the fire inside, all the anger, the hatred, the resentment, but it couldn't. Daeron didn't think anything could now. A storm that cannot be snuffed.
He looked down just before him and there it was the shadow of the Iron Throne sprawled out onto the stone. He then turned to his left to see where the tiles were blackened. It was not shadows, but scorch marks that could not be cleansed away.
My father burns men alive and calls it justice. My brother chases prophecies and calls it wisdom.
What of me? He asked himself. Am I any different?
I think to defy them and I call it loyalty.
Daeron looked up at the Iron Throne that lurked ahead of him. The base reminded him of a spider's body for a reason he couldn't quite explain. It was a large, round, mound of steel with blades sticking out here and there as if trying to escape. The stairs that led up to the seat itself were steps of swords, a melted metal climb that were flanked by sharp steel that rose and curved like dragon claws.
The seat almost looked to be placed in the maw of some large and ugly creature. Its steel fangs formed a near ring of sharp steel that made it look like it was caught in a mid-yawn. Around the seat was a mane of metal, that fanned outwards, jagged swords and broken blades.
It was an ugly thing, the only time he thought it could be any uglier was when his father was seated upon it.
There is nothing greater than a dragon, my son. His father's cackle sent an icy chill through him.
He made himself look past it to the tall Targaryen banner that hung behind it. The large three headed red dragon roaring its dominance for all to see.
Daeron took the black cloth out. Cersei had finished it for him. Against the dark backdrop was the three headed dragon of his house, but it did not entirely look like the giant sigil in front of him.
The dragon's body was red, but not all of its heads. The first head was red.
Red for his family, for Cersei, for Jaime, for Elia, for Oberyn, for Houses Targaryen, Lannister, and Martell.
The second head was gold for Robert, for House Baratheon. One of his family's oldest allies. They had been fighting beside his family from the very beginning when it was Aegon and Orys.
The third and last head was white for Ned, and for Gwayne and Barristan. They couldn't raise large forces, but they were loyal and reliable men, who he trusted with his life. The white cloaks who had been with him since the beginning. The ones who had watched him and protected him.
Daeron stepped forward into the Iron Throne's shadow. It consumed him in a blink. He could feel its black reflection fall over him. Usurper? A cold voice whispered inside him, or savior?
He looked at his new personal standard and saw his family, his friends, their smiles, he heard their laughter. It played before him all the memories seeing their faces, hearing their voices and he felt his own smile, but it didn't linger. Daeron put the cloth away and sighed.
My brother can not give me peace. Our father can not give us justice. What am I to do, but give war?
The approaching footfalls did not surprise him. They were expected.
He took one last look at the metal monstrosity before stepping out of its looming shadow. That was when he saw her.
Her movement was graceful. She looked enchanting. Cersei was lovely in red, but it was Lannister red. He wanted her in Targaryen red or in nothing. Daeron's thoughts flickered back to that night at Storm's End when she was standing before him with the only thing on her was his eyes. She was proud and beautiful and his.
He had strongly considered marrying Cersei especially after their tryst before the tournament to thwart whatever it was his brother was planning, but he decided against it. The wedding would get out and Rhaegar would use it to turn father against him. That was something he could not risk. Soon, he reminded himself.
"Daeron?"
"Yes?"
Her fingers began to trace one of the scratches on his face. There was a soft hue in her eyes, her mouth pursed.
"They will fade," The wounds were expected. His father was unpredictable even at his most malleable.
"They shouldn't exist," Her whisper was harsh.
He took her hand from his cheek and kissed her fingertips. "Perhaps, they'll think I angered my lioness." Daeron looked down to see the want burning behind her gaze, the slight flush of her cheeks.
"I left my scratches where they could not see," Her voice was a seductive lilt.
He felt a warm shiver like feeling go through him. The knowledge that Ser Gwayne and Cersei's guards were about to walk in any minute was the only thing restraining him. He saw the dip and disappointment in her expression and he was sure it was seen just as clearly on his.
"He could've done worse," She didn't hide her anger for his father. "What of your shoulder?"
"It's sore," He hoped by the time they reached Harrenhal there would be no further discomfort. "We needed him." Daeron reminded her, "Whoever controls the king controls the kingdoms," he said softly, "For now it would not be wise to anger him."
She let out a very unlady like snort at that precaution.
He understood her reaction. His father was a volatile man, what could make him happy one morning could make him furious by evenfall. It was a tiresome dance, but it was one that he needed to do for just a little while longer. He needed his father at Harrenhal to serve as his shield against Rhaegar's plots.
"Do you think he will stop your brother?"
"Yes," Daeron was certain the presence of their father would throw off whatever it was Rhaegar had in mind for him. His brother would be forced to move carefully now that he threw their father's suspicion on him. However, if Daeron thought Aerys was under his brother's sway then he'd have to react accordingly. Let us pray that my father's suspicions run deeper towards Rhaegar then they do me.
"And afterwards we will marry."
Her eyes seemed to glow in the dim light at his promise and her smile shone brightly. "And then?"
Daeron detected the uncertainty in her tone. He understood it. Their future was so difficult to see. He didn't answer her, instead he turned back to the Iron Throne. "Did you know Harrenhal was one of the first sites of battle during the Dance?"
"No," she was standing beside him. He felt her gaze first on him before it flickered towards the end of the Great Hall where it was resting. "What happened?"
"The Rogue Prince took it without bloodshed," Daeron's fingers going to the hilt of Dark Sister. The same sword that Prince Daemon had wielded.
The Iron Throne remained impassive at their attention.
Daeron looked upwards to the empty seat. He felt it in his chest. The stirring as if a dragon was woken from its slumber. For the first time he could see it, he allowed himself to. He wasn't in the shadows. He wasn't pushed to the side and out of sight. No, he was right there in the middle of it, the only calmness in a frenzied storm of celebrations.
They were all there for him. He saw their smiles and heard their cheers. There was no father. There was no Rhaegar. It was all for me. The swell rose in his throat and his fingers trembled. It was me they wanted.
He felt her hand in his. Her eyes on him. Together.
"My brother believes that destinies are set. He claims they are etched in stone, dried ink on the page but I don't," Daeron said quietly. "I believe we make our own destinies. That we must seize it. We must fight for it," He gave the Iron Throne one long and final look before turning away. "Soon, we shall see who is right, him or me."
Arthur:
"What do you think?"
It took the Sword of the Morning a few beats of silence to realize that the Crown Prince was directing the question to him. Rhaegar had just adjourned his discreet meeting with his father's Master of Whisperers.
"I think it is strangely unsettling how well Varys wears a dress," Arthur observed dryly.
Laela let out a giggle before covering her mouth and Rhaegar's lips curved upwards.
It had been such a strange sight to see. Varys had come to them wearing a dark rough spun dress that Arthur saw many of the castle servants wear. He had a wig that was nestled perfectly atop his head. It was long brown hair that was braided and fell past his shoulders. He looked like a plump older woman. It was discomforting how easily Varys was able to conceal his true self behind this costume.
If Arthur had crossed him in the corridor he would've dismissed him as one of the servants attending the rooms, and thinking nothing more of it. It made Arthur think had he passed Varys before throughout the Red Keep never knowing it. How many other disguises does he have?
"I should ask him who braided that wig," Laela jested, "Sloppy and very telling."
"I'm sure he'd welcome your suggestions, my princess."
The Princess returned his smile seemingly just as amused as he was. She was relaxing off to the side on a cushioned chaise, having already put baby Aegon to bed.
Prince Rhaegar had been sitting behind his desk when the Eunuch gave his report.
It was so much, Arthur thought, all that information, secrets, details it made his head spin trying to follow it all. His friend and wife hadn't looked to be struggling, listening aptly to everything that was said, as well as thinking and planning on how best to use everything Varys had told them to their advantage.
"You did not answer the question, my friend," Rhaegar pointed out politely.
"A moment, my prince," Arthur asked, since there was so much that had been discussed. It was truly unnerving how much the Master of Whispers knew from what he and his spies had listened and seen.
His friend acquiesced.
It had been revealed that Prince Oberyn had slipped back into King's Landing after a very short exile in Essos. A stint so brief that Rhaegar believed House Yronwood should be made aware of the Red Viper's sudden return. There was news from Elbert about the tension at Winterfell. Lords Mooten, Darry, Whent, Connington had agreed to Rhaegar's request. What it was had not been divulged and it had appeared only Arthur was ignorant of it given how the Crown Prince and Princess took it.
In truth, however he hesitated because despite everything he had learned or heard from the evening he knew as soon as his friend asked what it was he wanted to address- His brother, Prince Daeron.
That was not something he was eager to discuss. Arthur had spoken of patience and appeasement between the brothers, but his friend would not hear it. Rhaegar saw Daeron as a threat, but Arthur couldn't, and then Varys had brought forth his news.
It would appear, my prince, that your brother has spoken to your father . Prince Daeron has told King Aerys you plan on using the tournament at Harrenhal to steal his throne.
He had been stunned when it had been delivered to them. Princess Laela had been furious, spitting out heated words including referring to her good brother as a liar and schemer. Rhaegar had taken it with little reaction besides a soft sigh and a nod to acknowledge he had heard.
Arthur's surprise had shifted towards sadness upon seeing how badly Prince Daeron had stumbled. He never wanted to be your enemy, Rhaegar. He just wanted to be your brother. That was what he should've said, but he didn't. He had sworn his vows to Rhaegar to be his man not Daeron's.
Prince Daeron and the Lannisters were after Rhaegar's birthright. Arthur remembered back to that day in the Great Hall and he saw and understood the prince's plan perfectly.
With one order, my boy, I could name you my heir. You would follow me as the next King of the Seven Kingdoms. King Aerys' words had taken root in his second son's heart.
It would seem Prince Daeron would make lies the base of his foundation. It was a sad realization to see how badly Lannister greed had corrupted him. It turned the prince into someone that he couldn't recognize.
Arthur had never seen or heard such ambitions planned or discussed by Rhaegar, especially not for the tournament, but it had not deterred Prince Daeron to spread these falsehoods. It was true that Arthur had suggested this course for the crown prince, something that still pained him, but Rhaegar had said no, fearing Daeron would usurp him.
I thought Rhaegar was wrong, but it would seem I was the one who was wrong.
His friend had claimed he had evidence from his brother's plots and here it was.
"I was wrong," Arthur admitted, he then dipped his head to his friend. "I am sorry."
"You truly are a remarkable knight, my friend," Rhaegar replied, "You apologize for the actions taken by others." He had gotten out of his seat during Arthur's thinking to stand near his wife who welcomed his attention eagerly.
"What about the king?" Arthur asked since Aerys was now fooled. His suspicion was directed towards the wrong brother, it should be on Daeron not Rhaegar.
"My father will see the truth," was all Rhaegar said and didn't look inclined to say anything further.
"And of the Queen and Prince Viserys?"
"They shall keep in the Stormlands for now," Rhaegar answered, "Let my brother think they are beyond his schemes, but they will be summoned back when my dispute with Daeron is settled and the Lannisters are declawed." Rhaegar's hand went to the swell of his wife's belly, "And then I will see the prophecy fulfilled. You're already carrying the second head, a girl," he said it with absolute certainty.
"A girl?" She looked surprised, but happy, "That's wonderful," she put her hand atop the one of his that was resting on her stomach. "We could name her after your moth-"
"No," he interrupted firmly, "She is Rhaenys and after her you will deliver Visenya. That is the way," He told her, "Then you may rest, my wife."
"It is not a burden, husband," She assured him.
"I know," He smiled down at her, she basked in it as if it was as warm and bright as sunshine itself.
"What if the Prince or the Lannisters refuse?" Arthur found himself asking. Before he'd never think to ask, but that was when he believed Prince Daeron loyal instead of seditious. Why would he suddenly submit to a trial and its ruling? Arthur feared he would not and neither would the Lannisters and he knew what that would mean- war
Rhaegar turned his attention away from his wife who's disappointment was immediate by the dip of her mouth. "My brother's treason will be addressed in one way or another. I am not without friends to call upon. My wife too is blessed. Hers have been kind enough to offer their assistance if such a problem was to arise." Rhaegar put his hand on Arthur's shoulder guiding him to a nearby table.
There he saw an assortment of items of great worth including jewel encrusted cups, golden necklaces, and other valuable gifts that had been given to Rhaegar and Laela from her friends and family throughout the Free Cities. Beside some diadem from one of the Free Cities he saw a long and large golden cloth folded carefully.
When he was close enough he realized the golden fabric wasn't the valuable gift, it was what lay beneath it. An outline that couldn't be completely concealed. His fingers pulled back on it. His breath caught in his throat upon seeing and recognizing what it was in front of him.
Blackfyre.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
AlexanderBlackfyre
AlexanderBlackfyre 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 alexanderblackfyre-shop.fourthwall.com
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