Chương 6: Tensions at Court
The royal stands were quiet, the tension thick in the air as Viserys in his seat, his face a mask of contemplation. Aemma sat beside him, her presence a soothing balm to his troubled mind. The weight of his crown seemed heavier today, the burden of rulership pressing down on him. Daemon's entrance had silenced the court, his mere presence commanding attention. He strode forward with his characteristic confidence, his eyes never leaving Otto Hightower. The Hand's face remained stern, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes.
Viserys stood, the movement drawing every eye in the room. "Daemon," he began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of tension. "We were just discussing your request for a position on the Small Council."
Daemon's eyes flickered with interest, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Is that so, brother?" he replied, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. "I hope the discussion has been favorable."
Otto Hightower cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Your Grace, as I was saying, the stability of the realm should be our foremost concern. Granting Daemon a seat on the Small Council—"
"Is exactly what I intend to do," Viserys interrupted, his voice firm. He glanced at Aemma, drawing strength from her calm presence. "Daemon has proven himself time and again. He deserves this chance."
Otto's face tightened, but he did not back down. "Your Grace, I must protest. Daemon's actions have been... unpredictable. Placing him on the Small Council could—"
"Enough, Otto," Viserys said sharply. "I have made my decision."
A murmur ran through the court, eyes darting between the King and his Hand. Daemon's smirk widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Thank you, brother," he said, his voice smooth. "I will not disappoint you."
Otto opened his mouth to argue further, but a look from Viserys silenced him. The Hand bowed stiffly, his displeasure evident. "As you wish, Your Grace."
The tension in the room did not dissipate, but a sense of finality settled over the court. Viserys sat back down, feeling the weight of his decision. Aemma squeezed his hand gently, her silent support a comfort.
Daemon stepped forward, his eyes meeting Viserys'. "I will serve you well, brother," he said, his voice sincere.
Viserys nodded, hoping that his decision would not come back to haunt him. "See that you do, Daemon. For all our sakes."
As the tensions drew to a close, Viserys couldn't shake the feeling that the real challenges were only just beginning. Otto's wary gaze followed Daemon as he left the stands, the Rogue Prince already planning his next move.
Viserys watched Daemon approach, his thoughts a swirl of concern and affection. Daemon had always been unpredictable, a force of nature that could both charm and devastate. The recent melee had been no exception.
Aemma leaned in, her soft voice breaking the silence. "Daemon fought bravely today," she said, her eyes warm as she looked at her brother-in-law. "It was quite the spectacle."
Rhaenyra, perched beside her mother, nodded enthusiastically. "Uncle Daemon was the best! He almost beat Ser Criston."
Daemon's smirk softened into a genuine smile as he looked at his niece. "Almost, princess. But I'll do better in the joust tomorrow."
Viserys chuckled, though his mind remained troubled. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic, Daemon. But must you provoke Ser Criston at every opportunity? Otto has already expressed his concerns about your behavior."
Daemon shrugged, his nonchalance infuriatingly casual. "Ser Criston needs to learn his place. And as for Otto, his concerns are hardly my priority."
"Daemon," Aemma interjected gently, "Otto is the Hand of the King. His counsel is important to Viserys."
Daemon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Otto sees threats where there are none. He'd have me bound in chains if he could. But I am a Targaryen, and I will not be tamed."
Viserys sighed, feeling the weight of his brother's defiance. "You must understand, Daemon, that Otto's concerns are for the realm's stability. Your actions can sometimes... complicate matters."
"Complicate?" Daemon echoed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Is that what you call it? I call it living."
Rhaenyra, sensing the tension, piped up again. "Will you really win the joust tomorrow, Uncle Daemon?"
Daemon's expression softened further as he looked at her. "I'll do my best, little one. For you."
Viserys watched the exchange, his heart heavy. He loved his brother, but Daemon's recklessness and the conflict with Otto were constant sources of stress. The joust tomorrow would be another test, another opportunity for Daemon to either prove himself or cause more trouble.
"Just... be careful, Daemon," Viserys said quietly. "For all our sakes."
Daemon's gaze met his brother's, a rare moment of understanding passing between them. "I will, Viserys. I promise."
As Daemon left the stands, Viserys felt a mix of hope and apprehension. The upcoming joust would be telling, and he could only pray that Daemon's promise would hold true.
Aemma squeezed his hand again, her presence a steady anchor. "He loves you, Viserys. In his own way."
Viserys nodded, looking down at Rhaenyra's eager face. "I know, Aemma. I just hope it's enough."
The Morning of the Joust
The morning sun rose over King's Landing, casting a golden light over the jousting grounds. Banners of various houses fluttered in the breeze, and the stands quickly filled with nobles and commoners alike, eager to witness the day's spectacle. The atmosphere was charged with excitement and anticipation.
Viserys stood on a platform overlooking the grounds, Aemma and Rhaenyra beside him. His heart was heavy with a mixture of hope and anxiety. The joust would be a test not only for Daemon but for the realm's perception of Targaryen strength and unity.
The knights began to file into the arena, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. Each bore the colors and sigils of their houses, a testament to their lineage and honor.
Ser Criston Cole, the son of a steward from Blackhaven, entered first. His white armor, adorned with the black chevrons of House Cole, stood out starkly against the vibrant colors of the other knights. Known for his skill and chivalry, he was a favorite among the people.
Following him was Ser Harwin Strong, a broad-shouldered man with a reputation for his brute strength and combat prowess. His armor bore the blue and white of House Strong, the manticore sigil glinting menacingly on his shield.
Ser Hobert Hightower, a cousin of Otto Hightower, rode in next. His armor was a shining silver, the green torch of House Hightower prominently displayed on his chest. His participation in the joust was a clear statement of the Hightower's prominence and ambition.
Ser Borros Baratheon, a formidable knight with a wild mane of black hair, entered the arena to loud cheers. His armor, emblazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon, exuded power and confidence. He was known for his fierce competitiveness and unyielding spirit.
There were many other knights from the noble houses who made attendance but finally…
Last but not least, Daemon Targaryen made his entrance. The crowd's murmur grew to a roar as the Rogue Prince rode in, his silver armor gleaming like a dragon's scales. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen was etched in black across his chest. He rode with a regal air, his confidence and charisma undeniable.
Viserys watched his brother closely, noting the way he carried himself. There was a fire in Daemon's eyes, a determination that both reassured and worried him. Aemma, sensing his unease, placed a hand on his arm. "He'll do well, Viserys. Have faith."
Rhaenyra, her eyes wide with excitement, pointed at the knights. "Look, Mother! Uncle Daemon looks like a dragon!"
Aemma smiled, her eyes twinkling. "He does, doesn't he?"
The herald's voice rang out, calling the knights to take their places. The joust was about to begin. Viserys took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervous flutter in his chest. The outcome of this day would be crucial, not just for Daemon, but for the realm.
As the first pair of knights prepared to charge, Viserys whispered a silent prayer. "May the gods watch over us all."
The trumpet sounded, and the first joust commenced.
Daemon Targaryen sat on top of his steed, his eyes narrowed against the harsh morning sun. His head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, each heartbeat sending a pulse of pain through his skull. He tried to focus on the joust, the clashing lances and roaring crowds, but it was nearly impossible with his hangover.
The noise of the crowd seemed louder than usual, every cheer and gasp reverberating painfully in his head. He clenched his jaw, wishing he could be anywhere else. The memory of the previous night came back to him in fragmented pieces, a hazy recollection of events that had driven him to this sorry state.
After his tense conversation with Viserys, Daemon had needed an escape. The court's politics, Otto Hightower's constant interference, and the weight of his own ambitions had left him restless and agitated. He had found solace in the familiar, dimly lit alleys of Maidenpool, where he knew the brothels offered both comfort and distraction.
He remembered the feel of a soft hand guiding him into one of the more discreet establishments, a place where he could forget who he was, if only for a while. The warmth of the room, the scent of incense mingling with sweat and cheap perfume, had wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.
A girl with dark, knowing eyes had tended to him, her touch gentle on the bruises he had earned during the melee. She had listened as he ranted about the burdens of his lineage, the expectations placed upon him, and his simmering anger towards Otto Hightower. The wine had flowed freely, each cup dulling the sharp edges of his frustration until all that was left was a blissful numbness.
He could still feel the echo of her touch, the ghost of her whispered reassurances. But now, in the harsh light of day, all that remained was the hangover and a vague sense of regret. He had sought comfort, and he had found it, but it had come at a price. His body felt sluggish, his mind clouded, and the joust seemed an insurmountable challenge.
The clash of lances snapped him back to the present. He watched as Ser Criston Cole unseated Ser Harwin Strong with a skillful strike, the crowd erupting in applause. Daemon forced himself to focus, knowing that soon it would be his turn.
He glanced at Viserys, who sat beside Aemma and Rhaenyra. His brother's face was a picture of tense anticipation, no doubt worried about how Daemon would perform. The memory of Viserys' quiet plea echoed in his mind: "Just... be careful, Daemon. For all our sakes."
Daemon took a deep breath, pushing through the fog in his mind. He had promised Viserys he would try, and despite the throbbing pain in his head, he intended to keep that promise. The joust was more than just a contest of skill; it was a chance to prove himself, to show the realm that he was more than the rogue prince they whispered about.
As the next pair of knights prepared to charge, Daemon straightened in his seat, forcing himself to watch intently. The pain would pass, and the opportunity before him was too important to squander. He would ride, he would fight, and he would win—hangover be damned.
The trumpet sounded, signaling the next joust. Daemon's thoughts sharpened, his focus narrowing to the task ahead. The memory of last night's escape faded, replaced by the steely determination that had always driven him. Today, he would show them all what a true Targaryen was made of.
--------------------------------------------------------
Would greatly appreciate a comment below
--------------------------------------------------------
If you have any questions and ideas let me know.
--------------------------------------------------------
If you enjoy the story; Please leave a Review
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực