Chapter 12 : Before the Tourney

Daemon Targaryen.

Kingslanding

'If he was honest with himself, his life had been quite favorable, except that he had two brothers. Viserys, his elder brother, was increasingly obsessed with the upcoming tourney for his yet-unborn child. He was convinced it would be a boy and openly spoke of his heir being born, though he was still denied the three things he desired.

Viserys had yet to refer to or name him as the Prince of Dragonstone. Yet, by all accounts, he was the second in line to the throne. This left him wondering if he would ever receive it, even if Viserys child turned out to be a girl. Or would Viserys continue to push his wife for yet another pregnancy? Aemma had borne three children, the first being Aerion, followed by his niece Rhaenyra, and tragically, a stillborn son named Daerion. Each pregnancy had taken a toll on Viserys's wife, with Aemma growing weaker with each birth as if the children were draining the life from her.

Adding to his troubles was his marriage. Even after five years of being a King, Viserys hadn't granted him the desired annulment. He knew that he had hoped to sway the King by seducing Otto's daughter and dangling the prospect of marriage before him. That Hand would support him. Yet the little Hightower bitch didn't want to play. The Hightower upstart held far too much power for his liking.

Initially, he had started as the Master of Laws, but Otto dismissed him. He briefly served as the Master of Coin after Lord Beesbury returned to his land, but that role was also stripped away upon Beesbury's return. Though he didn't particularly enjoy the work of counting coppers, he yearned for a more significant role.

He truly desired to be the Hand of the King, a position that would allow him to protect his family, much like his father had done for the old King. Yet, he was well aware that it was a distant dream. Otto had ruled as Hand for two years since the Great Council and continued to hold the title. Deep down, Daemon knew that even if Otto were to die, his brother wouldn't call on him for the role, choosing instead to pass over him for his half-breed, Northern-born brother.

As reports arrived detailing Aemon's exploits, it further gnawed at his patience. Aemon had established a new Dragonstone in the North, a thriving city with undisclosed activities. This irritated him to no end, but what irked him even more was Aemon's growing power. He had garnered more support than the heir to the throne, ruling over a city and a formidable fortress, with the Starks as his powerful allies. What incensed him most was Aemon's possession of Balerion, the Black Dread, and the surprising addition of Vhagar to their ranks.

Frustrated by Viserys and his denial of the Handship and the annulment, he had embraced his role as the commander of the City Watch with unyielding determination. He saw it as a means to wield power independently of the crown and make a force entirely his own.' He thought as he entered the Gold Cloak barracks. The clamor of drills and the clang of swords met his ears. He was met by his seasoned sergeant, Borik, a trusted man who had served under his command for years.

"Sergeant Borik," He began, his tone exuding authority, "how are the men faring? Is their training nearing completion? We need them ready to root out the rats and pests from this city, and I want the people to remember the golden cloaks as a symbol of fear."

Borik, a grizzled and loyal officer, nodded in response. "Lord Commander, the men are shaping up well. Their discipline has improved, and they're ready to be deployed to maintain the King's peace and order. They've called themselves the 'Gold Cloaks,' a name they proudly wore."

His lips curled into a sly grin. "Good. I want them to understand the power and respect that comes with this badge. Kingslanding has known peace for too long; it's time to remind the populace that they are under the watchful eyes of the Gold Cloaks. Ensure their armor is gleaming, their swords are sharp, and their loyalty is unwavering. I expect nothing but the best."

Borik saluted crisply, acknowledging his Lord Commander's orders. "You can count on us, my lord. We'll ensure that the Gold Cloaks are a force to be reckoned with in Kingslanding."

He nodded in approval and then turned to leave the barracks. He had grand ambitions for the Gold Cloaks and was determined to prove his worth to both his brother Viserys and the people of Kingslanding. The city's underbelly would soon learn to fear the name "Gold Cloaks" as they maintained order and, more importantly, served as an instrument of his power.

Alicent Hightower

Kingslanding - Dragonpit

'Her life had been quite rosy for most of her life. Her father had been born into one of the great houses of the realm. Although not firstborn, her father, with her help, had become the Hand of The King. But two years ago, the Prince Daemon had been courting her. Her father had hope for a match with the heir. And he had been talking with Daemon about an annulment and agreement between the two.

But that faithful night, he had kissed her and wanted more. But she refused. She couldn't do it. Deep down, she didn't want him. She wanted the other brother. So he left her in her room, but the next day. Rumors around the city are of Daemon moaning her name when he had been fucking a whore in a brothel. Not much later, the entire town was talking about the Hand whore.

Luckily, her father and even the King had stamped down the rumor. And a public approval had been issued. Daemon had done so, if grudgingly, and was only after being threatened to be removed in the line of succession.

A grudge and hate had been her father, and Daemon had been born. Even Rhaenyra, knowing some of it, had been angry at her uncle. At that time, she was at her uncle's, but gifts had made her disappear over time. She would never again be alone with Daemon after that. Nor would she want that. Daemon was someone who enjoyed chaos and sometimes brutality. Perhaps that was the entire point of the whore.

Now, she helped Rhaenyra with her lessons, which was the one time she was happy. Or when they went riding together or visited Sept. But that a trade of her going to Dragonpit with Rhaenyra.

' She chuckled at the thought of it all as she awaited her friend to arrive with Syrax.

"So, how was your flight?" She asked when Rhaenyra had landed. "Good, there wasn't any wind, so the sun was warm on my face," Rhaenyra said as she entered the carriage.

She sat beside her dearest friend, Rhaenyra Targaryen, as they rode together in a grand carriage towards the Red Keep. Though the difference in their ages was quite pronounced, Alicent was five years old, Rhaenyra's senior. Their bond was as strong as ever. They often found solace in each other's company, especially when discussing matters of faith, which wasn't something Rhaenyra particularly enjoyed.

"Rhaenyra," She began, "I noticed you seem rather disinterested in the faith's teachings. Is something bothering you about it?"

Rhaenyra's youthful face displayed a thoughtful expression as she considered her response. "It's not that I dislike the Faith, Alicent," she began tentatively. "It's just that they often insist on things I don't quite understand. I prefer to find my way to connect with the gods, not by following strict rituals and sermons."

She nodded in understanding. She knew her friend had a strong, independent spirit. "I see what you mean. It's just that I find comfort in the faith's guidance, and sometimes it's easier to have those traditions to lean on."

The conversation then took a different turn, as it often did. Both girls harbored secret feelings for the same boy, Aemon Targaryen, who happened to be Rhaenyra's uncle. These thoughts remained unspoken, a silent agreement between them. She glanced at Rhaenyra, wondering if she would ever make her feelings known.

Rhaenyra, gazing out of the carriage window, couldn't help but let her thoughts drift to Aemon, a handsome and enigmatic figure in her life. Her voice held a hint of wistfulness as she spoke. "Aemon is coming back. He will be different from who he was, don't you think?"

She raised an eyebrow, curious about her friend's perspective. "Different? How so?"

Rhaenyra shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I can't quite put my finger on it in all the letters he has sent, especially the fact he has built a castle and is using Balerion for it. Also, the fact that he has been living in the North for the past five years must have changed him. I've always admired his strength and wisdom. He was my hero, someone who protected me, and you for what I can remember."

Her heart raced, realizing she and Rhaenyra shared the same sentiments about Aemon. "I know exactly what you mean. He must have. He said in one of the letters he had executed people with his sword. He said if you can't look a man in the eye when you put him to death and hear his last words, maybe he doesn't deserve to die," she replied causally. "I'm jealous of Laena for being betrothed to him since he was born. He would have made a handsome match for us both, don't you think?" She said with a smirk. She blushed, and so did her friend.

Rhaenyra's cheeks took on a delicate shade of pink, mirroring her face's blush. They shared a knowing, unspoken sentiment about Aemon. His return seemed to carry the promise of change and intriguing tales, and both girls were eager to see how he had transformed.

"Well, it's good will come Aemon's back," Rhaenyra admitted, her voice filled with anticipation and affection. "And it's true, Laena is quite fortunate. Aemon is the sort of man any woman would wish for. But who knows what the future holds? Perhaps he'll find happiness with someone who captures his heart as he has captured ours."

Her gaze softened as she looked at her friend. "Yes, you're right, Rhaenyra. We should be happy for him and support whatever makes him content. After all, he's been our protector and hero for as long as we can remember." And he had been.

The carriage continued its journey, bringing Rhaenyra and Alicent closer to the Red Keep. They knew that their unspoken feelings for Aemon were something they could share, even if he remained the object of their secret affection. As the city's grandeur unfolded around them, the girls reveled in their bond and the anticipation of what Aemon's return would bring to their lives.

Benjen Stark

Winterfell

'Seadragon Point is the gem of the West. The North hadn't been this rich in a long time. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but the influx of more food and the wealth of trade coming their way was enough to justify the investment his father had made in the project. Then, there was the influx of Velaryon trade that his nephew was bringing in due to his upcoming marriage to Laena Velaryon.' He thought as he looked over the map of the North. His eyes wander to the northern part of the map where his nephew had caused another stir.

'There was also the outpost in the North, Beyond the Wall. That place was something he had not expected. When he heard the reports, the place's Wall was made of ice. He didn't know how it had been done except for rumors of blue flame, but it didn't matter. The settlement was trying to bring tons of Ironwood, even allowing his nephew to send saplings to the White Hills, who had destroyed their woods so long ago. Hopefully, the feud between the White Hills and House Fosters would end with the return of their woods.

The Drakestone carts his nephew had sent to Winterfell were meant to reinforce rebuilding the old keep. The stone was the strongest, and he had heard what had happened in the burns of some of the stonemasons. But looking at the direwolf figure on his desk crafted from stone, he couldn't complain. The staff had a marvelous look to it.

Then, there was the biggest discovery of them all. He remembered when his sister had told him. He laughed, but all his doubts were gone after his sister and wife had returned with the children, presenting him with Snowfyre and Icebreaker. Icebreaker, a longsword of milky white, was a sword for his heir, a new heirloom for his house. He couldn't be more proud of his nephew and would protect him as best he could.'

A knock came that brought him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he said. His sister, the older princess of the realm, entered. "Ah, brother, you are brooding. Aemon has the same brooding face as you do. So, are you ready to come to the capital? I know you've never been and dislike the South, but meeting the rest of the family, like Rhaenyra and Laena, it will be good for you," she said with a smirk, the same smirk she had when they were kids, jesting with the castle guards and making their lord father go crazy.

He chuckled, thinking of their childhood pranks, like the snowball with horse dung hidden inside and how furious their father had been. But even their father had praised them for their trickery. "What are you thinking?" Lya asked.

"Oh, the snowball with horse dung inside it and how father had raged. But he even praised us for our trickery," he laughed, and Lya joined in. "Oh, that's so long ago, when life was simpler. But it has brought me joy and sorrow, and soon I will have another daughter," she said with a smile.

"Yes, a true match for the family. I hope Aemon will be happy; the boy deserves it. He has had so many bouts of melancholy as if the world's weight has been laid on his shoulders," he said, thinking of the boy he saw as his son. He had raised him and been a father figure for the boy after his father's death, and he couldn't be prouder.

"Yes, he does. Sometimes, he wishes he wasn't a Targaryen. As much as it's good for our family to stand closer to the throne, it puts pressure on my children. Not just Aemon, but Visenya too, trying to be like her big brother. And that girl is only eight years old, wanting to be like the Visenya of old," Lya said, shaking her head.

"God spare us. We already have a Visenya in you, and you don't even carry her name," he said with a smirk.

"Well, I hope everything will be fine, and the realm can stop holding its breath, and we gain a new heir. Sometimes, I wonder what Viserys is thinking. Aemma has already had so many pregnancies; the last time, she barely survived. Let's hope it's all worth it," Lya said, her voice critical about her goodbrother, who was the King, but even kings needed criticism occasionally. The power of the throne is dangerous, and if you get too close, you'll get burned.

"Well, I hope calling it the Games of Love and Heirship isn't too on the nose, but the king has always been one for tournaments and feasts," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes, he always has, keeping people happy and avoiding conflict. But he's a good man at heart," she responded. That's fine as long as it doesn't bankrupt the realm or start some idiotic policy. But he would see how Viserys had changed since the Great Council.

Jason Lannister

Casterly Rock

The grand tournament, known as the "Tourney of Love and Heirship," was a legendary event, the tales of which had been passed down through the generations. No king in the realm's history had ever hosted so many tourneys and feasts. He didn't mind this extravagance; he relished the feasts and the opportunity to sponsor one, hoping it would garner him favor. However, beneath his affable exterior lay a much more audacious ambition – to secure a dragon for House Lannister, ensuring they would never again suffer the humiliation of a field of fire, a stain on his family's honor greater even than the follies of Tommen II or the catastrophic fate of the golden fleet.

He harbored grand hopes for the future. His brother had been dispatched to the capital on a mission to explore the possibility of a royal betrothal. His brother's task was to present gifts to the King and queen, aiming to win their favor and negotiate a potential match for either Princess Rhaenyra or Princess Visenya, the sole unmarried members of the royal family. He yearned for a betrothal to one of these Targaryen princesses.

Both princesses were celebrated for their beauty and remarkable ability to ride dragons. While he preferred the older of the two, he recognized that an eight-year-old was still relatively young, and he would have to wait before a marriage could occur. Nevertheless, the allure of having dragons aligned with House Lannister was a powerful motivator. In his wildest dreams, he envisioned this power to challenge Targaryen's rule over his lands and perhaps even reclaim the title of "King Jason Lannister," a grand vision that sounded quite pleasing in his mind.

His reverie was abruptly interrupted by a knock at the door. "My lord, Lord Tyco, the Lord of Castamere, is here to see you," announced his loyal and true knight, Cosmar.

"Let him in, Cosmar," he replied, showing his trust in Cosmar and his appreciation for the knight's counsel.

"My lord, what brings you the pleasure of Lord Tyco's company?" he inquired of the tall Lord of Castamere.

"I've come to inquire about your plans," Lord Tyco replied. "I know you've sent your brother to the capital. It's high time that the West regained the favor of the throne. The actions of our previous Farman lord have tarnished our reputation in the realm."

As he reflected on this dark chapter in the history of the Westerlands, he couldn't help but agree with Lord Tyco's assessment.

'The sun hung low in the western sky, casting a golden glow across the opulent chambers of Casterly Rock. He, the Lord of Casterly Rock, reclined in his ornate chair, deeply contemplating the future. Seated across from him, Lord Tyco, the Lord of Castamere, exuded an air of gravitas, intently focusing on the lord before him. The room was adorned with the crimson and gold banners of House Lannister, and the flickering candlelight cast a warm and inviting ambiance. Casterly Rock is a steat of King's and will be again.' He thought as he spoke the word.

"Dragons," He began, a glint of longing in his emerald eyes. "They are the key to power in this realm, Tyco. It would change everything if we could secure a dragon for House Lannister." Indeed, acquiring a true dragon for the West would ensure their power and influence. Also, having the royal bloodline in theirs would give them a claim.

Lord Tyco nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "You speak of Princess Rhaenyra or Visenya. They are the most suitable candidates for our ambitions, and they are unmarried and dragonriders. If we could secure one of them for your hand in marriage, the power of a dragon would be ours." His face showed a hint of smugness, partly attributable to the audacity of allowing an unmarried girl to claim a dragon.

His gaze shifted to the window, where the setting sun's fading light reflected off the vast blue waters of the Sunset Sea. "Rhaenyra is the prime candidate, but we must tread carefully. The Targaryens are a proud and formidable family, and we must ensure our approach is subtle and persuasive. Her father, the King, may agree on a whim, but her uncles have their ambitions and loyalties."

"Indeed," Tyco agreed, "Aemon and Daemon Targaryen don't seem to be the most amicable of brothers, a divided throne and council. Their power is not as unassailable as it may seem. Moreover, the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, is not particularly fond of the Rogue Prince." Tyco shared more of his thoughts aloud, recognizing that Otto Hightower could be a potential ally. He had provided valuable information to Jason's brother before he left.

He leaned forward, his voice filled with resolve. "We must present something enticing, something that aligns with their interests. I've heard rumors of a valuable commodity, the Seadragon Point trade. It could be the key to securing the favor of Aemon, the region's lord. Increasing trade there could be the key to gaining his favor."

He continued, his fingers steepled in an air of presumption. "However, it won't be an easy endeavor. House Velaryon currently holds the favor in that region, with close ties to its lord, thanks to the betrothal of Laena Velaryon, the Sea Snake's daughter. We must be cunning and patient if we intend to weaken their position. The implication was clear: he saw himself as the master strategist.

"As we navigate the treacherous waters of court politics, let us not forget to fortify our position in the Westerlands. Our wealth and influence are substantial, but there is always room for improvement." His lord wasn't wrong. Yet the thought of being King of the Rock or even the Iron Throne crept into his head.

"Agreed," he replied. "We must invest in our infrastructure, bolster our armies, and secure the loyalty of my bannermen. A strong and united Westerlands is paramount in times of change and uncertainty. To West." He ended and raised his cup. "To West," He said.

(Small teaser, perhaps) :

"In the realm, the dragon's fire burns bold,

Stronger than the lions of red and gold.

As the rains of the West cease to pour,

In the dragon's might, they reign no more."

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