21 Chapter 20 - Echoes of Resentment

270 AC

Daemon Pov

I pounded on the door with all my might until the bleary-eyed figure of Ser Barristan opened it.

"Barry, come on! It's the last day we'll have to practice," I exclaimed eagerly.

Being the gentleman he was, Barristan merely sighed before ruffling my hair. "Alright, Daemon," he acquiesced, as I dashed onto the deck with my wooden sword.

The past month had been a whirlwind of excitement since we set sail from King's Landing to Sunspear. Freed from my duties as Tywin's cupbearer, I relished the chance to unwind. And having Barristan continue my sword lessons aboard the ship was nothing short of thrilling; I felt like a true pirate.

I must have given Mother quite a scare when I climbed up to the crow's nest, much to Father's amusement.

"Prince Daemon, I can see you're quite eager," remarked Ser Lewyn Martell, a member of the Kingsguard and brother to the current Princess of Dorne.

"I am indeed, Ser Lewyn. Finally, I'll lay eyes upon Dorne," I replied with palpable excitement.

"You simply must visit the Water Gardens, my prince," he suggested.

"The Water Gardens!" I echoed, my anticipation mounting. After all, it was the most renowned pool in all of Westeros.

"I believe you will get along quite well with my niece and nephews, especially Oberyn," Ser Lewyn added, a glint in his eyes.

I nodded eagerly, eager to meet the future Red Viper.

Just then, Barristan joined us, and we commenced our daily training session.

The ship glided smoothly into the dock of Sunspear, where a number of Dornish houses had gathered to greet their king. Leading the welcoming party was House Martell.

Father, adorned in his crown, exuded regal authority, while Mother looked resplendent beside him. Rhaegar, on the other hand, appeared worn from the journey, with the griffin standing faithfully at his side. Meanwhile, I was clad in black and gold, my preference for golden attire evident as it complemented my features.

As we disembarked from the ship, the members of House Martell came into clear view.

The Princess of Dorne approached Father, clad in a stunning Dornish gown. With a graceful kneel, she uttered, "Dorne is yours, Your Grace," prompting all assembled lords to bow in reverence.

Father bid her to rise, engaging in conversation as I took the opportunity to observe the other Martells. Doran Martell, the eldest son, though not towering in stature, had a calculating gaze fixed upon us. My attention then turned to Elia Martell, and I felt my heart quicken its pace.

She was captivatingly beautiful, her slender frame accentuated by her tanned skin and black eyes.

"Daemon," Father's voice interrupted my reverie.

Suddenly, I realized that all eyes were on me, awaiting my introduction.

"It is an honor to meet you, Princess," I managed, offering a polite smile and as I turned to look at Elia my gaze lingered on her, I noticed her smile widen. The boy beside her whispered something, and when his eyes met mine, I felt a rush of heat flood my cheeks.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, realizing I had been caught off guard.

As we made our way toward the castle, I found myself captivated by the bustling markets and winding streets of Sunspear. Upon reaching the castle's entrance, I was struck by its grandeur, admiring its architecture as we passed through.

The Princess called out to her youngest son, instructing him to escort me to my quarters, explaining that she, Mother, and Father had matters to discuss, while Doran accompanied them to the solar. Father and Mother, in turn, took Rhaegar with them.

"I noticed you eyeing my sister," Oberyn remarked, fixing me with a sharp gaze. Despite his thirteen namedays, he exuded a sense of danger.

"You must be mistaken," I replied, attempting to deflect his observation.

"So you're implying my sister isn't attractive?" he pressed, his tone challenging.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," I stammered, feeling my heart quicken its pace.

"Oberyn, leave him be," Elia intervened, her voice soft and soothing.

"Come now, sister, where's the harm in a little teasing?" Oberyn countered, his demeanor playful.

Elia merely rolled her eyes at him, a gesture that spoke volumes.

"Prince Daemon, please forgive my brother; he can be rather full of himself," she said with an easy smile.

"Well, then you clearly haven't met Rhaegar," I quipped, eliciting laughter from both siblings simultaneously.

"So, what is it that you like to do, Prince Daemon, other than eyeing my sister?" Oberyn said, chuckling as Elia playfully shoved his shoulder.

I felt my cheeks flush. "Well, I love to train with my sword," I replied.

"Did you hear him, Elia? The prince likes to play with his sword," Oberyn teased, his words carrying a double entendre. Elia stifled a giggle, trying not to seem impolite.

"Well, let us see how you like my sword being stuck up your ass," I retorted, causing the siblings to grow quiet before bursting into laughter again.

"Elia, I like him. I believe that we should keep him," Oberyn said, tousling my hair.

"I agree, Oberyn," Elia said, joining in and ruffling my hair as well.

"He is very cute," she added with a smile.

"I am not a kid," I protested, despite being only six namedays old. But my protest fell on deaf ears as they continued to laugh.

Watching them, I couldn't help but wonder if this was how siblings were supposed to be. I could hardly remember the last time Rhaegar and I shared a laugh.

The feast buzzed with life as bards filled the air with their melodies, setting the perfect backdrop for lords and ladies twirling in elegant dance. Meanwhile, servants bustled about, ferrying trays laden with delectable Dornish delicacies.

My mother found herself in high demand on the dance floor, gracefully swept from one partner to the next by eager lords. Meanwhile, my father seemed to have found his own form of enjoyment, indulging in the feast before him while also charming the Dornish serving girls with his effortless charisma. I couldn't help but marvel at his ability to multitask, though the smoldering glances from the Dornish women hinted that he was in for a busy evening indeed.

I had realized that the relationship between my father and mother was practically non existent as a mother let father fuck any women he wanted while he left mother alone and she liked that. It seemed that my birth had an impact on their life as my father did not find the need to have another child as the succession was quite secure as he had the heir and a spare.

Speaking of the heir my eyes fell upon Rhaegar, engaging in conversation with the young lords of Dorne, Jon at his side. A sigh of relief escaped me; it seemed Rhaegar was beginning to socialize, a promising sign for our future.

"How long do you plan on indulging, Daemon?" Oberyn's voice interrupted my thoughts as he settled beside me, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a glass of wine in hand.

"Well, no one seems keen on dancing with a six-year-old," I replied, eliciting a chuckle from Oberyn.

"And how much have you drank? I can practically smell it on you," I teased.

"Not enough," he countered with his trademark roguish grin, prompting me to shake my head in amusement.

"Daemon," Elia's voice drew my attention as she approached the high table, "I was wondering if you'd care to dance," she proposed.

Her offer caught me off guard, and I couldn't help but blush at the thought, considering our height difference. "I would be honored, Elia," I replied with a smile.

"Well, Ashara would be delighted as well," Elia added, gesturing behind her.

Turning, I found myself face to face with Lady Ashara Dayne. Her ebony hair cascaded gracefully over her shoulders, adorned in the colors of House Dayne. But it was her eyes that captivated me the most—vivid violet pools that seemed to hold mysteries untold. There was no doubt in my mind that she would blossom into a true beauty.

As we glided across the dance floor, I couldn't help but notice Lady Ashara's skillful movements.

"How old are you?" I inquired, breaking the silence between us.

"The same age as you," she replied with ease.

"You have strange eyes," she remarked bluntly, catching me off guard with her directness.

Her comment made me pause for a moment before responding, "And you have unusual eyes too," I countered, trying to keep the conversation light as she chuckled in response.

"Do you have a dragon?" Lady Ashara's question sparkled with childish wonder as we continued our dance.

"They're all gone," I replied somberly.

"That's quite sad," she remarked with genuine empathy.

"What about a Valyrian sword?" she asked, her curiosity unabated.

"Well, both House Targaryen's Valyrian swords are lost," I explained. "Blackfyre is somewhere in Essos, and Darksister is lost beyond the Wall."

"But those swords pale in comparison to Dawn," she declared confidently. "My brother will one day wield it and become the greatest swordsman in all of Westeros."

"Second best," I interjected with a grin. "After all, I aim to be the best."

Her expression shifted, and she halted our dance, pulling me by the hand toward the towering figure of Arthur Dayne, the future Sword of the Morning.

"Arthur, Daemon here was saying he'll become a better swordsman than you," she announced, her words causing Arthur to raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"Ashara, address the prince with respect," Arthur gently chided his younger sister.

Arthur, with his dark hair like Ashara's but eyes not as violet, exchanged a handshake with me as I introduced myself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Daemon. Your brother mentioned you," he said, indicating Rhaegar, who stood nearby, a silent observer I had momentarily overlooked.

"Well, I hope he spoke highly of me," I remarked, fixing my gaze on Arthur, only to notice a flicker of discomfort in his smile.

"The prince was just mentioning how annoying you can be," Jon Connington interjected, his words like a spark igniting my fury.

"Is that so? I hadn't realized you were my brother's mouthpiece," I retorted, my tone icy as I directed my gaze towards Jon.

"Daemon, do not speak to my friend like that," Rhaegar intervened, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

"Or what? You'll bore me with another one of your insipid books?" I shot back, my frustration boiling over.

"Mind your tongue, Daemon," Rhaegar warned, his patience wearing thin.

I noticed how the room had fallen silent, all eyes fixed upon our escalating confrontation.

"And what will you do if I don't mind my tongue, Rhaegar?" I challenged, ready to push further, but before tensions could escalate any further, Mother appeared, swiftly ushering both of us away from the hall, diffusing the situation before it erupted into something more volatile.

As we entered her room, Mother wasted no time in getting to the point. She locked the door behind her and then turned her fury upon us.

"I've had enough of both of you!" she exclaimed, her anger palpable. "You two are constantly at each other's throats, and I'm tired of it. I want both of you to apologize and get it over with!"

"I'm not apologizing, Mother," I shot back defiantly.

"I've been trying to talk to Rhaegar, but he always gets irritated whenever I approach him," I added.

"Is what your brother saying true, Rhaegar?" Mother turned her gaze towards him, but he remained silent.

"Rhaegar, I asked you something!" she pressed, her frustration evident.

"You always take his side, Mother," Rhaegar finally spoke up, his voice tinged with resentment. "Father does too. He belittles me, just like he did today in front of the Martells."

"Everybody loves him. Everything he touches, he excels at," Rhaegar continued, his emotions raw. "No matter what I do, Father will always take his side. Do you remember what Father said, Mother? That he will make Daemon his heir, not me."

"He wanted to educate you, you idiot," I interjected sharply. "The last time a Targaryen king was preoccupied with reading, there was an uprising. Do you remember reading about that, or did you conveniently forget?"

"Shut up, Daemon! Do not act so high and mighty!" Rhaegar retorted, his temper flaring.

"High and mighty?" I scoffed. "You don't even call me brother anymore!"

"Daemon Blackfyre was the king's brother, but he still betrayed him," Rhaegar accused, his words like daggers.

"Idiot! Daemon Blackfyre was the king's bastard brother!" I corrected him sharply. "And the only similarity between us is our name."

"Do you know why I don't call you my brother anymore?" Rhaegar seethed, his anger boiling over.

"Tell me, brother, why don't you call me brother?" I taunted him.

"Because you're a bastard!" Rhaegar spat out the words, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

I felt the sting of his accusation pierce through me, and when I looked into his eyes, I realized he truly meant it.

"Rhaegar!" Mother's voice rang out like thunder as she slapped him across the face.

"Do not call your brother a bastard!" she admonished, holding him firmly by the arms.

"Tell me right now who told you that your brother was a bastard!" she demanded, her anger boiling over.

After a moment of hesitation, Rhaegar spoke up. "The men-at-arms in the Red Keep," he admitted.

"He has one green eye and one violet one, and his hair is more gold than silver," Rhaegar tried to justify himself.

"Rhaegar, your father and I both have silver and golden hair. Does that mean we're bastards too?" Mother countered, her voice laced with frustration.

"Apologize to your brother right now, Rhaegar! I won't tolerate a rift forming in the House of the Dragon!" she ordered, her tone commanding.

As Rhaegar reluctantly apologized, I felt a cold realization settle over me. The chasm between us had widened, and any semblance of brotherly bond seemed irreparably fractured. His words had cut deeper than any sword, revealing a rift that no apology could bridge.

But as he muttered his apology, I found myself numb to it all. The fire that once burned within me, the desire to mend our relationship, had extinguished.

With a heavy heart, I realized that the path forward would not be one of reconciliation, but of acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that sometimes, even blood ties could be severed beyond repair.

And so, as Rhaegar's apology hung in the air, I made a silent vow to myself. I would forge my own destiny, independent of the bonds that once bound us together. For in the end, I knew that I could no longer afford to dwell in the shadow of a fractured brotherhood.