22 Chapter 21 - An Unexpected Maneuver

272 AC

Daemon Pov

As the first rays of the sun gently filtered into my chamber, I peered out over the Blackwater, feeling the cool breeze brush against my face. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes momentarily, exhaling slowly. The past two years had been tumultuous, to say the least.

Following our visit to Dorne, tensions between Aerys and Tywin had escalated to new heights. Father, once inclined to heed Tywin's counsel, now seemed to veer away from it, and I found myself caught in the middle of their discord.

The small council mirrored this division, with Rhaegar's recent inclusion adding another layer of complexity. He served as Father's cupbearer, while I remained as Tywin's cupbearer. Our interactions had dwindled to mere formalities, the underlying tension palpable.

I couldn't shake the memory of Father's ill-advised response to the trade conflict between Myr, Tyrosh, and Volantis. Tywin had advocated for Westeros to remain neutral, yet Father, in his obstinacy, chose to support Volantis with troops and supplies. The outcome was far from favorable, with Myr and Tyrosh retaliating by refusing to trade with us, leaving Westeros isolated amidst the ongoing strife.

Then there was the age-old feud between the Brackens and the Blackwoods. This time, it was evident to all that the Brackens were at fault, yet Father, eager to assert his dominance over Tywin, threw his support behind them. The Riverlords, particularly House Blackwood, were rightfully displeased, but my influence over Father's decisions seemed futile.

The realm teetered on the brink of instability, and navigating the treacherous waters of politics became increasingly challenging. Yet, amidst the chaos, I remained resolute, determined to uphold my duties and protect what little semblance of order remained.

The pinnacle of absurdity came when Father, in his boundless wisdom, sought to swell our overflowing coffers by doubling port fees for Oldtown and King's Landing, and tripling them for Lannisport and other ports across Westeros.

Seeing the impending disaster, I vehemently opposed Father's decision, warning him of the folly it would bring. But then, to my utter disbelief, Rhaegar interjected. The insolent fool had the audacity to assert that I had no right to question the king's decree, declaring that Father knew what was best for the realm. Never had I felt such a strong urge to throttle someone as I did that day.

Father, taken with his heir's sycophantic response, openly disparaged me for the first time.

Predictably, the consequences unraveled as trade suffered, and a delegation of merchants appeared before the Iron Throne to protest. Yet, instead of owning up to his misguided policies, Father shamelessly shifted the blame onto Tywin, reverting the port fees to their previous levels. This duplicitous act garnered him praise and adulation, while Tywin was left to bear the brunt of scorn and resentment.

Aerys, in his growing paranoia, opposed many of Tywin's appointments, preferring his own lackeys. Even when Tywin suggested his own brother, Ser Tygett Lannister, for the position of master-at-arms for the Red Keep, Aerys snubbed him, appointing Ser Willem Darry instead.

As the memories of that gruesome day lingered in the recesses of my mind, I shifted my focus to the bustling activity outside my window. Ships of various sizes dotted the horizon, all converging on King's Landing for the upcoming tourney.

This year's event was slated to commemorate Father's decade-long reign over Westeros, a grand occasion to be held within the walls of the capital. The presence of all the Lord Paramounts and esteemed lords promised a spectacle of festivities and political intrigue.

I found myself eager for the chance to reunite with my peers. In King's Landing, where camaraderie seemed reserved for those who pledged fealty to Rhaegar, I had felt isolated. While they vied for my brother's favor, I immersed myself in the intricacies of governance, recognizing the weight of responsibility that would one day fall upon my shoulders.

Despite my initial reluctance to embrace the responsibilities that awaited me, I understood that I couldn't shy away from them, especially when it came to protecting those I held dear. Leaving the confines of my chamber, I made my way to the royal nursery.

Two knights of the Kingsguard stood sentry at the door, granting me entry without hesitation.

Inside, the soft breathing of two maids filled the room, their slumber undisturbed, while the gentle cooing of a baby emanated from the cot.

As I approached, I greeted the source of my newfound joy. "Did you sleep well, Daeron?" I murmured, smiling as the little one gurgled in response.

With care, I lifted my younger brother, who had just turned one year old. His pale silver locks and piercing purple eyes met mine, and my heart swelled with affection.

When Mother first revealed her pregnancy, I was taken aback, never expecting it . Throughout her term, I stood steadfast by her side, determined to ease any discomfort she might endure. And when Daeron entered the world, I was overwhelmed with joy.

Father proudly proclaimed that, as his third-born was conceived in Dorne, he would bear the name of the man who conquered it. Thus, my brother was christened Daeron Targaryen.

He was a robust babe, a testament to Mother's enduring strength. I vividly recalled her cries during labor, and when she entrusted him to my arms for the first time, I vowed to shield him from harm at all costs. I insisted on summoning a maester renowned for his healing arts from the Citadel, ensuring Daeron's well-being and safeguarding against any unforeseen dangers.

I gently pressed a kiss to Daeron's forehead before carefully placing him back in his cot, ensuring he was comfortable and safe.

As I exited the nursery, Ser Barristan Selmy awaited me.

"Are you ready to train?" he inquired.

"I was born ready," I replied with a determined grin, falling into step beside him as we made our way to the training yard.

I had made considerable strides in my training over the past two years—at least, that's what Barry assured me, and his praise was never given lightly.

"Are you not tired of beating a dummy?" a familiar voice interrupted, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Well, I was just waiting for your arrival, Baratheon," I retorted, glancing over at Robert.

Robert had grown tall and formidable, rumors of his prowess echoing even in the Vale where he trained.

Behind him stood Stannis, a presence as stoic as ever. I remembered the joy Robert and I felt when he arrived in the city with his family, eager for a chance to spar against him.

"Let's see how strong you are, dragon boy," Robert challenged, twirling his wooden warhammer with practiced ease.

With a nod from Ser Barristan, we squared off, anticipation crackling in the air. As soon as he signaled, our bout commenced.

Robert swung his warhammer with ferocity, aiming for a crushing blow, but I deftly sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike.

I countered with a series of swift strikes, aiming to exploit any opening in his defense. Robert parried each blow with impressive agility, his movements fluid and precise.

The rhythm of our clash echoed throughout the yard, the sound of wood against wood reverberating in the air. Each exchange fueled my determination, pushing me to match Robert's intensity blow for blow.

Despite his brute strength, I found openings in his defense, landing calculated strikes that tested his resolve. Yet, Robert proved to be a formidable opponent, his endurance seemingly boundless as he weathered each assault with unwavering resolve.

As the spar continued, a fierce sense of competition ignited between us, driving us to push beyond our limits. In that moment, there was only the exhilaration of battle, the clash of steel, and the unyielding determination to emerge victorious.

Though the bout remained undecided, I relished the fact that I had Robert and Stannis for company.

"Daemon come on do not tell me you are tired already", Roberts voice rang out.

"I will not rest until I put your arse on the ground Baratheon", I said as Robert and I got locked into the spar again.

------

Standing on the docks, I watched as the ships bearing the proud sigil of House Martell gradually approached. Beside me, Stannis maintained his stoic demeanor, with Ser Barristan standing vigilant behind us. Rhaegar, accompanied by his retinue and Ser Lewyn Martell, stood nearby, a palpable tension hanging in the air between us.

A silent exchange passed between Rhaegar and me, neither of us willing to meet the other's gaze.

"I'm surprised to see you here, greeting the Dornish nobility," I broke the silence, my tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Though I suppose you were otherwise occupied when the Lords of the Vale and the North came," I added pointedly.

"Mind your business, Daemon," Rhaegar retorted, his words dripping with icy disdain.

As the Martell ship docked, I caught sight of Oberyn standing proudly on the deck, flanked by his family. His familiar voice, tinged with the distinctive Dornish accent, greeted me.

"Look at you, Daemon. It seems you've grown," Oberyn remarked with a smirk.

"I wish I could say the same for you, Oberyn. Seems only your body has grown, not your mind," I quipped, a grin spreading across my face as we shared a moment of laughter before embracing each other warmly.

Since my visit to Dorne, Oberyn and I had maintained frequent correspondence, bridging the distance between our realms with the bond of friendship and mutual respect.

Greeting the Princess of Dorne with a respectful nod, I then turned my attention to Oberyn.

"Where is Elia?" I inquired, concern flickering across my features.

"She wasn't feeling well, so the maester advised her to remain in Dorne. Doran is there too, as Mother wants him to learn the intricacies of ruling," Oberyn explained.

"Fair enough. But let's not dwell on that now. I'm eager to test your mettle in the training yard," he declared with a mischievous grin.

"Prepare yourself to taste defeat, Oberyn," I countered with a smirk.

"I hate to break it to you, but you're ten namedays too early to best me," he teased, his grin widening.

"We'll see about that," I retorted playfully, already relishing the challenge that awaited us.

Turning to Stannis, I introduced him to Oberyn, bridging the gap between two vastly different worlds with a simple exchange of greetings.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Rhaegar engaged in conversation with Arthur Dayne. The sight served as a reminder of the intricate web of alliances and friendships that bound our realms together.

------

"All the arrangements have been made, and the tourney is set to commence tomorrow," I reported to Tywin Lannister, who listened intently.

"The great houses have all arrived," I continued, detailing each arrival. "Lord Steffon Baratheon and his family were the first to grace the city. From the North, Lord Rickard Stark arrived alongside his second son, Eddard Stark, along with the other lords of the region. Lord Jon Arryn journeyed from the Vale, joined by his fellow lords. Hoster Tully also made his presence known, accompanied by his daughters, wife, and brother Brynden Tully. The Martells arrived from Dorne, with Prince Oberyn Martell in attendance alongside his mother and other Dornish nobility. Mace Tyrell arrived from the Reach, accompanied by his family and countless lords of the region. Lastly, the Greyjoys arrived, with Lord Quellon Greyjoy and his eldest living son, Balon Greyjoy."

I paused, recollecting the recent influx of arrivals. "The Lannisters, including Lady Joanna and your children, arrived a few days ago," I added, noting my efforts in greeting the lords and ladies amidst my father and Rhaegar's preoccupations.

Tywin's silence was familiar, and I pressed on, detailing the accommodations. "The living arrangements are satisfactory, with most lords and ladies lodging in taverns and rented houses. With the implementation of new sewers, the stench has significantly decreased," I concluded, awaiting Tywin's response.

"You have done well, Daemon," Tywin acknowledged, his words carrying a weight that I wasn't quite sure how to interpret. "When the time comes, you will be an able hand of the king."

I listened silently, conflicted by his praise and uncertain about what the future held.

"After tomorrow's squires melee, I would like you to join my wife and children for lunch," he continued, his tone indicating a sense of formality. "I want Cersei and Jaime to meet my cupbearer."

I nodded in acknowledgment before taking my leave.

As I walked towards my chambers, I couldn't help but pause before a mirror. My reflection revealed a face that had matured over the years, shedding the baby fat of youth. Despite being only eight years old, I was already growing taller, my hair a blend of silver and gold, framing my mismatched eyes. I silently thanked the gods that my facial features bore a striking resemblance to Aerys, my supposed father.

Yet, despite my outward composure, internal turmoil churned within me. How was I to navigate my complicated relationship with Tywin, especially knowing the truth of our kinship? The thought of the consequences if the truth were ever to surface sent a shiver down my spine. My mother's fate would be intertwined with mine, both of us facing the grim prospect of our heads on spikes.

Taking a deep breath, I sought solace in the mirror's reflection, a silent prayer escaping my lips. "It will be alright," I reassured myself, though uncertainty lingered like a shadow, threatening to engulf me at any moment.

------------

"Lords and ladies of the realm, you have all gathered here to commemorate the tenth year since my coronation," Father's voice resounded across the tourney grounds, commanding the attention of all present.

"It is a time for celebration," he declared, his tone carrying the weight of authority and festivity in equal measure.

"And now, let us witness the skill and valor of the squires standing before us," he continued, his words igniting anticipation among the crowd.

"For the winner of the melee, if proven worthy, will be granted the honor of knighthood," he announced, his voice carrying the promise of glory and recognition for the victor.

With a decisive gesture, Father signaled for the squires' melee to commence, setting the stage for a display of martial prowess and determination.

As the squires clashed on the field, the crowd roared with excitement, reveling in the spectacle before them. Seated on the royal dais, I observed the melee unfold alongside Father and Mother, both adorned in solemn black robes, while I wore a mixture of gold and black attire.

"Daemon, do you know where your brother is?" Mother's inquiry drew my attention, though I couldn't muster much interest in Rhaegar's whereabouts.

Turning my gaze back to the field, I watched as the number of squires dwindled, their numbers thinning with each passing clash. Soon, only two remained, and to everyone's surprise, they lowered their swords in unison, removing their helmets to reveal their identities.

One was Arthur Dayne, his prowess evident even from a distance. The other, to my shock, was Rhaegar.

"That's my son!" father exclaimed with a proud smile, his joy echoing through the hushed crowd.

As the two young squires locked in combat, I couldn't shake the disbelief coursing through me. Despite the both of them being just thirteen namedays old, Rhaegar held his own against Arthur Dayne, pushing the him on the back foot.

With a flourish, Rhaegar disarmed Arthur, prompting his yielding amidst the eruption of cheers from the spectators.

Father descended to the melee ground, proclaiming Rhaegar's feat before the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms. Ser Gerold Hightower presented a sword to Father, who then knighted Rhaegar, making him one of the youngest knights in the history of Westeros at just thirteen namedays.

As Rhaegar rose, now a knight of House Targaryen, his eyes met mine with a calculating gleam. In that moment, everything clicked into place. He had been diligently practicing for the past three years, biding his time until he could showcase his strength on a grand stage, shedding any notion of being merely a scholar in the eyes of the realm.

It seems that I had made a mistake by underestimating my brother.