41 Chapter 39 - The Prince that was Forewarned
277 AC
Rickard Pov
I found myself seated amidst the serene ambiance of the godswood within the walls of the Red Keep. With a whetstone in hand, I idly sharpened Ice, though deep down, I doubted the legendary blade truly needed it.
The warmth of the southern air was starting to wear on me; my heart always yearned for the cooler climes of the North. Yet, Lyanna, my daughter, adored it here. Knowing her restless spirit, I anticipated she'd grow weary of the city soon enough.
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, I caught the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Rickard," came Hoster's familiar voice.
I rose to greet him, a sense of nostalgia sweeping over me.
"The last time we were both in the capital, King Jaehaerys II sat the Iron Throne, and we were off to battle in the Stepstones," Hoster reminisced.
"Aye, those were days long past," I acknowledged, memories of our youthful vigor flooding back.
"Many years have come and gone since then, and we've both weathered the storms of time," I mused, and Hoster nodded in agreement.
"It is a tragic fate that befell Steffon," Hoster remarked somberly.
"Aye, he deserved a nobler end than what he met," I replied, my tone heavy with regret.
"Jon speaks of Steffon's son blaming the Targaryens for his father's demise," Hoster continued, his gaze sharp with concern.
"I sense unrest among the Riverlords," he added, his words carrying a weighty implication about the continued reign of House Targaryen.
I closed my eyes briefly, understanding the gravity of his insinuation. He was treading dangerously close to treason.
"Is that why you arranged for your younger daughter to serve as the Queen's lady-in-waiting?" I questioned, my tone icy.
Hoster stiffened at my accusation. "I must ensure that House Tully remains beyond the king's suspicion," he replied, his voice strained with the burden of responsibility. "With the betrothal between our houses, the North and the Riverlands will be united," he added, trying to justify his actions.
"But it's not the king we should be wary of, it's his son," Hoster continued, his demeanor turning cold.
"What are your thoughts on the boy?" he inquired, seeking my opinion.
I scoffed dismissively. "The fool of Duskendale thought him a boy too, and look what befell his house," I retorted, a hint of disdain coloring my words. "Prince Daemon Targaryen is no mere boy, Hoster. You would do well to remember that," I warned, noting the discomfort that flickered across Hoster's face.
"When I joined your alliance, it was not with the intent of sparking rebellion," I clarified.
"I merely acknowledged the necessity for the North to have a voice in southern affairs," I explained.
"Well, Rickard, sometimes involvement in southern affairs demands more than one can offer," Hoster countered.
"Jon Arryn's schemes tread perilously close to rebellion," I observed, a note of caution lacing my words.
"And don't think for a moment that the Targaryens are oblivious to it," I added.
"What about the Targaryens, my lords?" A voice interrupted, and I turned to see Prince Daemon striding towards us, Dark Sister sheathed at his hip.
Glancing at Hoster, I detected a flicker of fear in his eyes. My mind raced, wondering how much he might have overheard.
"You both resemble guilty children caught pilfering lemon cakes," Daemon remarked with a laugh, though his smile failed to reach his eyes, which gleamed with a calculating intensity.
"Do not fret. I only caught the tail end of your conversation about the Targaryens not being oblivious," he reassured, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "But you are mistaken, Lord Rickard. While my family may be oblivious to the machinations surrounding them, I am not."
Hoster and I stood in uneasy silence, each grappling with what to say next.
"It seems the falcon and the stag are absent from this clandestine gathering, my lords," Daemon remarked, his tone devoid of any warmth, his words cutting through the air like a winter chill.
"You are mistaken, Prince Daemon," Hoster interjected, attempting to deflect the tension with a strained smile. "Rickard and I were merely discussing matters concerning our children."
"I am not daft, Tully, do well to remember that," Daemon spat out, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Allow me to refresh your house's memory, Lord Tully," he continued, his words laced with venom. "Your house wallowed in obscurity until my forefather, Aegon the Conqueror, bestowed upon you the title of Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Not out of merit, mind you, but because he recognized that the Riverlands would never unite under the rule of House Tully."
"Now, if even a whisper of treason emanates from your house, Lord Tully, rest assured that I will mete out the same vengeance upon House Tully as I did to House Darklyn," Prince Daemon threatened, his eyes blazing with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.
"Leave us. I wish to speak with Lord Stark alone," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument.
I glanced at Hoster and saw that he was seething, his face flushed with anger as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
"Hoster, leave," I urged, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he departed, his fury palpable as Daemon smirked, reveling in the discomfort he had stirred.
"And now, onto you, Lord Rickard Stark, the stoic lord of Winterfell," Daemon said with a smile that held a hint of mockery.
"I received a letter from your son," he continued, his tone laced with disdain. "Not the elder one who squanders his time in brothels, but the one at the Vale, whose mind is being poisoned by the falcon," he said, his words dripping with contempt. Despite the fury coursing through my veins at his insult towards my sons, I maintained my composure.
"Your son, Ned, wrote to me about how he deemed my actions dishonorable and how I should be ashamed," Daemon chuckled, the sound grating on my nerves. "What filth that Falcon has filled his head with, I do not know," he added, his tone darkening.
"It seems you neglected to educate your son about your house's history," he accused, his words sharp as a blade.
"The Kings of Winter wiped out entire bloodlines and houses during the days of old, committing massacres with the knowledge that it was justified for the future of your house," he declared, his gaze unwavering.
"Do not presume to lecture me on my house's history, Prince Daemon," I retorted, my voice cold with resolve.
"'When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,'" he quoted with a grin. "What an amazing line that is," he remarked sarcastically.
"You are an honorable man, Lord Rickard, and I know that you would not rebel against House Targaryen without justification," he acknowledged, his tone shifting to one of seriousness.
"Winter is coming, Lord Stark," he declared, his expression grave.
"What do you mean?" I inquired, my skepticism evident.
"The White Walkers are real, and the dead are rising. The Night's Watch alone is not enough to deal with them," he explained, his words carrying a weight of urgency.
"The realm must be united to face such a threat," he insisted.
"You expect me to believe what you're saying?" I asked incredulously.
"Go and ask the Free Folk why they burn their dead instead of burying them, Lord Stark," he countered, his tone firm.
"It does not matter if you believe me or not," he added stoically. "I will begin the mining of dragonglass in Dragonstone and send it to White Harbor, where you will forge weapons from it," he stated matter-of-factly.
"What will I gain in return for all this?" I pressed him.
"The New Gift," he replied, and my eyes widened at the revelation.
"The New Gift will be granted to the houses of the North, where you can do as you please," he informed me.
"The Commander of the Night's Watch will not be pleased by this," I pointed out.
"Damn him," Daemon dismissed with a wave of his hand before walking away, leaving me to ponder the weight of his words and the ominous future he had forewarned.
---
Daemon Pov
I sat at the high table, surrounded by revelers indulging in the pleasures of the feast. Daeron, my younger brother, prattled on endlessly about his adventures in the red keep while I was gone. Despite the annoyance, I endured, for he was still family.
Mother sat a few seats away, her gaze reproachful whenever it met mine. I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for the harsh words I had spoken to her. Damn my temper, I cursed inwardly.
Then there was Hoster Tully, the floppy fish, glaring at me as if his gaze could pierce armor. Rickard Stark seemed to be enjoying himself, accompanied by his daughter who was enraptured by the music. My brother Rhaegar, surprisingly, showed no interest in pursuing the ten-year-old Lyanna, opting instead to engage in conversation with Cersei who seemed positively radiant in his presence.
"Daeron, enough," Father's voice cut through the chatter, silencing my brother.
"Go sit with your mother. My ears ache from your incessant babbling," Father commanded, his hand roaming a serving girl who looked no more than sixteen.
What a charming family, I mused bitterly to myself.
"Daeron, perhaps we can continue our conversation later," I suggested, noting the disappointment in my brother's expression as he obeyed Father's order.
"By the seven, that boy has boundless energy," Father remarked, chuckling.
"Forget about him," he continued, diverting the conversation. "Why do you look as if you'd rather be anywhere but here?" he asked, pouring a cup of wine for me.
"I don't drink, Father," I reminded him.
"Daemon, your king commands you," he replied with a grin, handing me the cup.
"I have work to attend to, Father. I'd rather not be here," I admitted honestly.
"Sometimes I wonder if you're truly my son," he laughed.
"When I was your age I was chasing after any woman by eyes laid upon", he said.
Little did he know, these carefree days would soon give way to rebellion, and the fall of House Targaryen loomed on the horizon.
"I'll burn them all," I thought darkly, contemplating the houses that would betray us.
"Well, I know just the thing to lift your spirits," Father declared, rising from his seat.
"Bard, play 'The Pyres of Duskendale'," he announced.
"For fuck's sake," I muttered under my breath, dreading the tune that was about to fill the hall.
In the heart of Duskendale, where shadows dance,
Lies a tale of defiance, a risky chance.
Darklyns dared to defy the dragon's might,
Now they face the flames in the dead of night.
Pyres of Duskendale, burning bright,
Green flames enveloping the night.
Dragon's wrath, a fearsome sight,
For the Darklyns, there's no respite.
They stood against the Targaryen's command,
But fire and blood were their final stand.
As the dragon descended with fiery breath,
Their fate was sealed in the dance of death.
Pyres of Duskendale, burning bright,
Green flames enveloping the night.
Dragon's wrath, a fearsome sight,
For the Darklyns, there's no respite.
In the ashes of their once proud hall,
Echoes of defiance now silent fall.
For those who challenge the dragon's reign,
Only ashes and sorrow remain.
Pyres of Duskendale, burning bright,
Green flames enveloping the night.
Dragon's wrath, a fearsome sight,
For the Darklyns, there's no respite.
So heed this warning, all who dare,
To cross the dragon's fiery glare.
For in the end, there's only one fate,
To burn in the pyres of Duskendale's hate.
In Duskendale's shadowed halls, defiance stirs the air,
Where Darklyns dared to challenge, to the dragon's fiery glare.
Their pride a flame, their spirit bold, they raised their banner high,
But little did they know, their fate was written in the sky.
Pyres of Duskendale, burning bright in the night,
As the dragon's wrath descends, in a blaze of emerald light.
The flames dance with vengeance, consuming all they see,
In the pyres of Duskendale, only ashes will there be.
The dragon's wings unfurling, like a storm upon the wind,
The wrath of House Targaryen, a punishment to rescind.
Through streets once bustling, now silent in despair,
The echo of their defiance lost in the dragon's fiery snare.
Pyres of Duskendale, burning bright in the night,
As the dragon's wrath descends, in a blaze of emerald light.
The flames dance with vengeance, consuming all they see,
In the pyres of Duskendale, only ashes will there be.
The walls of Duskendale tremble, as the flames reach higher still,
And those who once defied, now cower in their ill-wrought will.
For the dragon knows no mercy, in the fury of its flight,
And in the pyres of Duskendale, all shall fall to endless night.
Pyres of Duskendale, burning bright in the night,
As the dragon's wrath descends, in a blaze of emerald light.
The flames dance with vengeance, consuming all they see,
In the pyres of Duskendale, only ashes will there be.
So let this be a warning, to all who dare oppose,
The might of House Targaryen, from whence the dragon rose.
For in the pyres of Duskendale, their defiance met its end,
And the legacy of their folly, in ash shall ever blend.
As the last notes of the song faded, applause erupted throughout the hall. Father tossed a pouch of golden dragons to the bard, who beamed with gratitude.
"A song fit to match," Father declared, raising his goblet in toast to the bard's achievement.
Amidst the subdued applause of the nobles, I sensed an undercurrent of worry coursing through the room. Each one of them harbored concerns about the safety of their own house should they ever dare to rebel against House Targaryen.
Feeling suffocated by the weight of it all, I excused myself from the table.
"Father, I need some fresh air," I announced, and Father absentmindedly nodded in response, his attention already drawn to some maiden from one of the houses of the Crownlands.
I left the bustling hall behind me, seeking solace in the quiet corridors. A servant approached, her demeanor grave as she uttered words that stirred a mix of apprehension and curiosity within me: "The lion wishes to meet."
With cautious steps, I followed her through the dimly lit passageways until we reached the dungeons. Two Lannister guards stood sentinel, their gazes unwavering as I entered the chamber to find Tywin awaiting me.
"It seems she informed you," I remarked, meeting his gaze as he turned to regard me.
"How did you know I was your father?" he inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.
"Are you genuinely curious about that?" I retorted mockingly. "Come now, my lord, I am not your son," I asserted.
"For if the king were to discover that I am not his, it would spell the end for House Lannister and for myself," I explained.
"But to answer your question, it was back when I first visited Casterly Rock, and you embraced me," I recounted, watching as realization dawned in his widened eyes.
"You remember that," he murmured, a hint of surprise in his tone.
"I remember everything, Lord Hand," I affirmed.
"And please, do not regale me with tales of how I was conceived, for that is the last thing I wish to know," I added firmly.
Hearing me, Tywin fell silent, his demeanor growing contemplative.
"As you said, the realm can never know the true nature of our relationship, but..." he began, stepping closer to me.
"I am proud of you, Daemon," he confessed, and in that moment, I glimpsed a father's pride shining in his eyes.
"There are times I wish I had not acted on my emotions, but then again, if I hadn't, you would not exist," he admitted. "I love Jaime," he confessed.
"And if he is half as capable as you are, then House Lannister will be in good hands," he stated stoically.
"Who else knows about my true parentage?" I inquired, needing to know the extent of this secret.
"Only my wife Joanna," he revealed. "I could not keep such a thing hidden from her," he added softly, a rare vulnerability shining through his typically steely demeanor.
Even though I've never voiced it before, I admire and respect you for all you've done for our house," I declared, my voice tinged with genuine emotion.
"And for everything you've done, and will continue to do for me, thank you, Father," I added, feeling a swell of gratitude welling up inside me.
Tywin's expression softened, a rare smile gracing his features as he pulled me into an embrace. In that moment, I felt a warmth and connection that transcended the barriers of our complicated relationship.
"This is the first and last time I will ever call you that," I stated stoically, but the sentiment behind the words was laced with a depth of feeling that neither of us had acknowledged before.
Tywin nodded in understanding, his own eyes reflecting the unspoken bond between us.
------
As I made my way toward Maegor's Holdfast, a familiar figure intercepted my path – Rhaegar.
"Brother, we need to talk," he stated with a seriousness that caught me off guard.
"About what, brother?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood with a laugh.
"At least it's not about some nonsense involving a fiery wench," I added jokingly, but Rhaegar remained solemn.
"I want you to meet someone, Daemon," he insisted.
"Whenever this person decides to make an appearance, let me know. I have better things to do – like sleep, for instance," I quipped dismissively.
"She's waiting to meet you tonight, Daemon. She's in my room," he revealed.
"Oh, damn. Thank you, brother, but I'm not in the mood to entertain a whore tonight. I insist you go and handle the situation yourself," I retorted, teasingly.
"For once in your life, listen to me!" Rhaegar's frustration boiled over as he raised his voice.
I sighed inwardly, realizing this was serious. "Alright, brother," I conceded, falling into step behind him as we headed toward his chambers, where this mysterious woman awaited.
Outside the door stood Ser Arthur Dayne, resplendent in his armor.
"White suits you, Ser Arthur of the Kingsguard," I remarked in a playful tone, but the renowned knight offered no response as Rhaegar and I entered the room.
As soon as my eyes fell upon the woman, a sense of stillness overtook me. She possessed long hair, the hue of deep burnished copper, and unsettling red eyes that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of reality. Her skin, pale and unblemished, contrasted sharply with her attire, adorned in robes of scarlet satin and blood velvet. A red gold choker, clasped tightly around her neck, held a ruby that gleamed with an ominous intensity.
"What the hell is she doing here?" I thought, as my brother's words reached my ears.
I noticed her gaze fixated on me with an intensity that mirrored my own fascination.
"Brother, I would like you to meet the woman who appeared to me in the flames in the dungeons of Duskendale," my brother said, his voice breaking through my thoughts.
"Her name is..." Before he could finish, I interrupted.
"Melisandre of Asshai" I stated, causing both of their eyes to widen in surprise.
"How do you..." My brother began, but I cut him off.
"Rhaegar, leave now," I commanded, unsheathing my sword.
With a slight nod from Melisandre, my brother exited the room.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, advancing towards her with Dark Sister in hand, the sword leveled at her neck.
"If I don't see that smile wiped off your face right this instant, I will remove your head," I threatened, my voice laced with barely restrained anger.
She complied, the smile fading as she knelt before me. Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but notice her beauty—the fullness of her breasts, the curve of her waist.
"I had a vision sent by R'hllor himself," she explained, her voice deep and resonant.
"The Azor Ahai would be found in a place of smoke and salt and that was Dragonstone," she continued.
"In my vision, I saw your brother the prince of dragonstone, and I was convinced he was the chosen one ," she confessed. "But then, another vision came to me—a vision of a golden dragon rising from the ashes. And now, after meeting you, I know who the true Azor Ahai is."
"What in the world..." I muttered to myself, trying to process her words.
"You knew my name before I introduced myself," she remarked, her eyes locking onto mine.
"Listen to me, Melisandre. I am not the chosen one," I insisted firmly. "I want you out of the capital tonight. If not, I'll take your head myself."
With that, I turned to leave the room, but before I could step outside, she grabbed a burning log from the hearth and hurled it towards me. Instinctively, I caught the log, bracing for the searing pain of fire, but it never came.
"You didn't burn," she stated, her voice filled with certainty, as I dropped the log and stared at my unscathed hand in disbelief. The realization hit me like a thunderbolt—I had never tested my susceptibility to fire, never thought it necessary.
Kneeling before me, she took my hand in hers, placing it over her heart. "R'hllor has chosen you, and as his servant, I will follow you. My life is yours to command. Please, let me serve you, Azor Ahai," she implored.
I paused, considering her offer. Having a shadowbinder by my side could prove invaluable, particularly someone who could birth shadows to do my bidding. Moreover, I knew I would eventually need the support of the followers of R'hllor in the battle against the White Walkers. Her unwavering loyalty was an enticing prospect.
When life presents you with an opportunity, you seize it, and here I was with Melisandre, a woman of considerable power, offering herself to my cause.
"Arise," I commanded, and she obeyed, rising to her feet.
Replacing Dark Sister in its sheath, I lifted her chin with my hand, meeting her gaze. "I accept your service," I declared solemnly. "I will confront the Great Other when the time comes," I added, my resolve firm.
Her expression turned ecstatic, and I felt a surge of desire coursing through me as I inhaled her intoxicating scent.
"Control yourself," I reminded myself sternly.
"You will address me as Prince Daemon, and this conversation remains between us. You will disclose it to no one except the high priests of R'hllor, especially not my brother," I instructed firmly.
"Do you understand?" I demanded, and she nodded in acquiescence.
"Very well," I conceded, acknowledging her commitment.
Pulling her close, I felt the heat of her body radiating against mine, her lips tantalizingly close to mine. In that moment, it didn't matter that she was an older woman or how ugly she looked once she removed her choker. Desire surged through me, and I cared only for the game at hand—I was no ageist.
"Serve your master," I whispered, my breath mingling with hers as our lips met in a hungry kiss. With eager compliance, she responded, her body yielding to mine with an enthusiasm that set the night ablaze.
In the sanctity of my brother's bed, we surrendered to passion, each touch igniting a fire that consumed us both. As our bodies intertwined in the throes of ecstasy, I lost myself in her, knowing that this liaison would mark the beginning of a dangerous but exhilarating alliance.
