Fire and Blood

Chapter 9: Targaryen Standoff

"And what of you, men of the City Watch?" Otto turned to the gold cloaks. "Aiding the Prince in his treason?"

"The king made me their commander. They are loyal to me," Daemon reminded him. "I'm sure loyalty is a concept you are very unfamiliar with, Otto." When the Hand of the King did not respond, Daemon playfully tossed the dragon egg back and forth in his hands and then held it out. "Have you come for the egg? Well, here it is. Come, and take it."

The dragon egg, once picked for the cradle of the late infant Prince Baelon, was large with tiny black scales shimmering like polished metal in the sunlight. Dragon eggs come in a variety of different yet rich colors, are roughly the size of a human child's head, and are as heavy as stone so they need to be carried with two hands. But for Daemon? He only had to use only one hand.

Otto stared at the egg. It was worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock, and Daemon acted as if it was a novelty. The Hand of the King focused his attention on his rival. "Are you mad?" he demanded. "You'd never survive this."

"Well, happily, neither would you," Daemon withdrew his outstretched hand back to his side, keeping the egg safe against him.

"To choose violence, here, is to declare war against your king."

Daemon eyes glittered at the mention of war, a field in which he was an expert. "Wonderful," he said nonchalantly.

You cannot be serious. Ser Criston readied himself for a fight; as a soldier, he was trained in the art of combat and had participated in multiple skirmishes against incursions from Dorne. He was gripping onto the sheath, ready to act if necessary - senses on high alert.

"Even if it ends in the death of your unborn child and its mother?" Otto prodded.

At that instant, Daemon's face darkened, and in an instant draws Dark Sister and points it at Otto, prompting both sides to draw their weapons. Alwyn felt his heart quicken as both sides prepared to spill blood. And here, on this narrow stairway, they might all certainly die. But then there was a pause, for suddenly they could hear the beating of wings and a faint high-pitched shriek.

"*Reeeeeeeee!*"

Caraxes crawled forward to reveal himself at the top of a cliff ready to defend his master.

By the Gods... Criston stared at the Blood Wyrm in awe and fear as Caraxes continued his menacing approach. He had never seen a dragon before, but he, like all youths, heard of the legendary prowess of the Targaryen dragons that unified the independent kingdoms into a single realm and forged the Iron Throne itself. Although Caraxes was no Balerion, Vhagar, or Meraxes, it was still large enough to incinerate everyone present.

Harrold, on the other hand, while cautious remained level-headed.

"*RAAAAAAAAA!*" Caraxes roared loudly.

Otto, knowing that a dragon's presence can turn the tide of a fight in favor of its rider, calculated that he and his forces were completely outmatched against Daemon. "All of you," he begrudgingly turned behind him, "sheathe the fucking steel."

One by one, the men-at-arms sheathed their swords and stood down. But Daemon, meanwhile, still maintained a threatening composure. Before the tension can spill into open conflict, they suddenly heard the beating of wings. Caraxes sniffed the air and looked up at the sky, thick with early morning cloud cover, and hissed. Daemon's ears perked at the faint distinctive sound and redirected his gaze towards the west. Otto, Harrold, and Criston turned in the same direction as the draconic vocalization grew increasingly louder.

Flying overhead was Syrax carrying Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Having defied her father, she took matters into her own hands to settle the dispute herself. Caraxes and Syrax both screeched at one another before the young she-dragon landed behind Otto and his men unannounced.