King's Landing ― Near the outskirts of the Blackwater Rush...
The wind had blown gently as lords of the royal court had gathered around outside the city walls. Several days passed since Queen Aemma Arryn and the newborn Prince Baelon died, and now it was time for their funeral. Their bodies were wrapped in separate bundles, doused in flammable material for the funeral pyre to be lit. As per Targaryen customs in the tradition of their Valyrian ancestors, when a member of House Targaryen dies, they are to be cremated by dragon flame and have their ashes interred beneath the Red Keep.
Perched on a nearby cliff were the dragons Vaelor and Syrax. Between the two, Vaelor was the larger dragon measuring 139 feet in length compared to Syrax's 60 feet. The young she-dragon softly vocalized at her kin, but the Swiftrunner snorted and gave a low rumble. Few could tell what both dragons were thinking about, but they were fierce and intelligent beasts - able to understand their rider's feelings.
Mourners dressed in black, lowering their heads in acknowledgment. But for some, it was more personal than others.
King Viserys, wracked with grief and in a near catatonic state, simply stared at his deceased wife and son's remains. For almost a year, he claimed to have had a dream envisioning the birth of a second son to stand beside his firstborn to bring about a new age of dragonriders. But it failed. His wife was dead, his son Baelon died mere hours after being born, and his heir Aeonar refused to speak to him - calling him all sorts of awful names, cursing his father for his actions, and blaming him for his mother's death.
« What have you done...? What have you done? What have you done?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!! »
« YOU KILLED HER! YOU BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU?! YOU KILLED HER! »
I... I am so, so sorry, Aemma. Please... please forgive me... I am so sorry... 'Was it worth it?' he often asked himself. Knowing what he knows now, Viserys believed too late that the cost was not worth losing his family over. He'd give anything to take it all back, to fix the damage he caused, but he could not. And the king had to live with that for the rest of his life.
Rhaenyra wept bitterly at the loss of her mother. She had learned of her death during the tournament from one of her brother's agents and was beside herself. Dressed in all black, she was visibly struggling to contain her grief. She briefly glanced at Aeonar, but he did not look at her - instead, his eyes drifted between their mother and glaring daggers at their father.
"They're waiting for you two," Daemon whispered. Although the rogue prince can see his nephew's and niece's anger towards Viserys, he continues to urge them to support their father - though none of them appear to consider it now. The wound was simply too raw.
Alicent, meanwhile, stood between Aeonar and Rhaenyra. She sympathized with the royal family's grief and wanted to support them by being at their side in their hour of need. Yet at the same time, she could detect a sense of hostility in the air. Gently brushing her fingers across Aeonar's hand, Alicent was surprised to see Aeonar slowly accept her hand in his own while continuing a hardened stare at Viserys.
Aeonar, unable to shed any more tears, continued staring coldly at Viserys - knowing full well that his father was unable to look him in the eye. Istan ziry odre ziry, kepa? Istan se dorolvie jēda hen issa lēkia's glaeson odre sēnagon issa muñnykeā? (Was it worth it, father? Were the few hours of my brother's life worth killing my mother?) he thought resentfully.
"Ñurho valonqro paghyro jēdunna... (I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived...)," Rhaenyra mourned bitterly, "lo tolijī kepa ñuha kirimvī ziry jeldan syt. (My father finally got what he wanted.)" Say something, Aeonar. Anything. This is our mother...
"Kepa aōha avy sīr. (Your father needs you)," Daemon advised. "Ojūdo tubiro toliot jorrāelza. (More than he ever has.)"
"Yn skorkydoso? Trēsy dōrī kesan.... se kostan dōrī sesīr sagon skoros Aeonar jaelagon nyke naejot sagon. (But how? I will never be a son... and I can never be what Aeonar expects me to be.)" Rhaenyra briefly glances at her father, who remains motionless, and steadily advances towards the funeral pyre - with Aeonar standing beside her.
Vaelor and Syrax share a vocalizing click at their riders.
"D..." Rhaenyra choked. She tried to give the High Valyrian command for 'dragon fire', but somehow was unable to get the words out. She turned to Viserys, then up at her brother for emotional support.
Syrax gave a low growl, though Vaelor gave a low hiss.
"Dracarys!" Aeonar commanded firmly.
Rhaenyra sniffled. "Dracarys," she commanded.
Vaelor growled and made his descent down the hill, with Syrax accompanying close behind him in vocalizing clicks. The Swiftrunner snapped his jaws at the Dragonkeepers on his left and right flanks, warning them to get out of his way. Once both dragons were close enough, Vaelor and Syrax reared their heads back, opening their jaws to reveal a fiery glow in their throats and unleashing a powerful conflagration towards the funeral pyre. The intense heat of the combined dragon flame could be felt behind the Targaryens as members of the small council, including Lord Corlys and Ser Otto, took a few steps back.
Viserys shut his eyes tight and lowered his head, allowing a single tear to fall down his cheek. Daemon traded sympathetic glances at his brother for his loss and his nephew and niece. Rhaenyra lowered her head, but Aeonar raised his and turned to stare at Viserys once more. Through the fiery embers of the funeral pyre, the rogue prince could see that lurking behind Aeonar's eyes - beneath the pain, there was a growing fire in his spirit, dark, bitter, and resentful. And yet, a hint of destiny and ambition about them too.
Huh. Ever since we arrived in this country, they have always had a saying for us until they finally produced one that eventually stuck. 'Every time a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. One side greatness, the other madness.' I wonder what kind of Targaryen you will be, nephew.
Aeonar kept his hateful gaze until he felt something pressing against him. Turning his head, he could see Vaelor looking down at him. The dragon gently nudges his rider with his snout again, vocalizing in small clicks. Aeonar touches Vaelor's snout. Well, at least you understand me. "Gīda sir, Valor. Ziry iksos sepār ao se nyke daor se vys sir. (Steady now, Vaelor. It is just you and me against the world now.)" He took one last glance at Viserys, who still would not look at him. "Hope it was worth it... father. I will never forget this," he uttered silently.
Red Keep ― Small Council chambers...
Later that night, Otto Hightower requested a meeting with the small council. He knows it has been a grim moment for House Targaryen during the aftermath of Queen Aemma's passing. Seeing Viserys walking with Lord Commander Ryam in low morale, Otto and his colleagues rose in acknowledgment of the king's presence.
Viserys slowly took his seat at the head of the table. Glancing to his left, he noticed the Master of Whisperers' seat was vacant. His son was absent. Although this would strike the other royal advisors as odd, the king was the only one who understood. Aeonar was understandably upset and refused to even speak to him. Oh Aeonar, how I wish I could take back all those things I have said and done to make you and Rhaenyra hate me so. Take... take all the time you need to heal, my son. But know that from this day forward, as my heir, your opinions will always matter to me. I am just sorry for not realizing it sooner.
"We regret the crown's loss, Your Grace," Otto began. "Queen Aemma was loved by many, as was Good Queen Alysanne before her. And I know this is the last thing any of us wish to discuss during this dark hour, but I consider the matter urgent."
"What matter?" Viserys pressed.
"Despite how difficult this time is, Your Grace, I feel it firmly important to discuss the line of succession for the stability of the realm should another tragedy strike again."
"The succession is already set by precedent and by law, my Lord Hand. An heir and a spare and so forth," Lyonel reminded him.
"And this... spare?" Viserys inquired.
"Daemon Targaryen," Corlys mentioned.
"In the event of something happening to Prince Aeonar," Grand Maester Mellos began, "if Daemon were to remain as an uncontested backup, it could destabilize the realm."
They are speaking as if they somehow want something to happen to MY son?! Viserys realized. Their remarks were already making him incredibly angry. First his wife, now his firstborn too? Why must these parasites curse him? Now, he wished more than ever Aeonar was with him.
"The realm? Or this council?" Corlys questioned.
"What do you mean to say?" Viserys snapped back. "That my brother would murder my son if that meant climbing up the line of succession, to take my crown one day?" He was met with silence. "IS THAT WHAT YOU'RE IMPLYING?!" he demanded loudly. "You," he turned to Otto. "I named Daemon Master of Laws, but you said he was a tyrant. As Master of Coin, you said he was a spendthrift that would beggar the realm. I named Aeonar Master of Whisperers, but you said he was too young. But look now!" He felt incredibly frustrated at this point. "Putting Daemon in command of the City Watch was your solution, Otto!"
"A half-measure, Your Grace," Otto defended himself. "The truth is, Daemon should be far away from this court. He is impulsive and violent. It is the duty of this council to protect the King and the realm from him. I'm sorry, Your Grace, but that is the truth as I see it, and I know that others here agree."
"Daemon is my brother - my blood."
"And yet Prince Aeonar―"
"The decision to appoint Aeonar to this council was mine, not because he was too young, but because my son is my named heir and he wanted to prove his worth to me. And I intend to help him to achieve his goals. You have no right to judge him. You know nothing about him! Nothing at all! And he will continue to have a place at my court and a seat on my council! Aeonar is my son - my firstborn child." Then... Viserys felt something inside him snap. "I don't even know why we're even having this discussion... MY WIFE AND SON ARE DEAD!" he shouted angrily. "I WILL NOT SIT HERE AND SUFFER CROWS THAT COME TO FEAST UPON THEIR CORPSES!"
Quickly raising himself from his seat, Viserys stormed out of the council chambers and swiftly retreated to his chambers. It was bad enough to lose his wife and have his son hate him, but Viserys refused to sit around and listen to others demonizing his brother and antagonizing his heir.
King's Landing ― Street of Silk...
Daemon and his subordinates from the City Watch rented a brothel, tended to by prostitutes for pleasure, and served wine by tavern wenches. The room was filled with chatter and laughter. A momentary distraction from another day's arduous work of rounding up criminals and enforcing the king's laws. Overall, it was a drunken orgy.
Passing by the crowd, Mysaria approached Daemon with a goblet of wine. "The king's spare once again," she congratulated.
"Thank you," Daemon drunkenly replied.
"Might we drink to our future?"
"Indeed!" Captain Randyll banged the table loudly. "Quiet!" he shouts. "Your prince will speak! Silence!"
On cue, the music slowly died down and all chatter and entertainment ceased.
"Speech! Speech!" one gold cloak beckoned.
Daemon, feeling the expectant attention from his subordinates, rose from his stupor and raised a cup. "King and council have long rued my position in the hierarchy," he began. "But dream and pray as they all might, I'm not so easily replaced. Not by anyone. The gods give just as the gods take away." He raised a cup. "To the king's second son. The Prince for a Day."
"To the Prince for a Day!" the men cheered.
Music and laughter resumed. But then, in an instant, the door to the brothel burst open - startling whores, tavern wenches, and several gold cloaks. Marching in unison were men-at-arms from the Red Keep, styled in full armor and donning House Targaryen's sigil on their tabards. Daemon recognized them as simple household guards but was surprised to see his nephew Aeonar strolling in... with an incredibly angry look on his face.
"You're just in time for the celebration, nephew," Daemon toasted. "Come! Grab a seat. And have a cup."
Aeonar's frown deepened. "You are a piece of shit, aren't you?" he snarled.
The gold cloaks stopped toasting and stared at the crown prince.
"I'm sorry. I don't even know what you're implying."
"'The Prince for a Day.' Did you think I did not just hear that? What it cost me?"
"We each mourn in our ways, Aeonar. I understand you're still... in mourning, but there's no need for such vile language." Daemon slowly turned serious in his drunken state. "Especially in front of family."
"'Family'? You are playing that card now?" Aeonar scowled. You enjoy seeing me suffer in misery. You sack of... "You, the Rogue Prince, Prince of the City, are giving me a lecture on family values when you don't meet us on the same page when you go floundering about with your whores and underlings?! Oh, you got your priorities in check I see, uncle." He approached again, stopping at a nearby table. "My mother... just died. Died because father - your brother who, despite my warnings - persisted on this insane delusional fantasy he conjured in his head that it ended up taking away the one thing that mattered to me more than you ever understand!" He was shaking with rage. "Have you no dignity? Have you no shame?" he demanded silently.
Daemon merely scoffed. He's lost his mind at this point. "Complain if you want. Let it all out of your system if it makes you feel better," he chuckled. "But remember - keeping your feelings bottled up like that is poor for your health. Makes people do... questionable things they can't take back."
Oh, that does it! Aeonar placed on foot on a stool. "You enjoy taking great delight in watching me suffer," he growled. "You... filthy, TREACHEROUS WRETCH!!!" he shouted as he leaped through the air to charge Daemon with such agility.
Daemon rose to intercept, but in his drunken state was tackled by Aeonar and brought to the floor. Prostitutes and tavern wenches screamed as a large-scale brawl broke out between the two princes as they rolled around cursing each other in High Valyrian, landing several punches and kicks, as well as hitting each other with whatever object they could get their hands on. Both gold cloaks and Targaryen guardsmen scrambled about either trying to break up the fight or getting themselves involved by attacking the other party. Tables were knocked over, cups shattered, and shouts echoed throughout the Street of Silk.
The fight lasted well into the night as bells rang loudly. A night that no one would ever forget.
Red Keep ― Small Council chambers...
Later that day, Otto called forth another session of the small council. This time, however, was different. According to the information he received from three witnesses, he felt it urgent to bring it to King Viserys's attention immediately. "Before we begin, Your Grace, I have a report I feel compelled to share." He began. "I'm afraid it... involves your son, the Prince of Dragonstone."
"Aeonar?" Viserys said concerned. "What happened? Is he all right?"
"Last night, Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk to entertain officers of the City Watch and other friends of his. He toasted Prince Baelon, styling him... 'The Prince for a Day.' I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses. The evening was, by all accounts a... celebration. Not long after, our own Master of Whisperers discovered this and went to confront Daemon personally. Afterward, a physical altercation broke out between Daemon and Prince Aeonar."
"What?!" Rhaenyra turned around, nearly spilling wine on the floor.
Viserys stood in stunned silence. His brother and son got into a fight?! And Daemon mocked his dead son by calling Baelon 'The Prince for a Day'? While the context is ambiguous, Viserys perceives it as an insult, and worse, his brother physically assaults his son. The king felt his blood boiling and angrily gripped his cup tightly. Paternal instincts rising, Viserys slowly rose from his seat. "Send for a maester to tend to Aeonar's wounds," he demanded with a silent yet angry tone. "And bring Daemon to me... now."
Rhaenyra stood as Viserys turned to leave the council chambers. This was the first time she had seen her father this angry and the first time she had ever heard of her uncle and brother fighting each other. Lēkia... (Elder brother...)
Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast...
Alicent descended from the Tower of the Hand in a green dress. After having a deep conversation with her father, she felt she needed to do something to cheer up Aeonar. Both he and Rhaenyra just lost their mother. Such a loss hurt the Targaryen royals deeply. Everyone's spirits are low. Maybe I can help make it better? Even if it is a little bit? It was one she volunteered willingly which surprised Otto. But what would she say? She looked down at the dress. It was a stunning green dress with gold embroidery which revealed portions of her bare shoulders. One of mother's... Father, why would you have me wearing hers? Alicent shook her head furiously and hid her chewed fingernails. No! No, Alicent. By the Gods, you are supposed to comfort Aeonar, not seduce him. In one of her hands, she was carrying a large history book. It was one of her favorites - one she always shared with Aeonar and Rhaenyra growing up.
Ser Harrold turned to see her coming. "My lady," he acknowledged.
"Good afternoon, Ser Harrold," Alicent curtsied. "Is Prince Aeonar in?" she asked.
"He is... but he might not be inclined to visitors today?"
"Why not?"
"It's personal, I'm afraid. But I will see if he is in the mood," Harrold knocked on the door. "The Lady Alicent Hightower is here to see you, my prince."
Alicent observed the door leading to Aeonar's room. For a while, no answer. Inhaling, she took the initiative to gently knock on the door. "Aeonar?" she called. "It's me, Alicent. Can... can I come in?" she requested.
Again, silence. But then...
"It's open..." a voice was heard through the door.
Alicent smiled as Harrold turned the knob and opened the door. She thanked the veteran Kingsguard knight and was permitted inside. "Aeonar?" she curtsied, "are you busy?" Now Alicent had been in Aeonar's room before, always seeing books, scrolls, and models of Old Valyria and a makeshift clay replica of Balerion the Black Dread. But that was when they were children. As lovers? This was something else. Alicent could see Aeonar's back was facing her while he stared into the fireplace.
"No, Alicent. I am not," Aeonar replied melancholic. "Did you need me for something?"
"I was hoping to come and check in on you, sweetheart. I... brought a book. It is one of my favorites. Remember? We always had a passion for history."
"That's very thoughtful..."
Alicent knew this was hitting Aeonar hard, but why was his back facing her? Slowly placing the book on the bed, she cautiously approached him. "Aeonar, are you...?" Before she could proceed further, she saw Aeonar's face. Bruises, a black eye, dried blood wiped from his nose, and a split bloody lip. Most of his other wounds have been patched up by Grand Maester Mellos's assistant, Orwyle. "Oh, my Gods!" she gasped. "What happened?! What is this? Why is your... Aeonar, your face," she inquired worriedly.
"I know, Alicent. I know," Aeonar replied unconcerned with himself. "I got into a fight."
"With whom?"
"Daemon."
Alicent stepped back. "Prince Daemon? Your uncle? He did this to you?" she pressed.
"One of my contacts in the City Watch informed me that he was mocking my mother's death in an apparent festivity in a brothel and called my dead brother 'The Prince for a Day,'" Aeonar answered. "I found out, I confronted him, and we fought."
"Wh... why would he do that?"
"Why wouldn't he? Impetuous son of a bitch. My mother just died, and all he could do is gloat."
"Oh my. Are you all right?"
Aeonar looked at her. "Yes. I―" He sighed. "No. No, Alicent. I'm really not," he shook his head. "The pain... was it this bad when your mother died?"
Alicent gulped. The bond between a mother and her children was indeed a powerful one. She had vague memories of her deceased mother before she passed. Alicent mourned her for days. "Yes, it was. I still miss her sometimes," she answered honestly. "I remember when mother died, people only ever spoke to me in riddles. Not once did they ever offer to console me. All I wanted was for someone to say that they were sorry for what happened to me. Only you and Rhaenyra were there for me." She consoled Aeonar. "I'm very sorry for what happened to your mother, Aeonar. Queen Aemma was a good woman. She was always so kind and welcoming."
Aeonar exhaled shakily. "Why? Why her?" his voice cracked slightly. "I told father this would eventually kill her, but he went through with it anyway." He wrapped his arms around his girlfriend's waist. "She's gone, Alicent. And I will never see her again. Father took her away from me. I'll never forgive him for that."
"Shhh, shhh. It is okay, sweetheart. I'm here."
Aeonar felt like a small child. He needed to be better than this, but how? He could not save his mother. He could not prevent his father from venturing down the path that led to that unavoidable outcome. Briefly pulling away, Aeonar reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring.
Alicent saw it. "Aeonar, is that...?" she inquired.
"It... it was my mother's," Aeonar nodded. "She gave it to me - hoping I would give it to someone worthy. I intended to propose sooner once the tournament was over, but..."
Alicent was surprised to hear this. She remembered how visibly flustered she was when Aemma walked in on her and Aeonar kissing, how she had been given the queen's approval of their romantic relationship... but this? Alicent knew Aeonar loved her, but she had no idea Aemma gave her blessing - that Aeonar wanted to marry her. If tragedy had not struck, then she would have been over the moon. But now? It was inappropriate to even think that.
"I can feel myself slipping, Alicent. Like my actions are not of my own accord..."
"Not your own? What do you mean?"
"I can't explain it, but I've been getting these... urges. Impulses. It's like an itch in the back of my mind." Aeonar sat on the bed. "Have you ever heard of the Targaryen madness?"
Alicent shook her head.
"Of course not. It is a trait found only in members of my family. Maegor the Cruel is a prime example of such insanity," Aeonar explained disconsolately. "To keep our Valyrian bloodlines pure and retain control over our dragons, we've been inbreeding whenever possible. It might sound like a queer custom to you or any other Westerosi, but they have been our customs since Old Valyria. I'm told such symptoms vary - insanity being the most common. Some Targaryens might get it early on, for others it takes time. But only on rare occasions do we ever avoid being cursed. My great-grandfather was one of them."
"No," Alicent seemed to recognize what Aeonar was implying. "Aeonar, no. Listen to me. You are a good man. The man I love. Whatever you think might happen, that is not going to happen. Yes, what Daemon did was a terrible thing and Queen Aemma's passing was a terrible loss, but that doesn't mean you're destined to become insane because of it." She turned Aeonar's face so he could look at her. "I don't think less of you, Aeonar. So do not put yourself down because of your uncle's insults. I love you, sweetheart. Do you hear me? I love you."
"Alicent..."
Alicent held Aeonar close, gently massaging his back to reassure him that even during tragedy, everything was going to be all right. They would get through it... together. Pulling apart, she beckoned Aeonar. "Here," she patted her lap.
Still not completely himself, Aeonar did not say anything but instead laid his head on Alicent's lap. He did not move while Alicent brushed his silver locks away or from her reading to him. He merely laid down and listened. It would take time for Aeonar to fully recover, but he still had that itch - tugging and pulling at every nerve in his head. The first betrayal still lingered and was still fresh. Too raw. But as Aeonar continued listening to Alicent reading, he felt his eyes slowly close.
Before long, he had fallen asleep.
Red Keep ― Throne room...
Daemon groaned as he stretched his arms out wide. Last night's fight was intense. The Rogue Prince retained a few bruises on his cheeks and a bloody lip, but he did not care. A fight was a fight. Best to get everything out in the open rather than repress it for an exceedingly long time. When he was informed that Viserys demanded his presence immediately, Daemon did not bother waiting and pushed the doors open to the main hall. There he could see Viserys sitting atop the Iron Throne, wearing their grandfather's crown, gripping Blackfyre in one hand and protected by all seven of his Kingsguard. "You cut the image of the conqueror, brother," he complimented.
Viserys, however, was in no mood for his younger brother's games. "Did you say it?" he demanded.
Daemon stopped. The king somehow must have learned about the altercation from last night. "Could you clarify?" he feigned innocence.
"You will address me as 'Your Grace' or I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue."
Well, someone sounds serious for once.
"'The Prince for a Day.' Did you say it?" Viserys said again.
Daemon blinked for a while, then looked momentarily at the ground where the melted-down swords laid that inevitably led up to the Iron Throne itself. He knew from his brother's tone that Viserys was indeed being serious. "As I said to Aeonar last night, we all must mourn in our own way... Your Grace," he answered. "Some more... explicit than others."
"And that gave you the right to attack my son again? As nearly putting him in a coma last year wasn't enough?!"
"He attacked me first. I merely reacted in self-defense. Gaaah... but boy your son hits a lot harder than you give him credit, brother."
"Don't you dare try to justify your actions!" Viserys warned. "My family has just been destroyed. But instead of being at my side, or Aeonar's, or Rhaenyra's..." He leaned forward from his throne. "YOU CHOSE TO CELEBRATE YOUR OWN RISE!! LAUGHING WITH YOUR WHORES AND YOUR LICKSPITTLES!!" he furiously shouted, gripping Blackfyre tightly. "You have no allies at court except for me! None supported you the way I have! I have only ever defended you! Yet everything I've given you, you've thrown back in my face!"
You do not see the truth, do you? "You've only ever tried to send me away! To the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by your side!" Daemon shouted back. "Ten years you've been king, and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand!"
"Why would I do that?!"
"Because I'm your brother. And the blood of the dragon runs thick."
Not thick enough if that meant hurting my son the way you did. "Then why do you cut me so deeply?!"
"I've only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto Hightower for what he is. A pity you still don't even see it after all these years."
"An unwavering and loyal Hand?" Viserys inquired.
"A cunt!" Daemon corrected. "A second son who stands to inherit nothing he doesn't seize for himself!"
"Otto Hightower is a more honorable man than you could ever be. At least he doesn't maim or injure other men's sons the way you did mine."
"Open your bloody eyes, Viserys! It is time for you to face the cold hard truth. Otto Hightower doesn't protect you. I would!"
"From what?"
"From yourself," Daemon answered bluntly. "You're weak... Viserys. And that council of leeches knows it too. They see you as an easy target. Vulnerable. Easy to manipulate into getting what they want. Their interests benefit only themselves - not House Targaryen. They only seek to use you to further their ambitions. They prey on you for their own ends. I see it. Why can't you?"
Viserys was still fuming that not only was his son harmed, but Daemon had dared throw insults at him too. That was it. Outraged by the insult, he was done. "You've wounded us for the last time, Daemon," he said firmly with an authoritative tone. "You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once, and you are to do so without quarrel by order of your king. Is that understood?"
Daemon could not believe it and moved to confront his brother but was quickly intercepted by the Kingsguard who all unsheathed their swords - ready to kill him if he dared take another step forward. The Rogue Prince examined the Kingsguard blocking his path - Ryam Redwyne, Harrold Westerling, Erryk Cargyll, Arryk Cargyll, Willis Fell, Steffon Darklyn, and Lorent Marbrand... as a skilled and dangerous swordsman as he was, even Daemon knew he stood no chance against all seven of them at once. "Your Grace," he grudgingly bowed his head before leaving.
Viserys watched Daemon storm out of the Red Keep. Leaning back against the Iron Throne, he suddenly felt a sharp sting across his left hand. "Agh!" he flinched. Pulling his hand up, the king saw blood on his fingers and realized he had accidentally cut himself again. "Blasted throne... Why did Aegon have to make it entirely of swords?" he grumbled.