Only two months have passed, yet Daemon has insisted on being his usual self. He is always one to stir up chaos, and now has drawn the attention of the crown. He wrote a letter, saying he is to be wed to the bastard Saerra Salt in the tradition of Old Valyria, and furthermore, has stolen an egg for his future child.
But neither is true.
Saerra has no idea of the contents of this letter. She has no idea that she's being used as a pawn in his game, and has no idea as to how her father is.
" This is preposterous!" Lord Corlys shouts, " He cannot marry a bastard. He already has a wife!"
" That is true, Lord Corlys," The King nods, " Though it did not stop the Conqeruor from taking a second wife."
" Aegon was a king and his wives were princesses," The Lord of the Tides rebuttals, " Not some lowly bastard girl."
" She is your lowly bastard girl," Otto chimes in, " Is she not?"
The Hand of the King and members of the Kingsguard all then sail to the chilly and foggy isle, where their boats are docked and feet climb up the set of stone stars, and Daemon stands with his men and his woman by his side, of whom is still in the dark as to why exactly this meeting is even happening.
" Welcome to Dragonstone, Otto," Daemon greets.
" Your occupation of this island is at an end. You're to relinquish the dragon's egg, disband your army, send the bastard girl back to Lord Corlys, and leave Dragonstone by order of His Grace, King Viserys," Otto demands.
" Where is the King? I don't see him. His Grace would never lower himself to entertain such a mummer's farce," The Hand dismisses.
But the Prince's eyes then flicker and fixate on a young knight.
" Ser Crispin, wasn't it?" He asks.
" Ser Criston Cole, my Prince," The knight corrects.
" Ah, yes, apologies. I couldn't recall. Perhaps my Prince recalls when I knocked him off his horse."
" Very good."
" This is a truly pathetic show, Daemon," Otto continues, "Are you so desperate for the King's attention that you've resorted to skulking about like a common cutpurse?"
" I'm simply keeping with the traditions of my house, the same as my brother did for his heir," Daemon defends.
" Those traditions are for the trueborn children of royalty, not for bastards fathered on another bastard," The Hand seethes.
" Saerra Salt is to be my wife," The Prince counters.
But the girl whose name has just been spoken finally lifts her head, revealing wide eyes filled with shock, for it's the first time she's ever heard this, though it makes her cheek burn.
" This is an abomination. With every breath you soil your name, your house, and your brother's reign," Otto utters.
" Our love does not know titles and traditions," Daemon counters.
" And what of you, men of the City Watch? Aiding the Prince in his treason?" The Hand questions
The King made me their commander. They are loyal to me. You've come for the egg. Here it is," The Prine remarks as he extends his arm out with the egg in his hand.
" Are you mad? You'd never survive this."
" Well, happily, neither would you. To choose violence, here, is to declare war against your King.
" Wonderful."
" Even if it ends in the death of your unborn child and its mother?"
Saerra instinctively takes a step backward, suddenly feeling as though her life is at risk. If they believe that she carries Daemon's child and that they are to be wed, her head will certainly not stay on her shoulders. Her heart beats madly in her chest and nearly skips a beat as Syrax screeches and soars through the skies. The beautiful dragon lands on the steps behind the Kingsguard, where the Princess then walks through the group of men and stands before her uncle, where they converse in a tongue foreign to Saerra. The bastard feels her heart flutter, for the Princess is ever so close. She sees them both turn their heads to look at her, and she gulps, suddenly feeling as though everyone is watching her.
The meeting ends with Daemon returning the egg, and the King's men heading back to the city, leaving Daemon and his men and Saerra alone on the isle once more.
The bastard girl feels sick to her stomach as she walks all the way back up to the castle. It churns inside her body and screams at her, scolding her for not eating. Her head becomes light and fuzzy as she walks down the corridor, and nearly falls, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms.
" Perhaps you are carrying my child after all," Daemon snidely comments as he helps her stand, " Or perhaps you just didn't eat again."
" The second one, my Prince," Saerra meekly nods, refusing to meet his gaze.
" Are you fond of starving yourself or can you just not remember to bring food to your mouth?" The Prince ponders, his words having a slight edge to them that makes them sting.
The bastard girl remains silent with her head tilted down. The Targaryen sighs and slightly rolls his eyes at her reaction. However much he has come to care for the bastard girl, her personality and tongue are still as sharp as ever. Once more, Daemon has Saerra sit beside him at the table, only this time he makes a plate for her. He nearly fills it to the brim and places it in front of her, and watches her intently as she picks at the food.
" You eat like a bird," The Prince observes.
Saerra's cheeks heat up yet again. As long as she's been in the castle with the Prince, she has not yet grown accustomed to the amount of food she is allowed to eat. She's not familiar with sitting at the grand table, as if she holds importance with her presence. And the concept of someone actually caring about her hunger is completely foreign. The thin girl sitting before the Prince has been ignored her entire life, and it only adds to his fascination. She's unlike any woman he's met before. He doesn't find her entirely annoying, he thinks she's rather interesting. Her interest isn't limited to her looks, though they certainly don't hurt.
Via a raven, Daemon receives a letter that sends him across the Narrow Sea to the chain of isles adjacent to Dragonstone.
" House Velaryon's origins reach back to Old Valyria. More ancient even than House Targaryen according to some texts. But unlike the Targaryens, we were no dragonlords. For centuries, my house had to scratch out an existence from the sea with grit and luck. When I ascended the Driftwood Throne, I knew what I wanted. So I went out and seized it. Unlike every other lord of the realm, I can say that I built my house's high seat with the strength of my own back. I've always thought of you and I as having been made from the same cloth."
" I wasn't aware you had a king for a brother," Daemon comments as he sits in a chair beside the fireplace.
" We're both men who have had to cut our own way through the world. We've been passed over too often," The Lord of the Tides states.
" Did you call me to Driftmark to remind me of my low standing, Lord Corlys, or was there some other reason?"
" You've heard of the troubles in the Stepstones?"
" Some Myrish Prince is feeding Westerosi sailors to the crabs."
" I have been petitioning the King to send my navy into the territory, but he's denied me.
" It was never my brother's strongest trait."
" What? Being King. The Crabfeeder is backed by powerful entities within the Free Cities who wish to see Westeros weakened. And the King's failures have allowed him to accumulate strength. If those shipping lanes fall, my house will be crippled. And I will not have Driftmark beggared while our King idles himself with feasts, and balls, and tourneys. "
" I will speak of my brother as I wish. You will not."
" Waiting in the Stepstones is a chance for you to prove your worth to any who might yet doubt it. We are the realm's second sons, Daemon. Our worth is not given. It must be made."
A new alliance forms on the isle, but as Daemon's head turns away from the fire, the conversation makes a turn to something he's been hoping to avoid.
" Saerra has no worth to me... though I can see she is worth something to you," Lord Corlys utters.
" She has a pretty face, that I cannot deny. I doubt she has any worth beyond that," Daemon remarks.
" I can't imagine why you would keep her on Dragonstone if her worth amounted to nothing more than a pretty face," The Lord of the Tides provokes, " Now, I am prepared to let you keep the girl, but I require something of value in return."
" I thought you just said that the bastard has no worth to you."
" Marry Laena when she comes of age... and you can keep Saerra."
Daemon's heart skips a beat as he processes the weight of the proposition. Saerra, the one he has come to care for deeply, and Lady Laena, a child he barely knows. The choice before him is far from simple.
Daemon's eyes flicker, torn between duty and desire. He knows that an alliance with House Velaryon would greatly strengthen their position against the Triarchy. But at what cost?
Prince Daemon has a wife already, though it has never stopped him before. He cannot deny that a marriage to House Velaryon would certainly be beneficial... but is that something he truly wants? Does he want to participate in yet another sham marriage just for the sake of politics? He's torn between his beating heart and his greed. He's torn, but ultimately makes a decision, one that may come to be a grave mistake in the time yet to pass.
" I accept."
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[ how do yall think saerra is gonna react once she finds out about the agreement between corlys and daemon? ]