Emotional Damage–Chapter 12–Lyn Gala

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18 Minutes

Daemon left Aemma’s rooms and headed for his grandfather’s private study.  The flight from Runestone had taken several hours, and lunch with Aemma had been long, so he knew his grandfather would have retired from the throne room.

A kingsguard announced him before Daemon stepped into his grandfather’s study.  When he saw that his grandfather was alone as he sat behind his desk, Daemon relaxed. He did not want to speak to his grandfather in front of Septon Barth, not when Daemon suspected Oldtown conspiracies behind every tragedy that had befallen his family.

“Your father tells me that your wife is expecting.”

Daemon bowed to his grandfather. “She is, and we are both pleased.”

His grandfather narrowed his eyes, and he had not yet given Daemon permission to sit. It was not an auspicious start. “Then why are you here, and why have you asked for a position in King’s Landing?” he demanded.

Daemon took a second to control his temper. He was behaving in a way that honored his family, and they still assumed he was acting out.  He would have shouted, only he had a larger mission here, one that the dragons and his ancestors needed him to complete. His own ego could not drive him.

“My wife is insecure. She fears I will treat her as a womb to provide children instead of a person still capable of running Runestone. I am seeking a project so I can stay out of her way and prove that I do trust her.  It takes only a morning to fly back, so I can check on her as often as necessary, and we agree that I will return to Runestone when she begins her confinement.”

“She is pregnant. You should not ask her to take on tasks that could strain her,” his grandfather admonished him.

“My wife is strong, and the healer I hired from Pentos specializes in caring for women. He said that if she remains active, the child will have stronger lungs and a greater chance of surviving.”

King Jaehaerys made a dismissive sound. “I have never heard such foolishness.”

“And yet out of three hundred or more women he has tended, only one lost her child,” Daemon countered.  “My wife is not a courtly woman. She will be under more stress if I try to tell her how to handle her home, the castle she has run for years now.”

“You risk your heir.”

“I am doing what is best, and she agrees with the plan. If the child is a boy, he will not be a Targaryen. He will never be my heir, and she has a right to make choices about her Royce heir.”

His grandfather grimaced. Clearly he had not liked that part of the agreement, but Daemon did not want to argue about Rhea.  “But I must speak of something more important.”

“What is more important than your future child?”

“Viserys’s current child,” Daemon countered.

King Jaehaerys rose half out of his seat. “What has happened?”

“Nothing, except something has stolen a dragon from her.”

His grandfather sank into his chair and looked at Daemon, confused. “What do you mean? She has no dragon.”

Daemon had to speak truth without offering enough to damn himself. “I had a dream,” Daemon said softly.

“A Targaryen can dream without it being prophetic.” His grandfather did not sound impressed.

Daemon nodded. “Before I came today, I didn’t know that Aemma was pregnant again, but my dream told me she was. I dreamed that she will lose the child, and after that, she will have a child born too weak to draw breath for more than a day, and then she will lose a third child. Rhaenyra grew older with each tragedy, but on her shoulder sat a golden dragon that grew with her. I saw her at no more than seven or eight climb onto the dragon’s back, and I heard Viserys announce proudly that she was the youngest dragon rider in Targaryen history. It was so clear that I knew it was not a simple dream. When I came today, I asked Aemma if Rhaenyra’s egg had hatched yet because I knew for a fact that it would. And then she told me that Rhaenyra had no egg.”

The king gestured to a chair, and Daemon sat as commanded. “What else did you see?” Jaehaerys demanded.

Daemon considered his answer.  “I saw her golden dragon flying over Dragonstone. I saw a ship go under the waves. I saw an immature dragon’s wing that had been ripped from the body wash up on shore and heard a woman scream in despair and rage.  I saw a grand dress swirling as if a woman was dancing, the green fabric reflecting light onto the walls of the Red Keep.” All the images were true, but Daemon did not explain an ancestor had offered him the glimpses of the future. “I heard swords clashing and a great roar joined by other dragons bellowing.”  Daemon hoped that was generic enough to convince his grandfather of the need for caution and for procuring Rhaenyra an egg. Syrax and Sunfyre had both been gold, but Syrax had been a deeper color, so Daemon was sure he would recognize the right egg.

Jaehaerys leaned back in his chair. “Your brother had a dream as well. He is convinced it is also prophetic. It strains credulity to think both my grandsons would be dreamers, but the dreams have some similarities.”

“Viserys dreamed?” Daemon asked, startled.  Daemon’s ancestor had not told him as much in his dream.

“He saw his son being crowned king and heard thundering hooves and ringing swords.” Daemon sucked in a startled breath. Viserys had dreamed of how crowning his son would lead to war, and he had ignored the warning. Why?

“When Daenys had her dream, it was clear,” Daemon said carefully. “Why are these images so open to interpretation?” He didn’t want his grandfather to question whether Daemon knew more. In truth, he didn’t because the events of this life were already veering too far from the course his previous self had set.  When the dream Daemon had been exiled to Runestone, he had fucked off, first to Dragonstone and then to Essos. 

His grandfather took some time before offering an answer. “Perhaps the dream was not clear and they interpreted it correctly. Perhaps the threat is not yet close enough for the dream to give us a proper warning. Until now, I was content to think that Viserys’ dream was either born of hope or that it simply spoke of his future son. But both of you have dreamt of clashing swords. That is not a good omen. Are you confident Rhaenyra should have a dragon?” his grandfather asked.

Daemon nodded. “I am. Syrax was her golden lady. I feel as if someone has stolen a dragon from the family.”

Jaehaerys’ jaw tightened. “Go to Dragonstone. Try to find the egg that you believe she should hatch.  If you had this dream, why did you speak to your father about securing King’s Landing’s guards instead of speaking of the dream?”

Daemon flinched from the fury in his grandfather’s face. “Other than Rhaenyra’s dragon, nothing was clear. I spoke to Rhea of my fear that our blood has grown too thin and we are vulnerable after so many losses, and we agreed that if we had a thousand loyal men in King’s Landing, we could better defend the family. More importantly, having a loyal guard in the city and not just the Red Keep would mean a thousand eyes watching for conspiracies or betrayals. And I could secure the city so any children of ours who returned to the Red Keep could return in safety.”

“Did you tell her your concerns came from a dream?”

Daemon snorted. “No. She is of First Men blood, but she worships the Seven, and she is such a practical woman that I am not sure she would believe it. She might dismiss it as having drunk wine that had gone sour.”

“And you are sure it is not?”

Daemon nodded. “I am sure.”

For a time, they sat in silence. Daemon had not intended to reveal even this much, but now that he had, he was surprised to see his grandfather take him seriously. Then again, his grandfather had given him Dark Sister. His grandfather must have some regard for him. “Will you defend your brother?” Jaehaerys finally  asked, his voice sharp.

“To my dying breath,” Daemon vowed, although that was an easy promise to make when it was Viserys’s Hightower sons he wished to see dead, never his brother.

His grandfather stood and moved to the window. He stared out over King’s Landing and Daemon heard Vermithor roar in the distance. The low bellow was distinctive, and the last time Daemon had heard it had been in the dream when Hugh Hammer had ridden off on the Bronze Fury.  The fool had heard one vague prophecy and decided that he was going to be king, as if anyone would follow a fool with no lineage. The lords had rejected the Strong boys who had the blood of kings from their mother, so what had made Hugh think they would follow him?

Daemon would find a way to get Vermithor and Silverwing to the Mountains of the Moon where they would be safe from such fools.

“Write your proposal for the city guards. Did you have any premonitions about them?”

Daemon shook his head, unwilling to lie with words.

His grandfather sighed. “Then we shall do our best.  You shall lead the guard. Make them loyal to you, Daemon. Help secure the throne for your father and brother, and your daughters and granddaughters shall rule at the side of Viserys’s children.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“If you have any other dreams, bring them to me first.”

Daemon hesitated, but that was enough. King Jaehaerys turned and his voice was sharp and commanding. “Tell me. Tell me now.”

Daemon swallowed.  “In the vision, I touched a weirwood tree and it bled on me.  Then I saw many things. A three-eyed crow, an army led by a man who appeared to be dead with vivid blue eyes, a fallen dragon. I stepped in a bloody puddle, and it turned to deep water where a Targaryen was drowning. I saw a red comet in the night sky and a queen, naked, with three dragons crawling on her. I saw another queen, crowned on the Iron Throne.  Then a girl appeared with Targaryen hair but Andal features. She told me it was all a story, and I was but one part in it. She told me I knew my part.” It had been a vision within a dream. The Long Night. It would not come for generations, but the dead waited. Patient and cold and eternal.

“And what is your part?” His grandfather asked.

“To kill someone.”

“Who?”

Daemon shook his head, not sure whether the Dance of the Dragons would even happen anymore. Perhaps Aegon and Aemond would be better in this lifetime. Either his anger or his intuition told him otherwise, but Daemon was no diviner who could see the future on command.  “Someone not yet born,” he admitted. “Someone who will threaten the family.”

“Will you know them when they’re born?”

“I don’t know,” Daemon said.  “Nothing is clear.” He looked at his grandfather. “Nothing except the dead that wait north of the wall, the dead ones Aegon dreamed of when he knew he had to unite Westeros.”

His grandfather hissed, started badly enough that he knocked a cup to the ground, sending it clattering.

“But I cannot kill someone who is not yet born, and I am trying to change all I can, so I don’t know if the things I dream are even still true. I saw myself flee Westeros to avoid the marriage bed, and I would never leave Rhea. She is the mother of my child, the future mother of many children. I would no more flee her than turn against Rhaenyra or usurp Viserys.”

His grandfather sank into the nearest chair, holding his head in his hands.  “Then your dreams are true but capable of being changed. What else have you dreamed?”

“Nothing. And the dream of the Long Night is so far away that it matters not right now, except that I work to support the Wall when too many lords have forgotten.”

“The dead are a great power that can rival even our dragons,” his grandfather said softly. “There are those who will side with them, which is why the family keeps this vision close to the throne. Until now, only the heir was to know.”

“The Starks know. They always have,” Daemon said quietly. 

“The Starks stand against the darkness,” Jaehaerys said. “Too many would invite it into the realm in hopes that they could rise in power.”

“What need have the dead for anyone living? They make slaves of everyone. It would be a fool’s choice.” Not even the Hightowers with their grasping avarice would lead them to make such a disastrous choice.

“And men are fools,” Jaehaerys said sharply. “But not all the dead are without will or thought. The ice king has his knights and his princes who wield power that the living cannot imagine and who live forever. We must allow the stories of the Long Night to remain myth.  If we push the lords to support the wall, we may create our own enemies.”

“Then we remain quiet.”

Jaehaerys walked back to his desk. “I mourn the loss of Aemon, but if the gods have doubly blessed Baelon’s line with the gift of prophecy, then it is best his blood sits on the throne.  I will make it clear to Baelon that Viserys’ children are to marry yours rather than wedding brother to sister. With two dreamers in the family, the lines must be recombined to ensure the magic stays strong.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“You have given me enough headaches, so go tell your father that you are the new captain of the city guard. And do not speak to your brother about any dreams.”

“But… why?” Daemon asked.  He had always thought Viserys had Jaehaerys’ unconditional support. He’d thought the Great Council had been his way to give the throne to Viserys without having to alienate Rhaenys and Corlys more than necessary.

“Do not question me,” his grandfather snapped, which ended the conversation. Daemon stood and bowed before leaving.  

Daemon tried to get back to his room without seeing anyone. He needed time to think about what he had revealed to his grandfather, and what his grandfather had told him. Of course, the moment he sought solitude, Viserys found him.

“Little brother,” Viserys said. “Father said you were back.  Is married life proving difficult?” He fell in beside Daemon as he walked.

“Married life is fine, but Rhea has Runestone well in hand.  She is pregnant now, and she wants proof that I trust her to continue to do the work of running the castle, so I have come here. For a time, I will live here and visit my wife.”

“You’re avoiding your pregnant wife? Grandmother will not like that,” Viserys said. “Have you told her?” There was both warning and delight in his voice.  In the dream, Daemon had been unconditional in his trust for his brother at this point. The first crack in their relationship came only when he refused to annul Daemon’s marriage. But either Viserys was now much more open in his disrespect or Daemon had been a fool who missed far too many signs.

His brother might love him, but there was no respect. Viserys did not trust Daemon to act in a way that was reasonable or honorable.

“I told father and grandfather. I’m leaving it to them to tell her.”

“Are you afraid of her?”

“By all the gods, yes,” Daemon said easily. He did not have the delusion that a woman could be dismissed as irrelevant. Queen Alysanne had great power, both personally and politically.

Viserys laughed. “You should ask father for a position. If you are going to be my hand one day, you should know how the other positions on the council function. You could work with the Master of Coin.”

Daemon could not imagine a position that would be worse. He hated counting coins and paperwork made him disagreeable. Rhea had said as much. Often. Loudly. “I have another task.”

“Oh?” A couple of ladies stopped to twitter and whisper behind their fans and Viserys smiled warmly and greeted them.  Daemon rolled his eyes. He had no interest in the irrelevant insects that crawled over his family’s home.  As soon as the ladies were gone, Viserys sighed. “You could have been polite.”

“I could have been many things, but I was not. Be grateful I avoided a few choices I had.”

“You are terrible. So, what is the role you are taking?”

“I am to be captain of the city guard.”

“What?” Viserys grabbed his arm and pulled him around so Daemon faced him. Daemon hated being handled so disrespectfully and he barely avoided shoving his brother away. “Who assigned you as such? I will have them flogged for their disrespect. We will speak to father about this right now.” Viserys looked ready to ride into battle on Daemon’s behalf, and for a moment, Daemon was struck with such a fondness for Viserys that he longed for the time before he had seen his brother’s faults. This was the brother he’d grown up with, one ready to protect him at all costs.

“I asked for the role,” Daemon said, and Viserys’ fury faded to confusion.

“Why?” he asked.

“I know how to wield a sword and dispense justice. It is a role I will excel at.”

“If you wish to dispense justice, work with the Master of Laws. Tell Grandfather you wish to take the position for yourself in a year or two, and he will make a place for you.”

Daemon snorted. “I wish to dispense justice, not debate it.  Debate is not a skill I excel at.”

“You must when you are my hand.”

Daemon wondered if, at this age, Viserys intended to make Daemon his hand. Did Otto whisper poison into his ear only later? Did the way Daemon treated Rhea in the dream make Viserys lose respect for him? How had they grown apart? There was no answer to be found, and it did not matter. “I will make King’s Landing safer by taking the guard in hand.  Grandfather said he hopes my daughters and granddaughters will marry your sons, so I will make sure the city is safe for them.”

“But… the city guard? That role is far beneath a prince of the blood.”

“Someone must take the guard in hand.” Daemon pulled his arm away from Viserys and started walking toward his room.  He didn’t remember how many clothes he’d left here when he moved to Runestone, so he might need to visit the Street of Looms to have more made.

Viserys followed. “But why you?”

“Because I hope my children will live in a peaceful city where they can ride without fear of being accosted by criminals who have grown brazen.” And Daemon hoped to make a guard strong enough that if the common rats tried to storm the dragonpit, the gold cloaks would make the streets run with blood. Vermin and rats… his family was surrounded by them.

“Then Grandfather can appoint someone else, someone that would be an appropriate fit for such a low office.” Viserys still sounded scandalized.  Daemon stopped and studied his brother.

“Grandfather says our children must marry, so I must make this pit of blacksoil safe for my children. There is no such thing as an office too low for a father who must make the world safe for his children. Surely you see that.”

Viserys puffed up. “Of course I do. Aemma is pregnant again. I shall have a son soon, so I hope Rhea will give you a daughter for him.  I had thought to have Rhaenyra marry her brother, but if Grandfather says our children should marry, I would be happy to see the cousins joined in the sept.”

Daemon would destroy the world before he allowed his daughters to marry Aegon or Aemond. However, Daemon would not share any part of his dream, not only because of his grandfather’s stricture but also because Viserys had misinterpreted his own vision so badly. “May the fourteen give both of us clever and honorable children,” Daemon said.  At least Viserys had sired two wonderful daughters. “However, that is why I will take the city guard in hand.  By the time Rhea is ready to go into her confinement and requires help, I will have weeded out much of the corruption that plagues this city. 

“But…”

“Viserys,” Daemon said with a sigh, “I am tired, I do not know what clothing I might still have here, and I need to speak to father about the guard.  Unless you wish to take charge of the city proper. You could learn to handle the budget and how to administer king’s justice. We could work together, and it would take some pressure off father. He looks as if he has aged years each time I see him.”

“Father is fine, and I am busy. It’s important for me to have relationships with nobles across the kingdoms.  Those friendships will be the spine of my support when I take the throne.”

“But you could learn skills by taking a small measure of work from father’s desk,” Daemon argued.

“If you are concerned, you can stay and do those tasks, but I must think about tying the kingdom together through relationships with the lords. I fear Aemma will not have many children, and that means marriage alliances will not be possible.”

“Ruling is more than friendships,” Daemon warned. He saw the first signs of Viserys’ need to be liked—a need that had crippled him in the dream.

“Spoken like someone who sees others as vermin. You can’t even be polite to ladies in the corridor. If you were heir, you would turn the kingdoms against us,” Viserys said with a superior tone.  Daemon could not argue because he had turned kingdoms against Rhaenyra. “So I am doing what is necessary as the heir.”

“Just watch out for father. The work wears on him,” Daemon said.

“You worry too much.” Viserys walked away, leaving Daemon alone in the hallway. As much as Daemon wanted to save his whole family, he didn’t know how.  Even a dreamer was limited when people didn’t want to change.

But Daemon had high hopes that he had his family on a better track. He would keep the parts of the life that wasn’t that had worked for him. He would be the respected commander of the gold cloaks, and he would love Aemma and Rhaenyra.

However, he would never again kill a little boy. He wouldn’t let the Faith cast him as the villain for Viserys to cast away time after time. He wouldn’t let enemies target his family or the dragons.  He would fix everything he’d ruined in his incompetence last time, and the dragons would live, as would his children.

Yes, this life would be better.