Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 48: The Great Game IV
King's Landing
Small Council Meeting
Daemon enjoyed the absolute silence for several minutes as everyone clever enough recognized the impossibility of his statement and actions. Even when he tried to remain humble and suppress his arrogance and pride, he couldn't help but put on a show. He looked around the room at the members and wondered whether the showing off was due to a lack of any other entertainment for him. He smiled when he saw his dear wife, Gael, smirk and raise an eyebrow at him. He was almost certain that both the king and she had guessed what he had done just now.
Ser Otto's heart nearly stopped with fear before his rational thoughts prevailed; he thanked the Seven that he had never personally done anything against the royal family and its aims—well, except for spreading rumours about the younger Daemon. But who cared for a whiny, spoiled brat, Otto thought, as his mind raced through every way the prince could have known the maesters' foolishness in advance. Both solutions Otto came up with were equally terrifying for his enemies to have and to plan against;
'Spycraft and Magic.'
The silence was finally broken when the prince returned to his seat and said, "Grandfather, the North is taken care of. The other kingdoms should be dealt with personally. Let the advantage of dragons and dragonriders be shown to the realm where information and decision-making are concerned. My sister Rhaenys should visit the Baratheons with the news of the change in heir and the king's summons. Let the Lord Paramount do his duty and inform the lords under his purview to imprison the maesters and check their own records.
I feel those records must be correct; the logistics of maintaining a falsity at that level are too cumbersome for any supposed return. In my view, only the combined records from certain Lord Paramount's to the crown have been falsified and money skimmed off—mostly from lords distant from the court, like Stark, Greyjoy, Tully, and even Tyrell. My cousin Daemon should visit the Tullys, and after that he should visit the Vale. Both Royce and Arryn should be informed personally, as they are tied to us by marriage right now."
The younger Daemon's face soured at the suggestion but the heir ignored it and continued, "Now I should visit the Reach. I will travel with Vaegon to the Tyrells first and deliver the message there, then I will go to Oldtown directly. Here I think the suggestion made by our valuable Lord Hand should be followed: I will visit the Lord Hightower, and after Vaegon introduces me and declares the new heirship, I shall order the Hightowers' help. Any non-compliance or reluctance to investigate and surrender the Citadel's records to us shall be considered treason by order of the King."
The heir finished with a slight smirk aimed at Ser Otto.
At once Ser Otto began to protest. Daemon looked at the king and could see him weighing the suggestion. He could see the gears in the king's head turning as he pondered the situations that might arise from sending his heir to House Hightower. Daemon was sure the king would follow through, as per their agreement on Dragonstone: Daemon would be king in all but name.
"Your grace, this is folly. Declaring my house committed of treason without proof by the whim of Prince Daemon—and not by your grace himself—is not honourable." Ser Otto pleaded, bowing to the king.
"Enough, Ser Otto." It had been moments earlier that you yourself said your brother and House Hightower would be very happy to confiscate the records. You said they are loyal beyond doubt. If so, you need not worry—their compliance will be wholehearted and loyal. There shall be no fire and blood in that case. Grandson, give the lord one extra chance. Beyond that, do what you must to get what we want. Betrayal will never be tolerated. Announce this at the court of the Hightower so that everyone knows noncompliance will lead to the deaths of many. I would like to avoid my own people being killed because of any lord's foolishness as much as possible." The king ordered with a tired sigh, as if he regretted having to make such a decision.
Daemon almost smirked at the mask the king wore for the small council. All the Targaryens at the meeting knew the truth: the king did not give a rat's ass about some smallfolk or even a lord's life. It was all a mask for being known as the kind and wise king who brought peace through-out the realm after the horrific wars in the time of Maegor the Cruel.
Otto paled at the order and said, "Your Grace, I assure you there shall be no need for such action. We are loyal beyond any doubt, Your Grace."
"For your sake, I do hope that is true, Ser Otto," the younger Daemon replied with a pleased smile.
"Your Grace," said Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne, stepping forward, "let me also travel with the prince. He may need my protection inside the Tower. His dragon Morghul cannot be near him at all times, and even outside the Tower, there is little space. If there is betrayal, his life may be in danger."
The heir observed the Lord Commander carefully, trying to discern whether the concern was genuine or if Ser Redwyne harboured other motives.
"Oh?" the heir said, his tone curious. "Lord Commander, thank you for your concern, ser. But you need not worry about me any longer. There is nothing and no one who can kill me in Westeros. I am powerful beyond mortal means."
The Prince paused, as though remembering something, then continued after a few seconds, "Ah, no—let me correct that. There is nothing that can kill me in the Seven Kingdoms as of now. Westeros also includes the lands beyond the Wall, after all." He finished with an enigmatic smile, as if daring someone to ask what he meant.
The council chamber was swallowed by an uncomfortable silence. All the members—save for the royal family—looked at the prince as though he had gone mad for making such an outrageous claim.
"Your Grace," Otto began, grasping for some footing, "Prince Daemon speaking such nonsense before my brother will make the Lords question his orders. I fear for my house if Prince Daemon deliberately does so when he arrives at Oldtown."
"Grandfather," Daemon said with a smirk, "should I demonstrate now, or leave it as a surprise for the first poison or assassination attempt?"
The King sighed deeply at the question.
"Members of the council," he said, his tone heavy but commanding, "this is my decree. My grandson is the son of two of the most magical lines in this world—House Targaryen and House Stark. He has been blessed by the gods with immense powers beyond dragonriding and dragon dreams. We have all heard the song of the Red Death, and the tale is true. I suggest you spread the word, so that no lord is foolish enough to challenge him. As much as I would like to purge stupidity from my loyal lords and cultivate intelligence, I do not wish to order another house exterminated like the Conningtons."
The King turned his gaze to the Lord Commander. "Lord Commander, my heir does not need your protection. You shall not accompany him."
"Aye, Your Grace," Ser Ryam said, bowing. "I agree with your wisdom."
"My grandchildren," the King continued, "you shall follow Prince Daemon's suggestions. I shall seal the letters once they are written. You shall also discuss today's findings as needed. There will be a grand meeting of the lords in six moons, and a tourney to celebrate the new heir and the marriage between Prince Daemon and Princess Gael. Now, this council is adjourned. You have your orders—follow them."
The members of the Small Council bowed quickly and left the chamber. Each would now have to consider the new game that had begun. Only the royal family remained—the King, his princes, and Princess Rhaenys.
Viserys exhaled a long, weary sigh. "So it's done, is it, Your Grace? My heirship—gone. My future—gone because of your order. What am I to do now? My preparations wasted, my sacrifices meaningless. Everything undone by a single decision." He had been silent throughout the meeting, still struggling to accept that he had lost his place within House Targaryen. He was no longer the heir, and now even the younger Daemon—mounted upon Caraxes—stood before him in succession. He had hoped it was all a nightmare, that the King would change his decision, but no such mercy came.
"Oh, don't be such a complaint box, Viserys," Princess Rhaenys said, her tone laced with vindication. "Now you know how I felt when you usurped my position. What I felt then was far worse than what you feel now. At least your claim as heir existed for only nine years. I lost mine after I was told I would be the next Queen from the time I was old enough to remember what it meant, and that too, I lost it twice."
"Enough bickering among the family," the King snapped, his patience thinning. "Your individual desires are irrelevant. The survival of our house and its power outweigh your personal wants. Viserys, do not be disheartened. Your role now is to hear the complaints of the lords. Many will come to you, attempting to manipulate you into contesting for the throne. They will try to use you, Daemon, and even Aegon against your elder cousin. Your task is to go along with their schemes and report the disloyal to the crown so we may act before they move against us. Do not worry about your children's inheritance—I believe your elder cousin has plans of his own."
The King finished with a knowing smile.
"Your guessing is as sharp as ever, Grandfather," Daemon replied with an amused grin. "You are right—there are lands to conquer, wars to fight, and lordships to grant. Daemon, Viserys—rest assured, you shall not be left penniless. You are princes of the blood. Loyalty and service will be rewarded. Let us first rid our castles of rats and strengthen the realm we already hold."
The heir finished confidently, his voice echoing through the nearly empty hall.
As the royal family rose and began leaving the council chamber, Prince Daemon called out to his younger namesake. "Stay a moment."
Gael remained seated beside him, serene and watchful. Fenrir was on his way from Dragonstone, and Lyanna was somewhere in the city.
"Daemon," the heir said, "I have observed you for the last few days. You have been introspective and brooding in the shadows. The prince with explosive temper and violence is missing. I don't want to deal with you unloading in the Vale when you are there with the king's message."
The rogue prince scoffed. "As much as I like stories about myself, I know when to control myself, cousin. I lived in the Vale for quite some time without ever unleashing Caraxes, and you need not worry about that now."
The heir smiled knowingly. "Hope is a very good motivation to restrain oneself, Daemon. Then you dreamed that Viserys would unburden you when he was king—and now that dream is dead. I am curious whether you have realised that truth."
"Of course I have realised the truth," the younger Daemon snapped. "Did you really believe the rumours of me being an empty-headed violent man? Then you are mistaken, cousin. I realised that Viserys would never grant me the annulment because of his Arryn wife. More than that, he has no dragon, and he doesn't want me free to marry into another kingdom should I wish to be king."
The heir nodded, clapping once with a proud smile. "Well, well. I am glad you realised it on your own just from the meeting in the vault, but I suggest you ask Viserys himself to confirm it. Otherwise this will linger in your mind whenever you make decisions about him in the future. You are dismissed, my heir."
The rogue prince ignored the slight mocking tone but exited the meeting room quickly before he said something that would lead to more trouble.
"So—you wanted to recruit Daemon to your side?" Gael asked after Daemon left and his footsteps faded.
"Oh, you misunderstood me, dear wife," Daemon replied, still staring at the portrait of Maegor burning the Sept of Remembrance that hung in the small council chamber. "I don't want to recruit Daemon to my side. I need to recruit all of my younger Targaryens to my side if possible—including my dear sister Rhaenys."
Gael snorted and laughed, then stopped when she realised he spoke the truth. "Really, husband? I know you have no fondness for them and don't care much for blood ties—so why?"
"Why? The answer is simple. They are an important resource, and I will not let it go to waste because of pride. I was pragmatic enough to accept the king's strongarming me into heirship, and I intend to extract the maximum benefit from this arrangement. Rhaenys and Daemon are fully trained dragonriders, which is essential for my plans. The rogue prince is an easy recruit for now because his whole view has been broken before his eyes. I must strike while the iron is hot to shift that loyalty toward me and toward you as much as possible."
Gael considered the matter and finally nodded. "I am glad you chose to give them a chance rather than go the other way."
"The other way?" Daemon asked, though he could guess what she meant.
"Yes," Gael replied immediately. "Making way for them to rebel—and finally ending them when you get the chance."
Daemon smirked and shrugged. "Anyway. Lyanna has returned to the Red Keep. Let us go meet her—I will leave you with her. I am going into the city to begin the recruitment plan for our kin by arresting the two traitor bards now. The king knows what to do and what punishment to mete out."
Gael stood and nodded. They left the meeting room together holding elbow to elbow.
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Daemon 'The Elder' Targaryen
It was the night of the small council meeting, and I entered the dream of my cousin Cregan to discuss the latest tidings. After leaving Gael with Lyanna—who once again complained about her punishment and asked when Fenrir would arrive, which I ignored with laughter—I went with some members of the City Watch and guards to arrest the bards. It was hilarious to see the father-and-son duo's faces when they recognized me with the City Watch.
The King had announced to the court his new heir and Gael's marriage after the small council meeting, and by now the entire matter had spread around King's Landing like wildfire. The father and son were in a tavern when they heard the news, and it was then that I arrived to arrest them. As expected, they shouted accusations about me, blaming me and wondering how I had escaped. By the time my men silenced them with boots to their faces, the entire crowd had realized that I was the new prince and that the two popular bards had somehow betrayed me.
By the time we reached the Red Keep, my own remaining bards had already spread the rumors I wanted: how I had been a bard for many years, how I cured their families of disease, how I supported them, and how father-son duo betrayed me because I had fallen in love with Princess Gael instead of their kin.
By the time I return from Oldtown, I know that the smallfolk in King's Landing will consider me their hero. Many know my bard persona, and to many, I lived their dream life—a bastard who rose from nothing, won the love of a princess, and conquered a dragon to earn her hand, only to be betrayed by his closest ally in the end. The story and songs would be legendary, and my loyal bards, along with paid rumor-mongers, would make it so.
My thoughts were broken as Cregan appeared in the dream world.
"Daemon," Cregan said with a smile.
I nodded at the greeting and immediately began to discuss important matters. I explained to him what had happened and how he should bring the records to King's Landing when he arrived. I could see that Cregan was enraged beyond words at some no-name southerners stealing his hard-earned money. I could already imagine the maester's entrails hanging from the weirwood if he truly had anything to do with it across the northern castles.
After a string of words that could rival a sailor's tongue, Cregan calmed down enough to continue the meeting.
"Daemon, there is another thing. Your son—the Mountain—takes far too much after you. He wants nothing to do with you, hates you, and plans to go beyond the Wall and conquer it," Cregan said with a teasing smile.
For a moment, I was surprised to hear that, but thinking back, I could see where such a goal might have taken root in my son. Losing his mother to the wildlings would do that to him.
"Cregan, I don't want anyone unwilling to serve me so closely, especially my own blood and flesh. Are you sure he can't be convinced not to go beyond the Wall?" I asked with a defeated sigh.
Cregan shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, no, Daemon. Even if I exiled him to Essos, he would find a way back beyond the Wall. He's determined to meet you as an equal, if he meets you at all."
I snorted in amusement. "Well, at least my sons aren't good-for-nothing lordlings who preen over their birthright. They are determined men who want to accomplish something with their own hands. Inform your namesake about the threat beyond the Wall, the lands of winter, and the Stark family history. I will visit his dreams after tomorrow to give him time to think things through. Leaving that aside, what about the others?"
Cregan sighed in relief. "Well, all the children you contacted directly have agreed to take up your offer, and Benjen Snow is turning out to be a good leader among them. He's caring and clever enough to see things others miss. They all rejected the Mountain's offer to join him, and Benjen even tried to talk him down, though it was useless. But the giant is not a brute without brains, Daemon—he realized that there were others like him in Winterfell and tried to recruit them for his venture. Three of your sons, whom we rejected due to their hatred toward lords and their positions, joined the Mountain to build something with their own hands. The bastard even managed to secure the service of half a dozen young men-at-arms who had no ties binding them to Winterfell."
"And you allowed it to happen?" I asked in surprise. I knew Cregan understood his men better than anyone, and if he had wanted to, those men would never have had the chance to meet the Mountain in the first place.
"Well, they were growing restless, and I knew of their plans to resign and travel in search of something else. I couldn't entice them with anything, and I couldn't very well kill them. I felt it was far better for those who benefited from your blood and training to serve the interests of Winterfell rather than someone else," Cregan replied with a shrug.
I nodded in understanding. "That's a good point. I will be present in the Eagle tomorrow at noon. You should meet all four and inform them about the things concerning the White Walkers. It will point me toward the other three who joined the Mountain. I don't want to waste time wading through my greensight to find them."
Cregan looked intrigued. "Why? Informing the Mountain should be enough, right?"
"No. All of my blood should be aware of the danger they'll face beyond the Wall. More than that, if I can't make them change their minds, I must at least train them to resist the Night King's possession through his warging," I said with a slight shudder. "I don't want my blood—or even a trace of my abilities—added to the Walkers' army."
Cregan shivered slightly as he grasped the implication. "Do you truly think the Night King could extract powers from your children?"
"Not exactly," I said. "The Night King and the White Walkers act as conduits, connected to millions of wights. They are all interlinked, forming a loop of power-sharing, with the Night King in ultimate control. Even then, the wights heal themselves by drawing power from the cold and snow when a Walker is nearby. I don't want the Night King turning one of my blood and flesh into a Walker, spreading their improved strength, healing, and resilience to the rest."
I was not sure whether it was possible for the Night's King to do so, but if I can share my powers with Gael, Morghul and my direwolf then he definitely can do the same some way.
Cregan's eyes widened in panic and horror as he understood the real danger of the Walkers.
"I must congratulate you for your bravery, Daemon. How can you even sleep or laugh knowing you'll one day face such overwhelming power and numbers?" Cregan asked, his eyes full of admiration.
I just shrugged. "Well, I don't really think about the danger or the fact that I have to defeat them. I just do what I need to do to make sure our side gathers resources and strength as much as possible. Fortunately, now that I'm heir, it should happen even faster. Anyway, let's end this for now—and don't warn my sons that I'll be visiting."
With that, I left the dream world.
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Author's Note : yeah allowing your sons with stark blood to go and kill the farm animals of your ancient kinsmen who declared he will wipe out everyone who even heard the name stark will lead to good outcome… poor daemon just like he gave trouble to his own grandparent/parent his own sons are returning the favour… first lyanna confirming jaehaerys plans… now mountain wants to be king…. fate is a funny thing.
Poor otto who just lost his handship and now unofficial hostage…. also can anyone guess what was with the letter daemon sent to the north ? i think one can reach the same conclusion gael and the king reached after finishing the chapter..
See you in next chapter....
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