Chapter 41
DAEMON TARGARYEN
For days now, Daemon had been seeking a chance to meet his ailing father, and for days, he was forced to leave the castle without such an audience. And yet he came every day, for he wished to see him for himself. He wanted to look him in the eye and ask him about the treachery he had committed against his own son.
In the end, the day finally came, and Daemon entered the King's chambers once more. He tried to think of the last time he had been allowed into the room, and he had to go back more than a few years in search of that specific memory.
The room itself had changed much in that time, and now the smell of death and herbs lingered in the air, as he walked up to the bed where the King of the Seven Kingdoms lay. His loyal hand stood beside him, and Daemon's mood soured as he saw the fat man, who gave a bow at his father's command.
"Leave us," and the man walked out of the room, leaving him alone with the King, as Daemon finally caught sight of the fabled King of the Seven Kingdoms.
The once mighty Baelon Targaryen had become a thin, and frail shell of himself. His skin had thinned out, and his cheeks had become hollow, as he lay there on the bed, barely keeping himself alive.
The mighty Spring Prince had been reduced to an ill old man. Yet despite the sight, Daemon felt little sympathy for him as their eyes met.
"So, you finally gathered the courage to see me," and there was genuine guilt in those eyes, but it was too late for that. For years now, he had been hearing whispers about plots and ploys being hatched against him, and yet never had he thought that they would come true.
He had tried to lie to himself, but in the end, he could do it no more.
"You really thought I wouldn't find out about it," and there was a flash of guilt and pain in those eyes, but Daemon did not care.
"Why?" he asked, though a part of him already knew the answer.
"Forgive me, my son. But I had to do this," and Daemon scoffed.
"I do not do this to spite you, but for the realm and its prosperity," and that enraged him further.
"You do not think me worthy of being your successor! You think me incompetent!" Daemon questioned, and he shook his head as he coughed up blood.
"No, not incompetent. But I think you're angry," the King countered in a raspy voice, and these were all lies.
"And why do you think I am so angry. WHY!" Daemon raged.
"Because for years my own father has been plotting against me! Against his own son!" and what was he to do about this betrayal?
"Daemon, you must understa...."
"NO!" Daemon was done listening to him, and he walked from the end to the side of the bed.
"I have had enough of your lies," and now it was time for him to face the truth.
"This! This was never about my rage or my competence! NO! This was about yours," and for years he had wondered why his own father would turn his back on him, and then he had finally found his answer.
"You have always blamed me for how your reign turned out to be a failure! You have blamed me for all your faults. That is why you wish to be rid of me! Not because of rage or my incompetence, but because of your own rage and incompetence," and the King reeled at his words.
"You were the Spring prince. The Rider of Vhagar, and yet your reign was one of failures and death, and rather than trying to change it, you chose to put all the blame on me. You are punishing me for your own failures," and the King's lips thinned, as he turned away from him.
"I don't blame you for my failures. But you did lead me astray my son," the King countered.
"You lied to me," Baelon Targaryen looked into his eyes.
"You poisoned my mind, and thousands paid the price for that. Your killed thousands because of your own greed. You killed your own brother," and the King had a coughing fit as his throat became dry, and he reached for the water beside him, and yet the glass fell down at his touch and yet Daemon did not budge.
He did not move.
"I did what I had to," Daemon answered, and the mention of Viserys' death pained him. He was perhaps the only one within the family who had ever truly cared for him.
"I was born a second son, and all I have ever had I had to claw for myself," and after Viserys' death that all had changed. He was no longer just the second son, and for the first time in his life he had thought that he would finally get something without a struggle.
That he would no longer have to fight for his rights.
But he was wrong.
"Yet that will not absolve you of your crimes. You have the blood of thousands on your hands. Thousands," and maybe he did. But he was not alone.
"Your own hands are not so clean either," Daemon countered.
"I only ever did what you ordered me to," and the King nodded.
"Yes," and then he met his gaze.
"Then I ask you to do that one more time," and with that, he pointed towards a rolled missive lying there to his side.
"In that missive, I have made Gael my successor," and so the words were said, and the truth was out in the open.
"I have given you, Dragonstone, for all the troubles I may have caused you. Heed my word as King and father one last time, and let us leave our fate to the Gods," and Daemon closed his eyes as he slowly reached for the missive and picked it up.
Yet rather than reading it, he tore it up and looked his father in the eye.
"I have long forsaken the Gods, and the fate they have written for me," and with that, he let the pieces fall on the ground and walked forward, and slowly put his hands around the King's neck as a tear slid down his face.
"From now on, I make my own fate....."
.
.
.
And so he walked out of the King's chamber, and that conniving cripple was already waiting for him there with his head bowed.
"You command, my lord," he asked.
"Ring the bells," Daemon ordered.
"The King is dead...."
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RHAENYRA TARGARYEN
Rhaenyra had never expected that such a day would come. That she would be forced to flee the very place she had called home. She could still remember simpler times when she and Alicent would run through these halls without any worry, and play their little games and jokes on the ladies and the servants.
The septas would call them menaces, and her father would dote on them endlessly, and yet those days were gone. Her father was gone. And all those laughs and jokes were gone with him.
The shadow of this very day had hung over this castle for the last five years, and people had begun contemplating the end of King Baelon's reign months after his ascension. It was hoped that the Spring Prince's reign would be a continuation of the peace and prosperity brought by the Old King.
Yet that hope was dashed rather quickly, and his reign would forever be marked by death and division. The hope for peace and prosperity had then fallen on the shoulders of her own father, but the Stranger's reach was long and soon enough he had grasped her father in its hand.
His death had come as a surprise to many, and with that death the legacy of Baelon Targaryen had been sealed. And now her grandfather was dead, and the realm stood on the precipice of war itself.
"Are you sure about this?" she questioned her friend, as they ran towards the stables while the bells rang in the city signalling the death of the King.
"Yes," Alicent answered, and they came upon the stables, and her aunt stood there along with the King's Hand, and a large man she knew to be his son.
"You are here," Princess Gael, or was she supposed to call her Queen, said in relief, as they came and stopped beside her.
"Did anyone see you?" she questioned, and Rhaenyra shook her head.
"No. I made sure of that," Alicent answered, as they all turned towards Lord Lyonel.
"They are searching for you as we speak," and the words made her heart sink.
"We will need a distraction," added the man beside him.
"We will divide into two groups, and have one head towards the Hospital while we rush towards the Dragonpit," and she finally remembered his name, and she had seen him fight in a few tournies.
"You are Breakbones," she uttered, and the man finally turned towards her and smiled.
"Indeed, I am, Princess," and she saw her Aunt and the Hand looking into each other's eyes, before suddenly Alicent cut in.
"I will do it," and she finally understood the plot.
"NO!" she cut in quickly.
"You are coming with me," and the only reason she had even agreed to it was that this was the only way she could see a future for them.
Alicent gave her a brittle smile as she held her hand even tighter.
"Someone has to do it, and we do not have much time at all," and she shook her head.
"No. No. You are coming with me, and that is it. I am not leaving you alone in this city with Daemon," and Alicent chuckled.
"Well, it seems like you have forgotten that I am quite afraid of dragons. I would much rather have my feet on the ground," and no one else chimed in to change her mind.
"Loathed as I am to admit it, we have no choice, Princess," the lord Hand cut in.
"You can't leave her here. Not with Daemon ruling the city," and Daemon already loathed her family, and if he came to learn that she had helped her escape.
"I can't do that," she refused, but Alicent had made up her mind.
"I will be fine. I am nothing to Daemon. It is you he wants," she assured her, but she did not have the heart to leave him.
"There are other ways out of the city as well, my Princess," Breakbones added from the side.
"I promise you that I shall give it my all to get Lady Alicent to you as soon as I can," he assured her.
"See, listen to him. Go. I will be with you soon enough," and she did not believe him.
"We have to leave now, Princess," the Lord Hand added, as Breakbones brought forward the Horses.
"I will ride with Lady Hightower," the Lord Hand added to his son.
"You ride with the Queen, and the Princess," and so she was the Queen, and the man helped them up on their horses.
"Stop for no one," he ordered, and before she kicked her horse, she turned towards the Lord Hand.
"Lord Lyonel," she called out.
"Do tell Mother that I am sorry," and her father's death had taken a great toll on her mother, and she had holed herself in her chambers along with her sister.
She had refused to listen to her warnings about Daemon, and now she was forced into this.
"Goodbye, Rhaenyra," and Alicent and Lord Lyonel rode out first, and soon enough the three of them: Her, her Aunt, and Harwin 'Breakbones' Strong were making their way through the streets of Kingslanding as well.
They did not use the regular streets, and large black robes covered their faces as they rushed towards the Dragonpit, and just as they were at the entrance, Harwin raised his hand and made them.
"Stop," and the reason was obvious enough for, for there in front of them stood Daemon along with his Goldcloaks blocking the entrance to the Dragonpit.
He stood there clad in a ceremonial suit, with Draksister on the ground.
"Now, where do you think you are going?"
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