At this moment, the air in the room froze.
Viserys's breathing stalled for an instant. He stared at his brother, at those eyes so like his own yet utterly different.
"You…" the King's voice was so soft it was nearly inaudible. "You would kill them? Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey?"
"No, no, no." Daemon straightened and waved a hand. "I mean… what if the three boys were to renounce their claim of their own will, don the black, and go to the Wall to guard the realm?"
He spread his arms and smiled at Viserys.
"Think on it, brother. If they were to do so willingly…"
"A public oath of their own free will—renouncing the Velaryon name and their claim to Driftmark, and riding north to the Wall to become those honored brothers of the Night's Watch…"
"Then every problem before us is resolved."
Daemon continued to smile.
"First, the crisis of succession at Driftmark is ended. When Corlys wakes, he may name another cadet of House Velaryon as heir."
"And the children Rhaenyra bears me will be of pure Targaryen blood—silver hair, purple eyes. None in the Seven Kingdoms would dare question the blood of Rhaenyra's issue again."
"Second, the lords are given a step down."
"Look—the disputed sons of the heir apparent have willingly surrendered all they possess, trading a lifetime of sacrifice for the realm's peace."
"Third, you are given a step down as well."
"You uphold your daughter's place as heir, yet honor the ancient laws and traditions."
He smiled. The smile was flawless—yet it sent a chill to Viserys's bones.
"It is perfect," Daemon said softly. "Is it not?"
Viserys stared at his brother in silence.
The plan was so cold, so precise, so… Targaryen.
It would satisfy everyone.
Save the three boys and their mother.
"But Rhaenyra will not agree." After a long while, the King spoke hoarsely.
Daemon's smile stiffened for a moment.
Then he said, "She will understand it is necessary."
"She will understand that, at times, sacrifices must be made for a greater end."
"She is the heir. She ought to know that."
Viserys shook his head.
"Do you truly know her, Daemon?"
"Do you truly know a mother?"
The King raised his head and looked his brother in the eye.
"Rhaenyra loves those three boys."
"It is a mother's love for her own flesh and blood."
"She would sooner burn the Seven Kingdoms to ash than send them to the Wall. You know that in your heart."
"This plan cannot succeed…"
Daemon fell silent.
After a long while, he said in a low voice, "Then only one choice remains."
"Aemond…" Viserys finished for him.
Daemon turned, the mocking smile returning to his face, though there was no mirth in his eyes.
"Clever brother. Yes—Aemond. Your good son, my good nephew, the leading actor in today's spectacle. How do you intend to deal with him?"
Viserys was silent for a moment.
"I will confine him for several months…"
"Then send him back to his own lands."
"Without summons, he is not to return to King's Landing."
"Let him cool his head in his domain for a few years."
Daemon laughed.
"Too light. So light it is near a reward."
Viserys flushed red. "Daemon!"
"Am I wrong?" Daemon stepped before the King and looked down at him. "What is that Dragon's Roost of his? It is a holding you granted."
"There he drills private soldiers and strengthens his walls. And as for dragons—he now has two."
"Vhagar, the greatest dragon alive. And that black hatchling born of a dead egg?"
Daemon's voice grew colder and colder.
"To send him back to Dragon's Roost is to loose a tiger back into the mountains."
"It is to give him time to grow, to gather strength."
Viserys lifted his gaze to his brother.
"And what would you have me do?"
Daemon was silent for a moment before answering.
"As Aenys I once exiled Maegor."
"Send him across the Narrow Sea. Pentos, Volantis, Lys—anywhere."
"Give him coin and a ship, then tell him: without pardon, he shall never return."
"He is my son!" Viserys burst out. "My own flesh and blood! You would have me exile him? Forever?"
Daemon spoke calmly.
"If you do not exile him, the consequences may be graver still."
"Brother, look at how he bore himself today."
"Thirteen years of age, and amid the chaos of a royal judgment, before my sword, he was as cold as ice."
"He calculated every step, used every man—Vaemond, me, you, even the watching lords."
"That is not a mind befitting one so young…"
Viserys closed his eyes.
He knew Daemon might be right. How could he not?
Today, when Aemond slew Vaemond and, spattered in blood, lifted his head and looked at him with those violet eyes so calm, a chill had passed through Viserys upon the Iron Throne.
"I will not let you lay a hand on him." The King suddenly rose and seized Daemon by the collar. "Daemon Targaryen—do not touch my son."
He clutched his brother's garments tightly and said, word by word, stern and unyielding: "I will not allow you to touch him!"
Their faces were inches apart; they could feel one another's breath.
"Do you understand me?"
Daemon looked at the hand gripping his collar. After a long silence, he spoke.
"If you do nothing, then when you die—and that day will not be far off—"
"Queen Alicent and Otto, the Hand of the King, will never accept Rhaenyra's succession. Rhaenyra and I will never yield the Iron Throne."
"When that hour comes, your children will mount their dragons and slaughter one another."
He seized Viserys's hand in return.
"Aegon and Sunfyre, Aemond and Vhagar, Rhaenyra and Syrax, I and Caraxes… and Helaena, Jacaerys, Lucerys—every child who can ride a dragon will be drawn into it."
"Dragonfire will sweep across the Seven Kingdoms. Cities will turn to ash. Thousands upon thousands will die."
"Your children will burn in the sky or fall from it to their deaths…"
"Is that the end you desire, brother?"
"A realm destroyed by Targaryen civil war?"
Viserys trembled from head to foot. He tried to pull his hand free, but Daemon's grip was iron.
"You may go," the King said at last, his voice drained of strength. "Let me… think on it further."
Daemon studied his brother for a long while.
He saw the pain in Viserys's eyes, the struggle, the fear—and deepest of all, love. Love for Rhaenyra, love for Aemond, love for all the children who might one day butcher one another.
That love was so vast, so heavy, it seemed almost to crush the already frail old man.
At last, Daemon released his hand and slowly rose.
He walked to the door, laid his hand upon the latch, paused a moment, and spoke without turning back.
"Have you forgotten? Father Baelon once told us: to be King is to walk upon a blade's edge. Each step may cut you—or those you love."
"But you cannot halt—because if you stop… all will fall."
The door opened, then closed.
Daemon's footsteps faded down the corridor beyond.
Only Viserys remained in the chamber. Dusk had fully fallen. The King sat motionless in his chair.
The wound upon his left hand throbbed ever more fiercely, as though fire burned within it, yet he scarcely felt it—the pain in his heart drowned all else.
At that moment, from within the walls, there came an exceedingly faint sound.
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